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nillegible · 4 years ago

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the JGY amnesia Fic

[AN: Someday I will come up with decent titles for my fics... but not now XD I hope you like this fic, the premise is that the issue with XY and NMJ happens before JZX’s death, and so the argument and the stairs moves up in the timeline! And JGY hits his head and gets TV-show amnesia, and remembers no one, not even himself, but is otherwise his sharp, suspicious self...]

He wakes up sure that he is dying, nothing else could hurt so sharp, agonizing pain radiating out from the back of his head, stabbing sharply every time he is swung, and he forces his eyes open. The light burns, but he can make out an earth green and brown collar, and a strong jawline. He is being carried by this man.

He doesn’t know who this is, but he feels… safe. Even though every step this man takes makes his eyes water.

He blacks out.

His name is Jin Guangyao. It rolls smoothly off his tongue, but sits wrongly in his mind. “Temporary amnesia,” the doctor had informed him, when Jin Guangyao could not tell him the answers to any pf his questions; not his name, or the date, or where they were.

A fancy young master in white-and-gold robes, who introduces himself as Jin Zixuan, is the one who sits by his side and tells Jin Guangyao the basics of his life. There is such an obvious lack of detail that it leaves him intrigued. And Jin Zixuan looks ashamed when Jin Guangyao asked if he was Jin Zixuan’s uncle. “No, I’m your older brother,” he says. “We… we share a birthday, but you’re a day younger.”

Jin Guangyao watches him for a moment, and wonders at the source of his brother’s shame. “I’m a bastard, aren’t I?” he asks.

“My father legitimized you!” Jin Zixuan protests. “You’re my brother.”

Jin Guangyao smiles at him. This man is clearly naïve, but has no ill-intent. The man who had named Jin Guangyao Jin Guangyao, however? He is yet to ascertain that.

Jin Guangyao’s memory doesn’t return within the first week. With his head injury healed, though, he’s allowed to leave the infirmary which allows him to collect a lot more useful data.

There is a lot of work piled up in his room. Disorganized, as if someone had gone through it to take the important paperwork to work on while he is <infirm>. That he was assigned so much work that was non-essential makes him wonder if he was actually pretty low on the social ladder, here. He goes through all of them anyway, most of it is useful information, painting a picture of Jin sect’s activities, and the sorts of projects that they allow to drag on for weeks. Jin Guangyao has left meticulous notes in a separate notebook about how to put everything into a more sensible order. That such reworking was required

His accessories, or lack-there-of, are even more enlightening. There’s also a scholarly-sort of hat, and only a few cheap hair ribbons. Nothing at all like the intricate jade hairpins or crowns with intricate metalwork and precious stones that Jin Zixuan and Jin Zixun wore daily.

Jin Guangyao’s place here is… obvious.

He wonders who the man who had picked him up after his injury, was. No one tells him, not even Jin Zixuan, he just pats Jin Guangyao’s hand and says, “Don’t worry, you’re safe now.” The implications of that are obvious, of course, that the stranger was the one who had hurt him. And yet it’s a subject no one speaks of, of how Jin Guangyao had fallen down the thousand steps of Koi Tower, and he hadn’t asked after the first two times. He stays wary, watching everyone. Someone had tried to kill him, and he doesn’t even remember which of his acquaintances might want him dead.

Lan Xichen arrives two days after his release from the infirmary, Lan-Zongzhu, according to everyone else. He’s beautiful, the most beautiful person that Jin Guangyao has ever seen. Since he remembers all of a week, this doesn’t sound like a compliment, but Jin Guangyao could probably search for decades and not find anyone more beautiful. It would not be fair.

They have tea together, after Lan Xichen – “Call me er-ge, you are my sworn brother, A-Yao,” – has checked him over worriedly, and checked his meridians, and pressed his fingertips gently to the back of Jin Guangyao’s head, to where his head injury had been, and ascertained that he truly is well.

“They did not tell me you were injured,” he says. “Da-ge had to, and this is the week of new students for the summer lectures, I could not leave. Jin Zixuan promised me you were well, though,” he says. Sincerity shines through him, and Jin Guangyao wonders what on earth he, an unwelcome child in his own family, could have done to make this man care for him.

So he asks.

Lan Xichen describes a heroic young man, who gave him shelter when he needed it most, who had smiled and laughed at him, and helped him with chores he could not do, and gave him the strength to fight a war. Lan Xichen tells him that this kind young man had gone into a war that did not affect him, only to help, that he had turned spy against a raging mad man, and finally taken off his head.

“So that is why my father took me in,” says Jin Guangyao. There’s a flicker of pain on Lan Xichen’s face as Jin Guangyao tells him what he’s surmised about how he’s treated here. “Did you know?” asks Jin Guangyao.

“I suspected,” Lan Xichen says softly. “But you were too proud to tell me. You insisted you were happy here. I visited when I could, but I never… I’m so sorry.”

Jin Guangyao reaches out to pat Lan Xichen’s hand, it feels so familiar, even if Jin Guangyao can’t remember doing it before. He must have, Lan Xichen’s sad face cannot be borne. “I’m sure I didn’t want to bother you, er-ge. You’re overworking yourself even now.” The signs are there, even behind his flawless composure. “You look so tired.”

“I had to come,” says Lan Xichen. “I was so scared that you…” He trails off, then turns his hand, holding onto him tightly. “If you don’t remember your place at Koi tower, do you want to return with me until your memory recovers? We’re still reconstructing, but Cloud Rececsses is still an excellent place to ”

“This Jin Guangyao is honoured, but what if it doesn’t?” asks Jin Guangyao practically. “I can’t just leave my home like that.” More quietly, he adds, “There must have been some reason I didn’t leave before.”

“You never said, exactly, but I believe it was because of your mother,” says Lan Xichen. “She wished that you would gain your father’s recognition, and a place at Koi Tower.”

“Do you know anything about her?” Jin Guangyao is not an idiot, he knows from the snide remarks, the way that people try not to touch him that he is of low birth, that his mother’s occupation was. That. He wonders if Lan Xichen will lie to him.

“She was an educated woman,” he says. “A renowned beauty. You’ve told me that you take after her, in many ways. She was skilled in the arts. She never taught you art but she was your master in calligraphy and music. She loved you very much and wanted you to have a good education because she knew… she knew that A-Yao is so incredibly smart and destined for greater things.” He squeezes Jin Guangyao’s hand. “Her life was not easy. She suffered, but she loved you. She would be proud of you, to know how much you achieved.”

It should matter, it does matter, Jin Guangyao’s heart squeezes, but it is from sympathy for what Lan Xichen is feeling. The dark honey-gold eyes are bright with tears. Clearly Jin Guangyao had loved her very much, before. But Jin Guangyao cannot find in him any love for a woman that Jin Guangyao cannot imagine. A woman with his face, a prostitute, but educated, talented. And ambitious to have Jin Guangshan’s son.

“My father did not take her in, I gather?”

“He did not. She died of illness shortly before I met you.”

“Thank you for telling me,” says Jin Guangyao.

Lan Xichen stays an entire afternoon, and readies himself to leave at dusk. Jin Guangyao accompanies him to the sky-pavilion on Koi Tower that the Jin disciples use to take off from.

There’s a last nagging question that Jin Guangyao hadn’t managed to slide into the conversation, as it meandered into cultivation theory and Jin Guangyao and Lan Xichen had tried to piece out some kind of pattern in what kinds of cultivation knowledge he had retained, and what he had forgotten. It had been an interesting exercise.

“Er-ge, before you go,” says Jin Guangyao. He looks around cautiously, but no one is near enough to overhear. “You’re older than Jin Zixuan, aren’t you?” he asks, and Lan Xichen nods. “So our da-ge… you never said. Is he… did he die during the war?”

“No!” cries Lan Xichen. “A-Yao no, he’s not. He’s fine, he just could not find time to visit.”

Lie.

It’s the first time Lan Xichen has lied to him today, but Jin Guangyao is certain of it.

“No one talks about him, and I couldn’t find any letters from him. I did find a few of yours. No one even says his name. Who is he?”

“Nie Mingjue,” says Lan Xichen, sounding defeated. “Of course you would think to ask, but his name is Nie Mingjue.”

Everything falls into place. Jin Guangyao has seen some Nie disciple couriers on their way to private meetings with his father and the Jin council of elders. Hard faced and angry looking, they kept to themselves and departed the moment they could, without staying for a meal or entertainment.

“You think he pushed me down the stairs,” says Jin Guangyao.

“No,” says Lan Xichen. “We know he did. He kicked you down the stairs. He–”

“And you believe that?” asks Jin Guangyao.

“Of course I do,” says Lan Xichen. “Da-ge was the one who told me. I knew that things were difficult between the two of you, recently, but I had not imagined… It does not matter, we are looking through the records now, so that you can be free of your vows to him, and even if we can’t find something, he won’t visit Koi Tower again, Jin-zongzhu has forbidden it.”

“Oh,” says Jin Guangyao, mind whirring. “Okay then.”

“Is A-Yao afraid we’re covering something up?” asks Lan Xichen. Jin Guangyao is not sure what gave it away, he thought he’d kept his face smooth.

“Naturally I trust er-ge,” he says, smiling up at him. “I just remember him, vaguely. He picked me up. He saved me.”

It’s Jin Guangyao’s first memory, pained and fragmented though it is.

“He did take you up to the infirmary right after,” Lan Xichen agrees. He looks faintly puzzled, like he’s not sure why that matters to Jin Guangyao.

“I understand,” says Jin Guangyao. “Nie-zongzhu would of course regret his action after his moment of anger.”

“He does,” Lan Xichen assures him. “You should write to him, if you are willing to accept his apologies, but Da-ge is terribly sorry.”

“Thank you er-ge, I will,” Jin Guangyao promises. The relief on Lan Xichen’s face is too pure for this world.

He waves goodbye after Lan Xichen takes off, and steps back into the maze of Koi Tower, mulling over all the new knowledge that Lan Xichen had brought with him. He was right, he should write to Nie Mingjue.

But after some more research.

What could they have possibly quarrelled about so badly?

Jin Guangyao makes his way back to his rooms, keeping his face expressionless at the gilded opulence and overt unfriendliness of his home. He doesn’t understand his past self at all.

Why does he still live here, where he’s so clearly unwanted?

Why did he even care for the acknowledgement of Jin Guangshan, who from even just Jin Guangyao’s few interactions this week and the gossip he’s picked up, is a selfish, disgusting pervert who wouldn’t spit on Jin Guangyao if he was on fire.

Just because his mother wanted him to?

She was a good woman, he hears again, in Lan Xichen’s sincere voice. But Jin Guangyao doesn’t get it. She had to have been a fool, to believe in Jin Guangshan, or terribly cold and cruel to send him to Jin Guangshan knowing exactly what kind of derision would await him here. He is a war hero, and yet he’s treated like a servant.

Jin Guangyao is in the mood to be charitable, so he picks the former.

He still doesn’t know why he stayed.

[You can now read part 2 here!]

#meng yao #jin guangyao #nie mingjue #lan xichen #3zun #fix-it #JGY revaluating his own life objectively #amnesia #the fictional kind

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stevenbasic · 3 years ago

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"Let’s chat,” Olivia had said, after directing me to sit. She watched as I did, then smiled, and then turned to look around the room, my small office.

Olivia was a friend of my wife, new, for maybe the past year. I’d only met her a handful of times, at the house and at a couple functions. Though Sheryl always spoke highly of her, how much fun she could be, she always struck me as a bit aloof, even a bit haughty. Maybe she just doesn’t like me, I’d always found myself thinking. And here she was, in my office, looking around like she owned the place. How had she gotten involved?!? I’d figured her as a slightly strange loner of a woman, just a suburbanite friend of my wife - though apparently I’d underestimated her...

Olivia slowly began to step around the room, inspecting the texts I had in my bookshelf, running a finger up and down the spine of my PDR. Olivia was maybe a few years older than Sheryl and me, but she always looked amazing. Tall, red-headed and curvy, she must have been drop-dead gorgeous in her youth. But she’d been single her whole life, as far as I knew. Childless? Honestly, I didn’t know that much about her, only what Sheryl had told me…and I have to admit I probably hadn’t been listening.

“You have some nice old books here,” she said, casually, pulling Loewy’s Textbook of Medical Ethics from the shelf, cracking it open. Apparently she was a physician, and a PhD as well <tweak image?>. Had Sheryl ever mentioned that? I remembered chatting with her at the house a few times, when she’d come to have a glass of wine with my wife. That we both practiced medicine never came up was weird. In honesty, though, I’d probably never spoken to her more than a few minutes at a time, always being shooed away to leave the two ladies to their girl talk.

As I watched Olivia thumb through the book, my eyes did a quick up-and-down of her stunning figure. I remembered one summer day at the house, after having been dismissed by the women, going to spy on her and Sheryl from the upstairs window as they sunbathed by the pool in the backyard. My view down Olivia’s black, one-piece bathing suit had been phenomenal, and I’d found myself furtively jerking off to the sight of her big white breasts. Still semi-thick down my leg, I grabbed myself under my desk and gave myself a squeeze. Jesus her tits and ass are both big.

“So, uh, Olivia,” I began, still watching as she returned the book to its shelf, slowly turning on her heels to saunter around the room and inspect the degrees I had hanging on the wall, “You’re a physician?” Eyeing her body in her black blouse and tight, knee-length skirt, I continued to marvel at her curves, and squeezed myself again. Nnnnnff. Though she was soft with some years, good genetics and probably some time in the gym kept her in really great shape. “What speciality?”

“Oh, I was research, mostly,” she answered, reaching out with one finger to touch, possessively, my medical degree, wipe a line of dust off the top of its frame. She was not, obviously, all that keen on being too forthcoming, or even just plain friendly. Hopefully she didn’t realize I was, under my desk, slowly rubbing myself through my pants to the sight of her broad hips.

I did remember, however, now that she’d mentioned the research, something Sheryl had said, about how Olivia had made her money, a biomedical start-up years ago. But supposedly that had been in the past, and she spent her time in politics now, managing the campaign of some female candidate. If I recalled, Olivia had come from a political family, and had fallen into the role naturally.

She was now nonchalantly looking through a pile of file folders I had on a cabinet. So, I found myself thinking, even as my dick grew harder for her, if she’d never really practiced, clinically, and had been away from medicine for this long, what on god’s green earth qualified her to be our ‘Clinical Director’??

“So, Olivia,” I found myself asking, thinking I was lightening the mood, boldly cracking some ice, “are you my boss now?”

Her bluntness shocked me.

“Yes in fact I am,” she said, plainly, turning now to face me, “Sheryl and I both are.” The light from my window caught her eyes, reminding me of how it had done the same to Melissa’s just a few minutes earlier. Olivia’s green eyes, though, seemed to absorb the sun into themselves, like magic, glittering gems. It intensified her gaze, pulling me in with a sudden intimacy that grabbed me by the loins. “We are your superiors.”

<gulp>

Abruptly cowed, I let go of my now-throbbing erection, afraid that I might erupt in my slacks. I tried to find words, thinking I should say something in defense, something snarky to assert myself, but my voice was caught in my chest.

“Melissa will handle administration, I’ll guide the clinical staff,” Olivia continued in explanation, seeing I’d been properly unnerved and releasing me from her gaze. She began to stroll towards my desk, again, looking at the anatomy chart I had hanging on the opposite wall. “The MA’s, the nurses and clinicians, they’ll all report to me. You included.” I was thankful, again, that I wasn’t standing. She’d be so much taller than me. Wait what?!?

So I, apparently, was now to be just another clinician? This couldn’t stand! ”What will I do?” I asked, speaking too quickly, hearing the petulance in my own voice, “What will be my title?”

Olivia fought back a satisfied smile and answered me as she approached the chair in front of my desk. “Oh, you’re still a partial owner,” she said, now trying to reassure me of my continued significance, as diminished as it was, “but a title? You want a title?” She sat down, now, across the desk from me, and thought. “Hm,” she decided, “You can be ‘Lead Clinical Physician’. Will that work?”

”I’m the ONLY physician!” I blurted.

To that, Olivia laughed. Tolerantly, she continued. ”How about you just be you?” she offered, with a smile meant to placate me, a glimmer in her eyes that once again reminded me of Melissa, “You worry about seeing patients, you make sure you do what you need for the Evolution study.” Obviously she knew that I was upset, that I’d felt belittled and sidelined. She sat up straight, and went on seeking to soothe me. “You'll have plenty of help,” she said, “I’ll make sure everything runs smoothly here, that patients are getting the care they need.”

Speechless, I felt humiliated. Cast aside, all but mothballed. And, lest we forget, by women.

“Oh, c’mon,” Olivia laughed, reaching her left hand across the desk, laying it palm-down in front of me, “Yes, I’ll be your Clinical Director, but it’s just a title. You all know what you’re doing.” She had her eyes on me; I looked down at her hand, the emerald she wore on her ring finger. It was striking. “I won’t even be here most days,” she assured me, “I’m so busy with the election. You’ll barely see me.”

Feeling a wave of sadness overtake me, washing away whatever ire I’d still held, I continued to look down at her ring, her large, well-manicured nails. What did she want, with her hand there? For me to hold it? Maybe I should…

She waited for me to speak, to say something. Saying anything, though, to me seemed like I would be acknowledging the facts, as would taking her hand. Inaction, passivity, was easier. It could be a silent signal that I was unhappy with the new changes.

I heard her draw a deep breath, let it out in frustration.

”Okay, fine,” she huffed, a new edge in her voice, “What is it? Do you feel emasculated? Hm? Is that it?”

I looked up at her in shock, feeling my lip quivering.

“Good, you deserve it,” she said plainly, continuing, sitting back and straightening her shoulders, “After the way you made Sheryl feel all these years, with the affairs, you should feel emasculated. What sort of man does that, acts like that? So childish…” Her green, gleaming eyes were spitting poison, now, in obvious solidarity with her friend, my wife. I had to look down, back at her hand, the stone in her emerald ring.

“My god, after all she’s done for you?” she continued, unrelenting, “She’s supported you from the beginning, built you this nice, comfortable life while she worked ten times as hard as you. Even in the face of all the other women, the girls you fell to through the years, she’d had faith in you, that you could change.”

I squirmed in humiliation, knowing she was speaking the truth, but disbelieving it myself. How had I done this, let myself become this person? And, Jesus, how could I still be getting harder?! What the fuck is wrong with me?!? The green jewel on her finger glittered back, but gave me no answer.

“Well, you’ve proven it, you've proven you can’t change,” she spat, “So we’re going to change everything around you, change ourselves.”

I was shaking, under her diatribes, defenseless. I felt the strength in her voice, the conviction. Olivia was determined, had become a powerful person through her talents and hard work. I felt like a worm.

“Yes, we’re all working to improve ourselves, while you just do…nothing,” she said, “We’re getting better, smarter, stronger. You’re going to have to just sit there and watch while we all grow around you.”

My breath was coming fast, I was trying to keep myself from groaning or, good god, whining. My cock continued to harden, throbbing against my thigh. Goddamnit why didn’t I jerk off this morning?? I still stared at her hand because I was afraid if I looked up at her face or god help me her tits I would come right there, explode into my pants.

She had paused.

“Are you looking at my ring?” she asked, her voice softer now. Laid out on the desk between us, her hand flexed, long fingers straightening to show off her jewel. “It was my mother’s, she wanted me to have it,” she told me, as I looked at it, admiring it’s rich green beauty. It really was impressive. “It matches my necklace.”

At that, my eyes were finally drawn up, away from her left hand as her right had come to her chest, the neckline of her blouse. I watched as she undid a single button and revealed inches of white, creamy cleavage and a necklace with a green, matching stone. The jewel was huge, spherical, the size of a human eye, nestled just above her big breasts. I tried my best to keep my eyes on it and not let them fall into her cleavage, but couldn’t fight what felt like an unseen force secretly moving my hand back to grab my cock through my pants. I was speechless, though I heard myself emit a little moan of admiration.

“What's wrong?” Olivia asked, an amused interest in her voice, “You like looking at my necklace?”

“It’s…” I began, gazing at the green stone, seeing how it, like her eyes, seemed to capture the light in the room, “…it’s beautiful.” It seemed to gaze back at me, from right above the deep valley of her soft, inviting cleavage.

“Thank you,” she purred. She stretched her arm out closer to me, turning her hand over on the desk in front of me. “Now, take my hand,” she said, a new, patient charity in her voice.

“w-what..?” I managed.

“Take my hand,” she repeated, and I watched my own free left hand place itself in hers, my right hand still covertly wrapped around my shaft, intermittently squeezing it, stroking it, pressing it into my thigh.

“And now, back at my necklace,” she directed, with composed sympathy.

“o-o-Olivia..?” I peeped. My eyes were now up at hers, pleadingly, but as she drew a deep breath I couldn’t do anything but drop my gaze back down to her chest. The green stone had dropped a fraction and now lay just between the uppermost swells of her breasts. It had captured my eyes with its own. “oh, god…” I heard myself say.

“shhhh…” she whispered, indulgently, “C’mon. This shouldn’t be a surprise.” Her chest began to rise and fall with slow, purposeful breaths, the bulges of her breasts swelling to embrace the green jewel, and then fall away again. “We’ve surrounded you with eye candy so far, and here I am. Another tall, bosomy woman in the office for you. So…just enjoy.” Another deep breath, breasts enveloping the stone, and then dropping away. I’d begun to slowly stroke myself under the desk, and didn’t have the force of will to stop. “It’s been nice, hm? Having all these girls?” she continued, allowing herself a girlish giggle, “And I’d always noticed the way you look at me when I’ve come to see Sheryl. I knew you were a physician, a smart, respected guy. But it made me think of you as so…”

Another deep breath, and the stone all but disappeared.

“…small.”

I fucking whined.

Olivia smiled. “But that can be all water under the bridge,” she offered, her voice warming generously, “I think you and I can have a nice, professional relationship. Between Melissa and I we’ll make sure you’ll be well taken care of, by all your women.”

Somehow, I was able to tear my eyes up off her chest. “n-no…Olivia…that’s n-“

“What? Isn’t that every man’s dream?” she asked, doing something with her free right hand, some movement, “To be surrounded by a harem of young, beautiful women, doing everything, taking care of all the details?”

“n-no..but, y-…yes but…” I floundered, as a quick something changed in the air. I looked down, to my left, and on the desk was a piece of paper. Had that been there before? The whole time? Melissa must have left it.

I looked down at it, even as I still brainlessly rubbed my cock. It was a short statement, something for me to sign. It was on our company letterhead. I read the first few sentences in a fog, my mind really only realizing the purpose of the agreement when I reached the final phrase:

“…cedes all authority to and acknowledges the authority of Olivia M. Henders, MD as Clinical Director of Far Horizons Medical Associates.”

Her left hand had left mine; her right was handing me a pen.

“We’re going to ask you to step back from your responsibilities at the hospital as well,” Olivia explained, trying to hide the satisfaction in her voice as I mindlessly signed the paper, “Vida can handle your rounds, she and Morgan and Karen can take over your admitting privileges.”

“w-what..?” I asked, weakly protesting though I barely understood what she was telling me, more focused now on my hand rubbing away at my cock.

“After what happened this week, yesterday,” she continued, taking the pen from my hand, “the new Chief Medical Officer at the hospital called us. She suggested the leave of absence.” She took the paper, inspected my signature. “Until you get your health back under control.”

I’d heard about her, the new woman at xxx. I’d known her for years as a physician. She’d risen in the ranks, administratively, finally landing the top job and had already removed some of the old-time guys from the hospital staff. So now it was no surprise she wanted me gone, too. But..if I didn’t have hospital privileges…?

“b-but…no…” <stroke stroke stroke> Jesus I just need to fucking come

“It’s a done deal already,” Olivia said, looking down at the mug of warm milk Melissa had made for me, “the board of directors has spoken. It’s what we want.”

“w-we…?” <stroke stroke stroke> oh god don’t tell me.

“Yes, it’s so exciting,” she said, eyes back now watching mine, which had fallen again to her bosom and its green stone, “the first all-female hospital board in the state. Including myself…and Sheryl.”

Suddenly, it all became clear. This was Sheryl’s idea.

Shit. <stroke stroke stroke><faster faster faster>

“She sends her best, by the way,” Olivia smiled as she watched me. Did she see my eyes flutter, as my climax began to grab me? If she knew what was going on below the table, only a slight curl to her lips gave it away. “You really should sign those divorce papers…”

She pushed my mug towards me, as I exploded in my pants.

“…and drink your milk.”

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

Many thanks to my brother-in-arms TopographicSociety for his help with the image, giving Olivia her necklace.

#growing into the job

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

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Title: Quarantine: A Love Story {12}

Chris Evans x Reader Series

Warning: Lots of Cursing, Plot, Angst, Slow Burn, PLENTY OF WORDS

Words: 6.2k

Note: Okay, so this ask/request came in and I was all prepped to write it as a one shot, but I had so many separate ideas that sprang to mind for it and from it. As of right now, I am going to play this one by ear. Hell, I might just keep writing it as long as we’re all in our quarantine/self-isolation. So, it might be one part every week, or I might change it. I honestly have no idea, so let’s start with calling it a mini-series and see where it goes. Thank you anon for the request, hope it’s cool I tweak, twist and stretch this out.

