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helloalycia · 3 years

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The Wrong Lifetime — Fourteen // Wanda Maximoff

chapter thirteen | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | epilogue

author’s note: the last chapter is finally here! i hope you like it 😊

There were many times when I'd get distracted by thoughts of Wanda.

I could be going for a walk and remember that time she tripped over the flat pavement, almost bringing me down with her. I could be shopping for stationary and remember that time she almost bought the whole shop in one visit. I could be sitting by the water fountain and remember that time she tried to make a wish, only to drop her whole purse in it.

This time, I'd just woken up to the sun streaming through my curtains. I rolled over to an empty bed, hand brushing against the cold sheets as they expected more. For some reason, my subconscious decided to taunt me with a memory taking place just after we'd first made love in her room...

"I love you so much," Wanda told me with an enchanting smile.

I turned to face her, one arm comfortable under the pillow as the other rested outside the duvet, covering my bare chest. She raised her hand, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear before resting her hand there. I smiled at the contact and felt a warmth spreading all over me at the affectionate gaze she sent my way.

"I know, love, you only said it several times," I teased lightly, making her chuckle. "I love you, too, though, in case you didn't know."

She sighed contently, eyes closing. I admired how beautiful she looked with her hair sprawled over her bare shoulders, smile on her lips and freckles dusting her skin. Her touch still ghosted my body, taste still embedded between my lips, scent still wavering in my nose. She was permanent and I was certain she'd never leave.

"We should probably get up in case somebody comes to check on us," she said, interrupting my moment of admiration.

Her eyes flickered open slowly, blue with golden flecks glistening right back at me. Suddenly, anything that happened after this didn't matter to me. For once, I appreciated where we were, what we had and nothing more or less. No wedding, no future... just now.

"We should," I agreed regretfully, though her leg moved closer to mine and made me wish we could stay here longer. "I wish we didn't have to."

She smiled halfheartedly, hand moving down my cheek, caressing the skin, before they rested at my chin. She outlined my lips with her thumb before leaning forward and stealing a kiss.

"Can't we have a few more minutes?" she asked, lips brushing mine as she spoke.

She was making it very hard to deny her and judging from the playful smirk on her lips, she knew that.

"I guess we can," I agreed quietly, making her smile with satisfaction.

She rolled on top of me, capturing my lips in a kiss as her bare chest pressed to mine and my hand found her waist for support. As usual, the effect she had on me was indescribable and I couldn't imagine us ever leaving the bed. I knew for sure that I'd never been happier than I was in that moment.

It was such a perfect moment, but it haunted me. Nothing felt right without her. She'd overwhelmed all of my senses and remained, even when I didn't have her by me in person. The wedding was literally in a few weeks, but I hadn't managed to get over her.

How could I be her maid of honour when I could barely speak to her? Not without wanting to curl in a ball and cry afterwards. Every thing I did seemed to be filled with memories of her. She was inescapable.

A groan left my lips as I dragged my hand down my face with frustration. I couldn't let her get to me yet again. I had an interview with the local paper today. The last thing I needed was Wanda as a distraction.

So, with that lovely thought lingering in my mind, I dragged myself out of bed to get ready for the day ahead.

—

Press interviews weren't something I was used to.

Whenever Y/B/N had them with journalists for his books, I wasn't present. The only thing I heard was when he came back and told me how it went, then I proceeded to read about it in the paper the next day.

I was sat in Steve's office at Maximoff Publishing with Steve sat by my side, sending me a supportive smile. A journalist from the local paper sat before us, notebook and pen in hand as he watched on with curious eyes.

"So, Y/N," he began. "I'll start with the obvious, if you don't mind."

I glanced at Steve who nodded encouragingly. Clearing my throat, I looked to the journalist. "Sure thing."

He smiled and glanced at his notebook before asking, "How does it feel to be published? You're Pietro Maximoff's first female author."

"An author who happens to be female," I corrected, hoping I didn't come off as rude. "And that isn't something that should be new, in my opinion. It should be normalised."

He nodded, noting it down in his notebook. "Controversy... I like it."

Swallowing hard, I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

"I think the readers would like to know how you managed to score a publisher," he began his next question. "How exactly did you get noticed amongst the many authors that look to be published?"

Okay, not so difficult, I could answer that.

"Well, it was actually my–" I paused, Wanda's face flashing to mind. Okay, maybe a little difficult.

"Your...?" the journalist prompted.

I blinked, attempting to find my words.

"Wanda," Steve answered, starting me off.

I looked to him with grateful eyes before looking back to the journalist. "Right. Yes. Wanda."

"Your brother's fiancé, right?" the journalist asked for clarification.

"Yes," I answered, with an accidental clipped tone. "She... she was the one who gave my work to her brother. Asked him to look at it. And the rest is history."

The journalist was making notes as I spoke, nodding and humming in response, before looking to me with raised brows.

"So, the wedding," he said, making me wince subtly. "Are you excited?"

Forcing a smile, I said, "Ecstatic."

"How does it feel to have your two families uniting?" he asked, and I chewed on my lips, unsure how to respond.

"I– er–"

"Are you afraid that Y/B/N marrying Wanda may put him in Pietro's good graces?" he interrupted eagerly, leaning forward in his seat.

I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn't know what to say that wouldn't land me in hot water or make me look like a jealous sibling. Glancing to Steve questioningly, he thankfully noticed my speechlessness and gave the journalist a warning stare.

"Can you stay on topic, please?" he asked the keen journalist. "Y/N is here to talk about her book and nothing more."

"Okay, okay," the journalist gave in, making me exhale slowly. "What's next in store for your readers, Y/N? A sequel, perhaps?"

"I'm not sure," I answered truthfully. "I'm still in awe at the reception from the first one."

He nodded, note taking as he listened. "How many books do you think you'll get out of your career before getting married like your brother?"

I raised my eyebrows with disbelief. But I didn't get to answer as he was already moving onto his next question.

"Are you not worried about getting married? You know, men don't like smart women."

Narrowing my eyes at him, I clenched my fists by my side and was very close to strangling him before we were interrupted. A servant whom I recognised from home knocked on the door and earned everyone's attention.

"Oh, tell him to go away," the journalist said dismissively, waving his hand.

Steve looked to me and I plastered a bitter smile on my lips as I glanced at the journalist.

"I'd let him in if I were you," I told Steve, and he seemed to understand that I was about to pummel the journalist if I wasn't distracted, because he nodded and motioned for the servant to enter.

The journalist sighed rudely and I clenched my jaw before looking to the servant with a quirked brow. He looked out of breath, panting for air and face flushed red.

"Did you run here?" I realised, cocking my head to the side with confusion.

He nodded, straightening up and attempting to catch his breath. "Yes, Miss Y/L/N. Very sorry to interrupt, but your mother insisted I hurry."

My eyes widened. "Oh, God, what happened? Is she okay?"

"Kind of," he answered, before clarifying, "The wedding between your brother and Miss Maximoff has been cancelled."

"What?!" everyone in the room asked at the same time.

What did he mean the wedding had been cancelled?! Wanda and Y/B/N weren't going to get married?

"I don't know the details," the servant got out quickly. "I just know that your mother sent me to fetch you as soon as possible. She's distraught and requires you home immediately."

I nodded instantly, already making a move to stand up, then I remembered where I was.

"You mustn't publish anything you just heard," I told the journalist with a stern finger, but he seemed over the moon at the news.

"Go, Y/N, your mother needs you," Steve said, resting a hand on my shoulder as he, too, stood up. He side-eyed the journalist as he added, "I'll take care of this tool."

At that, the journalist's eyes widened with fear and judging from the smirk on Steve's lips, I knew things would be okay.

"Thank you," I told him, hugging him quickly, before looking to the servant. "I'll go now. Thank you."

After giving the servant some money to grab a treat and calm him from his breathless state, I got a carriage home with my mind racing a million thoughts a minute.

Why was the wedding off? My mum was distraught, according to the servant, so that could only mean it hadn't been her choice. Was it Y/B/N? Had he broken it off? Or maybe it was Wanda? But no. She'd never do that. She wouldn't hurt her family like that.

I wasn't sure what it was, but I definitely didn't know how to feel. This could either be heavily in my favour or go against me in the worst way possible...

When I arrived home, I found my family in the dining room. My mum was sat down, upset and shaking her head in her hands, tear marks on her face. My dad was sat beside her, rubbing her back soothingly and whispering calming things to her as my brother stood to the side, looking apologetic and uncomfortable.

"It's okay, mum, it'll be okay," he was saying to her from across the table. "It's not a big deal. I can find somebody–"

"Hello...," I began awkwardly, standing in the doorway and hesitant to move forward. "I just got the news from our servant. What happened?"

"Oh, Y/N, you shouldn't have–" my father began regretfully, before my mum slammed her hand on the table and glared at my brother.

"Y/B/N broke off the engagement!" she shouted with frustration.

"There you go...," my dad mumbled before returning his attention to his wife.

"Mum, I–"

"You did what?!" I cut Y/B/N off with raised brows. "You broke off the engagement? You dumped Wanda?"

He looked to me with sad eyes. "Y/N–"

"You idiot!" I shouted, feeling angry as I imagined the effect this must have had on the Maximoff family. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Why would you–?!"

He grabbed my waving arm and dragged me out of the dining room, making me shove him off when we reached the hall.

"Why the hell did you break it off?!" I yelled at him with a glare. "Why would you–"

"I didn't!" he whisper-shouted back, looking down at me with a downcast expression. "She did!"

My anger faded as I realised he was telling the truth. He looked genuinely hurt, eyes glassy and a frown on his lips. Wanda was the one to break it off? What?

"She broke it off with me," he elaborated quietly, so our parents couldn't hear. "She told me this morning. She said she didn't love me and that she couldn't marry me."

I swallowed hard, looking away from him momentarily. "Why did you tell mum and dad that it was you who broke up with her?"

He pinched his forehead with agitation. "Because it looks a lot less foolish if I say it was me rather than her. She doesn't love me, Y/N. She never did."

I risked looking at him, seeing his disheartened expression. Part of me felt guilty because I knew it was my fault this had happened, but I couldn't exactly say that to him, so I stayed quiet. He shook his head once more before walking away, leaving me standing there with shock.

"Er, Miss Y/L/N?"

I spun around when one of our servants approached me.

"I know now isn't the best time," she began, "but a letter came for you earlier. I left it on your desk as you were at work."

Nodding, I offered the servant a halfhearted smile before watching her leave. There was so much to unpack right now...

I headed upstairs and to my room to see what letter was here for me. But I was finding it hard to focus since all that was on my mind was the broken engagement and Y/B/N and Wanda... I needed to see her. What the hell was I doing here?

Planning on going to see Wanda as soon as possible, I grabbed the letter from my desk with the intention of reading it on the way out, but then I recognised the handwriting on the front and paused at my desk.

It was Wanda's handwriting.

I hurried to tear open the envelope, wondering what she had to say. It was no doubt related to the broken engagement.

Dearest Y/N,

I hope that you manage to read this letter before you hear the news, but knowing our families, you'll read it afterwards. In which case, you will know that I have broken off the engagement with Y/B/N.

It was the right thing to do. I chose to do it and I'm sorry if it's caused tension between your brother and your family, but I knew that I couldn't go forward with it when I'm in love with you. I'm not expecting you to come back to me and run away together all dramatically – this isn't about that.

I did this for myself. I'm not in love with your brother and I never was. He should have known that. He had to. Because if not, I'm afraid I broke his heart. And that's the last thing I wanted.

I also did this for you. I need you to know that I'm not heartless or horrible and I didn't expect you to sacrifice anything for me. Cheating on your brother with you... I never meant for this to happen, nor did I mean to get in the way of you both. Falling in love with you was completely accidental, but I don't regret it.

I don't want to go on too much, but I just needed you to know the truth, from me, that I am truly sorry for causing you such pain. I'm still in love with you and I'll never forget what we had. In another lifetime, maybe we could have worked. I'm certain that you were always perfect for me, as was what we had. You are magic, Y/N. I just wasn't powerful enough to keep you.

When I finished reading, I flipped the page over, expecting to find more, but it was blank. She'd ended it there and I didn't know what to think. My heart was racing, mind adjusting too slowly for my liking. She'd broke it off with him for me. I knew she loved me, but I guess I'd never realised just how much.

After recovering from my shock, I put the letter away and left for Wanda's, not bothering to tell my family where I was going. My dad was attempting to console my disappointed mother as Y/B/N moped around somewhere else, so I took that as my chance to nip out without them noticing.

I was trying to plan what to say to her – I didn't even know what I wanted to say to her. She said she didn't expect me to get back with her, and even without Y/B/N and their engagement in the way, we still couldn't be together. Not like how we wanted to be. But I wanted to. I wanted her. All this time without her had been heartbreaking – I didn't want to leave her again. I didn't know the specifics of how we would work, but we could work. We had to.

When I reached her house, it was her mother who opened the door. And that's when I realised that I wasn't sure if she blamed Y/B/N or her daughter for the engagement breaking apart.

"Iryna, hi," I greeted with a nervous smile. "I'm sorry if this is a bad time–"

"Y/N, I'm glad you're here," she cut me off, immediately pulling me in for a hug. "Thank you for coming."

I nodded with mild confusion, returning the hug, before pulling away.

"I'm so sorry for the pain Wanda has caused to your family," she said regretfully. "I hope that your parents aren't as distraught as we are."

I eyed her strangely, still not sure what Wanda had told her. Either way, I didn't bother questioning it as my urgency to see Wanda was overpowering my curiosity.

"It's okay, Iryna, there's no need to apologise," I reassured her. "My family will be okay... I just thought I'd come and check in on Wanda. It's a lot, what happened."

She nodded sympathetically. "Thank you, sweetheart. You're such a good friend to her." She stood to the side to let me in. "Go on up. She's in her room. Hasn't come out since this morning."

I offered a small, awkward smile Iryna's way before letting myself in and going upstairs to Wanda's room. My palms were sweaty and my mouth was dry – stupidly juxtaposed – when I stopped before Wanda's door. On the way over here, I still hadn't decided what to say. I figured it would just come to me when I saw her. One could hope.

Knocking on the door, I heard her sweet, accented voice give me permission to enter. My stomach flipped at the sound and I did as she said. Closing the door behind me, I turned and saw Wanda sat at a stool before a canvas.

Noticing I didn't say anything, she glanced over her shoulder casually, probably expecting a family member. She widened her eyes when she realised it was me and immediately stood up, smoothing out her paint-covered smock in an attempt to look neater. The simple action warmed my heart – she was adorable and I couldn't help but smile.

"Hi," I said quietly.

She cleared her throat, eyes darting around nervously. "Hey. I didn't– what are– hi."

I let my eyes wander, admiring her messy ponytail and the strokes of paint on her face that she definitely wasn't aware of. She was stunning, even with her confused eyes and pursed lips. Better yet, her hand was ring-free and I was reminded of the fact that she wasn't engaged anymore.

"I assume you're here because you read the letter," she began apologetically, but I didn't let her finish because the longer I was in her presence, the more I realised I wanted to kiss her.

Approaching her, I found her eyes before pressing my lips to hers. My hands cupped her cheeks as I held her close, revelling in her taste and scent and touch. She was quick to react, her fingers curling around my waist and tugging me towards her, squeezing our bodies together. Breathing became a problem and we regretfully had to pull away, but remained close enough to exchange breaths and swim in each other's eyes. I'd never been more relieved to see the colour green.

"You're not mad," she realised, looking between my eyes as if trying to search for some anger.

"How can I be mad that you broke off your engagement for me, knowing we can never be together in the way that you deserve?" I asked with disbelief.

She smiled beautifully, making my heart flutter in my chest. "You still love me."

I stole another kiss from her lips. "I never stopped, Wanda. Of course I still love you."

She rested her forehead to mine and closed her eyes peacefully. "Thank you for coming back."

I laughed, feeling tears brim my eyes. "I'm not leaving again, love. We'll find a way to make this work. I promise you that."

Wanda Maximoff deserved the world. And I was going to give it to her in this lifetime and beyond.

#wanda maximoff au #marvel #wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff x you #marvel imagine #wanda maximoff #mcu #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch #scarlet witch imagine #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabeth olsen x reader

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alygatorwrites · 3 years

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can I request a lil something? during the end of the manga or after the timeskip if you haven't read it yet, reiner still has feelings for historia and reader has one-sided feelings for him.

pieck gives reiner a small hint, saying he's wasting time while there's someone close to him that cares for him and points to you. he doesn't understand at first and maybe is conflicted about his feelings for you because of historia. reader is cool about it as she doesn't expect him to reciprocate her feelings.

a rollercoaster of emotions later, maybe there is a happy ending tho? i am curious to see what you can come up with 😭😭 i have dreaming of this scenario before bed and i can't help but get jealous of his crush on historia abjdsndks maybe you can help reiner reciprocate reader-chan's feelings or not

thank u so much aly 💖🥺

reciprocation

pairing: reiner braun x reader

a/n: OMG yesss! honestly, i was kinda annoyed at how reiner still had a crush on historia. i know that isayama wanted to show how everything went back to normal, but i was hoping that reiner would have a bigger role in the allied nations instead of being "dumbed down" to having an obsession with her. MAYBE THATS JUST THE JEALOUSY SPEAKING LMAO 😭 i was hoping this would be longer, although school has been killing me so im really sorry!! i hope its okay 💗💕 thank you honey!

↳ to be added to my taglist, please fill out this ♡form♡

as reiner is handed historia’s letter, you fold your hands on the table and watch him without a word. when he reads the lines and smells the parchment - jean saying something snarky afterward - you say nothing.

you want reiner to be happy: you want to see him at ease like this more, face soft as the leaf of the page flits from his pinched fingers.

and so you let the man speak about historia like she’s a damn goddess, gushing over her handwriting, and keep your goddamn mouth shut. ignore your jealousy. your feelings.

the truth is, you’re in love with reiner.

you can’t even remember how it happened, but you can remember the first time you looked into those hazel eyes, and how you knew that they were going to stick with you for eternity.

you’ve come to accept his crush on the queen, though. reciprocation was never an option in your mind.

when jean begins to chew reiner out for lusting after a married woman, and reiner says something about jean being a horse, pieck’s gaze lands on you. “you’re rather quiet,” she says softly, resting her head on her palm.

you shrug, turning away from her. “i’m just tired.”

pieck catches your chin between her lithe fingers, and turns you to face her with a tiny smile. the young woman is very perceptive, and you’ve known her long enough.

that’s when you notice the twinkle in her eye. she’s planning something.

pieck releases your jaw then, sitting up in her chair. “you’re wasting your time, reiner,” she says suddenly. “there’s already someone you know who cares for you.”

you pretend to not hear pieck - and definitely pretend you don’t see her faintly point at you through your peripheral. the movement of her fingers is barely there, but you catch it.

damn you, pieck.

the way you’re now pinned underneath armin, jean, connie, and reiner’s stares makes your stomach tie itself into knots with bubbling reluctance. shit, this is awkward. you want to run away.

still, you peer over to study reiner’s reaction. he looks confused at first, the contours of his face unreadable. you swear you see connie facepalm at the man’s cluelessness.

then reiner’s expression slowly changes: his eyes widen in awe, lips parting slightly, and brows knitting together. he seems genuinely surprised - and conflicted.

conflicted? why?

there’s no time to explain yourself though, because the door creaks open and annie steps in. her words fall on your deaf ears, and when everyone stands up to leave, you’re the first one out of the room. work beckons you as always.

two days pass.

you’ve been busy filling out tons of paperwork pertaining to the allied nations, so when you’re finally given a day off, you take it with open arms.

freedom at last.

you lean against a bench outside of headquarters, enjoying the salty breeze that flutters along your skin. it’s dusk, the sky covered in a gradient of neon colors as the sun dips below the horizon.

you haven’t seen reiner since that day in the conference room. you wonder how he’s doing, what he’s thinking, how he’s holding up -

“hey.”

speak of the devil. you glance over your shoulder toward the voice, low and familiar.

reiner approaches you, clad in his uniform: the suit hugs his large frame perfectly, showing every flex of his muscles, and his blonde hair is neatly parted. the black tie looped around his neck just pulls it all together. it has you weak at the knees every. single. time.

“hey,” you answer, giving reiner a smile as he stops beside you.

and that’s when your heart lurches at the sight of him.

the sunset highlights reiner’s profile in gold, a heavenly shine that settles upon his blonde lashes and the flawless slope of his nose. the flecks in his irises sparkle – a beautiful mixture of soft browns and muted greens. the only thing you can do right now is admire the man.

his words are what breaks you out of your daydream.

“work has been crazy lately, huh?” reiner says, focused on the candy-floss clouds and their fluffy shapes.

“well - yeah, pretty much. i don’t want to look at a pen or a piece of paper ever again.”

“that bad?”

“you have no idea. i almost regret marley and paradis reconciling.”

reiner chuckles gently at the joke, but it’s strained. his forehead remains creased, and he’s not really smiling. the emotion there is more … doubtful. it’s like he’s having some sort of inner conflict.

hopefully reiner’s not acting cautious because of the other day. you know he doesn’t return your feelings, and that’s totally okay. you’re happy enough being with him like this. “i’m not mad or anything, y’know.”

reiner stiffens at that. there’s a white flash of teeth when he chews on his lower lip. “i know.”

“good,” you hum, breathing out a sigh of relief. your core twists with envy when you force a grin. bite it back. tease him like always. “so about historia … ”

reiner’s eyes go wide almost comically, and you hear the breath in his lungs leave his firm chest in one exhale. there’s a light blush staining his cheeks now. it’s funny; he’s so goddamn big, yet he’s such a teddy bear.

“y-yeah,” reiner mutters. you observe the way his brows pinch together as he awkwardly shifts in place. it takes a while before the man composes himself again, which is strange.

is he scared or something? what the hell?

“pieck,” reiner hesitates for a moment. the golden strands of his hair ruffle in the wind and he appears ... well, lost. “was she being serious?”

the question is a shocker - jeez, he could have at least let you prepare yourself. a firm ‘no’ almost slips out, but you’ve never been much of a liar. not to reiner, anyway. crossing your arms against your chest, you inhale sharply and nod. avoid staring at him face-to-face. “yep.”

“ … why me?”

reiner says the words with a mixture of spite and anguish, a casual and rumbling voice. you immediately turn your head, frowning. “what?”

“i’ve done so many horrible things.” reiner exhales heavily and stares down at his hands; perhaps he’s imagining all the blood they’ve been stained with. “i betrayed everyone. i killed innocent people - all because i was selfish.”

it’s no surprise that reiner is broken after everything he’s been through, but it pains you to know that he continues to suffer in silence. whatever war is raging inside his ribcage tears him apart piece by piece, and you wish you could carry the burden.

there’s probably nothing you can say to convince reiner that he was just a kid, a victim of circumstance. there’s nothing that can persuade him to see himself the way you do.

so you decide to tell reiner why you love him.

you explain the amount of admiration you hold for him. tell him that you love the way he just wants to be someone his comrades can lean on, like a big brother. tell him that you think he’s the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen and how you think he deserves the world.

the way you spill your guts out snaps every nerve in your body. you don’t say everything you want to – but you tell him enough. a dark flush spreading across your face, you find the courage to look at him.

the world seems to stop on its axis when you find reiner staring right on back. the intensity of his eyes is stunning; they’re lit up with astonishment and affection.

god, the affection. you see it clear as day. maybe one of the greatest regrets in his life is how he forced himself to see you only as a friend.

that’s when he reaches out to you.

reiner retracts his hand twice, unsure, before slowly brushing his fingertips against yours. the touch is so feather-light that you almost can’t feel it. it’s a test - he’s waiting to see if you pull away. you can’t even move if you wanted to, because his fond gaze keeps you rooted to the spot before him.

when you don’t recoil, reiner finally moves to gently hold your hand; his palm is so much bigger than yours, and your fingers slot together perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle’s final piece.

heart thrumming like a hummingbird has been stuffed into your chest, you’re almost at a loss for words and come to a realization.

this utterly amazing man likes you. always has.

but reiner shoved away the feelings for one simple reason; you deserved ‘better.’ focusing on the old crush he had on historia was a distraction - an attempt to convince himself to stop thinking about you.

because looking at you everyday and not being able to act upon his feelings was too painful.

“is this okay?” reiner asks lowly. there’s a slight pinkness to his cheeks, the color of a selfless love.

by some miracle, you manage to nod dumbly. “yeah, of course. it’s fine.” it’s amazing is what you actually want to say.

reiner squeezes your hand at the reassurance, a sigh escaping from his throat. “i really—”

you wait for him to finish, but he doesn’t. reiner just searches your profile for signs of discomfort, and then untwines your hands to bravely swipe a thumb along the length of your cheekbone.

there’s no time to speak because he’s already leaning down.

the sensation of reiner’s lips pressing against yours lights your skin ablaze; you can feel the curling flames of passion sear your soul, made even more intense by the warmth of the sunlight on your back.

it’s natural, it’s tender, it’s warm.

reiner’s breath rattles into your mouth when you rest both palms against his solid chest and deepen the kiss. the musky smell of his aftershave and cologne envelops you completely, and fuck, it’s so good. your arms wrap around him, fingers passing over the sharp slopes of his shoulder blades.

as much as you wish the kiss could go on endlessly, there are people gathering outside. avoiding any unwanted attention from nosy strangers is very much appreciated.

you pull away to nuzzle your nose into reiner, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, protective arms moving to loop around your waist. it’s such an intimate caress that it sparks your brain into overdrive.

as the rushing sound of the breeze comes back to your ears through the quiet, you tuck the kiss away to be remembered forever. that’s all there is to it. being close to reiner like this - swaying together like wildflowers in the wind - is more important than anything else.

“i like you,” reiner murmurs.

the suddenness of it makes you laugh, and you can feel the upward quirk of reiner’s lips - a whisper of a peaceful smile and a sweet, sweet promise.

#timeskip reiner still sexy asf #I just wanna hug and kiss him ugh #reiner braun x reader #reiner x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan fanfiction #snk x reader #reiner braun #reiner x you #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

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Anonymous asked: I have always appreciated your thoughtful views on the defence of the British monarchy, and as a university historian it’s reassuring to see someone using history to make invalubale insights to a controversial institution. I wonder what are your own thoughts on the passing of Prince Philip and what his legacy might be? Was he a gaffe prone racist and a liability to the Queen?

I know you kindly got in touch and identified yourself when you felt I was ignoring your question. I’m glad we cleared that up via DM. The truth is as I said and I’m saying here is that I had to let some time pass before I felt I could reasonably answer this question. Simply because - as you know as someone who teaches history at university - distance is good to make a sober appraisal rather than knee jerk in the moment judgements.

Contrary to what some might think I’m not really a fan girl when it comes to the royal family. I don’t religiously follow their every movement or utterance especially as I live in Paris and therefore I don’t really care about tabloid tittle tattle. I only get to hear of anything to do with the royal family when I speak to my parents or my great aunts and uncles for whom the subject is closer to their heart because of the services my family has rendered over past generations to the monarchy and the older (and dying) tight knit social circles they travel in.

Like Walter Bagehot, I’m more interested in the monarchy as an institution and its constitutional place within the historical, social, and political fabric of Britain and its continued delicate stabilising importance to that effect. It was Walter Bagehot, the great constitutional scholar and editor the Economist magazine, who said, “The mystic reverence, the religious allegiance, which are essential to a true monarchy, are imaginative sentiments that no legislature can manufacture in any people.” In his view, a politically-inactive monarchy served the best interests of the United Kingdom; by abstaining from direct rule, the monarch levitated above the political fray with dignity, and remained a respected personage to whom all subjects could look to as a guiding light.

Even as a staunch monarchist I freely confess that there has always been this odd nature of the relationship between hereditary monarchy and a society increasingly ambivalent about the institution. To paraphrase Bagehot again, there has been too much ‘daylight’ shone onto the ‘magic’ of the monarchy because we are obsessed with personalities as celebrities.

Having said that I did feel saddened by the passing of Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh. After the Queen, he was my favourite royal. Anne, Princess Royal, would come next because she is very much like her father in temperament, humour, and character, so unlike her other brothers.

I have met the late Prince Philip when I was serving in the army in a few regimental meet-and-greet situations - which as you may know is pretty normal given that members of the royal family serve as honorary colonel-in-chiefs (patrons in effect) of all the British army regiments and corps.I also saw him at one or two social events such the annual charitable Royal Caledonian Ball (he’s an expert scottish reeler) and the Guards Polo Club where my older brothers played.

I’ll will freely confess that he was the one royal I could come close to identify with because his personal biography resonated with me a great deal.

Let’s be honest, the core Windsor family members, born to privilege, are conditioned and raised to be dull. Perhaps that’s a a tad harsh. I would prefer the term ‘anonymously self-effacing’, just another way of saying ‘for God’s sake don’t draw attention to yourself by saying or doing anything even mildly scandalous or political lest it invites public opprobrium and scrutiny’. The Queen magnificently succeeds in this but the others from Charles down just haven’t (with the exception of Princess Anne).

However, many people forget this obvious fact that it’s the incoming husbands and wives who marry into the Windsor family who are relied upon to bring colour and even liven things up a little. And long before Kate Middleton, Meghan Markle (very briefly), or Lady Diana Spencer, were the stars of ‘The Firm’- a phrase first coined by King George VI, Queen Elizabeth II's father who ruled from 1936 to 1952, who was thought to have wryly said, "British royals are 'not a family, we're a firm,” - it was Prince Philip who really livened things up and made the greater impact on the monarchy than any of them in the long term.

Prince Philip’s passing belied the truth of a far more complex individual: a destitute and penniless refugee Greek-Danish prince with a heart breaking backstory that could have been penned by any 19th Century novelist, and also eagle eyed reformer who tried to drag the royal family into the 20th century. At the core of the man - lost scion of a lost European royal dynasty, a courageous war veteran, and Queen’s consort - were values in which he attempted to transform and yet maintain much older inherited traditions and attitudes. Due to his great longevity, Philip’s life came to span a period of social change that is almost unprecedented, and almost no one in history viewed such a transformation from the front row.

Prince Philip would seem to represent in an acute form the best of the values of that era, which in many ways jar with today’s. He had fought with great courage in the war as a dashing young naval officer; he was regularly rude to foreigners, which was obviously a bonus to all Brits. He liked to ride and sail and shoot things. He was unsentimental almost to a comic degree, which felt reassuring at a time when a new-found emotional incontinence made many feel uncomfortable. Outrageous to some but endearing to others, he was the sort of man you’d want to go for a pint with, perhaps the ultimate compliment that an Englishman can pay to another Englishman. This has its own delicious irony as he wasn’t really an Englishman.

There are 4 takeways I would suggest in my appraisal of Prince Philip that stand out for me. So let me go through each one.

