#rage. rage against the dying of the light. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

viagracex · 1 day ago

Note

pls could you do one where r doesn’t drink- maybe because of childhood or something else, and is worried what the boys (like the Arthurs, Chris, batch) will think, but George just supports and loves her? comfort and fluff omg 💔

Beyond the Bottle

george clarkey x reader

summary: At game night, your choice not to drink sparks supportive gestures and honest conversations

warnings: brief mentions of childhood trauma, alcoholism, and abuse

note: this one was a bit harder to write for me for personal reason. so i kept everything on a lighter note. sorry if it isn't exactly what you wanted.

2.1k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

You fidgeted nervously with the hem of your sweater as you stood in George's kitchen, watching him grab drinks for the rest of the boys. The sound of laughter and chatter drifted in from the living room where Arthur, Chris, and the others were hanging out. Your stomach twisted with anxiety.

George turned to you with a gentle smile, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. "You alright, love?" he asked softly.

You nodded, trying to force a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

George set down the bottles he was holding and stepped closer, gently taking your hands in his. "Hey, what's really going on? You can tell me anything, you know that."

George waited patiently, giving your hands a reassuring squeeze. Taking a deep breath, you finally met his eyes.

"I don't drink," you confessed in a rush. "And I'm worried what the boys will think. I don't want to be a buzzkill or make things awkward."

Understanding dawned on George's face. He pulled you into a tender embrace, one hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.

"Oh, love," George murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear. "You don't have to drink if you don't want to. The lads won't care one bit, I promise."

You pulled back slightly, searching his eyes. "Are you sure? I don't want to be the odd one out."

George cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek. "You could never be the odd one out. Not to me, not to them. We love you just as you are. They're good guys, yeah? They'll understand."

His words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, easing some of the tension from your shoulders. You leaned into his touch, drawing strength from his unwavering support.

"It's just..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "After what happened with my dad, I can't... I can't be around alcohol without feeling sick."

George's eyes softened with understanding and a fierce protectiveness. He knew about your childhood, about the nights spent hiding from your father's drunken rages. The scars it had left, invisible but deep.

As if on cue, Arthur's booming laugh echoed from the living room, followed by Chris's playful jab "Oi, Clarkey! Where's those drinks, mate? We're dying of thirst out here!"

You tensed, but George just chuckled and called back, "Keep your pants on, lads! Be there in a moment!"

Turning back to you, he said softly, "Listen, you don't owe anyone an explanation, alright? But if you want to tell them, I'll be right there with you. And if you'd rather not, that's fine too. I'll just grab you a fizzy drink or whatever.

Your eyes welled up with a mixture of relief and gratitude, your voice thick with emotion as you responded. "Thank you, George. Really, it means so much to me, you always know how to make things easier."

"I've got you," he said, his voice full of quiet conviction. "And I've got an idea."

George turned to the fridge, rummaging around for a moment before emerging with a bright smile. In his hands were two cans of sparkling water, festively decorated with fruity designs.

"How about we make our own special mocktails?" he suggested, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "We can get all fancy with it - add some fresh fruit, maybe even those little umbrellas I've got stashed away somewhere."

You couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. This was the George you had fallen for - the one who could light up a room with his infectious energy, who always found a way to make you feel special and included.

"That sounds perfect," you said, feeling a wave of relief wash over you.

George set about gathering ingredients - fresh strawberries, lime wedges, and orange juice. As he worked, he regaled you with stories from his latest YouTube video shoot, his animated gestures sending drops of juice flying as he squeezed the limes.

"And then," he said, barely containing his giggles, "Arthur decided it would be a brilliant idea to try and backflip off the sofa. Ended up with his legs over his head, stuck between the cushions!"

With practiced ease, he mixed them together in a tall glass, adding a splash of grenadine syrup for color. He garnished it with a slice of orange and a cherry, presenting it to you with a flourish.

"Your very own mocktail, love," George said with a wink. "It'll look just like what the lads are drinking, but it's all safe for you."

Your heart swelled with affection for this wonderful man who always seemed to know exactly what you needed. You took a sip, the sweet and tangy flavors dancing on your tongue.

"It's perfect," you said, smiling genuinely for the first time that evening.