I hope you guys enjoy this. Thank you for reading as always!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive & Pic Heavy***

Previous Chapters: Q1 | Q2 | Q3 | Q4 | Q5 | Q6 | Q7 | Q8 | Q9 | Q10 | Q11 |

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Quarantine: Day 54-

-Chris-

He’d thought about kissing you for years. He’d had countless dreams about it and umpteen daydream about how it would happen, how it would feel, and a slew of other things. In three years, the thoughts were always different. He never imagined it would have gone the way that it had. He expected something accidental, or even awkward like a stupid caught under mistletoe thing or even the midnight new year’s kiss you’re suckered into because you’re standing close. That was not what happened. From the day when he’d admitted to you being a temptation, he’d been overcome with the desire to kiss you. The day at his hideaway, that desire had turned into a need. It was now three days later, but he could still taste your lips. Still.

Groaning, he rubbed his face and walked over to his window. He had to find a way to get a grip. He felt out of control like he was going to lose his mind if he didn’t see you, talk to you, touch you, kiss you, making love to you. With that thought, he hit his forehead into the window and groaned.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

The coolness of the glass was only a slight relief until he opened his eyes and saw you sitting beside the pool in yet another sexy bikini. Slowly he looked along your legs that were glistening with what he suspected was coconut oil. You smelled like the stuff every time he was around you, coconut oil and every tropical fruit known to planet Earth. He loved it more and more with each passing day. You smelled good enough to eat, and he’d thought about several ways he’d like to devour you.

“Get a fucking grip, man!”

When he was about to walk away, you changed positions. He watched as you got onto your knees and peeled off your cover-up to then flip over and bend over, giving him the perfect view of your ass. He felt his face press against the glass, and all he had to do was stick his tongue out to look like the horndog he felt like he was. He always knew you had the perfect ass, but now looking at it practically in all its glory, he realized he didn’t know shit. You had curves his palms were itching to explore. You bent over to the table near your lounge chair and picked up a glass then brought it to your lips. He couldn’t look away. He literally had to forcibly pull himself from the window. Temptation was a horrible thing, a dangerous thing.

It was temptation he’d battled over the last three days. It was a battle that fluctuated every hour. One hour he was winning the war, and the next, he was the weakest man in the world and damn ready to kick down the guesthouse door and burying his face between those sinful thighs. He literally had to force his mind onto other things. It was hard three days ago, and it was hard today.

For the last few hours, he’d been trying to make plans in a world that was shut down. Businesses were closed, venues closed, restaurants closed, everything had come to a standstill. That meant he had to get creative. He went through the plan in his head one more time and took up the freshly sealed envelope as he walked to his door. He’d missed this morning’s breakfast on purpose. He knew that if he faced you so soon after last night, every single thing he was feeling would be painted across his face. He also knew that if he came face to face with his family, then he’d go round and round the situation yet again.

When he got in from walking you back to the guesthouse, he was restless. He couldn’t sit still. After a shower, he still hadn’t exhausted himself. He was wide awake and wanted to do a lot more than go to sleep. From the light on in the guesthouse, he suspected it was the same with you. Every time he laid down and tried to close his eyes, they popped right back open. He went around the last few hours with you, then the last weeks since quarantine began, and he even went as far back as the entire three years he’d known you.

His first instinct was not to waste any more time and plan that date for the next day, but by the time the sun came up, and he’d gone two miles more than he usually would have, he was in his head. He came up with countless reasons to nip things in the bud.

It began with you being too young for him. He was two weeks away from being thirty-nine, and you’d just gotten to thirty. He never saw himself doing the whole older man/younger woman thing. The two of you were at different stages in life. He’d made a promise, an important one. He never went back on promises he made; he was always as good as his word. That was just the kind of man he was. You had a type, and it was one he didn’t fit the criteria for. The two of you led and lived two completely different lives.

This went on all day, for three days straight. The day would begin with him going through countless reasons to end things before they began, or he crossed a line, and by the end of the day, he was right back to where he began, wanting to cross all the lines. He stayed at his hideaway knowing that you wouldn’t show up there again without the okay, and it was a fact he took comfort in. He ate there, slept there, and kept to himself for the most part. When he went back to the main house, it was to make sure you didn’t take his absence in the wrong way and to make sure he didn’t take ten steps back in the progress that was made.

Every time he saw you, it didn’t take long for your eyes to meet. Once they did, it was the most intense experience. It always felt like your mental brainwaves reached out for one another, and when they synced, it was better than every connection he’d ever thought he had. It was an indescribable feeling but one that reverberated throughout him. He always wanted to get closer. If you were across the dinner table, he wanted to push everything off and kick everyone out and slam you on it. If you were across the pool and your eyes met, everyone disappeared, and the two of you went on this mental trip together, one that had him panting like a dog and sweating by the time either of you looked away.

The one thing that tripped him up was the night before when he caught you openly ogling him. It was another night of drinking around a bonfire on the beach with the adults, and you were unusually quiet while nursing your glass of wine. He noticed little looks throughout the night, but it was while everyone was enthralled in conversation. When he did notice you outright looking over him, you started at his neck and went lower along his torso and arms. When your eyes dropped to his waist, he was having trouble breathing. Under the intense heat of your eyes, it took everything in him to stay seated and not throw you over his shoulder and run with you down the beach to the tall grass where he knew he could have his way with you. That was when he knew he had to leave, so he did. Once in his bedroom, he was trapped with his thoughts and imagination, and the entire process began again.

By the time morning came, he was right back to square one, wanting you more than he’d ever wanted any other woman and knowing he had to back away from this. Now he was at the point of saying fuck it. He was only so strong, and three years of continuous strength was impressive enough.

“Where’ve you been these last three days?”

His mother stood before him with her arms crossed as she leaned against the front door.

“Uh, well—around.”

“Around?” Her eyes bored into him, and he knew it was a matter of time before she saw right through him.

“I was gonna--,” he began before she cut him off.

“Let’s take a walk. The others can handle the restocking of supplies.”

“Ma, it would go faster--,” he began.

“Walk with your mother, Christopher!” She didn’t even wait for him to respond before she walked out the front door. He knew he had to follow, so follow he did.

They walked through the front yard along the graveled path in silence for several moments. The chirping of the birds and gentle breeze in the air said summer was on its way. It was a beautiful day, and he hoped it would remain that way to produce a beautiful night.

“How are you handling the shift in dynamics in your life with this quarantine?”

“What do you mean?”

“With what you’ve been doing.” The way she looked at him had him paused, thinking maybe she knew. He remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

“Normally you’re working twenty-three hours of the day and have little to no free time. It’s been opposite, right?”

Relieved, he sighed and nodded. “Yeah. It’s been—different, a real change, but honestly, I think I like it more than I should.”

She smiled and patted his back. “Good. I’ve always told you that you need to take the time to enjoy the fruits of your labor. It is important to have some time to yourself to reflect and recalculate your life choices and decisions, time to see what has been working from what is a massive failure, and make the necessary changes that will impact your life positively. It is important to listen to recognize the signs of life and listen to them. If you go against them, you end up in situations that quickly flutter out of control, and then you’re worse off than when you began.”

He felt like she was hinting at something very discreetly, and it drove him crazy. She spoke like this when she knew something no one else knew that she knew. When he looked at her, she looked to him with slightly raised eyebrows.

“Uh—okay.”

“Have you recognized any life signs within the last—seven weeks?”

“Ma, what are you talking about? You only go on these deeply philosophical rants when you’re holding on a piece of information that can throw a monkey wrench in something.”

“I have no such piece of information.”

He didn’t believe her but decided to let it rest. They took a turn toward the path for the beach and fell into a comfortable silence before she began talking about current events. This was where he got his outspoken nature. She had no problem giving criticism of government policies and officials, and neither did he.

Soon the sand was underneath their feet then she spoke again.

“So getting to spend this time with Y/N has been great, right?”

He scoffed and laughed. “So this is what this walk is about? What did I do now, ma?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but since you brought it up, do you have to be so cold?”

“Cold? I’m not cold.”

“I know that. She doesn’t.”

He looked to her and knew the two of you had talked. “Has she said something to you?”

“Do you care?”

He sighed and focused on the sand beneath his feet. If he said yes, then she could read into it, and if he said no, then he knew she’d know he was lying. His mother could always tell between his truths and lies. It was infuriating.

“Maybe just be nicer, that’s all and maybe stay away from dropping that you think she makes shitty decisions.”

He snorted but cringed at the same time. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He was in his feelings, and it popped right out.

“Yeah, that was bad,” he agreed.

“Get to know her a little.”

“Ha, I think that would defeat the purpose. Don’t you think?”

“Why?”

He didn’t answer. There was no need to.

“Who says I don’t know her?”

“Learning things about someone on the surface is different than really getting to know someone and all the nuances that make them who they are. She’s a real catch, Chris. I liked her when Scott first brought her around, but these three years—she’s an incredible woman.”

Her words were not helping his internal struggle. They were only making him sway to the side he shouldn’t even be on. It was getting impossible to keep his distance from you, impossible to let another fifty-something days pass where he didn’t bury his face in your neck.

“Isn’t it funny how the universe brings things and people into your life at the most opportune times? Often it’s times when we need to make a change—when we’re ready to make a change,” she said in her Obi-Wan Kenobi wise one teaching tone.

He would have said something about how she was as subtle as a train, but he agreed with her on this one. For the last few days, he’d began thinking it was meant for you to be quarantined with him and his family, it was meant for the two of you to be trapped this close. His mind went back to something his mother said years ago, something that made even more sense now. He nearly laughed out loud.

“Just be the amazing man I raised, the one who wore his heart on his sleeve and spoke from his heart and did everything with light and love. Remember him?”

He nearly threw up in his mouth.

“He wasn’t so bad,” his mother continued.

“Everyone seems to love this guy a lot more.”

“They never knew the other guy. I understand that not everyone deserves to know that you, but I’m sure some people might deserve to see him.”

She looped her arm with his and reassuringly patted his forearm. She knew she was right, and even though he hated to admit when she was right, she was. When they climbed the last step leading to the backyard from the beach, you were no longer at the pool.

“I’m going to make sure everything is packed away where I like. You—enjoy the sunshine,” his mother said with a smile and an almost unnoticeable head nudge toward the guesthouse before she walked away toward the house.

He stood there for a few moments going over his own thoughts. This was supposed to be one of the easiest decisions. It was, but it was also a decision that would cause a domino effect. It was like he had to come to terms with flipping the first domino, come to terms with everything he would end up doing as a result of this date. Digging in his back pocket for the envelope, he slapped his palm with it and walked toward the guesthouse. Once at the door, he wedged it in the crack and released the anxious breath he held before he walked off to prepare for the night.

-Y/N-

You’d been staring at the envelope for the last thirty or so minutes. When you’d come back from the bike ride with the kids, you didn’t expect to see it wedged in the door. At first, you thought it was mail that was forwarded to you, but then you realized you hadn’t given any forwarding instructions. It was then you saw your name scribbled across the front of it, and you immediately recognized Chris’s handwriting.

You were enjoying the agonizing stares and wayward glances of the last few days. You were grateful for the space he was giving you. You didn’t know if he was doing it for you or if he was having second thoughts. Whatever it was, you were glad about it. You were able to go over every single word that was spoken the night at his place, analyze every action, and even daydream about that kiss. You’d never been kissed like that in all your thirty years. None of your crushes, school boyfriends, adult boyfriends, Charles included had ever kissed you like that, and none of them had ever had you feeling what you felt in those two minutes.

For the last few days, that was what was fucking you up. You’d kissed plenty of guys, you were in no means promiscuous, but you enjoyed having freedom of your body and did what you pleased with it. While you were ultimate level exclusive with who you allowed close to you, you had no problem claiming your pleasure. You’d kissed men who loved to use too much tongue or drown you in saliva, or peck at you like they were a bird and you a worm. You’d kissed men who knew what they were doing and those who were entirely clueless, but with him it was different.

He didn’t use too much tongue; it was the right amount, and he had a thing where he rolled it around yours that sent goosebumps down your spine. The level of saliva was perfection; the only thing that was drowning was your underwear. Then the way he nibbled at your bottom lip and sucked; it took your breath away. It was clear he knew what he was doing. He was at expert mastery in the art of the kiss, and because of it, you were ready to risk it all, and that was a first—a first that scared the shit out of you.

You’d never had this reaction to a man before, and you were enjoying prolonging it though it was absolute torture. Every time you caught him watching you, you played whatever you were doing up. If you were walking, you’d swish your ass a little more, swimming you’d lean against the pool wall and pretend you’re stretching your back, which sent your breasts out even more. It was amusing to see his reactions. You thought you’d been stealthy with checking him out, but on the beach last night, you realized you were the opposite of stealthy. When your eyes met, it sent you entirely over the edge. When you went to bed that night, you couldn’t help but bring out your bullet vibrator. Your finger was no longer cutting it.

“Open the goddamn envelope, Y/N.”

You trailed your fingertips over your name that he’d written and flipped it over, ready to rip it open. You unfolded a sheet of white paper and smiled at his messy but strategic handwriting.

-Y/N-

I’ve been trying to figure out the best day and the best way to go about this. You mean that much.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

Will you have dinner with me tonight?

If your answer is yes, please meet me at seven at the house in the woods. God, I hope your answer is yes.

-Chris

Your smile was so wide, your cheeks hurt. You could imagine his cheeks were flushed as he wrote this. Such a dork, you thought to yourself.

“A sweet dork. Huh.”

You took notice of the butterflies fluttering around your belly and dropped back on the couch with a loud groan.

“Get a grip, Y/N. It is just a date. One date, one meaningless date,” you drilled with your eyes closed, trying to slow your racing heart.

After a few minutes, you sprang back up to a sitting position with panic coursing through you.

“Fuck, what do I wear!?”

You leaped to your feet and ran into the bedroom to rifle through the closet and drawers. When you packed for this quarantine, you packed sweats, leggings, tanks, swimsuits, cover-ups, underwear, sleepwear, and even lingerie. You didn’t even want to wear actual fabric, so nothing was adequate for a date. After twenty minutes of searching, your entire floor was covered with clothes, and you were sitting in the middle of it full on panicking.

“What do I do?” Closing your eyes, you fell back onto the pillow of clothing and berated yourself for not thinking to pack anything nice.

After a long, while you got up and looked around and decided you just had to improvise and cross your fingers it looked good together. It took you almost an hour to find something you were remotely okay with that wasn’t overtly sexy or way too chill. You wanted his jaw to drop when he saw you, but you didn’t want him thinking you were some easy piece of ass. After putting it together, you hopped in the shower. When you eyed your hair remover lotion and thought if you should bother. After barely fifteen seconds of decision making, you slathered the lotion on. Better safe than sorry, you thought.

By the time you got out of the shower, you had forty minutes to get yourself put together to get to the house. It wasn’t enough time; you knew that. You wanted to give him the full date look. The full glory of a put together you. It probably didn’t matter seeing that he’d seen you without make up these last seven weeks anyway. Something in you said to carry on as usual. By the time you were finished, you slipped on your slides, refusing to dwell on the fact you didn’t have not one pair of heels. You probably looked a hot mess.

When you opened the door, there was the bike Chris had found you for the bike ride with yet another note in the basket. You smiled, and as you were about to take it, your phone went off.

MSG Scott: Coming to dinner?

Fuck, you thought as you wracked your brain with a response. You couldn’t very well tell him you weren’t because you were going on a date with his brother. You groaned and took a deep breath as you tapped a response out.

MSG: No. Somehow, I have three zoom meetings tonight about a serious project. I’ll be doing this all night. I’ll come by and grab something when I’m done.

MSG Scott: Okay. I’ll even leave a bottle of wine in the fridge for you. I think you’ll need it.

You smiled but felt like an asshole. Chris was probably going to be balls deep in you in a few hours, and he had no idea. The thought of it had you excited. Grabbing the envelope, you opened it and read the note inside.

-Your chariot awaits-

You smiled rolled your eyes as you walked the bike toward the wooded area of the property. Once on the path, you wrapped the hem of your skirt and climbed onto the bike and set off. You did your best to not think about the many ways this night could go. You wanted to stay present because you knew that if your mind wandered, then you’d put yourself in a state of anxiousness for the rest of the night.

Before you knew it, you were in front of the gate, and your heart was racing, and it wasn’t from the exercise. You climbed off the bike and leaned it against the gate before you pushed through it and nearly fell on your face at the sight before you. The path before you was trailed with lights that made a path toward the house. As you took in the house, you couldn’t help but say, wow. It was covered in twinkle lights that lit up the property with a warm and romantic glow.

When you looked back to the path, you saw Chris standing there. From the distance you were at, you couldn’t fully make out his face. You hesitated taking your first step but pushed away the uncertainty and walked on. It felt like the longest walk you’d ever taken. After what felt like five minutes, you stopped in front of him. He looked a little shocked and something else you couldn’t decipher.

“Hi,” Chris whispered. You smiled small at first, but it spread in seconds.

“Hi. I’m sorry I’m late. It was a task and a half getting to this,” you said, signaling from your face to body. Chris then slowly looked over your figure before he returned to your face.

“You look—wow incredible.”

You smiled and released your nervous breath and the worry that he wouldn’t like how you looked.

“Yeah? I wasn’t sure. I literally had nothing to wear.”

“You could have come in sweats and a t-shirt, and you’d still look incredible.” You tried to keep a straight face, but it was impossible, your blush took over.

“Thank you,” you bashfully whispered.

“These are for you.” Chris held out a bouquet of sunflowers and daisies to you. You couldn’t believe your eyes, and he must have sensed your hesitation.

“Sunflowers, they mean happiness, adoration, and even loyalty while the daisies mean innocence, purity, and new beginnings,” Chris explained with his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t need to speak loudly, you heard him loud and clear, and the wat his voice wrapped around you and coxed you closer was not missed.

“Innocence and purity, huh.” You reached out and took the flowers from him and brought them to your nose.

“What don’t think you fit the criteria?”

“Ha, innocent and pure, nope. How did you get these?”

“I picked them. I think my mother will be very upset tomorrow, but this was an emergency.” You smiled and shook your head. He had game.

“Thank you.”

He led the way to the house then stopped to let you walk up the steps and across the front deck before him. As you walked, you could feel his eyes on you, and you were glad you’d chosen this mix and match outfit. Just as you were going to walk inside, Chris took your hand, stopping you in your tracks. When your eyes met, he came closer then looked at your hands. His fingers softly grazed yours, and goosebumps flew up your arm. When he was inches from your face, he looked back into your eyes.

“Close your eyes.”

“Excuse me?”

“Close your eyes. This is your first test in trusting me.”

You cocked your head to the side and took him in. He was being serious. Scoffing, you shook your head and closed your eyes only to snap them open again. He hadn’t moved an inch. He just stood there patiently waiting. Sighing, you closed your eyes and kept them shut. You didn’t know what he was doing, and the fact that you had no control over this set you off. After a minute, your anxiety was at its peak.

“Hopefully, by the end of the night when I ask you to do that again, it’ll be easier for you.” His lips were close to your ear. You could smell his cologne and picked up the hint of mint and basil that came off him.

He took your other hand and led you.

“Keep coming; you’re doing great.”

After a few more steps, you stopped. You wanted to open and look, but you fought the urge and instead waited for him to tell you to. Again, it felt like an eternity of silence.

“Open them.” You took a deep breath and opened your eyes and slowly blew it out when you took in what he’d been doing. Before you, the limbs of the trees were draped in twinkle lights that hung down, mimicking the limbs of a weeping willow tree. In the dead center of the dangling lights was a table set for two with lit candles to finish off the décor. You were blown away to the point of speechlessness.

“Wow.” It was a whisper. Chris stepped out before you and held out his hand for yours. When you placed it in his palm, he led you across the deck down to the scene. You looked around and took notice of a movie screen that was on the exterior wall, and a setup area with candles, cushions, and flowers. You smiled to yourself.

Chris motioned to the seat for you, and you wasted no time sitting with a plop. Your head was spinning looking at everything he’d done. This looked like he went through a lot of trouble.

I’m going to check on dinner. I’ll be right back.” You nodded and watched him walk toward the house. For the first time, you took in his crisp white shirt and tan colored pants. It was casual, but he looked good. Your eyes dropped to his ass and smiled. He looked really good, you thought. When he disappeared inside, you took in your surroundings again. Taking out your phone, you snapped a few pictures, so you could reminisce later as you reflected.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t realize when he’d returned. When he touched your shoulder, it scared you half to death.

“I’m sorry, I thought you heard me.”

“Oh god, no. I’m sorry I zoned out.”

“Everything okay?”

Taking a deep breath, you slowly released it and nodded. “Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I was just—admiring what you’ve done here,” you informed.

“Do you like it?”

“What’s not to like? It’s beautiful, really beautiful,” you said with a smile before you looked at him. when you did a relieved look washed over him, and that was when you saw he was nervous too.

“Wine? I know you prefer white, but I have some red too.”

“But you prefer beer, I can drink beer,” you countered.

“I’m much more than a beer drinker. We’ll start with the white.” Chris began opening the bottle, and your attention dropped to his hands. He had his cuffs rolled up just enough to show his forearms. As he gripped the bottle and the opener, every single vein bulged in his arm and hands, and just like that, your mind was in the gutter.

Clearing your throat, you straightened, “Actually, let’s start with the red.”

“Red?”

“Yeah, red wine is more potent.”

“Potent. Uh—do you think stronger is a good idea?”

You studied him and smirked. “What do you think if I drink red wine that I’ll try to jump your bones?”

His smile was boyish and adorable. “I never said that. Just thought you’d want a clear head.”

“I can more than hold my liquor,” you finished. Chris nodded and switched gears and began opening the red wine instead. When he filled your glass halfway, you eyed him, which made him snort before he poured a little more.

“What should we drink to?”

You thought about it for a few moments then crossed your legs. Chris’ eyes dropped to your exposed thigh, and you thought this was almost too easy.

“What do you want to drink to?”

Chris looked up from your thigh with just his eyes, and you were stunned silent yet again.

“No masks,” Chris proposed holding his glass out to you.

“No masks,” you repeated, tapping your glass to his before you took a hearty gulp of the semi-sweet but tart liquid and moaned.

“Nice choice,” you commented. You could taste the berry and hickory undertones in it, but it wasn’t overpowering.

“Of course, you’d think so, the wine collector.”

“Hey, if you like to drink, you better get a hobby that correlates.” He smiled warmly before he sat adjacent to you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you from the guesthouse. I wanted to but--,” Chris began.

“No, no need to apologize. I understand. Honestly, I think meeting here was a better idea. Cute message, though.” Again, he smiled, and you took another hearty gulp of wine that turned into quite the mouthful.

“Thirsty?”

“You have no idea,” you answered. Chris just watched you, and the longer he did, the more your nerves were playing tricks on you.

This was insane, you thought. No man had you this nervous and anxious. In all the years of first dates, this was a first. You were usually calm, cool, collected, and completely detached and objective. It was all to ensure you analyzed the night correctly down to your date’s words, body language, and efforts with planning the night. You were struggling with remaining objective.

Your knees nearly buckled when you’d walked through the gate. Then when you stood before him, you nearly panted out to give away just how breathless he made you. When you saw what he’d done to the back of the house, you almost let loose an “aww,” and now you were barely keeping it together to not melt right into him, and it hadn’t even been an hour yet. He was already presenting completely different than he had in the entire three years you’d known him. Your head was still spinning.

“Are you hungry?”

Keeping your fresh ass in check, you nodded and took another long sip of your wine. Chris stood and walked back into the house, and you used the time to find your chill.

When he laid down the trey, he carried he arranged the plates and assortment he’d prepared across the table. The scents coming from the plates had your belly grumbling.

“Wow, this smells incredible.”

“You sound surprised. I can cook, you know.”

“I’d heard stories of you being able to do a little somethin’.”

“I do more than a little somethin’, I can throw all the way down in the kitchen,” Chris bragged. You nodded as you laughed.

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Chris sat and waited for you to take a bite. You sliced your meat and put a piece in your mouth. Instantly the juices of the steak washed over your tongue, and you couldn’t help but moan.

“Uh-huh, told you. Chef Evans!”

“All right, it’s good. No need to brag. Cockiness in men is unattractive.”

“You’re a liar, and you know it,” Chris dryly responded which made you laugh loudly.

The two of you ate in silence for a few moments.

“I’ve always liked your laugh.”

Your shock was evident. He smiled as he finished his mouthful.

“Ah, that’s right, you thought I hated everything about you. Got it,” Chris teased.

“Wow, this is surreal,” you added.

“I always thought I was doing such a horrible job hiding how I really felt, thought I was so see through. Either I was better than I thought, or you’re not as good at reading people as you thought.”

“Hey, not cool. Don’t come for me, Chris.”

He laughed again and continued to eat. Your head ran to New Year's Eve. “New Year's Eve, that comment you said. Was that bullshit?”

His smile was soft as he finished chewing. “Complete bullshit.”

You busted out laughing then and squealed. You really thought he was throwing shade at you.

“Oh my god. You asshole. The rest of the night I was in my feelings, I was so salty. Wow, Chris.”

He laughed some more as you shook your head.

“Wait, is this what Sebastian meant?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“As I was making my way over, Sebastian and I chatted, and he said he liked my dress and that no wonder he’s so conflicted,” you divulged.

“Wow, he said that?” You nodded and waited for him to answer.

“Wow. Um, yeah I guess. We’d gone out drinking before, and I must have had too much, and I think I may have let something slip,” Chris explained.

“Wow. I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not, you saw what I wanted you to—what I needed you to,” Chris slid in.

“I was so salty that I was so determined to have fun and ignore you. When Charles approached me, I said, fuck it why not to leaving with him,” you confessed. Chris’s eyes bugged as he leaned back.

“You’re kidding.”

With a yikes face, you shook your head. “Hand to God.”

“Woow. You’re telling me I drove you to him?” His disbelief was evident; you juggled your head from side to side, not wanting to say yes or no.

“Wow, I’m about to flip this fucking table.”