1. Prince Philip’s Internationalism

It may seem odd for me to say that Prince Philip wasn’t English but he wasn’t an Englishman in any real sense. He was a wretch of the world - stateless, homeless, and penniless. That the Prince of Nowhere became the British Monarchy’s figurehead was more than fitting for a great age of migration and transition in which the Royal Family survived and even flourished. That he was able to transform himself into the quintessential Englishman is testimony not just to his personal determination but also to the powerful cultural pull of Britishness.

He was born on a kitchen table in Corfu in June 1921. A year later in 1922, Philip, as the the great-great-grandson of Queen Victoria and nephew of Constantine I of Greece, was forced to flee with his family after the abdication of Constantine. He grew up outside Paris speaking French; ethnically he was mostly German although he considered himself Danish, his family originating from the Schleswig border region. He was in effect, despite his demeanour of Royal Navy officer briskness, a citizen of nowhere in an age of movement. From a very young age he was a stateless person, nationally homeless. Indeed, Philip was an outsider in a way that even Meghan Markle could never be; at his wedding in 1947, his three surviving sisters and two brothers-in-law were not permitted to attend because they were literally Britain’s enemies, having fought for the Germans. A third brother-in-law had even been in the SS, working directly for Himmler, but had been killed in the conflict.

Even his religion was slightly exotic. He was Greek Orthodox until he converted to Anglicanism on marrying Elizabeth - what with his wife due to become supreme head of the Church and everything - but his ties with eastern Christianity remained. His great-aunts Princess Elisabeth of Hesse and by Rhine and Tsarina Alexandra are both martyrs of the Russian Orthodox Church, having been murdered by the Bolsheviks; Philip’s mother went on to become an Orthodox nun and a “Righteous Among the Nations” for saving a Jewish family during the Nazi occupation of Greece, spending much of her time in squalid poverty.

His parents were part of the largely German extended aristocracy who ruled almost all of Europe before it all came crashing down in 1918. When he died, aged 99, it marked a near-century in which all the great ideological struggles had been and gone; he had been born before the Soviet Union but outlived the Cold War, the War on Terror and - almost - Covid-19.

The world that Philip was born into was a far more violent and dangerous place than ours. In the year he was born, Irish rebels were still fighting Black and Tans; over the course of 12 months the Spanish and Japanese prime ministers were assassinated, there was a coup in Portugal and race riots in the United States. Germany was rocked by violence from the far-Left and far-Right, while in Italy a brutal new political movement, the Fascists, secured 30 seats in parliament, led by a trashy journalist called Benito Mussolini.

The worst violence, however, took place in Greece and Turkey. Following the defeat of the Ottoman Empire, what remained of Turkey was marked for permanent enfeeblement by the Allies. But much to everyone’s surprise the country’s force were roused by the brilliant officer Mustafa Kemal, who led the Turks to victory. Constantinople was lost to Christendom for good and thousands of years of Hellenic culture was put to the flames in Smyrna.

The Greek royal family, north German imports shipped in during the 19th century, bore much of the popular anger for this disaster. King Constantine fled to Italy, and his brother Andrew was arrested and only escaped execution through the intervention of his relative Britain’s George V. Andrew’s wife Alice, their four daughters and infant son Philip fled to France, completely impoverished but with the one possession that ensures that aristocrats are never truly poor: connections.

Philip had a traumatic childhood. He was forged by the turmoil of his first decade and then moulded by his schooling. His early years were spent wandering, as his place of birth ejected him, his family disintegrated and he moved from country to country, none of them ever his own. When he was just a year old, he and his family were scooped up by a British destroyer from his home on the Greek island of Corfu after his father had been condemned to death. They were deposited in Italy. One of Philip's first international journeys was spent crawling around on the floor of the train from an Italian port city, "the grubby child on the desolate train pulling out of the Brindisi night," as his older sister Sophia later described it.

In Paris, he lived in a house borrowed from a relative; but it was not destined to become a home. In just one year, while he was at boarding school in Britain, the mental health of his mother, Princess Alice, deteriorated and she went into an asylum; his father, Prince Andrew, went off to Monte Carlo to live with his mistress. "I don't think anybody thinks I had a father," he once said. Andrew would die during the war. Philip went to Monte Carlo to pick up his father's possessions after the Germans had been driven from France; there was almost nothing left, just a couple of clothes brushes and some cuff-links.

Philip’s four sisters were all much older, and were soon all married to German aristocrats (the youngest would soon die in an aeroplane crash, along with her husband and children). His sisters became ever more embroiled in the German regime. In Scotland going to Gordonstoun boarding school, Philip went the opposite direction, becoming ever more British. Following the death of his sister Cecilie in a plane crash in 1937, the gulf widened. As the clouds of conflict gathered, the family simply disintegrated. With a flash of the flinty stoicism that many would later interpret, with no little justification, as self-reliance to the point of dispassion, the prince explained: “It’s simply what happened. The family broke up… I just had to get on with it. You do. One does.”

In the space of 10 years he had gone from a prince of Greece to a wandering, homeless, and virtually penniless boy with no-one to care for him. He got through it by making a joke of everything, and by being practical.

By the time he went to Gordonstoun, a private boarding school on the north coast of Scotland, Philip was tough, independent and able to fend for himself; he'd had to be. Gordonstoun would channel those traits into the school's distinct philosophy of community service, teamwork, responsibility and respect for the individual. And it sparked one of the great passions of Philip's life - his love of the sea. It was Gordonstoun that nurtured that love through the maturation of his character.

Philip adored the school as much as his son Charles would despise it. Not just because the stress it put on physical as well as mental excellence - he was a great sportsman. But because of its ethos, laid down by its founder Kurt Hahn, a Jewish exile from Nazi Germany.

Hahn first met Philip as a boy in Nazi Germany. Through a connection via one of his sister’s husbands, Philip, the poor, lonely boy was first sent off to a new school - in Nazi Germany. Which was as fun as can be imagined. Schloss Salem had been co-founded by stern educator called Kurt Hahn, a tough, discipline-obsessed conservative nationalist who saw civilisation in inexorable decline. But by this stage Hahn, persecuted for being Jewish in Nazi Germany, had fled to Britain, and Philip did not spend long at the school either, where pressure from the authorities was already making things difficult for the teachers. Philip laughed at the Nazis at first, because their salute was the same gesture the boys at his previous school had to make when they wanted to go to the toilet, but within a year he was back in England, a refugee once again.

Philip happily attended Hahn’s new school, Gordonstoun, which the strict disciplinarian had set up in the Scottish Highlands. Inspired by Ancient Sparta, the boys (and then later girls) had to run around barefoot and endure cold showers, even in winter, the whole aim of which was to drive away the inevitable civilisational decay Hahn saw all around him. To 21st century ears it sounds like hell on earth, yet Philip enjoyed it, illustrating just what a totally alien world he came from.

That ethos became a significant, perhaps the significant, part of the way that Philip believed life should be lived. It shines through the speeches he gave later in his life. "The essence of freedom," he would say in Ghana in 1958, "is discipline and self-control." The comforts of the post-war era, he told the British Schools Exploring Society a year earlier, may be important "but it is much more important that the human spirit should not be stifled by easy living". And two years before that, he spoke to the boys of Ipswich School of the moral as well as material imperatives of life, with the "importance of the individual" as the "guiding principle of our society".

It was at Gordonstoun one of the great contradictions of Philip's fascinating life was born. The importance of the individual was what in Kurt Hahn's eyes differentiated Britain and liberal democracies from the kind of totalitarian dictatorship that he had fled. Philip put that centrality of the individual, and individual agency - the ability we have as humans to make our own moral and ethical decisions - at the heart of his philosophy.

At Dartmouth Naval College in 1939, the two great passions of his life would collide. He had learned to sail at Gordonstoun; he would learn to lead at Dartmouth. And his driving desire to achieve, and to win, would shine through. Despite entering the college far later than most other cadets, he would graduate top of his class in 1940. In further training at Portsmouth, he gained the top grade in four out of five sections of the exam. He became one of the youngest first lieutenants in the Royal Navy.

The navy ran deep in his family. His maternal grandfather had been the First Sea Lord, the commander of the Royal Navy; his uncle, "Dickie" Mountbatten, had command of a destroyer while Philip was in training. In war, he showed not only bravery but guile. It was his natural milieu. "Prince Philip", wrote Gordonstoun headmaster Kurt Hahn admiringly, "will make his mark in any profession where he will have to prove himself in a trial of strength".

2. Prince Philip and the modernisation of the monarchy

In his own words, the process of defining what it meant to be a royal consort was one of “trial and error.” Speaking with BBC One’s Fiona Bruce in 2011, Philip explained, “There was no precedent. If I asked somebody, 'What do you expect me to do?' they all looked blank. They had no bloody idea, nobody had much idea.” So he forged for himself a role as a moderniser of the monarchy.

He could not have had much idea back in 1939. Back then in Dartmouth in 1939, as war became ever more certain, the navy was his destiny. He had fallen in love with the sea itself. "It is an extraordinary master or mistress," he would say later, "it has such extraordinary moods." But a rival to the sea would come.

When King George VI toured Dartmouth Naval College, accompanied by Philip's uncle, he brought with him his daughter, Princess Elizabeth. Philip was asked to look after her. He showed off to her, vaulting the nets of the tennis court in the grounds of the college. He was confident, outgoing, strikingly handsome, of royal blood if without a throne. She was beautiful, a little sheltered, a little serious, and very smitten by Philip.

Did he know then that this was a collision of two great passions? That he could not have the sea and the beautiful young woman? For a time after their wedding in 1948, he did have both. As young newlyweds in Malta, he had what he so prized - command of a ship - and they had two idyllic years together. But the illness and then early death of King George VI brought it all to an end.

He knew what it meant, the moment he was told. Up in a lodge in Kenya, touring Africa, with Princess Elizabeth in place of the King, Philip was told first of the monarch's death in February 1952. He looked, said his equerry Mike Parker, "as if a ton of bricks had fallen on him". For some time he sat, slumped in a chair, a newspaper covering his head and chest. His princess had become the Queen. His world had changed irrevocably.

While the late Princess Diana was later to famously claim that there were “three people” in her marriage - herself, Prince Charles and Camilla - there were at least 55 million in Philip and Elizabeth’s. As Elizabeth dedicated her life to her people at Westminster Abbey at the Coronation on June 2, 1953, it sparked something of an existential crisis in Philip. Many people even after his death have never really understood this pivotal moment in Philip’s life. All his dreams of being a naval officer and a life at sea as well as being the primary provider and partner in his marriage were now sacrificed on the altar of duty and love.

With his career was now over, and he was now destined to become the spare part. Philip, very reasonably, asked that his future children and indeed his family be known by his name, Mountbatten. In effect he was asking to change the royal family’s name from the House of Windsor to the House of Mountbatten. But when Prime Minister Winston Churchill got wind of it as well as the more politically agile courtiers behind the Queen, a prolonged battle of wits ensued, and it was one Philip ultimately lost. It was only in 1957 that he accepted the title of “Prince.”

Even though he had almost lost everything dear to him and his role now undefined, he didn’t throw himself a pity party. He just got on with it. Philip tried to forge his own distinct role as second fiddle to the woman who had come to represent Great Britain. He designated himself the First Officer of the Good Ship Windsor. He set about dusting off some of the cobwebs off the throne and letting some daylight unto the workings of the monarchy by advocating reasonable amount of modernisation of the monarchy.

He had ideas about modernising the royal family that might be called “improving optics” today. But in his heart of hearts he didn’t want the monarchy to become a stuffy museum piece. He envisaged a less stuffy and more popular monarchy, relevant to the lives of ordinary people. Progress was always going to be incremental as he had sturdy opposition from the old guard who wanted to keep everything as it was, but nevertheless his stubborn energy resulted in significant changes.

When a commission chaired by Prince Philip proposed broadcasting the 1953 investiture ceremony that formally named Elizabeth II as queen on live television, Prime Minister Winston Churchill reacted with outright horror, declaring, “It would be unfitting that the whole ceremony should be presented as if it were a theatrical performance.” Though the queen had initially voiced similar concerns, she eventually came around to the idea, allowing the broadcast of all but one segment of the coronation. Ultimately, according to the BBC, more than 20 million people tuned in to the televised ceremony - a credit to the foresight of Philip.

Elizabeth’s coronation marked a watershed moment for a monarchy that has, historically, been very hands off, old-fashioned and slightly invisible. Over the following years, the royals continued to embrace television as a way of connecting with the British people: In 1957, the queen delivered her annual Christmas address during a live broadcast. Again, this was Philip’s doing when he cajoled the Queen to televise her message live. He even helped her in how to use the teleprompter to get over her nerves and be herself on screen.

Four years later, in 1961, Philip became the first family member to sit for a television interview. It is hard for us to imagine now but back then it was huge. For many it was a significant step in modernising the monarchy.

Though not everything went to plan. Toward the end of the decade, the Windsors even invited cameras into their home. A 1969 BBC fly-on-the-wall documentary, instigated by Philip to show life behind the scenes, turned into an unmitigated disaster: “The Windsors” revealed the royals to be a fairly normal, if very rich, British upper-class family who liked barbecues, ice cream, watching television and bickering. The mystery of royalty took a hit below the waterline from their own torpedo, a self-inflicted wound from which they took a long time to recover. Shown once, the documentary was never aired again. But it had an irreversible effect, and not just by revealing the royals to be ordinary. By allowing the cameras in, Philip opened the lid to the prying eyes of the paparazzi who could legitimately argue that since the Royals themselves had sanctioned exposure, anything went. From then on, minor members of the House of Windsor were picked off by the press, like helpless tethered animals on a hunting safari.

Prince Philip also took steps to reorganise and renovate the royal estates in Sandringham and Balmoral such as intercoms, modern dish washers, generally sought to make the royal household and the monarchy less stuffy, not to have so much formality everywhere.

Philip helped modernised the monarchy in other ways to acknowledge that the monarchy could be responsive to changes in society. It was Prince Philip - much to the chagrin of the haughty Princess Margaret and other stuffy old courtiers - who persuaded the Queen to host informal lunches and garden parties designed to engage a broader swath of the British public. Conversely, Prince Philip heartily encouraged the Queen (she was all for it apparently but was still finding her feet as a new monarch) to end the traditional practice of presenting debutantes from aristocratic backgrounds at court in 1952. For Philip and others it felt antiquated and out of touch with society. I know in speaking to my grandmother and others in her generation the decision was received with disbelief at how this foreign penniless upstart could come and stomp on the dreams of mothers left to clutch their pearls at the prospect there would be no shop window for their daughter to attract a suitable gentleman for marriage. One of my great aunts was over the moon happy that she never would have to go through what she saw as a very silly ceremony because she preferred her muddy wellies to high heels.

A former senior member of the royal household, who spent several years working as one of Prince Philip’s aides, and an old family friend, once told us around a family dinner table that the Duke of Edinburgh was undoubtedly given a sense of permanence by his marriage into the Royal Family that was missing from earlier years. But the royal aide would hastily add that Prince Philip, of course, would never see it that way.

Prince Philip’s attitude was to never brood on things or seek excuses. And he did indeed get on with the job in his own way - there should be no doubt that when it came to building and strengthening the Royal Family it was a partnership of equals with the Queen. Indeed contrary to Netflix’s hugely popular series ‘The Crown’ and its depiction of the royal marriage with Philip’s resentment at playing second fiddle, the prince recognised that his “first duty was to serve the Queen in the best way I could,” as he told ITV in 2011. Though this role was somewhat ill-suited to his dynamic, driven, and outspoken temperament, Philip performed it with utter devotion.

3. Prince Philip’s legacy

One could argue rightly that modernising the monarchy was his lasting legacy achievement. But he also tried to modernise a spent and exhausted Britain as it emerged from a ruinous war. When peace came, and with it eventual economic recovery, Philip would throw himself into the construction of a better Britain, urging the country to adopt scientific methods, embracing the ideas of industrial design, planning, education and training. A decade before Harold Wilson talked of the "white heat of the technological revolution", Philip was urging modernity on the nation in speeches and interviews. He was on top of his reading of the latest scientific breakthroughs and well read in break out innovations.

This interest in modernisation was only matched by his love for nature. As the country and the world became richer and consumed ever more, Philip warned of the impact on the environment, well before it was even vaguely fashionable. As president of the World Wildlife Fund (WWF) in the UK for more than 20 years from 1961, he was one of the first high-profile advocates of the cause of conservation and biological diversity at a time when it was considered the preserve of an eccentric few.

For a generation of school children in Britain and the Commonwealth though, his most lasting legacy and achievement will be the Duke of Edinburgh Awards (DofE). He set up the Duke of Edinburgh award, a scheme aimed at getting young people out into nature in search of adventure or be of service to their communities. It was a scheme that could match the legacy of Baden Powell’s scouts movement.

When Prince Philip first outlined his idea of a scheme to harness the values of his education at Gordonstoun by bringing character-building outdoor pursuits to the many rather than the fee-paying few, he received short shrift from the government of the day. The then minister of education, Sir David Eccles responded to the Duke’s proposal by saying: “I hear you’re trying to invent something like the Hitler Youth.” Undeterred he pushed on until it came to fruition.

I’m so glad that he did. I remember how proud I was for getting my DofE Awards while I was at boarding school. With the support of great mentors I managed to achieve my goals: collecting second-hand English books for a literacy programme for orphaned street children in Delhi, India with a close Indian school friend and her family; and completing a 350 mile hike following St. Olav’s Pilgrimmage Trail from Selånger, on the east coast of Sweden, and ending at Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim, on the west coast of Norway.

It continues to be an enduring legacy. Since its launch in 1956, the Duke of Edinburgh awards have been bestowed upon some 2.5 million youngsters in Britain and some eight million worldwide. For a man who once referred to himself as a “Greek princeling of no consequence”, his pioneering tutelage of these two organisations (alongside some 778 other organisations of which he was either president or a patron) would be sufficient legacy for most.

4. Prince Philip’s character

It may surprise some but what I liked most about Prince Philip was the very thing that helped him achieve so much and leave a lasting legacy: his character.

It is unhelpful to the caricature of Prince Philip as an unwavering but pugnacious consort whose chief talent was a dizzying facility in off-colour one-liners that he was widely read and probably the cleverest member of his family.

His private library at Windsor consists of 11,000 tomes, among them 200 volumes of poetry. He was a fan of Jung, TS Eliot, Shakespeare and the cookery writer Elizabeth David. As well as a lifelong fascination with science, technology and sport, he spoke fairly fluent French, painted and wrote a well received book on birds. It’s maddening to think how many underestimated his genuine intellect and how cultured he was behind the crusty exterior.

He didn’t have an entourage to fawn around him. He was the first to own a computer at Buckingham Palace. He answered his own phone and wrote and responded to his own correspondence. By force of character he fought the old guard courtiers at every turn to modernise the monarchy against their stubborn resistance.

Prince Philip was never given to self-analysis or reflection on the past. Various television interviewers tried without success to coerce him in to commenting on his legacy.But once when his guard was down he asked on the occasion of his 90th birthday what he was more proud of, he replied with characteristic bluntness: “I couldn’t care less. Who cares what I think about it, I mean it’s ridiculous.”

All of which neatly raises the profound aversion to fuss and the proclivity for tetchiness often expressed in withering put-downs that, for better or worse, will be the reflex memory for many of the Duke of Edinburgh. If character is a two edged sword so what of his gaffes?

There is no doubt his cult status partly owed to his so-called legendary gaffes, of which there are enough to fill a book (indeed there is a book). But he was no racist. None of the Commonwealth people or foreign heads of state ever said this about him. Only leftist republicans with too much Twitter time on their hands screamed such a ridiculous accusation. They’re just overly sensitive snowflakes and being devoid of any humour they’re easily triggered.

There was the time that Philip accepted a gift from a local in Kenya, telling her she was a kind woman, and then adding: “You are a woman, aren’t you?” Or the occasion he remarked “You managed not to get eaten, then?” to a student trekking in Papua New Guinea. Then there was his World Wildlife Fund speech in 1986, when he said: “If it has got four legs and it is not a chair, if it has got two wings and it flies but is not an aeroplane, and if it swims and it is not a submarine, the Cantonese will eat it.” Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Philip quickly developed a reputation for what he once defined, to the General Dental Council, as “dentopedology – the science of opening your mouth and putting your foot in it”. Clearly he could laugh at himself as he often did as an ice breaker to put others at ease.

His remarking to the president of Nigeria, who was wearing national dress, “You look like you’re ready for bed”, or advising British students in China not to stay too long or they would end up with “slitty eyes”, is probably best written off as ill-judged humour. Telling a photographer to “just take the fucking picture” or declaring “this thing open, whatever it is”, were expressions of exasperation or weariness with which anyone might sympathise.

Above all, he was also capable of genuine if earthy wit, saying of his horse-loving daughter Princess Anne: “If it doesn’t fart or eat hay she isn’t interested.” Many people might have thought it but few dared say it. If Prince Philip’s famous gaffes provoked as much amusement as anger, it was precisely because they seem to give voice to the bewilderment and pent-up frustrations with which many people viewed the ever-changing modern world.

A former royal protection officer recounts how while on night duty guarding a visiting Queen and consort, he engaged in conversation with colleagues on a passing patrol. It was 2am and the officer had understood the royal couple to be staying elsewhere in the building until a window above his head was abruptly slammed open and an irate Prince Philip stuck his head out of the window to shout: “Would you fuck off!” Without another word, he then shut the window.

The Duke at least recognised from an early age that he was possessed of an abruptness that could all too easily cross the line from the refreshingly salty to crass effrontery.

One of his most perceptive biographers, Philip Eade, recounted how at the age of 21 the prince wrote a letter to a relation whose son had recently been killed in combat. He wrote: “I know you will never think much of me. I am rude and unmannerly and I say things out of turn which I realise afterwards must have hurt someone. Then I am filled with remorse and I try to put matters right.”

In the case of the royal protection officer, the Duke turned up in the room used by the police officers when off duty and said: “Terribly sorry about last night, wasn’t quite feeling myself.”

Aides have also ventured to explain away some of their employer’s more outlandish remarks - from asking Cayman islanders “You are descended from pirates aren’t you?” to enquiring of a female fashion writer if she was wearing mink knickers - as the price of his instinctive desire to prick the pomposity of his presence with a quip to put others at ease.

Indeed many people forget that his ‘gaffes’ were more typical of the clubbish humour of the British officer class – which of course would be less appreciated, sometimes even offensive, to other ears. It’s why he could relate so well to veterans who enjoyed his bonhomie company immensely.

But behind the irascibility, some have argued there also lay a darker nature, unpleasantly distilled in his flinty attitude to his eldest son. One anecdote tells of how, in the aftermath of the murder of the Duke’s uncle and surrogate father, Lord Mountbatten, Philip lectured his son, who was also extremely fond of his “honorary grandfather”, that he was not to succumb to self-pity. Charles left the room in tears and when his father was asked why he had spoken to his son with so little compassion, the Duke replied: “Because if there’s any crying to be done I want it to happen within this house, in front of his family, not in public. He must be toughened up, right now.”

But here I would say that Prince Philip’s intentions were almost always sincere and in no way cruel. He has always tried to protect his family - even from their own worst selves or from those outside the family ‘firm’ who may not have their best interest at heart.

In 1937, a 16-year-old Prince Philip had walked behind his elder sister Cecile’s coffin after she was killed in a plane crash while heavily pregnant. The remains of newly-born infant found in the wreckage suggested the aircraft had perished as the pilot sought to make an emergency landing in fog as the mother entered childbirth. It was an excruciating taste of tragedy which would one day manifest itself in a very princely form of kindness that was deep down that defined Philip’s character.

When about 60 years later Prime Minister Tony Blair’s spin doctors in Downing Street tried to strong arm the Queen and the royal household over the the arrangements for the late Prince Diana’s funeral, it was Philip who stepped in front to protect his family. The Prime Minister and his media savvy spin doctors wanted the two young princes, William and Harry, to walk behind the coffin.

The infamous exchange was on the phone during a conference call between London and Balmoral, and the emotional Philip was reportedly backed by the Queen. The call was witnessed by Anji Hunter, who worked for Mr Blair. She said how surprised she was to hear Prince Philip’s emotion. ‘It’s about the boys,” he cried, “They’ve lost their mother”. Hunter thought to herself, “My God, there’s a bit of suffering going on up there”.’

Sky TV political commentator Adam Boulton (Anji Hunter’s husband) would write in his book Tony’s Ten Years: ‘The Queen relished the moment when Philip bellowed over the speakerphone from Balmoral, “Fuck off. We are talking about two boys who have just lost their mother”. Boulton goes on to say that Philip: ‘…was trying to remind everyone that human feelings were involved. No 10 were trying to help the Royals present things in the best way, but may have seemed insensitive.’

In the end the politicians almost didn’t get their way. Prince Philip stepped in to counsel his grandson, Prince William, after he had expressed a reluctance to follow his mother’s coffin after her death in Paris. Philip told the grieving child: “If you don’t walk, I think you’ll regret it later. If I walk, will you walk with me?”

It’s no wonder he was sought as a counsellor by other senior royals and especially close to his grandchildren, for whom he was a firm favourite. His relationship with Harry was said to have become strained, however, following the younger Prince’s decision to reject his royal inheritance for a life away from the public eye in America with his new American wife, Meghan Markle. For Prince Philip I am quite sure it went against all the elder Prince had lived his life by - self-sacrifice for the greater cause of royalty.

This is the key to Philip’s character and in understanding the man. The ingrained habits of a lifetime of duty and service in one form or another were never far away.

In conclusion then....

After more time passes I am sure historians will make a richer reassessment of Prince Philip’s life and legacy. Because Prince Philip was an extraordinary man who lived an extraordinary life; a life intimately connected with the sweeping changes of our turbulent 20th Century, a life of fascinating contrast and contradiction, of service and some degree of solitude. A complex, clever, eternally restless man that not even the suffocating protocols of royalty and tradition could bind him.

Although he fully accepted the limitations of public royal service, he did not see this as any reason for passive self-abnegation, but actively, if ironically, identified with his potentially undignified role. It is this bold and humorous embrace of fated restriction which many now find irksome: one is no longer supposed to mix public performance with private self-expression in quite this manner.

Yet such a mix is authentically Socratic: the proof that the doing of one’s duty can also be the way of self-fulfilment. The Duke’s sacrifice of career to romance and ceremonial office is all the more impressive for his not hiding some annoyance. The combination of his restless temperament and his deeply felt devotion to duty found fruitful expression; for instance, in the work of Saint George’s House Windsor - a centre and retreat that he created with Revd. Robin Woods - in exploring religious faith, philosophy, and contemporary issues.

Above all he developed a way to be male that was both traditional and modern. He served one woman with chivalric devotion as his main task in life while fulfilling his public engagements in a bold and active spirit. He eventually embraced the opportunity to read and contemplate more. And yet, he remained loyal to the imperatives of his mentor Kurt Hahn in seeking to combine imagination with action and religious devotion with practical involvement.

Prince Philip took more pride in the roles he had accidentally inherited than in the personal gifts which he was never able fully to develop. He put companionship before self-realisation and acceptance of a sacred symbolic destiny before the mere influencing of events. In all these respects he implicitly rebuked our prevailing meritocracy which over-values officially accredited attainment, and our prevailing narcissism which valorises the assertion of discrete identities.

Prince Philip was Britain’s longest-serving consort. He was steadfast, duty driven, and a necessary adjunct to the continuity and stability of the Queen and the monarchy. Of all the institutions that have lost the faith of the British public in this period - the Church, Parliament, the media, the police - the Monarchy itself has surprisingly done better than most at surviving, curiously well-adapted to a period of societal change and moral anarchy. The House of Hanover and later Saxe-Coburg and Gotha (changed to Windsor), since their arrival in this country in 1714, have been noted above all for their ability to adapt. And just as they survived the Victorian age by transforming themselves into the bourgeoise, domestic ideal, so they have survived the new Elizabethan era (Harry-Meghan saga is just a passing blip like the Edward-Wallis Simpson saga of the 1930s).

There was once a time when the Royal’s German blood was a punchline for crude and xenophobic satirists. Now it is the royals who are deeply British while the country itself is increasingly cosmopolitan and globalised. British society has seen a greater demographic change than the preceding four or five thousand years combined, the second Elizabethan age has been characterised more than anything by a transformational movement of people. Prince Philip, the Greek-born, Danish-German persecuted and destitute wanderer who came to become one of the Greatest Britons of the past century, perhaps epitomised that era better than anyone else. And he got through it by making a joke of everything, and by being practical.

I hope I don’t exaggerate when I say that in our troubled times over identity, and our place and purpose in the world, we need to heed his selfless example more than ever.

As Heraclitus wisely said, Ήθος ανθρώπω δαίμων (Character is destiny.)

RIP Prince Philip. You were my prince. God damn you, I miss you already.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #prince philip #duke of edinburgh #queen elizabeth II #the queen of spades #monarchy #britain #british #royalty #politics #history #culture #europe #crown #icon #great briton #society

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jjungkookislife · 3 years

Text

Fic Recs 2020 Pt. 1

Seokjin

let’s get married [SMAU] @hangsangwithbts

Summary: seokjin has no intention of getting married, but after facing tremendous pressure from his family to finally settle down, he comes up with the brilliant idea to fake a marriage. the lucky bride just so happens to be you.

voice mail @joonary

summary: kim seokjin is best known around campus for his romance advisory podcast, voice mail, but to you, he’s just your lovable idiot of a best friend. but when he accidentally lets it slip that he’s fallen for one of your fellow peers, you can’t help but be a little bit curious (and quite frankly, a tad bit jealous).

Yoongi

cheers if you agree @out-of-jams

summary: If it weren’t for the fact that he didn’t know who you were or even how to get into contact with you, Yoongi wouldn’t be posting all over Weverse for anyone to see. Not that he thought anyone would be smart enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together with how many people responded to his posts anyway.

snake kisses @peekaboongi

summary: You are grossly unprepared for the snake hybrid that enters your life. Yoongi is quiet and sneaks around you but eventually, even the cold reptile warms up to you.

under construction [SMAU] @luffles424

summary: In which y/n is just trying to figure out what to do with her life with the help from her (un)helpful friends

Hoseok

going once, going twice, sold @bxebxee

summary: But the real reason anything at all started with Hoseok was something much simpler, and probably wholly unexpected - not that you ever planned on any of the other members of the MBA Society to find out.You leave your unlocked phone in his car before stumbling your way into your tiny, studio apartment. And he sees a twitter notification asking you for further discount on your panties.That is all it takes.

just practice @lamourche

summary: The second time you hook up with Jung Hoseok, he doesn’t remember the first time. You’re surprised. It was only a few weeks ago, and you were in a broom closet. That has to be different, right? (Well, not really, you’ll learn.)

game over @9uk

summary: your boyfriend has been gaming all day without paying much attention to you. that is until his friends on discord brings up the moaning noises in the background.

you’re my kryptonite @dovechim

summary: Superheroes are immortal, they are everything we are not. The Krypton are a race of superhumans sent down to Earth to protect humans, and they are the epitome of nobility and protection. You have always believed in their immortal, God-like powers, revered and admired them your entire life. Your wish for your very own superhero is granted when you meet Jung Hoseok, a Krypton with the most unique, powerful abilities you’ve ever seen.

