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asumofwords · 11 months ago

Text

Midpoint - Michael Gavey x Reader

Synopsis: The semester break came along quicker than you thought it would, and you decided to stay on campus for the break to get ahead in your studies. What will happen when you go head-to-head with a certain ill-tempered maths student in a war of pettiness?

Warnings: This fic is 18+, readers discretion is advised. Arguing, pettiness, name calling, low blows, tension, degradation, ripped stockings, finger fucking, rough fucking, fucking in public, p in v, creampie, cum eating.

Word Count: 8.7k

Notes: Hello my angels, Happy New Year, heres to all the filth that will continue to come from the cesspool that is my mind. Thank you all for your patience, I have been so excited to write for Michael, and so I hope you enjoy this as much as I have writing it !! heheh ;) <3

Part 2

There was a soft amber glow that cast over the library, the dark wood warming with the golden light that peaked through the windows, patches of wooden floors illuminated in some spots with coloured lights from stained glass windows.

For the most part, the library was empty bar three other students who had stayed behind for the break, getting ahead on their work for the next semester.

You were one of them, and with the sheer size of the library, you wouldn’t have known there were others inside if you had not seen them when walking down the endless isles of books in search for the ‘British Working Class Movements’ for your history course.

It didn’t take long for you to find it, and by the time you settled into a secluded corner down the back, the sun had already begun to set. You flicked on one of the green and gold table lamps and began to read, periodically taking notes on a page as you went.

It wasn’t that you needed to study ahead, it simply gave you something to do whilst the break droned on, few students having stayed behind making it lonely, but a bit more bearable than making the long trip home.

You loved the library, the stained wood, smell of old books lining the walls, and the quiet of the place was a nice haven to get away from the usual hustle and bustle of college. Everyone always seemed to be in a rush to either their next class or their next party, and although you weren’t a loner per se, you didn’t always feel like being in the constant lights and sounds that came with socialising. And so the library was the one place, besides your dorm, where you could have a nice piece of solitude.

Settling over the page, you gained a steady rhythm. Read about one movement, then write anecdotes as you went, taking the time to pause, re-read, and really absorb the information as much as you could. It was fascinating, and you enjoyed learning as much as you did.

By the third hour of continuous reading and note taking, your hand began to cramp, and so you decided it was time for a short break. You stood up from the desk, stretching your arms above your head, a small sigh escaping your lips as your back cracked and muscles pulled. You twisted your upper body to each side, softly grunting as you felt your back click again and again, sighing loudly as a particular pop took away an ache that had settled between your shoulders. You continued on with your languid stretches, trying to get some of the stiffness out of your body from being hunched over the desk for so long.

You wondered how much more time you should spend writing notes, or whether you could go back to your dorm and laze about on the bed. Luckily for you, you didn’t have a roommate, and were able to make the space feel much like your own. You didn’t have too much furniture, the room not allowing for it, just your essentials and a few trinkets here and there that you had collected. Your real pride and joy however, was a Peace Lily that you had saved from sure death. Now, it sat proudly on your study desk, growing dark green leaves and flowering its soft white flowers.

The idea of going back to your dorm seemed tempting, after all, you didn’t really have to be studying, and you had just recently bought the new Harry Potter book and wished to read some more of it, make a nice cup of tea, sink into your sheets and get lost into a fantasy world.

A soft jangling came from between one of the large book shelves, and soon a man peeked through. His icy blue eyes caught yours and you watched as he assessed you from where he stood, albeit awkwardly, gaze dragging up and down your body.

He was tall and lean, with sandy blonde hair that sat messily atop his head. He had a sharp aquiline nose, and lips that pulled up naturally in its corners.

You recognised him from somewhere, but where you couldn't be sure.

Perhaps he was in the same classes as you?

He continued to stare at you, shirt tucked into his pants, small carabiner attached with a USB dangling from a belt loop, his tongue pushed into his cheek.

“You right?” You asked, shifting on your feet, wondering if he needed something from you.

His lips pursed as he looked at you from down his nose, “Are you?”

You furrowed your brows, “Huh?”

“You've been moaning in the back of the library like a tart.”

You bristled, “I beg your pardon?”

Who the fuck-

“Some of us are trying to study.” His arms were stiff by his sides, and before you had the chance to reply, he spun on his heel, shoes squeaking loudly in the aisles as he marched away.

“What the fuck?” You whispered to yourself, feeling angry and also slightly embarrassed about the encounter.

Had you been making a lot of noise?

You didn’t think so, especially since the library was essentially empty anyway. You had even chosen the furthest corner of the floor as well, tucked away behind rows of books and out of sight.

You sat back down at the desk and tried to continue writing notes, but instead, you found yourself feeling far too self conscious, and wondered if you were even breathing too loudly. But before you got too self critical, you remembered that the library was practically empty, and you had specifically chosen a spot the furthest away from the other three students.

If your stretching and little sighs had disturbed him, he was either hanging around your area, or had the hearing of a bat.

So after about an hours more of study attempts and a half a page more of notes, you decided to call it a night, packing away your belongings before taking the book with you, not bothering to check it out.

As soon as you got back to your dorm, you headed straight to bed, not feeling in the mood to make a cup of tea or even open your new book, no longer looking forward to enjoying yourself and settling in. Instead you laid on your back staring at the ceiling, stewing about how the man in the library had spoken to you, and vowing that if you saw him again, you'd give him a piece of your mind.

And by your luck, you did see him again.

The very next day.

You got to the library around midday, deciding that you weren’t going to do a late night of studying, deciding to have a relaxing night in to pamper yourself, maybe even watch a movie in the common rooms if the tv free, or do as you had intended the night before; a cup of tea and your book, and maybe even some ‘me’ time.

The library, despite all its windows and the suns rays peeping through, was cold, and as soon as you stepped foot into it a chill ran over you. You walked through the endless rows of books, not seeing a soul as you climbed the stairs to the second floor, dust settled into the crooks and corners of the staircases and bannisters, the smell almost overwhelming, until finally, you saw him.

He was sat in the centre of the room at one of the large study desks, multiple books opened around him as he furiously wrote down notes and equations. His head didn’t lift at the sound of your footsteps, too busy in his own little world studying for God knows what, so much so, that it was a wonder that you had even managed to disturb him the day prior, which now only seemed to fuel your anger.

You were never one to back down.

You walked straight to him, toes almost kicking the leg of the table as you looked down at his neat writing, his hand flying across the page in rapid succession, no calculator in sight despite the lengthiness of the equations.

It was impressive, you noted begrudgingly, the way he worked so swiftly, and just was you were about to gain his attention, he spoke to you, hand not once slowing as he worked.

“What do you want?”