George beamed, clearly pleased. He gathered up the other drinks and gestured towards the living room. "Ready to join the others?"

You nodded, feeling a surge of courage. With George by your side, you could face anything.

As you entered the living room, the boys greeted you warmly. Arthur's face lit up when he saw you, his grin wide and welcoming. "There you are! We were starting to think George had kidnapped you for himself."

Chris chimed in, raising his beer bottle in a mock toast. "Cheers, love! What's your poison tonight?"

You felt a flicker of anxiety, but George's steady presence beside you gave you strength. "Actually," you started, your voice stronger than you expected, "I've got a special mocktail tonight. George made it for me."

The room fell silent for a moment, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Then, to your relief, Chris’s face broke into a wide grin.

"Well, well, well," he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "A mocktail, eh? God, did he knock you up or something?”

Your face flushed crimson, and you stammered, unable to form words. George quickly stepped in, his arm protectively wrapping around your waist.

"Oi, chill out, mate," he said, his tone light but with a hint of warning. "It's not like that."

You took a deep breath, drawing strength from George's steady presence. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for your response. The soft glow of the lamp cast a warm light over the gathered friends, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern.

"I... I don't drink," you explained, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because of some things that happened when I was a kid. It's just... it's not for me."

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you braced yourself for their reaction. But to your surprise, Arthur was the first to react. His face softened, and he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Hey, no worries at all," he said, his voice gentle. "We're just glad you're here with us."

Chris nodded emphatically, looking a bit sheepish. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that comment. Didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

The tension in the room dissipated like morning mist, replaced by a warm, accepting atmosphere. You felt George's arm tighten around you, and when you glanced up at him, his eyes were shining with pride and love.

"See?" he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. "Told you they'd understand."

As the evening progressed, you found yourself relaxing more and more. The boys didn't treat you any differently, including you in their jokes and conversations as if nothing had changed. They even started asking about your mocktail, genuinely curious about the recipe.

At one point, Arthur disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a tray of glasses filled with colorful, non-alcoholic concoctions. "Thought we'd all give it a go”

As Arthur set down the tray of mocktails, the living room erupted in a chorus of excited chatter. Chris reached for a vibrant blue drink, garnished with a pineapple wedge and a tiny paper umbrella. He took a tentative sip, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

"This is actually quite good!" he mentioned, taking another hearty gulp.

The others followed suit, each selecting a colorful concoction. The room filled with the sweet, fruity aroma of tropical punch and freshly squeezed citrus. You couldn't help but smile as you watched your friends enthusiastically compare flavors and debate which mocktail reigned supreme.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere grew increasingly jovial. Bach suggested a game of charades, and soon the living room was filled with raucous laughter as everyone took turns acting out increasingly ridiculous scenarios. You found yourself doubling over with giggles as Isaac's attempted to mime "The Lion King" while balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa, his arms outstretched in a comical imitation of Simba being presented to the animal kingdom.

The warm glow of the lamps cast dancing shadows on the walls as the night deepened. The air was thick with laughter and the sweet scent of fruit from the mocktails. You found yourself swept up in the joy of the moment, your earlier anxieties melting away like ice in the summer sun.

As the charades game wound down, Chris suggested a round of board games. Soon, the coffee table was covered in a colorful array of game boxes, their contents spilling out in a cheerful mess. Monopoly money fluttered to the floor as Arthur dramatically declared bankruptcy, while Bach meticulously arranged his Scrabble tiles, a look of intense concentration on his face.

The room was alive with friendly banter and playful accusations of cheating. You couldn't help but marvel at how seamlessly you had been integrated into this tight-knit group of friends. Their acceptance warmed you from the inside out, like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold winter's night.

You found yourself nestled comfortably on the plush sofa, your legs tucked underneath you. George sat beside you, his arm draped casually over your shoulders, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm. The warmth of his touch and the genuine camaraderie surrounding you melted away the last of your earlier anxiety.

George glanced over at you, his eyes soft and full of love. "Did you have a good time tonight?" he whispered, his voice just loud enough for only you to hear over the gentle murmur of conversations tapering off around you.