You laughed out loud again and covered your mouth, trying to hide just how amused you were. This was perfect comedic irony. Chris finished his glass of wine, then shook his head.

“Guess I am the asshole.” You shrugged and continued eating.

Thanks to the laughter, your anxiety had decreased, but you were now wondering if he was thinking about you sleeping with Charles on New Year’s. When you glanced at him, his expression was unreadable, his brows were knitted, and it looked like he was in deep thought, but you couldn’t read if his thoughts were angry ones.

“Do you remember the first time we met?”

You smiled fondly as you nodded. It was one of the few pleasant outings with him.

“God, that lake was beautiful,” you reminisced.

“It was. I thought you were gorgeous; your smile was the first thing I noticed. Then your laugh,” Chris began with a soft smile on his lips. “I remember watching you cannonball over and over into the lake. You had endless energy, and you never looked more beautiful. You were so full of light and joy. I don’t know; there was something about you that just made me feel like a firefly drawn to you like you were a flame. Then when you began telling your story, I was hooked. You were funny, charismatic, silly, and just carefree. That is one of my favorite memories of you,” Chris finished.

You didn’t know what to say to that. You had no idea he held that day or memory close at all.

“We talked for two hours straight that night, right?”

He nodded, and the two of you just stared at the flame of the candle, both lost in the memory.

“I remember thinking that night that Jesus Scott’s brother is hot, but he’s smart,” you admitted. When Chris looked at you, you regretted opening your mouth. You gulped down the remainder of the wine and blew out.

“That was the night I realized I liked you.”

“Liked, liked?”

“No, liked, liked was later,” Chris said.

“When?”

He studied you for a minute then finished his glass before he reached for the bottle to refill your glasses.

“It was the fourth of July. We all went to the firework thing in the Hamptons, and the whole night, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you. I watched guy after guy approach you, flirt, and with each of them, I felt something that was unfamiliar to me—jealousy.”

“You’d never felt jealousy before?”

“When it comes to a woman or men who talk to her? Never. The way I lived my life back then—there was no reason or room for it. I felt it that night, though, and it was unsettling. You talked, and I was hanging off every single word. When the fireworks started, the first burst in the sky lit you up in this amazing light, and the happiness on your face hit me harder than a Mack truck ever could. It was the most uncomfortable I’d ever felt, the most insecure and fearful. It terrified me, but like a firefly, to the flame, I had to get closer. Then when you looked back at me something felt different in that moment, I saw something in your eyes that was unsettling.”

“Was that when you disappeared? I remember I reached back for your hand and got your fingers. Then they were gone. I looked back, and you were walking away in the crowd.”

The emotions that came back with the memory surprised you. You’d buried that night so deep, but having it resurface now was unexpected. You took a long sip from your glass and tried to work through the feeling of nakedness.

“I’ve regretted that night for a long time,” Chris quietly admitted. You studied him and waited for him to continue.

“Some nights, I thought I regretted walking away, others I thought I regretted everything else.”

“And tonight? What do you regret?”

His eyes met yours, and it was there they remained. The longer he stared at you, the louder your heartbeat. You were sure he could hear it, but he didn’t say anything about it. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for quite a while before sadness washed over his face, and his eyes dropped to the table.

“Ask me again tomorrow,” he softly whispered. You couldn’t help but feel like there was something behind all of that. Something had just happened.

Before you could bring it up, he changed the subject and asked you about work. For the next fifteen minutes, you explained what you did and your goals and hopes and dreams when it came to your craft. Chris happily listened and never looked bored by a thing you said. He genuinely looked interested.

Dinner was delicious, and the conversation was flowing and the worries of earlier that you’d have nothing to talk about dissipated. You talked about a wide range of things that didn’t stop at work or interests. You even ventured into the hard-hitting things such as politics. When he went into a spirited rant about his beliefs, you sat there happily listening.

When he spoke like this with conviction, you found him most attractive. You loved an educated man, a man who had a brain and was not afraid to show it. It was clear he wasn’t his vocabulary was on point, and with every three-hundred-point Scrabble word he dropped, you drank more and more of your wine, hoping it would douse the fire in the pit of your stomach. It did nothing.

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but watch his mouth. It moved beautifully as if he were speaking the most creative prose. You loved the way his mouth formed the words and letters. He had your undivided attention. Four bottles of wine later, you were still sitting at the table talking, and you didn’t mind at all. You couldn’t help but think how you’d misjudged him all these years. You’d put up a wall after that fourth of July, and with each interaction, you just added another pane of glass to make it thick enough that he could see you, but he’d have no effect. It was clear to you now that he was shattering each pane of glass. His effort into tonight took half of it. He was easy to talk to, the way your brains played off of each other was something you’d expected.

When he turned on a movie to fit across the screen of the makeshift movie theater, you were in a comfortable bubble. He handed you the remote, and that was how Netflix and chill began. You watched an action-comedy that had the two of you laughing loud enough to wake the animals in the woods. Neither of you cared. He laughed when you laughed, and you did the same. Every time he clasped his hand to his chest as he laughed, it pulled at your heartstrings, heartstrings you had no idea existed for him. This one night was fucking you up more than three years of his cold and frigid antics.

“Wow, I’m gonna have to call Helms and tell him what a fucking good job he did with this,” Chris announced through fits of laughter.

“Him? My god, that little boy. Shit with my luck that would be my son,” you admitted, which set Chris off on another laughing fit, one that you joined in on.

“Don’t laugh, I’m serious. He’d be dropping all sorts of f-bombs and pussy talk.”

“In his Bostonian accent,” Chris added through laughs.

“Yes. You can see it too.”

“Yeah, like fugettaboutit sweetart now show me that pussy.”

You busted out laughing again and hit him on the shoulder.

“Oh my god, my son would be a badass kid, I can see it now.”

“Nah, I’d keep his ass in line,” Chris said.

“Whatever, you’d be laughing with him egging him because he takes after your ass with that dirty ass mouth,” you added. You laughed together for a few moments before you both slowly registered what you’d said and how it came off. You both had just referred to your future imaginary son as a son you would share. Oh fuck, you thought as you finished your wine.

“I’m gonna get started on those dishes,” Chris announced as he stood and walked off to the table still littered with dishes and utensils.

You sat there and grabbed the bottle before you, and took it to the head while you reflected a little. After a few minutes, you decided thinking was the enemy right now and took up the glasses to walk inside. Chris had already started loading the dishwasher when you approached.

“Hey, got room for two more?”

“Thanks.” He took the glasses and busied himself once again. You hopped onto the counter beside the sink and crossed your legs, leaving your thigh exposed.

“Why did you build a house on your property that already has a house?”

“This is usually where everyone comes to let loose. Often the house is always full, and it gets loud. I thought it would be a good idea to have somewhere I could hear myself think or even work.”

“This is really cool, and interestingly enough, it looks like you. There are so many details that just screams Chris,” you said.

“Like what?”

“The bed.”

You didn’t mean to go right there, but the wine was finally beginning to work.

“The bed?”

You nodded and brought the wine bottle to your head again.

“How?”

“It’s rustic, kind of, and the plaid on it. You have a lumberjack thing when you come home.”

He snorted and laughed out loud. “Wow, a lumberjack?”

“What’s there’s nothing wrong with lumberjacks. There are plenty of women who get hot for lumberjacks.”

“Are you one of them?” Chris glanced back at you with an eyebrow raised. You smiled.

“Maybe,” you muttered before taking another sip from the bottle.

“What do you get hot for?” He didn’t look back that time. He continued on as if he hadn’t heard you, but you knew he had.

“Not gonna tell me? Gonna make me guess? Okay, I can guess. Let’s see,” you began drinking down the wine.

“From the expert analysis of members of Lipstick Alley I’d say tall, slim, partly curvy by slim standards, hair color doesn’t matter not really, you can take blonde, red, brown, black, but beauty does, pretty eyes, slim nose, big boobs, nice ass by slim white girl standards,” you listed off as Chris dried his hands and walked to you. When he was before you, he took the bottle from your hands to raise it to his mouth.

“Sound about right?”

“Does any of that describe you?”

“Not at all,” you answered with a smirk as you uncrossed your legs.

“Then I guess that doesn’t make me hot. Only you have made me hot for the last three years,” he blatantly admitted.

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “You’re full of shit.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve been fucking all these years. So hence, you’re full of shit.”

You made a move to hop down, but Chris was between your knees in seconds, stopping you. “How do you know I didn’t have to think about you all these years?”

Butterflies filled your belly again.

“Uh--,” you began.

“Cat got your tongue? Is it really that impossible to be true? Impossible to think that all these years I’ve had you in my head while I was with anyone else, had you in my head every night where I stroked myself, had you in my head every night for the last fifty-two days?” You were speechless as you searched his eyes.

“Welcome to my prison, Y/N,” Chris whispered close to your ear before he walked away back toward the back deck.

You couldn’t believe your ears. Had he really just admitted to using your image to fuck the thots he had all this time? Had he really just called it a prison? You hopped off the counter and walked out back.

“What kind of shit is that to say?”

“It was the truth,” Chris calmly said as he leaned against the table to then cross his stretched out legs.

“You’re telling me you thought of me while you fucked every girl over the last three years? You thought about me as you had sex with other women? How am I supposed to take that? Is that supposed to feel good?”

You felt jealousy like you’d never felt before. “Wow.”

“Does it feel the same way I felt seeing you parade around with every Thomas, Randall, Trevor, Harry, and Charles? Hearing the stories from our friends, sitting there?”

“There is a huge difference there. You knew how you felt. I--,” you snapped your mouth shut and turned your back to him.

“You what?”

“I didn’t know how I felt,” you quietly responded before you spun to him. “You knew how you felt but still chose to fuck them. You still chose how the last three years happened. Now you tell me this. Why?”

“I made a promise, Y/N.”

“To who?!”

“It’s not important,” he began before you got fed up and got closer.

“The hell it isn’t. who did you promise, Chris?!”

“You!”

You lurched back and looked at him as confusion filled you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List:

@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @disneysdarlingdiva @bellaamor88 @toniilaney @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @ajspencer1892 @ashanti-notthesinger @90sinspiredgirl @titty-teetee @evemej @areubeingserved @theskullgoddess @caramara3 @champagnesugamama @minton131 @pananegra @scoop93535 @try-n-pronounce-it @dumbchick @behindthesehazeleyes27 @blackmissfrizzle @nervousninjatheorist @dangerouslovefanfic @surmya1907 @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @thinkxlovexloud @chris-butt @swinchestersgirl @momobaby227 @alyxkbrl @angrybirdcr @d1ff3r3nt-b34uty-official @twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @ab-baybay @patzammit @kreolemami @aysha1447 @cutewylie @disaster-rose @wondersofdreaming @lo-cheu @livinglifeformemyselfandi @magdelen69 @snowpiercer21 @renfrewscorner @thevelvetseries @mery-be @hakunalive4eva @anandalambert @youurkryptonite @mizcaptainphoenix @bobbdylann @emilykjhgsj @littlepreciousangel @ssaarroonn @thummbelina @sweetlittlegingy @art-estrange @torntaltos @rynabarnesrogers @rororo06 @anotherblackfangirl @bernie-k @theonewithherheadintheclouds @hista-girl @coldmuffinbanditshoe @jennmurawski13 @deathstroke-terminated-deez-guts @maxcullen @shadyskit @someone-really-bored @thejemersoninferno @itsallyscorner @cristinagronk16 @shakemeupthanks-blog @acciolove724 @straightforwardly @zsuzstyina @acevansss @evansgirl7 @jovanaprime @deadlymistress24 @sunkissedebony97 @turn-thy-paige @amelatonin @nerdybitchpudding @amennariee @likesfairytales @maverickabull @est1887 @periodtcevans @thotti3par7on @vintageembrace @produtofchina @jd-now-jq @winchwm @jesseswartzwelder @pivictorious @anat2507 @euh-say-what-now @raveviolet @rdjparker @actorinfluence @sadishdelray @041802 @ljstraightnochaser @priya212 @evermcfearless @tashawar @dwights-new-plague @renfrewscorner @baby-iyania @euphoric05 @thelilbutifulthings @winterboobear11 @awaywithtime @problackasfwilson @brownskinafro @miss-jackson500 @siempremamita @theladybiers @evermcfearless @ibe-erynn @marvelatthis30 @kailyndavillier @literaturefeen @richonne4life @ani808 @scifi-fantasist @mizzzpink @creolemimi @cessamjrmr @disconectedswift @i-lie-here-charmed @bamakakechick @captainchrisstan @martinafigoli @almosttherebunot @letsdothemostermash @spxcecxramxl @queenwinchester27 @chrisevansfanfic @thejeneralvicinity @doublesidedscoobysnacks @sophiealiice @imaslutforcaptainamerica @redhairedfeistynerd @mirmirmur @nico-diangelo-grey @ibe-erynn @amazonian-strap-queen @cookinggurl43 @jasmindaughteroftheworld @letsdothemonstermash @almosttherebutnot @munteanhore @blackgurlkillinit @madixii @smediumsmeatbae @shar74nett @live-laugh-love-ki @deadpixie22 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison-00 @timotheessoleil @guardian-tn @rynabarnesrogers-reading @blackmissfrizzle @queenoftheworldisdead @patzammit @reveviolet @madixii

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.

#quarantine: a love story fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #Q12 #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic #black fanfiction #quarantine fanfic

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

Text

Serpent of Eden (Part 1 - Reid Series)

Maybe he stole her innocence. Maybe she never had any . . .

Summary: Reader’s one night stand with Spencer turns into a year-long semester. (yes, for all you PLL fans, this is largely based off of Ezra and Aria don’t @ me)

A/N: Strongly suggest listening to “From Eden” by Hozier while reading 😌 Couple: Fem!Reader x Professer Spencer Reid Category: Fluff, Angst, Series Content Warning: allusions to teacher/student relationship, age-gap, allusions to penetrative, public sex Word Count: 3k

BIG BIG BIG THANK YOU TO @andiebeaword @inkstainedwritergirl @thelovelyrose and @imagining-in-the-margins for their help with the title!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Babe

There's something tragic about you

I’d been absentmindedly humming the song as soon as I heard the opening tune, giving the song more attention than the impatient bartender in front of me who had to wave her hand in my face to bring me back to earth.

“Hello?” She set her weight on one hip, clearly annoyed with me. “What do you want to drink?”

“Oh, right, sorry. Just a water please.”

Mild humiliation manifested on my face, earning the concern of the stranger beside me.

“You okay down there?”

I laughed softly to mask my shame. “I’m a bit jet-lagged. I just got back from Europe.”

I hadn’t noticed him sitting there before, probably because I practically slept-walked into this place by happenstance, but once I answered him, my eyes naturally drifted in his direction. Consequently, I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Something so magic about you

Don't you agree?

He was charming in the most peculiar way. His hair was a mess of curls, that I positively adored for a reason I couldn’t quite figure out; a stark contrast to his clean suit that targeted my insatiable desire for sharply dressed men.

“Where in Europe?” He asked with genuine curiosity, sipping from a mug with steam floating out of it.

“Iceland.”

He raised his eyebrows in earnest surprise. “I heard it’s beautiful there.”

“It really is. The waterfall we visited was insane. Here, lemme show you a picture,” Pulling out my phone, I leaned over the seat between us to show him a photo I’d taken of the waterfall, not even realizing how close he was until I smelled his cologne. It was such a unique scent that I knew I could only ever associate it with him, even if I were to never smell it again.

There's something lonesome about you

Something so wholesome about you

Get closer to me

I brushed aside the nervousness I felt from his close proximity and slid back into my rightful spot a seat away. “You should definitely go if you’re considering it. I’m planning on going back this summer.”

“Yeah, I’m, um, I’m definitely considering it.” He grinned, displaying a pair of dimples that made me weak. I let myself wonder if I was the reason he was considering going.

Unconsciously, I turned my bar seat fully towards him, showing that he had my undivided attention, and asked, “So do you go to Hollis?” Referring to the college just nearby that I attended.

“No, no. I graduated ages ago, but um, I work at Quantico.”

“Quantico? Like FBI Quantico?”

“That’s right. I’m, uh, I’m a profiler for the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We specialize -”

“In building profiles for unidentified criminals. No, yeah, I totally know what you do! At the law firm I work at, the prosecutors use profiles all the time. That’s so cool that you do that.”

He wasn’t even mad that I’d interrupted him, no, he was glad. He smiled, looking almost proud of me.

No tired sigh, no rolling eyes

No irony

“So you work at a law firm?” His mouth hidden behind the rim of his cup.

Doing my best not to look at the way he licked the taste of coffee from his lips, I had to consciously keep my eyes steady on his as I answered. “Yeah, I do. There are like generations and generations of lawyers in my family, so I’m just continuing that tradition, I guess.”

The conversation paused for a moment again, while his stare lingering on me too long for comfort that I had to look away.

No "Who cares?", no vacant stare

No time for me

“I love this song.” I muttered under my breath, simply bringing it up to find a reprieve from his overwhelming gaze. From my peripheral, I caught him smirking, still staring.

“From Eden. B-32.”

Him simply knowing the jukebox number for the song felt like a sign.

Honey, you're familiar, like my mirror years ago

Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on his sword

“Hozier wrote it in a tongue-in-cheek way from the point of view of the devil looking at something innocent and seeing it as a missing part. The song tries to woo a woman while admitting that the relationship would be deeply flawed.” He informed me.

“Wow, that’s beautiful. Almost makes me want a forbidden kind of love.”

Oh, had I only known the irony of my sentiment.

“He’s so good with his prose and poetry. It’s actually what inspired me to go to Iceland. I thought a change of scenery might be good for writing. Not much here in Virginia that’s quite like the beauty of Iceland,” I rambled, catching myself and consciously slowing down the rate of my words. “But um, I don’t write anything really good, just stuff that’s for me mostly.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Why?”

With the utmost nonchalance, he stood from his chair, sliding his drink down the bar with him as he took the empty seat closest to me. I tried not to let my vision drift from his face to his actions, in the same way that he kept his gaze firm on him while he spoke.

“Well, I tried writing, but I didn’t get very far. You’re lucky. If you’re writing for yourself, it’s true passion,” He paused to glance at his empty glass, like he was debilitating whether or not to say this next part. “Maybe you’d let me read some of it?”

"Yeah. Sure. If you really want to.”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” He chuckled. “You’re smart, you’re well-traveled - great taste in music. I’d like to know more about you.”

Innocence died screaming; honey, ask me, I should know

I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

Maybe the flattery got to my head, but I couldn’t help the sudden surge of confidence bursting through my veins.

“I’d like to know more about you, too.” I confessed.

Needless to say, we didn’t waste another second getting to know each other.

Well, as much as you can get to know someone after you fuck them in the bathroom of a bar.

Babe

There's something wretched about this

Something so precious about this

Where to begin?

. . .

“And where have you been, young lady?” Holly asked, acting more like my mother than my roommate upon my return to the dorm.

“The Hollis Bar and Grill.”

“Doing what exactly?”

I would be remiss not to take up the opportunity for witty banter.

“Spencer.”

She rose from her seat at an ungodly speed to chase me down and force me to explain everything.

“Who is he?”

“Some guy.” I blankly answered, not finding it in my jet-lagged heart to recount every last detail.

“So is it just Spencer? No last name?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you usually ask your one night stands for their last name?” I shot her an accusatory stare.

“Oh, is that what we’re calling this? A one night stand?”

My agreeing nod was interrupted with the ear-splitting squeal of joy that erupted from Holly.

“You had your first one-night stand!”

“Say it any louder, would you?”

“Sorry, I’m just so proud of you! My baby’s growing up.” Pretending to wipe tears from her eyes, Holly pulled me in for a hug. The only way I could manage to get out of it was if I promised to tell her every little thing in the morning when I was well-rested, and fingers crossed, less jet-lagged.

As promised, in the morning, I revealed to Holly all the details of the night before, including, but not limited to our thought-provoking discourse, his appearance, and his performance.

“At the end, he told me, ‘I will never forget you.’” I gushed to Holly.

And he definitely meant it, because after tomorrow, he most certainly would not.

. . .

The first day back from Spring Break is typically the hottest day of the year, and today was no exception. It was breaching the three-digit-degree mark, which is how you know it’s hot, but we were still forced to endure the cruel and unusual punishment of wearing a uniform anyway. One that consisted of a white button-up, a plaid pleated skirt, and some type of University cardigan over it.

Usually, this didn’t pose a problem, and I would comply, but we’d recently been hit by an ongoing heatwave that didn’t look like it was stopping anytime soon.

Even as I got ready in the morning, with my windows shut and the air conditioning blasting, I was sweating like a pig. I had a paranoid feeling that my makeup would melt and run down my face by the end of the day, so I sat in front of the fan to cool myself off. I struggled with my hair - not that I didn’t normally struggle to style my hair every day because my kinky curls weren’t exactly manageable. But I had no interest in straightening it because I knew the humidity would just return it to its naturally curly state anyway, so I settled for letting it run wild. I’d probably work up a sweat trying to style it at all, honestly.

As I packed the last of my things into my backpack, I finally slipped on my Uni cardigan over the rest of my uniform to complete it. I’d been delaying this part for the better part of an hour because I knew exactly what would happen the second I put it on. And just as I anticipated - I felt faint. My cheeks grew pink the minute I stepped out of my dorm; exposing myself to the sun that was visibly beating down on everyone in the courtyard.

“Y/N!”

Behind me was Christina, who was jogging to catch up with me. To be considerate, I stopped walking, giving me the opportunity to look at her wholly. She was only wearing the skirt and the button up, with her cardigan wrapped around her waist.

“Are you allowed to wear your cardigan like that?” I asked after she finally caught up to me.

“No, but I’m going to do it anyway. Stick it to the man!” She threw up her fist into the air with a proud grin plastered on her face.

Ah, yes - stick it to the man. One of Christina’s favorite five-word mantras that she stuck by. The other being - we do what we want.

But, see, it was easy for her to say that because she never once faced repercussions for her actions. Take her hemmed skirt, for example. She shortened it by an inch - not allowed, by the way - but here she was, donning her hemmed skirt and receiving no punishment for it, not even earning a second glance from the campus security we just passed.

How she managed to get away with as much as she did was beyond me. The only way I could describe it was that she had this magical gift of invincibility - she could never get in trouble for breaking the rules, completely untouchable. But for me, I knew the second I acted out, I’d be sitting in front of the whole school board, begging them not to expel me. My luck was just that bad.

“You don’t always have to do what they say, you know?” Her words were tempting fate.

“Yes, I do.”

“Why do you always have to be such a goody-two-shoes? Why can’t you just let loose? You’ll have so much more fun.”

“But that’s just it - I’m not here to have fun, Christina! I can’t afford to mess around every day and break the rules. I’m not like you, okay? I actually had to work to get here.” My voice had taken on much more anger than the situation warranted, which I instantly regretted.

Her head cocked to the side in shock. “You don’t think I had to work hard?” Christina’s voice now matched my previous level of rage.

“I’m sor-”

“It’s fine. I’ll see you after class.”

Great.

I watched in lamentation as she briskly walked away from me, clearly upset.

As if today wasn’t bad enough.

Though I knew she wanted me to chase after her and beg for her forgiveness, I had much more important things to attend to. Plus, I trusted her word - she’d see me after class and I could apologize after then, but as for right now, I was going to keep my priorities in order.

As per usual, I was the first to arrive, and the following class, I was, too, and so on and so forth. Christina would’ve rolled her eyes at my timeliness, but I preferred being early than being late.

By lunch time, I hadn’t seen Christina since our minor altercation in the morning, but to my delight, when I reached our lunch spot in the grass, she was right there waiting for me, just like she always did.

“Hey, Chris. About earlier -”

“No need to apologize. I shouldn’t have pushed you to break the rules. Come sit.” She patted a spot on the grass under the shady tree for me to sit on, but not even the voluminous leaves above could mask us from the sun.

It was noon now, probably the peak of heat, and I felt like I was being baked alive. Even the wind that passed through was a hot breeze, merely amplifying the humidity.

And perhaps I was compensating because I had a suspicion that Christina hadn’t truly forgiven me, but I started to peel my sweater off my body with the guise that I was doing it because I was burning up, and not because I was trying to get back on her good side.

She was speechless at first, but then she hit me with a cheerful, “Yeah!” While she clapped in approval, I took off my cardigan and unbuttoned the top few buttons.

I was almost enjoying myself and how rebellious I was being. It was very unlike me, but it felt nice not to care so much, but then I heard a voice too distinct to misplace.

“Ms. Y/L/N!”

Mine and Christina’s head both whipped around hastily to see Mrs. Whitman, who looked furious.

“That is against the dress code. You will report to room R-412 after school for detention. Do not be late.”

Lest I forget to mention, Christina was breaking the dress code, too, but again - her power of invincibility protected her - a power which I did not possess.

My jaw hung low in shock.

“Oh my god,” I turned to Christina, with my hand covering my mouth.

“I am so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

I shot up from the grass, replacing my cardigan where it should be on my shoulders and buttoning the top few buttons of my shirt to regain some dignity.

“Where are you going?” Christina called out after I abandoned her at the table.

I didn’t answer, out of pure rage, not that it was Christina’s fault, but that I’d actually foolishly broken the rules - and enjoyed it.

The rest of the day was spoiled after that thanks to the impending doom of heading straight to detention after school was over.

Christina texted and called repeatedly to apologize, but it would be no use. I wasn’t necessarily mad at her, although it wouldn’t have been completely untrue to say that I was, but I was madder at the situation.