It wasn’t rude, just as it wasn’t polite. If anything, it was abrasive, like the rough cobblestones outside, and not once did he look up at you.

It caught you off guard.

Your mouth opened and shut as you tried to think of something to say.

Was it really worth being hot headed and saying something the day after?

Would he even remember?

Or would you be embarrassing yourself further?

Ultimately you gave up, deciding that there was no point to saying anything anymore, sighing in resignation as you walked around the length of the table continuing to yours.

You got about three steps away before he spoke again.

“Remember that you’re in the library this time.”

You spun, staring daggers into the back of his head, hand gripping the strap of your bag, “What the fuck is your problem?” Your chest heaved in anger, waiting for him to turn around or answer you, but he didn’t.

The sandy haired man continued his endless equations, leaving you standing behind him as though you had spoken to a ghost. It was maddening, the rush of your blood loud in your ears drowning out the steady scratch of his pencil.

How dare he?

He was just like all the others, like every other man on campus who felt they could speak however they like at any woman as though you were beneath them.

You stood there for what felt like minutes, but was mere seconds.

Realising that you weren’t to get an answer from him, you continued on your way to your secluded little table, stomping through the aisles, your footsteps echoing loudly in the space on the wooden floor.

When you got to the table, you all but threw your bag down, the heavy textbook slamming onto the wooden surface, making a large bang.

Never in your life had you been so agitated, ripping the chair away from the desk, letting the legs scrape on the mahogany floor.

One after the other, you yanked your books out of your bag, your notebook and pens, throwing them onto the table without a care. You could feel the heat of your anger creeping up your neck and into your face, and despite your attempts to calm yourself by studying, you ended up just re-reading the same paragraph over and over again, not once absorbing it.

By the time you decided to give up, the sun had begun to set, and so you hastily scrambled to shove your things back into your bag, not even bothering to tuck your chair in softly, throwing it against the desk and storming out the way you came.

He was still in his regular spot when you stalked past him, his head turned down as he read through his notes, multiple empty chocolate wrappersw spread across the table.

“Fucking asshole.” You muttered as you walked past him, not bothering to spare him a second glance as you huffed and stormed away, hoping to find some peace in your dorm.

When you got to your dorm, you were so hungry that you began to feel sick. Realising that in your anger you had forgotten to eat, you wandered down to the pub not far from campus and got a cheap little meal, eating quietly in the corner, a telly playing a soccer game on the screen in the back.

There weren't many patrons that night, but you could hear the pool table being used in the distance, the loud clacking of the balls being sunk, drowning out the soft sound of the telly. The pub stunk of stale beer and cigarettes, ring stains on all the wooden surfaces from sweating glasses.

It was still early when you finished, and so you made the decision to check out the commons and see if a tv was free.

The night air was cold as you walked back to your dorm, your teeth chattering in your skull as you sped walked, wrapping your arms around yourself to get back into the warmth of the old building. Lights illuminated the old stone walls in a yellow light, casting shadows on the cobblestones and bare trees around you.

It would have been spooky if you weren’t used to it by now, and could understand how first years would become spooked at night alone, walking through the courtyards.

As you made your way towards the common room in your building, you couldn’t help but think about the man in the library. His sandy hair, blue eyes, sharp features and sharper mouth. Who needed a heater when you had this man to fire you up? You could almost hear his grating tone as he mocked you, his glasses shining in the library as he looked down his nose at you.

He made you feel small, unwanted. But you had worked hard to get into Oxford, and you, whether he liked it or not, had earned your place.

It wasn’t unlike the men you already knew in STEM to be somewhat assholes, especially towards women or any degrees they deemed ‘unfit’ or ‘unworthy’. You had heard many scoffs and sneers at the Arts students, or English Literature kids, especially if it was women, from the STEM boys who seemed to hoard together like a bunch of flies. Or better yet, like a Rat King, unable to break the connection between each other despite how much they fought it.

It was, to follow the pun, a rat race.

The hall was dark as you walked to the commons, but from the window of the door, you saw the tale tell sign of the telly being on. You wondered momentarily if it was anyone you knew that had stayed back, perhaps one of the girls.

Maybe you could settle down with them and watch whatever mind melting soap opera was on, and lull yourself into a stupor.

The prospect of talking to someone almost dissolved your sour mood, and by the time you opened the door, peering into the flickering light illuminated room, a small smile had begun to pull at your lips.

But that smile was short lived as your eyes met a pair of pale blue ones.

You watched as his lips pulled down in recognition of you, his head turning to look back at the telly. Your heart began to race in your chest again, the door clicking shut behind you, the soft sound of Doctor Who’s theme song filling the room, the screen reflecting off of his rectangular lenses.

It didn’t help that the small drinks you had at the pub seemed to ignite your previous disdain for the man, as well as dampening your, for a lack of a better word, cognition.

In that moment, you were at a loss of what to do. You wanted to watch tv, but the idea of being anywhere near him infuriated you. Yet, at the same time, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction by leaving, indicating to him that you had given up, and that he had won.

“You going to stand there all night?” He teased cruelly, eyes not once turning back to you, locked on David Tenant as he ran through an abandoned warehouse.

You bristled, teeth grinding down against each other as you stormed past him, “Fuck you.” You dropped down onto the cushion on the other end of the couch.

From the corner of your eye, you could see his lips purse slightly, obviously hearing you.

No matter how much you tried, you could not get comfortable on the couch, and it wasn’t because the couch had a natural groove from the many people who sat in it, or the obvious stains on the covers and arms, some recognisable, others dubious, nor the permeating cigarette smell that emanated from deep within the foam, but rather because he sat all too comfortable beside you, watching a show you wished you could watch alone.

You shifted against the arm again for the umpteenth, huffing softly in the room. Your ass had fallen asleep because you sat ramrod straight and refused to relax, tucking your legs beneath you not leaning back. No matter what you did, you could not settle, body gearing up for a fight.

When you shifted again, it seemed to pull his attention away from David Tenants doctor.

“You gonna keep huffing in the corner like a baby?”

Your already fragile thread of patience snapped.

“What the fuck is your problem? Have I done something to you? I don’t even know who you are.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him. The man sneered, leaning towards you on the couch, “My problem is vapid little cunts like you. Getting by on mummy and daddy’s money whilst the rest of us have to work to stay here. You just party and fuck each other like rats.” His cold eyes razed up and down your body, watching as your face morphed from anger to offence, and then, to rage.

You shot up from your seat, moving to stand over him as he looked up at you, face barely containing his hatred.

“I don’t have ‘mummy’s and daddy’s money’, I’m here because I worked hard to be here.” You hissed, hands clenched into fists at your sides, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know you’re friends with Felix Catton and every other vapid, useless cunt that hangs off of his every breath.” His voice lowered, hatred simmering behind his light illuminated glasses.