Namjoon

first, do no harm @yandere-society

summary: Dr. Kim is well known as the most skilled heart surgeon in the hospital, but when you notice his mortality statistics seem skewered, you discover all is not what it seems. Now, Dr. Kim is offering you a choice: will you join him? Or become yet another broken heart beneath his scalpel?

internet friends [SMAU] @bts-celestials

summary: meeting through online, namjoon slowly starts to fall for the person who likes all the things he’s into. maybe having friends online is fun.

Jimin

reset @dovechim

summary: We are made of the pieces of what we remember, and we hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there are memories to call our own, there can be no true loss. But Park Jimin has no such privilege.

paparazzi (tw: flash banner) @chinkbihh

summary: What if the roles were reversed and it was Jimin who was the fan and you who was the idol? But what if he wasn’t just a casual fan, but an avid fan? Maybe even a sasaeng…

Taehyung

the morning after @softlyjiminie

summary: one night, full of passion, whispered promises and heated kisses. one morning, full of regret and unwanted memories. is a night with your ex enough to send you running back into the arms of the devil?

fake love @mygsii

summary: an arranged marriage between you and taehyung leaves behind feelings of bitterness and hatred. will your heart be able to survive, especially when you’ve loved him all your life, or will it fall apart with this marriage?

cheap skate @gukslut

summary: Who doesn’t know Taehyung and his lady? Cutest couple in town, I’d say, and have been since they started dating in their college days. Oh, that was a while ago, though. And still, they’re happy as can be in that place they have together. Almost hate seeing one without the other, y’know, it’s like seeing just one testi- oh, right, I’m not supposed to talk like that. Anyhoo, I only say that because I saw Taehyung at a jewelry store the other day while I was buying my sweet Jiminie his presents. Maybe that boy’s finally gonna pop the question, but I do hope he’s got a good plan for it. Something sweet and romantic. Maybe I’ll find out after Jiminie gets back from that cabin he’s visiting.

baby i @jiminsfault

summary: a one night stand with a stranger leads to so much more than just great sex

Jungkook

only for love [SMAU] @lysjeon

summary: for almost four years it had been just him and sarang, and he had no plans on changing the life they had become accustomed to any time soon, but of course y/n has to come and shake his world.

one time in your room @ubemango

summary: There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. (You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later.)

piss off your parents @littlemisskookie

summary: In an effort to piss off your parents you move in with their worst nightmare- a boy with tattoos, a rock band, and an irresistible charm.

departure @nomnomsik

summary: As a flight attendant for Korean Air, you’re scheduled for a thirteen-hour flight to Japan. However, things get intimate between you and your partner and co-pilot, Jeon Jungkook, when he realizes Park Jimin, the famous idol from Korea, broads the plane and blatantly flirts with you.

curiosity @hobidreams

summary: when innocent jungkook comes to you with a not-so-innocent question… you decide it’s easier to just demonstrate.

inkling @gguksgalaxy

summary: Jungkook is your brother’s boyfriend’s co-worker, they own a tattoo and piercing parlour. In other words, he’s tall, gorgeous, has his passion literally etched into his skin, looks incredibly good in a man-bun, and is semi-unattainable for you. Why? Well…you’re not entirely sure but him ditching right after a very heated make-out session sure isn’t a good sign. His extremely poor mood the next week sure isn’t either, but the only way to fix it is to face the beast head-on. Right?

j’aime @baepop

summary: You’re the newest hire at a local café and head barista Jeon Jungkook takes you under his wing.

pop goes the cherry @1oserjk

summary: jungkook comes back home to find you visiting as well, all grown up — in more ways than one.

skirt chasers @1kook

summary: “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.”

kiss it better @jincherie

summary: When one goes to Kim Seokjin for advice, it’s almost guaranteed to never end well. This is something Jungkook learns quickly when he mistakenly follows treasured advice to ‘be smart’ and ‘use his assets’. He just did what he was told! Of course, the execution was a bit poor… and embarrassing. But hey, if rocking up to cheer practice in a skirt doesn’t woo your crush, what will?

pay by play @yoonia

camboy!au

deeply poisoned @xmagicxshopx

summary: Kiss me on the lips, a secret just between the two of us. Deeply poisoned by the jail of you. I cannot worship anyone but you and I knew the grail was poisoned but I drank it anyway.

speeding ticket @minstrophywife

summary: Caught speeding to get home in time, you find yourself pulled over by a very delicious cop. Perhaps you can talk your way out of the ticket.Or,“I’m afraid I’m going to have to do a cavity search ma’am.”

OT7/Multiple Members

buttercream @minniepetals

summary: you were always adorable in their eyes, sometimes a little too adorable.

dulce periculum @forgottenpasta

summary: Devious and devilish, your two new impish hybrids never miss a chance to torment you for your hopeless attraction to them, knowing exactly what they do to you. But is sly sexuality and enigmatic allure all there is to the tiger and wolf hybrid, or do the depths of their eyes hide something more for you? Part ½

tropicana @dragunjk

summary: groovy punch sippin

amaranthine @koyamuses

summary: As the sole owner of Nightshade, a quaint bed and breakfast on the outskirts of the city, you find pleasure in rising each morning to tend to your guests but behind closed doors and within the shadows, you are the covenant leader to a group of young vampires who have claimed you as their mate.More often than not, your day is brimming with a mix of daily chores and back door deals that ensure the survival of your covenant. However, everything changes when three werewolves come stumbling into your life, all three of them claiming it was your scent that drew them closer as the words true mate ring into the silence.

testosterone boys @kiwiscript

summary: A little end of the year party tradition gets taken too far.

operation love letters @ve1vetyoongi

summary: When every student on campus is going crazy about a survey that claims to make true love bloom, your best friend manages to convince you to join in on the fun — except you’re disappointed to find out that your results just seem to be lost causes. That is until a love letter from a mysterious secret admirer turns up and you find yourself on a mission to find the person behind the pen — but you quickly realise it’s going to be a lot harder than you initially thought when you have 7 possible bachelors to investigate, right? Operation: Love Letters a-go!

our princess @iridescentjin

summary: In your newly established poly relationship, you are intimate with both Taehyung and Seokjin at the same time for the first time.

#fic recs #fic recs 2020 #fic recs masterlist #jjungkookislife fic recs #jjungkookislife fic recs masterlist

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rhysismydaddy · 3 years

Text

Unholy Matrimony Pt. 1 (Nessian)

Nesta’s part of the Damnation Series.

OOF this took so long sorry. I rewrote it, changed it, then deleted it entirely about 9 times. I literally started writing the version before you, from scratch, on Sunday. All parts are linked below, so I’m only tagging people on this version! To go to the next chapter, there is also a link at the bottom <3

ALSO, an important caviat: Nesta is an only child in this one! I originally wrote it for her to be adopted and not know it, but it wasn’t really relevant to the story, so... idk. Just ignore that plot hole I guess.

Parts 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 -- pls like each part I’m insecure

______________________________________________

~Cassian~

“You’re getting married.”

The glass of bourbon halfway to my mouth pauses, because despite being known for being rash and unpredictable, even I’m surprised by the sudden change in conversation.

My eyebrows raise as I look over at Rhysand, my best friend and Capo, trying to figure out if this bastard is serious. His tone says he is, but that doesn’t make sense, because before a few seconds ago, the word “marriage” was in neither of our vocabularies.

He’s been single for as long as I have, although I’m starting to suspect he’s got a bird in the city. He’s too damn happy these days, and the other day I saw him laugh at something on his phone.

Which is weird, because we both know long-term commitments don’t really do well with our lifestyle.

We were raised to not give a shit about anything except the job. We kill without remorse, live in the shadows, and whatever other shitty euphemism you want to use. Settling down in some suburban, picket-fence prison has absolutely no appeal to Made Men.

Don’t get me wrong, most of us get married at some point. But never for love.

Some men choose a bride that’s pretty and sweet. Someone who will donate to charity and help clean up their image. Governors’ daughters, women from old-money families, and social princesses make up this category.

Some men marry to advance their station in the Family. Second sons who will never inherit the business marry daughters of Underbosses to get a nice boost to their status.

And then there’s the ones who are forced to marry by their capo--ie. me-- so they choose whatever attractive woman that’s in the Family and available. Those are always the happiest.

But regardless of the reasoning, marriage in the mafia is heartless, political, and for me, unnecessary.

I know I’ll have to pick someone eventually, but there aren’t a whole lot of desirable options at the moment. Not many of the other Underbosses have daughters that are over the age of fifteen right now, and I have no interest in doing the child-bride thing.

Plus, there’s no way I’d marry someone outside of the family. At my rank, it isn’t an option.

That leaves... a widow?

The only one I know is Ianthe, and considering I highly suspect she killed her last husband and the fact that she’s crazy, there’s no way in hell I’d legally bind myself to her for life.

So he must be joking.

I take a pull from my cigar and look over at Rhys with narrowed eyes. “Uh huh. Sure. To who, exactly?”

“Volchonok.”

The Wolf Cub.

The cigar snaps in my fingers.

“You’re fucking kidding,” I say, honestly hoping that’s the case. He’s either that or insane, and I’d hate to lock someone who’s like a brother to me in a padded room.

Rhysand’s unflinching gaze doesn’t change, but his tone morphs from that of my friend to my boss. “You will marry her, Cassian.”

“She’s a fucking Russian,” I spit, not understanding. That should be reason enough for him to be joking.

In our world, being Russian is a crime similar to stabbing the Pope.

We’ve been at war over New York with them ever since they decided to try and get a stronghold on the east coast, and I’ve killed more of them than I can fucking count. Now I’m marrying one?

“Yes, she is, and so is her father, Alexei Olov.” Aka the Bratva Boss responsible for blowing up half of St. Petersburg last year when the local police refused to buy his weapons. “You will marry her, move to New York full time, and run the city with her by your side.”

“Why? Two or three more years, and we’ll have the city anyway.” Every day the Russians get weaker, and I’ve been responsible for pushing them out of my city block by block.

So there has to be a reason we’re suddenly okay with the enemy.

Rhysand sighs. “It was his idea, not mine. Orlov has agreed to sell our coke in Moscow and Seattle instead of his usual dealer and will supply us all the weapons we need for five years. There will also be no more midnight raids, bullshit arrests on bullshit charges, or missing shipments. He’s offering you a dowry, too.”

I don’t need his money, but the old fashioned term makes me laugh.

“Yeah? And how much does he think his wolf cub is worth?”

His lips twitch. “Ten million.”

“She must be a real pain in the ass, then, if he’s going to pay me that much to take her,” I chuckle.

Not that ten million dollars is anything but pocket change for the man. Orlov may be losing the fight in New York, but the bastard is richer than sin.

Selling arms to half of the entire world will do that to a person.

“I hear she’s beautiful,” he says, trying to tempt me to not fight him.

“Then you marry her,” I shoot back, not ready to give up the argument.

“I don’t feel like it.” Fucking typical. Rhysand sighs. “You and I both know we can work this deal to our advantage, so what will make you say yes?”

He could order to me to say yes and I’d have to, but he hates enforcing that kind of authority with me.

So I think it over, make a show of lighting a new cigar. “I want Sera.”

It’s a burlesque club in New York I’ve always been a little envious of, owned by Orlov and operated by his men. I’d tried to buy it a few years back but hadn’t had enough leverage on the Russian to strongarm him into selling.

Now I do.

Rhysand--the only one who knows about my failed attempt to buy the place--nods and tells me he’ll make it happen.

“When’s all this happening, anyway?”

He looks like he might laugh. “Wedding is in a month, but she’s flying in tomorrow night.”

A quick laugh forces its way out of me. Also typical of him to give me absolutely no time to change my mind.

Well, I have a month. That’s already longer than any relationship I’ve ever had.

Sighing, I stand and shake his hand, cementing the deal before I can even lament the loss of my bachelorhood.

~Nesta~

“Chto sluchilos?”

I slide my gaze to my father, because seriously, that’s the stupidest fucking question I’ve ever heard.

What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything.

“Nichego,” I lie, assuring him for what feels like the tenth time as I look out the window. The plane picks up speed and lifts off, taking me towards an uncertain future, an uncertain place.

I might have told him nothing’s wrong, but inside, I’m screaming.

Three days ago, I woke up to find a marriage contract on the pillow beside me. There was a blank space where my name had been typed and a pen waiting for me to remedy that.

I still haven’t.

I’m not signing anything until I meet this... Cassian.

God, what an Italian name.

An image springs to mind, one of a slumped-over, hairy-chest beast with slicked back hair and a gold chain.

I know it’s stereotypical and hopefully incorrect, but I’ve never been to Italy and Alexei strictly forbids me watching movies that portray Italians as anything except revolting.

But looks aside, there’s one thing I don’t need to guess to know.

My future husband will be like all the other men in my life: controlling.

Men in the world I live in take what they want, don’t ask for permission, and feel like they’re entitled to anything and everything. I’ve dealt with it my entire life, so it’s more amusing than anything at this point.

I guess I’m a bit non-traditional in that sense, considering most of the women around me have no problems taking orders from their fathers or husbands. But Alexei and I figured out pretty early in life that wasn’t going to work for me.

As he frequently likes to tell me, I started telling him to fuck off when I was five.

What did he expect? All the kids I hung out with were the opposite sex and at least five years older than me, so my vocabulary and mannerisms became pretty... colorful early on.

Regardless, I’m just not looking forward to having to deal with yet another man who thinks he can control me.

“Ty vresh',” Alexei accuses, lips twitching. You’re lying.

“Konechno.” Of course.

Of course I’m upset, but I understand what’s happening. I might have found out about it three days ago, but I’ve known it was coming for far longer.

As the only child of the great Alexei Orlov, Wolf of Moscow and Pakhan of the Russian Bratva, I’ve been told my entire life that I will one day be used as a pawn to gain more power.

It would--should--piss me off, but I’ve also been told I’m to one day take my father’s place and run his company.

So by gaining more power for him, I’m also doing the same for myself.

Not that I really give a shit about that kind of thing. I started officially working for Alexei years ago, and I already have enough money saved to never have to work again.

But in the Bratva, there’s no getting out. I was put in this world by birth, and the only thing that will take me out is death.

In case it isn’t obvious, I’m not a typical business woman.

My father is an arms-dealer.

A less than legal one, if you believe the heinous lies the media spreads about him.

He sells weapons to governments, private armies, and whoever the fuck else has the money to buy.

He’s also built himself a shipping empire to haul said weapons around the globe, runs the drugs and prostitute rings in Moscow, and has enough real estate to rival most small countries.

It probably sounds like I don’t care, and that’s because I don’t.

I like what I do in the sense that I have a mind for business. I went to business school and graduated at the top of my class, and I enjoy running the clubs and hotels I have. Trained by Alexei himself, I’m ruthless in negotiations, enough so that people started calling me the Wolf Cub by the time I was twenty.

But despite being good at it, I’m not particularly fond of the aspect most people think of when they picture my career in the Bratva. I detest drugs, have never hired a prostitute, and don’t really enjoy selling arms to bad people.

The alleyway meetups, the broken bones and bullet holes, and the blown up houses are all a little tiring to me.

Sure, it sounds exciting. And for a while, it was. I used to lose myself in the chaos, used to enjoy coming home with busted knuckles. But I honestly just got tired of it.

Right now, I don’t have to deal with it as much because Alexei’s still alive. But when he dies and I officially take over the family business, I’ll have to be more involved. Even if the thought makes me want to sigh.

I pull out my laptop and look over the financial report for Sera, my newest club in New York. As predicted, everything’s running smoothly.

I turn the laptop around to show my father, grinning when he pulls out his reading glasses and leans closer.

“Starik,” I tease. Old man.

He flicks my forehead, then reads the report and nods. Then he turns to his phone, probably playing Angry Birds or some shit, and leaves me to work.

The plane ride goes by quickly, and by the time we’ve landed in Chicago, I’ve gotten ahead on my schedule for next week, slept, and changed into what I’ve chosen as the “meeting my future husband” dress.

It’s simple and sleek, the black material clinging to my curves without being obscene. It’s long enough to hide the holster on my thigh, not that I feel in any danger with four personal guards stationed near me at all times.

My heels click as I make my way down the plane stairs and across the tarmac to the waiting sedan, and once my luggage and belongings are unloaded, we head to the Italian Capo’s house.

We’re meeting here, finalizing the contract, and then Cassian and I are flying to New York.

My new home.

“Try to look happy,” Alexei tells me, his heavily accented English almost ridiculous to hear. He speaks English only when he’s in the states, and considering he hasn’t come here since I graduated B school two years ago, he’s a little out of practice.

“I’m ecstatic,” I say, intentionally using a word I know he doesn’t understand.

His eyes narrow, because it isn’t the first time I’ve used this trick, but he doesn’t call me out on it. We continue to ride in ecstatic silence, eventually pulling up in front of the Capo’s... house.

It’s almost obscene to call it that, considering it’s fucking huge. Like obnoxiously huge.

I heave a sigh, step out of the car, and take in my surroundings. The neighborhood’s quiet, likely filled with friends of the Cosa Nostra too scared to make any noise.

A butler--seriously, a butler--opens the door and welcomes us inside, and as soon as I step in, I have to repress the urge to roll my eyes.

The amount of dirty money in the air is suffocating. It drips off the vaulted ceilings, down the artwork on the walls, across the marble floors. It’s in the little details of the crystal chandeliers and the mahogany staircase.

Ridiculous.

One look at Alexei’s disgusted face says he’s thinking the same thing.

Don’t get me wrong, we’re rich. Grossly so. Alexei could have ten houses just like this, if he wanted them.

But he doesn’t. He owns property all over the world, but most of it is commercial or apartment complexes--property that makes him money, in other words. This, however, is a massive waste of capital.

The butler leads us further through the house and into an office where four men wait.

One is immediately identifiable as their lawyer, his over-priced cologne making me have to resist the urge to sneeze. The humongous man in the corner is hired muscle, if the boxy shape of the guns under his jacket is any indication.

The man behind the desk is obviously in charge, so I’m guessing he’s the Capo. Rhysand or Rhyland or something weird like that. He takes me in silently, bright eyes not seeming to miss any details.

That leaves the man leaning against the desk to be Cassian Azara.

My fiancé.

Our eyes meet, his golden gaze beautiful and wild, and I have to remember to keep my expression bored.

Because the stereotype, the horrible image I’d conjured up in my mind, couldn’t be further from the truth.

For one, he isn’t hunched-over. He stands tall, leaning a hip against his Capo’s desk with obvious confidence. But I see more than just self-assuredness in his eyes. He seems a little too rough around the edges, wild gaze almost like he’s daring someone to swing at him.

If the confidence didn’t already make him attractive, his looks sure as hell get the job done.

His hairs long and dark and curly, half of it pulled up in a rouge manner that clashes with the suit he’s filling. He has a few days’ stubble, too, like standing still long enough to shave just isn’t an option.

His shoulders are impossibly wide, narrowing down to trim hips and legs long enough to make him tower over everyone in the room.

His knuckles are tattooed and split open, and there’s a cut above his eyebrow that tells me I was correct to assume he’s a fighter by nature.

Usually, that would be a deterrent for me, but there’s something about the way he’s dressed in a dark suit jacket and crisp white shirt while also looking so untamed that has me cocking my head to study him some more.

He studies me, too, beautiful eyes taking in the long blonde hair and bright blue eyes offset by pale skin. He looks at the dress like he can see everything underneath, and I have the strangest urge to blush. Jesus, he’s toxic.

He’s attractive, is what I’m getting at.

Which is not what I had planned on, considering I’d been trying to think of a plan on how to not sleep with him, but suddenly that’s all my mind can focus on.

His lips twitch like he knows what I’m thinking, and I realize we’ve just been standing here staring at each other for a bit too long.

So I turn back to Alexei and shrug like I’ve seen what my future husband has to offer and aren’t impressed in the slightest.

I toss the marriage contract on the desk, grab the Capo’s fancy little fountain pen out of his hand, and sign my name on the blank above my name.

Cassian watches, but I ignore him entirely until the ink has dried. Then I look up at him through my lashes and wink, turn on my heel, and leave the room.

~Cassian~

I think I’m in love.

Fuck.

She hasn’t said a single goddamn word, but the way she looked at me has me feeling itchy all over, anticipation and nerves rolling through me. I feel like I feel before I fight or something exciting happens.

Like I’m primed and ready and need it to happen now.

Nesta Orlov, my bride to be, is nothing like I expected.

I was fully braced for some meek little woman, similar to most of my friends’ wives, to come in and smile and say hello.

But nope. Nesta didn’t smile; she came in like she was walking onto a battlefield.

And she didn’t smile. She looked me over, clinical blue gaze noticing too much, and left me feeling winded. God, she’s beautiful. Just looking at her made me hot.

She also didn’t say hello.

Just signed the contract and left, like this was nothing more to her than a boring business deal. I mean, that’s what it is, but... I don’t know, I expected more of a reaction.

I’ve heard from some Underbosses that their wives cried or raged when they were forced to sign, but shit if that were the case with Nesta. She honest to God looked like she didn’t care.

Alexei, on the other hand, does look a little pissed about the situation, but I couldn’t care less of the old man’s opinion. He’s signed the contract, so to me, he’s irrelevant. Regardless, he and Rhys proceed to iron out some of the details about the wedding and other shit I’m not paying attention to.

Then they shake hands, and the Russian warlord turns to leave.

He reaches the door and looks over his shoulder at me, and there’s amusement in his cold gaze as he mutters, “Udachi.” Good luck.

As soon as he’s gone, Roman and the lawyer follow, leaving me alone with Rhys.

He slides the contract to me, and I sign my name next to hers, making this shit official.

“This should be interesting,” he comments, vague as usual.

I sigh, because I have a feeling interesting isn’t going to cover it.

_____________________________________________________

NEXT CHAPTER

Tags: @elorcan-trash @januarystears @emikadreams @sjm-things @santas-dwynwen @thebitchupstairs @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @elriel4life @girl-who-reads-the-books @shinya-hiiragi @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ireallyshouldsleeprn @highqueenofelfhame @rowaelinismyotp @nahthanks @ghostlyrose2 @lovemollywho @tillyrubes10 @claralady @tswaney17 @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @thegoddessofyou @awesomelena555 @booksofthemoon @greerlunna @jlinez @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @masstrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#nessian #nessian fanfiction #acosf countdown #acosf #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acosf fanfiction #a court of mist and fury

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mariamermaid · 3 years

Text

Spontaneous

Fred Weasley x fem Reader

Summary: Fred and you loved to be spontaneous. Ever since your time in Hogwarts, there wasn´t a day filled with tediousness. But when Fred suddenly decides that it´s time to get married, things go wild…

Words: 2k

You didn´t hear the door close behind Fred. Instead you sat in the bathtub, filled with bubbles and candles spread around the rim of the tub. Music from the record player filled the apartment with soft tunes. It was natural that you flinched when the door suddenly opened and a gasp escaped your lips.

“God, Fred, what are you doing here? I thought you´d be at work all day!” You exclaimed after your initial surprise. You weren´t wrong, he usually was at work and when he came back from the shop he shared with George, he was usually very tired. Tired but happy. A flicker of a smile when he saw what you had cooked for him, but today? Today was different.

It wasn´t even 11 a.m., you had a free day, and there he stood; in the middle of the rather small bathroom with a grin from ear to ear. His eyes glowing in excitement.

“What?” You asked confused and leaned to the brim of the tub, but all he did was stare at you. He soaked in the view of you, covered in foam and your hair messily put up.

As quick as he had entered the room, he suddenly kneeled down to you, both of his hand grabbing the tub. It was the same look he had when coming up with new ideas.

“Do you want to marry me?”

His face was only inches away and a tint of blush crept on his cheeks. Completely taken back, you couldn´t help but simply stare.

“What?”

His hands grabbed yours, not caring about the water dripping over. “Do you want to marry me?”

He paused for a second. “Because I realized that I can´t imagine not marrying you! You know, I was at the store with George and it was like any other day and yet it wasn´t! I just knew, so I rushed back to you!” He started rambling until you interrupted with laughter.

He had joked about it since you started dating back in your days in Hogwarts. He would marry you one day, but Fred joked a lot if the day was long. On the other hand, you neither questioned marrying him.

“Yes, you idiot! Of course, I´ll marry you!” You finally exclaimed and he pressed his lips firmly on yours. Softly, he started pulling you up and lifting you out of the tub.

“Fred, you´re making a mess! The water…” You giggled in between kisses but he shook his head.

“No time, love. I already called the register office, there´s an open slot at 3 o´clock!”

“Wait what?!”

“I told you I want to marry you, why wait?” He sat you down on your feet again and wrapped a towel around your dripping body, so you wouldn´t get cold. “Fred, I… You…” There was no physical way you would bring out anything but stammering. Instead, you were just shaking your head. Smiling.

“You´re unbelievable.” “But it´s a reason why you love me, right?”

“Yes, I love you more than anything.” You pressed another kiss on his lips, short but passionate.

“No, excuse me, I have to get ready for my wedding day!”

George wasn´t as enthusiastic about randomly closing the shop without an explanation, but Fred begged long enough, telling him to meet him in London. Before George could object, Fred ended the call. “You didn´t even tell him!” You shouted from your shared bedroom and Fred´s head popped in; eyebrows raised. “Yeah, but he´ll find out soon enough.”

“Then call your sister, we need a second witness to a marriage. And Ginny just told me yesterday that she´d be in the city anyways!”

“Should I tell her why we need her so urgent?”

“Nope, she´ll figure it out later”, you grinned and your fiancé nodded agreeing.

“What about your parents, love?”

“They´re visiting Charlie.”

“But telling them? In any way?” You wondered and Fred came back to sit on the bed. “Well, sure mum´s gonna be a little angry, but we can have a bigger feast when we´re all in town! Ron is with Hermione in Austria, Bill and Fleur have been dealing with the house. Maybe we set a date or something, but the free appointment is only today, anyways we have to wait at least six months!” You sighed while fixing your hair.

“Molly is gonna rip off your head.” “Why only mine?”

“Darling, she won´t rip off her new daughter-in-law´s head.”

“Come one, hurry, we have only an hour left!” Fred, who was tall and usually bragged about his long legs, was a few feet behind you. “Do you think we even find a dress?” He asked.

“I don´t want anything special, after all this is just the official marriage service, not the actual ceremony with friends and family. But maybe something to look at least a little put together? You´re wearing a shirt and a tie as well!”

“Love, you always look put together and astonishing pretty.” Laughing, you jokingly hit his shoulder. “If you don´t stop flirting, I might have to put a ring on you!”

Fred opened the door of the shop for you and while you entered, your mouth fell open and you admired the view of dresses. A saleslady quickly approached the two of you, who were clearly overwhelmed. “Can I help you with anything?”

“I´m looking for a formal dress for the register office”, you explained and she nodded smiling. “So, when is the date, if I may ask?” “In about an hour”, Fred shrugged reluctant and watched grinningly how the face of the saleslady dropped. He enjoyed this a little too much.

“Oh dear, then we better begin…”

The first dress was a nightmare, the cut made you look uncomfortable and the material was itchy. While you waited in the fitting room, the saleswoman searched for a new dress. Fred casually joined her. “Ehm, I actually have to pick something up, a surprise for her”, he cleared his throat and she nodded understanding. “I think I can handle it, any last preferences maybe?”

“Actually, I saw this red dress in the front room?” The saleslady nodded in excitement and Fred thanked her before leaving the shop. The dress was the perfect Gryffindor red, it immediately reminded of your school times. You wore a similar one to the ball with Fred. But this one was made of a sleek satin material, the cut dropped off shoulder and it was tighter, hugging your body in the right places without being uncomfortable. You starred at yourself in the mirror.

“It´s perfect! Where´s Fred, I need to show him?” The saleswoman smirked knowingly.

“Your fiancé had to do some last-minute preparation, he told me that he would meet you at the register office”, she stated how Fred had previously explained. You furrowed your brows, but then you nodded as well. He was going to love you in the dress.

You saw the two red-heads, George and Ginny waiting across the street. You had thrown over your normal black coat, the dark heels and beneath the dress, nice and hidden. At least for now. George had his arms crossed in front of his chest, his face a little bitter and not very amused. Ginny spotted you firstly and embraced you. She seemed confused as well.

“Y/n, what is going on? Fred sounded so urgent on the phone?” Her brother nodded agreeing. “What is so important that we had to close the shop?” Before you could speak up, Fred suddenly popped up and joined your group, pressing a quick kiss on top of your head.

“Everything´s ready”, he nodded towards you. “Ready for what?” George continued bickering.

“Y/n and I are getting married.”

While Ginny let out a small scream of surprise, hugging you tightly the next second, George patted his brother on the shoulder. “You two were always spontaneous, I shouldn´t be surprised.”

There was no time for congratulations, the four of you hurried inside the large building and after asking for the directions and a waiting time of almost five minutes, you entered the office of Mrs. Carter. You took off your coat, both Fred and Ginny let out a small gasp. “You´re looking stunning”, Fred whispered and placed another kiss on your cheek. Mrs. Carter, who watched the two of you closely, nodded politely while shaking your hand and showing your seats.

“So, you´re Mr. Weasley, Fred right?” She asked while organizing a few papers. Fred nodded. “And you´re the lucky girl, who he surprised?” “Yes, very much.”

“I see you brought your witnesses”, she stopped a little confused when looking up and finding George, right next to Ginny. “Yeah, I´m Fred´s twin brother, and this is our sister Ginny.” The four of you grinned widely. “Big family I see”, Mrs. Carter smiled warmly.

“Then let´s get started, shall we? I need you to sign the papers here, they declare that you´re both here willingly today.” The two of you took the pen and signed ahead.

“Y/n, are you taking on Fred´s last name?” You stopped in your tracks, looking unsure back and forth between Mrs. Carter and Fred. “Y/N Weasley has a good ring to it, I have to admit”, Fred shrugged innocently. It wasn´t something you actually had discussed, but it felt right. So, you went with it.

“Yes, Y/n Weasley it is.” Mrs. Carter handed you the papers for the name change.

“Do you forge the marriage with rings or without?”

“Without”, you spoke up without even thinking, but Fred grabbed your hand, holding you back. “Actually”, he paused while taking out a small velvet box. Amazed you starred at him. “I do have rings.”

“Fred, you didn´t have to”, you trailed off softly, but he shook his head serious. “Just because we´re doing this so spontaneous, doesn´t mean we´re not doing it right.”