My humiliation was reinforced when after the final bell rang, I had to go against the grain of students, who were desperately filing out of the classes to return to their dorms, while I was headed for yet another “class.” I normally would’ve been one of those students, briskly shuffling out of a classroom with a million other people, trying to cram through a tiny door to leave, but now I was an outlaw, and I wasn’t sure that I liked it.

I found the room in no time, having studied the campus map until I knew it as well as the back of my hand. I even recognized the room number from when I asked my counselor for an application to audit Dr. Reid’s Criminology class, but I was declined acceptance, giving me all the more reason to hesitate to enter. I clutched onto the doorknob and lingered in the doorway, trying to find the nerve to walk in and commence my punishment.

With one exasperated exhale, I swung the door open and marched in with my head down and my tail between my legs. Taking a cursory glance, I didn’t see a teacher anywhere.

“Hello? Dr. Reid?”

My small voice ricocheted off the high ceilings and reverberated back to me, instilling me with the chills of being alone in this large, empty classroom.

I hadn’t yet taken a seat, mainly in case I needed to run for my life, I’d just need to pick up my feet instead of get up from a seat, but more so because I expected someone to be in here to instruct me on where to sit. I was more surprised that it was just me here and not anyone else, which made me reflect even harder on the idea that maybe I was the only one here because everyone else in this school had more discipline than me. But I also had to consider that the kids that were troublesome enough to land themselves in detention probably had no intention of suddenly abiding by the rules and showing up to detainment as they should.

Out of nowhere, I heard the clunk and thump of shuffling footsteps.

"Dr. Reid?”

From the stage I saw a figure emerge, briskly walking with a satchel crossed over their body and a coffee cup raised to their lips.

Those lips.

I’ve seen them before.

Flashbacks of the night before began replaying in my head at a million miles per hour.

“You okay down there?”

“Iceland.”

“Quantico? Like FBI Quantico?”

“B-32.”

“I’m impressed.”

“Maybe you’d let me read some of it?”

“I’d like to know more about you.”

I felt the ground sway beneath me when the source of his familiarity became glaringly apparent.

We simply stood there, gaping at each other like we couldn’t believe this was actually happening, totally, and completely speechless.

“Spencer?”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 2 HERE!

comment to be added to taglist!

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic

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littlefreya · 5 years ago

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 6

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) | August Walker x ofc Suzy

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Dark themes, rough oral sex, gagging, hinted anal, mentions of rough sex, and August twisted thoughts.

A/N: The adventures of August and Ingvild continue 💖 thanks again for reading and giving me your feedback, it keeps me fueled so keep it up :D! Of course thanks @agniavateira for editing my work and being my muse.

Title: Stargazer

The love boat sets sail through the icy water of the North Sea. The apostle, Knight_of_Cockn3ss, or whatever that kid’s name is, wasn’t joking when he mentioned a romantic cruise.

The traitorous sun hangs mid-sky as August trails across the deck. A beige fedora covers his dark curls and a matching cream-coloured suit over his sturdy body. In his right hand rests his laptop, he is not daring to leave it out of sight even for a minute. His eyes observe the surroundings; he must be the only single person on this trip, surrounded by timid couples on the verge of divorce and sugar daddies with their sugar babies.

‘At least the young girls are pretty.’ August greets a tall blonde, holding one hand behind his back and giving her a small bow before continuing on his way.

He’ll have to endure this trip for a couple more days, which isn’t ideal by any means, but he can’t risk getting caught or killed. Airports all over the world are swarming with security guards, agents, and assassins on really fucking high alert by now, all of them waiting for him.

The irony of the situation is that a long time ago used to be one of them. A wanted target on a scale of world catastrophe would spin a web of agents worldwide and Agent Walker would always get there first. That’s why they called him “The Hammer” - he nailed each target on the head, among other things.

No one cared about torture and extreme violence. He once brought back a target in such a dire condition that Erica was forced to send him to psych evaluation. He bluntly told the psychiatrist he enjoys the violence for no particular reason why, and then fucked her over the desk.

He scoffs at the memory, breaking into a wolfish grin.

Standing on the rail, his gaze is glued to the blue horizon, following the trail of sea-foam left by the boat as it slices through the water, disturbing the peaceful life beneath the sea. Slowly, his chaotic mind begins to drift, reveries of the CIA reminding him of her.

Golden locks of hair glow like hot sand on a summer day. Sweetly, she jokes about buying a yacht, telling Erica to fuck off so they can leave everything behind, and sail into freedom.

Memories are perfidious. Why has she been on his mind so much as of late? She’s been dead for years, flesh eaten by worms and the insects.

She is no more but a sack of rotting bones.

To condemn her memory is more than she deserves.

August’s nostrils flare. For whatever reason, his mind wanders to the girl who lived. Gently snorting, he shakes his head, remembering the condition of how he left ‘poor little’ Ingvild; half-naked, wrists tied up to the bed, probably crying to whatever father figure she has.

After what he did to her, she’ll probably retire from Icarus.

“I’m coming after you,” he mimics her voice in his head, and laughs while making his way toward the stack of beach lounge chairs. The section is nearly empty as most of the lovebirds are dinning in the main hall and unlike the degenerated visitors of this cruise, he is here solely on business.

Much work is left to be done. “Knight” has promised to meet him in London’s sky tower, suggesting he may or may not have a source of plutonium. Whether he’s a broker, a source, or a possible troll matters very little to a man on the run. Desperate times are ahead; he may be sticking his neck out, might be stepping into an obvious trap, but choice is scarce at the moment.

‘This is not the type of anarchy I dreamed of.’

That little girl, Ingvild, was the first to come. There will be others, endless more until the world will fall apart.

“I’ll keep coming after you.” Her voice hinges on his troubled mind.

He opens his laptop with a groan, trying to ignore the truth that lies on his mind like a pile of heavy brick.

‘You should have left her pretty face to die in the bottom of the lake.’

“Oh, but to miss out on all the fun that followed in that bedroom?” he speaks to himself quietly, unlocking his laptop with a retinal scan.

Luckily, his old drive is still accessible on the cloud he encrypted. Years of work and dirt collected on the CIA and the government nestles on a single server. The ugly truth, the lies, the corruptness. Thick and black like a pit filled of tar.

Erica Sloane has her own dedicated special folder. Personal vendetta was never on his agenda, it was never about revenge, it was about a cause but sweet Erica deserves whatever damnation he could think of. He hopes that when he detonates his nuclear bombs, that once this world falls apart, she’ll sit on a front-row seat to see her failures raining down like fire from the sky.

A vicious smirk paints his face as his fingertips slide onto the touchpad. August scans through his many folders, seeking a specific one regarding illegal weapon deals. It would be a lovely afternoon at the CIA had one of these recordings or documents would find their way to the public eye.

August slides the cursor around, entering one of the CIA’s subfolders when his smile fades away.

He thought he deleted her folder a long time ago, but it seems like mistakenly, he placed it in another section instead.

And now here it is. A name he thought he’d never see again: Lacey.

Strange, he hardly remembers what she looked like. How long has it been? Six? Seven years ago? In his dreams, she’s nothing but a rotting corpse, but the mind has a tendency to alter one’s memory, doesn’t it?

Was she even sweet at all?

‘Manipulation was her strongest trait anyway.’

Without mustering a mother breath, he deletes the folder, and proceeds to search for the files he means to leak. He muses if they caught up with the notion that it was him who poisoned the well this entire time. Years of stirring chaos while sitting with his laptop of his bed while Sloane and her high-ranking management freaked out and did all that’s in their power to cover shit up.

It was so hard to keep a poker face and pretend he is trying to help. One particular time, he got so ecstatic he had to go and jack off in the men’s room.

‘That was a good one.’

Something abruptly disturbs his attention, making his heart nearly drop.

‘It can’t be, is that...?’

A petite brunette passes through the lounge, joyfully trodding along the deck. Her hair is tucked back into a ponytail. No, it can’t be her, not in the situation he left her at. By what sort of dark magic would she exactly appear here out of nowhere?

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the little Valkyrie turns out to be some sort of a witch.’

The brunette feels his gaze upon her figure and turns. He is met with a brown, warm gaze, rather than the sharp icy lustre that is Ingvild’s trademark. Less pretty as well, but looks about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger.

Another sugar baby, weary and discontent.

August realises he must have been staring with a dumbfounded look as she decides to smile back and make her way to him.

“Good afternoon,” she greets in a Midwestern accent. August’s eyes focus on her painted lips and in his mind, he imagines wiping that cotton candy pink lipstick by his thumb.

“Afternoon,” he smiles kindly, tipping his fedora with a welcoming bow.

Always the gentleman.

The young woman moves to sit on the seat in front of him, crossing her legs together as she takes in his sight. She observes and assesses how old he is and how much money he must own.

Probably looking for a new target.

‘Not old enough to be your daddy, but you can still call me that if it floats your boat.’

“Are you a secret agent?” She jokes, peering at his laptop before he smooths his hand on the lid to shuts it. He pretends to be intrigued by her senseless, obvious seduction when his mind once again forced him to go back and compare her to living-dead girl.

It seems like he can’t get away from her. Perhaps her threats were a curse? Even halfway across the sea, this total stranger reignites his curiosity.

‘Does Ingvild has any values? Any empathy toward others?’

She did experience fear in those little moments when his knife penetrated her soft little gut - that look in her eyes; like a virgin, fucked extremely rough for the very first time.

Thinking of those big, terrified eyes light up a snarl on his bewhiskered lip.

There was an inch of vulnerability in that sweet farewell kiss, a sense lost look on her face as if she couldn’t fit that emotion into any drawer inside her brain. It made her look so much more beautiful.

He wonders what she would have looked like if he went ahead with his besser urges and fucked her.

‘Maybe she’d finally break into tears. Fuck, I’d love to see her cry.’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He interrupts the sassy brunette as she speaks of Lord-knows-what. It seems that she doesn’t even realise he wasn't listening to her for the last 5 minutes she been babbling . The girl smiles sweetly, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The diamond bracelet that decorated her wrist dangles as she does.

“Suzy.”

“Suzy,” August repeats and smiles charmingly before giving his lips a quick flick of a tongue. “Would you like to join me in my room?”

The brunette pretends to blush beneath the layers of foundation on her face and fakes an argument inside her mind as if she actually considers refusing his bold suggestion.

~*~

Back in his room, he pushes the petite brunette to her knees. He wipes away her makeup, smearing the pink paint with the crudeness of thumb. Suzy giggles, thinking she probably had men do worse than that by now.

‘Oh, darling, we haven’t even started yet.’

August’s large hand traces her rounded face, knuckles brushing against her cheek tenderly while running down to meet her lips again.

“Open up sweetheart,” he commands in a relaxed voice, his index finger demanding entrance to her velvety mouth. She spreads her lips open slowly, allowing him to slip in his long digit to explore the wet cavern while his thumb caresses her chin. Much to his delight, she sucks on his finger obediently, moaning as he slowly pumps in and out of her hot mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, his free hand reaching to unbuckle his belt urgently and free his aching cock from his trousers. He tugs at himself for a second, staring how she suckles on his finger with fake devotion. She probably do want his cock, but it’s his money that she’d care for more later.

‘Oh, how disappointed you are going to be once I’m off this boat, baby.’

“How about I’ll fuck that pretty little throat, hmm?” August asks and without waiting for an answer, pulls his soaked finger away and clasps his hand around the hollows of her cheeks instead, forcing her to keep her mouth open.

She voices no protest, only her eyes staring at him wide and helpless. He pays no attention, preferring the sight of his cock sliding in between those puffy lips and pushing into the warm depths instead. A prolong groan slips out of his mouth, emphasising the relief of finally getting his dick wet.

Usually, he loves to watch, yet he lets his eyes roll back and shuts them tightly this time while she in the background. It only makes him fuck her throat more vigorously, his hands cradling and saddling her head, forcing her to meet the violent thrust of his hips.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps breathlessly, as her her dirty paws snake for his waist. Terrified, she pulls away, intimidated by his voice. August’s eyes remain shut yet he can feel the wetness on her cheeks as his thumbs dig into them. Those tears are enough to send him over the edge, and he comes into her throat without any warning, grunting a couple of times and lingering inside her mouth to make sure she’ll swallow him clean.

‘That’s right little Valkyrie angel, you’ll take what I’ll give you.’

The mists of fantasy fade as August blinks his eyes open. Debunked by the plastic-type of woman. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, impressed by the mascara that’s smeared beneath Suzy’s now glassy red eyes. He wipes her lower lip clean and then gives her chin a gentle pinch with a soft grin.

Suzy gives out a weak smile in return, trying to look satisfied while remaining on her knees. He can tell that her little brain is pretty much half-through into realising she made a mistake by following the devil into his room.

Tall and menacing, he looks at her drenched by vile mischief. August moves to sit on the queen sized bed, petting the empty spot next to him. She follows, fighting her instinct to put a hand on his knee as she is used to, afraid that he will bark at her again.

“Tell me, Suzy,” he coaxes, reaching for the wallet in his pocket and drawing out a Trojan condom.

“Have you ever tried anal sex?”

****

“Ingvild,” the old man calls her name once he brings her to her new home. It’s a simple, minimalist apartment with naked walls and generic black IKEA furniture.

Silent, she peers at him, holding her small luggage between sinewy fingers. Everything that she possesses in the world is in that suitcase; a bunch of plaid skirts, white buttoned shirts, and a few books about fairies and monsters.

This man called Liam, is he to be her new father? He never even offered her a smile and hardly bothers looking into her eyes. Instead he grunts and sighs while making his way around the house and gesturing for her to follow.

At least he is kinder than Mother Superior. At least in here, no girl is going to pick any fights with her and get her into trouble.

“This is your room,” Liam gestures. The pubescent girl sneaks closer, peeking inside with curiosity. It’s not what someone would call a girl’s room by any means, very much like the rooms they had at the orphanage. It contains a single bed with a thin mattress and white metal bars and on the bed rest some casual clothes for her to wear.

At least she won’t have to wear skirts anymore.

As little Ingvild continues to scan the room, she picks on a small library housing some books and a learning desk with a computer. Probably for her to gain some knowledge of the world. She never had any of that at the orphanage, just the bible and the “forbidden” books of fairytales she stole from one of the nuns.

“Today you can rest,” Liam speaks, watching the little girl as she moves to place her luggage inside and sits on the bed.

“Tomorrow, you will start your first day of training.”

‘Training?’

Ingvild says nothing, only glares at him back quietly. It’s quite clear no woman is present in the house which makes her wonder; the orphanage doesn’t allow single parents to adopt, especially not men. Was Mother Superior this desperate to get rid of her that she decided to throw her at the first person who asked?

“Just so we’re clear, girl,” Liam grumbles, “I am not your father. You call me Liam and that’s that.”

She nods silently and watches him leave the room, shutting the door behind. Sighing, she falls back to the mattress, her silver eyes fixing at the ceiling in wonders of what sort of new life has she been sold ito.

“Ingvild...”

A low, velvety voice calls for her again, the mattress dipping, shifting with the weight of the one who joins her. As she turns her face aside, she is met with hungry eyes and a smile so cold it makes her heart shrivel.

August.

*~*

A loud thud wakes her with a sharp inhale. Though her face remain stoic, quickly readjusting to the sight of moving ground as the plane’s wheels make their landing. ‘Arrogant August Walker, invading my dreams’, she curses but pays no more thought to why he was there. Analysing dreams was never her thing. They were just memories of random things that happened to her in her childhood and August is no different as he had been on her mind for the last 72 hours.

He was a job.

One that she needed to get over with.

Liam was at her throat with this one specifically, nagging her like an old shrew. He wasn’t used for her taking her time with it, not his special girl.

Massaging her strained neck, she waits for the last person to leave the plane, observing the empty cabin and noticing how used it appears with all the crumpled, empty snack bags lying on the floor.

‘Ungrateful’, she thinks before exiting her seat and tip-toeing to get her luggage.

The arrivals terminal is infested with agents. Having been trained for years, she sees right through their casual attire, so fake they almost look like B-movie actors. It’s those badly selected outfits and their observant gazes - eyes obsessively fixed on every gate. Every airport in the world must be the same right now, desperate to catch this nightmare of a terrorist.

‘As if he would be stupid enough to travel by plane.’

With a high profile target like August on the loose, it almost feels like the world is on the brink of war.

‘Is that what he wants? To be an anarchistic god that plows chaos everywhere?’

Maybe that’s why he gave her back her life, to humiliate her, to show her how easily he can twist everyone’s life and disrupt the world people know.

‘Mephisto, Lucifer, Hades, Hel.’

“Remember that you’re only alive because I have allowed it.”

A sudden shard of pain sears through her torso, the wound reacting to the phantasm of his low timbre which plays in her mind. It makes her slow on her steps and chews on her inner cheek to suppress a moan that has been begging to escape her lips since yesterday afternoon.

“August Walker”, the name rolls on the tip of her tongue.

Her very first failure, the very first man who killed her.

It almost feels like a bond now, intimate and twisted. August went deeper than any other man ever did - he fucked her internal organs.

‘Is that is why you “performed” for him in the shower? Why you thought about him, slipping inside you with his cock rather than his knife?’

Ingvild huffs tenderly and passes in-between a couple reuniting with passion, her shoulder sharply bumping against the woman, who yells at her while she remains indifferent, never bothering to look back.

Putting on her shades, she continues to head for the exit. The wound in her gut throbs even further, all of a sudden and just when she is tempted to give into the pain and acknowledge it, the new mobile device in her jacket’s pocket begins to vibrate.

Liam, who else?

“Papa?” She answers, the big exit sign finally flickering in front of her eyes.

She can see Liam rolling his eyes without having to see his grumpy old face.

“What progress do you hope to make with this lead? Someone says they saw him in Singapore yesterday, you should be following these threads instead.”

Ingvild holds her breath, knowing very well the lead is false. August was with her a night ago, so close she tasted him, so near his fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving an imprint on her bones and even though there is something quite demonic about him, she doubts he can be at two different places at once.

“I need access to his world, I need to pick up the clues,” she explains, yet the sad truth is that she has no idea what to look for. August is not a rookie idiot, he did a fine job leaving zero clues back at the bed&breakfast room they “shared”. Not even the receptionist who ogled her oddly when she left could tell her where he was heading.

“Just get it done, Ingvild. You’re acting like a child, this isn’t like you,” Liam mutters before hanging up.

‘He is right, this isn’t like you.’

Ingvild feels hooks clutching her guts, not just the pain August inflicted upon her, but something deeper, something desperate, leaving a void in that same spot. The fact that he slipped between her fingers seems to torments, just as much as the fact that she lied to Liam for the first time. It makes her feel like a rebellious teenager. She never keeps secrets from him and there she is, lying through every word.

Absentmindedly, her fingers press against her lips as she exits the airport.

~*~

The address led her to a small suburban house in southern London. It’s the type of house that has large glass windows where anyone standing outside can ogle freely. Rich people houses, as she likes to call it. She had a few missions in the past with people living in homes like this one - always an easy kill.

A blond woman meanders about inside the house, wearing a grey silk nightgown, preparing for bedtime probably. According to Walker’s file, she’s the most recent ex - Sydney. They broke up a couple of months before he decided to go on what he thought would be his final mission, his deathstrike.

‘If only.’

Glancing from the gravel path that leads to large metal doors, she learns the woman’s delicate manoeuvres, her mind reciting every graceful gestures as she crouches down to place food for a large Maine coon cat.

‘Is that the type of woman he likes?’

August would strikes her as a man who would fuck anything with a heartbeat but he did have more than a few relationships. She can’t help but wonder if he has a type, noticing how Sydney is more of a woman than a girl; solid income, big name lawyer, a woman who can take care of herself, a woman to start a family with.

Not that she imagines Walker starting a family anytime soon.

She is pretty too, with her mid-length straight golden hair, bright eyes and a shapely body. Ingvild looks at her own outfit: jeans, sneakers and a black sleeved shirt, nowhere as classy as beautiful Sydney.

The hour is late, still she walks toward the door and rings the bell.

“Can I help you?”

Ingvild is greeted by green eyes and a subtle Welsh accent. She gives her one of her fake smiles, trying to look as charming and pleasant as a sweet doll.

“Sydney Bedford?” She asks, while briefly scanning her body. She tries to imagine what August liked about her the most; her figure? Her angelic face? Her emerald stare?

“I have some questions about August Walker, he used to…”

Sydney shakes her head vehemently, waving her hands in the air. Something in her eyes drastically changes the moment the name “August” slaps her across the face.

“Are you MI6!? Please, I don’t want to speak about that psychotic loser anymore.”

Ingvild smiles calmly, a soft chuckle leaving her throat.

“Oh you see, he disappeared…”

“Good riddance!” Sydney replies, her eyes filling with anger, her face turning red within seconds. “Listen. I already told them everything I know.”

“Please,” Ingvild begs, batting her long lashes and tilting her head like a cute little kitten. “I’m new in this and my superior will be mad if I don’t at least speak to you. May I please come in? It’s important for my investigation.”

The same childlike charm that works on men might as well work on women, for different reasons in this occasion. Sydney is a single 36-38-year old woman who lives alone with her cat.

She must have wanted a family, perhaps with Walker, no wonder she’s furious.

Leaning against the door frame, Sydney scrutinises the young girl, believing she is younger than she really is with that pale smooth face and big innocent greyish eyes.

“Come on in, dear.” She opens the door wide, letting Ingvild step inside before closing it behind her.

The main entrance leads into a large living room, furnished with a black leather sofas and a glass coffee table. She owns a TV that is larger than Ingvild's entire living room and the walls are moulded with grey bricks, shiny from some cut stone.

Ingvild imagines how lovely it would feel to crack the shimmering stone with August’s skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Sydney offers while heading toward her luxurious kitchen.

“Please,” Ingvild answers, walking around the house and examining every corner to learn of the woman who invited her in. She nearly stumbles as the large cat rubs against her foot. “Oh,” she exclaims, lowering herself to pick the chubby feline to her arms.

She never owned a pet. Liam said it’s unnecessary.

“So like I said,” Sydney calls from the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. “I don’t know anything about August and where he is. All I can tell you is that he was weird.”

“Weird? How?” Ingvild asks, stroking the cat behind his ears and while it purr against her chest.

Sydney places two mugs on the black marble counter in the kitchen and opens a cabinet, looking for some tea bags. “He would disappear and then return after weeks, telling me not to ask any questions. Then, he would go away and come back in crazy hours. He was a gentleman of course but arrogant and demanding, never taking no for an answer.”

Ingvild turns to look at Sydney, arching her eyebrow as if she is surprised to learn this about the man who stabbed and drowned her in an icy lake. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sydney shouts back, her chest heaving as she throws the bags into the mugs and turns toward Ingvild.

“Everything had to go his way, and I won’t be surprised if he had a mistress or another family, or god! Maybe an illegal drug practice.”

The cat jumps down from Ingvild’s embrace, and she brushes the grey hairs off her black shirt. “What makes you think this way?”

“Like I said; disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back... I knew something was off so I went and... wait I… I shouldn’t tell you this, you’re an agent!” Sydney looks around her, as if she’s afraid someone might be listening to their conversation.

Ingvild takes a step forward into the kitchen, her grey eyes seeking Sydney’s, giving her a warm, kind smile. “You can tell me anything Sydney, you are not in danger, I promise. We just want to locate Walker, he hasn't reported to HQ in a while.”

Sydney observes her gaze, trying to determine her personality. She thinks the young woman seem gentle with those unique eyes and the hair that’s tucked back to a strict ponytail.

“I had him traced,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t supposed to because he is CIA, and trust me I was scared but I had to know.”

“How did you do that?” Ingvild asks, tilting her head with curiosity and slight disbelief. It seems odd that a man like Walker was bugged by some dumb lawyer woman.

“I did his laundry, it wasn’t hard to hide something inside the pocket of his jacket. I mean, inside the fabric, where he can’t find it.”

Ingvild can’t help but let out a small snort, amused by the fact that the infamous CIA agent got made so easily. She covers her mouth with her fist, shyly smiling into it, but it’s noticed by Sydney who stands in front of her, staring oddly.

“Where would he go?”

“Some place in South Kensington, almost every day for the last month of our relationship. He would vanish there for hours and then come back. I have the address, hold on.” Sydney leaves the kitchen and walks through a long corridor.

Not bothering with politeness, Ingvild follows her, easy off her feet like the big grey cat, carefully exploring this new territory. She imagines the fights August would have with this woman and then the passionate sex afterwards while her hand runs against the texture of the garnet.

“Oh!” Sydney exclaims, confused to see Ingvild in the doorway of her bedroom. The young woman looks around curiously, trying to find any memorabilia from August; a photo, a clothing article, man cologne. It seems like he was never even been here, though there is a certain coldness in this room that feels strangely familiar.

‘No, not August, his touch is warm.’

“He did trading or something,” Sydney says as she hands her over a small yellow note that was hidden in her purse. It has the address to August’s “secret lover”.

Ingvild takes the notes, memorizing the address before placing it in her jeans pocket. “Trading? Can you elaborate?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to not disturb him while he was doing some dealing, I don’t know what it was… it looked fishy but it might just be CIA stuff.”

Ingvild nods silently, scanning the room again and again and eventually taking in the sight of the empty bed. Her mind fills in the gaps, painting an image of August fucking Sydney into oblivion, his muscular body ramming into hers, one leg held over his shoulder while the blond little bitch screams in ecstasy.

“How was he in bed? Would you say he performed well?” Ingvild asks, her eyes gesturing toward the mattress.

Sydney frowns, giving her a slight repulsed face as she finds her question remarkably rude.

“How is this relevant to the investigation?”

She means to berate her when she witnesses Ingvild’s kind smile growing remarkably cold.