Your brows furrowed, “Felix and I have a class together. Assigned seating. We walk there together. If-” You straightened, looking down at him before it hit you.

A laugh of disbelief flew from your lips, and soon enough the cocksure anger melted away from his sharp features, replaced by confusion.

“Wow.” You huffed, a bitter laugh filling the air, “You’re jealous.” His eyes narrowed on you, “You’re jealous of Felix.” You watched as his mouth snapped open, “Maybe if you weren’t so-“

“-I’m not fucking jealous of those nobodies.”

Snorting, you shook your head, “Nobodies… Yet people know their name. I don’t even know who you are.”

You waited for him to give you his name, to finally tell you who this infuriating man was, the credits of Doctor Who playing in the background as you stared at each other. Your chest heaved, but all you felt looking down at him was irritation.

“Your anger is misdirected." You growled, "I thought you would be smarter than that.”

The man's jaw ticked, “I thought you didn’t know who I was.”

“I don’t.”

You turned away, suddenly drained from the whole interaction. You didn’t bother to turn back and look at him, or even say another word. You wanted to go to bed, no, needed to go to bed and get away from the man on the couch before you tore your hair out.

As you opened the common room door, his voice called out to you.

“Y/n L/n.”

The way he said your name sent goosebumps rising on your skin, each syllable pronounced slowly, as though he was savouring your name on the tip of his tongue. Your hand paused on the door as you pushed it open, looking back at him.

“And who are you?”

Before he could answer, you left, slamming the door shut behind you. You marched straight back to your room, hands in such tight fists that your nails left half crescent moons in the flesh of your palms.

You lay awake most of the evening staring at the ceiling with the interaction on your mind.

He knew you by name, even thought you were friends with Felix, and whilst you weren’t not friendly with him, you wouldn’t say you were closely acquainted. You drank at the same parties sometimes or saw him down at the pub, but the only one-on-one time you had with him was in class.

Whoever this man was, and whoever he thought you were, he was wrong. And now he was going to regret it.

You knew he would be there, in fact you betted on it, getting up extra early to go to the library to do the one thing you planned on doing that day.

Piss him off.

If there was one thing that men hate the most in the world, it was not being in control, and that was doubled if it was with a woman.

You sat at the table he always did, spreading your textbooks and papers, pens, notes, snacks, water bottle, and even IPod Nano on its surface. You had brought extra things with you today in your bag to spread across the table, some things not even needed to study, but used to take up more space and soil his little territory.

The sun had barely even risen by the time you laid it all out, but you knew it would all be worth it.

And it was, because not even fifteen minutes later, he arrived to the sight of you at his desk, humming as you looked at your notes.

His feet stopped not too far from your (his) table, watching as you met his gaze, devoid of emotion. You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling, watching as he clenched his teeth in irritation.

He was almost shaking with anger.

Got you.

You kept the image of innocence, looking back down at your notes as you tapped your pen against the tables surface loudly. You could see his fists clenching in your periphery at his side, his pale green button up shirt with long beige pants shifting side to side as he stood angrily watching you.

“What are you doing?” The blonde’s voice cut through the quiet of the library, irritation evident in his tone.

You didn’t bother to look up, pen still clicking rhythmically against the table, “Hm?”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?”

Placing the pen on your page delicately, you looked up, “Pardon?”

The mans cheeks flushed an angry red as he stared down at you, lips pulling into a tight line, “Whatever you think-“

“-I’m sorry,” You interrupted him, leaning forward to look up into his eyes sweetly, “Do I know you?”

The man leant forward and sneered, “Gavey.”

“Gavey?” You titled your head, biting your lip softly in thought.

Why did that name sound so familiar?

“Yes.” He grit through his teeth, looking down at your spread notes and gear.

Then it came to you.

“Gavey! Michael Gavey!” You beamed up at him, leaning slightly forward on the desk.

Now you knew why he was so familiar.

“You’re the maths genius.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Anyone who had heard about Michael Gavey knew about his stellar intellect when it came to maths, and unfortunately for him, they also knew about his little antisocial outbursts, “You yelled at Oliver on O week.”

You watched with delight as the anger fell momentarily from his face, and embarrassment replaced it. You leant further forward, putting both elbows on the table as you rested your chin on your hands, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Is it true then? You can do any sum just in your head?”

If it was true, he needed to be studied by a team of scientists.

And maybe a behavioural therapist.

Michael stood taller, proud to have been recognised for this part of him as he watched you bat your eyelashes at him. His shoulders rolled back, eyes glimmering with determination behind his glasses.

Men were so easy.

You just stroke their ego a little and their guard comes down immediately.

“Ask me.” His voice was soft, confident, waiting on bated breath to show off his born skill.

You smiled, “Alright. Seven-hundred-and-eighty-nine multiplied by six-hundred-and-fifty-four.”

Without missing a beat, “Five-hundred-and-sixteen-thousand-and-six.”

“Divided by twelve.”

“Forty-three-thousand point five.”

“Times nine.”

“Three-hundred-and-eighty-seven-thousand-and-four point five.”

You leant back in your chair watching him. It was impressive, and if he wasn’t such a prick, you would have openly praised him. But you didn’t have it in you in that moment to give him anything but a lengthy stare, using the time to get a good look at his face without the sneer.

He was handsome, a long face framed nicely by his ‘devil may care’ hair. You wondered if he even bothered to brush it in the morning. The longer you looked at him the more you could see how his sharp features and soft lips would in fact get him the attention he so desperately craved, if only he wasn’t as insufferable as he was. In fact, the more you thought about it, if things had been different, perhaps you would have pursued him, maybe even asked him out for a drink.

Instead, he had made an enemy for himself, and being petty at this point was a hobby for you that you took great time and pleasure in doing, especially if it was for assholes who made the first move unwarranted.

“Hm.” You tapped your pen against the table, “How do I know it’s correct and you're not just making it up?”

This seemed to anger Gavey.

“I’m not making it up. I do the sums,” He narrowed his eyes, “In my head.”

“I don’t have a calculator to confirm this. For all I know, you could be lying.”

The anger was back, “I’m not lying. I’m never wrong.”

“Sure.”

“I’m a genius.”

“Uh huh.”

Then came the vitriol, his shoulders tensed in rage, “What would you know anything about maths? You’re a History and Philosophy major.” Michael scoffed, seeming to think that his disdain for your degree would upset you in the slightest.

You sighed loudly, pulling the earphones from your Ipod to begin putting them in your ears. You looked at him pointedly, putting a sad little smile onto your lips.

Show time.

“It’s a shame, you know.” You said sadly.

“What?” Michael responded, over-eagerly.