You melted at his words and it felt like falling in love with him all over again. It was you and him, sneaking out of the common room or skipping class to make out behind corners. The kisses after won Quidditch games. Running away hand in hand after those many pranks. Quiet nights on the couch, watching the fire and snow falling outside. Walking down hand in hand to the ball. Drunken nights filled with deep conversations on the astronomy tower. Christmas mornings with the entire family and baking cookies together. Falling into each other arms after the battle, knowing that you both survived.

All those moments leading up to the present, it was destiny.

“You´re amazing”, you breathed and kissed Fred softly. He put on the ring on your finger, you did the same with his. Mrs. Carter was beaming and Ginny took a handkerchief, wiping away a few tears. It was a beautiful scene. “Last papers to sign now, then your wife and husband!”

Two weeks later you found yourself at the burrow, both Molly and Arthur, Bill and Fleur and Ron and Hermione had come home within the past few days. A reunion was long after-due. And Ginny continued to claim that she would explode, if you didn´t tell soon. You were all seated around the long table in the dining area, chatting about the vacation and other miscellaneous things. Molly had baked pie and you had brought some chocolate mousse as well. Arthur, who sat at the end of the table, Fred and you next to him, then George and Ron, rose from his chair. It was late in the afternoon and most of you enjoyed a cup of tea or coffee, there was no intention of champagne, at least not yet. Molly joined her husband. As always, they smiled happily seeing all their children and family together.

“You know, even though it´s nothing too special, it´s always nice to see the family back together!” He exclaimed and, in the mean-time, you and Fred exchanged knowing looks. Fred rose from his chair, patting his father on the shoulder.

“Actually, dad, there are some news”, he paused, waiting for you to join his side.

“I would like for everyone to meet my official wife, Y/n. We got married two weeks ago!”

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley oneshot #fred weasley x reader #oliver phelps #harry potter imagine #mariamermaidimagine

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chilling-seavey · 3 years

Text

Qui Totum Vult Totum Perdit (d.s.) - 12

A/N Narrowing in

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

My mind had been telling me lots of things over the prior twenty-four hours, dear reader, trying to force me to piece together a memory I didn’t remember. But there was something all too familiar about the realization that came over me while sitting on the side of the resort bathtub with Avalon’s hand in my own. I could hear her soft gasp as the glass hit the kitchen floor as clear as day, I even heard it in my mind that morning but the pieces weren’t fitting until now.

She never threw her glass at me. I never followed her screaming into the studio. Hell, I didn’t even know where the knife set was among the neatly stacked array of wedding gifts until I woke up that morning with one laying next to me.

I vowed to love her until the end of time and, although I couldn’t trust myself at first, it came back to me so obviously that I never would have hurt her - never would have laid a finger on her yet alone took her life - no matter how much we disagreed.

Jonah returned to the hotel room with buckets of ice to find me sitting in a complete mess of tears on the side of the tub, clutching Avalon’s hand until my knuckles were nearly turning white. He left the bucket of ice on the counter and hurried over to me, setting his hand on my shoulder.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?” Jonah asked in that gentle voice he could always put on when someone needed consoling.

“I didn’t do it!” I cried, turning to lean into him as he stood beside me. “I-I don’t know who did, but I didn’t kill her! We fought and she went to sleep in the studio and…and I-I should have…I should have fucking followed her…protected her…I’m such a fucking asshole for ever thinking I was ever better than her!”

Jonah simply stayed quiet, rubbing his hand over my shoulder in consolable stripes as I cried out my grief. The fact that he wasn’t correcting my slight self-deprecation was proof enough that he saw my faults throughout the past four years too. Everyone seemed to see them but me, and I only saw them once it was too late.

“I gotta tell you something, bro.” Jonah said softly.

I looked up at him through my tears.

“When I was getting the ice in the lobby…” he licked his lips nervously as if to buy himself time, “The news reported that they found your bloody handprint on the piano in your studio. The missing persons case has been switched over to a homicide investigation.”

The irony of the blood draining from my face was nearly comical and looking back now it truly was. If finding Avalon’s body that morning caused my heart to stop in my chest, the news that the police now thought I did it when I had just pieces together that I was innocent truly felt like I was experiencing death just as strongly. I felt sick. I wasn’t safe anywhere. It was often cases like this locked up the innocent and if my memory served me correctly, the numbers still weren’t on my side.

“I-I didn’t do it though!” I stumbled out.

“I know.” Jonah said calmly, “Come on. We gotta get her in some ice and then we can decide on our next steps.”

“I…I can’t.” I breathed.

“Daniel, you can’t shut down on me. I know you’re scared and…and sad but…” Jonah raked his hand through his hair as we stared down at Avalon laying in the empty tub. “Shit.”

His own obvious slight panic weighed heavy on my heart.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you.” I said shakily, “Should have never gotten you into this.”

“No. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” Jonah said strongly. He pried my hand out of Avalon’s, “But we gotta keep moving if we’re going to figure out what we need to do next.”

I nodded. I really had nothing else to say. What was there to say? I could cry and scream and try to point fingers all I wanted but nothing was going to bring her back. She was dead. And I was a widow.

“Daniel.”

I looked up at Jonah again. The concern on his face was unmissable.

“Why don’t you go lay down? Try and get some sleep and I’ll finish up out here.”

“Where are we going to put the rug?” I asked. I hadn’t even realized I was thinking about that. All the evidence in my car? Nothing was on my side here.

“We can bury it in the desert or something on our way to the lodge tomorrow.” Jonah suggested.

“And the knives too.” I added. I looked back to Avalon but spoke to Jonah again, “What are we going to do with her?”

“I…don’t know. Depends on if you find the person who did this.”

“Fuck!” I swore loudly, balling my hands into fists and held them in front of my face to hide my onset of fresh tears, “I’m so fucked!”

“Okay, Daniel, just go lay down. I’ll take care of it.” Jonah helped me to my feet from the side of the tub and I couldn’t help but fall right into him, throwing my arms around his shoulders and embraced him tightly. He patted my back gently and let me cry into his shoulder, clutching onto the back of his shirt as I let out all the sorrows of the previous hours, the evil mix of grief and relief and fear swirling in my mind.

I didn’t remember getting into bed. Apparently I had a tendency to forget aspects of my days but I woke up in the hotel bed to Jonah turning off the bedroom light and getting into his own bed beside mine. I stayed still to make it seem like I was still sleeping. I wasn’t ready to face in the influx of “are you okay?” questions that I honestly wasn’t sure how to answer.

I stared at the ceiling, wide awake, mind whirling, as I heard Jonah’s breathing eventually fall into a steady rhythm and his soft snores started to fill the quiet hotel room. Sleep felt nice. I envied him a little. I was exhausted but I was not tired in the slightest. The bed felt terribly empty.

I hadn’t slept alone in a long time. Well, not counting the few times Avalon made me sleep on the couch.

I didn’t want to waste one more moment when I could be figuring out how to prove my innocence in this situation that seemed to turn against me so quickly. How could I have been so stupid as to forget to wipe down the piano? The prints were all over the damn place. I was only hoping that whoever was behind this was at least a fraction of as stupid as I was and left some sort of trace behind for the detective team.

With Jonah fast asleep, I slunk quietly out of bed and over to the desk across the room. I turned on the small lamp to light up the corner and sat down with the hotel paper and pen to try and collect my thoughts. The silence of the night was eery and I couldn’t get my mind away from the thought of my wife’s dead body just beyond the thin wall across the room from me. With the paper left blank, I got up from the desk and grabbed my laptop bag from beside the wall, pulling out my phone as well as Avalon’s to search through.

The bathroom was dark and if I listened hard enough I could hear the faint cracking of the melting ice that filled the tub. My heart was beating hard in my chest with nervousness as my hand hovered over the light switch. I felt just as nervous as I had the day I asked her to marry me but now, I was nervous for a whole other reason. I hated nothing more than seeing her like this.

I turned on the light and stalked over to the side of the tub. Her eyes were still closed, and she still looked peaceful and yet a terrifyingly pale.

“Hey, honey.” I spoke softly as if she could hear me. As if it would make this any easier.

I brushed my hand hesitantly over her tangled hair and angled her phone towards her face. The screen unlocked. I hurried to change the setting to keep her phone from locking again before leaning down towards her habitually. I froze a few centimeters from her head but still managed to work up enough nerve to press a gentle kiss to her temple.

Back at the desk in the hotel room, under the light of the single table lamp, I laid out Avalon’s phone, my phone, and the blank pad of paper in front of me. I copied Jonah’s idea with writing each name at the top of the sheet. I started with Jack.

Motives:

-She was the reason he can’t see his daughter

-She was the reason he was evicted

-She was the reason his business flopped

-Revenge

-Knows the human body, has a collection of scissors and blades

-Has been to our house

I moved onto Zach.

Motives:

-We took away something important to him, so he could want to do the same back

-Wanted to hurt me

-Knows his way around knifework

-Knows our address

-Seems to have no remorse or empathy for human life

I hovered my pen over the paper for a moment, re-reading my notes so far. I set the pen down and picked up Avalon’s phone to go into her messages. I found Christian’s contact and opened the message thread, seeing only a bunch of unanswered texts from him from just before the wedding to even during our honeymoon. Things such as:

Stay away from Daniel.

Going through with this wedding will be the last thing you will ever do; I swear to God.

I refuse to let you fuck up his life anymore.

You and I need to have a serious talk when you guys get home. I’m not going to tolerate your whiny bullshit about his career just because he’s successful and you’re not.

I set her phone face down on the desk with a shaky inhale, stunned to silence with the few messages I had read. I knew my brother had a dislike for Avalon but calling her out and sending her aggressive texts was a level I didn’t think he would stoop to. And the fact that she didn’t think she could trust me or confide in me enough to tell me what he was saying to her hurt even more.

The pen glided itself across the paper, spelling out Christian’s name under Zach’s list of motives. I continued the list for my own brother:

Motives:

-Strange hatred for her

-Aggressive and threatening texts

-Clingy in regard to my whereabouts consistently

-Gifted the knives to us and knew where they were

I clicked the pen closed as I scanned the list of three names again. Honestly, I was more than relieved I didn’t have to write my own name but this was far from over. I wasn’t safe until someone came clean…or I forced the truth out of them.

The warm light of the desk lamp glinted off the gold band around my left-hand ring finger. I slid the ring off gently and it came off with ease since it hadn’t been on very long at all. The light reflected along the metal and I turned it over in my hand to see the engraving on the inside, dated with 25/07/20 and her name in soft curling letters beside it. Avalon. My one true love ripped from my hands before I even had a moment to truly appreciate what I had. It’s true, dear reader; you really do not know what you have until it is gone.

I fell asleep at the desk while rereading my list for the nth time, the exhaustion from the day having finally caught up to me. The wedding ring stayed clutched in my hand.

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee @randomlimelightxxx @stuffofseaveyy @hopinglimelight @tempus-ut-luceant @br4nd1s @xkelsev @hiya-its-amber @sexyseavey15 @the-girl-who-cried-wolf

#🔪#daniel seavey #why dont we #jonah marais #jack avery #corbyn besson #zach herron #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey fanfic

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redladydeath · 3 years

Text

jhgfdfghjkhgf i was going to just post this in the video’s comment section but for some reason that’s not working so here’re act one of the william and mary play:

Mary: Look, you’re my best friend, okay? And, um, best friends tell each other everything, right? Oh my god. Excuse me. Oh, Maria Regina, it was awful! He was awful, William, my Dutch cousin, or as father likes to call him “the Dutch Dog” *laughs*… I had the honor of being forced to dine with the extended family. My little Dutch cousin William– and was he rude! Oh my god. He spent the entire meal either staring at me or grimacing at the food. No manners. And he’s old too, like, at least thirty, not that you’d know by looking at him, he’s very short, but old enough to know better, and all that I could hear the entire time was his breathing– no, no, no– wheezing, with his tiny little child-sized mouth. *imitates wheezing* [indecipherable] –cause he had [indecipherable] big monster of a nose to use, but I guess that was out of commission. And King Charles II– God save him– and all twelve of his spaniels, seated at the table, eating off of the plates– how am I related to these people?

Anne: Mary!

Mary: Shh! Shh! My sister! We’re fighting! Oh god. Uncle Charles– God save him– William... ew. I’ve never fit in with this entire family and now I find out that my sister’s been ta… my sister– No, no I will not stand here and idly gossip. My sister– no. Sh– no. Sh– no. Sh– nope! Betty!

Betty: Yes, your ladyship?

Mary: Um, take Maria Regina will you?

Betty: Yes, your ladyship. Anne has been screaming for you, your ladyship.

Mary: Yes, tell her I’m dead.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: No, don’t, that’ll get her hopes up. Tell her that I’m resting– exhausted from a fascinating dinner with our exotic Dutch cousin.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: And I can trust you all? Oh, um, and would you bring me an ink, pen, and paper?

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: How’s this? Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear... girlfriend– no, no, no... lover– no, too saucy– um... husband? Yeah… it’s a woman, but we’re gonna call her a husband. Don’t get confused! Um, dearest husband, after my prayers to all-mighty God, I’ve come to make peace with you, for it is a strange thing for a man and a wife to quarrel. What more can I say to prove that I love with more zeal than any lover can? You are loved with a love never known by man–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: You are loved more than can be expressed–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: By your ever-obedient–

Anne: Mary!

Mary: SHUT UP!! –wife. But to my great sorrow, I find out that you’ve been corresponding with *whispered* my sister!

Anne: Mary!

Mary: Shut up! Oh, to be your humble servant! To kiss the ground where you go–

Anne: What are you doing?!

Mary: Shut up! Oh, to be your dog on a string, your fish in a net, your limber trout–

Anne: She writes me too, you know!

Mary: No, she doesn’t!

Anne: Yes, she does!

Mary: Shut up! [indecipherable] If my letter has made the effect, dear “husband”, on your hard ear, I may without scruple call you my dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband.

Anne: She is not your husband and your letter to her are weird. Also, she sends me letters and calls me her husband and loves me more than she loves you and you’re a lesbian!

Mary: That word doesn’t even exist yet, Anne!

Anne: Lesbian!

Mary: Keep your voice down!

Anne: She writes me more letters.

Mary: Our love is forbidden.

Anne: Get over yourself!

Mary: She knows unlike you I’ll be queen!

Anne: Whatever. I don’t care. I don’t even want to be queen.

Mary: Oh, good, cause you never will be.

Anne: Of course I will! When your head gets so damned big from all the bullshit praise, even your ugly, masculine, lesbian neck won’t be able to support its weight. Snap! And your head will fall off, like our poor headless grandpa Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Mary: To imagine the death of a monarch is treason, I could look you in the Tower.

Anne: You couldn’t!

Mary: When I’m queen.

Anne: You wouldn’t!

Mary: I could!

Anne: Nu-uh!

Mary: Uh-huh!

Anne: You wouldn’t be the first queen to do that to a little sister.

Mary: Well, you came in here and started it.

Anne: I know. I have something to tell you.

Mary: You could’ve waited!

Anne: I have a memory. About mummy.

Mary: Did you? Really? Would you tell me?

Anne: When we knew she wouldn’t make it much longer, she asked me to come to her bedside. She had just got her blood let, so she was speaking very openly.

Mary: It’s okay, Anne!

Anne: She asked me “Do you know why I named your older sister Mary but named you after me?”

Mary: Why?

Anne: Mummy said… “Because prefer you to that bitch older sister!”

Mary: Leave!

Anne: Mom liked me more!

Mary: I was named after a queen!

Anne: Yeah, Bloody Mary! “Oh, look at me! I’m named after a fat, bloated Tudor Catholic!”

Mary and Anne: *spit*

Mary: Leave!

Anne: I just came in here to ask how dinner went.

Mary: It was lovely. Leave!

Anne: Was it? I bet it was boring.

Mary: Only for a child but when you’re fifteen years old you appreciate stimulating conversation!

Anne: [indecipherable]

Mary: Good!

Anne: Was he… stimulating?

Mary: Ew! I mean… yes.

Anne: What was he like?

Mary: Tall, dark, handsome.

Anne: Really? Tall, dark, and handsome?

Mary: Mmyeah.

Anne: I’m jealous.

Mary: You should be.

Anne: Did he stare at you?

Mary: What? No.

Anne: I guess he wouldn’t. Not after what I have heard.

Mary: Oh, I don’t even want to hear your idle gossip– what did you hear?

Anne: Oh, it’s just that father told me that Uncle Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: –Tried to marry you off to him.

Mary: What?

Anne: For some Dutch alliance.

Mary: What?

Anne: Yeah. He turned you down though.

Mary: He turned me down?

Anne: Three times.

Mary: What?

Anne: And here I was going to come in and make fun of you! I thought William was a tiny little goblin man. That would’ve been so embarrassing!

Mary: Right…

Anne: If you were turned down by an ugly little goblin man.

Mary: Right…

Anne: Three times!

Mary: Leave!

Anne: Why?

Mary: Leave!

Anne: I thought he was stimulating!

Mary: I want to be alone!

Anne: Mary the Martyr, you’re so weird! Maybe you’ll actually fit in if you didn’t lock yourself in your room all the time writing creepy letters. Some queen you’ll be! You’re friends with a fish!

Mary: Well, I will be queen whether I want to or not!

Anne: Mary the Martyr, you’re engaged to Louis the fucking XIV, what right do you have to be mad at me?

Mary: ...Have you seen the latest portrait of Louis?

Anne: Yeah!

Mary and Anne: *squee*

Anne: He’s fucking gorgeous! Even for a Catholic!

Mary and Anne: *spit*

Anne: Milky skin, so fucking rich! Full deep eyes, tight little French ass…

Mary: Anne! God is listening!

Anne: [indecipherable] I’m just appreciating the work! Those portraits are rarely accurate though. You saw the portrait of Uncle Charles–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: –He looked like a Roman god dipped in oil.

Mary: What?

Anne: He glistened Mary! Like a buttered up Roman statue! In reality, he looks more like butter. Well… butter with syphilis.

Mary: Oh my god, you can be quite cruel Anne.

Anne: I’m destined to marry one of our fat, inbred cousins, so I’m allowed to be.

Mary: Sorry.

Anne: Yeah, it’s whatever. Well, I’m going! Unlike you I actually have friends to hang out with.

Mary: Oh, bad company ruins good morals.

Anne: Fuck you! See you at dinner.

Mary: That’s why that little Dutch dwarf was staring at me. Oh my God, could you imagine that tiny, wheezing little man crawling into your bed every night– oh my god, it’s an offensive thought! But the most offensive part? He said no! He said no to me! Oh my God, the man is a slug! William of Orange– blegh! And Uncle Charles– God save him– tried to make me marry that, not that I would’ve! No! I would’ve told him off, right to his face. I’m not afraid of him! I will not be made a sacrificial lamb. I would’ve told him off to his face! Right to his tiny, regal, little mustache: “No, Uncle! You may be king, but I will not marry that creature! Put me in chains; lock me in the Tower; feed me to the ghost of Cromwell; I absolutely refuse to marry that creature!” I would’ve told him off. I will not be made a sacrificial lamb!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, Jesus Christ.

Betty: Your uncle, King Charles II– God save him– is here your ladyship.

Mary: Okay, send him in.

Betty: Yes, your ladyship.

*dogs yapping*

Charles: Quiet, quiet, quiet! [indecipherable] Good doggy-woggys! Now, niece!

Mary: Oh, Uncle, God save you–

Charles: Rise dear! You’re one of the few girls at court I’d rather not see on her knees.

Mary: Oh– ew.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: I’ve just come from your mother and father’s apartments.

Mary: She’s not my mother.

Charles: Charming lady, your new mummy. She’s got those bovine hips, so I assume she’ll be plopping out heirs as soon as James’ dousing rod directs her away from foreign [indecipherable].

Mary: Oh my God.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: If God is good– and we know he is– she’ll give birth to a few boys before she’s spent. Women are quite fragile, as you know Mary. It’s especially hard with our good Stuart stock and– Oh, Dicky, no, no hump, no hump, daddy has a [indecipherable]. Might we can hope for a few younger brothers– you’d like that, wouldn’t you Mary?

Mary: Oh, yes, dear uncle. How I love being an older sister to our dear, simple Anne and how I’d revel in the opportunity to be an older sister again.

Charles: Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: [indecipherable] England [indecipherable] worry that another woman would take the throne.

Mary: Yes, poor England.

Charles: Yes.

Mary: Ah, ah, ah, ah!

Charles: Dicky! If that heifer can squeeze out just one little boy, England is saved! Oh, Mary, you see it’s not that women shouldn’t be involved in politics, it’s that they can’t. Their brains aren’t built for it! I don’t even know if you can comprehend what I’m saying to you right now!

Mary: I’m lost.

Charles: Yes, I assumed so. Oyster?

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty! *grunting*

Charles: *chocking, spits* [indecipherable] Go on, up! [indecipherable] Now, where were we? Yes– women are not fit to rule.

Mary: Sorry, once more.

Charles: I am king.

Mary: You are king.

Charles: I am a great king.

Mary: You are a great king.

Charles: Women… cannot be kings.

Mary: No, they’re queens.

Charles: …Very good Mary! I’m very proud. That’s a real thought you just had!

Mary: I’m lost again.

Charles: So, if I am king and women…?

Mary: Can’t be kings.

Charles: Then women…?

Mary: Can’t be great kings?

Charles: Exactly! I am very impressed with your understanding of Restoration politics. As king, I’ve found it requires tremendous subtlety. OW! Dicky, get off! Dicky, don’t let–! God, you bastard! Bite that hand that feeds you, ey? Groom of the Stool!

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty?

Charles: Lock him in the Tower!

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty.

Charles: You made a big mistake, Dicky! No [indecipherable] bites a sovereign.

Groom of the Stool: Yes, your majesty!

Charles: Now, let us break our conversation into greater areas regarding your sex.

Mary: Ah, like needle crappy gossip.

Charles: And… boys.

Mary: Ah, yes, boys.

Charles: And… marriage.

Mary: Ah, yes, my purpose in life.

Charles: You a beautiful Stuart girl– Protestant– a large Protestant wedding to a regal, Protestant husband.

Mary: No, ha, Louis’ Catholic.

Charles: Louis? Yes, he’s Catholic.

Mary: Right, but you just said–

Charles: You, a beautiful Stuart girl–

Mary: Oh no!

Charles: A large Protestant wedding–

Mary: Oh, god!

Charles: To a regal–

Mary: No!

Charles: Protestant...

Mary: Please!

Charles: Did you enjoy dinner last night? You [indecipherable] to impressed your cousin.

Mary: No.

Charles: William! Were you taken by him, Mary?

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: He was very taken by you.

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: Your first cousin, so you’ll have a lot in common!

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: My dead sister’s boy! She was a real bitch.

Mary: *bahing*

Charles: And you’ll have the line of succession, so you won’t have to worry about being queen, Mary. William can handle it. Sorry he’s such a cold, ugly bastard.

Mary: *spluttering*

Charles: Your Catholic father *spits* is pissed. Not surprising, but I ordered him to shut the fuck up about it. The wedding is next week. La~!

Mary: Wait! Anne!

Charles: Oh, you’re too thoughtful, dear girl! Anne will be fine on her own.

Mary: No, no, no, marry Anne off to William!

Charles: Certainly not! You’re next in line after your idiot father. We’ll marry Anne off to one of the fat, inbred cousins.

Mary: But I learned French!

Charles: And now you’ll get to learn Dutch! It’s not a beautiful language, but it matches the people. The king exits!

Mary: *sobbing*

*church music / exert of “Aria” by Marco Rosano*

Priest: Gathered! His Royal Highness Charles II!

Ensemble: GOD SAVE HIM!

Priest: The bride’s father James (the eventual second)– what? Your father refused to attend!

Mary: *sobbing*

Priest: We are gathered today in the eyes of our Protestant God to witness the eternal joining of two people, and more importantly, two nations. Our beloved England and our at-least-for-the-time-being-not-enemy Holland.

*fanfare*

Priest: The Dutch Stand Stadtholder! ...William? ...The Prince of Orange!

William: *violent coughing*

Priest: William? You good?

William: Ja.

Priest: Do you need a minute?

William: [indecipherable]

Priest: Okay! So… the, uh… the Dutch Stadtholder! The Prince of Orang– William?

William: *violent coughing* [indecipherable]

Priest: We are gathered– we are– we’re gathered– we are gathered– gathered– and we are gathered–

William: [Dutch word]

Priest: Pardon?

William: [Dutch word]

Priest: Sorry, I–

William: [Dutch word], stepping [Dutch word].

Priest: Oh, yes. *groaning* NOW! We are gathered for the joining of two people, two nations, and one [indecipherable] faith. Do you, Mary, take a solemn vow to obey and honor William until you’re parted by death? Okay, good. Do you, William, take a solemn vow to take Mary as your bride and treat her with whatever respect you happen to feel like showing her? Alright, whoo! You’re all good in here. You may kiss the bride.

William: *violent coughing*

*retro dance music* / exert of “Oh! Oh! I'm Goin' Home” by The Peppers

Mary: Wow. Midnight. Where did the time go?

William: Time for bed.

Mary: Right. Yup. Time for bed. It’s late and… it’s late and… it’s late and… it’s time for bed and there’s the bed, it’s time for bed and… we’re married now.

Charles: Now, nephew! To your purpose! God save Saint George and England! *giggling*

Mary: Right, historically, um, all of that actually happened. Well– oh, sorry, I was talking to someone else. Well, I guess it’s late, right? It’s late and it’s, um, time to go do– time to do– time to go do do do do do do do do doing of it. Ah! Wow. A ring… Is it for me? …Should I take it? …I’ll take it. Wow… a ruby… yes, ruby– rubies are very– rubies are red! Red. Rubies are… pink actually, now that I look at it. Funny, they’re really much more pink. Everyone always says “ruby red” but they’re much more pink when you look at it, oh look at that, it’s–

William: My mother’s.

Mary: Your mother’s? Wow. Beautiful. Ring. That was your mother’s. Ring, ruby, ring, ruby, ring–

William: She’s dead.

Mary: What? Oh, I’m sorry. About that– that she’s dead. What happened? Sorry! No, none of my business. Poor Mum! Um, my mom is dead. Died when I was a child so… I know what it’s like. To have a dead mum. *awkward laughter*

William: You don’t have to smile for me. You don’t have to pretend.

Mary: Dearest dear, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband– this is the woman again, um... You’ll find a pair of horns on your front door for… it appears I’ve taken another husband. Hm…

*whistle*

Anne: I brought you a going-away present. It’s another goldfish.

Mary: Thank you, sister.

Anne: I knew you already that one, so you’d like it. I hope they don’t eat each other. Do goldfish eat each other? Is it a long trip to Holland?

Mary: I don’t know!

Anne: You seem glum. Story time! When Aunt Catherine–

Mary and Anne: God save her!

Anne: Married Uncle Charlie–

Mary and Anne: God save him!

Anne: She had to leave Portugal in order to marry him. She hadn’t even met him yet, so I guess it could be worse.

Mary: Yes, but she came to England, I’m leaving it!

Anne: Yeah, fair. Just trying to help.

Mary: I don’t need your help, dear sister, this is my cross to bear.

Anne: Saint Mary the Martyr of English diplomacy! If only you were Catholic.

Mary and Anne: *spit*

*whistle*

Mary: I’ve never left London, that’s what scares me the most. God be with thee, sister. God be with thee, England.

William: …Two.

Mary: Oh. Yes, Anne got me one as a going-away pr– okay.

Anne: I hate him.

Mary: Well, he’s your brother now.

Anne: Please, I hated him when he was my cousin. I think you should be the first Protestant saint just for sleeping with him. I can’t even imagine!

Mary: …Neither can I.

Anne: WHAT?! TELL ME EVERYTHING!!

Mary: Well, considering we haven’t, that’s everything to tell!

Anne: Oh my God! You’ve been married a week!

Mary: This stays between you and me, Anne!

Anne: Oh, but Mary, I have to tell my friends!

Mary: I don’t like your friends!

Anne: Fuck you! The court would die if they knew!

Mary: No!

Anne: But Mary, you can’t tell something this juicy and force me to hold it inside!

Mary: Shh!

Anne: But it’s not you Mary, it’s him. That puny prig.

Mary: No.

Anne: But you don’t even like him!

Mary: What wife likes her husband?

Anne: He’s so gross and I used to think you were gross, but he’s like, super gross. Oh thank God you’re not screwing! Your kids would be so gro– I didn’t realize Papa hadn’t told you the truth about him!

Mary: Oh, what did father say?

Anne: He buggers boys. Said he buggers boys. Said if he takes the throne, England gets two queens.

Mary: …I’ll have nothing to do with silly, irreverent myths, Anne… And tell my other husband I’ll send her the new address.

Anne: Gross! [indecipherable] each other!

*Dutch folk music* / exert of “Klompe Dans” by Camerata Trajectina

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Oh, yes, thank you.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Ah, yes, thank you.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Thank you.

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, good day William!

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Life in Holland. It’s beautiful. It’s very, very clean.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Betty: Your ladyship?

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Thank you! Please keep talking, Betty.

Betty: Your ladyship–

Citizens: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Anything in English– thank you!

Betty: *whispers*

Mary: Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

*fanfare*

Betty: Supper time!

Mary: I’m not hungry.

Betty: Not you, your ladyship.

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland…

Mary: …Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

Mary: I must grin when my heart is fit to break, I must speak when my heart is so oppressed I can scarcely breathe.

Betty: Oh, that’s real pretty. The Bastard, your ladyship.

Mary: The Bastard?

Betty: Your half-cousin, King Charles II– God Save Him–’s bastard son, your ladyship.

Mary: Here?

Betty: Uh-huh.

Mary: Whoo!

Monmouth: Cousin!

William: Let me not interrupt your reunion. Continue this.

Mary: How’s home?

Monmouth: England is good! The family not so much. My father, Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –seems ill. Parliament hates your father, James (the eventual second) since he’s decided to be Catholic–

Mary and Monmouth: *spit*

Monmouth: –since we just had nine years of civil war, ugh! People would rather avoid any foreseeable royalist drama, so Parliament wrote the Exclusion Act to keep your father off the throne.

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: No! Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –refused to sign it.

Mary: Oh, good.

Monmouth: No! That’s why [indecipherable] is shit! Charles II–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –dissolved Parliament, hoping to form a more moderate one.

Mary: Oh, good!

Monmouth: No! Bad! A group of Protestants then tried to blow up my papa Charlie–

Mary and Monmouth: God save him!

Monmouth: –on his way back from a race to [indecipherable]!

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: Oh yes!

Monmouth: –[indecipherable] watching the race, ALL OF NEWMARKET CAUGHT ON FIRE!!

Mary: Oh no!

Monmouth: No, that’s good! Charles’– God save him– house in Newmarket was destroyed, so they had to leave the race early, thus foiling the plot to kill him!

Mary: Oh, God is very generous to our family. And how’s Anne?