The young woman remains silent, taking a step closer and making Sydney almost stumble back as sudden fear creeps in. Grey frigid eyes, like icy shards, her nostrils slightly flares as she catches up the scent of her expensive perfume.

“How is this relevant to the MI6?!” Sydney asks again, trying to dismiss the tension yet continues to draw distance from the young agent.

“I never said I am MI6.”

Sydney’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, she attempts to flee but Ingvild’s hands lock around her shoulders, forcing her against the wall with a thud. As small as this woman is, she is way stronger than she appears.

“How was he in bed?” she repeats, her voice becoming more demanding while her glare threatening to spear into Sydney’s skull. “Would you say he satisfies you?”

Puny gasps peal from Sydney’s mouth, her green eyes becoming moist with pure fear.

“Please, don’t... He was... Rough.”

“Bondage?”

“He... he..he choked me,” she answers in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering, much to Ingvild’s delight.

“He was too rough, he was big and he didn’t care, it was as if he enjoyed my pain...”

Ingvild licks her bottom lip, imagining Sydney thrown on the bed with August treating her like a rag doll, wrecking her completely. Bruises left everywhere, tattoos on her skin for the world to see this fine artist’s work. A cold flame licks at her spine, crawling down to the small of her back.

She’s uncertain why.

“Would you say he loved you?”

Sydney’s peers at her quietly, thinking of her answer for a few seconds while Ingvild’s fingers bury into her collarbone, voicelessly demanding a response.

“August Walker is incapable of love. He is dead inside.”

________________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or the Mission Impossible Frenchise

#august walker #Henry Cavill #August Walker Fanfiction #Henry Cavill Fanfiction #August Walker x ofc #Henry Cavill x ofc #August Walker Fanfic #augustwalker #henrycavill

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docholligay · 3 years ago

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The Wild Iris

I love poetry. I love poetry, and yet somehow manage to forget this until I am in the middle of reading poetry. I don’t know why, I’m usually not the type of person to forget I like things, or activities. But in this particular way, I am a bit silly, and then I’m reading Goblin Market to Jewlet and remember, “Hey, I actually dig this stuff.”

Anyway, I owe @miscanthusroots an extra and she asked if I would mind doing Louise Gluck’s collection of poetry, The Wild Iris, and even agreed to send me a copy to use when I had difficulty finding a copy that wasn’t too spendy.

I don’t have to tell you The Wild Iris is good, because it won a goddamn Pulitzer, and if something wins the Pulitzer the very least you can do is sit up and listen, but technical merit does not necessarily make something beautiful on a personal or individual level. So I wasn’t sure how I was going to experience the book. I’ve read Gluck’s work before but not necessarily a great amount of it, and, so far as I recall, not an entire book of her work.

Anyway, I suppose I’m dancing around the fact that it’s in some ways extremely difficult to talk about a book of poetry. Do you take apart each poem individually? I don’t have the time to do that, for this four hour chunk of writing about it, and so the best I think I can do is offer up my thoughts on the collection on the whole. I should say, that I am not a specialist in poetry at all, and though I had to study it to some small degree in college, I certainly don’t have the breadth of knowledge that someone who is very involved in poetics would.

There’s a thread in the collection of the natural world and prayer, the natural and the divine, and I think to some extent, the idea of God as gardener, but also us as gardeners of the world ourselves, planting and creating like small gods, but ALSO God as the garden himself. I had to read this collection like four times before I really came around to this idea, and came to very much like it.. The Matins and Vespers poems are (obviously) us talking to God, and I think the not-flower poems are God talking back to us.

Honestly, if you read the collection in the way one would read a novel, a conversation comes out of it easily--the first time I read it I wasn’t paying attention to this, I was reading them a bit scattershot, all taken as individual poems--but it’s this tangle between us and God, and the complication of our relationship with each other.

In the poem Retreating Wind:

I gave you every gift,

Blue of the spring morning,

Time you didn’t know how to use--

You wanted more, the one gift

Reserved for another creation

One of many poems titled Matins:

...You want to see my hands?

As empty now as at the first note.

Or was the point always

To continue without a sign?

Field Flowers:

….Your poor

Idea of heaven: absence

Of change. Better than earth? How

Would you know, who are neither

Here nor there, standing in our midst?

Now it was the flower poems themselves that gave me pause, the idea of the natural world, acted on by both God and man, commenting on the nature of life and death and the relationship between God and man, they read at turns deeply critical of man’s striving for immortality, of the human way of defining weeds and flowers , and how they can never truly understand what it is to live and die and live again,

So I had to go find out if Louise Gluck was Jewish, based on the impressions I got from her writing about God, sure, but what actually made me think about it was the way “God” in the poems speaks about us--there are plenty of Christians that struggle with God, but there’s a very certain way of looking at God as desiring us to overcome him and become him that I really only ever see in Jewish writings and stories. When I first thought this, I immediately then thought, “Nah, couldn’t be, she’s used Matins and Vespers throughout the book” but then I considered that I have been known to use Cathlic imagery myself simply because so many more people are familiar with it. Far and few are the goyim who recognize shacharit and maariv as anything at all. Anyway she is! On a personal level, I dunno, but we can’t get away from the viewpoints we’re raised with in many ways, and I was delighted to find out I was correct. Retreating Light is I think the best and clearest example of what I’m talking about.

You will never know how deeply

It pleases me to see you sitting there

Like independent beings,

To see you dreaming by the open window,

Holding the pencils I gave you

Until the summer morning disappears into writing

Creation has brought you

Great excitement, as I knew it would

As it does in the beginning

And I am free to do as I please now,

To attend to other things, in confidence,

You have no need of me anymore

How many things are said in that line, “In the beginning?” This idea that God loved the creation of us, and watching us, but also, has tired of us, has tired of our questions and needs, and that it has become the work of the day to day, but in the beginning, it’s so exciting. WE crave novelty, and maybe God does too, and perhaps that’s the way we were created in his image, that God longs for us, this children to grow and become better. It reminds me of the story (which I recently told on my chat) of the Oven of Acknai, where the conclusion of the story is God saying, “My children have defeated me, my children have defeated me” and smiling. That we, too, are creation.

I’m getting close to running out of time here, and it’s frustrating because I could say so much about this, but getting back into the idea of this reading as a novel, it’s also very cyclical. It begins with birth, as a flower, and ends with death, as a flower. And it’s really in this bit, in the bits near the end where I find the most emotional impact. Some of the ideas and imagery she’s using here aren’t exactly new but maybe it’s in knowing them that gives them that emotional resonance, for me. The line

In what contempt do you hold us

To believe only loss can impress

Your power on us

I mean, how many times have we felt that, at least, those of us who are still talking to God, where it feels as if God can only speak in loss and in taking? Even when you can see the evidence of other gifts, it can feel that way so deeply, and I tink that’s the gift of Gluck’s work here, is that the poems see things both from the side of God and the side of man, the way that all love is a struggle and this love most of all.

ANd these lines on the nature of death, like this one from Lullaby that just floored me:

Time to rest now; you have had

Enough excitement for the time being

I wish I could explain why things like that, put so simply, affect me so often, much more than anything overwrought. Maybe I’m just getting old, but just that idea of, “It’s time to rest now” just SLAYs me, well done, and the whole poem is great in that way but I’m not going to quote the whole poem at you.

Also this idea contained in the poem The Silver Lily

After the first cries

Doesn’t joy, like fear, make no sound?

I am rapidly out of time, but basically this poetry collection contains, especially in the back half, so much of what I love about the idea of struggling with life and death and God. Poetry can, at its best, have the gift of putting these complex feelings and ides into so few words, and there are brilliant moments in The Wild Iris where I feel like that happens for me, were a line sparks an idea, a feeling in my mind, lighting it like a match. I love when something can do that for me.

I need to remember how much I like poetry when I’m looking for books to read.

Oh also, before I go I have to point out this line that made me crackle because YES

Sometimes a man or woman forces his despair

on another person, which is called

Baring the heart, alternatively, baring the soul--

#thank you for giving me a chance to do something I don't do often!

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anotheruserwithnoname · 4 years ago

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Happy 45th anniversary, Bionic Woman!

January 14 marked the 45th anniversary of the first broadcast of The Bionic Woman, the Emmy-winning spin-off of The Six Million Dollar Man and the first-ever US prime time series featuring a female superhero (Joanna Cameron’s Secrets of Isis, the actual first-ever for US TV, was a Saturday morning show, and Lynda Carter’s Wonder Woman didn’t debut as a proper series until April 1976).

Lindsay Wagner become the first lead performer in a sci-fi series to win a lead acting Emmy for her work as Jaime Sommers, a former tennis pro and onetime fiancee to Six Million Dollar Man Steve Austin who becomes a secret agent for the deceptively named Office of Scientific Information (OSI) when a parachuting trip goes horribly wrong and she loses an arm, both legs and an ear. Using nuclear-powered life-like prosthetics called bionics she was given the ability to flip cars one-handed, jump 30 feet into the air, hear a pin drop from half a mile away, and run more than 100 miles per hour. (That last isn’t an exaggeration - in an early episode, she actually outpaces a race car pursuing her and they take pains to show its speedometer).

Using the slow-motion photography techniques developed for capturing the power of NFL players in action, we got to see Jaime in action for three seasons, two on ABC and then the series moved to NBC. Her co-stars, Richard Anderson as her boss, Oscar Goldman (who the later actor later confirmed was secretly in love with Jaime) and Martin E. Brooks as Dr. Rudy Wells, the inventor of bionics, became the first actors in history to appear on two shows airing simultaneously on two networks as they also kept their roles in The Six Million Dollar Man (though the frequent crossovers with Steve Austin, such as the epic 3-part “Kill Oscar” arc, came to an end).

Sometimes called a “more human” counterpart to Six Mil, the Bionic Woman tended to focus more on personal stories than “save the world” ones - though the two-part “Doomsday is Tomorrow”, which put her on the clock from stopping a doomsday device from eliminating all life on earth, remains one of the most amazing storylines of its day:

And Jaime tended to use her charm to try and defuse situations before she had to start throwing people around. Or firing off a tennis ball like a missile (a trick I’m surprised she didn’t try on the bad guys):

I loved this show growing up and, yes, I had a crush on Lindsay like so many others did. (As I write this I am greatly enjoying seeing CGI-de-aged Lindsay, resembling her Bionic Woman years, in the video game Death Stranding that I got for Christmas.) Yes, there were silly episodes that haven’t aged well (one where she infiltrates a beauty pageant more than a decade before Sandra Bullock’s Miss Congeniality; another where she pretends to be a WWE-style wrestler), and some early episodes were straight remakes of Six Mil episodes because of the very short notice the producers got to create a series after Jaime was introduced on Six Mil, immediately killed off, and then the hue and cry from viewers was so great the entire opening of Six Mil’s next season had to be reworked with mere weeks’ notice to a) revive Jaime somehow (with shades of Doctor Who’s Twelfth Doctor and Clara Oswald, it involved her forgetting about her relationship with Steve) and b) set her up for a new series to debut a few months later. For a while, reportedly, Lindsay wasn’t sure she wanted to put her growing film career on hold to do a TV series, so the show almost didn’t happen.

One of BW’s strengths is its heroine was not just a “punch-clock hero” who did what she was told. There were episodes where she openly disagreed with having to take on missions and the show’s finale (minor spoiler) was actually reminiscent of Patrick McGoohan’s classic The Prisoner as she tries to leave the OSI, only to find herself (befitting the episode’s title) “on the run”. In 1978 it was still rare for TV series, especially shows in the sci-fi/action genre, to have finale episodes, but BW got one. Years later, Jaime and Steve reunited for three TV movies that gave closure to both characters’ story arcs.

The magic of the Bionic Woman has proven difficult to recapture. A remake series in 2007 starring later Doctor Who one-off companion actress Michelle Ryan failed in part because they took too many liberties with the characters (including taking elements from Martin Caidin’s original novel, Cyborg, upon which Six Mil was based - Jaime herself was the creation of Kenneth Johnson, later the creator of “V” and producer of Bill Bixby/Lou Ferrigno’s “The Incredible Hulk” and the “Day One” Fox network series “Alien Nation”), plus many felt Ryan was miscast (I disagree) and the show never really had a chance due to a writer’s strike that forced it to end production after only about a half dozen episodes. There were also rumours of a remake starring Jennifer Aniston at one point, and another that reportedly was going to feature a non-superpowered lead with “bionic woman” being a “metaphor for the human condition” or something like that.

Glad that last one didn’t happen. Jaime Summers was (and, let’s be honest, remains) part of an elite group of female superheroes with their own TV shows. And I still think it’s one of the best. In fact, the one-two combination of Jaime Summers and the soon-to-debut Wonder Woman (plus the watered-down-for-kids-but-still-intriguing Isis on Saturday mornings) made 1976 something of a golden year for female superheroes. Nothing beats Jaime taking on Bigfoot or her recurring version of the Daleks, the Fembots. Sadly, a crossover between Jaime and WW never happened, even though they were on the same network at the time; it wasn’t until a couple years ago that DC Comics and Dynamite Comics (who have been doing BW comics for a few years) made that finally happen.

Ultimately, though, full credit for the success of the original Bionic Woman goes to Lindsay Wagner. Some years ago the Bionic Blonde Youtube channel posted what has become a classic fan video tribute to Jaime. Titled “Bionic Kashmir” it’s just a snapshot of her in action (bookended by scenes from a 1980s reunion movie), but it’s fun. The series is available on DVD and streaming, and I recommend it if you’re interested in some retro fun and experiencing an iconic character again or for the first time.

youtube

#the bionic woman #lindsay wagner #jaime summers #classic tv

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years ago

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Survey #430

“when the girl in the corner is everyone’s woman, she could kill you with a wink of her eye”

What kind of dog do you find most ugly? What a mean question. ;-; I don't think they're ugly, but I probably find chihuahuas to be the least visually appealing. Do you like wood floors or carpet better? Wood. Do you think the USA bullies other countries? Quite frankly, yes. Are you currently in love right now? No. Favorite fast food joint? Sonic. What would you do if your ex contacted you? THE ex, have a panic attack. Cry. Be wordlessly ecstatic. Be scared and confused. Do you still have feelings for your ex? Two, yes, but one is unrealistic considering I have no idea who he is anymore. It's been way too long for me to possibly, accurately like him. Ever tasted a flavored condom? No. Do you know CPR? No. How much do you care about your best friend? I'd die for her. Do you watch Dr. Phil? No. What age would you like to have a child? I don't want kids ever. Are your parents wealthy? Mom, absolutely not. Dad seems to be financially stable, but not wealthy or anything. Pick one state you’d love to live in? Alaska. How many pets do you want? And of what? Man, I want a LOT. I know I want more ball python morphs, a plains hognose, a woma python, numerous tarantulas, a fat-tailed gecko, a boa, orchid mantises, a sphynx, a tegu would be super cool... I'd love to have like an empire of pets one day, aha, but only so long as I could maintain them all and adequately provide for them. Have you ever asked someone out? Yes. When do you want to get married? I mean, I don't have a set age in mind. I want to get married when I'm ready. Can you play a musical instrument? I played the flute for yeeeaaaars in middle and high school, but I remember almost nothing by now. What if you stopped orgasming for the rest of your life? Idc, honestly. Does money make you happy? Money probably makes me happier than it should, but I'm not like madly in love with it or anything. Happens when you're poor your whole life. Your favorite breakfast food? Ugh, cinnamon rolls are a godsend. When was the last time you went to a funeral? I actually don't think I've ever been to one... only wakes. I really, really wish I could have gone to Jason's mom's, though... There was just no fucking way that I was going to risk upsetting Jason on THAT day of all days by popping up. Have you ever stolen someone’s boyfriend/girlfriend? Well, we never actually dated, but you could say that... Tell me the date of your first kiss. I don't know the exact date, but it was March 2012. Are your legs long or short? Normal, I guess? How many phobias do you have? Man, a lot. Is there a bookshelf in your room? No. Do you use the Facebook chat often? Barely at all. I only really use it to chat with Girt on the rare occasion we talk. Who got you hooked on the addiction you're addicted to (If you have one)? I discovered Mark on my own; I needed help in an Amnesia: The Dark Descent custom story, so I found his playthrough and watched it. Got a few laughs, subscribed. It was Jason who introduced me to Amnesia, though, so I can indirectly thank him, I guess? haha Are you currently worried about your parents finding out about something? No. Have you ever lived with a friend? Yeah, for a couple months. Have you ever only liked someone because you found out they liked you? No. Ever been on a real diet, or did you just stop eating? I've tried multiple diets. Have you ever known a white supremacist? I know multiple. Welcome to the South. Do you like the smell of a barbecue? Yesss. It's funny because I hate the food itself. Have you ever gone out in public in your pajamas? Yeah. It's not rare, if I'm being honest. How many times have you been to the ER? Too many times because of being suicidal. How many people are you currently texting? None. Anything exciting coming up? My nephew's birthday is in a few days! Would you rather get money or gift cards for your birthday? Money, so I can use it for anything. Do you have Instagram? I have three, ha ha. One for my basic photography, another for my morbid photos, and I went through a very short phase of having an Instagram for my pets. It still exists, but I don't really use it. Have you ever spoken to a detective before? No. Do you believe in ghosts? Yes. Do ladders scare you? Yes. Hot dogs or hamburgers? Cheeseburgers may possibly be my favorite food. Do you have any tattoos on your arms? I do. Have you ever owned or known someone who owned a black cat? I've owned plenty of black cats. What album is the last song you listened to from? It's from Disguise. What’s the last funny movie you watched? Probably Elf. Can you remember your parents’ birthdays? Mom's, yes. I only remember the month of my dad's. If you had to get a tattoo tomorrow, what would you pick? I think I want to get my tribute to Teddy next. How do you feel about band tattoos? Hey, go for it. I see nothing wrong with it. What piercing do you like most on the opposite sex? Probably snakebites. Lip piercings in general are hot lmao. Are you any good at applying make up? Noooo, my hands are so shaky. How old were the last 3 people you kissed? Sara's 23; idr the exact ages of Girt and Tyler. I think Tyler was a year younger than me, and Girt is at the bare minimum three years older than me. If you found out you got someone pregnant, what would you do? Well, I'm a cisgender female, so... Do you ever wonder what your ex is up to? Very frequently. Do you like your cell phone? I mean it's fine, but I'd like a new one. Is rap your favorite genre of music? No, it's actually my least favorite. Have you ever thrown up on anybody? Oh god, no. Do people think you’re happy? I think it's safe to say most people who know me know I'm clinically depressed. Or you know... maybe not. Quite a few people have been surprised to learn that about me because I can put on a good facade. What band would you stand in line for 24 hours to see? None, honestly. That's way too long. What was your worst childhood experience? I guess my dad's alcoholism. As a child, I thought it was a normal thing, but I do wonder if my fear of men has anything to do with how volatile drinking had a 50/50 chance of making him. He never hurt anyone, but he was just so mad and hateful towards the world sometimes. You can trade another person’s emotions for your own. Whose do you take? I have no idea. What was/is going to be your first waltz at your wedding? That'll depend on my partner and what song means the most to us/fits us best. "When It's Love" by Van Halen has been a consideration for forever, though. When it’s not summer, what do you miss most about it? I hate summer. I miss nothing about it. Do you consider yourself patriotic? No. What is the one thing that you need to do to die happy? Feel like I accomplished something notable. Do you consider yourself mainstream? No. What’s the riskiest thing you’ve ever done? Overdosing on cold medicine. What is life’s greatest mystery? Probably from whence we came. Humanity has fished for a definite answer forever. What was your favourite make-believe game as a kid? Pretending I was a meerkat hiding in a "burrow" that was a blanket fort, ha ha. Do you try your best at everything? Honestly, no. Who is your shoulder to cry on? My mom, without fail. What’s your standard excuse for not doing something? I dunno... it depends on the topic. Name the most beautiful person you know. As far as physical appearance goes, my friend Alon. Have you ever been to jail? No. What is one moment you wish you could have taken a picture of? Sara's face when I surprised her at her house for her birthday. It was absolutely fucking priceless. What place holds the most memories for you? Jason's house. Who was your first date? My puppy dog-love middle school bf Aaron. We went with a group of friends to a skating rink. My first one-on-one date was Jason. What’s the best trip you’ve ever been on? The zoo in 5th grade. It's the one and only time I've seen meerkats. For some weird reason, our zoo moved the meerkats not long after that visit. I THINK they said the environment just wasn't suitable for them, which I never really got... I think they mentioned the cold, but like, you have heating for them, and also, have you ever experienced a desert night? You consider all the other areas that have meerkats in their zoos and it's like... why, man. Bring my meerkats back. ;_; What do you think the earth will look like in 1,000 years? Oh dear God, I do NOT want to visualize that. My gut tells me it'll be a wasteland, probably without humans or most forms of life we have now. We have to get our shit straight, so very badly. I could rant for hours about how horribly and ungratefully we abuse our planet. Who makes you happy to be around? Sara! I feel like I can be my 100% authentic self, and we just vibe really well together. Like every time I've been there and she here, our friendship felt so natural and chill. I really, really need to save up for another trip up there. What secret have you tried to hide but it got out anyway? I kept the Joel situation to myself from pretty much everyone, but it eventually came out in front of Mom and Jason. It was actually the night of the breakup; I don't remember how it was relevant at all to mention, but I did in some form. Mom wisely never asked about it, and Jason obviously didn't. I was a stupid 12-year-old anyway, it's whatever now. Who/what is your everything? I will never. Ever. In five billion millennia. Let anyone be that again. How many people have you turned down when they asked you out? Ummm three? I think that's it. How many exes do you have? If I include everyone who ever had a title of "boyfriend/girlfriend," I have six. Who was your worst relationship with? Tyler. It was just pointless and the result of nothing but loneliness. What’s your ‘label’? (ex. punk, prep) I really, really don't care. Do you swear? How much? Like a sailor. I swore some beforehand, but I got really bad when Jason and I started dating. He swore a lot, and his mother did even more. I was around them as much as possible, so it rubbed off on me. What is the one thing that would make everything in your life fall apart? Losing my family, like being disowned or something like that. Especially when it comes to Mom. I rely on her so heavily, as much as I hate that. :/ What takes your breath away? Nature is very capable of that. Something like seeing big waterfalls in the mountains or something would marvel me. Are you patient? No, honestly. Are you a good dancer? No. Even when I took dance, I don't think I was great; however, I do think I was pretty skilled at clogging. Who would you call first in a life-threatening situation (not 911)? My mom. Who do you miss? Jason and his family, Megan, Alex, Hannia, Emily, Journee... a lot of people. Do you like snakes? I adore snakes.

#survey #surveys #random questions #lyrics: ''ballroom blitz'' by 3teeth

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 4 years ago

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Chapter 4. Him

‘be gentle my little thunderstorm, the world is just not ready.’ a.j. lawless

The day we had tea with the Cambridges ended the same way many before: with Lourdes sending a video of her ice skating routine asking for my opinion; that time I didn’t even pretend to see it. I ignored the text and tried to sleep.

Louis barged into the room soon after.

“Will you stop ignoring our sister?”, he asked, rudely. “She notices, Maggie. And it’s really unfair.”

“Okay.” I said. “Goodnight.”

I heard him sigh, and nothing else. No steps out of the room, no creaky Clarence House door closing, no light down. Finally, I pushed away the cover and sat up.

“I can’t do this now, Louis. I have a headache.”

I’d come up with the headache excuse in order to skip dinner with the Prince of Wales and his wife, but my brother knew that excuse better than anyone.

After leaving the Cambridges, we had gone back to Clarence House, where we were hosted for the trip, and changed into black attire for a military ceremony in town where I managed to avoid my brother to try and focus on being less upset. He wasn’t about to make it easy for me, though.

At one point, Harry came to stay in line with us as my father and Prince Charles received the compliments from the officials. He gave me that look of his I was now coming to identify as a signature look, one with more intentions than verbalized; one with more feeling than was allowed.

“Nice dress.” He said. Leaning in close enough that only I could hear him, close enough that his lips brushed my hair and couldn’t be read by prying reporters, he added, “The person wearing it is prettier.”

It took all in me to contain an eyeroll, but the amused smile in my lips was impossible to hold back. Just as I felt my cheeks redden, Louis joined in.

“It’s probably our mother’s. The shoes definitely are.”

It wasn’t a dig for the untrained ears. My mother, in all ways, was more stylish and beautiful than a woman her age should be allowed to be. But knowing my brother for all the twenty-two years he’d been on this earth, I knew very well how to distinguish his honest compliments to his sarcastic ones.

Still, the moment passed, and I maintained the posture expected of me. Coming home, however, I had to tell my father I had a headache so I could come right upstairs before dinner, or else I might lose it in public.

I had a nice, warm shower, put on my softest fleece pajamas, and brushed my hair while talking to my friend Constance on the phone about our other friend Stella and her terrible taste in men, allowing it to distract me from my brother and wild, unruly thoughts of Harry.

After that, I got under the blankets and prepared to stare at funny pictures on pinterest - an app I had a fake, incognito account on - until sleep took over. I promptly ignored my sister’s text, as I was known to do, and not ten minutes later Louis barged into the room.

I finally heard the door close, and was overtaken by a familiar struggle against tears, but before I could decide if I should succumb to it, the mattress dipped as my brother climbed onto bed with me. A few seconds went by in silence before he finally broke it.

“Look. Maggie. I… I was talking to Will earlier.”

“Prince William?”

“Oui. I guess I just… I didn’t realize- of course I knew you were helping a lot back home. I just didn’t think it bothered you so much.”

I took it in; he was… almost apologizing.

“Well, now you know.”

“Yes, I do. And, I don’t know, I just…”

I pushed the blankets down and sat up, still not looking over at him, but allowing myself to be in the moment as well.