The earphones sat in your ears and you scrolled down to a song you wanted, letting the music begin to play loudly just to piss him off, the noise turned up high enough for him to hear the lyrics. You didn't show it, but it was too loud, and most certainly hurt your ears, yet it was worth it to see his nose scrunch up.

“That you’re a snob.” Your voice rose over the music in your ears, unable to hear anything but the loud bass line that bounced in your head, “You’re actually cute when you’re not sneering at me.” You let your eyes drop back to your page, ignoring his presence as you strummed the pen loudly against the wood of the desk, unable to hear if he responded, but also not bothered to hear him. You had ended the conversation just the way you wanted.

And it would drive him nuts.

What you hadn’t seen was his mouth opening and shutting multiple times as a blush spread across his cheeks. He stood idly by, utterly unable to produce a single word or sound bar clearing his throat. Michael disappeared from your periphery as he left to sit at the table at the end, dropping into his seat to begin his studies.

But it proved to be fruitless, because as he attempted to settle into the endless stream of equations, all he could hear behind him was the tinny sound of your music blasting from your earphones and the steady grating tap of your pen.

He tried, in vein, for over an hour to focus, before giving up and storming out of the library. It was only then when you lifted your head, smiling at his retreating figure in triumph.

I win.

Not a word had been written on your page, and not a thing had been absorbed in your head. You lowered the volume of your music, a ringing settling into your ears, before packing up your things to go back to your dorm, deciding that a job well done was deserving of some respite, and in your good mood you would actually read your book.

You spent the rest of your day and better part of your evening reading, lounging, and snacking on some chips as you snuggled into your sheets.

Being the creature of habit that you were, you ended your triumphant day going to the pub to have another cheap meal and a drink or two, spending a considerable amount of the evening chatting up another student who had also stayed behind during the break.

He was cute, and funny, and although he hinted more than once that he would like to continue your evening back in either one of your dorms, you didn’t have the energy to entertain a potentially dull night of barely there pleasure.

He smiled too wide and had too much confidence to really know what he was doing, and you felt immediately that he would be the type to get his and leave you high and dry. So you parted, promising emptily to get another pint together soon enough, though you knew it wasn’t your stellar verbal company that he wanted.

Sinking into bed that evening was an easy and pleasurable experience. You crawled into your sheets, smile on your face and victory on your tongue. Your tit-for-tat was successful, and now you could finally just focus on your work, and not the sandy haired Michael Gavey who seemed to invade your every thought.

The sun trickled through the curtains by your bed, a warm stream of light hitting your face. You woke with a stretch, body slowly waking up with the day.

You didn’t have much planned after yesterdays success, and didn’t have a want to do much at all, but there was only so much lounging in bed one could do over the many weeks of break, so you decided to go back to the library, at least for an hour to make up for yesterdays losses (despite the personal win).

You looked around your room and settled on a skirt and some tights with a turtle neck sweater, unable to find anything else as a pile of dirty clothes had slowly accumulated in the corner. You made a note to yourself to take it to the laundromat later with some coins and your book.

The walk to the library was the same monotonous one as it always was. The same stone walls, the same dark wooden detailing and floor, the occasional beautiful stained glass window, and the ever strange silence of an empty college. There was a light layer of frost on the grass outside, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it would snow. The trees were bare except for a handful of orange and brown leaves, hanging on for dear life, or perhaps, holding on with dead fingers.

Rigor mortus of the petiole.

The steps creaked beneath your feet as you made your way up to your usual spot, the library cold as it always was, causing you to wish you had brought a warmer jacket with you. When you got to the landing, you expected to see him, sandy hair, glasses slipping down his sharp nose, hunched over the same textbook as he wrote out his equations with dizzying speed, but the tables were empty, and the aisles were barren, and all that was in the library was you.

Briefly you wondered for a moment if something has happened to him. Had he gotten sick? Too ill to crawl out of bed, laying in his sheets with a fever and no one to comfort him?

You frowned at the thought.

Why did you care?

His ego was likely too bruised to show his face, and was hidden in another alcove or other smaller library somewhere else, or perhaps even in his room.

Maybe he even had friends, and decided to spend the day with them, likely another student in STEM.

You could have sworn you saw him and Oliver Quick in the pub one night together.

You walked past his empty table and continued down the end to where your little nook was, grazing your fingers along the spines of the books as you went. Each ridge another spine, each spine another thousand upon thousand of words that had been read, dissected, and rewritten by many a student. You liked to think about how many hands had touched the pages, how many eyes had skimmed the words, how many bags, beds, tables, couches, cars or trains they had been in over the years, and how many times you had read them, or held them in the same spot.

You emerged from the isles to your nook.

It was not what you had expected that morning.

Certainly not what you had expected any morning come to think of it, but even so, your steps halted and your heart began to quicken, anger slowing creeping up your neck, heating your face.

He was sat at your table.

Your table.

His glasses had slid down almost to the tip of his nose, a long slender finger daintily pushing them back up to the bridge, lips pouted in their natural pout as his hand flew about his notes, writing equation after equation in a speed that would intimidate even Einstein. Michaels hair was disheveled, as though he had run his hand through it multiple times, as he contemplated the pros and cons of sitting there.

He must have landed on the pros.

“What are you doing.” You bit out, an irritating sense of dejavu seeping into your bones.

Michael didn’t look up at you, your feet almost pushing through the floor, anger rooting you in place.

“Hm?” Came his noncommittal reply.

It set you off.

“You’re in my seat.” You hissed, swiftly stepping towards him.

The light from the window beside him cast shadows across half his face as he looked up at you, he sucked his teeth loudly, “Your seat?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” His head dipped back down to his notes, his blue eyes looking up at you from under his lashes as his hand continued to write, “This is a public library. It’s a public seat.”

You stormed forward dumping your bag atop his hand, his pencil scraping across his notes on the paper, “You know exactly what I mean.”

His jaw ticked, steely blue eyes flicking to where you dumped your heavy bag atop his notes and own text book.

“I’m sorry, I’m not tutoring on break.” His tone all too demeaning as he over pronounced each word.

Your hands slammed down onto the desk as you leant forward towards his face, “I don’t need a tutor and you know it, you miserable little cunt.” Anger boiled inside of you, building and building, ready to burst.

Michael bristled, “Who the f-“

“-Oh, fuck you, Michael. You’re a miserable piece of shit, thinking you’re above everybody else, sneering at anyone who dares to be happy. I’ve seen you, always sulking about in the shadows because no one can stand to be around you.”

The silence was almost deafening.

Oh God.

That was a low blow.

You had taken it too far.

You swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling very guilty, “Michael,” You started, “That was-“

A pale hand lifted in front of your face, the man standing almost near silently in front of you. He went from below you, to towering above in a split second, his sheer size double your own. He stared down his sharp nose at you with a look of contempt, the rage behind his eyes flickering with barely held restraint.