Monmouth: Married.

Mary: Oh, to one of the inbred cousins?

Monmouth: We’re royal! Inbred cousins are the only dignified option! How’s life in the Dutch court?

Mary: Um… clean, it’s very, very clean.

Monmouth: Ah, thank God you have William.

Mary: *hysterical laughter* ...Yes. No, I do see William from time to time. He likes to walk from stage left to stage right to stage right to stage left.

Monmouth: Incredibly generous man– looking forward to our dinner tonight! He invited me to hunt tomorrow and all the rest of next week! Very charming!

Mary: You’ve only been onstage for a minute and a half!

Betty: There are more officials for you to meet, your ladyship.

Monmouth: See you around, cuz. Ch-cha! …Ch-cha!

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Mary: Dank u.

Citizens: Ooo!

William: …Welkom in Nederland! *laughter, interrupted by violent coughing*

*fanfare*

Citizen: Welkom in Nederland!

Betty: Alright! Her ladyship has another engagement she must prepare for, so sorry!

Mary: Ugh, what’s next Betty?

Betty: Nothing, your ladyship. I just think you’ve been gawked at enough today.

Mary: Oh, thank you Betty!

Betty: What’s a lady-in-waiting for?

Mary: But I’m afraid William might be cross once he finds out I didn’t finish all the state greetings. I guess I’d actually have to spend time with him for him to be cross with me.

Betty: He’s not one to get cross about things; he’s quite charming actually if you get past the hermetic silence.

Mary: I suppose he prefers the company of *whispered* his men?

*fanfare*

William and Monmouth: *laughing*

William: *starts coughing violently*

Monmouth: I love this guy!

*fanfare*

Betty: You’ve heard that already, have you?

Mary: Is it true?

Betty: Rumors, your ladyship. I also heard rumors of a girl who wrote letters to a woman she called her husband. And I now know a woman who still writes these letters!

Mary: Dismissed!

Betty: Your ladyship.

Mary: Wait. Put the children to bed, will you? Wait– wait, wait wait– just [indecipherable]. Don’t judge me! Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear– stop!– husband… Let me start again: Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear husband: You’ve not responded to any of my letter as of late!

Anne: Dearest sister!

Mary: Oh good God, Anne! Still able to interrupt me from across the English Chanel!

Anne: It is with good nice that I write. Since we last spoke… I’m pregnant!

Mary and Anne: *squeeing*

Anne: I know! I know! I fucking know! Ah, someone has to produce some heirs in this family!

Mary: Hey…

Anne: What have you been up to? Oh! My friends are here! Thank you, sis!

Mary: Anne is pregnant. My younger sister is pregnant …I’m jealous! Ugh!

*fanfare*

William and Monmouth: To hunt!

Monmouth: ♪ I’ll sing you eight, O! ♪

William and Monmouth: ♪ Green grow the rushes, O! ♪

William: ♪ What are your eight, O? ♪

Monmouth: ♪ Eight for the April Rainers! ♪

William: ♪ Seven for the seven stars in the sky! ♪

William and Monmouth: ♪ Six for the six proud walkers! ♪ Five for the symbols at your door! ♪ Four for the Gospel makers! ♪ THREE, THREE THE RIVALS! ♪ Two, two the lily-white boys! ♪ Clothed all in green, O! ♪ One is one and all alone! ♪ And evermore shall be so! ♪

*fanfare*

Mary: Betty!

Betty: *imitating the song*

Mary: Stop!

Betty: Oh! Yes, your ladyship.

Mary: My cousin, the Bastard, and Prince William have been spending an awful lot of time together!

Betty: William loves the hunt.

Mary: How do you know?!

Betty: He told me!

Mary: You’ve spoken with him? Am I the only person in the entire world who’s not had a single conversation with my husband?!

Betty: You just need to catch him in the right mood.

*fanfare*

Mary: Dearest, dear, dear, dear, dear, dear– Oh my God, you’re pathetic! Two husbands and neither one replies!

Anne: Okay, so I wasn’t pregnant. Well, I was, but I’m not anymore.

Mary: Oh… Anne I’m so sorry!

Anne: I know. But I will be again. Maybe tonight! God be with me!

Mary: I don’t have to be Mary the Martyr. I can fix him. I can make it work. It’s a job, right? I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I’m just doing my job!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! Um, I was wondering–

William: Nothing!

Monmouth: The hunt did not go well!

William: Ugh!

Anne: Yup, pregnant!

Mary: Again? Wow!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! I’d love to talk with you!

William: …but–but–but we’re going to the hunt?

Mary: Yes, but I’d really like to talk with you.

William: …Okay?

Mary: In private.

William: Um… After the hunt?

Mary: Yeah, okay, sure.

*fanfare*

Anne: Okay, that pregnancy wasn’t meant to be, but tonight, THIS IS THE ONE!

Mary: Tonight, this is the one!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, William! I’m so looking forward to our evening!

William: Not in the mood!

Monmouth: The stag got away!

*fanfare*

Mary: The stag got away…

Anne: Pregnant!

Mary: Ugh!

*fanfare*

Mary: William, wait! Tonight?

William: Eh!

Mary: Wait! Here, for good luck!

Monmouth: *retching*

*fanfare*

Mary: Tonight! Tonight!

*fanfare*

Mary: Oh, husband! How was the hunt?

William: I got the stag!

Mary: Oh, you must be very merry!

William: I… uh… I’m exhausted. Ugh…

Monmouth: Come on. Shake it off.

William: *violent coughing*

*fanfare*

Mary: I will force myself to love this creature.

*fanfare*

Mary: *screams* ...Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh! It must have been a chill!

William: [indecipherable]!

Mary: Oh, oh no! Oh no! Oh, my slipper! Oh, I–I’m so sorry to, uh, keep you from you duties!

William: I’ve been meaning to schedule a time for our talk.

Mary: Oh, you remembered?

William: What was the subject?

Mary: Us. You and me. Us and our… duties.

William: Ah. Our political duties are not as rulers, but as first citizens. Stadtholder means “the first citizen.” It is very different from life in England. For example, no Dutch citizen kisses my hand. In the Netherlands, we are all equals. Calvinists, Protestants, Jews– even the Jews Mary. [indecipherable] Do you like Holland?

Mary: Oh, it’s very, very clean. I’m not, um… I’m not sure if I’m fitting in.

William: Well, I don’t fit in and I was born here.

Mary: I feel the same way about my family.

William: Our family.

Mary: You’re very close to the Bastard, you know. Hunting and… actually talking and I was thinking, now that we’re actually talking, Anne is pregnant… again.

William: Ja? ...Yes? …This life is not the life you wanted, is that a true thing I just said? Bastard! Where is [indecipherable]?!

Monmouth: *whispers*

William: Your uncle, Charles II–

Mary: God save him!

William: –he’s dead.

Charles: …Oh.

Anne: I had a miscarriage. Oh, and Daddy’s the king now. God save him.

William: To his newly crowned majesty– James II– I send you greetings–

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: James II! Boy, you’re the husband of my eldest daughter, the heir apparent to the throne of England, my father’s grandchild, my son-in-law: it’s King James II!

William: Ah. From one very close ally to another very, very close ally– that is what we still are, right?

James: Say it! Say my name, William!

William: King James II?

James: YES! That’s me, the king! Say it again!

William: King James II, I first wish to send you condolences on the death of your brother, God save hi–

James: I was at his bed when he passed.

William: Surely, you provided much comfort to Charles–

James: Oh, “surely provided much comfort to Charles,” yes! He converted, on his deathbed, to Catholicism!

William: *spits*

James: I’ll never forget his final words to me: “Make sure my whores don’t starve!” Men of power keep mistresses, you know… Do you know that, William?

William: …Well, uh, the reason I write is because, well, I have an offer for you. You see, here in Europe we have a little club. I call it “a league”. Not everyone is allowed into it, actually, but England most definitely would be allowed in “the league”. It is what may be described as “exclusive”. A lot of really great countries have joined: uh, Austria, Spain, the Netherlands, even Savoy.

James: Which countries are not allowed?

William: France.

James: Oh, don’t like Louis, do we?

William: No, I don’t! Louis wants to be king of Europe and he– he is routinely invading us here in Holland. Your son-in-law: who is that? That is me! Which I know you aren’t thrilled about, but your daughter is the Princess of Orange. Louis XIV is invading not just my country, but also her country.

James: Please. Mary’s country is, and always will be, England!

William: And as the future Queen of England, you should protect her.

James: I wouldn’t be so sure about Mary. While she is the eldest, she’s still a woman, and unlike you, William, I plan to perform kingly duties with my queen.

William: I just wanted to invite you to our league.

James: I’m very important, I’ve got to go.

William: France is at our borders as we speak!

James: That’s not my problem. Mary was betrothed to him for years, you know, before she married you. My idiot brother made that happen against my protests but I’m the king now! I wasn’t supposed to be, but God wanted me. God needs me! Sixty years of second-fiddle to King Syphilis and now I’m calling the shots, William! I don’t need you, you need me, and frankly, I don’t really like you.

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: Shh!

William: Why you do that?

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: Shh!! Thank you. Ooo, ooo, how they all loved my brother Charles the Pervert– forced me to marry my daughter to that Dutch abortion! Now, I’d like to speak to the court! You all like… gossip, don’t you? Let’s talk about William.

*retro music / exert of “O Samba Brasileiro” by Walter Wanderley*

Mary: They’re laughing, Maria Regina. They’ve been whispering all morning and I don’t– I don’t want to sound paranoid but… I hear my name. I hear William’s name and I hear… Betty’s name.

Messengers: God save him!

Mary: Hello?

Messenger 1: Your father sends us–

Messenger 2: God save him!

Messenger 1: James II–

Messenger 2: Long may he reign!

Mary: Oh, Father sends you?

Messengers: God save him, yes!

Messenger 2: In his infinite and divine wisdom, we were sent to you–

Messenger 1: His oldest daughter–

Messenger 2: Possibly the future queen–

Mary: Possibly?

Messenger 1: Your mother, the queen–

Mary: She’s not my mother.

Messenger 2: Is hoping to reward England with many sons–

Messenger 1: But one’s eyes are to the future–

Messenger 2: He hasn’t forgotten his eldest.

Mary: Oh, we haven’t spoken–

Messenger 1: He thinks of you often.

Mary: Well, he doesn’t write.

Messenger 1: It’s not that he thinks of you as you are–

Mary: Okay…?

Messenger 2: More for what you could be.

Mary: Well, I’m just happy that he’s thinking of me.

Messenger 2: He’s thinking of your soul.

Messenger 1: Your eternal soul.

Messenger 2: Your eternal, everlasting soul.

Mary: Yup, those both mean the same thing.

Messenger 1: Since Jesus was crucified–

Messenger 2: [indecipherable], mind you–

Mary: Yes, I’ve heard.

Messenger 1: A church was born–

Messenger 2: The Catholic Church!

Mary: *spits* Oh, sorry, habit.

Messenger 1: James–

Messenger 2: King James–

Messengers: God save him!

Messenger 1: Has sent us–

Messenger 2: In his infinite and sacred judgment–

Messengers: To convert you to Catholicism!

Mary: …Yeah, no, I’m good.

Messenger 1: It’s the true faith.

Mary: Yes, next time he could just write.

Messenger 2: [indecipherable] reading materials!

Mary: Right, or even visit–

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] all the celebrities are Catholic.

Messenger 2: Wow, really?

Messenger 1: Really!

Messengers: Like who?

Messenger 2: The pope, you ever heard of him?

Messenger 1: Of course! Wow, the pope is Catholic?

Messengers: Who else?

Messenger 2: God!

Mary: Debatable.

Messengers: Who else?

Messenger 2: Louis XIV.

Messenger 1: Whoah, he’s a heartthrob.

Mary: Yes, okay, I’ve heard enough!

Messenger 1: But Louis’ such a hunk!

Messenger 2: And Catholic!

Messenger 1: And… He’s Catholic?

Messenger 2: You better believe it!

Messengers: A Catholic hunk!

Mary: Okay, I’m married!

Messenger 1: For now.

Mary: …Excuse me?

Messenger 1: Hard to ignore the rumors–

Messenger 2: Naughty rumors–

Messenger 1: Everyone’s tittling–

Messenger 2: A-tittle here, a-tittle there–

Messengers: Tittle everywhere!

Messenger 1: That little Dutch devil–

Messenger 2: Evil Protestant pervert–

Mary: Oh, no, no, no, him buggering boys– that’s just a rumor!

Messenger 1: Boys?!

Messenger 2: Buggering?!

Messenger 1: Boys?!

Messenger 2: Buggering?!

Messengers: Buggering boys?!

Messenger 1: More like buggering the help.

Messenger 2: Dutch devil!

Mary: With the help?

Messengers: Buggering the help.

Messenger 1: Yes, everyone knows–

Messenger 2: Knows her name even.

Mary: Do you know their name?

Messenger 1: Well, I’ve said everyone–

Messenger 2: We’re part of everyone–

Mary: So, yes?

Messengers: Yes!

Mary: What’s his name?

Messenger 1: His name?

Messenger 2: His name?

Messengers: Squinty Betty!

Messenger 1: Squinty Betty’s a man?

Messenger 2: I didn’t know she was a man!

Messeger 1: No, I bet Betty’s a man.

Messenger 2: No, man, she’s a wo-man.

Messenger 1: Wo-man?

Messengers: Wo-man, she’s a wo-man!

Mary: Wait, Squinty Betty?!

Messenger 1: And the Dutch devil!

Messenger 2: Evil Dutch devil!

Messenger 1: Evil!

Messenger 2: Evil: that’s not good!

Messenger 1: No, it’s not good!

Messenger 2: That’s the opposite of good!

Messengers: And what’s the opposite of good?

Mary: Evil!

Messangers: *scream*

Mary: *screams*

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] James–

Messenger 2: King James–

Messengers: God save him!

Messenger 1: Has the fires burning.

Mary: Fires?

Messenger 2: To feel the heat.

Messenger 1: Ow!

Messenger 2: Careful.

Messenger 1: It’s the heat.

Messenger 2: I feel it.

Messenger 1: [indecipherable] King James [indecipherable] our beloved England [indecipherable] burning more evil people than Charles ever did.

Mary: Wait, he’s burning people?

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: He’s burning people?!

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: Father’s burning people?!

Messenger 2: [indecipherable]

Messenger 1: Evil people!

Mary: Jesus!

Messengers: Praise him!

Messenger 1: Praise Jesus!

Messenger 2: Praise God!

Messenger 1: Praise the pope!

Messenger 2: And above all, praise the king!

Messengers: God save King James II, long may he reign!

Mary: …William and Betty– no… No, I’ll have nothing to do with silly, irreverent myths… Betty! Um, throw these away. And, um, put the children to bed, will you? Oh– oh– oh– oh– oh, um… question: how is it you always to find William in such a talkative mood?

Betty: I just run into him.

*laid back retro music / exert of “Rain” by Walter Wanderley*

Mary: It’s late. No, you don’t have to leave. You were in Betty’s room. Do you know how I know that? Maybe because the entire court is talking about it! No, you don’t need to talk! I have tried to get you to talk for months, you do not need to talk now! Fuck off, Betty! The longest I’ve ever spent with you is [indecipherable]. You’re impossible! You’re thick! Uncaring! Cruel! My life here is suffering and now you make me the fool? To my father, to the court, and to myself! I’m the fool! You know, it was better when I thought you were gay; I thought “Well, at least it’s not my fault” but now I know, “No, it is my fault!” You turned down marrying me once before, why did you have to say yes this time? I was engaged to Louis XIV! I could’ve been in Versailles, in the most beautiful place on Earth and I would’ve been happy– no, I would be happy! And I would be liked and my family would love me and I would’ve done everything right, but then you came along! And ruined it! And everything! And me! And– this isn’t right! No! This is not how this was supposed to go! It was supposed to be me and Louis and it would’ve been right and normal and then I would be normal and happy and I don’t know– I don’t know why you had to say yes this time! Louis– Louis– Louis is– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis– Louis’ the king! Right? Right? And he’s beautiful! I assume. I’ve seen the portraits– which are rarely accurate– but I’ve always wanted to marry him! Well, I was always supposed to marry him– but at least he’s nice! Yes, I’ve not met him, but at least I’ve heard that he’s ni– well, I guess I’ve actually not heard anything, but I was alway supposed to ma– Well, I guess I always– Okay, well, I guess I’ve never really actually thought about it! Well, I guess I never actually like Louis, or men… Men in general. I mean, I write to a woman who I call my husband, and I’ve always had a crush on her, but she’s not very nice to me, and she writes to my sister more than she writes to me, AND I DON’T KNOW IF I’M A LESBIAN, OKAY?! I don’t like men! But I don’t know if I like women either– historically speaking, there’s some things we just can’t know about me, okay, historically speaking– but personally speaking, you know what? I’M FIFTEEN YEARS OLD!! How am I supposed to know?! You know what? No! I didn’t want to marry Louis, now that I think about it, because, well, I never actually thought about it because, well, I’M NEVER SUPPOSED TO THINK! But I am gonna think! Like you said, we’re just first citizens here, right? So I’m allowed to think! So I’m gonna think! So I’m gonna think! Right, let me think! …Okay. I have something to say. I’m fifteen years old, William. Do you have any idea how scary this is? Leaving my country, marrying you, a stranger, I… I don’t speak the language, I don’t have any friends, and you, my husband, are still a stranger. You don’t have to love me. You don’t have to like me. But please don’t be cruel to me. I… I do not know how much… more a fifteen year old girl can take.

William: …Betty’s a spy. Before I married you, I had asked her to inform me about you.

Mary: Yeah, a spy, that’s the best you could come up with–

William: It’s true.

Mary: Yes, my lady-in-waiting is a spy! …Well, what did Betty the spy say?

William: She said you weren’t like your family.

Mary: Well, I tried to be like them.

William: I never tried.

Mary: Well, I think that makes you honest.

William: But not liked.

Mary: Well, they don’t like either of us. We share that at least.

William: I need to say something.

Mary: Okay! Good! Yeah! Okay! I’m here! I can listen! …Is it a problem? Is it personal? Is it about what I think it’s about? I know what it is, William.

William: You do?

Mary: Yes. It’s about–

Mary and William: Your penis / Your father

William: Wait, what?!

Mary: What about my father?

William: He terrifies me.

Mary: Oh, yeah, me too.

William: The balance of peace in this world is a delicate thing and James isn’t.

Mary: You can talk to me about these things, William. I know who my father is, you’re not going to hurt my feelings.

William: Yes… My penis?

Mary: Oh, um, well, I mean… why haven’t we…?

William: I’m uncomfortable around–

Mary: Me.

William: …people.

Mary: Oh, yeah, well, same, haha... But, um… It’s just a job, right? We would just be… doing our… our job.

*classical music / exert of “Zadok The Priest, Hwv 258″ by the English Chamber Orchestra*

William: *panting*

Mary: I HAVE NEWS! …I’M PREGNANT!! I did it! William did it! We, um… well, obviously, we did it. Oh my God, I feel a strange thing!

William: Are you okay?!

Mary: No! Yes! No! …I feel… happy.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Anne: I have news!

Mary: Hello, Anne!

Anne: Hello, Mary.

Mary: You’re pregnant?

Anne: No, Mumsy is.

Mary: She’s not our mother.

Anne: They say if it’s a boy, God has chosen to make England Catholic again, but that’s only a 50-50 chance.

Mary: No, he wouldn’t baptize him Catholic, Anne.

Anne: I wouldn’t be so sure.

Mary: But we’ve just had nine years of civil war, why would he lead us into another?

Anne: To save us from the Dutch Devil.

William: Me?

Anne: I prefer “the Dutch Abortion” but “devil” isn’t bad. Gotta go!

Mary: God be with thee, Anne.

Anne: P.S. I may be pregnant, not sure.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Mary: Ohhh!

Messengers: Glorious day!

Messenger 1: Tra-la!

Messenger 2: We’ve been sent to you by your father, the king!

Messenger 1: God save him!

Messenger 2: Long may he reign!

Mary: Again, he could always just write.

Messenger 1: He has his own pregnancy to attend to.

Messenger 2: His future son!

Mary: Are you certain about that?

Messenger 1: God ordained it!

Messenger 2: A Catholic England!

Messengers: Tra-la!

Messenger 1: We’ve been sent to beseech you.

Messenger 2: Consider your child’s–

Messenger 1: Everlasting soul!

Messenger 2: Baptize your child in the Catholic faith!

Mary: *spits* …morning sickness.

Messenger 1: For your child!

Messenger 2: For your father!

Messenger 1: You must respect him!

Messenger 2: Honor him!

Messenger 1: It’s in the Bible!

Messenger 2: “Honor thy father”!

Messengers: The Fifth Commandment!

Messenger 1: Honor the king of England!

Messenger 2: God save him!

Messenger 1: Long may he reign!

Messenger 2: For England!

Messengers: Make the baby Catholic!

William: Mary?

Mary: Yes?

William: Honor is not obeying.

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Anne: I have news!

Mary: You’re pregnant.

Anne: Besides that, Mary, but yes.

Mary: Oh, congratulations!

Anne: Yes, same to you!

Mary: Thank you!

Anne: Thank you! I have news: people are talking about Mother’s pregnancy–

Mary: Ah, she’s not our mother.

Anne: –And they think it’s all a big fake! Everyone is saying how [video skips]

Mary: Who’s saying that?

Anne: The court, Parliament, everyone! Oh, they don’t like Papa; they say every nineteen out of twenty want him gone.

Mary: Yes, but not likely cause the king does not–

William: Mary–

Anne: Ew!

Mary: Anne!

Anne: Sorry… Hello, William… glad you got my sister pregnant. *retches*

Mary: No. No, it’s not right for me to dance… No! No, I can have this moment! I can be happy! Yeah, nothing’s gonna stop me– *claps* –from enjoying this moment! Go ahead!

*cheerful folk music / “Bransle de Bourgogne” by Brisk Recorder Quartet Amsterdam*

Monmouth: Ah! I thank you for the generosity both you and William have shown me over the last undetermined period of time, but I must leave.

William: Oh, where’re you going? I was going to plan another hunt.

Monmouth: There comes a time in every mans life where the cruel, [indecipherable] eye of destiny looks upon him! The hero of every story has his moment of action! [indecipherable] standing on the precipice of glory to see the apotheosis of my journey’s end on that glorious mountain green! Today I sail! This story shall no longer wander unguided like an orphan clinging from one vague historical anecdote to another! No! Search no longer, poor play, for you have found your hero! And that hero… it’s me. Someone has to save our England! I have a mighty army of almost one hundred men! Eighty two to be exact!

Mary: Wait, with eighty two men you’re planning to–

Monmouth: Invade England, seize the crown, depose your father, my uncle, and save England from Catholic *spits* tyranny?

Mary: You’re planning on doing this with…

Monmouth: Eighty two men! Historically, this is what I did, so yah. [indecipherable] sweet cousin, it will be a Protestant England! ALL HAIL KING BASTARD THE FIRST! CHA-CHAH! Ah! He-yaaaaaaaaaaaa!!

Mary: Eighty two men can’t overthrow the king of England!

William: He’s hoping the people will rise.

Mary: What would they do to father?

William: Kill him.

Mary: Ah! Ah!

William: Okay, okay, okay! The Bastard doesn’t have any support, your father will be fine! You can have this moment; you deserve to be happy.

Mary: How? I may not like my family, but I love them. Yes, I-I deserve to be happy, but Father doesn’t deserve to die!

William: He won’t, he’ll be fine!

Mary: You can’t know that for sure.

William: I do! …I-I promise you– I-I… I promise on the life of our child that nothing will happen to your father. I’ll see to it.

Mary: You will?

William: Mmhm.

Mary: …Okay… Okay, yes, okay… I’m happy.

William: Rest. Nurse? Take my wife to her bedchamber. Make sure she doesn’t want for anything.

Mary: Ooo!

William: [indecipherable]. James?

*evil music / exert of “Allegro” by Marco Rosano*

James: James?! Use my full title!

William: I have grave news.

James: Oh, has France invaded you again?

William: Your nephew, the Duke of Monmouth–

James: Who?

William: …The Bastard.

James: Oh, why didn’t you say?! How is the lad?

William: He’s leading an army to depose you and take the crown for himself.

James: *laughs* You’re having a laugh! …Shit! How dare he! Doesn’t he know who I am?! I’m the king! I’m very well respected and loved– everybody loves me! *gasps* Why doesn’t he love me?! Oh, he’s just a little shit bastard, I’ll crush him! How dare he not see how awesome I am! How powerful and strong and– oh! I am so mad right now! It was a good day too, it was going really well, I had just finished telling the queen “I’m gonna make it a good one today, you know!” Ugh, I am so mad right now I’m literally shaking! *gasps* I need to eat something!

William: I hope you now see that our relationship is very…

*execution drums / exert from “March to the Scaffold” by Paul Edward*

Headsman: *giggling* For your crimes against the crown, you are sentenced to death!

James: Say hello to your father for me, boy. Any last words?

Monmouth: Fuck off!

James: How dare you! Kill the bastard!

Headsman: God save the king!

James: No one questions my authority!

Monmouth: Piss off!

James: Bastard?!

Monmouth: I have still a few [indecipherable]

James: How dare you! [indecipherable]

Headsman: Thank you. One more!

James: Who’s the douchebag now, huh?

Monmouth: You are!

James: Bastard! [indecipherable] I am not a douchebag, I am the king of England!

Monmouth: Douche of England more like it!

James: Cut off his head!

Headsman: [indecipherable] does anyone want to take over, huh?

Monmouth: It takes– ugh! –and this is all true– ugh! –five blows! Ugh! King Douche II! Ugh– *splutters*

James: Who’s the douchebag now, huh? Not me. I am not a douche! You hear me, Bastard?! I am not a douche! You hear me, England? I am not a douche! I am King James II! Not King Douche II! King James II! Charles didn’t respect me, and you, you didn’t respect me, but my people will. OR I’LL FUCKING MAKE THEM! They will fucking tremble in love and adoration– ohh! I want hundreds to pay for this bastard’s actions! I don’t care who they were, if they even so much as saw him walk by, they are to be executed. Churchyard trees are to be littered with corpses, the military men will be order to play in time with the twitching of their feet! And if you think that this is too much, too cruel, I’ll remind you: One, I am just being historically accurate, and two, I am the goddamn motherfucking King of England! William!

William: …your majesty.

James: Oh, I couldn’t’ve done it without you! …But I know what this is. Scared to lose a few more windmills to Louis, huh? What, you thought that you could bribe me with this little quid-pro-quo?

William: I didn’t do it for you, I did it for Mary.

James: Mary? Don’t you dare bring my daughter into this. What? You thought that I was so stupid that little nugget of information would have me on all-fours like a whipped bitch begging to do you any favor you asked? No! That little shit was nothing! I could have fought him off while wiping my ass! I owe you nothing! France may be at your borders, but England could join them just as easily! God knows Louis and I talk about it. *laughs* Tip-toe around me, William. Now, I’d like to speak to my daughter. Now!

William: Mary, could you come here, please? I have a letter for you from your father.

Mary: He’s safe! Thank you, William!

James: Mary, my eldest daughter! *laughs* You know, I fought your uncle Charles about you having to marry that–

Mary: [indecipherable] William’s wonderful, actually. Yes, I–I miss my home very much, but Holland, it’s very, very clean.

James: [indecipherable] they tell me you’re considering a Catholic baptism.

Mary: Oh, no I’m not, Father.

James: You have a responsibility to me, Mary. Biblically, I am your father and you must honor me.

Mary: Well– I do honor you.

James: Then you must obey me.

Mary: Well, honor is not obeying.

James: From King Douche II to you now?

Mary: King Douche?

James: How dare you! I am very [indecipherable] you talk back to me. I am your father and you must honor me!

Mary: Enough of this.

James: You will make the child Catholic!

Mary: Stop!

James: We all know you have no choice. You’re a prisoner.

Mary: Please…

James: [indecipherable], Mary, there’s hope in the distance!

Mary: What are you suggesting?

James: Just because you… lie with the Dutch Dog doesn’t mean you need to get its flees.

Mary: He’s my husband!

James: *laughs* William isn’t long for this world.

Mary: What are you planning?

James: Oh, come now!

Mary: What are you plann– ah! Ah!

James: *laughs* You look like him. Can’t even walk without wheezing, spits blood; your time in the tower is almost over, Mary.

Mary: He is the father of my child. William, could you come here, please?

James: *scoffs* Is he the father? Last I heard, he couldn’t perform.

Mary: You’re one to talk!

James: My performance isn’t to be questioned!

Mary: I know the rumors of the queen’s great belly!

James: [indecipherable] rumors: just a few!

Mary: Nineteen out of twenty! That’s what– ah! Ah!

James: Make the child Catholic!

Mary: *spits*

James: Your mother–

Mary: She’s not my mother!

James: No, your real mother! Remember the day she died?

Mary: Please, Father, I’m in pain! I don’t want–

James: The day she died the priest came to administer her last rites, to cleanse her soul. Without it, your mother would be damned for all eternity! Her skin would scorch, blisters would form– weeping blisters!

Mary: *voice breaking* …William?

James: A priest came… and she refused him.

Mary: William! …That’s a lie!

James: After my counseling she refused the Protestant priest. The Catholic bishop was called in and all was confessed. So, in your philosophy, Mary, is it your mother or your child who’s damned to unfathomable pain and suffering? Which is the one true faith? If you baptize that child Protestant, it means you believe it’s your mother suffering, right now as we speak. Have you ever considered hellfire, Mary? *laughs* It’s something to think about. Oh! Your new mummy’s in labour now. Got to run.

Anne: Mary– and William *scoffs*– the queen’s had a baby. It’s a boy. They’ve baptized him Catholic *spits* toldja so. But there’s something else. I have some gossip! All of London– they think it’s a changeling! They think it’s not a real child. They think she snuck a child into her bed to pass off as our brother! Oh! Papa’s going mad. Something’s going to happen. Something bad.

William: May I see it?

Betty: There’s nothing to see. ...You should go to her, William.

*dramatic music / exert from “2020” by SUUNS*

♪ And what you see is really what you see ♪ ♪ What you, what you, what you, what you ♪ ♪ Do what you please, the thing what you see ♪ ♪ What you, what you, what you, what you ♪ ♪ And what you see you feel ♪ ♪ Coming real, take your way ♪ ♪ All through the way… ♪

~ Intermission ~

*guitar strumming*

Chorus: ♪ Good fortune [indecipherable] William and Mary [indecipherable]-tend ♪ ♪ May glories increase and their lives never end ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] daily successes our nation may find ♪ ♪ For England [indecipherable] they both are designed ♪

Mary: William?

William: Huh?

Mary: Why is there a Greek chorus?

William: [indecipherable] chorus now.

Mary: Yes, why?