“I don’t want to be the reason you’re unhappy.”

I sighed, and finally looked over at him.

My brother didn’t look too young or old, he had that odd quality of looking precisely his age. He had a light stubble growing around his thin, pointy jaw; it was the same color as his hair, blonde, which was now growing almost to his ears. It waved about, framing his eyes, a nice, dark blue shade just like mine - Lourdes had them too, all three of us had inherited them from our mother. The blonde hair we got from dad’s side of the family, as well as an unwavering determination.

“I’m not unhappy, Lou. I just… I could be happier, I suppose.”

He nodded. “And I want you to be.”

Letting out a long breath, I attempted to also let go of the anger, and focus on what I knew for sure about Louis.

He had the biggest heart of anyone I knew. No matter the signs, or how often he was told of the contrary, Louis was always decided to give people the benefit of the doubt. It was a trait we got from our mother, too, and I wasn’t sure what had made me slightly more cynical than him in this aspect, but I suspected it happened somewhere in Law School.

Louis wanted people to be happy, to excel. He wanted laughter and adventure and success for every person that crossed his path. I knew for a fact there was no way he would ever really wish the contrary, on anyone. I knew something else, too, something much more important.

I knew exactly why he was afraid to come home.

“I know you’re trying to figure things out.” I told him. “I don’t blame you. I know it’s tough.”

He nodded, slowly, and took in a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was wavering; barely a whisper.

“I’m not, though. Not anymore. I think you know that. I haven’t been figuring things out anymore. I’ve known, really known, for a while now.”

All thoughts of the fight forgotten, I felt my heart tighten on my chest. I looked at my little brother, shrunk down and resolute, sitting by my side in bed. He was staring off into the room, but I knew, somehow, he was perfectly aware of my every move.

“You’re sure?” My whisper matched his. I presumed my fear did too.

He sighed, gulped, and shut his eyes tight, before opening them again and smiling at me, scared.

“I’m in love with him.”

The words were new, but the sentiment wasn’t; Louis was fifteen the first time he told me he thought he might be gay. I remembered the day as if I had been replaying it in my mind at least once a month ever since, because it was accurate.

It was summer; I was almost eighteen, fresh out of my secondary school graduation, but still a few weeks before my adult future. We had been spending summer with our grandparents at the place they lived after my grandfather abdicated as king, Haydell Castle, in the east coast of Savoy. The Castle sat on a hill overlooking the Atlantic, and Louis, myself and Lourdes would go to the beach most afternoons to play volleyball and tan. One late afternoon, Lourdes was applying finishing touches to a sandcastle she’d spent hours working on. Louis had been helping, but left her to get some water from the cooler near where I was laying, struggling to read a book on the darkening light of the fast approaching sunset.

He sat down by my side with a thud, drank half a bottle of water as I complained about the sand he’d inadvertently thrown my way, and then, without looking at me, said, “I think I have a crush on a classmate.”

Louis went to an all-boys boarding school. The boy in question was a very handsome senior, with kind eyes and handsome dimples. My brother spent a while telling me about how he liked sports and theater and wanted to backpack through South America after school. Then we spent the rest of the summer brainstorming what this could mean.

Monarchies weren’t built on diversity. The core of the system our family was built on was genetics and catholicism, two elements that were famously not very lenient. The Royal Family of Savoy had branched out from the French Royal Family many generations ago. Though we prided ourselves, then and now, that we were different, we still inherited some very big elements from them. A few tiaras, a few titles, and Catholicism. Though Savoy had freedom of religion, the monarchy’s official creed was still Catholicism. It was involved in most of our protocols and traditions, a king couldn’t even be crowned if he hadn’t been baptised in the church.

The idea of a gay, catholic King of Savoy was ludicrous even to us, no matter how much we wished it wasn’t.

And then, there was the issue of the line of succession. Say the church and country allowed my brother to reign as an out gay man, say they allowed him to marry a man in the Catholic church, say they allowed him to be crowned as king with a prince consort… It would be his duty to secure the line of succession; a king’s job is to produce a child to be the next king whose child will be next after him, and so on. Though it was the 21st century, there was no precedent to a king’s heir being anything other than his own, biologic child. And even as we tried to consider the idea of my brother having one with an egg donor, using a surrogate, we immediately knew what that would mean: whoever this woman was, her privacy would never be respected. People would want to know everything about her.

As to adopting, what were his options? In what world would the press not hunt down every possible information about the child’s biological family? Interview every distant relative for money? Come up with every way to embarrass them for clicks on an article? How could that child possibly be raised to be king with that kind of scrutiny surrounding them?

I thought of it as we sat in silence. He loved Peter. Peter loved him. And yes, they were young and that might change, but Louis being gay wouldn’t. Louis wanting to be a father was unlikely to change. But there was no precedent for a king to have an adopted child as an heir, and having a biological child through surrogate would be too hard on a surrogate and her family, being harassed and forever linked to us. If he sacrificed his own wishes and decided not to have children in order to spare them, then me or my children would have to inherit, which to me was simply unthinkable.

“They’re not going to cut you out.” I told him. “You know mom and dad, they love you. They love us. It might be hard dealing with everyone else, but they’ll always support you.”

He gulped. “The thing is… they might love me, but that’s not enough to change centuries of tradition just so I can-”

“Be who you are!”

He was silent, pulling on a lose thread on the blanket.

“I suppose I could just do what they did back in the day.” He considered. “Marry some poor, naive girl, sleep with her just enough to produce an heir and make Peter my secretary so we can carry out a scandalous and secret affair.”

I gave him a sarcastic look, and he rolled his eyes.

“I’m kidding.” He started biting a nail. “I could just… not have children.”

“You want children.”

“...yeah.”

“We’ll think of something.” I told him, confidently. “It’ll be easier once mom and dad know. They’ll figure something out. They’re good at this. They’re not going to make you keep this a secret, they love you too much.”

He sighed. “It would be easier for me to abdicate.”

“That’s not happening!”

“Why?! Because you can’t fathom the idea of having to inherit?! You think it’s okay to put me or my children through hell so you can hold on to your comfort? Who’s being selfish now?!”

I stared at him, mouth agape.

“That’s not fair.” I wasn’t even sure the words had come out, so low was my volume and so loud my shock.

He reached out and held my hand in his, leaning over to lay his head on my shoulder.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

I laid my cheek against his hair, holding his hand tightly.

The worst part was knowing he was right. As unfair as it was, the easiest path was for him to come out and simply not have kids. But I didn’t want the headache of figuring out how to raise children to inherit after him, or worse yet, to have to be the heir if he was made to abdicate. It was such a colossal thought I couldn’t even think of it too much without feeling a panic attack creeping in.

He was 22. My little brother shouldn’t even be concerned about children at this age. And yet, because of the backwards traditions we were embroiled in from birth, he had no choice, and all our lives depended on how accepting the world would be of who he was.

“Hey.” I called, and he raised his head to look at me. “We will figure it out. I promise.”

His smile was so small it broke my heart even more. He didn’t say anything, though. He just nodded, slowly, and stared at his hands.

“I love Peter.” I said, tentatively. I had said it before, but it carried a different weight now. Louis’ smile grew.

“I want to introduce him to Lou. She didn’t come that time you met him, I think they’ll get along.”

I bumped my shoulder to his. “Just tell him to compliment her skating, she’ll love him.”

He chuckled, then looked at me very seriously. “Speaking of our sister, you could be more patient with her, you know?”

I sighed. “I am.”

“No, you’re not. Patient would be watching her videos and offering useful advice.”

“You’re asking too much.”

“I can do it, so can you! You think I care about ice skating?”

“Kinda.”

“Well… okay, I do. But they wear really sparkly dresses. Honestly, Maggie, she just wants to make you proud.”

“I don’t…!” I sighed, “I don’t really know how to talk to her, sometimes. I only had a couple of years with her before going to boarding school, you at least got to see her more often.”

He fished into his pockets, found his phone and opened the messaging app. I watched him create a group, add both me and Lourdes to it, name it ‘Louis’ Girl Gang’, and send the message, ‘this way it’s easier to chat!’.

“This way you can just watch how I interact with her and mimic.” He said. “Just react like me and soon you’ll be able to do it yourself.”

I opened my phone and replied, ‘this chat name is ridiculous’.

“Ouch.” He said, emotionless.

I gave him a dirty look, and we laughed. Both our phones buzzed at the same time with Lourdes’ reply, the first of many.

‘yay i love this! miss u guys!’

I smiled. She was too sweet for her own good.

I had no idea what the future held for us, but I knew with one hundred percent certainty I loved every single atom of my siblings.

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

The drive to the polo club the following morning - our last one in Britain - wasn’t long, but we had to leave early enough that I had to do my makeup in the car. Did I need makeup to play polo? No. But would the press comment on how ‘tired’ I looked if I didn’t? Yes, so shaky hands on a tiny mirror it was.

Harry and William were already at the club when we got there; we were introduced to the horses we were using that morning, and the rest of the people who would be playing. There was a small breakfast laid out, with mimosas and champagne flutes, which we ate as we made some small talk and got to know everyone.

“So,” Harry started, finding me alone by the water jugs.

“So.” I replied.

“I’ve been doing some googling.”

“Yes?”

He sighed. “And I cannot, for the life of me, figure out when we may have met.”

“Oh.” I smiled.

I had started to think he’d forgotten it, or worse, simply didn’t care. But apparently he did. He cared enough to look it up.

The thought felt… oddly warm.

“I asked my people. And then I asked my people to ask your people, who weren’t able, or willing, to come up with an answer. So I do not know, for the life of me, when we may have met before two days ago.”

I nodded, smiling slightly. “Your efforts are noted.”

“Look, I feel like a jerk.” He sighed. “I’m sure I would remember you if we met before. You have a face a guy would remember.”

I swallowed the electric shock that line sent through me. “Apparently not.”

“Give me a hint. Was it here or in Savoy? Or another country? Day or night? Was it more than a year ago?”

I looked at him, brows raised. “It was in another country, during the day, more than a year ago.”

He nodded, attentive, scratching his beard. Then, he sighed dramatically. “God, I have no idea!”

“So you give up?”

He grinned. “Is that a challenge?”

“No. It’s a question.”

He stared into my eyes for a beat, as his smile grew.

“No, I don’t give up. I’ll figure it out.”

I nodded, silently, holding his stare.

I suddenly realized I didn’t have a plan. I hadn’t planned on making this a big deal, but now when I eventually had to tell him, we would both be faced with a story that wasn’t as interesting or sexy as we had made it sound.

“So, what are we thinking?!” My brother interrupted, joining us with William. “Heirs against spares?”

“What, and lose the chance to massacrate Harry on the field?” I challenged, as the ginger looked at me, mouth agape.

“Nice! I love the sentiment, Margueritte!” William cheered. “She’s on my team, dibs on Margueritte!”

“Excuse me, I believe I already have dibs on Mary.” Harry interjected, making his brother laugh.

The line was so unapologetically flirty I felt my jaw drop as I looked around. We were at a tent in the back, where the players were getting ready before being sorted into teams. There was no press around, but there was a lot of people who hadn’t signed NDAs or anything.

Louis was squinting at Harry with a mischievous grin on his lips. “Excuse me, are you flirting with my sister?”

I felt my stomach twirl in anxiety, and tried to give him a warning look, but before I could, Harry answered.

“I’ve been trying to, for the past three days.”

He was smiling at me now, again so unapologetically it felt as if I had lost all ability to function. William was watching the whole thing with an amused look on his eyes.

Louis’ grin grew into a smile, as he slowly moved his eyes from Harry to me, “Huh.”

“Is that a problem?”, Harry asked my brother.

“For me? No!” He assured him, “For you? Well…”

“She hasn’t exactly made it easy for me.”

“Sounds like her.”

“Louis-Adolphe!” I admonized, earning from him a roll of his eyes.

“Don’t use both my names as if you’re mom.”

William laughed.

“Any tips?” Harry asked Louis, very seriously, but looking at me as if studying an animal on the wild.

“Hm,” my brother considered him, “Patience. Her only relationship was with a family friend we’ve known all our lives, and that took forever.”

“Lou!” I warned, again.

“What?! It’s not like he can’t google you.” He shrugged.

“Okay.” I said, before turning on my heels to exit the tent.

I made myself busy elsewhere, but couldn’t keep my mind straight. My heart was racing and I couldn’t tell if the reason was Louis’ teasing or Harry’s unabashed flirting, or both. Before I knew it, though, we were stretching as a group, and getting our uniforms on; I did stay on William’s team, while Harry and Louis played together.

He found me as we made our way into the field, while I was busy trying to tie the upper half of my hair on a low ponytail.

“Have I told you you look fantastic today, Mary?”

“No, but I’m sure you’ll remedy that as soon as possible.”

“You look fantastic, Mary. White pants suit you.”

Harry’s eyes hovered down my body over my form-fitting white jeans under the black riding boots.

“Thank you.” I said, curt, and paced faster to my horse, starting to fasten the girth to adjust the saddle.

“...I’m sorry.”

I stopped, and looked back at him, only half surprised he was still there. A little more than half surprised by the genuine fear and sadness in his eyes.

“Oh. For?”

He grimaced. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable before, when I was talking to your brother. I was just… trying to lighten the mood. Be, you know, funny I guess.”

I gulped; funny?

“Right. It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” I resumed my work on the horse’s saddle.

I even added a short smile to go with the lie, but it didn’t seem to convince him.

“Really, I didn’t want to upset you.”

“Why would I be upset?”

He took a quick step closer and wrapped my hand in his; I felt my breath caught in my throat as I noticed how big they were, his knuckles were protuberant, his veins popped against his pale skin. In a dark corner in my mind I wondered what hands like those might feel like on my body.

“Mary.” He whispered, softly; I gulped, not daring to meet his gaze.

“Marie.” I whispered back.

He sighed. “Marie. If you want me to stop, and just… be your friend, or even just a polite acquaintance…”

He allowed the end of his sentence to hang in the air, ominous; It felt horrifying, specially hearing him call me my actual name. It made me look back at him, meeting his eyes a lot closer than I thought they would be.

“...all you gotta do is say so.” He finished, finally.

The offer sounded awfully simple for a feat that sounded amazingly difficult, though I couldn’t understand why. He was being so annoying, so infuriating for the past three days. It would be so easy to tell him to back off, if only it weren’t for that little part of my heart that was trying to tell me he wasn’t that annoying. And really, wasn’t the only frustrating thing about it that we had had so little time together? After all, his hand was still on mine, and it did feel like my whole body was warmer than the British sun on that morning warranted.

“What’s this?” I asked.

As I looked back to his hands, I noticed once more that he had something written in them. He turned his palm towards me, while the back of his hand still rested in mine.

“This says ‘call Gil’, it’s the manager of my foundation in Lesotho. I have to get back to him about something. And this other line says ‘figure out trip’. It’s my mate’s birthday next month and the lads asked me to figure out how we can organize a hunting trip for him.”

As he explained his little reminder list on his palm, I traced it with the tips of my fingers lightly. After I ran out of the ink to trace, I started tracing the lines in his palm, very slowly.

“Bad memory?” I teased.

He sighed, “The worst. Well, not about important things. I remember important things. But names of people I met only a couple times, but should definitely know? Nope. And the deadline to things I have to do? Even worse. Hence the writing in hand.”

“Have you tried setting alarms on your phone?”

“I barely know how to make calls.” He rolled his eyes.

“Drama queen!”

“I’m serious! We’re not allowed to use social media, so really what’s there to do? I just don’t use it much.”

“God, it’s like you’re 80.”

He chuckled, and his hand closed on reflex over mine. Now it was almost as if we were holding hands. The thought, the warmth of his skin on mine, sent a shock wave through my body.

“Come on, Harry, no flirting with the competition!” Louis called out as he rode by.

We chuckled, timidly.

“Things seem better, with Louis.” He commented.

I smiled. “We talked.”

“Did he understand?”

I nodded. “Yes. He’s got a good heart. He’s young, but he’d never willingly do something to hurt anyone. It’s just…” I sighed, giving him a side glance. “He’s got… some stuff to figure out. And I wanna help as much as I can. I just… Can’t sacrifice myself for it. And I think he gets it.”

There was a pause, a more comfortable one this time, and next time he spoke, he had a whisper of a smile on his lips.

“You didn’t ask me to stop.” He whispered. I looked at him.

“I guess I didn’t.”

We exchanged a smile, and just as I felt my cheeks redden at the long pause, his brother rode by already on his horse.

“Stop flirting with my player, Harry, get to your horse!”

We jumped, startled, but chuckled timidly as he rode away.

“So, how confident are you that you’re going to beat me?”, he asked.

“Oh, only about 89%.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“Ninety-six, tops.”

He nodded, amused. “Care to make it interesting?”

“What are you thinking?”

“Loser buys dinner.”

I bit my inner lip to contain a smile. It almost sounded like he was asking me on a date. Was he asking me out on a date?

“I… I have to leave tomorrow morning.”

“Well, Savoy is, what? Four or five hours away by train?”

“Another one and a half to the city where I live.”

He nodded, then shrugged. “I can do that. What do you say?”

I placed a foot on the stirrup, and jumped up to take my seat on the saddle.

“Win first, Your Royal Highness. Then we’ll talk.”

“Game on, Mary.”

--- ---- ---

[A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!!! please let me know if you like it? I’m open to notes, suggestions, all of it =) just liking this chapter would really help me know!

I don’t know how to say this without spoiling a big plot point in the story, but to be fair it is sort of the main premise, so if you’d like not to be spoiled on plot points, maybe come back later? Cool. Let’s get to it.

When I first started writing this story, I hadn’t intended on Margueritte’s brother, Louis, to be such a big character. I expected his time with us would be… well, shorter, after all the main idea for this story starts with his - again, spoiler alert - death. But as I wrote a little of him, I I liked him so much, and I ended up writing more and more and soon it was really heartbreaking killing him. As you’ll soon find, Louis fits into a trope I didn’t intentionally set out to write: the kill your gays trope. I don’t want to go into details because that’s enough spoilers, but suffice to say mea culpa, and also I hope you’ll give me a chance to show I do have a bigger intention with this: one, monarchies are famously heteronormative. They essentially can’t survive otherwise, or so we are told. I have always wandered about this. We’ve all read the historical examples of homosexuality being swiftly repressed for the good of the succession line. As a modern royal, Margueritte will have to look this issue in the eyes, too. She’ll have to realize the role she plays in a system where for her family and its history to survive, some families cannot exist in their purest form, and she will struggle with not being able to tell the world the truth about her brother - since it is not her place - knowing this makes her an accomplice in rewriting history to fit her best purpose.

Which choices she makes and which path she decided to take in this issue are something I’m excited to explore, as I honestly believe monarchies will have to have a solution for this at one point or another.

TL/DR: though this story adds to the kill your gays trope, which I know it’s problematic, I want to write about the way monarchies perpetuate heteronormativity and how they will have to find a way for all their members, regardless of sexuality or gender identity, to feel at home in the institution, and I intend to add more non-straight characters so delve into this issue.]

#prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #princeharryfanfic #royalfanficcollection #brf #Prince Harry #princeharryff #chapters #OPITCphff #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic

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universe-n-3276 · 4 years ago

Text

Carrying the Moon

Chapter 17

Notes: Mild smut at the beginning but you can skip it.

It had officially been a year since Hero was born, and when Sander woke up that morning, he smiled happily. Being back to live in the house where he grew up had other benefits besides not having to pay the rent. To seek some chill during the hot summer days, he and Robbe no longer had to rely on their old broken fan, in fact, they had all the air conditioning they needed.

He could cuddle his fiance whenever he wanted, and not staying away from him just because even the idea of touching each other made both of them sweat.

He snuggled to Robbe's back, hugging him and kissing his shoulder. He felt the other sigh and draw closer, intertwining their legs together

“Morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning, my king.”

Sander smiled at that name. Every time those words left Robbe's lips, there was always something inside him that felt the need to show off. Maybe it was pride or his possessiveness, or maybe he wanted to prove he deserved that title. He kissed the back of his fiance's neck and slipped a hand under his shirt, stroking his bare abdomen and starting to play with the hem of his boxers.

“You are in a good mood.”

“I'm always in a good mood when I can be with you in the morning.”

Robbe laughed, letting Sander take control of the situation. He closed his eyes, sighing, when his fiance slid his boxers to his mid-thigh, letting out a moan as his fist closed around his length.

“Your hands are too cold.”

“Sorry.”

Sander left a kiss on Robbe's shoulder still covered by his shirt and turned to get the lube.

“Can you wear a condom? I don't wanna shower again. We have so many things to do for Hero's birthday party today.”

He got a raised eyebrow and a muffled chuckle, in response. Robbe rolled his eyes, kicking off his boxers.

“Sander, please! I also don't wanna change the sheets. Again.”

Sander finished undressing Robbe completely and pushed him back on the mattress, then placing his hands on his fiance’s knees to make him spread his legs.

“This is not something we have to do, Robbe. Just tell me if you don’t feel like it.”

Robbe blinked, looking his fiance in the eyes. He was still fully clothed, kneeling in front of him, holding his legs open by his knees. He suddenly felt more self-conscious and turned his face to avoid those green eyes that were always too intense.

“Sorry.”

“You don't have to say sorry.”

Sander let go of Robbe’s legs and went to lay down beside him, covering them both with the blanket. He ran his fingers through the other’s curls, trying to catch his gaze.

“We don't have to do anything, but when we make love, it's about you and me and nothing else. Screw the party, the sheets, the shower. I just wanna be with you. I wanna feel you, I wanna take my time to make you feel good, feel loved. That’s what matters to me, okay?”

Robbe nodded, stroking Sander's cheek. Sometimes it was easy to get lost in the routine. Forget that the two of them were sharing their life because they loved each other more than anything, and not because they were in the midst of that chaos together by chance. They had chosen to be together in the midst of that chaos. They were in the foreground, the rest was just background noise. Robbe felt incredibly lucky, at that moment, to be loved by someone like Sander, who was able to keep focusing on him, even when the noise surrounding them was damn loud.

He took off his fiance's shirt and dragged him on top of himself, kissing his lips with all the emotion he was feeling at that time. Robbe needed to be one with Sander, the rest was just rust and stardust.

Sander was still breathing heavily as he pressed kisses to Robbe's face, who was keeping his eyes closed, smiling slightly, just enjoying that sweet touch. Sander liked to devote himself completely to his fiance, after making love. He knew that Robbe felt particularly vulnerable and he didn’t want him, in any way, to feel bad after doing something so beautiful together.

“Can I run you a bath?”

“It's not my birthday.”

“That’s why I’m not joining you.”

Robbe smiled, looking the other in the eyes. He took Sander’s face in his hands, drawing it closer to kiss his lips. He felt so blessed to be taken care of that way, even after seven years of relationship.

“C'mon, you’ll take a bath, I change the sheets and then I’ll deal with the birthday boy.”

“I love you so much.”

“Love you too.”

When he walked into the living room, he found Alice and Sander sitting on the sofa, while Hero was on the rug, playing with the box of the stuffed animal that Alice had just given him.

“Good morning, Alice!”

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Dad!”

Hero smiled brightly, as he did every time he saw Robbe enter a room, and lifted the box he was playing with, to proudly show it to his dad. Sander and Alice laughed as Robbe went to sit on the rug next to the baby, making him sit on his lap.

“Happy birthday, baby boy.”

He hugged Hero in his arms and left a kiss in his blond hair. The boy showed him the box again and Robbe shook his head, letting out a chuckle.

“Wow, look at this box! It's so pretty, isn't it?”

“Sander was fascinated by wrapping paper when he was Hero’s age. He was such a weird kid.”

“Ma!”

Sander dramatically hid his face in a pillow, making everyone laugh, including Hero. He put the box aside and aimed his grabby hands towards his papa, calling him to get his attention.

“Can you walk to papa by yourself?”

Robbe helped Hero to stand and the child, staggering slightly, reached Sander, who immediately took him into his arms, kissing his cheek. Alice clapped her hands and approached her nephew to ruffle his hair.

A year ago, Hero had brought so much love into their family. Those who had chosen to welcome him and to see him grow had been rewarded with something ineffable. Robbe met Hero on his very first day on Earth, but he never imagined what he would become for him twelve months later. He didn’t believe, he could feel something stronger and more powerful than what he felt for Sander, but at that moment, he was looking at that little human being for whom he would have given his life without thinking, and he was sure that Sander would have done the same.

Hero's birthday party went great. Obviously, he didn't understand why all those people were around him, and he probably could remember less than ten of those, but the little one enjoyed being around adults, so he gladly joined the overall fuss.

Robbe's mom had also stopped by to say hello, although she left about an hour later. Robbe loved his mother, and his relationship with his father had become less tense after he grew up, but he often felt much more at ease with Sander's family than his own, so he couldn't wait to officially become part of it.

When Jens and Lucas arrived, Hero's face lit up, and he had spent most of the party glued to them.

As the guests began to leave, Robbe started to tidy up the living room, while Sander disappeared into the kitchen trying to give away some of the leftovers to the guests.

Robbe took a tray of mini sandwiches and headed for the kitchen, but stopped when he overheard his name being mentioned in a conversation that was taking place between his fiance and his cousin Olivia.

“You can't raise Hero with Robbe. He needs a mother, he needs a mother's touch. Two parents who can give him the best life.”

Robbe wasn’t surprised by the woman's words. He knew many people were of the same opinion. Two men can't raise a child and things like that. He had asked himself that question so many times before, but Hero was happy, growing up exactly like the other children, maybe even better than many of them because he had two parents who loved him, and he didn't care what gender they were.