“Do you want to know what I think?” His voice was low, lower than you had ever heard it go, emotion almost drained entirely from it except an icy edge which sent the hairs on the back of your neck on end.

You stayed silent, watching as he stepped away from the desk, chair scraping on the wood to come towards you slowly, your heart beating like a drum behind your ribs.

Though you could step back, his eyes kept you glued to where you were, head craned up to look at him as he came closer, the tension in his jaw growing with every passing second.

It was unnerving, and everything within told you to run, but something made you stay.

Call it guilt.

Or intrigue.

His hand dropped to his side, slow, calculated steps coming closer, each one as silent as the next as his cheek twitched whilst looking you over.

“I think,” He began, a foot away from you, voice low, “That you’re just desperate enough to accept the scraps that they give you, because you fear if you don’t,” Another step, taking him toe-to-toe with you, “That you’ll be a nobody like me.”

Your mouth became dry, lips slightly parted as a tinge of hurt spread through your chest.

You shook your head faintly, “I don’t think you’re a nobody.”

A brow lifted, “You called me a nobody.”

“I was wrong.”

“Wrong because it was hurtful? Or wrong because you have more in common with me than you do with them.”

You shook your head, “Why is it always about them?”

“It is always,” He sneered, “About them. I have watched you take what little you can get from them like a beggar. Talking to Felix in the hallways, doing his homework for him, smiling at him like a dolt.”

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“I’ve seen you.” His shoe bumped against yours as he leant forward, “You’re nothing to them. How long was it before they even learnt your name?”

“Stop it.” You whispered, feeling tears prickle in your eyes.

Michaels head tilted, “Why? It’s the truth.”

“It’s not.”

The sandy haired man clicked his tongue at you, head tilting, “You and I both know that’s not the truth, is it? What did Farleigh call you again?”

A lone tear fell down your cheek, leaving a wet track in its path. Your lip wobbled as you tried to keep your composure.

You didn’t know how he knew.

You didn’t know how he could have known what Farleigh had said to you that night, drinking in the pub together.

You hadn’t even meant to join them, but their table grew bigger and bigger until it swallowed your own and soon enough they were buying you shots. It was never a regular thing, you were never quite in the circle, but not quite out of it either. More-so lingering in the nothingness of neither here nor there.

Michael looked at you pityingly, not in a way where he held empathy for you because of it, but in a way where he pitied you for being the way you were. It was demeaning. Cold.

Detached.

“Parvenu.” His lips pronounced each syllable slowly, darkly, and it made you ache.

Another tear fell as you took a sharp intake of breath, sniffling roughly.

Shame built inside of you.

It was humiliating to relive that moment, let alone with Michael. And now that you knew he had witnessed or heard it, you wondered who else may have been there to hear Farleigh’s degrading comment and snort of a laugh followed. The way he would raise his brows at you the rest of the night as if to say ‘See? You don’t belong here, and we can all see it’, ‘We let you here because we can’.

“I don’t understand-“

Michael interrupted you, "-You let them walk all over you, and for what? Parties and accolades?” The corners of his lips turned downwards, “They don’t even respect you. Do they know that you’ve stayed behind on break alone? Do you think they’ll think of you in their mansions? Do you think Felix would ever-“

“-You talk about them as if they’re irredeemable, but they’ve been far nicer to me than you have.” Another tear fell, and your stomach tied itself in knots.

The anger seemed to simmer in his eyes, “They don’t deserve you.”

Your brows pulled down in confusion, “What?”

“You let them use you, chasing after their fleeting affections. It’s pathetic.”

Anger began to simmer inside of you, “Pathetic? You know what’s pathetic?” You leaned up on your toes, “The fact that you have so clearly been watching me, and everything that I do, and not once have you tried to be my friend. Do you know what’s pathetic?” Your voice began to rise, heat inside of you rising with it, “Your anger and hatred of them clearly stems from jealously and embarrassment because they would never talk to-“

Your eyes widened in shock, his lips crashing against yours as he yanked you forward, hand at the back of your head pulling you in tightly. You were so in shock, you didn’t know what to do, standing stiffly in his arms as the other circled your waist and pulled you against him.

It only took a second for your brain to come to with what was happening, your eyes sliding shut as you kissed him back roughly, all teeth and vitriol as you bit the soft flesh of his lips roughly. He hissed, pulling you closer, your feet stumbling against his as he backed you towards the wall of books beside the desk.

Your spine hit the shelf roughly as he shoved you back, both of you panting before you grabbed his shirt angrily, yanking him back towards you. You were so furious, so almost feral that you needed this more than you would have thought.

There was something about him, something about him that made you want to pull your hair out and also sit on his face to silence him.

His kisses weren’t skilled, but they were filled with passion as his teeth clashed against yours, a fight for dominance ensuing as you let a hand slide up into his hair and pull. A grunt came from deep within his chest as you yanked at the roots cruelly, hoping it would hurt him. Heat built in your gut rapidly, the need for him growing stronger with each passing second.

The hand on your waist slid down further, pulling up your skirt as his fingers pressed against your clothed core. You gasped into his mouth, hips thrusting forward from the pressure. With the other hand disappearing from the back of your head, it met the other between your legs, hooking into the gusset of your tights before you heard a loud rip, cold air immediately hitting your core.

You gasped loudly, Michael taking advantage as he slid his tongue into your mouth, flicking it upwards against the back of your teeth. He tasted faintly like chocolate, and it was a taste that you didn’t mind at all. His fingers immediately sought out your centre, sliding impatiently between your folds to gather the wetness from your entrance.

His movements were sloppy, yet focused, drawing it up to your clit as he rubbed fierce circles into it that bordered on painful. You nipped his bottom lip harshly again, yanking his head back and away from you to look at his face as two long digits circled your entrance.

The pupils of his eyes were enlarged, almost swallowing the blue of his iris whole. His cheeks were flushed a dusty pink, and lips a deep red after your bites. The glasses upon his face were slightly skewed and lightly fogged, the hair atop his head sticking up in different directions from your rough handling. You didn’t even get to observe him for longer before he roughly shoved the two fingers inside.

“Fuck.” You hissed, back arching towards him, shoulders roughly pushing into the bookshelf.

A mean smirk pulled on his lips as he crooked his fingers against the front of your walls, quickly thrusting his hand in and out with dizzying speed. Your breath caught in your throat, brows pulled down as you looked at him, low whine falling from your lips.

“So wet already.” Michael teased, thumb lightly brushing your pearl, a spark of intense pleasure shooting up you.