Chorus: ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolution! ♪ ♪ William commands and we will obey ♪ ♪ Over the hills and far away ♪

Mary: Shoot, shoot, shoot! What story with a Greek chorus ends well?!

William: It’s just a device, Mary, it doesn’t mean–

Mary: The letter! They’re here because of the letter!

William: We received a letter?

Mary: From England. They call themselves–

Chorus: ♪ THE IMMORTAL SEVEN! ♪

Mary and William: The Immortal Seven.

Mary: Parliament has invited us to England.

William: They’ve invited us to invade England.

Mary: Why would they do that?

William: I don’t know.

Mary: We can’t invade!

Chorus: ♪ Invade you must, there’s no time to waste ♪ ♪ James is a monster! Our country defaced ♪ ♪ Blood in the streets and corpses in trees ♪ ♪ Come and put our minds at ease ♪

William: Your father is in talks to invade with Louis. Where? Here! He’s–he’s had his boy and he’s baptized him Catholic and all of England is on the brink of Civil War again!

Mary: What does that have to do with us?

William: Um, well… They want us to depose your father.

Mary: It has to be us?

William: I don’t see another alternative.

Mary: Shoot, shoot, shoot! Is it right?

William: Right? We–we save England, we save the Netherlands, we keep Europe in balance– yes.

Mary: But is it right for a daughter to depose her father? It’s the Fifth Commandment, right? “Honor thy father!”

William: He doesn’t need to die.

Mary: Well, I know my history, William! You only depose a king by killing him. How many former kings do you see walking around?! But… He can’t invade Holland! It’s your country and you care so much for it and the people and it’s so very, very clean– Okay, yes! We should do this. But we have to do it a different way. No blood. No killing. If it’s an invasion, it has to be a bloodless invasion!

William: I don’t know…

Mary: Can you try?

William: Invade one of the most powerful countries in the world, other-throw its king, and not hurt anyone in the process?

Mary: Please?

William: …Ja.

Chorus: *gasps* ♪ What’s that you say? ♪ ♪ We prick up our ears ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] you come ♪ ♪ To end all our fears ♪ ♪ Think of what you both could be ♪ ♪ You’ll go down in history! ♪

Mary: We could, couldn’t we! Imagine all that “First Citizen” stuff here in the Netherlands– we could do that in England! You could bring all of your wonderful ideas to my country! Imagine: Freedom of religion!

William: Freedom of the press!

Mary: And no more torturing! Or bloody pomp and circumstance! And we do it bloodless! We ride into England and the people will rise with us and father will say “Oh wow, that’s what the people want!” And it’ll all work out [indecipherable] Why shouldn’t we be king and queen?! Neither one of us want the damn job so we’re the ones who should have it…

William: Would I be king?

Mary: Yes.

William: Who would you be?

Mary: The queen.

William: Right, but who’s the one in charge?

Mary: …Oh.

William: It would be you, you’re first in line.

Mary: Oh, me? No.

Chorus: *murmuring in agreement*

Mary: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! I’d rather not.

William: It’s not up to you, you’re first in line.

Mary: Ah, but you! You–you are after me!

William: Right, but you still come first.

Mary: But I don’t want to be queen– okay, wait, wait! Let me think… Okay, solution. ….We’ll… both be king and queen!

William: It does not work that way.

Mary: [spluttering] Listen! We go to England; you raise an army and depose– aw– depose father and then we say “Alright! We’re both king and queen!” What’re they gonna do, say no?

William: Joint monarchs– it would be a first.

Mary: [indecipherable] I don’t know if it’s right. God says to honor thy father, but… that doesn’t feel right.

William: We can say no, Mary.

Mary: No… You okay?

Anne: Yes, quite, sister.

Mary: Okay, good.

Anne: Stop staring at me!

Mary: Let’s keep going. And my heart says to bother you.

William: Your heart says that? What do we want to do?

Chorus: ♪ To England, to England! We sail, we sail! To England, to England! At last, at last! A tempest, a tempest! Begins, begins! And [indecipherable], and [indecipherable]! [indecipherable], [indecipherable]! ♪

Soloist: ♪ To England, we sail / [indecipherable] / [indecipherable] / [indecipherable] ♪

Chorus: ♪ The men are afraid ♪ ♪ There’s no debate ♪ ♪ Revolution now must wait ♪

*storm sounds*

Mary: Ahh!

William: THEY’RE CALLING IT THE CATHOLIC WIND! WE CANNOT SAIL FOR ENGLAND UNTIL IT PASSES! WE’VE ALREADY LOST A THOUSAND HORSES! WE HAVE FORTY THOUSAND MEN WAITING TO INVADE– BUT THIS WIND!!

Mary: There have been so many omens! This wind; the miscarriage! Is it a sign from God?! Can a daughter who deposes her father be a Christian?! Can doing what’s right and God’s will be at odds?!

William: WHAT?!

Mary: CAN DOING WHAT’S RIGHT AND GOD’S WILL BE AT ODDS?!

William: Oh, it is over.

Chorus: ♪ [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ William and Mary, our God has ordained ♪ ♪ Rex and Regina, this we say ♪ ♪ Sail on the future king’s birthday ♪

Mary: Wait, really?

William: Ja. It’s my birthday. The fourth. Historically, that’s just how it happened to work out.

Mary: Oh! Well, that’s a good omen, right? Happy birthday to you!

William: Yes.

Mary: William, wait! Look… I respect you. And, under normal circumstances, I would never breach this, um, unspoken agreement, but, um, it’s his birthday– ah, could we– um, uh– you know– could we do just one round of “Happy Birthday”? Um, what’s a good starting note? *hums* Is that good? *hums* Ready?

Mary, chorus, and audience: ♪ Happy birthday to you! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to you! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday dear William! ♪ ♪ Happy birthday to your! ♪

*cheering*

William: This is the greatest birthday present I’ve ever received. Thank you.

Chorus: ♪ William has come and we will defend ♪ ♪ To kick out the tyrant and and then will ascend ♪ ♪ His first steps on English soil ♪ ♪ Defender of faith and [indecipherable] ♪

William: Hello? Where the hell is everyone?

Peasant: *screams* Oh, it’s [indecipherable] Day. Everyone’s busy catching cats.

William: Ah. Well, um, I am William of Orange, Defender of the Faith and– wait, why are you catching cats?

Peasant: To [indecipherable] the pope.

William: Ah. Well, I am William of Orange, Defende– the pope?

Peasant: *sighs* Not the real one sadly, but yeah. [indecipherable] cats and set them on fire.

William: Why you do this?

Peasant: For God! It’s tradition! …You’re not from around here are ya, foreigner!

Chorus: ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolu– ♪

Peasant: [indecipherable] you are making such a racket!

William: I am William of Orange, Defender of the Faith!

*cat screeches*

Peasant: [indecipherable] you scared the cat!

William: Good woman, have you not heard of our coming?

Peasant: …[indecipherable] in England?

William: I–

Peasant: [indecipherable] and whip em til their backs be bloody!! Ngyeehhhhhhhhh!!

William: *screams* I AM WILLIAM OF ORANGE! I COME FROM THE HAGUE BY INVITATION OF PARLIAMENT! Good lady! We come to overthrow King James II.

Peasant: *spits*

William: Progress. I am the [indecipherable]’s husband and myself, third in line. We come to bring stability and religious… freedom to this… country.

Peasant: Oh, you and what army?

Chorus: ♪ We are [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ Join is so you [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ James will soon be overthrown ♪

Peasant: Oh, [indecipherable], sir! I don’t have anything of worth but… I’d be proud to give you my cats.

William: *coughs*

Peasant: Oh, must be the cat smoke.

William: Oh, this air is filthy. I need a little rest.

Messenger: ♪ One man tried to poison your food ♪

Anne: ♪ Some with bullets [indecipherable] ♪

Chorus: ♪ Mostly [indecipherable] ready to fight ♪

Charles: ♪ [indecipherable] horse was white! ♪

William: Let us move forward!

James: William! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!

Chorus: ♪ James was appalled by the sight that he saw ♪

James: ♪ I’ll have your head, boy, remember [indecipherable]! ♪

Chorus: ♪ Soon his generals started to fall ♪

James: ♪ Troops, make an example of him! ♪

Chorus: ♪ James’ troops then began to abandon ♪ ♪ Our glorious William now [indecipherable] ♪

James: Did you not all swear your loyalty?! You are all my subjects! *gaps* Mary! Ungrateful daughter! You must swear your loyalty to your father! It is God’s will! The Fifth Commandment! Consider the hell– *splutters* What the hell? Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ Blood from his nose ♪ ♪ [indecipherable] to God ♪ ♪ James was denied ♪ ♪ His royal throne ♪

James: No! No! What the hell?! *spluttering* The Fifth Commandment– shit! This is terribly inconvenient

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ To James [indecipherable] ♪ ♪ His nose really bled ♪

James: WAIT, WHAT?!!

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ To France, King James ♪ ♪ Finally fleeeeeeeeeeee– ♪

James: STOP SINGING!

Anne, Messenger, and Monmouth: ♪ –eeeeeeeedddddd ♪

James: What, is this really historically accurate?! You’re just gonna let me go, William?! HA! Coward! I will return, William, I promise you that! Mary! Ungrateful daughter! You will suffer the fait of an unfaithful daughter. This is not how my story was… suppose to be told… To France.

Chorus: ♪ William has won now that James has fled ♪

William: *prolonged violent coughing*

Chorus: ♪ London is happy! ♪ ♪ With bonfires lit ♪ ♪ Willy’s lungs can’t take the smoke ♪ ♪ And all the fog just made him choke ♪ ♪ Over the hills and it must be done ♪ ♪ To England, Glorious Revolution! ♪ ♪ William commanded and now we’ve won ♪ ♪ Our new day begins with the rising of the sun! ♪ ♪ Of the sun! ♪

William: *groaning, gasping for breath*

#redlady speaks #it takes. a really long time to transcribe something #history brainrot #william iii #mary ii #the glorious revolution #charles ii #james ii #queen anne #the stuarts

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harringrovetrashrat · 3 years

Text

(We had a romcom month in Nov and y’all are gonna be subject to my bs. This one is While You Were Sleeping inspired)

Steve groaned when there was knocking.

“Tommy, for the last time, no, you can’t move in, no I’m not in black underwear, and no--” He swung the door open to a smiling Billy, one eyebrow raised teasingly. Steve flushed. “Sorry, thought you were Tommy.” He said, shoving his hands into his pajama pockets. Billy chuckled.

“Happens all the time,” he said. He stood there a moment before ducking his head and licking his lips, wry smile on his face. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, yeah!” Steve chirped, moving out of the way so Billy could enter. He moved into the living room, letting Billy follow. “Sorry,” he said with a wince, gesturing to the mess. Billy shrugged. It was quiet a moment before Billy cleared his throat and pointed at Steve’s chest.

“Deciding on ties?” He asked. Steve looked down, looked at the navy blue, dark green, and coral neckties he had on.

“Oh,” Steve chuckled, pulling them off. “Yeah, just uh, just seeing what will work. For tomorrow.” Steve stared at Billy, taking him in. Billy was looking at the clothes Steve had laid out, at the options he’d pulled out for the impromptu wedding. It made his heart clench, made his lungs feel heavy. He wanted Billy to say something. “What did--”

“I’m sorry,” he said, face set. “For all the trouble I gave you.” Steve’s words were stuck in his throat as Billy spoke. “I’m gonna be really happy to, to call you my brother in law,” he said, smiling at Steve. It didn’t reach his eyes quite right and Steve wanted him to fucking say something. Billy hummed softly and pulled a small package out of his pocket. “Oh, I got you a wedding gift,” he said.

“Yeah?” Steve’s voice was soft and Billy looked up at him through his lashes. Steve gently took the present, unwrapping it carefully.

“I saw it in the window on a job and just--”

“Billy,” Steve breathed. It was a snow globe. Nothing fancy, but it was of Florence. Steve shook it, watching the snow fall. “Billy I--”

“Anyway--”

“Tell me a reason why I shouldn’t marry Heather,” he said, cutting Billy off. “Tell me a reason and I won’t.” Billy froze, gaze sad. But, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t utter a peep. Steve gripped the snow globe tighter and smiled, nodding reflexively to the rejection, trying to push through the way it felt like his heart was breaking. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Steve,” Billy said, voice soft.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? At the--” Steve took a breath. “At the ceremony.” Billy looked like he wanted to say something, wanted to say a lot of things. But again, he didn’t. Just nodded and put his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah,” he replied, voice quiet. “Tomorrow.” Steve shut the door behind Billy as he left, leaning his forehead against it to cry. He took shuddery breaths, tried not to cry the day before his wedding, but for once, he couldn’t stop the tears.

Steve couldn’t believe he was late. Couldn’t believe he was going to be late to his own wedding. Yeah, maybe he wasn’t looking forward to it as much as he would have been a month ago, but he didn’t want to be late. He skidded into the hallway and quickly found the room where everything had been set up. Hop and Joyce were standing and talking, Murray was just sitting and watching the show, and Billy--

Billy was standing and waiting on Heather’s side. Because of course he was her Man of Honor. Steve walked in, waving. He made it halfway down the aisle before he realized he’d left his jacket on. So he ran back, put it on the hook, and walked down the aisle towards the family again.

“Finally!” Hopper boomed, smiling. “You didn’t get cold feet did you?” Steve chuckled and shook his head.

“No, no. Let’s uh, let’s do this.” Steve nodded to the rest of the family and looked at Billy. Billy looked away from him as soon as they locked eyes and Steve once more wished for a lot of things.

Music began and Steve watched Heather walk down the aisle, Hopper leading her along. They were smiling and Heather pulled her IV along, beaming at Steve. He smiled back, thinking about how she and Billy had the same dimples.

Then the priest had started to speak and Steve looked in Heather’s eyes and--

“I object,” he said quietly.

“He what?” Hopper said, leaning forward. Heather just blinked, tilting her head. The priest gave him a quizzical look.

“We haven’t gotten to that part yet,” he said.

“I’m sorry but I can’t do this,” Steve said, letting go of Heather’s hands and stepping back. “I--” He looked at the family. “I’ve been lying to you. To all of you. And I can’t go through with this when I love--” He looked at Billy, heart slamming against his ribcage. Billy stared, jaw slack.

“Billy?” Hopper groaned. “Boy, what did you do?” Billy snapped out of his shock, furrowing his brow.

“What did I do? I didn’t do anything!”

“He didn’t!” Steve cut in. Everyone fell silent again. “He didn't. This is all on me, okay? I’m not. I’ve never been Heather’s fiancee.” The family collectively blinked. “There was a miscommunication when she arrived and I didn’t correct them and then you guys came and--” He choked up a little, anxiety and regret filling him. “You were all so lovely,” he breathed out. “A big, loving family that annoyed each other and ragged on each other but still loved each other at the end of the day. I never… My parents stopped living at home when I was 13. They didn’t stay at home with me for more than a week at a time. I’ve never had real, good family in my life and…” He looked at them, all in varying degrees of shock. “I fell in love with all of you,” he said, voice soft but strong. Sure. “And I was selfish and held onto it for too long. Let this keep going when Heather doesn’t even know me.” He looks at her then, finding her smiling, even if it was sad. Steve had let go of her hands during his little speech, but he took one again. “I’m sorry,” he said to her. “It was unfair to you and-- I’m just sorry.” Steve looked at Billy, who seemed unsure if he was shocked, angry, sad, or happy. Steve understood that. “I’m sorry to you too, because somewhere along the way of falling in love with your family, I fell in love with you as well. And it wasn’t fair to… To want that when you didn’t know the truth.”

Before anyone could say anything else, the door burst open.

“I object!” A short, redheaded woman yelled from the doorway.

“Anyone else?” The priest asked, annoyed and ready to go home.

“Who are you?” Hopper demanded, brows drawn together.

“I’m Heather’s real fiancee!” She snapped, stomping down the aisle. Heather’s eyes bugged out.

“Carol? You said no!” She protested.

“Yeah, well I changed my mind--”

“What the fuck?” Joyce mumbled, pressing a dainty hand to her forehead. The family got mixed up in the commotion and Steve quickly slipped out before anyone could pay him any mind. It was easier that way. He could slip out of their lives as easily as he slipped in and let them get back to normal.

Steve scratched a line on his notepad with his pen, cheek resting on his hand. The day was slow, most people quietly bustling their way along in the cold of Chicago. He sighed, letting his head fall forward to the desk.

“Listen,” Robin said from behind him, spinning around in her chair. “It’s literally painful watching you mope. Let’s get drinks tonight or something.” Steve didn’t look over his shoulder, just shrugged.

“Not feeling it,” he mumbled. Robin sighed. She opened her mouth to say more, maybe snark some sense back into him, when she saw a group approaching. Steve still had his head down, shoulders slumped as he tried to make himself small.

It had been a long week since everything and Steve was tired. Was tired, was sad, and didn’t really want to exist. He’d been looking at plane tickets while holding Billy’s snow globe like some sort of creep for most of the week. If he imagined being able to bring Billy along, no one else needed to know. But it was the only thing he could think of to do. To take some steps to enjoy his life, even if he had to do it alone.

He really didn’t want to do it alone.

There was a clink in front of him and he grabbed the change, not looking up or even saying his customary hello. Once he had the pass printed, he slipped it back under the window and a hand quickly placed itself on top of his. Steve’s breath caught. He knew those fingers. Knew those rings. He’d memorized them.

Blue eyes were gazing down at him when he looked up, mouth opening in shock. Billy smiled at him, small and hopeful. Hopper and Joyce were doing a particularly bad job of hiding behind the pillar and watching. Murray and Max had foregone trying to hide and were just watching, smiling at the sight. Steve’s mind was racing. Were they here to tell him off? Were they mad? Were they--

“Wanna go on a trip with me, pretty boy?” Billy asked, voice gentle and loving and everything Steve had been wanting to hear for the past month. He gaped, mind working too slow to catch up. Billy looked a little nervous at his silence, obviously chewing on the inside of his lip.

“Oh my god,” Robin said as the silence dragged on too long. “He so fucking does. Please, take his moping ass on a date so I don’t have to drown him myself.”

“Robin!” Steve hissed, turning red.

“You’ve literally been depressed all week and it’s been bringing my vibe down.” Her look softened as she smirked, small and just at Steve. “Go get your man. I’ll cover for you.”

Steve could have kissed her.

Instead, he stood, shoving the door to the booth open and jumping the turnstile to cup Billy’s face and pull him into a kiss. Billy’s hands settled on his waist as he smiled against Steve’s lips. Joyce let out a Yes! that was probably louder than it should have been, but Steve didn’t care. Didn’t think about anything except the lips pressed against his. When he pulled back, Billy was smiling, bright and happy and Steve loved him.

“I’d go anywhere with you, Blue.”

#steve harrington #Billy Hargrove #harringrove #romcom au #while you were sleeping au #kinda i dunno y'all this is my hubris now #mentions of steather

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starlost-andfound · 3 years

Text

slow dancing in the dark (amoureux au) / d.j.s

Following Chapter 17 of Amoureux...

Summary: in which daniel’s heart belongs to louisa forever, but her heart has fallen into the arms of another

a/n: this was so similar to chapter 18 and 19 of Amoureux i almost didn’t write it rip

Warnings: Angst, absolute lack of knowledge on how galas & weddings worked in the 1820s (bear with me)

Word Count : Approximately 3.46K (oops...)

Extra: Surprise @chilling-seavey! + Thank you to @stuffofseaveyy for hyping me up this morning and @jonahlovescoffee for the help on the dialogue, I love you!

“I am marrying your brother in a week. We need to stop this now, okay?”

“No. No, you don’t mean that.” Daniel chuckled in disbelief. Louisa’s firm response before walking away hit Daniel hard. She couldn’t really mean that? Could she? He stayed away from the wedding preparations in the main hall of the church, and lingered in the background, deep in his thoughts.

That night when they returned, he waited until Christian retreated to his room before peeking his head out of his room. Once he saw the hallway was clear, he hurried over to Louisa’s room, quietly knocking on her door.

Daniel listened quietly as he heard a shuffle on the other side before the door opened by a crack. Louise looked out, her curious expression instantly turning to a frown.

“What are you doing, Daniel?”

“I came here to talk to you.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Louisa pushed the door but Daniel held back, holding his hand against it.

“Please, Louisa,” he looked into her eyes, a desperation in his words.

Louisa stepped back, silently, holding the door open for him. She checked the hallways before shutting the door and turning to Daniel with a sharp look on her face, “Well, go on.”

Daniel felt taken back at her sudden brash tone. He gulped, before straightening his shoulders, “You can’t be serious about marrying Christian, Louisa.”

“What do you mean?”, she whispered harshly, “I have to do what’s right for the country and the integrity of our families, Daniel.”

Daniel huffed, “What about for you? Is this right for you? Do you even love him, Lou?”

Louisa crossed her arms over her chest, “It’s Louisa and yes, I do.”

Daniel’s heart dropped, “You do?”

He stepped closer to her, “What about us? What about me? Do you not love me?”

“Merde. Daniel, don’t do this right now.”

“The kisses in the stairwell, the late nights we spent loving each other, everything. What was that for?”

Louisa sighed, looking out at the balcony in her room where the moonlight slipped through the open doors. She turned to Daniel, “We were being young, and naive, and reckless. I’m going to get married, it had to end.”

“Yes, we were young and we were naive and it was reckless but, tell me I’m wrong- we were in love, Lou.”

Louisa looked at Daniel in his eyes and with a strong tone she whispered, “You are right. We were in love. Were. And for the last time, it’s Louisa.”

Daniel shuddered, stepping back.

“You need to leave,” she gestured towards the door.

“You’re lying.”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” Daniel glared. “You are so utterly blinded by my brother’s love. Does he show you love like I do?”

“Daniel, stop it, right now.”

Daniel stepped closer to her, ignoring her words as he continued, “Does he make you smile like I do? Does he hold you like I -”

“La ferme!”, Louisa’s loud response stunned Daniel to silence. She never raised her voice at him.

Louisa jabbed her finger into Daniel’s chest, her lips trembling in anger as she spoke, “You have no right to walk in here and tell me who I am to love. What we had is long gone and over. I love Christian and I will marry him. Now, leave.”

Daniel gulped reaching for her, “Lou-”

“Leave.”

_ _ _

Daniel felt sick to his core as he watched Louisa walk down the aisle to Christian. Everyone settled down as the ceremony started, sharing smiles across the hall. Daniel sat silently, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white.

“Christian John, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together according to God’s law in the holiest state of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, protect her, and keep her in sickness and in health and keep only unto her so long as ye both shall live?”

Daniel could feel the burn in his chest as he watched his brother smile at her and reply without any hesitation, “I will.”

The bishop turned to Louisa and Daniel couldn’t take it anymore. He got up from his seat and walked past to the gate. A firm hand held him back and he turned to meet his mother, “Where do you think you are going, Daniel?”

Daniel stifled a cry, “I am not feeling well, mother. I think I may be down with a cold.”

He was thankful for the heart broken tears in his eyes which looked to his mother, to be a sign of illness. His mother dismissed him, asking a guard to escort him back to the castle before turning back to the ceremony just as the bishop asked Louisa the marriage sealing question.

Daniel walked out of the church, clenching his fists as Louisa’s words echoed through the hall before the door shut behind him.

“I will.”

_ _ _

If the wedding wasn’t too much to bear, the extravagant gala celebrating the newly wed royals, left Daniel devastated. It had been a week since the wedding and his acting skills weren’t enough to maintain the role of a sick prince. He laid in bed as the doctor did a check up, dreading the day ahead as the royal servants prepared the grand hall for that night.

“Is it absolutely necessary for me to attend? I still feel a little under the weather,” he muttered, watching as the doctor packed his tools in his briefcase.

“Your temperature is perfectly healthy and you show no symptoms of any illness. I am afraid you need to attend,” the doctor picked up his case and bowed down, “Your royal highness.”

Daniel dismissed the doctor and watched with sorrowful eyes as he left the room. There was no way out of this. He was somewhat thankful because of the wedding and preparations for the gala, all his classes were cancelled until further notice. The young prince stayed in his room, refusing to do anything else. His act of catching a cold allowed him to have his meals in his room for the past week but with the gala approaching and no reason not to attend, he couldn’t avoid it.

It seemed like time passed all too quickly and soon the clock above his chest of drawers struck 6. As the hour hand touched the tips of the number twelve, Daniel’s personal royal servants stepped into the room with his suit in their hands. They urged him to get dressed, fixing his hair and polishing his shoes as he stared blankly ahead.

“Your royal highness,” the servants bowed and exited the room once Daniel dismissed them and he was left alone again. His sighed as his eyes drifted around the room, trying to find anything that could peak his interest and distract him. He found himself staring at this bedside table’s drawer which held in secret, the letters and whispers of his old lover.

Though his mind resisted, his heart was pulled towards it. His feet carried him across the room and to the table where he picked up the first of many envelopes in the pile.

À mon amoureux secret

Daniel traced her handwriting on the envelope, his hands trembling as he opened the folded paper. He read the letter over and over again, his eyes memorising every detail in every curve of the pen which spelled the words which once held so much love and passion. With every line he read, Daniel’s vision blurred, pulling and distorting the words. He wiped his eyes, and shoved the letter back into the drawer, slamming it shut.

A knock on the door pulled him to compose himself as he steadied his breathing, furiously blinking away the tears.

“Yes, you may come in,” he called out.

A recognizable face of one of the royal guards, Daniel knew as Jack, opened the door and stepped into the room.

“Sir, it is time,” he straightened his posture, “We must escort you to the grand hall.”

Daniel nodded, following Jack out.

“Have all the guests arrived?”, Daniel inquired as they approached the doors, the sound of chatter and classical music growing louder.

Jack nodded briefly, “Most of the guests have, Sir.”

Daniel gulped, “Is Louisa here yet?”

Jack shook his head, “The prince and princess will arrive in half an hour.”

The guards at the door bowed their heads before opening the two large wooden doors, allowing Daniel to enter. He kept a low profile, not that it required much work. Everyone was far too excited to meet the newly wed royal couple. To the pleased eyes of his mother, Daniel maintained a polite character, greeting the guests.

A tap on his shoulder, pulled Daniel away from his seat as he turned to his mother.

“Daniel, I would like you to meet someone.”

Daniel followed his mother to a group of three people. Daniel scanned the three, noting their resemblance, their clothing and their features. They looked to be from another royal family, a king, a queen and another princess. Daniel’s mother introduced him to the family, placing extra emphasis on the princess.

“Princess Cecile of Denmark,” the mother introduced the young princess who looked to be the same age as Daniel.

The princess curtsied, a soft smile on her face, “Your royal highness.”

Daniel bowed down, greeting her, with a subtle glare hidden in his almost neutral expression as he observed her. She was beautiful, he wouldn’t deny that, but she wasn’t her. Her hair was a darker brown and her eyes, although they were the same colour, didn’t glow the same.

To his dismay, his mother left him to interact and talk to the princess. Daniel smiled politely as they conversed. Her shy smiles and the slight blush on her cheeks every time he spoke, did not go unnoticed by Daniel. He inhaled deeply, his breath shaking in all his frustration.

“What do you enjoy doing in your free time?”, Cecile asked.

Daniel’s lips tugged up in a close lipped smile, “I like composing music.”

Cecile looked down at the curt response, “That sounds lovely,” she grinned.

An awkward silence fell over the two. Daniel turned his head, his eyes checking the time on the clock.

5 minutes until she arrived.

“Excuse me,” Daniel abruptly excused himself, barely waiting for the princess’ response before he pushed through the crowd. He had no sense of direction, he just wanted an escape from it all. He spotted the table of food that laid ahead, and changed his direction towards it. On the way, Daniel bumped into one of the countless servants he didn’t recognize. The servant carried a tray, holding an arrangement of glasses filled with champagne.

“Champagne, sir?”

Daniel hesitated a moment, the ache in his chest clouding his thoughts as he reached for a glass. He held the glass delicately in his hands, carrying it to a corner in the hall near the table, free of large crowds. He looked across the hall, everyone seemingly occupied in a conversation. His gaze dropped to the glass of champagne and he lifted it to his nose, taking a sniff.

Daniel pulled back from the glass slightly, his face breaking into a grimace before he took a sip, testing the taste on his tongue. The unfamiliar liquid frizzled and invaded his mouth with a bitter taste. He took a larger gulp of the drink, feeling the warmth which burnt his throat and the slight wave that washed over him.

With a sudden tilt of the glass, he downed the glass, wincing at the taste. Daniel looked around the room, placing the glass on the table of food. His eyes drifted to another servant carrying glasses of champagne and he approached them, grabbing another. He lifted it up to his lips, taking a large sip.

The sudden sound of the trumpets in the hall and the silence that fell across the crowd pulled Daniel away from his drink as he looked up at the entrance of the room. He watched with a look of distaste on his face as an announcement was made and his brother walked into the hall with Louisa, their arms linked. The members of the crowd, bowed and curtsied respectfully. With the largely crowded room, no one noticed how Daniel remained standing, his eyes set on the royal couple.

As the couple descended the stairs and greeted the guests, Daniel chugged down his drink, the harsh liquid staining his mouth with the lingering smell of the alcohol. Daniel remained in his corner of the hall by the table, observing the movements of the crowd, yet his eyes always seemed to betray him, falling onto her. His head fell back and he rested it against the wall as he admired her from afar.

Daniel thought she was the most beautiful in the room, more beautiful than the moon, even. Her gown complimented her perfectly. He noticed the extra curl in her strawberry blonde hair and the rouge on her lips. He sighed shakily as his eyes traced her figure, falling to the ring on her finger.

He was suddenly pulled out of his haze when the crowd seemed to part, leaving a circle around the dance floor. Daniel frowned, rubbing his eyes as a soft classical tune played on the speakers. He pushed through the circle of people, standing at the front just as Louisa and Christian stepped to the middle of the dance floor, hand in hand. The first dance.

The instrumental music escalated as they danced in each other’s arms. Daniel clenched his jaw, watching as Christian held Louisa and they waltzed. At one moment, Christian spun her around in a circle. Louisa’s eyes connected with Daniel’s before she quickly looked away, turning to Christian with a smile.

The dance finally drew to a close as pairs in the crowd joined the royal couple, waltzing together. A firm hand fell onto Daniel’s shoulder as he heard the familiar voice of his mother, “Why don’t you go dance with Cecile?”. Knowing well enough not to go against the words of his mother, Daniel trudged over to the princess who blushed at his offer.

The two young acquaintances joined the dance at the centre of the hall. Daniel sent a polite smile to Cecile as they danced, spinning around the room. However, his eyes would only, always drift to the one person who danced just a few feet away, yet remained tied closely to his heart.

Soon, in a synchronized motion, partners were swapped and Daniel found himself dancing with another woman. His new partner, a duchess, as Daniel discovered was slightly older than him. She mentioned just how adorable he was and blabbered about the grandeur of her castle, droning endlessly. Daniel released a sigh of relief as the partners swapped again but his breath caught in his throat as he felt the familiar grasp of her hand.