He stayed there, waiting for his fiance‘s comeback.

“I agree with you.”

Sander's words hit him like a slap in the face. He hurried away, placing the tray on the first available surface, and went to lock himself in Hero's room.

The baby was laying asleep in his crib, with a peaceful expression on his face. Robbe picked him up, trying not to wake him, and sat down in the rocking chair, closing his eyes.

That baby was his son, but Sander had the power to take it away from him if he just wanted to. He felt like he was living a nightmare. They had talked about it so many times.

They planned to sign the adoption papers together, once they got married, as soon as Robbe turned 25. It was just a year away, but apparently, Sander had changed his mind. Now he could explain all the strange behaviors of his fiance. The reason he always kept his phone hidden. Since he'd noticed it while they were at the beach house, he couldn't help but observe the way Sander kept doing it even if he said that there was nothing to worry about.

But then again, Sander was so handsome that even if Noor hadn't been chosen to become Hero's mother, he'd only have to snap his fingers to find as many women as he wanted, willing to raise a child. Maybe Sander was tired of being with a man, or maybe he just realized he didn't want to raise Hero anymore and he would let Charlotte take him back.

All those thoughts seemed equally valid to him, and the conclusion was always the same. Robbe would end up giving up on his baby. Those were probably the last moments they spent together.

He felt his throat close and a sob escaping his lips and he began to cry, holding Hero in his arms.

Robbe didn't know how long it had been since he had taken shelter in the nursery, but the guests must have all left because there was no sound from the house. The chaos of thoughts in his head had made him lose track of time, even though the weight and heat of Hero on his chest had made him relax a bit.

Sander opened the door slowly and smiled, seeing Robbe and Hero together in the rocking chair.

“Hey, what are you doing here? I thought he was sleeping already.”

He approached his fiance to stroke his cheek, but the other turned his head quickly to avoid his hand.

“Don't touch me.”

“Robbe, what's wrong?”

“I wanna stay alone with him.”

Sander frowned, not understanding what was happening. The party had gone well and the last time he saw Robbe, he was happy. But at the moment his mood was completely different, and it didn't seem to be something generic. He just was angry with him.

“Can you tell me what’s happening?”

Robbe avoided his gaze, as the tears began to fall on his cheeks, and Sander wanted to hug him, comfort him in some way, but he decided to respect his fiance's request. He knelt in front of the rocking chair and looked at Robbe trying to understand what was going on.

“Robbe, please. It hurts me to see you like this.”

Still, no answer as the tears kept flowing silently. Robbe clutched Hero to his chest as if his life depended on him, and Sander was increasingly heartbroken. Maybe one of the guests had said something, or maybe Olivia herself had tried to make the same speech, she had started with him before Sander kicked her out. He wanted to talk about it but he knew Robbe and he probably wasn't ready to do it yet.

“Can you at least go to sleep in our bed? I'll get the couch.”

Sander closed his eyes, sighing and went to sit at the foot of Hero's crib, leaning his back against the bars. He could wait there in silence for Robbe to come back to him for all his life if he had to.

“I'll stay here on the floor, just tell me when you're ready to talk.”

“Do you think someone like Noor would be a better parent than me?”

It was late at night when Robbe's voice finally reached his ears, tired and distant as a mirage. He almost thought he had imagined it, but that conversation was too important to risk not answering. He sat up a little more straight. He tried to focus on the words he'd just heard, and when Noor's name came up again, Sander rubbed his temples.

He had often gotten his head stuck on a topic, but not like that, not after discussing it again, again, and again. Sander had tried in every way to reassure Robbe, to give him all his love, but apparently, it hadn't worked.

“What are you talking about, Robbe? And why you keep mentioning her?”

“You told your cousin that Hero needs a mother.”

“I- What?”

“I heard you saying that you agreed with her.”

It was Oliva and her stupid speech’s fault. That woman and her retrograde mindset would never set foot around his family again. He had sworn it to himself even before he knew Robbe was suffering like that.

“Are you kidding me, Robbe? I told her that I agreed with her, because of course Hero needs to be raised by someone who can love and take care of him in the best way, and that’s exactly what you and I are doing. I told her to fuck off!”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes, I'm deadly serious.”

Robbe blinked a couple of times, looking at his fiance. He suddenly felt more awake and stupid because he could have talked to Sander right away instead of bottling everything up while imagining hypothetical apocalyptic scenarios.

“I'm sorry. I don't know what's happening with me lately.”

Sander stood up, taking Hero from Robbe's arms, carrying him back to his crib. He covered him with his blanket and kissed his forehead. When he turned back, his fiance fell into his arms, and he smiled, running his fingers through his hair.

“I know what’s happening, and it’s my fault. Remember when I told you that I wasn’t texting anyone? I lied. I was texting Charlotte. I missed her, and I don’t know, I just did it.”

“Baby, why you didn't tell me?”

Robbe lifted his face starring at his fiance with those beautiful doe eyes. Sander brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and sighed.

“I was afraid you’d get upset. But there’s no need to. She has never started a conversation. It's like texting a stranger.”

“I'm sorry.”

Sander wrapped his arms around the other’s waist and hid his face against his neck. He kept making the same mistake, hiding things from Robbe fearing his reaction, and when in the end, forced by events, he had to tell him, he had always received understanding in return, feeling himself immediately better. Communication was everything, and he often tended to forget about it.

“We need to stop hiding things from each other. We’re getting married and we have Hero, who can feel if something is off between us.”

“And you need to stop deciding what’s best for me without asking, or I’ll get seriously mad next time.”

Sander nodded, without moving his head from Robbe's shoulder, swearing to himself that he would work on what was perhaps his worst flaw. He didn’t want to lose his fiance again, by making the same mistake once more.

“Can we go to bed now?”

“Yeah, my back is killing me and I can't wait to get some sleep.”

“Same. We're too old for this shit.”

They both laughed, but when in the darkness of the room, they heard Hero's voice calling them, both of them quickly understood that they probably wouldn't go to sleep as fast as they hoped.

[previous] / [next]

#wtfock #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #robbe x sander #rosander #sobbe #drijzermans #carrying the moon #chapter 17

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umccall71 · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 22

Characters: Prince Liam and MC Lady Sexy

Rating:Mature content includes profanity, sexual content,talks about depression.

Word Count:3885

Disclaimer:All characters are property of Pixelberry except my OC Lady Saige. The use of these characters are for entertainment only and i am only borrowing them.

Summary:After a summer of a lifetime,Prince Liam thought he could have it all.He was carefree, free,, and sharing time with the woman of his dreams.When life was easy, a balancing act between love and duty, he realizes his truths are lies, wrong is right, and decisions do have consequences. Lady Saige never imagined she would be one of his consequences.When an utter act horror throws her world into a tailspin.

Warning: This series contains subject matter of depression and hopelessness.The story may trigger certain individuals. Please be advised. If your reading this series you are acknowledging you are 18+.

A/N:Sorry for the long delay.Things have been hectic in my life for a bit chaotic.I had to take some time to focus on my health. I feel horrible that it’s been so long.Thanks for your understanding and support for those still interested in this story.

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@eadanga @ao719 @carabethpow @lauradowning29 @elles-choices @hopefulmoonobject @indiacater @3pawandme @blackcoffee @simsvetements @wughhumans @drakesensworld @romanticatheart-posts @fantasy-of-fiction @choices97 @gibbles82 @furiousherringoperatortoad @marietrinmimi @whenyourheartskipsabeat @kuladekiwi @custaroonie @smalltalk88 @jovialyouthmusic @sashatrr @jared2612 @the-soot-sprite @ownworldresident @silverofdreams @rainbowsinthestorm @silviasutton1989 @lodberg @kingliam2019 @dcbbw

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It had been 48 hours since the decision had been made to go public about the nightmare and tragedy that had changed the very core of their life together. Liam had Bastien coordinate with the office for Ana De Luca to get the interview scheduled. This was going to be such an exposed moment for her, for them. The monarchy had a history of concealing the not so sunny facets from the people. The faces of the crown only showed that which would be received well by the Cordonian citizens. It was rare that any bad news was willingly shared, especially such a heinous crime against the crown by the crown. Liam made sure to check in repeatedly with Saige if she was certain that she would want to move forward with the interview. He made sure that Miss DeLuca understood that his Queen had the final say in whether she wanted to broadcast the interview, or how much got shared.

“Bastien, is everything prepared in the gazebo for the interview?”, Liam inquired.

“Your majesty, Miss DeLuca is aware that her majesty has the final call on what topics will be covered during the interview. She has also signed a non-disclosure agreement. There will be minimal members of the press present during the interview to assure that Queen Saige is completely at ease.”

Liam nodded, clapped Bastien on the shoulder and thanked him, “Bastien, it means a great deal to myself and Saige for all of your support during these last several months. There are a few trusted people we would turn to in these dark days. “

Bastien simply nodded and excused himself to complete the task at hand. “Sir, I will notify you when she arrives.” He turned on his heel after bowing to his monarch.

Liam adjusted his three-piece steel-gray suit as he made his way down the corridor from the study to the master suite to meet Saige to escort her to the gazebo.

“There will be better days”, she chanted quietly to herself in front of her mirror. Saige was doing her best to hold it together as she finished dressing for her interview.

Liam held onto the door jam as he watched her lovingly and determined to see her through this journey He watched as Saige tied the sash of her pale pink maxi dress that cascaded around her baby bump. She slid on the wedge heels and dabbed a little lip gloss on her supple lips. He interrupted her thought, “it’s really hard to make perfection any better.”

Saige smiled at her handsome husband that stood admiring her from the door. Liam moves closer to her and came to stand behind her in the mirror. He nuzzled her neck and gently kissed her cheek. “I’ll do my best not to mess up your make up, although you don’t really need it. Your beautiful as you are my love. “

Liam’s hands cupped her belly feeling his little love fluttering slightly. “I will never cease to be amazed at this feeling”, his blue eyes flashed brightly at the overwhelming feeling of love.

“Liam, is it time to go yet ?”, she asked barely audible. Saige shook her hands trying to release the slight tension from the bundle of nerve building in her body. Saige knew that once her story was shared that she may face some backlash from supporters of the former king. Here she was a virtual stranger in this country coming forward to reveal the atrocities exposed against her. All she wanted was to love Liam and hopefully love this child with fierce protectiveness. She recounted the night she and Liam made love and she professed her desire to start a family with him. He was a guiding force in these trying times. She had spent most of her life depending on herself or her dad. He was gone and she never had the forethought to think about a future that included a family of her own.

Liam turned her face and gently kissed her lips. “Saige, you have nothing to fear from telling the truth. I’m right beside you.”, he traced his thumb along her porcelain skin. “We are a team that cannot be taken for granted. I love you… I love our child… and I love the future we have to look forward to sharing.” He pulled her close to his chest, sending his warmth and safety through his embrace.

“Let’s go…you are going to make the country love you just as much as I do… if that’s possible.”Liam took Saige by the hand and led her out of the doors of the estate down to the gazebo.

*********

The Interview

Ana DeLuca: Ladies and gentlemen, I am joined today at the beautiful duchy Valtoria by King Liam and Queen Saige of Cordonia. The royals have allowed us a glimpse into what it’s been like for them over the last few months. Yes… we have wondered why the silence from the royal family, but soon we will learn some answers.

“Thank you both for allowing me into your home and a peek into your lives. So what has it been like for the two of you since the passing of the former king?”

Liam grasped Saige’s hand reassuringly and locked blue eyes as they composed themselves to answer.

King Liam: Thank you for having us Ms.DeLuca. It’s been quite a transition for our family in the last several months. My father… taking his life was surprisingly cowardice. He took his life to keep from facing his own crimes. He left behind more questions than answers. There were things that my father has been believed to have done throughout his reign here in Cordonia, but his recent actions have torn a hole in the fabric of our lives. The story we share is not so much of mine...as it is my queen’s.”

He turned slightly and placed a tender kiss on Saige's temple. He whispered softly to her, “love, the decision is yours as to how much is shared today. I love you and I am proud of you.”

Saige nodded and smiled softly, but it was clear to anyone that saw her that she was nervous and unsure. She gazed into Liam’s loving eyes and took a deep breath. She drew strength from him at that moment and every moment since her attack. Ana noticed her reluctance and smiled to the queen mouthing, “it’s okay.”

Ana DeLuca: “So Your majesty, I understand that there has been a lot of change in your life in recent months. Can you share with the Cordonian people a little about that?”

Queen Saige: “Ms. DeLuca, thank you for allowing us to speak to the citizens of Cordonia through your voice. This country has become my home. Meeting Liam has been the greatest joy of my life until… until we learned that we were expecting. Liam has been a godsend for me in these trying times.”

The blonde reporter seemed a bit puzzled by her response. Most people would be elated to have a new child on the way. Her eyes darted back and forth between the royal couple trying to decide how much to divulge to the public. Saige smoothed the fabric of her dress unknowingly. She tried to keep her emotions in check as she opened her personal pandora’s box. Saige anticipated the whispers and snide remark when her truth was revealed. King Constantine...who would believe the beloved former king had violated her? She glanced at Liam and allowed her truth to flow.

Queen Saige: “Getting married, and starting a family would be an extraordinary gift, but our path was fraught. I came to Cordonia as part of a summer trip to spend time with my best friend from college… Duchess Olivia, but back then she just Liv to me. She convinced me to spend some time in her beautiful home country and it was one of the best decisions I ever made.” She smiled and gently stroked Liam’s hand. “We came to spend an afternoon with some of her friends at a quiet get together, and it was there I met Liam...Prince Liam, only I hadn’t learned of his title just yet. We spent time together just talking and sharing some laughs. I was charmed by him immediately, but he was so down to earth. It was so amazingly easy to open up to him.”

Ana DeLuca: “ So are you saying you fell for each other instantly?” Ana leaned forward , she had become engrossed in their story. She smiled and looked between the two entranced.

King Liam: “ For me it certainly was… she's beautiful, charming, witty, compassionate, caring, intelligent… what’s not to love about her?” He smirked and lifted her hand to place a chaste kiss to her knuckles.

Queen Saige: “There was certainly a connection right away. Liam is a hard man to get out of your head. He spent the next several days trying to convince me to go out with him. He had dozens of flower bouquets sent every hour from sun up to sun down to Olivia’s estate. Finally, when the last arrangement had taken over her home, it was delivered with a note with his phone number asking me to call him.” Saige giggled reminiscing about the first time she allowed him into her heart. “I contemplated shortly and ended up calling him and we made plans for a first date. He took me to a lovely greek restaurant that we were shared alone. I had no idea that he emptied the place out so that we would have some privacy. It was that night I finally learned that he a prince.”

Liam's eyes were staring adoringly at her lips, and he was so in love… that much was evident to anyone. The way he would brush a stray tendril of her auburn locks out her face, the way he would grasp her hand and not let go, the smile that never left his face as they recounted their love story.

Queen Saige: “After that night we spent every free minute together that was allowed. We had late-night phone calls and it was the happiest I had been in a really long time. Then he did me the honor of inviting me to a ball at the palace. He surprised me with a beautiful gown and it was a night to remember, until it quickly turned into a night I couldn't forget.” Her facial expression became sullen, panic-stricken when she thought back to the night she first encountered the former king. “ That night’s events drive me from the palace and … and from Cordonia never being quite the same.”

Liam squeezed her hand and took over as she collected her thoughts. He knew this dark period caused her to shut down with everyone… including him.

King Liam: “ Little did I know that a short time later , Saige would disappear from my life. It had been months since she left without a word or forwarding address that I finally laid eyes on her again. It broke my heart to learn why she left, but I was grateful to be able to share with her what I truly felt...love... I loved her and had to make certain she knew.”

Liam seemed wistful as he thought of that tumultuous time. “After we both shared a tender reunion and I learned the truth, I realized I did not want to lose her again … so I proposed.”

The two of them happily smiled at the memory. “We married a short time later in Texas and again when we landed in Cordonia surrounded by a few family and close friends.”

Ana DeLuca: “So no one knew you two were married?”

King Liam: “ There were a few people that knew but respected our decision to make our announcement to the public. When the decision of my brother to step down was shared and it was known that I would be next in line for the crown and Saige agreed that we would be okay if I ascended to the throne, I had no choice but to go public being my father was pushing for a social season, but there was no need. I had my bride, my queen.” There was such tenderness in his gaze as he pronounced his love to the world.

Ana DeLuca: “ You announced the same night of the coronation that you two were going to become parents. Congratulations by the way. This is truly a monumental time for you two, for the monarchy.”

Queen Saige: “Thank you for your kind words...and yes it should have been an exciting time, but something changed a week after the coronation. You see, my husband was expected in Italy for a conference and I happen to have a doctor’s appointment the day after he left so I could not go with him.” Saige’s voice dropped low as she weighed the decision to open up.

“We chatted that night before bed and I had chosen to turn in early. Little did I know that there were other plans in the works that night. I woke up a short time later wanting a snack. It was then that I heard a noise coming from the living area. I thought nothing of it as I went to grab something to eat and a bottle of water.”

The queen became visibly affected as she continued to explain her personal hell in the palace. Her eyes became dampened with unshed tears, she could not allow her grief to stand in the way of her moment to free her spirit again.

“ I walked down the darkened hallway to be met by an enormous hand choking me into silence. This night, i was attacked within my home ...in my living room.”

Saige’s leg began to bounce from the nerves trying to bubble up. She wanted to run away, but she knew that wasn’t her answer. She couldn’t do that to Liam, she couldn’t do it to herself .She suddenly took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and looked at loving husband. She knew that she needed to rely on his strength more than even right now.

“That night, I was beaten and violently raped by … the former king. He had two guards, one of which was my own to hold me down and tear my clothing from my body. He… he uttered such vile things as he hurt me. His hand was over my mouth the entire time. He didn’t care the agonizing pain as I shook, pleading with my eyes to stop hurting me. Not to hurt my baby, but he didn’t… he never gave a damn what hell he put me through.”

Saige bit her inner cheek fighting like hell to keep from breaking down. She couldn’t let him steal this moment in time from her, from his grave. She had her family to think about. Without thinking her free hand moved down her body and gently cupped her belly. She felt a flutter within her willing her to continue to stand up to the demon that shared Liam’s bloodline.

“I spent days in the hospital… mostly unconscious… unaware of what had happened to me. I had no idea that my husband had to rush home to find out the atrocities that had been committed against us. I had no idea how to feel when I opened my eyes… finally and learned where I was and the fallout from king Constantine. The true extent of what he’d stolen from is that night.”

Saige looked down to her belly and willed herself to keep it together. Liam saw the pain etched in her porcelain features. Her beautiful blue eyes that were so full of pain, yet hopeful that something good could come of this. He squeezed her hand and nodded. Saige knew with this man , she was going to be okay. Liam looked at Ana DeLuca baring a determined look in his eyes. He took over the moment.

King Liam: “I learned while my wife was out fighting for our baby’s life that she was severely beaten and damage during the heinous act caused her to lose our child.”

Ana looked bewildered as her eyes darted back and forth between the royals and then to the queen’s abdomen. Liam sensed her confusion and continued.

“ The meeting I had a short time after arriving with the doctor I learned of the miscarriage and I also learned that we were not expecting one child...but two. How do you process such a gift and a heartache at the same time? I had to think about how we would break the news to my queen.”

The sight of a monarch visibly emotionally moved by reliving the loss of a child bought Ana to tears. She tried to quickly recollect herself to not deviate from the interview.

Ana DeLuca: “King Liam, how did you come to terms with the loss of your child, your heir?”

King Liam:” I realize that the baby, our baby was the heir… but he or she was our family member first.That was a baby that we loved and planned for ...together. What do you do with the promise that is unrealized? Where do the future first experiences go? The first smile, the first steps, the first time hearing that little one call me daddy, the first giggles, the first steps, the first time planning a birthday, our first holiday as a family… What do you do with that?”

Silence as Ana tried to process the hypothetical question. She saw a glimpse of the personal hell that her king and queen, Cordonia’s king and queen had been suffering. It made sense in a news flash sort of way that they were quiet in their personal life for a bit.As if reading her mind, Liam chimed in again.

“I had to… in that moment focus on helping my wife heal physically and emotionally. We were both reeling from the reality that our little family would be missing a part of our dream. I also had to come to grasp the abominable actions of the man whose father had violated my wife and caused the death of our unborn child.”

Liam pauses at the realization hearing himself speaking aloud about how his world was turned upside down by his father’s actions.

“Apparently the former king was a coward unwilling to face consequences of his actions.Rather than atone for going to his sins, he chose to take his own life. Here it was we were expecting the next generation of the Rhys royal bloodline, and to have a future cut short by our own family member.”

Liam clenched his fist at the thought of what injustice his father had perpetrated against Saige. He felt for what had gone through… still was going through at the hands of his father.

Ana beautifully refocused the moment back to the queen.It was not lost on her the reaction as she listened intently as Liam shared the most devastating moment of her life.

Ana De Luca: “ma’am what do you want the citizens of Cordonia to take away from this interview?”

Saige paused thoughtfully as she considered what message she wanted to carry forward.

Queen Saige: “I want the citizens, I want our child to know that you can rise against all odds. You will see some dark times, but being surrounded by the people you love...and that love you, there is a better tomorrow. The pain will seem overwhelming and endless, but you must find a way to get out of bed in the morning… start to hope again by putting one foot in front of the other. I know by the grace of my king, I now feel a sense of purpose. We are going to invest that extra love into the child that will share life upon this world. I have to think that heaven must have made room for an angel a little early. I will think of our little that’s not able to walk amongst us here when I look into the eyes of the baby that’s on the way. When I hear the laughter of a Cordonian child, I will smile thinking of the laughter that was lost earlier this year. We did need some time to grieve and to pick ourselves up and continue pressing forward… but still I’ll rise … I’ll rise to fight another day.

Ana DeLuca: “Do you have any final words for our viewers king Liam?”

Liam smiled proudly at his queen. He felt this overwhelming feeling growing in his chest. He watched her conquer her fear. His father couldn’t hurt her anymore. She faced her boogie man in front of the country with such strength and determination.He stood and dropped down to one knee… bowing to his Queen.

King Liam: “I couldn’t say it any better than my queen. I echo her words and look forward to peace and prosperity for Cordonia. I want the best for our country and for our family.”

Ana DeLuca: “Thank you both your majesties for allowing us to share a glimpse into your worlds.”

Ana faced the camera and bid farewell to the viewers .

“Thank you for spending time with your monarchs Cordonia. We look forward to meeting the new heir once he or she make their entrance into the world.”

“And cut”... the cameras were turned off and the lights were dimmed.

Liam’s strong arms wrapped around his wife and he cupped her face in his hands. He smiled as he softly placed a tender kiss to the top of Saige’s head. “I am so very proud of you my love.”

She released a breath she did not realize she was holding. She outstretched her hands grabbing on his face. “I was so nervous Liam, but you being here meant the world to me.” She planted a quick peck on his lips.

He acknowledged Ana and her crew before turning to leave. “Ana, thank you for allowing us time to share our story. My head of security will see you to your transportation. Have a good night.”

Liam led Saige to the edge of the waters surrounding Valtoria and wrapped his arm around her waist. They both veered our into the orangish purple hues that made up the perfect sunset that was minutes away from saying good night to the sun. There was something so serene about watching the skies tranquil above Cordonia. They sat in the grassy field beside the flowing waters thinking about the remains of the day. King Liam sat with his legs opened inviting his queen to lean back to take a respite from the world. Saige leaned back into his chest, raised her hand to lace with his fingers , he reached out his large hand and gently laid it upon her growing belly.

He whispered in her ear, “ you were amazing love, tomorrow we shall meet with our people … a kingdom gained. I love you and our babies here and lost.”

They sat nestled in the comfort of each other’s arms.Saige closed her eyes and smiled softly in the warmth of his love. “Tomorrow…we put one foot in front of the other to welcome a new day.”

#king liam #king liam x mc #pixelberry #the royal romance #mc x king liam #the royal heir #liam x mc pregnancy #trh

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ezrinsprose-edda · 3 years ago

Text

The Sound of the Great Prose Edda

1. Erst was the age when nothing was: nor sand nor sea, nor chilling stream waves; Earth was not found, nor Ether-Heaven, -

A Yawning Gap, but grass was none (Sturluson 16).

What do you see? It is the endless black void, the absence of existence. In the beginning, there was the Yawning Void, otherwise known as the Ginnungagap in Old Norse. The song chosen for the start of the film is light and airy, yet empty as it has no lyrics. Only the sound of synth music and white noise fills your ears as you stare into the nothingness.

White Noiz - Akira Yamaoka

2. Out of the Ice-waves issued venom-drops, waxing until a giant was; Thence all our kindred come all together, -

So it is they are savage forever (Sturluson 18).

The foul race of Rime-Giants are born of venom and ice. Disdained by the gods, they are evil creatures. Now so powerful in their brute strength and numbers, their chaos will soon come to an end. The song chosen for the birth of the giants may sound as if it were from the perspective of the giants themselves as the chorus says, 'You see I cannot be forsaken because I am not the only one. We walk amongst you feeding, must we hide from everyone?' They gloat in their newfound power and use it to wreak havoc.

Forsaken - David Draiman

3. Untold ages ere earth was shapen, then was Bergelmir born; That first I recall -

How the famous wise giant on the deck of the ship was laid down (Sturluson 19).

The sons of the first man Borr slay Ymir the giant. Similar to the following song's title, Ymir's blood drowns the entire race of the Rime-Giants. The flood's only survivor is Begelmir, who boards a boat with his wife and continues the bloodline of the Rime-Giants. However, Ymir's violent death becomes the birth of a new universe. The following song's chorus is 'Bleed me an ocean, let me lie beneath the sky.' Just as Ymir lost his mortal form, his corpse becomes the foundation for the earth and heavens like the song's lyrics: 'I was sexless in clouds again, I was chasing a cold, cold wind. I've become bored with flesh and bone again.'