You pulled his head back towards you, moaning into his mouth as he continued to fuck you with his fingers, the sound of your arousal loud in the both of your ears. Michael pulled up one of your legs, hooking it around his hip, the cold metal of his carabiner pressing sharply into your inner thigh. Pleasure began to wind tightly in your gut, his long fingers reaching parts of you, your own couldn’t.

Panting against his mouth, your hand flew behind you to grip one of the wooden shelves, elbow bumping against the spines of the books.

His pace never once faltered, all those hours of quick equations all day boosting his hand strength and stamina. You were surprised that he even knew what he was doing, but the questions floated aimlessly in the back of your mind, not quite sticking.

Your nails dug into the wood of the shelf, hand falling from his hair to his shoulder as your head fell backwards against the shelf, your peak barreling towards you.

“S’close. Please.” You whined, rolling your hips into his hand.

A mean laugh broke your peace, his fingers pulling out of you sharply, preventing you from reaching your release. Your eyes flew open, brows furrowed in frustration as you looked at him, smug smirk on his lips as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, sucking on the arousal soaked digits.

You moaned weakly looking at him as he did it, hips rolling towards him in an attempt to get him to touch you again. Michael lips pouted at you as he pulled his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop.

“Touch me.” You breathed, pulling him towards you with your leg, the zipper of his cargo pants pressing against you sharply. You sighed, rubbing your centre against his pants, a wet patch no doubt beginning to stain the front of them.

“So desperate.” He cooed at you, your core clenching at his words as your eyes fluttered.

The hand that had been inside of you quickly made its way to the front of his pants, the other joining as he hastily undid his belt, not pulling it through the loops, followed by his button and zipper. Michael hastily reached into his pants and pulled out his hardened length, the tip pink and weeping, veins crawling up the sides.

You swallowed thickly as you looked down.

Oh shit.

Michael was very well endowed.

You didn’t know what shocked you more, the fact that he had such a sizeable cock, or how he thrust it up into you without warning. The stretch was bordering painful and you cried out loudly, Michaels hand slapping across your mouth to stifle the sound.

“Quiet.” He hissed, pushing in to the hilt, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix. Your eyes screwed shut as you whined into his palm, your walls struggling to accommodate him as he slowly pulled out, each vein and ridge catching on your inner walls deliciously.

The slow heat inside of you began to build once more.

Michael thrust into you sharply, your head banging against the back of the shelves as he kept his hand against your mouth, the other holding your hip against him. He set a brutal pace, fucking into your slick walls without abandon as he chased his own pleasure, punching the air out of your chest.

“Fuck.” He hissed, forehead pressing against your own as he looked down to where you were joined, the leg you stood on stretched on your tippy toe to meet his height as he fucked you, “Your cunt is fucking tight.”

“Mmm.” You moaned, eyes slipping shut as the coil within your gut began to wind rapidly, each brutal thrust stretching you wide against him with painful pleasure.

“You gonna cum?” He panted, his eyes shutting behind his glasses that slid down his nose, “Can feel you squeezing my cock. Fuck.”

You nodded desperately beneath his hand, eyes opening to meet his steely gaze as he pulled his head back to watch you, the book shelf creaking as he fucked you against it.

You were so close, so fucking close.

“Go on.” He commanded, “Cum on my cock like a little slut.”

Your core clenched around him, blinding white pleasure coursing through you as you came, his hand falling from your mouth as you moaned loudly, the noise echoing in the library.

“Shit, fuck. I’m gonna-“ Michael’s thrusts stuttered as a long moan burst from his lips, the warmth of his cum filling you.

You whined, hands gripping his hair as you crashed your lips against his, kissing him lazily as you both panted, his cock throbbing inside of you as your walls squeezed every last drop from him.

Michael pushed as deep as he could go, the warmth of his cum beginning to leak around the base and down your thighs as you pulsed around him. Your mind was blank, fuzzy warmth spreading through your limbs in a soporific manner. He broke away from the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked down at you, glasses slightly foggy.

You searched his eyes and his face before a smile cracked on your lips. Michael mirrored it with a lopsided grin, huffing as he breathed out deeply.

Feeling a burst of confidence, you let a hand brush between your legs, swiping some of his cum that had dripped onto your thigh up to your mouth. You licked it off your finger slowly, opening your mouth to let him see the mess on your tongue before swallowing.

Michael’s adams apple bobbed, his cock twitching inside of you, “Fucking hell.”

You huffed another laugh, leaning forward to kiss him again, sliding your tongue into his mouth so he could taste himself as well as you on his tongue. He hummed loudly, dropping your leg to cradle your head in his hands.

When you broke away once more, you couldn’t help but notice the glaringly obvious.

Michael Gavey just fucked you in the library.

His tongue wet his lips as he looked at you, “Was that good?” A beat, “For you?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, “You?”

“Yeah.”

Silence began to stretch between the two of you before you shifted your hips, Gavey took the hint and slowly slid from your walls, causing you to whimper from the overstimulation. He tucked himself into his pants as you righted yourself, looking down at the gaping hole in the gusset of your tights.

“Well this will be an interesting walk home.” You mused, a hum of a laugh tickling the back of your throat.

Michael snorted, “Made quite the mess.”

“You did.”

Michael smirked, “It wasn’t all me now. I can’t take all the blame.”

You let your skirt drop, smoothing it down as you stepped away from the bookcase, looking back up at him.

“I suppose not. There was effort on both ends here.”

“There was.”

You nibbled at your lip, the unspoken words just at the tip of your tongue, “Michael-“

“-27. We’re in the same block.” His eyes searched yours.

Room 27? Why-

“Did you want to get a drink?” Michael blurted, shifting on his feet awkwardly as though you hadn't just fought and angrily fucked against a bookshelf.

You looked at him closely. There was no sign of insincerity in his eyes.

He was offering an olive branch.

You let a smile wash over your face, enjoying how his own came to match it.

“Sure."

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to any tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! <3

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brummiereader · 5 months ago

Text

MASTERLIST PREVIOUS PART

Uptown Girl (Part Two)

Summary: As the war of words, and destruction of inanimate objects continues between you and the blue eyed squatter in your home, Mr Thomas Shelby. You are pulled back into reality from the distraction of his presence and quickly reminded of your impending, dreaded nuptials when your fiance pays you a visit. But with the Birmingham gangsters observing eyes never missing a thing. What will he make of your husband to be's unruly hand when he sees the true nature of your relationship, and that of the man you're set to marry?

Warnings: Language, angst, manipulation, domestic violence, use of one racial slur

Word Count: 4332

Authors Note: £17,000 British sterling pound in 1924, is worth £850,000 in todays value.

" Thank you for coming on such short notice, Mr Abbott" you graciously greeted the piano tuner as you walked him to the main living area, crossing your arms in an attempt to put a stop to your fidgeting hands, and the relentless twiddling of your anxious fingers. How on earth were you going to explain this one? you smiled nervously to the portly man sporting an impressive moustache. It's perfectly curled, whiskery ends reaching the very tops of his wind-chapped cheeks.