You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest that had nothing to do with the room's laughter-filled atmosphere. "I really did, thanks to you," you replied, your voice tinged with heartfelt gratitude.

George's smile widened, and he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Anything for you," he murmured. As the others began to gather their things and say their goodbyes, George turned to face you more fully. "You know, I'm really proud of you tonight. You opened up, and that's not always easy. But you did it, and see? They all love you just as much as I do."

The room had mostly emptied, leaving just the two of you in the cozy aftermath of a night well spent. The gentle clink of dishes being gathered and the soft closing of doors punctuated the quiet.

"Thank you for being so supportive," you said, your voice soft but steady. "It means the world to me, knowing I can be myself around you and your friends."

George's hand caressed your cheek, his touch tender. "Always," he promised. "You never have to be anyone but yourself around me. That's the person I fell in love with."

The two of you sat there for a moment, wrapped up in each other's presence, the comforting silence enveloping you like a blanket. Outside, the night grew deeper, the moon casting a silvery glow through the windows, bathing the room in a soft, peaceful light.

Finally, George stood, offering you his hand with a charming grin. "Let's call it a night, yeah? I think we could both use some sleep after all this excitement."

You took his hand, squeezing it gently, and let him pull you to your feet. As you headed toward the bedroom, your heart felt light and your spirits lifted. The evening had started with anxiety, but it ended with laughter, acceptance, and the unshakeable support of the man you loved. Tonight wasn't just another social gathering; it was a reaffirmation of everything wonderful in your life.

In the quiet of the bedroom, with only the soft rustle of sheets and the distant hush of the city at night, George pulled you into his arms, holding you close. His heartbeat, steady and reassuring against your ear, was a reminder of the constant strength and comfort he provided.

"Goodnight, love," he whispered, his breath warm against your hair.

"Goodnight, babe," you replied, your voice a contented sigh. As you drifted off to sleep, wrapped up in the love and warmth of the man beside you, you knew that no matter what the future held, with George, you would always have a place to belong.

#george clarke #george clarke fics #george clarkey #british youtubers #uk youtube #arthur frederick #arthur hill #british youtube #youtube #youtube fanfic #george clarkey imagine #george clarke x reader #george clarkeey #italianbach #chrismd

42 notes · View notes

cloudbattrolls · 10 months ago

Text

Last Call

This drabble is preceded by The Art of Knowing and followed by A Rough Start.

So ends the great search for evidence. Could we have done better? Perhaps. But it never would have been easy.

Priori passes by Halvir a few times, carefully spaced out during the night to avoid drawing suspicion. She learns a few tidbits.

Halvir? That's not a real name. Well, to him anyway. He's never had one good wriggling day party. Every single one has gone spectacularly wrong. He'd never met Calcit personally, but he knew of him. Deal with the blueblood, get a promotion. Easy work.

Priori repeats all of it later to Ullane and Hovend, including the wriggling day party fact, because she knows it’ll annoy Ullane.

Well the first one isn't surprising if he's part of the mob, Hovend says, the second one isn't... relevant, but neat. The third one is potentially incriminating, were there any way at all to verify its truthfulness,

Priori pleasantly suggests that they search his hive. It’s hard to tell how serious she’s being.

Ullane dryly states that they're trying to not make even further enemies with the Grey Mob, and there’s no guarantee that would work. It would also look very bad if they were found out.

Hovend agrees he would like to not further antagonize them without solid evidence. They can tolerate losing a person once in a while, but if a detective gets too competent... (nervously puts a hand to his throat) Plus, you know, hard to justify a full search based on one witness.

Ullane shakes her head and asks how Priori would get in anyway - never mind, don’t want to know. And yes, don’t want to endanger Hovend. Yuruli was bad enough.

Through a window? People are always leaving those unlocked.

Ullane mentions that she supposes she could use her bugs again.

You could, says Priori, amused.

Ullane replies it would potentially take a while, unless they had some way to bait him into running for his superiors.

Unlikely, unless he thinks his cover is blown, Hovend remarks. Then you'll never see him again

The medic, grimly amused, says she thought so.

Priori asks if she’s giving up, is she going to let the dogs rip her apart?

Ullane retorts that she’s sure she’d love that. Maybe it’ll happen.

