#i spent 5 hours shouting at the screen LET THEM KISS YOU COWARDS

[3gremlins]

i watched both wolverine & deadpool and the finale of arcane today and my (shouldn't be hot take) on both is i really wish that hollywood would let those sad boyfriends say out loud that they love each other and kiss on screen. like hours of endless violence? totally fine. men saying out loud that they love each other? verboten and really just THE BIGGEST SIGH.

(at least arcane gave us on screen girlfriends but still)

[codyfernmorelikedaddyfern]

KILLER QUEEN - DUNCAN X ROYAL FEM!READER // PART EIGHT - END

Read it all here.

Description: A short visit to DC brings Duncan to getting a little revenge on his uncle Bill and the way he spoke about (Y/N). But isn’t it a little too late to erase the app?

Warning: You look beautiful

Word Count: 2322

Gif by @codyfernsource​

“She comes in here with her royal attitude, she expects us to kneel and kiss her boot and you don’t see a problem with it, Annie?!” the loud voice of Bill Shepherd rang through his hotel suite. The older woman only rolled her eyes at her brother, watching him lose more and more of his temper. “I thought you said Duncan was only meant to publicly appear with her?! Not bring her home to meet Claire Fucking Underwood!” he continued, slamming his first against the table before raising it, an accusatory finger pointed towards his nephew.

Luckily, (Y/N) had not been present for this outburst and Duncan was somewhat thankful for it. He was used to Bill’s degrading vocabulary towards him but hearing the older man speak the way he did about his Brit caused something sour to pile on the back of his tongue. “I can’t believe you managed to find him someone dumber than him, Annie! I can’t believe she went!” the Shepherd patriarch stomped around, arms flaying up and down. His nephew opened his mouth to speak but was quickly shot down by the other man. “And what exactly did they discuss?! Were you even there or did you blank out and stare at the wall at the idea of what you’ll have for your next meal?!”

With a loud shout from Annette, the tension broke off instantly. “Bill, I will not tolerate this any longer. (Y/N) has been nothing but accommodating and, according to Duncan, she is now a very valuable ally” like a proud lioness, she spoke while standing in front of her cub. With a swift movement, she motioned for her son to leave, eyes still trained on Bill. Quickly glancing over her shoulder and noticing the absence of Duncan, she inched closer to her brother to whisper. “I know you know nothing about love, Bill. But I’m not sure Duncan will allow you to speak the way you just did about the girl he cares a great deal about any longer” his brows furrowed at his sister’s words, his head twitching to the side with surprise. “You are as much of a coward as you are blind to not see that this is much more than us getting the Windsor in our pocket, this is now about Duncan and her” Annette spat before storming out, meeting her son in the hallway and then stepping in the elevator with him.

“I was ready to punch him square in the face” they young man admitted through gritted teeth, fist still clenched. The reassuring touch of Annette  as she rested her hand on his tensed shoulder brought Duncan's anger to a still. “Is she staying with you at your apartment?” she softly asked before earning a nod from him. A small smile pinched up his lips whilst he scratched the stubble of his cheek as they made their way down to the parking lot. “I think you should go back to her and relax before your interview later on” her face turned into a gentle smile before he could nod one more, walking towards the large SUV to carry them back to his apartment.

Still tangled in the white bedsheets, (Y/N)’s body gently warmed up to the embrace of the sun grazing her skin. The smell of polished furniture, fresh linen and waxed hardwood floor gently tickled her nose as she stirred in Duncan’s large bed. Then the sound of the front door and a few exchange of words came to her ears and she slowly sat up to look at the alarm clock. It had been years since she had slept past 7:30 and her sleeping in was definitely blamed on the jet lag. Slowly, she heard the door creak open, the sight of Duncan igniting the smile blossoming on her tired face. In the heartbeat it took for him to notice her looking back at him, awake, his somewhat frown matched her expression and that same heartbeat seemed to falter slightly. Strolling across the room to seat right at the edge of the bed, his smile only grew brighter as she silently rested her head on his lap, wrapping her tired arms around his waist.