Bleed Me an Ocean - Acid Bath

4. Of Ymir's flesh, the earth was fashioned, of his sweat the sea; crags of his bones, trees of his hair -

And of his skull the sky (Sturluson 21).

The sons of Borr fashion Ymir's corpse into the earth, his skin into the land, and his skull into the heavens. As evil as the giant was in life, he still serves a purpose for the greater good in death. The earth and sky are now his monument, like in the following lyrics: 'Who felt entitled to hold a place on the earth as a grave for their remains. But no monument for me, please I am not one of them. I didn't need it in life, I won't need it in death. Kiss my ashes goodbye.' This song includes many shifts of tone and speed throughout its 11-minute runtime, from sullen and pessimistic to more hopeful. Ymir's downfall to the creation of the universe has similar tonal shifts.

Kiss My Ashes (Goodbye) - Woods of Ypres

5. How does he govern the course

Of the sun or of the moon? (Sturluson 23)

The children of Mundilfari, Mani and Sol (Moon and Sun) are put into the heavens by the gods. Though they may seem contradicting, they lead the sun and moon across the sky with their chariots. Mani determines the moon's waxing and waning. Sol bestows her warmth on the earth. However, the brother and sister hasten their pace and live in fear of the wolves who vow to seize them one day. On that day, it would mark the beginning of the end, the beginning of Ragnarok. The song chosen for the introduction of Mani and Sol is a tranquil acoustic song with a gentle rhythm that emulates the softness of the sun and moon's light. The artist speaks of the morning sun as a saving grace as well as the anxiety of feeling watched or followed for many years: 'I'd see the light in the shade of the morning sun, my morning sun is the drug that brings me near to the childhood I lost replaced by fear.' There is a darker tonal shift later in the song that parallels the siblings' fear of the wolves and their impending doom: 'That's the price that we all pay, our valued destiny comes to nothing.'

True Faith - Lotte Kestner

6. The moon's taker in troll's likeness. He is filled with flesh of fey men. Reddens the gods' seats with ruddy blood-gouts;

Swart becomes sunshine in summers after (Sturluson 24).

The wolves who prey upon Sol and Mani are Skoll and Hati Hróðvitnisson. Skoll wishes to overpower Sol, and Hati runs after Mani. The wolves were born of an old troll-woman in the forest of Ironwood. The strongest of the wolf race is Moon-Hound, who vows to devour the moon and rain blood upon the heavens. On that day, the sun will lose her light and the roaring winds will be ceaseless. The following song focuses on the predatory pact between the cruel Skoll and Hati as they pursue Sol and Mani until the end of time: 'We fought the daylight, any battle, any war, the call for blood worth dying for. We prayed for twilight, side by side, we stood as pack.'

Where the Wild Wolves Have Gone - Powerwolf

7. The gods made a bridge from heaven and earth

Called Bifröst (Sturluson 24).

There is a bridge that connects heaven and earth called Bifröst. It is made of the strongest material of magical craftsmanship and is multi-colored like a rainbow. However, as seemingly indestructible as the bridge may be, it is destined to be destroyed by the sons of Múspell when they trample Bifröst with their devastating mighty horses. The following song focuses on the bridge's colorful build and the pathway into paradise: 'Take me to the sun, I feel I'm chasing rainbows. Now into your lonely paradise! Are we just dreaming in the city that never sleeps? 'Cause I can't be seeing what my eyes tell me.'

Chasing Rainbows - Bring Me the Horizon

8. What did Allfather then do

When Asgard was made? (Sturluson 25)

Asgard, or Ásgarðr in Old Norse, is the dwelling place of the Norse gods. Allfather allowed the gods to gather and hold counsel there. The town where they dwell is called Ida-field. The house they built is called Gladsheim, and it is entirely made of gold. The house of the goddesses is called Vingólf. In this land, all is made of gold. Here, the gods are seated in their thrones and grant judgement to all. The song chosen for the introduction of the renowned gods is the equally legendary song "Stairway to Heaven," where the lyrics speak of a beautiful place in the heavens where an alluring woman resides, resembling the beauty and light of a goddess. The lyrics say: 'There walks a lady we all know who shines white light and wants to show how everything still turns to gold.'

Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin

9. Then strode all the mighty to the seats of judgement, the gods most holy, and together held counsel -

Who should of dwarves shape the peoples (Sturluson 26).

After establishing their town and council, dwarves begin form underneath the earth like 'maggots in the flesh' (Sturluson 26). The gods decreed that the dwarves will be 'shaped in man's likeness.' From Ymir's flesh, the dwarves were created from maggots of the earth to intelligent humanlike beings. The dwarves now assist and build weapons for the gods, hailed for the brute strength and warrior skills. For the introduction of the mighty dwarves, the song chosen is a heavier rhythm with a faster pace and overpowering guitars and vocals. The following lyrics have to do with the dwarves' perspective of being given new life and owing their lives to the gods that pulled them from the earth as maggots, now in man's image: 'We are the new diabolic, we are the bitter bucolic. If I have to give my life, you can have it, we are the pulse of the maggots!'

Pulse of the Maggots - Slipknot

10. The Ash is greatest of all trees and best:

Its limbs spread out over all the world and stand above heaven (Sturluson 27).

Regarded as 'the holy place of the gods,' the Ash of Yggdrasil is the tree of life (Sturluson 27). Its roots reach different parts of the Nordic universe, such as the land of the Rime-Giants, Niflheim, and Æsir. The Ash is the origin of the universe's wisdom, knowledge, and life force. The following song has a gentle, hopeful tune with a fully orchestrated band and choir-like singing. The lyrics speak of knowing all of the past, present, and future and inner-workings of the world but being unable to change them: 'All the balances are clear. Now that our time is here. In our perfect present tense, through our wide rose tinted lens, when the words have all been spent, will we still have learnt it?'

Season Song - Blue States

11. All know I, Odin, where the eye thou hiddest,

In the wide-renowned well of Mímir (Sturluson 27).

It is fabled that underneath the root that leads to the land of the Rime-Giants is the legendary Mímir's Well. The well and its keeper Mímir hold the universe's wisdom and knowledge. The Norse god Odin craved this wisdom, but it would be given to him not without a sacrifice. He gave up his eye to drink from the well. It is a tale of forbidden wisdom. With all this newfound knowledge, Odin may have felt overwhelmed by this drastic change in his power: 'I watched a change in you. It's like you never had wings. Now, you feel so alive, I've watched you change.'

Change (In the House of Flies) - Deftones

12. He convulses so violently that the whole earth shakes – it is what is known as an earthquake.

He will lie bound there until Ragnarök (Sturluson).

The God of Mischief Loki is taken into a cave and tied underneath a large poisonous serpent for his crimes. The snake drips his venom onto Loki's face, causing the earthquakes whenever he writhes in pain. He will bound to the cave until the beginning of the Norse apocalypse Ragnarök. Ragnarök, or the 'Doom of the Gods' in Old Norse, is a series of battles that take place between demons, gods, and giants. This is the end of reign of the gods and the life of man on earth. Gods will die like mortals and the sky will vanish. With it, the sun and stars will be swallowed by darkness and the earth will plunge into the sea. From this destruction, will come a new age. A new earth will be born from the despair. The day that the wolves Skoll and Hati catch Mani and Sol will mark the beginning of Ragnarök. The blood of the sun and moon will stain the sky and the hungry wolves will rejoice in their killing. The final song that concludes this film is a haunting dark industrial melody with dooming lyrics. As if it were from the perspective of the wolves themselves as threatening towards Mani and Sol: 'You're still up in the air and loving your wings. What's gonna happen when you come down?'

Clown - Switchblade Symphony

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anika-ann · 5 years ago

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The Line between Respectful and Stupid - Pt.4

Sweet Dreams

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 1700

Warnings: none...? Fluff overdose?

Summary: Steve dreams. (That’s it, that’s the chapter.)

Story Masterlist

Steve was dreaming a nice dream. It had not started out pretty as he was re-dreaming falling straight into the deep ocean, the sharp icy water eating him alive, cutting into his skin, his muscles, his bones… but then something changed. When he squeezed his eyes shut to keep the scream of pain inside – because opening his mouth would mean letting the cold water in – he felt something shift. The chill was gone.

He opened his eyes to a whole new world. There was a hand patting his shoulder, Bucky’s laugh echoing in his ears, and the warm summer breeze was caressing his hair, the water of the lake they went camping to tickling his feet.

“Hey, punk, you with me?”

The night was falling, but the air proudly carried the summer heat, still warming his skin. Steve focused his gaze, finding himself staring at a woman who was walking in the sand barefoot. The wind was playing a teasing game with her long airy skirt, twirling it around her feet; with her hair lightly fondled by the force of nature, she appeared almost ethereal. She was smiling for herself as the water caressed her feet.

“You should talk to her, ya’ know.”

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard his friend again. “What? No. It… she wouldn’t want me anyway. Sorry to zone out, you were saying?” He shook his head, forcing himself to look back at Bucky.

“Man, you got it bad. And come on! Who wouldn’t want you?”

“How about every woman I’ve ever encountered?”

“Peggy Carter one of them?” Bucky asked him sarcastically and Steve was surprised to find himself not in a body of a scrawny Steve Rogers from Brooklyn who had been going camping with his best friend’s family, but in Captain America’s. Huh.

It was when he realized he was dreaming a new dream and not reliving a memory. Bucky was still here as if he hadn’t fallen off the train, Peggy was clearly in his past for some reason, and thinking about it, this woman definitely looked familiar, yet didn’t belong to this moment at all.

The strangest thing was that the dream didn’t sadden him, didn’t fill him with the heavy nostalgia it usually did. He casted a glance at the agent he had only just met and was now casually walking in his consciousness – she quickly escaped his gaze when he caught her staring, a shy smile curling up her lips.

Steve sighed. “It’s not a good idea.”

“’Cause?”

“She’s an agent. We work together,” Steve replied with a shrug, his eyes losing themselves in the warm colours of the horizon. The sun had set a long time ago, but the sky was still shining pink and orange undertones. It was a sight to behold – yet, he felt an urge to look back at you instead, seeking a different kind of beauty, breath-taking all the same.

“And?”

“And it would get in the way. Not to mention that she would only want me for the title if for anything at all.” They all do, don’t they?

A slap on his bicep startled him. “Dumbass. She gave you that impression? She seemed awfully cosy with Steve Rogers if you ask me.”

“Not that you would know. You’re just in my head, jerk.”

“Not the one who’s being a jerk, punk. Or you know, asshat, ‘cause clearly your buttock is so tight that it’s worth a tribute. She’s fun. I like her.”

“Well, you can ask her out. I’m sure she’s smiling at you and not at me anyway,” Steve sighed again, sparing another glance at you.

As if you could hear their conversation, you looked directly into Steve’s eyes and gave him a sweet smile that left no room for doubt that it only belonged to him.

Dammit. Why did it send his heart racing, spreading even more warmth into his body? Why did it move him?

“You just said I’m only in your head, which kinda makes me dating her a bit difficult. ‘sides, she’s into you, not me. Don’t be an ass and ask her out before the chance slips through your fingers again. She’ll say yes.”

Because this was only a dream, Steve felt himself rise to his feet unwittingly, slowly walking to you. A blush crept up to your cheeks when you noticed, your fingers seeking your skirt still gently rocked by the wind to fumble with the fabric.

“Hey.”

“Hi, Steve,” you greeted him, peeking at him from under your eyelashes. God, had he even seen something so beautiful?

To his horror, he felt a wave of vertigo swaying him and he barely kept himself upright. When he overpowered it, his heart was beating frantically, his breathing heavy… his frame definitely smaller, because he was about your height now, smaller even.

He looked up; your brows were furrowed in concern. The sweet smile was gone.

Oh no.

The little confidence he had to begin with disappeared at instant.

“I-I-“

“Steve? You okay?”

Your hands were on his arms – all bone and skin –, steadying him as if he was about to faint and Steve didn’t think he had ever felt so embarrassed in his life.

“Yeah, I’m just gonna- gonna-- I-“

He looked over his shoulder at Bucky, only to see him giving a thumbs-up. Steve’s face felt even hotter then, when he turned back to you.

“You gonna what?” you encouraged him softly, hesitantly letting go of him.

It was as if the cold wrapped him again without the heat of your hands.

“Gonna… go. It was nice to meet you,” he stuttered, gulping against the huge lump in his throat and you pursed your lips at that, your face falling.

“Oh. Alright then. I thought you wanted to ask me something,” the sadness in your voice made his chest ache. You seemed so disappointed. But that was because the captain’s persona disappeared, yes? It couldn’t be anything else.

He hesitated though, your eyes still at him, open and inviting.

“I… would you… would you like to— to go dancing sometimes?” he babbled out, panicking at instant.

Really? Dancing?! Was he insane? Wasn’t it enough that he was a ninety-pound nothing again, he wanted to make a fool of himself in a ballroom as well? He was so small you could step on him! Why had he asked that? More importantly, why on Earth would you say yes? Not to mention he would step on your feet, because he was a terrible dancer!

He was ultimately taken aback by the bright smile that appeared on your lips, lighting up your face.

“Yes, I’d love to.”

He blinked, all the negative thoughts gone as if he snapped his fingers.

Really? Like… yes? “You… really?”

You giggled at his confusion. “Yes.”

“But, I’m…” he licked him lips, fighting the need to check on Bucky, because this was getting more and more surreal with each second passing. “I’m just… this, me.”

You watched him puzzled as he gestured towards his body, before you rolled your eyes – and honestly, that was the most you gesture he had seen the dreamt-you do. You took his hand then, squeezing lightly.

“Yes. Yes, you are you. And? Your point?”

The blatant disbelief in your eyes took him by surprise to put it mildly and made him release a shocked gasp at the pleasant feeling tingling in his fingertips. He shook his head, not understanding, but deciding to go along with this for as long as it lasted.

He smiled at you, touched by your sentiment. “And nothing... I guess.”

“Good,” you whispered gently, kissing his cheek lightly. “Looking forward to it.”

When Steve’s eyelids fluttered open, it took him a while to remember where he was, the aura of the dream fading away unusually slowly. He suspected the warmth he was wrapped in was to blame as well as the dusky room.

And then there was the feeling of a hand in his own, enveloped between his palms he had folded under his cheek. With a rapidly beating heart, his gaze followed the line of the wrist, forearm, the delicate crook of the elbow, bandaged arm and shoulder, only for his sight to land on your face.

That was when the true shock came; finding you by his bed, resting your head on the mattress by his torso with a hand reaching out to him as if in a gesture of comfort. Your features were soft and relaxed, an inconspicuous smile on your lips despite the clearly uncomfortable position and your hand snatched away from you.

Steve felt ashamed when he imagined what could have led to this very moment. You must have caught him in a nightmare. Clearly, you had tugged him in more covers, because when he dreamed of the least pleasant landing in his life, he always woke up shivering, unable to warm up, hence rarely falling asleep again.

But you, you had managed to silence his mind. Thanks to you, he had been sleeping soundly, having sweet dreams even. No matter how embarrassed he was, he couldn’t help but smile tenderly at your care – a care of a complete (and who was he kidding, very beautiful) stranger he had just met.

He resisted the urge to kiss the back of our hand which he had stolen for himself and decided it was time to get up. You would have a terrible cramp in your neck and back from the strange position, not to mention you were sleeping on the cold floor.

Unsure how to wake you up gently, he caressed you hand and forearm.

You woke up with a jolt and a blush in your cheeks, the same blush he had seen in his dream. Thank god you couldn’t read minds, because if you knew what he had been dreaming about, you would run away, screaming. Potentially contacted SHIELD’s HR department.

“Hey. I mean, morning, Capt—Steve,” you corrected yourself quickly, your voice hoarse with sleep.

Despite the obvious unspoken awkwardness, Steve smiled as if he knew you would never mention his nightmares or this peculiar rouse to anyone; and he was simply grateful for that.

“Hey, yourself.”

Part 5 (final)

Tags: @mermaidxatxheart

I’m giving myself cavities with this thing. Heh, who cares.

#marvel #mcu #fanfiction #steve rogers #captain america #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #shield agent reader #shield #agent reader #fluff #marvel fanfiction #the line between respectful and stupid #anika ann

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timeless-hollywood-classics · 4 years ago

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Rose Joan Blondell (August 30, 1906 – December 25, 1979) was an American actress who performed in film and television for half a century.

She began her career in vaudeville. After winning a beauty pageant, Blondell embarked upon a film career. She established herself as a Pre-Code staple of Warner Bros. Pictures in wisecracking, sexy roles, and appeared in more than 100 films and television productions. She was most active in film during the 1930s and early 1940s, and during that time she co-starred with Glenda Farrell in nine films, in which the duo portrayed gold diggers. Blondell continued acting on film and television for the rest of her life, often in small, supporting roles. She was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress for her performance in The Blue Veil (1951).

Near the end of her life, Blondell was nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress for her performance in Opening Night (1977). She was featured in two more films, the blockbuster musical Grease (1978) and Franco Zeffirelli's The Champ (1979), which was released shortly before Blondell's death from leukemia.

Rose Joan Blondell was born in New York to a vaudeville family; she gave her birthdate as August 30, 1909. Her father, Levi Bluestein, a vaudeville comedian known as Ed Blondell, was born in Poland to a Jewish family in 1866. He toured for many years starring in Blondell and Fennessy's stage version of The Katzenjammer Kids. Blondell's mother was Catherine (known as "Kathryn" or "Katie") Caine, born in Brooklyn, Kings County, New York (later Brooklyn, New York City) on April 13, 1884, to Irish-American parents. Joan's younger sister, Gloria Blondell, also an actress, was briefly married to film producer Albert R. Broccoli. The Blondell sisters had a brother, Ed Blondell, Jr.

Joan's cradle was a property trunk as her parents moved from place to place. She made her first appearance on stage at the age of four months when she was carried on in a cradle as the daughter of Peggy Astaire in The Greatest Love. Her family comprised a vaudeville troupe, the "Bouncing Blondells".

Joan had spent a year in Honolulu (1914–15) and six years in Australia and had seen much of the world by the time her family, who had been on tour, settled in Dallas, Texas, when she was a teenager. Under the name Rosebud Blondell, she won the 1926 Miss Dallas pageant, was a finalist in an early version of the Miss Universe pageant in May 1926, and placed fourth for Miss America 1926 in Atlantic City, New Jersey, in September of that same year. She attended Santa Monica High School, where she acted in school plays and worked as an editor on the yearbook staff. While there (and after high school), she gave her name as Rosebud Blondell, such as when she attended North Texas State Teacher’s College (1926–1927), now the University of North Texas in Denton, where her mother was a local stage actress.

Around 1927, she returned to New York, worked as a fashion model, a circus hand, a clerk in a store, joined a stock company to become an actress, and performed on Broadway. In 1930, she starred with James Cagney in Penny Arcade on Broadway. Penny Arcade lasted only three weeks, but Al Jolson saw it and bought the rights to the play for $20,000. He then sold the rights to Warner Bros., with the proviso that Blondell and Cagney be cast in the film version, named Sinners' Holiday (1930). Placed under contract by Warner Bros., she moved to Hollywood, where studio boss Jack L. Warner wanted her to change her name to "Inez Holmes", 34 but Blondell refused. She began to appear in short subjects and was named as one of the WAMPAS Baby Stars in 1931.

Blondell was paired several more times with James Cagney in films, including The Public Enemy (1931), and she was one-half of a gold-digging duo with Glenda Farrell in nine films. During the Great Depression, Blondell was one of the highest-paid individuals in the United States. Her stirring rendition of "Remember My Forgotten Man" in the Busby Berkeley production of Gold Diggers of 1933, in which she co-starred with Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler, became an anthem for the frustrations of unemployed people and the government's failed economic policies. In 1937, she starred opposite Errol Flynn in The Perfect Specimen. By the end of the decade, she had made nearly 50 films. She left Warner Bros. in 1939.

In 1943, Blondell returned to Broadway as the star of Mike Todd's short-lived production of The Naked Genius, a comedy written by Gypsy Rose Lee. She was well received in her later films, despite being relegated to character and supporting roles after 1945, when she was billed below the title for the first time in 14 years in Adventure, which starred Clark Gable and Greer Garson. She was also featured prominently in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1945) and Nightmare Alley (1947). In 1948, she left the screen for three years and concentrated on theater, performing in summer stock and touring with Cole Porter's musical, Something for the Boys. She later reprised her role of Aunt Sissy in the musical version of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn for the national tour and played the nagging mother, Mae Peterson, in the national tour of Bye Bye Birdie.

Blondell returned to Hollywood in 1950. Her performance in her next film, The Blue Veil (1951), earned her an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress in a Supporting Role. She played supporting roles in The Opposite Sex (1956), Desk Set (1957), and Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? (1957). She received considerable acclaim for her performance as Lady Fingers in Norman Jewison's The Cincinnati Kid (1965), garnering a Golden Globe nomination and National Board of Review win for Best Supporting Actress. John Cassavetes cast her as a cynical, aging playwright in his film Opening Night (1977). Blondell was widely seen in two films released not long before her death – Grease (1978), and the remake of The Champ (1979) with Jon Voight and Rick Schroder. She also appeared in two films released after her death – The Glove (1979), and The Woman Inside (1981).

Blondell also guest-starred in various television programs, including three 1963 episodes as the character Aunt Win in the CBS sitcom The Real McCoys, starring Walter Brennan and Richard Crenna.

Also in 1963, Blondell was cast as the widowed Lucy Tutaine in the episode, "The Train and Lucy Tutaine", on the syndicated anthology series, Death Valley Days, hosted by Stanley Andrews. In the story line, Lucy sues a railroad company, against great odds, for causing the death of her cow. Noah Beery Jr., was cast as Abel.

In 1964, she appeared in the episode "What's in the Box?" of The Twilight Zone. She guest-starred in the episode "You're All Right, Ivy" on Jack Palance's circus drama, The Greatest Show on Earth, which aired on ABC in the 1963–64 television season. Her co-stars in the segment were Joe E. Brown and Buster Keaton. In 1965, she was in the running to replace Vivian Vance as Lucille Ball's sidekick on the hit CBS television comedy series The Lucy Show. Unfortunately, after filming her second guest appearance as Joan Brenner (Lucy's new friend from California), Blondell walked off the set right after the episode had completed filming when Ball humiliated her by harshly criticizing her performance in front of the studio audience and technicians.

Blondell continued working on television. In 1968, she guest-starred on the CBS sitcom Family Affair, starring Brian Keith. She replaced Bea Benaderet, who was ill, for one episode on the CBS series Petticoat Junction. In that installment, Blondell played FloraBelle Campbell, a lady visitor to Hooterville, who had once dated Uncle Joe (Edgar Buchanan) and Sam Drucker (Frank Cady). That same year, Blondell co-starred in all 52 episodes of the ABC Western series Here Come the Brides, set in the Pacific Northwest of the 19th century. Her co-stars included singer Bobby Sherman and actor-singer David Soul. Blondell received two consecutive Emmy nominations for outstanding continued performance by an actress in a dramatic series for her role as Lottie Hatfield.

In 1971, she followed Sada Thompson in the off-Broadway hit The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds, with a young Swoosie Kurtz playing one of her daughters.

In 1972, she had an ongoing supporting role in the NBC series Banyon as Peggy Revere, who operated a secretarial school in the same building as Banyon's detective agency. This was a 1930s period action drama starring Robert Forster in the title role. Her students worked in Banyon's office, providing fresh faces for the show weekly. The series was replaced midseason.

Blondell has a motion pictures star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame for her contributions to the film industry. Her star is located at 6311 Hollywood Boulevard. In December 2007, the Museum of Modern Art in New York City mounted a retrospective of Blondell's films in connection with a new biography by film professor Matthew Kennedy, and theatrical revival houses such as Film Forum in Manhattan have also projected many of her films recently.

She wrote a novel titled Center Door Fancy (New York: Delacorte Press, 1972), which was a thinly disguised autobiography with veiled references to June Allyson and Dick Powell.

Blondell was married three times, first to cinematographer George Barnes in a private wedding ceremony on January 4, 1933, at the First Presbyterian Church in Phoenix, Arizona. They had one child, Norman Scott Barnes, who became an accomplished producer, director, and television executive known as Norman Powell. Joan and George divorced in 1936.

On September 19, 1936, she married her second husband Dick Powell, an actor, director, and singer. They had a daughter, Ellen Powell, who became a studio hair stylist, and Powell adopted her son by her previous marriage under the name Norman Scott Powell. Blondell and Powell were divorced on July 14, 1944. Blondell was less than friendly with Powell's next wife, June Allyson, although the two women would later appear together in The Opposite Sex (1956).

On July 5, 1947, Blondell married her third husband, producer Mike Todd, whom she divorced in 1950. Her marriage to Todd was an emotional and financial disaster. She once accused him of holding her outside a hotel window by her ankles. He was also a heavy spender who lost hundreds of thousands of dollars gambling (high-stakes bridge was one of his weaknesses) and went through a controversial bankruptcy during their marriage. An often-repeated myth is that Mike Todd left Blondell for Elizabeth Taylor, when in fact, she had left Todd of her own accord years before he met Taylor.

Blondell died of leukemia in Santa Monica, California, on Christmas Day, 1979, with her children and her sister at her bedside. She was cremated and her ashes interred in a columbarium at the Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Glendale, California.

#joan blondell #golden age of hollywood #classic hollywood #classic movie stars

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