Hovend hopes not! He's seen it before, it's really awful to see.

Ullane taps her fingers as she thinks. Not enough to justify a search. Mm. She wonders. Tried to keep Friday out of it, but what if she and I both subjected to a psychic examination?

Priori raises an eyebrow. You really would - oh, you really would. You don’t even care what happens.

The clinic administrator is as stone-faced as they come.

What, to try and prove your innocence? Not with memory removal psionics running around, Hovend says. They took care of that loophole a few sweeps ago

Clever, says Priori, amused.

Ullane puts a hand to her face. Halvir. Or whatever he’s really called. Why is he even still here, if his job’s done. Why linger.

Hovend shrugs. It'd be suspicious if he suddenly left?

Ullane rolls her eyes. Yes, but he could simply get away and go underground. Unless it’s to spy further.

Impossible to know, but ultimately definitely unnerving that he's deciding to hang around, Hovend agrees.

Either the Grey Mob has future plans, or he’s here to pick up information, she says quietly. Or both.

The doctor decides, again, to talk to Xrumon about it.

She taps her chin, thinking. What might force him to make a move, she wonders. He can’t feel he’s compromised, he’ll just flee. He can’t be detained for too long before realizing he’s been found out. If only they had a way to simply…get him to stay in one place long enough that Priori’s powers might get more information. That would at least be a start.

Well yeah, the tealblood says, that's why handcuffs were invented.

Ullane snorts. Well, yes, but it’s going to look very bad if she hauls one of her own employees in for questioning without proper grounds besides Priori’s word.

Priori, who came with her, smiles at that.

Ethical boundaries, huh, Xrumon notes. Just give him some godawful tedious work to do then, like updating medical records.

Ullane dryly states that she’s already done enough because of this. Despite what Halvir’s done, she has no desire to do more than what’s necessary.

Then she chuckles. That might actually work. She can arrange for Priori to be inspecting something nearby.

Of course it'll work, he's seen how long updating that shit takes. Actually brain damaging in length.

Yet his still works fine, she notes, despite having done it for his prosthetics patients.

He just let the AWC in his head take over for that, he replies.

Ullane, amused, says she sees. Well, let’s try it.

"Such great ambitions... How far he's had to climb. How far he has to fall."

"When they beat him, they only made him more determined. He could taste the blood in his mouth as they broke his teeth, felt the iron wash over him."

"He knows they've been caught. Feels the noose drawing in. He doesn't dare flee the trap, knowing the hunter could be watching him next."

"The man had to die, he was getting too close. He could see him stirring awake as he checked the machinery. His pulse quickened, then settled. The blueblood fell back against his sheets."

"He sees the owner of the clinic, and he feels sad. To bring down someone helping lowbloods... But that was the price that would be paid."

Priori, as she relates it to the others, comments how thoughtful of him the last one is.

Ullane has her head in hands. None of this is useful, she says.

Isn't it? The olive asks. What about the records of the equipment used when Calcit was being treated?

Ullane, frustrated, though not so much at the other psiionic. Again, not strong enough evidence, they'd say I tampered with them.

Xrumon's not even sure what she's hoping for. For him to go over the entire plan in his head at some point?

Ullane says that just...something. What else can she do. Perhaps she should give up. A...friend told me not to, but what else can I do?

She closes her eyes. "Maybe this is it. I should just give myself over. Take what I have, hope for a lesser sentence."

"Could always call him on the stand. Maybe he'll sweat to death under a cross examination." Xrumon mentions.

She snorts. "He's Grey Mob, you think they'd even let that happen? Doubt he'd ever come to court to begin with, too much of a risk."

"They would if the prosecution requested it." he points out. "It's a lot less suspicious in that case, since it's to seal the deal on you getting shot in the head."

"No, no, ripped by dogs." She reminds him, with wry humor. "Hm. Maybe so."

"In that case, should prepare for court. Don't think there's anything else left for me to do."

Priori actually looks slightly surprised for once and Ullane rolls her eyes.

"You thought different? I knew how this would likely end. I can tell when I'm beaten."

"Gee, aren't you a ray of moonlight. Have you even hired a defense attorney?" Xrumon asks.