Shoes kicked off and the covers thrown over his taller frame, the American settled next to (Y/N) below the covers, arms looped around the small of her waist. And a quick cuddling session turned into hours of simply laying there, pressed against one another in comfortable silence. A hand carding through the (Y/H/C) locks of the duchess and the quiet sound of breathing filled in the room whilst they basked in the feeling of nuzzling against their lover. Duncan cleared his throat, reluctantly breaking the comfort of the moment.

“I'm scheduled for an interview at the Shepherd Hall in a little over an hour” the brunette groaned before pressing his face deep against the crook of his girl's neck. A low whine fell from the woman's lips before she looked over at him with a frown. “Thought we were meant to spend today together?” her voice mumbled, pulling the covers up against her exposed breasts. A quiet snicker passed Duncan's throat at the sight of the expression on his girlfriend's features. “I promise, after it's over, I'll be right here, making sure that Her Majesty has her fill of DC for a few months” the man whispered, intent on fulfilling his promise.

And just like that, he was out the door, black high neck loosely tucked in a pair of his black slacks, jacket ever so slightly flowing behind him. Thought clouded his mind. He didn't have a lot of time to make it right. 11:42 was when he stepped into the office. 11:47 was when he entered his password in the computer he had spent days, weeks, months working on, clammy and shaking hands caused by the stammering of his heart hitting the keys.

If Bill was being such a prick, so would Duncan. And especially when it came to the the woman he loved. Love? Duncan thought. “I guess it is love, then” he whispered in the next heartbeat. The annoyance of getting rid of such a large amount of work was upsetting but fucking his uncle over was much more tempting than anything else right now.

11:52 was when the coding in progress popped up on his screen.  “Control, shift, home” were the words he breathed, pressing the keys from his keyboard. And then Delete was pressed. No more code, no more app. No more app, meant a sweet revenge on Duncan's part. He watched the pages of data get swept away with a satisfied smirk dancing along his lips. A loud knock pulled him out of his trance, Seth opening the door. “They're here” he announced.

The Shepherd's bachelor stood from his seat, watching the last of the page erase before he could shut down the computer. “I'll be with them in a second. Tell my mother I'll be down in a couple of minutes, will you?” he looked at his colleague who's only response was an anxious looking nod.

(Y/N)'s phone buzzed with a similar notification. “Get on WVDC, the interview is beginning now and be on shortly after we record it”. But the quiet and gentle snoring convinced her other wise. It's only when she heard the loud ringing of her phone that the Duchess woke up. 6 missed calls, one from an unknown number, 5 from Annette. Her blood ran cold as she watched her screen light up once more with the name of the Shepherd's mother. Picking up the call, the shaky voice of the older woman brought tear to the (Y/H/C). “They took Duncan away, (Y/N)”

The slow clicking of her heels reverberated through the long halls. Just like her first meeting with Duncan, she was late. Mainly due to the long conversations that has just happened between herself, her father and the cause of the problem: Clair Underwood, the president of the United States of America. Hushed conversations rang to her ears as she was striding towards the door. “Let me handle this” (Y/N) gently asked Annette whilst making her way to the guard about to press the door open.

The mop of brown curls turned to look at the Princess, cheeks flushed and tears dried on the stubble of his cheeks. Duncan thought about standing up. He allso thought about running to her. He thought about burring his face in the crook of her neck in shame, perhaps to cry once more. But he just sat there. And it broke her already aching heart as the door banged closed behind her petite frame.

A sigh pushed past the man's chest. The woman looked at him, standing as tall as she could above his seated form. His blue gaze danced across her. He was afraid. Afraid of what looked like to be the anger she carried. Afraid of what she was going to do or say to him. Afraid for his own heart to break. Afraid of her. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of hurting him, however, because he spoke first.