After the previous days' eventful morning and a much warranted reminder that you were in fact, living with a gun-welding gangster. Tommy, your unwelcome housemate, single handedly took it upon himself to move your bullet-ridden grand piano into the living room and away from the vicinity of his quarters and ringing ears.

And with one morning of your musical skills having been missed, you were keen to reset the alarm for the following day. Or so, that's what you thought.

" What seems to be the problem then, Miss?" the man that had once sold you the precious musical instrument queried. His passion for his craft rarely seeing him leave his workshop where he preferred the sound of the ivory keys more than any human voice.

" Oh, just a small one" you replied, pushing the wooden door open. "A missing key" you found a way around to describe the charred bullet hole in the non existent note of B. B for bastard, you thought to yourself and the vandal that had destroyed it as your brow furrowed in confusion at the renowned craftsman who was now wide-eyed as you both stepped into the room.

"Oh, well this...this..." words stumped you as you turned your head to see your once glossy piano now in a piled heap of wood in the middle of the room. The hatchet used for it's barbaric destruction embedded at the very point of its woody mountain.

" Excuse me, for just, one moment" you forced a smile through the fury rapidly bubbling under your skin as you quickly turned on your heel, leaving the horrified pianist alone with the piano he had poured his love, sweat and tears into crafting as he pitifully pressed his finger down onto the only remaining chiming key of C. C for...

"Mr Shelby!" you shouted marching through the corridors in search of the only person capable of committing such a monstrosity as you came to a stop in front of the office door. Your learnt manners quickly escaping you when you stormed through without the polite formalities a lady such as yourself would possess, having had a governess for the majority of your childhood years.

"Mr Shelby!" You repeated, flying pass the opening door to see the squatters sleeves rolled up, a peak of chest hair visible through the open top button of his collared shirt your flustered stare had witnessed twice in already twenty-four hours. Hardly gentlemanly, you scoffed to yourself as your heated cheeks darted away from his causal choice of attire.

" On the mantel", Tommy said mid conversation, looking up from the papers between his fingers to the young worker with a brassy ornament in his hand.

"Mr..."

" No Beethoven this morning, eh?" He stopped you as he leant back into his leather chair with a satisfied smirk etched on his lips as you strutted forward, and the young employee made a swift exit. "Or maybe some, Mozart?" His lips tightened into a smile as he subtly cocked his head to the side, reaching for a much needed drag of a cigarette the stress of your presence gave him.

" What is all this?" you looked around the room, forgetting your barrage of accusations when your eyes widened at the many various objects he had added to your father's office to replace the ones you had hoarded.

" Oh, no, no, no. This won't do, this won't do one bit!" you said in horror, piling them into your arms whilst you made your way around the room as Tommy's scrunched brow followed you until you came to a stop in front of him. " This is my office you've just come in and commandeered. And my piano, you..."

" I think you mean my piano. In my living room. In my house, no?" Tommy corrected you as he lit a cigarette, his squinting eyes skimming over your figure hugging dress. You weren't exactly making it easy for him to look away. To ignore your bossy presence, he thought to himself as his blue-eyed stare lingered longer than intended before he snapped himself away from his wandering eyes and stood up, adjusting his tailored waistcoat.

" Look, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot" he said, playing the peace maker in attempt to replace the ferocious frown boring into him.

"The wrong foot?" You scoffed, shaking your head as he perched himself casually on the edge of the oak desk in front of you, the playful glint in his eyes toying with you through the cloud of smoke seeping from the rolled cylinder of tobacco between his fingers. " We got off on the wrong foot, the moment your foot stepped into my house and you shot, then destroyed my piano"

" Right. So those early wake up calls weren't to piss me off then? Drive me out, eh?" he cocked a brow as his tongue ran across his bottom lip, the slappable smile now teasingly glaring back at you, further irritating you.

"I...I"

"Yes, Y/N?" His brows raised, waiting for the smart response he knew your brain was trying to scramble together as he continued to keep you on a first name basis.

" I..." You stopped yourself, before you blurted something you would later berate your flustered brain for saying.

"Just so you're aware, Mr Shelby. I happen to play the violin too" you said as you wittiness finally caught up with the anger demanding all the free space in your head. "And poorly" you finished, stealing the smugness sitting on his teasing smirk as you quirked a brow. His widening eyes coming to the quick realisation that if he was going to get even an ounce of sleep to fill his notorious lack in slumber, there would need to be an urgent manhunt for the destruction of every musical instrument you possessed.

" Have at it, love" Tommy's heavy footing stomped after you as you turned for the door, his casual response hiding the protruding bone of irritation in his clenching jaw. " Last bit of fun until you're sent off to marry, eh?" He delivered the damning reminder of your predicament hot on your heels as your head snapped back to see him stood directly behind you, watching your satisfied smile drain.

" Cal Astor, no?" Tommy pointed to you, his cigarette resting loosely between the callous pads of his fingers. He'd been looking into you, gathering information, your mind urgently tried to weigh out how much he had learnt of your dire situation as your sharp glare met his. " One of the top ten richest men in the country. What a catch" he slipped the attained details of your fiance's status to you with a smirk.

" Tell me, Y/N. Why would a young lady such as yourself, weeks from marrying into one of the wealthiest families in the country care so much for bricks and mortar? " He questioned, blowing a cloud of smoke into the room as his interrogating stare bore into you while you stood momentarily lost for words once again.

"Oh, Sissy?" your brothers irritating pet name called to you from the foyer as a palpable silence settled in the room, pressuring one of you to make the first move.

" You have a guest, love" Tommy's gravelly voice broke the tension as he raised his brows, his challenging glare undisrupted from your brothers bellowing voice.

In a dramatic display of discontent for not only the way he had intruded into your home, but also, the details of your private life he had infringed on. You purposely released the items in your arms to the floor, when the sharp end of an ugly ornament stabbed you in the toe in the process, eclipsing your unfaltering stance to not have the stranger in front of you win another battle in the war he had declared.

Stifling the whelping pain now throbbing through your foot, Tommy waited and watched with curiosity. Thoroughly impressed that the lady in front of him, born with heirs and graces, had gone so long without a mere whimper, or foul-mouthed word. Was you really that bloody stubborn?

Holding in your impending scream, you swiftly turned your back and made your way out the door. Hobbling to the nearest wall, a stroppy, frustrated, grunt of pain left your lips while you lifted your throbbing foot, clutching your toe in pain as Tommy breathed out a heavy sigh and fell into the leather upholstered chair behind the wall next to you. How long would you both keep this up until you came to a solution? And how many toes, ornaments and any other inanimate object would be sacrificed in the process?