She closes her eyes. "Yes. Have one ready."

Priori, raising her eyebrows. "An indigo. How do you know her?"

Ullane merely smiles. "She owes me a favor."

"Also, don't want to hear about my lack of moonlight from a black hole." she says, deadpan as usual, but a smile twitches on her lips.

"Hey, black holes trap light, they don't have a total absence of it.”

"I'll write you an apology in cursive and seal it with wax." The yellowblood says, flippant.

"Win your court case first before bothering."

"Don't you want a last memento of being right about something over me?" She teases.

"Not really, no, that'd just be pathetic to lord over someone right before they get fed to dogs." Xrumon says bluntly.

She laughs softly. "Is that so. Well, I'll need to prepare, then."

The medic leaves Xrumon and Priori alone.

Priori looks at Xrumon and shakes her head.

"You know she can't win. They'll make her look bad, and she already looks bad enough. Why do you pretend otherwise? You of all people know what the courts are like."

"Do not go gentle into that good light, old age should burn and rave at close of night; Rage, rage against the dying of the night," he responds, unperturbed. "Or would you prefer the more common saying? Better to die on your feet, than live on your knees."

"Gerrel told her that." She says, amused.

"Then he knows what it's like to get his head smashed in and have to stand back up too."

"Ullane doesn't think she should stand back up. You know that's half the problem. She wouldn't even be doing anything if she didn't feel it was expected of her. Though, she also feels bad for Calcit."

"That's why I have to remind her to give a shit about trying. I have to drag my skeletal ass around doing shit still, she doesn't get to stop trying just because a court case is a little hard."

Priori laughs. "You two are so funny. Most people think you hate her."

"You insult someone hard enough one time and that's all anyone ever remembers."

"It was several times." She says, amused.

"Case in point."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Who am I to argue with a former lawman."

Her smile indicates she would, but she thinks not doing so is funnier.

"Anyone on the street would, really."

"How lucky I'm not anyone."

"No, you're just you. Who knows everything she shouldn't."

She smiles as usual. "Should, shouldn't. People spend too much worrying about those things. No matter what you think or know, it all comes down to what you actually say and do."

"And what you do is be weird as shit!"

"I like to seek out like company. Which reminds me. I should visit Friday. Should Ullane actually die, she'll certainly show up crying on your doorstep."

"She won't die. She's too fucked up to die. Death only takes the good ones."

"Well, she would hate me spoiling her surprise, so I might as well: she plans not to. For all her mopey talk, she has a plan. When doesn't she. She's Ullane Wistim. Good, bad, very ill-advised; she always has a plan."

"See? Told you. I can know things too, without having to cheat with whatever power you have."

She smiles. "I don't know if it will work. I can't tell the future. But it's quite the preparation she'll be making along with her legal one."

"I'm sure it's something fantastically stupid and horrible, as opposed to something sane like hiring a better attorney."

"Mm. I wouldn't call it stupid. Risky, but it's all things she's worked with before. Horrible, yes, some trolls might consider it so. It won't be pleasant to watch, if she has to fall back on it. I can't say about the attorney, I don't even know her name yet."

"Only her caste."

Elsewhere, the yellowblood speaks on the phone to her lawyer, one Indrid Dynast, and then hangs up the phone.

She releases a breath. She tries, with minimal success, to relax her almost permanently stiff shoulders.

Ullane Wistim looks over the records of the things she has done to herself. Her bones and organs, reinforced. The psiionic enhancer she built into herself recently updated with Friday’s assistance, made even more powerful. Regenerative capules inserted into her body, should they be needed if she is torn at by dogs.

Another boosting serum, ready for before she goes to the trial.

A note, written, to be put out just before she leaves.

It seems a fitting summary of her life.

Science, and regrets.

A woman who believes she deserves to die, yet tries so hard to live. This is the last we'll hear from her for a time. Now the baton passes to her lawyer, miss Dynast.

I hope you'll enjoy the show.

I did.

#more to lose #cloud writes #ullane wistim #hovend jegder #priori poster #xrumon arigah #rage. rage against the dying of the light.#and so ends the investigation part of the plot. the next five parts are all trial bay-bee #and what a trial it shall be

1 note · View note