“I'll ask my mother to book you the first flight to London. Luckily, you've not unpacked anything yet so you're pretty much ready to go” his head bobbed with a nod, eyebrows knitting together. Duncan swallowed the tightening lump in his throat, regret already flooding through his bloodstream. “We can't have Her Majesty publicly seeing a convicted felon so I guess it's time for us to break the contract. It was a pleas-”

The stinging of the loud slap she delivered to his cheek interrupted the speech pouring out of the man but luckily, it brought some clarity to his thoughts. A couple of seconds passed and (Y/N) looked at him. “Are you done talking shit now?” she simply asked. To think she was angry before clearly was an understatement on the brunette's part because the horrified expression on his girl's face spoke for itself now. A heavy sigh fell in the room. “Why are you here, (Y/N)?” were the words he whispered, his heart heavy.

Arms crossed over her trembling chest, the Duchess took in a deep breath. “I spoke to my father. And I spoke to Claire. Either you carry on your sentence, this is over before it has really begun and you serve your time in jail.” The blue of her boyfriend's gaze reached the (Y/E/C) of hers whilst she settled in the chair in front of him, legs crossing one over the other. “Or you come with me now. We go back to London as prison time, exiled from the States”

A snicker shook the man, quickly replaced by a laugh. “And why exactly are you trying to help me?” a shit eating grin on his lips, clasping his manacled hands on his laps. The petite frame of the Brit leaned closer across to him, lips parting as she spoke. “Because I'm in love with you, Duncan” were the words she whispered. And he watched them roll off of her tongue, his eyes transfixed on her mouth. “So I'm going to repeat it. Either you come with me, the charges are dropped and we work things out or you stay here and get comfortable in your cell”.

His only response was to close the distance between them, his lips chasing hers. Duncan felt (Y/N)'s mouth curling up against his. “Luckily, I didn't unpack anything either” his voice murmured before diving in for another kiss only for a small hand to press him away. “So you're really not going to say it back, you dickhead?” a smirk painted her lips.

And just like that, she woke up enveloped in the arms of the American every morning for the next three years. The alarm rang later on that morning of August, a sense of excitement building up in their stomach as they got ready for their day, meeting with her brothers and her father in Kew Garden. After spending a week together on a romantic trip in Bali, speculations rose in the tabloids. And it was dressed in an elegant deep green jumpsuit matching Duncan's impeccable suit jacket, that the Royal put the rumours to rest.

“You highness, this way please? Bring your left hand forward?” the man holding the camera asked. Duncan's hand draped on the waist of his girl. The park was empty for the occasion, the lovebirds obliging the photographer's demands as he snapped pictures upon pictures. No, the Duchess was not pregnant. At least, not yet. It's with a simple letter that everything was laid to rest, accompanied by some of the many pictures of the pretty ring she now wore.

"His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales is delighted to announce the engagement of Princess (Y/N) to Mr Duncan Shepherd.

The wedding will take place in Summer 2021. Further details about the wedding day will be announced in due course.

Her Royal Highness and Mr Shepherd became engaged in London earlier this month. Princess (Y/N) has informed Her Majesty The Queen and other close members of her family. Mr Shepherd has also sought and received the blessing of myself for their union.

The couple will live in Nottingham Cottage at Kensington Palace."

That's how, the next morning, the front page of a magazine wrote about the news. Duncan was halfway through his cup of coffee when he looked up and watched (Y/N) read the same newspaper he just had filed through. He looked at her with a cock of his head, her gaze meeting his with an amused chuckle. “What?” the Brit chuckled. “I guess I love you” the brunette responded, rolling his eyes and faking annoyance. And with another soft smile, Duncan crowned the princess with a kiss on her forehead. “No, I'm sure I do, Mrs. Shepherd” the American finished before walking past his girl.