His eyes focused on the soft strawberry blonde curl that rested on her shoulder and he gulped.

“Oh, it’s you.” Louisa looked up.

“Louisa,” Daniel breathed her name, looking her in the eyes.

They waltzed to the music, eyes entranced by each other. One pair of eyes held a deep yearning and the other seemed indifferent, unfocused. Daniel gulped, unsure of what to say. He looked across from him, at his brother. He was too far to hear anything. Daniel looked back at Louisa, a sudden desperation in his lungs, itching his throat and urging him to speak.

“Louisa, I’m sorry about that night.”

Louisa smiled at him but it didn’t hold the love it once did. It was a mere polite smile, one which mimicked Daniel’s expressions towards Cecile. “It’s alright,” she whispered.

“I mean every word I said though,” Daniel suddenly blurted out, the foreign taste of the alcohol he drank, luring him away from his conscious words. “I love you Louisa.”

"Daniel we’ve spoken about this,” Louisa replied sternly. “I don’t feel that way for you anymore.”

Daniel sighed shakily, “But I do, Louisa. I do love you and I know you love me inside, I don’t what has come over you. I love you more than anything in the world and I- it breaks me to see you with him, to see you look at him the way you used to look at me like he is your whole world.”

“Daniel-”

“We promised each other the world, Louisa. There is no way you can throw that away for someone else.”

“Daniel,” Louisa gripped Daniel’s shoulder a little tighter, urging him to quieten down, “You are out of your mind.”

She paused, suddenly taking in the odd scent he carried over his cologne. “Have you been...drinking?”

Daniel shook his head hurriedly, shamefully, “Just a glass- no two. Just two, I swear upon my heart Louisa, please. You look at him like he’s your world,” he continued. “I don’t know where you’ve gone.”

“Da-”

“I want you - no, I need you back,” Daniel whispered hurriedly. “We could flee, leave the country and abandon our titles to start a new life, start a new family...”

“Daniel, stop-”

“We could get our happily ever after,” Daniel pleaded, his eyes frantically searching for any flicker of change in Louisa.

“Daniel, listen to me,” Louisa whispered, “There’s no happy ever after for us, not when I don’t feel the same. What we used to be is part of the past.”

Daniel held back the hurt in his expression as he spun Louisa around once, before catching her in his arms again, in harmony with the others on the floor.

“I love Christian,” Louisa pressed, pressing another weight onto his chest.

“Daniel, I’m married to him now,” she reminded him. “Just let it go.”

Daniel whimpered, “Louisa, I can’t. Wait, no please-”, he tugged her hand back, desperately as she began to move away.

Louisa looked back at Daniel, her expression only filled with an emotion Daniel despised - pity.

“I’m sorry,” her hand slipped through Daniel’s as she joined hands with the next person beside her. Christian.

Daniel stepped back, watching as her eyes lit up when she was in his arms. Christian said something to her and she laughed. Daniel’s face fell even more as he watched her smile. He used to be the one who could make her happy like that.

He shook his head from side to side, his lips trembling as he backed away from the crowd. Daniel turned around, bumping straight into another person. They gasped, looking up. Cecile, Daniel recognized. He wished for anything else but running into someone he knew, hoping that the ground would just swallow him up.

“Daniel,” Cecile spoke, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Daniel gulped, “I-”

The sudden tear that fell from his eyes, rushed him to push past Cecile, as he headed straight for the doors of the hall. Daniel clenched his fist, his fingers pressing into his palms as he opened the doors and walked into the hall. He breathed deeply, holding back his tears and ignoring the calls of the guards.

He navigated the empty halls of the castle, wiping another tear away as he recalled her words.

“There’s no happy ever after for us.”

He walked aimlessly, trying to find a familiar room. His room, the music room, any room far enough to feel far enough. Daniel unbuttoned the top of his collar, the material growing uncomfortable and far too restraining.

The way she looked at him.

He took a sharp turn to the right, nearing an unfamiliar corridor. The windows on the side let in the bright moonlight, casting a glow over the dusted ornaments and paintings on the wall. Daniel walked across the hallway, in search for some familiar passage he could recognize. When he found none, realising he was lost, he cried out. Daniel slammed his fist against the wall.

“I’m sorry.”

The tearing pain in his chest and the frustration of being lost broke the last straw. A strangled cry left his lips and Daniel fell to the ground on his knees. He gripped his hair, sobs wracked his body. The sound of his cries in the deserted hallway was chilling, almost mocking as the young prince fell apart under the burden of his pain.

The feel of her hands in his, her smile, her laugh, her everything. The touches in the late hours of the night, all the promises sealed. He carved her name into his heart for eternity. Yet, she engraved someone else’s name into hers, tied by vows and a silver band. A feeling which only they knew and held once, fell to ruins. A tragic end tied by the secrecy of what was once love.

#Daniel seavey #Daniel seavey imagines #Daniel seavey imagine

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wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years

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Skyline Manor by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 1/13

Read on AO3: | Chapter 1

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly

Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time

Once Upon a time in the faraway land of Bostonia, lived a Princess named Emma Swan and her son, Sir Henry and while Sir Henry loved and adored his mother, he longed for adventure. Life at Skyline Manor bordered on mundane, and Sir Henry wanted to see the world, find buried treasure, or save the kingdom from impending doom. But most of all, the thing Sir Henry wanted most in all the realms was for his mother to find true love.

Princess Emma had many suitors, presently she was being courted by Duke Humbert of Rockport, a friend of her brother King David’s and an honorable man. Yet for all the dancing, flowers, and bold intentions, his mother had not yet settled for the Duke.

For Sir Henry knew that his mother was longing for her own adventure. He had observed her many times from her window, while glancing up from his place in the garden. She would sit, stoically, her gaze always looking outward, staring wistfully at the sea. But alas, adventure was frowned upon for the Princess, as King David wanted her to settle down and marry, forever giving up her chance at finding the one thing that had alluded her. A happy ending.

“Henry, dinner is ready.”

Henry dropped his pen and turned toward his door, shoving his notebook in his desk drawer as his mother entered his bedroom.

“Did you hear me? Dinner’s ready.”

“Yup, just finishing up my homework.” He closed his math book and stood from his desk. “We aren’t having meatloaf again are we?”

His mother tussled his hair and pushed him toward the kitchen. “No, mac and cheese tonight.”

“Oh yum.” He exclaimed before she grabbed him by the shirt.

“Wash your hands first.”

“Mom.” He whined. “My hands are clean.”

“Now.” She demanded. “Then come to the table. We won’t start without you.”

“We?”

“Yeah, I told you last week that Graham was coming for dinner tonight?”

Henry smiled, “Oh yeah.” He turned away from his mother so she wouldn’t see the frown on his face. Graham “The Bore” Humbert and his mother had been dating for six months. It wasn’t that Henry didn’t like him; he just wasn’t interesting. He had been excited when he first met him, leather jacket, with a shiny gold badge, he couldn’t wait to hear all his stories about chasing bad guys or shooting a gun, only to find out that he wasn’t exactly a cop but more like a security guard for an old folk’s home.

He was a nice man, polite, friendly, and his mom seemed to like him, so he tried not to show his disappointment when his mother invited him along to things they used to do together. Going to the zoo, spending time at the park by the docks, or go-kart racing, all of the previous mother/son activities became, mother/son plus Graham activities. While it was disappointing, his mother deserved to be happy. She had gone through a rough time with her dad and though they had stopped yelling at each other, he knew that she had been unhappy for a really long time.

Seeing his mother laugh and smile was great and everything, but Henry just didn’t feel like Graham was the right man for his mom. Case in point, when he and his mom wanted to try sailing, Graham got seasick and threw up the entire trip. Or when they went to that new escape room downtown and Graham ignored his mother’s suggestion to enter the code they found in the chest on the cabinet lock and ended up wasting twenty minutes entering random numbers until time ran out.

Henry was sure that someone could be a nice man, just not the right man.

He spent many of their outings trying to find a better match for his mom. Every man they passed, or spoke to, became eligible options for Emma. So far he hadn’t found anyone worthy enough. He guessed Graham could do until he found something better. At least she wouldn’t be sad like she was before Graham had arrived.

“Goodness, did you wash off your fingerprints?” His mother asked as he sat down at the table.

“Sorry, I got distracted.” He said sheepishly as he sat down.

“How are you Henry?” Graham turned his attention nervously toward him.

He shrugged. “Good I guess.” Dinner was quiet, he dug his fork into the noodles, slipping them into his mouth as he glanced around the table. There was small talk that didn’t include him, mostly things Graham had dealt with at work, some man named Leroy fell and hurt his hip, the lady he always called Grans had gotten angry about the food in the cafeteria again, so he had to settle her back to her room. Not terrible things, but nothing that interested Henry and he wasn’t exactly a part of the conversation either. “Can I go hang out with Will tonight?”

“I thought maybe we could watch a movie.” She replied, looking between him and Graham.

“Will promised we could finish the Falcon tonight.” He whined.

“You’re building a bird?” Graham asked.

“The Millennium Falcon.” He corrected with an air of disappointment when the man shrugged his shoulders, not understanding what it was.

“Ok, what’s that?”

Henry’s mouth dropped and he turned toward his mother. “He doesn’t know what it is?”

“Afraid Graham doesn’t like Star Wars.” Henry blinked slowly. Another strike against you, buddy, he thought. “We were thinking we could watch “Paul Blart, Mall Cop.” His mother smiled toward Graham.

Mall Cop, he groaned internally. His mother hated that movie. He tried to fake a smile. “Sounds great.” He knew his voice must have sounded disingenuous when Graham cleared his throat and spoke.

“Emma, if he wants to build this Falcon car, I don’t mind, we can watch the movie some other time, or I can leave it here if he wants to watch it after we do, tonight.”

“Ok fine, but you have to go to bed at 9 tonight, you have school tomorrow.” Henry jumped up from the table. “And tell Will I said no bad words. I’m still getting dirty looks from the principle after you felt the need to use the phrase bloody hell when your teacher asked if you did your homework last week.”

“Got it, bed by 9, no bad words. Love you mom.” He kissed her cheek and ran out of the room, sticking his head back through the opening of the door. “Bye Graham.” He announced before running from the room toward the front door and sprinting across the hallway, colliding with something solid as soon as he shut his door.

He fell backward, landing on his rear and looking up to see a tall, dark haired man in a leather jacket staring down at him. “Sorry, lad, I fear I didn’t see you. I hope I haven’t injured you.” He held his hand out and helped him off the floor.

“Takes a lot more than that to hurt me.” He replied with a grin taking in the stranger’s appearance, wondering who he was and what he was doing here.

“Alright then lad, glad you’re not hurt.”

Henry looked down and picked up the item the man dropped, turning it over in his hand, it was a set of keys with a ship’s anchor hanging from a chain. “Cool anchor.”

The man laughed and took the keys from his hand. “Thanks, mate. I’m Killian Jones, I just moved in next door.” He gestured to the door on the other side of his own.

“My name’s Henry.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Sir Henry.” He stated and Henry’s eyes grew wide. “I hope you get to where you’re going safely.” He chuckled.

“Thanks, just going to visit my friend Will, he lives across the hall here.” Pointing to the door in front of them.

“Alright then, I won’t keep you. Be careful, I’m sure your mom and dad would be quite upset if you were injured.”

“I just live with my mom. My dad doesn’t live here.”

“You sure do give out a lot of information to strangers. You should be careful with that; I could be an untrustworthy person?”

“Are you?”

“Well, no, but you should still be careful, lad.” He said with a laugh. “Have a good evening, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

Henry waved as the man retreated down the hall, his anchor keychain jingling from his back pocket. A smile grew on his face. A new player had arrived on the scene, he thought before knocking on the door in front of him.

Will Scarlet opened the door, smiling down at him. “Bloody hell, it’s already 7pm. You’re already late.”

“Mom says you can’t use that word while I’m here. And I couldn’t help it, Graham came over tonight and wanted to watch Mall Cop.” Will Scarlet was his mother’s best friend. They had known each other since before Henry was born. Will was Henry’s Godfather and Will’s place was his favorite place to be besides his own home.

“Oh God. He takes that security guard thing a bit too far doesn’t he?”

“He doesn’t even watch Star Wars. Who doesn’t watch Star Wars?”

“Loads of people, mate, loads of incorrect and ignorant people.” He teased as they sat down in front of the multitude of Legos spread out on the table in front of them. “But cut him some slack, he’s a good man. Your mom could do worse.”

“She could do better.”

“Henry!” He warned. “Just because he’s a snoozer, doesn’t mean your mom doesn’t like being around him. She seems to see something in him that’s worth having around to her, so don’t screw that up, kid.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “I know, I know, I was nice to him. I promise.”

“Good to hear, kid.” He ruffled his hair and they worked together to find the pieces they needed to continue where they left off. “Did your mom get the chicken for the barbeque next weekend?”

Henry’s favorite summer tradition was the annual Skyline Apartment’s barbeque. It was held every June on the roof of the building and all the residents attended. The roof had the best view of the harbor in town and was the main reason his mom chose this place when they moved here three years ago.

“Yeah, she got it on Wednesday.” He paused. “Oh yeah, there’s a new guy, we need to invite him too.”

“Which new guy?”

“The guy who moved into the vacant apartment next door, 4C, I ran into him on my way over here.”

“I’ll make sure Rubes invites him, then.”

“Awesome.”

When Henry returned to his room later that evening he pulled the notebook out of his drawer and stared at the page.

Sir Henry hoped that a new adventure would be revealed at the annual ball. Every year, the residents of Skyline Manor hosted a party, which was attended by the King and Queen of Bostonia. Perhaps this would be the moment that his mother would find her true love. As preparations for the ball were being set, a mysterious ship dropped anchor at Bostonia Harbor, helmed by the bravest sailor in all the lands, Captain Killian Jones.

~*~

Killian Jones dropped his keys on the counter, looking around the empty apartment in front of him. Stepping out onto his balcony he closed his eyes and listened for the sound of the seagulls. He smiled to himself as he drank in the smells of the fresh ocean air. He could barely believe his luck when a unit opened at Skyline Apartments. He had been on the waiting list for a year after scoping out the best apartments close to the harbor.

This was a rare find. Living near the harbor meant he no longer had to sit in traffic to get to his job each day. Killian loved the ocean. When he moved to Boston from Maine two years ago, he knew that he wanted to work on the water. It was by chance that an old Navy friend of his knew of a job for a charter company that needed a Captain to give tours of the harbor to paying guests and the rest as they say, was history.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out from his restrictive denim jeans to glance at the screen.

Belle: Want to get dinner tonight? I assume you haven’t bought any groceries for your new apartment and if I didn’t get to you soon, you’d have already ordered pizza and opened a beer.

Killian laughed; Belle knew him so well. He’d been seeing the lass for the last six months, but he tried to keep things light between them. Dinner and a movie, perhaps a round of pool at a nearby bar, but Killian Jones didn’t have a girlfriend. She never spent the night, they didn’t celebrate each other’s birthdays, and they never talked about their future.

He liked Belle very much, she was a friendly lass, very attentive, an excellent lover, and honestly a great friend. But he couldn’t afford to make attachments.

His last relationship, if you could call it that, had lasted two years. The woman he had been seeing wasn’t exactly up front on all aspects of her personal life. Perhaps he should have seen the immediate red flags when they met and her relationship status on Facebook was “It’s complicated.” Turns out complicatedmeant married, and not in the separated variety either.

An arrest from a bar fight and a restraining order later, it was over. Everything Killian had thought he knew about his life had turned upside down. He had lived with a friend for a few months while he tried to recover from losing the woman he had planned to ask to marry him. When he was finally determined to move on, lost in drink and terrified of having his heart broken again, he swore to his brother that he would never enter a relationship with another woman.

He had not broken that drunken vow since. He enjoyed women, in fact, he had enjoyed the company of many a lass after nights spent at the bar, carnal activities were something he found himself quite skilled at. But that was usually as far as things went. One-night stands, chance encounters, never emotional connection.

Sure, his one-night stand with Belle French had extended into six months. One dinner that turned into a string of dinners and bedroom romps, but Killian kept his heart out of the transaction. Belle was fun, she was safe, and she seemed to understand their arrangement.

Killian: Or you could bring sandwiches from that place we went to on 5th. I’ll provide the beer. As long as you don’t mind sitting on the floor. Furniture doesn’t arrive until tomorrow afternoon.

Belle: On my way!

Killian stepped into the hall, locking his door behind him. He knew there was a convenience store within walking distance where he could purchase some beer for the evening. Turning toward the elevator he saw the door to the apartment next to him open and a man step out into the hall. He believed it to be the one the young lad came from earlier when they collided in the hall.

“Tell Henry goodnight for me.” The man’s attention was focused on the occupant still inside the apartment. “Sorry he missed the movie.”

“Maybe next time.” He heard a laugh as he approached, nodding to the man in the hall and turning toward the open door. He made eye contact with the most radiant green eyes he had ever seen, almost tripping over his own feet.

“Good evening.” He offered the greeting to the couple with a nod.

“Hey.” The woman said with a gorgeous smile that seemed to cause the entire dark hall to light up brightly. He continued to the elevator, only turning back when it opened, and he saw the man turn toward him.

“Hold the elevator.” He leaned over and kissed the woman, running down the hall and joining him in the small space. “Haven’t seen you around here before.” He offered his hand toward him and Killian shook it. “I’m Graham. Do you live here?”

“Aye, just moved in to 4C. Name’s Jones.”

“Ah you’re neighbors with my girlfriend and her kid.”

“Ah, Henry, I believe? I think I bumped into him in the hall earlier.”

“That’s him. Great kid.” He said as he exhaled. Killian nodded, unsure of what else to share with the man. He hated small talk and found it completely unnecessary. He was relieved when he heard the ding of the elevator announcing they had arrived on the ground floor.

“Nice meeting you.” He offered as he headed toward the exit.

“Yeah, I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

~*~

Emma stood in her doorway watching her boyfriend and the mystery man enter the elevator. She’d never seen him in the building before. She wondered if Ruby had met someone new recently. Obviously if she had, she could understand why she was keeping him a secret. He was gorgeous in that sort of dangerous, don’t-take-home-to-mom, kind of way.

She closed her door, locking it behind her as she went about cleaning the cups from the living room. It was a lovely evening with Graham, even if the movie was on her do-not-care-to-watchlist. Graham was a really good man. He was friendly, had a steady job, and treated her well. It was more than she had with her ex-husband, Neal.

Neal and Emma had burned with a fire that she knew could never be sustained. They burned hot and blew up just as quickly. She had been married to Neal for less than six months before he got arrested for breaking and entering. She should have known things weren’t going to work out when their first date was to a club that turned out to be a target for a robbery that he had been scoping out. She tried to reconcile all the reasons he could change if they stayed together. But Neal never grew up.

As soon as the ink dried on their divorce papers, she found out she was pregnant because isn’t that just how life works? She had thought she would be done with Neal forever, and then they were forced to work together to parent a child. Henry being born did cause Neal to grow up at least a little, and he gave up his previous life in order to maintain joint custody of their son. Emma had threatened that the moment she found out he was messed up in anything illegal, she would take him back to court immediately.

Eleven years later, and Neal was still clean. Completely and utterly immature, but at least he had held down the same job for the last three months. And he was getting paid legally instead of under the table, which was a welcomed change. For the most part they got along, mostly for Henry’s sake, but she was happy that Henry had both of his parents in his life.

That had been the most important part to her, growing up in the foster system without knowing her real parents had led to a difficult childhood. However, when she turned six, she had been adopted by Ruth and Robert Nolan. They had a son that was only 2 years older than her, and Emma and David became best friends. She had been so grateful to finally have a home, and a family and she never wanted her son to go without either.

She had everything she could ever want in life. A beautiful son, a wonderful family, the best friends she could ever ask for, and a man who cared about her. For all accounts, Emma was happy with her life. Which was all the more reason to be frustrated when she found herself sitting on her balcony tonight, like she did most nights, wondering if there wasn’t something more out there for her. She had everything she had ever asked for, so why was she always looking for shooting stars or waiting for the clock to hit 11:11 to make the wish she made every night when she closed her eyes…

I wish something big and exciting would happen.

#skyline manor #stacy's fics #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan modern au #captain swan #captain swan fics #captain swan au

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tomdiddlyumptious · 3 years

Text

YES MA’AM- REQUESTS ARENT OPEN AT THE MOMENT I HAVE SOME TO FINISH AND ILL OPEN THEM BACK UP!

Summary: he makes it up 🥸

Warnings: soft smut? Language, acting drunk to leave, a jealous Tom holland, NOT PROOF READ

A/n: SORRY THIS TOOK ME SOOO LONG, I WAS LIKE MENTALLY PANICING AND WASNT IN THE RIGHT HEAD SPACE

T.H| Oop-

“I mean am I sleeping over though? Because I didn’t get these chocolate cakes for no reason, zendaya” you eye your phone. “Yes we will have a marathon of Harry Potter” you let out a little ‘yes’ “stop cheering y/n, and Toms gonna be there” “as in...” “yes. Tom holland, impossible tom holland” “REEEEE” you and zendaya have been best friends for what felt like foreverrr, like dramatically long, you played as one of her love interests.

But you’ve had a crush on Tom holland for longer, you had him on your wall, just kidding. But everyone in your family, mostly your mom said “oh you like snow flakes?” “Interracialllllll” “alright give me my privileged babies soon” “damn I kinda took you for the Asian type” “yeah I thought you liked BTS” “UK accents is hella annoyin, find someone else” “would you stop hoggin the TV? I’m tryna watch American Top Model!” “Nah let’s watch basesketball-“ anyways, ya you have annoying, irritating family, oh well.

“You think he likes dark skinned type?” “He likes girls with aggressive tans I know that much” “that isn’t helpful” “hey I’m just being honest” she shrugged looking at you through the phone as she picked up her makeup brush. “So what are gonna do for your birthday?” “I-uhhhh probably clubbing?” “As in golf?” “No, party y/n” she glared at you as you chuckled.

“Please ask hunter when we are getting married” “y/n, I know you have an insane crush on her to but it’s just never gonna happen, she’s mine” you stuck out your tongue at her as she did the same chanting “she’s mine, she’s mine” “whatever I need to get ready” “bye papas” “bye mamas” you hung up, instantly going to your closet and pulling out the dresses you have, only to put them back and grab a two piece, it’s neon yellow, the pants are high waisted, no belt, the top stopping right below your boob, the straps at the end of your collar bone.

For accessories you put on some black dangle earrings and a black purse, a gold but matching watch, but you put on sandals, no high heels because the pants were covering your feet anyways, for your hair you put on your wet and wavy lace front, you added lip gloss to your lips, and they look like glass, in a good way of course, the fox eyeliner with thick parted eyelashes and a neon eyeshadow with it. You brushed your eyebrows up and boom your done.

You stepped back and went to your full body mirror, checking your butt and your boobs, smiling at yourself “you look fine” you sigh, grabbing your bag, phone, and keys.

You phone rung and you answered. “Yes z?” “Are you picking me up?” “Yeah sure babe, I’ll be there soon” “alright bye” she hung up. Luckily for you, you just got your 1966 mustang, vibrant white baby, everyone would wanna touch your car, you named him KAI, stands for kiss ass ight. The License plate saying “white ssn”. (I’m sorry but I really like these old kinds of cars, I fucking had to) you hoped in your car and drove to dayas home, you picked her and her brother up, just listening to old 2000’s and 1900s songs, either rapping or singing your asses off.

You guys were there pretty early but of course you were, it’s her birthday, she didn’t want to dance yet because of her makeup and you felt the same, leaving her brother smacking his lips and eyes glued to his phone.

Now everyone was starting to come, hunter, Jacob, alexia, Barbie, everyone, and most importantly, Thomas Stanley holland. No cap you bout dead as fuck, did I mention you run on Red Bull’s? Just kidding. You remained calm, hugging hunter and talking to her. “Hey” zendaya said, grabbing your hand and pulling you up, pulling you to Tom. “Hi Thomas, this is y/n” “the one and only?” He laughed, making you both giggle. “Yeah” she nodded, Tom got up, opening his arms and she pinched you, silently telling you to hug him. And you did, taking a breath you smelled him, he smelled really good, sexy and musky, like something you’d want to smell all day.

“You smell nice” Tom whispered. “Yeah you too” you smiled, pulling back from his hands as he nodded at you and sat back down, you looked and zendaya as she silently cheered, you walked back over to hunter and ordered something to drink. “So you and Tom?” She asked, you only rolled your eyes. “You know I’ve had a crush on him for years now but I don’t think I’ll be making any progress” you thanked the person as they handed you the cheerily temple. “Whattt? This is your chance to get drunk and confess your feelings, like wake up in the morning with him” you smacked your lips at her “girl I don’t know, and I wouldn’t want him to forget what happend” you shrugged. She put her hand on your shoulder making you look at her “take a shot, before zendaya pressures the fuck out of you both” she warns, making you sigh and throw yourself back in the seat.

“I know and that’s the problem, I don’t think-“ “you’ve had a crush in him for years y/n, you can make this a reality, you don’t have to dream anymore” zendaya whispered in your ear “I told you” hunter smiled. “Fuck stop smiling at me like that, you’re gonna make me fall in love all over again” you said making them both laugh. “Okay Cupid what’s your plan?” “Don’t worry bout it alright girl?” “Alright”

“Harrison fuck off it’ll happen when it happens” “well it seems like she’s bored, I’ll go entertain her” “don’t you fuckin dare haz, I’ll beat the shit out of you” instead of haz getting up Harry did, he walked over to you and sat down next to you, the lights and music booming as he took out his camera. “Hey” he smiled at you. “Hi, I’m-“ “y/n, yeah I know, I’m Toms brother, Harry” he held out his hand and you took it. “I thought you looked really beautiful- I was just wondering if you wanted to take a few pictures?” “Oh I’m not the picture type” “pleaseee?” He beggged, you giggled and nodded. “Alright” he took a few pictures of you as Tom stared at you.

“He’s tottaly gonna get instead of you” Harrison whispered in his ear, making Thomas slap his arm “shut up div, I’m just gonna wait here and I’ll see what happens” he told haz his game plan, no progress. Zendaya walked over “I know you like y/n, please hit on her, you both would look so good together, you’d bring me smoll Bebes-“ “Jesus zendaya we get it” Tom rolls his eyes as haz lets out distant chuckles.

“This is so awkward, he doesn’t like me and-“ you sighed. “Oh my god, you never give up so easily y/n, what’s wrong you’ve liked him since preteens” hunter asked in all seriousness. “Are you talking about Tom?” Harry asks, both of you looking at him and letting out a way to fast “no” leaving Harry in giggles. “Well I wish I could help you but I don’t know anything” he shrugs, you soon see Tom make his way over to you, standing infront of you. He clears his throat to say something big but only lets out an-

“Hey” you wave back at him, hunter silently cringing, feeling the tension able to cut it with a butter knife. “Your so fücked” Harry laughed, Tom glaring at him but smiling back at you. “Uhm, how’s your day?” “To be honest I’m having a bit of anxiety right know” you both laughed “me too, yeah” he nods his head. “Look you don’t have to really speak to me if you don’t want to” you laughed “I think we both know-“ “zendaya” you both said. Hunter looked at Harry, panicking for you as you remained calm. “Okay- yeah- thanks” he smiled, as you returned, he walked off.

“You fucked up” “well what was I supposed to do Harry? Suck his dick?-“ “it would’ve made some progress” “shut up hunter” “I feel awkward for you” “second hand emarrassment hunter” “well you knew what I meant Harry so we are all good” you looked at them both “I’m fucked” they just both agree with you. “I think I’m gonna go” “then I’m coming!” Hunter said. “How are you gonna leave zendaya?” You only picked up his beer can, winking at him and hunter ‘helped’ you out.

“Woah woah woah where are you two going?” Zendaya asked, the shit in her hand as she looked confused. “She’s drunk” “whattttt no I’m nottt” zendaya looked at you as your eyes were barely opened, taking your finger and pushing it against hunters lips dramatically. “Let me tell yaa E sevret” you whispered at zendaya, you came close to her ear, “I’m so naw dunk” “you drunk, get out of here, Tom will give me a ride” zendaya waved you both off, Harry soon running up “let me get your number at least, yeah?” “Sureeeee” you wink at him, he hands you a pen and you write your number, a nice happy face next to it.

“Let’s get you home, nice show you out on” you took your time, trying to look drunk as possible. “My whole life is madness! I can’t- he doesn’t like me I promise you” you say, pulling out of the parking lot, hunter right next to you. “He does, let’s bet on it” “how much?” “200” “shake on it?” She handed you her hand and you shook it. “SOMETIMES YOU LAUGH SOMETIMES YOU CRY I GUESS YOU KNOW NOWWW, I TOOK THE HALF AND SHE TOOK THE WHOLE THING SLOW DOWNN” you both sung together “BABY” you both both failed the note, laughing together as you rode both of you home.

“She left” zendaya shruged, “what why?” “Shes black out drunk” Tom put his eyebrows together, he was litterally with you like a couple minutes ago, sober as hell. “Yeah... alright” he nodded, Harry took out his phone and sent you a simple hey, which you returned under a minute later.

Everyone had a lot of fun, you and hunter ordering some random stuff off of Amazon and making the cake that you would both send to zendaya the next day, on the other side everyone danced and drank, they were sober enough to go eat at least. “Who are you texting?” Tom asked Harry. “Y/n, she’s showing me the things that she’s ordering or something like that, I wonder why she’s a Harry Potter addict” toms jaw slightly clenched, “can I see?” He asked, Harry looked at him, forgetting that you’re supposed to be ‘drunk’ “Nah mate, she’s drunk texting me though” “bulshit, give me the phone” Harry sighed as he gave tom the phone, scrolling through the text messages the messages were alive, not dead at all, no lols, laughing emojis, more ‘lmao’ ‘AKDIHDIHFRJRFN-‘ ‘I- what? Okay-‘ he couldn’t help but be jealous, he handed Harry back the phone.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, looking at Tom confused. “You know I like her” “it didn’t seem like it back there” Harry smirked. “Do you like her?” Tom asked, Harry only shook his head “all for you, just making conversation and trying to pull her closer” “whattt Harry got the digits and you didn’t?” Haz whispered, “fuck off”

“But this is like, really ugly” “that’s why it’s called an ugly Christmas sweater, y/n” you layer on her arm, looking at Kohl’s, “green for sure, red is just plain” “how about we get like onzies of animals or the incredibles” hunter looked at you “perfect, yeah” you nod ferociously.

You checked your phone and saw some messages, from you dad and you mom but also Harry, you were quick to answer them all, and as the night got old you had finished the cake.