______________________________________________________________

Killer Queen squad :  @welcometothelioncage​ @nathidfc​, @dark-mei-rose​, @littledemondani, @fckinsupreme, @littlegirlsdontplaynice, @leatherduncan, @michael-langdon-appreciation, @with-dandelions-in-her-hands @nickiechao11, @miss-diamonds, @radioactivegirlsworld @idespac, @psychobitchtess, @hplotrfan, @tea-party-at-wonderland, @langdxn, @wroteclassicaly, @hecohansen31 & @blakewaterxx​

[ryd-n]

ryden, 5 because aNgSt

5. things you didn’t say at all. 

dear b,

god, b. what a stupid thing to call someone. a ridiculous diminutive, but i can’t bring myself to write the whole thing, not just yet. spell it out, string the seven letters together. child’s play. we’ve reached a new level of pathetic that i can’t even begin to fathom. 

i’ve been thinking so much lately that it’s been hard not to find myself back in that studio space, or in that cabin, or on stage by your side. you know, the hundreds of shows and hours we spent together, talking, laughing, sometimes screaming. never crying. i’m not sure why; surely some moments were worth a tear or two. maybe i just can’t remember. i think we’re programmed to forget some shitty parts, or our lives wouldn’t seem worth living at all.  

and i’ve also been thinking about the things i kept quiet. often for various reasons, that i have time to list right now, so here we are. i hope you’re sitting down, your legs might get sore. if your head does instead, the best thing to do is just stop reading. take some aspirin, tylenol. whatever mind-numbing agent you have at hand. in advance, i’m sorry.

first, how far you’ve come; that topic i’ve stayed silent on because i don’t know how to put this without my heart growing full, and a text will never be able to cut it. i doubt a letter will, but i’ll try my best. i’m so proud of you. for everything you’ve done, for overcoming your fears and growing, growing so much that sometimes i need to look away from a headline on my screen to remember the person i used to know. i can see us, still, barely twenty-one, trying to get into that speakeasy on fifth street. you haven’t forgotten, i know. i’d be lying if i said i don’t mindlessly pick up words in the things you write, storing them in the back of my mind for later dissection. i never write back, and maybe it’s the fear of misappropriation. of finding something that’s not there, that’s never been there. maybe you never write to me at all. maybe it’s all hallucinations and fever dreams. so many maybes.

breaking apart; that was inevitable. i want you to know that. deep down, i hope i still know you, bren. i know you must’ve tortured yourself and it pains me just to think about it. and perhaps i deserve that pain. you’ll think i’m a snob because of this, but i just remembered this old chinese poem i read somewhere. it reads, people have sorrows, joys, partings and reunions, just like the moon darkens, brightens, waxes and wanes; it has been this way since ancient times.

i’m pretty sure ancient chinese men have some kind of unquestionable wisdom, and that these few years have just been a waning moon. just like the tide, brendon. we’re just like the tide.

this next one’s gonna be tough.

i’m sorry; how do you apologise to someone for breaking their heart? you don’t. or you wait ten years to do it, in a letter. like a coward. i’m sorry for all the storming away, the sullen silences, the shouting. breaking your guitar. your heart. hopefully nothing else. i thought we could be beautiful, b, i really did. there was so many things we could’ve been. it was all circumstances. the odds were too concentrated on the band not to be against us, and that’s okay. i made my peace with that long ago, back in that cabin that drove us all a little insane.

long-due congratulations; i hope you and sarah are as happy as you deserve to be. i’m sorry i wasn’t there for the day you said your vows. seeing the beautiful invitation in my mail felt too much like blasphemy for me to come taint that day. i’m sorry, but i don’t regret staying away. it was a day to look forward to the future, not for reminiscing.

and, lastly, a confession, not just a hushed thought. something that i’ve gotten so used to tucking away in the deepest folds of my brain that it’s a second nature now, something you’d hate me for if i told you, and i’m telling you, because it’s almost as though i’d rather you hate me than you feel nothing at all. yeah, i’m that desperate to let you know. if things had been different, bren, if we hadn’t had all those people to disappoint and reputations to destroy, i might’ve told you sooner. maybe when you kissed me in spencer’s basement, or maybe on one of those never-ending nights where i’d stay up to talk to you.

and, by this point, you already know what it is i want to say, so i won’t. i’ll keep it filed under things i didn’t say, stored away, only this time with no regret. there is no use in dwelling on the could’ve beens, and this is the last time i’ll let it come to my mind again.

thank you, brendon. thank you for everything you’ve brought into my life, whether you know it or not. thank you for changing it. for changing everything. i owe you forever.