“I don’t know mate do some research on her, watch her interviews” haz suggests as they were all home, Tom mentally panicking because Harry’s eyes was glued to his phone, he whipped out his computer and searched your name, ‘Y/N has a CRUSH on who?’ He bit his lip and clicked it

“Sooo, we know your the romantic type- so who were you in love with?” The interviewer said, you smiled and shook your head. “I’ve always had a crush on Evan peters, algee smith from let it shine, Keith powers, and of course Tom holland, I don’t know but just in all his movies he was the cutest thing” you giggled, putting a leg over the other. “That’s a lot of people” “hey, I only crush on one now, and yes it’s Tom holland” the girl raised her eyebrows at the camera “you make sure you hit her up” “please do” you wink at the camera, “now, you feel sexy most when?” “Probably when I take a shower and put on my silk robe” you shrugged.

“Silk? Sexy” Tom smiled to himself, imagining you in it, maybe a towel over your freshly washed hair, lingerie under, maybe a mustard yellow to match your skin, his eyes widened in shock as he felt uncomfterble in his pants, he looked down at his pants “fuck, not now!”

“Are you really crying?” Hunter asked. “No I’m having an emotional roller coaster” “so your feeling different emotions, your so bipolar” hunter laughs, “your not helping you know” she only shrugged at you, then the door was knocked on “I’ll go get it” “alright” you acted sleep, thinking that it was probably zendaya and... you were right. “Hey is she sleep?” She asked, hugging hunter. “yeah, but come in- she’s on the couch” hunter smiled, hearing zendayas foot steps and she giggled “she’s sober by now” she bent down, wiggling your ear and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Hiiiii” she waved at you, you only waved back, then she laid down next to you, her glasses on and in her sweatpants and a black t-shirt. “So you and Tom didn’t work huh?” She whispered and you only shook your head no, a tear fell down your cheek as she coed at you, wiping it away. “He’s stupid, he will come around one day yeah?” You nodded at her, “did you make the cake?” She asked and you nodded again. “Let me show you, come here” hunter said, she looked at you, you looked pretty lifeless at the moment honestly. Hunter and zendaya left and you checked your phone.

Ding

Your eyebrows furrowed at the anonymous message. You opened it and it said-

Hey it’s Tom, I was wondering if you’d like to get lunch yeah?

You texted him back-

As In... Tom holland orrrr...

Tom smiled at his phone

Yes y/n, Tom holland here, take it while you can

Cocky asshat

He laughed at your reply sending winking emojis,

Yeah lunch, I’ll see what I can do

Cya love

Bye luv

As time passed Tom looked at your work, your charity events, your women’s rights, your debates, your everything. He grew more interest then he already did, already wishing to work with you. “Hamburgers? What if she’s vegan, fuck” he only searched up what food you like, “burrito truck?” He could tell you weren’t like the other people with loaded of money, you were more of the cheap rich, not a bad thing but a very good one. “Sparkling water? That doesn’t really go with burritos, she doesn’t like cheese by it’s self or where you can taste it over anything, she sticks to the basics, god I need a pen and paper for this” “I got it, lover boy” Harry says, throwing it at him.

“Hey your the one who’s trying to take her away from me” “no that’s not true, I was trying to help you actually, her favorite color is (y/f/c) she likes nature or a big view of the city, beach sometimes, she actually wants a beach house” he shrugged, Tom smiled and thanked him, writing some things down

-nature, somewhere green for lunch

-quiet too, somewhere not to public

-sparkling water for sure, no burritos though

“Shit I don’t know, chicken or something!” Tom struggled.

-fruits, nuts, macoroons, nuts, wine

He smiled at the ugly written bullet points, “aha” he then took his phone, biting his lips as he tried to find the perfect place.

“He asked me to lunch last night” you smiled, hunter and zendaya looked at each other, mouths agape as they laughed. “Really? Oh my god y/n can I be the god mom?” “Oh I’ll be the god dad all the way!” Hunter added as you laughed and shook your head, you’ve been on a Harry Potter marathon all night, now your on a Star Wars one, so many tears fell of your face, you cried for draco, zendaya cried for George and Fred, hunter cheered on voldermort, which almost got her kicked out, how petty.

“What if it’s only lunch?” You asked, looking at hunter and zendaya. “I mean, yeah it is only lunch” hunter shrugged making zendaya slap her arm. “No it isn’t, you are probably gonna get laid and he’s gonna confess his love to youuu, then you both naked and kissing” “ew don’t make me imagine that” hunter shuddered, sticking out her tongue. “Welp we are staying here when you leave” “how do you know I won’t be back?” “Because I know things”

Tom spent his day visiting places, until he found the perfect one, green and the ocean? Best thing ever. It was pretty too, no plastic, no damage to the ground, the ocean is to be heard, perfect for you and Tom. He texted you to get ready, it was about 6, he bought everything he needed for it, put the ice cream in the cooler with ice in it.

“Alright, this one” hunter held up a dress, a small slit but it was a sweater dress, like for the fall or winter, it’s white with brown buttons that go down to the end of your stomach, the dress stops in the middle of your thighs. “Then wear some comfterble shoes please, we don’t want you to run your toes” zendaya said, pulling out some neon yellow huaraches. “That doesn’t match” hunter said, zendaya put the shoes back and pulled out some dark dark black ones.

You got dressed, comfterble for sure, zendaya flat ironed your hair while hunter did your makeup, “alright” zendaya and hunter admired their art, high giving each other before turning you to the mirror, “don’t worry it’s sweat resistant” hunter said, zendaya laughed as you rolled your eyes shaking your head. Then of course their was a knock on your door. “I’ll get it” zendaya said, you went to your room and grabbed your phone, noticing you have no pockets you held it. “Keep your hands off of my girlfriend, have fun though!” Zendaya said, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you came out and seen everyone smiling at you

“What happened?” You asked as everyone shook their head. “Nothing!” Hunter said smiling at you, Tom came up and gave you flowers, not roses but daises “you look lovely” he says, giving you a hug, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, not in a Percy way of course, just a very friendly and close hug. “Can you put these in a vase for me?” You say, handing the flowers to hunter as she only smiled and made her way to the kitchen. “Have fun, once again, we want her back by 10” “that’s only 4 hours zendaya” “we’ll make your way over there, it’s starting to become late” “alright mother, we’re out” you sarcastically say, leaving Tom laughing as he takes your hand and pulls you to his-

“El Camino!?” You said, practicly smiling a a child when they get ice cream. “Yep, I know how much you like old cars so why not get you one right?” He squeezed your hand. “Oh I could so kiss you right now!” “I wanna save it for later, let’s go” he smiled at you, he pulled you to your seat and opened the door for you, you sat down and he closed it, running to his side and getting in. “Your pretty fast” “shut up” he laughed and started the car, Kendrick Lamar playing in the background as you both rode in the city.

It was silent but comfterble, you slipped your phone in the cup holder, played footsie with yourself, and almost shook when he placed his hand on your thigh, you looked at him and he smiled at you “warm” he only said, paying attention to the road, rocking his hand back and forth.

“I love this, you gave me all the things I love tonight” you smiled. “You now at the birthday party I didn’t show that I liked you” he commented, laying in his stomach ontop of the very large blanket as you sat with your legs closed. “Yeah I don’t think you like me... I know if it’s weird and-“ “what no I like you! I do! I’m just stupid, like zendaya would say, so” you both giggled as he sat up and grabbed a grape vine, it has grapes on it by the way. “Lay down” he smiled, and you followed, laying down. “I’ve seen all the work you’ve done” he smiled, the radio in the band Toto playing, Africa currently playing. He leaned down the grape and feed it to you and you chuckled. “I really like how dedicated you are, how hard working you are, how nice you are, everything about you is beautiful” he complemented, the moon popping out for the ocean, the sounds of water slapping the rocks calming the both of you.

“Well thank you” you say, done with the grapes he fed you, he fed you some more. “I bought ice cream” “what kind?” “Uhmmmm, not vanilla, cookies and cream!” “Doesn’t that have vanilla in it?” You looked at him, he shrugged and put the grapes down and took the ice cream out of the freezer “I didn’t know you were such a 80s fan, what would you bring back?” He asked you. “Probably all the color, the music, I love mullets and shags I just love it all, how everything was in fashion, freedom and dumb teenagers and yelling old people, ya know?” “So your a very detailed person?” “Yeah, I don’t pay attention to the big picture that much if I’m being honest” ‘it never rains in Southern California, by tony’ playing, now the moon full on display, he grabbed two spoons and handed it to you, you both grabbed a scoop. “Let’s try something”

“Like what?” “Cross my arm with yours yeah?” You wrapped your arm around his, your spoon facing you “and 3” he said, taking the ice cream in his mouth as you followed, giggling “I like the flavor” you covered your mouth. “See! I knew what I was talking about, and doing!” He cheered, you both laid side by side and looked at the view, still eating the ice cream of course, until he put his lips on yours. “I really like you y/n, I hope-“ you put your lips on his, holding onto his cheek you smiled into it, he made his hand go down to hold onto your waist, the moon shining on both of you, he flipped both of you over so he was on top, you let out a quiet moan as he kissed your neck and slipped up you dress, taking off your panties, you trailed your hands down to the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, rubbing over his torso, moaning as he found your sweet spot, kissing it and sucking harsh circles on your neck, he sat up and helped you take of his shirt, unbuckling his pants and taking off the belt to where ever.

He unbuttoned your dress, taking out your breasts and sucking on one of them, you whimpered as he twisted the other, your hands making it to his hair and tugging a bit making him hum in satisfaction. He switched nipples and looked up at you, you head was thrown back, breathing heavy and he opened your legs, you bucked your hips up allowed him to pull your dress up and over your head, he ditched his pants, well not really, there still around his ankles and both of your shoes are off, how? I don’t know. He came up and you leaned on your arm while the other was on his cheek, your lips hovering his, he muttered a ‘ready’ you nodded and he bottomed out in you, both moaning at the sensation, he kissed you and rocked his hips, you moaned as his hands found your waist, holding onto his bicep for support. Soft moans shared “y/n, fuck your so tight” he whispered in your neck and you whimpered, clawing his arm as he went harder, still slow though,

“Tommy, I’m gonna-“ you swallowed, bucking your hips up and arching your back, he rubbed your hips and held on tighter to them. He groaned and started going fast, high pitched moans leaving your lips as he stopped going hard, “cum for me” he let one hip go and rubbed your pearl slowly. “God- mm” you bit your lip trapping the moans, your head tilting back as he used it to suck more hickies on you, claiming you as you just took it all in, your head slowly starting coming up, leaving cries as your arm circled his around his arm, your back arching more, connecting chests as you said his name like a prayer while you came “fuck fuck fuck” he moaned, so close, your walls to warm to leave. “You on the pill?” He choked out. You repeated ‘mhm’ and just like that he came inside you, your name left his mouth as he rode out both of your highs, breathing heavy as a new song played ‘ask of you’ by Raphael, you both chuckled as he pressed his forehead on yours.

“Would you be my-“ “I think you know the answer Thomas, this is my 12 dream right here” you giggled. He pulled out and rolled over next to you, taking his arm and wrapping it around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest “your moans are adorable, we have to have sex more often” you only laughed at him, coming up to kiss his neck on his sweet spot, his jawline under his ear, sucking hickies on his neck as he looked at the water that the moon is glistening on. You both cleaned up with his baby wipes and covered yourselves with the extra blanket he had, he poured you both a glass on wine too, just taking each other in and the perfect view.

On the other side zendaya and hunter were high giving each other, FaceTiming Harry and saying “we got em!” He smiled and cheered, lifting his beer with Harrison and taking a sip. They set it all up, how? Who knows.

#tom holland x reader #tom holland x black!reader #tom holland #tom holland fanfic #zendaya #tom holland fic #tom holland imagine #tom holland au #jb writes

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invisibleinorange · 3 years

Text

A Different Ending | 7/?

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: M Warnings: Only be forewarned that this is an AU from the Adrift saga but Colin actually died in this one, so if he’s mentioned he’s actually gone. Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington (past feelings), Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties), Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Hastings Characters: Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton Additional Tags: Bridgerton, Penadict (do we have a ship name yet?)

Summary: There were some requests for an alternate/Parallel word to "Bridgerton's Adrift" where Benedict and Penelope actually did get married. So this is the result of that peer pressure.

Benedict was grateful to have found reasonable contractors who knew the urgency to have his and Penelope’s new home finished. While they’d managed to make the most of his bachelor home, he wanted to provide more for her. That was why he spent the majority of his days in Kensington, watching the progress and ensuring that everything was falling into place.

Despite the fact he didn’t want to be without his wife for any extended period of time, his mother had practically begged that Penelope be allowed to join the family at Aubrey Hall. The plan was to seal the deal on Anthony’s match to Edwina Sheffield. Benedict had his doubts that it would happen if only because Penelope seemed fairly certain that Anthony was better suited to Kate. He knew better than to bet against his wife.

It made sense for Penelope to help chaperone at Aubrey Hall. Her presence allowed her to stay abreast on the happenings of the parties and he could make sure their home was completed before the worst of the rainy seasons arrived. It was only a matter of a week but it felt like a century without her.

He’d been fully prepared to show her how much he missed her upon her return. He’d planned to have her favorite meal ready for her when she got home. They’d be able to sit together and she could tell him about everything he’d missed while they ate.

He knew that Anthony would escort her home but he was not quite prepared for her to him to practically be keeping her up right. He’d known Penelope most of her life and while he hadn’t been around her while she was ill, he instinctively knew that her coloring was wrong.

“Pen,” he murmured moving to collect her from his brother. Concern creased her features as he moved her inside and to a small sitting room, so he could sit her down.

“I’m okay. Just a little carriage sick,” she said, protest clear in her voice though she wasn’t quite in a carriage anymore and she looked as if she was struggling to not retch. “I don’t need all this fuss.”

Benedict gave his older brother a look, as if waiting to verify the veracity of that statement. If she’d been fine before departing Aubrey Hall he might could pass it off as carriage sickness. He’d been in many carriages with her at this point and not once had she been ill though.

“That’s a lie,” Anthony confirmed. “She’s been sickly since the last dinner party. She gave us all a bit of a laugh though. She apparently tried to excuse herself from that miserable Cressida Cowper and she wouldn’t stop talking.”

“You didn’t?” Benedict said trying not to laugh at the thought of Cressida covered in vomitus. He was actually concerned for his wife but even he wasn’t foolish enough to note see the humor in that.

Penelope nodded though when she attempted to open her mouth, her eyes widened and she covered mouth. She was to her feet trying to run and find somewhere to properly retch. Benedict’s eyes followed with concern. He really was going to have to go take care of her.

“Trying to upstage my engagement with a baby?” Anthony asked raising an eyebrow.

The two parts hit Benedict with equal force. Anthony was engaged and he was going to have a baby? They’d both seen their mother pregnant so many times that it was almost foolish that it didn’t hit him immediately. In a matter of seconds, his face flickered from confusion to excitement to absolute elation.

“Does she know?” he found himself asking.

“About my engagement to Kate? Of course. They’re strangely fond of each other. I daresay Kate might like Penelope more than she likes me,” Anthony said.

Kate. Penelope had been right about that one.

He shook his head though. That wasn’t what he was inquiring about.

“As happy as I am that you’ve selected a wife. I meant about the baby. Does Penelope think she’s with child?” he asked again.

“No. She seems to think she’s had a bad run of food poisoning and travel sickness,” Anthony said with a laugh. “Should I have a physician stop drop by tomorrow?”

“No – yes,” Benedict said after a long moment. “Does anyone else share in your suspicion?”

“Mother,” Anthony said after a moment. “She didn’t verbalize it to me but I did see her and Mrs. Featherington chatting rather suspiciously in recent days. They’ve been peddling a ‘digestion’ tonic toward her for days.”

“Well thank you for returning her safely home,” he said. “I should probably go take care of her but please forward my congratulations to Kate. We’ll have to have you both over for dinner while you plan your wedding.”

Anthony nodded before taking his leave.

Benedict took the steps to the wash room two at a time. They’d only ever vaguely discussed children in the sense that they knew that they wanted children to be part of their life and not just because it was what society dictated that children should be a product of marriages.

He hadn’t really given much thought to when it would happen. He’d been so busy focusing on the construction of their home and finding his stride with her that he hadn’t imagined it happening so soon. He was honestly thrilled at the prospect of being a father.

“Everything okay?” he asked gently from the doorway when he found her, bent over though no longer retching. The smell let him know that she definitely had been. She was breathing fairly heavily from the effort. He crossed the space to lean sit in the floor next to her and rub her back.

“You shouldn’t see me like this,” she told him, embarrassed by the whole thing. Penelope felt dirty. She honestly hadn’t planned to be ill upon her return to him. God how she’d missed him while at Aubrey Hall though. Her bed felt empty without him. Her days were boring without the conversations or the company.

“Sorry but you’re stuck with me,” he told her stubbornly. It had been quite a few years since his mother’s last pregnancy and he admittedly tried to block out those memories. It was painful to look back and think of Hyacinth growing in his mother’s belly and the way his father had absolutely doted over her until his death. He didn’t care if other men chose to be absent. He fully intended to dote over Penelope. “I’ve seen worse. If I had known you were ill, I would have come to you.”

She offered a weak smile as she managed to sit up.

“I’m home now,” she told him quietly. “You’re not going to be mad if I just want to bath and sleep, will you?”

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

“No, I’ll even prepare a hot bath for you,” he told her.

“You really don’t have to,” she told protested. “I can do it.”

“No. Go grab yourself a cup of tea and a biscuit from the kitchen if you can stomach it and I’ll come get you when it’s ready.”

He didn’t tend to keep staff here full-time. It wasn’t like in the family home. He did have people who came and went during the day to ensure cleaning and cooking was done. He had little complaint of handling basic things like starting fires or preparing water on his own.

He stood, rolling up his sleeves before setting into motion, helping her to her feet first before he set off on his task. It wasn’t quick a quick task but he did manage to heat up water over a fire and fill the movable tub in the washroom until it was at a satisfactory temperature.

He was pleased to see a little color back in her when she came by up to try and help him. He’d been about to go grab her though so there was little left to be done aside from enjoy.

“I’m spoiled,” she told him, curling into him slightly for a moment in gratitude. “I saw the dinner you had prepared. I’m honestly so sorry for being sickly. Tomorrow when I’m better, I’m going to make it up to you.”

He shook his head.

“You don’t have anything to make up to me,” he insisted. He debated telling her of his suspicion but he also didn’t want to get ahead of himself. If it turned out she was just ill and not carrying his child, he would feel foolish for suggesting it. He turned his head enough so he could lean down and kiss her appreciatively. “I’ll leave you to your bath, Mrs. Bridgerton. Please do call if you need any further assistance. I’m pretty good with a wash cloth.”

“Don’t go,” she told him when he started to pull and walk away. Her hand reached out to grab his arm in an attempt to stop him. It worked quite effectively. “I want to hear about everything I’ve missed in London while I was away.”

Benedict smiled, helping her out of her clothing and into the tub. He couldn’t help but envisioned how her form might change if she was carrying his child. He pushed the thought out of his head though so he could comply with her request. He had a lot to tell her and even more he wanted to hear from her.

He loved his wife.

#benedict bridgerton #penelope featherington #bridgerton

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fangirling-throughlife · 4 years

Text

So close, and still so far

Word count: 2517 words.

A/N. This is the first non-academic thing I’ve written in a year or so, so it might not be the best. Inspired by the song So Close by Jon McLaughlin and one of my favourite movie scenes ever, the dancing scene in Enchanted with Amy Adams, Patrick Dempsey, Idina Menzel and James Marsden. Comments are appreciated!!

“Peter Moore and Ella Lewis invite you to their engagement party, on Saturday 22nd August.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise, as Brian had told him about the engagement, but having the invitation in his hand made his heart stop. Peter and Ella had been a couple, The Couple of their group, ever since their high school senior year. Now that they both had graduated college, it was the logical next step. After all, Ella and Peter complemented each other. She was as organised as he was playful, she was as logical as he was spontaneous. They were the power couple, and they were so absolutely right for each other that it made no sense to avoid the unavoidable.

Still, Shawn’s mouth went dry, and for a moment he seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. His best friend in the world was getting married. The person who knew everything about him, his rock, his muse. The girl he’d written every single song about. The love songs, the heartbreak songs and the hopeful songs. His world revolved around Ella Lewis, and she would never know it did.

As if life were mocking him, he heard his phone ring with the sound of her favourite song, Everything I Do by Bryan Adams. Shawn had to swallow twice before he was sure he’d sound normal.

“Hey there!” he tried to sound as cheerful as possible.

“Hi, Shawnie! I was wondering if you’d got the invitation, because almost everybody replied and you didn’t.” she sounded excited. Of course she did. She had just graduated top of her class, and now she was organising a party to celebrate her engagement to the love of her life.

“Yeah, just got it. I was about to call Andrew to ask if there was any problem with me going.” He lied. He knew that, in the writing process, he was mostly the one who organised his own schedule, so he could free that day without any problem. But he wanted to seem busy, for some stupid reason.

“Uh… Alright, I guess?” He could picture her nibbling her lower lip. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, but couldn’t you try and get the day off? It’s pretty important for us, and all our friends are gonna be there, and…” She was pacing now, he could hear her footsteps down the stairs. He was being cruel, he knew that. But he couldn’t tell her that he’d leave everything just to make her happy. He didn’t have a partner, and music was all he had. She couldn’t know she came first.

“I’ll talk to him, I promise.” He heard her low hum, and the click of a pen. “So, anyways, congratulations! I can’t believe you didn’t tell me though.” A text would’ve been nice, he added mentally. Just so he could prepare himself for the gruesome conversation that they were having.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been busy with some paperwork, and my final project and stuff, so I’ve been a bit out of it. This is honestly the first day I’m fully invested in this, so call yourself lucky that you’ve been the very first person I thought of!” Against his own judgement, his heart sped up, but the little mean voice in his head reminded him that she thought of him while organising her engagement party. He knew he was being ridiculous letting his hopes up.

“Lucky me!” He forced a chuckle. “By the way, congratulations on your graduation. I have no clue what your final project was about but I heard the guys say it was ground-breaking.” He tried to steer away the conversation from the invitation on his table.

“Oh, thanks! It wasn’t that big of a deal, truth to be told. Sheldon Cooper would’ve totally mocked me.” He rolled his eyes. There was no real person to criticise her work, so she went to fictional characters. “By the way, are you bringing a plus one? Camila, perhaps? Haven’t seen her in ages.”

Hearing her mention Camila felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

“Um, I’ll have to get back to you about that. I don’t think she’ll be able to make it, though.”

“Erm… Okay, I guess? I mean, it’s not a big party, or anything. But I wanted to have it…”

“Controlled.” Shawn interrupted her.

“Well, yeah it comes down to that.” She giggled. “Hey, I’ve got to go. Peter’s family is coming over to have lunch, I’ve got to go check on him in the kitchen. Love you!”

“Love you too!” If only she knew how true that was, he sighed as he heard that she’d hung up.

Ella was a very dedicated person. Whenever she had an interest, or a plan or a goal, she was invested a 100%. Her engagement party was no different. That was the reason why she didn’t reach out to Shawn in the month prior to the party. She spoke to Vanessa, her maid of honour, and to Brian, who would be Peter’s best man, but her interactions with Shawn went no further than a couple of texts to check up on each other every couple days. He seemed busy, he never said much. Honestly, she was busy as well, so she didn’t dwell on it. That went on until three days before the party, at 2 a.m.

She would be lying if she said he woke her up. Her body wasn’t used to her new-found freedom, so she couldn’t sleep until past 2 or 3 in the morning. She spent those late hours, when Peter was already asleep, reading scientific papers, reading books or playing the keyboard. After spending so many late nights working on papers and studying, she felt like her mind was the sharpest when the world was asleep. And, suddenly, after almost a month of silence, Shawn was calling her.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asks. Being friends with Shawn for years, she knew that this could very easily be a breakdown. She closed the door of her study room so she didn’t wake Peter.

“I love you, you know that?” It was very clear that he was drunk. Very drunk.

“Of course I do, Shawnie.” Ella could hear him open a bottle of something, then knocking something over, and taking a big gulp. “Is that why you’re calling me? I’m not mad or anything, I was reading. But… do you know what time it is?”

Her words seemed to get lost and never reach the other side of the line. “You know, Kid in Love is actually about you. And so is Never Be Alone. And Imagination.” She was startled. She knew he had a crush on someone in their friend group, but she never imagined it was her.

“So… It was me you had a crush on in junior year?”

“And so are Because I Had You, and If I Can’t Have You, and Mercy…” He lost track of his own train of thought, because he went silent.

“Are you really saying you’re in love with me, Shawn?” Those words were difficult to speak out. He couldn’t do that to her.

“Do you remember when I was just the Vine kid and we were sitting in my room looking for a song to cover? And we kinda jammed to Everything I Do? I tried to tell you then. And when I got drunk for the first time because of just one beer and I kissed you? You started dating Peter a week later and I brushed it off.” Every word Shawn said felt like a dagger directed to her heart. Tears were threatening to fall, and she let out a silent sob. “It has always been you. You're with somebody I can't be. But I can tell that you're happy.” He started singing. “I know you and Peter are a perfect match, don’t worry. But I needed to get this out of my system, you know?”

At that point, she couldn’t hide the fact that she was crying. And Shawn heard her ragged breathing, which seemed to sober him up.

“Oh, El. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, very deeply sorry.” He started crying as well. “I’m such an idiot. I’ve kept it to myself for so many years, and I tell you now. I understand if you don’t want to see me ever again, if you hate me now. Oh my god, El. I hate myself so much now.”

As much pain as he was causing her, he was still her Shawn, her younger brother from another mother (by six exact months, she reminded him continuously). She had had a crush on him for a few months, back when he was writing Handwritten. Now she knew that those songs she hoped he wrote for her were actually about her. Knowing it didn’t change anything though. She was wearing Peter’s ring, because she was in love with him, because they balanced each other out. While Ella considered Shawn to be her little brother, Peter was her best friend, her soulmate.

“It’s okay, Shawn. I’m just shocked… Why… why would you keep that from me?”

“I’m so stupid, I was nervous you’d make fun of me and hate me. It’s okay if you do now. I mean, not okay, obviously, but I’d understand.” Another sob escaped his mouth.

“Shawn, I don’t hate you. You’re… you’re like my little brother. I just wish you would’ve told me sooner. I could’ve helped you get over me.” She let out a sad chuckle. “We’ll see if some of my friends from uni is your perfect match at the party, okay?”

Shawn couldn’t believe his luck. He was so drunk he wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning, yet she wasn’t mad at him. Peter could never know what jewel of a person he was marrying. What Shawn didn’t notice was that he was thinking out loud.

“If his words are any pointer to go by, he knows.” This time, her laugh was genuine. “Shawnie, go to bed. Sleep this off. I’ll see you at the party, okay? I… I’ll see you.”

Ella couldn’t bring herself to tell him she loved him. She honestly did, but it felt wrong to say it, now that he’d said he was IN love with her.

She looked at the clock. Half past two. The crying had been very tiresome, so she’d give sleeping a go. She entered the room on her tiptoes, but somehow, Peter sensed her coming in.

“Love… what’s the matter? I’ve heard you crying.” He sounded worried.

She didn’t even give it a second thought. The conversation between Shawn and her would remain private. Peter didn’t need to know. Hell, she wasn’t even sure Shawn would remember in the morning.

“It’s nothing. I was watching kitten videos.” She mentally facepalmed. It was probably the lamest excuse she’d ever given. But Peter just shrugged, patted on the bed and snuggled into her neck as soon as she laid down. “I love you.” Ella whispered. Peter was already sleeping, because he answered with a hum, just one beat too late.

On the day of the party, everything was perfect. Ella had organised it, so nobody was surprised. Everything, from the pins in her hair till the wine that was served, had been handpicked and controlled. She was a quantum physicist, after all. She liked details and perfection. The guests started to arrive with gifts, and she greeted them all like a perfect hostess. Peter was chatting with his grandmother when she saw a familiar set of curls by the open door. The smile on his face as he approached her could mean two things: he had let go of the whole situation or, most probably, he had forgotten all about it.

“Hey, El. Nice party.” He greeted her with a soft kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks, Shawn. Peter’s over there,” she pointed to him “and the rest of the group are somewhere inside. Probably close to the snacks.” She chuckled. “I’ll catch you guys later.” With that, she turned to greet her cousin and her nephew. “Hi! Thanks for coming.”

Even though Ella enjoyed being the perfect hostess, half an hour later her mouth was so dry she needed a glass of something. When she approached the table, Shawn was pouring himself a glass of white wine. “I’ll have one of those as well, Shawn.” She half asked-half demanded. He nodded, acknowledging her words, and gave her his new glass. It wasn’t until he was done pouring a second glass that he looked at her.

“Look, El. I’m sorry about anything I said last Wednesday. I don’t remember all of it, but I’m pretty sure it included me confessing you my…” Ella quickly cut him off.

“It’s alright. I’ve thought about it and, honestly, I feel sorrier for you, for not being able to help you, than for the situation.” Shawn nodded solemnly.

“So… water under the bridge?” Instead of answering, Ella simply hugged him, and she felt Shawn’s chest relaxing.

Ella closed her eyes, happy that they had finally made amends. Suddenly, she felt Shawn humming a song that sounded familiar. She focused on the music that played softly from the stereo. So Close by Jon McLaughlin. She hadn’t realised that it was still on the playlist. She loved the song, but it didn’t seem suitable for an engagement party.

So close to reaching that famous happy end. Almost believing this one's not pretend. Now you're beside me, and look how far we've come. So far, we are so close.

Just like in the movie, her favourite movie, he whispered the words in her ear. They weren’t dancing though, just merely swaying in place.

Ella felt sorry for Shawn. She didn’t understand how she could have missed the song when she was grooming the playlist to engagement party-appropriate songs. She hoped Shawn didn’t take it to heart. He was still her best friend, and she hoped that nothing would ever change that.

For Shawn, hearing that song, at that exact moment, was bittersweet. Somehow fitting. He was saying goodbye to the love of his life, who considered him a brother, who was marrying the love of her life. He was holding her close; he could pretend for a moment that he was hers. But he knew it was a lie, a hopeful thought. He would always love her; he would always be there for her.

As the final chord of the song died out and something else, much happier, started to sound, they started to become aware of their surroundings again. They let go of each other, and they smiled as they looked into each other’s eyes.

“I love you, Shawnie.” “I love you, El.”

They both walked towards their friends, sharing a secret that nobody knew. Ella’s eyes were gentle, and her laugh was genuine, and nothing had changed between them. And Shawn knew that was the first step to heal. His smile was bright, and he was having fun. Ella decided to let him be. She’d tell him they were moving some other day.

#shawn mendes angst #shawn mendes #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fluff #so close #enchanted #shawn mendes imagine

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