" Ahh there she is. My dear, sister" Johnathan greeted you as you walked forward through the bruising pain you had unintentionally inflicted on yourself.

" How's the houseguest?"

" Trespasser, Johnathan" you corrected him as you winced from one foot to the other, trying to ease the pressure of your swelling toe.

" Blimey, that bad?" he chuckled resting his heavy arm over your shoulders, forcing you back on to two feet with a shudder of pain. " Don't fret baby sister, church bells will be ringing soon. Then you'll be rid of this gloomy dump!" he said, squeezing you into him with a rough pat to your arm.

"Aha! Speaking of the husband to be" Johnathan said letting go as you looked up at the smartly polished dress shoes walking your way. Your stomach dropping at the sound of his voice beckoning closer.

" Darling" a voice broke through your brother's chatter as your fiance snaked his hand around your waist, leaning into your cheek.

" Cal" you meekly voiced as you turned your head away from him, earning you a scornful glare and a sharp squeeze to your hip.

"Playing hard to get are we?" Cal scoffed a laugh through his pearly whites, the insult of you refusing his affection in front of company further angering him and his tightening grasp that had become prone to landing blows to your delicate skin.

" You won't see my sister give in that easily, Cal" Johnathan laughed through the cigar between his teeth, oblivious as per usual to the true nature of his friend and acquaintance he had latched on to. Or rather, money he had latched on to.

"Indeed" Cal looked down at you with a smirk, having already had his way with you.

A moment of fear, of weakness. You told yourself when you had given into his forceful demands as he hitched up your dress whilst his heavy frame climbed on top of you.

Coerced, guilted, or even a last plea of naive hope on your part to have him finally let you be if you gave him what he wanted, you'd tell yourself in moments of reflection and sorrow for the part of yourself you lost that night when you dulled his predatory insistence with whatever drink you could find. Was that why you gave him so much power? Because he was your first intimate, and now tainted experience?

" Frances, one moment!" Johnathan called, jogging after your housekeeper as he watched her hurry away from your brother's long list of demands she knew she'd be dumped with if she didn't make a quick escape.

" You disappoint me Y/N" your fiance abruptly turned you to face him, now alone together, and away from observing eyes. " Was quite the surprise when I sent a car for you the other night and it returned, empty. My fiance, missing" he said as you tried to leave when his strong grip came down on your arm, bruising through your skin. "You're not going to go missing again are you, darling?" his irritation was felt through the sarcasm laced in his words.

Too many times had you avoided his invitations, had you purposely found yourself out of town when his presence increased with the death of your father and the rules of courting he had imposed to keep any premarital scandals at bay. The only rule your father had ever implemented in your life that you were thankful for.

" No" you shook your head, your strong character once again unable to stand up to the man you had unwillingly passed so much control of your words and actions over to.

" Good girl" he chided, a satisfied smirk growing on his lips closing in on yours as you flinched at his pressing hold around your reddened wrists, forcing you to endure his embrace.

" Johnathan, the car" he smiled breaking away, releasing you from his grip as he called for your brother who childishly waited on his every word.

Stood alone in the foyer, rubbing the taste of him from your swollen lips, the bruising soreness from your bluing skin, you watched as your brother entertained the man you had become to loathe, when your tearful eyes turned to see Tommy stood between the frame of the office door, having witnessed the most vulnerable part of your existence you had shamefully hidden away.

For be it poor or rich. A woman's woes in the time you lived in were always unheard, always played down to an inaudible silence. And Tommy was no fool to think otherwise, as he too stood silently watching you walk away without a word.

Sat in the bay window of your room later that morning, you smiled as you watched the stable hand pat down your mare's dusty coat, giving her the pampering she deserved.

"Your tea, Miss" Frances announced as she walked through the door with a silver platter of England's finest, freshly brewed. " Good heavens! What ever happened to your foot?" She said upon seeing your expanding toe precariously resting on a stack of cushions and books.

" Mr Shelby" you said as your eyes narrowed in on the trespasser now approaching your thoroughbred down in the courtyard.

" Mr Shelby did this?" Frances' eyes widened upon hearing your accusations as she examined your lack of care for your swelling digit doubling in size.

" No, Mr Shelby's ghastly ornament did that" you said briefly looking at your propped-up foot before your attention returned to outside. " What on earth is he doing?" You curiously observed the squatter, his presence a welcome distraction to your impending nuptials and crippling worries. Not that you would admit it, of course.

" Oh my" Frances's hand flew to her chest as she watched the bridle being adjusted to your saddleless horse. " I should go warn him" Frances turned to leave when you hoped up with a giddy smile as you searched for the shoe you would force to fit around your ballooning foot.

" No, no" you gently rested your hand on your housekeeper's arm, stopping her from sabotaging your fun. " Let him find out himself" you grinned as you limped to the door, leaving Frances shaking her head disapprovingly at the woman she had cared for since she was a rosy-cheeked baby, toddling from one foot to the other.

Stood by the stable door, you curiously watched as Tommy whispered words of gentle reassurance to your horse, brushing his hand down her muzzle as your steps apprehensively approached closer, unsure if the topic of conversation would be your finances heavy hand he saw earlier that day, you wished not to discuss.

" How's your toe?" Tommy asked, his cigarette resting loosely between his lips as he turned to face you with an emerging smile dimpling the corners of his eyes.

" My toe? Good as new" you lied, badly, as you crossed your arms at the amusing chuckle leaving your unwanted guests' lips." You should saddle her" you warned him as you watched him lead her towards you, secretly hoping he would continue his refusal to listen to your bossy demands.

" Was born riding, love. Think I can handle her" he confidently proclaimed as he shot you a wink. " Come on, steady now" he patted her side as you followed behind them, eager to see him unceremoniously take a blow to his insufferable cockyness.

" What's her name?" He asked as he lifted himself up, adjusting the reigns in his hands to his liking.

" Nelly" you said as you leant back on the wooden fencing of the small paddock, taking the weight of your throbbing foot you had shoved into the soles of your tightly laced boots.

" Nelly, eh?" Tommy quietly mumbled clearing his throat, suddenly doubting his riding skills as he looked down at the jittery creature bouncing from hoof to hoof. " Steady, girl" he managed to control her erratic movements as he pulled back the reigns with a gentle pressure. " Don't show me up, Nell. I'll never hear the end of it" he quietly whispered to your horse with a pat to her neck as you watched on with amusement.

" See, we're doing alright. Aren't we Nelly?" Tommy called out to both you and your horse as he trotted along the muddied ground. " She just needs some firm guidance, is all" he said as he passed by your rolling eyes. " With a horse like..." Tommy continued his unsolicited advice when a freckled orange and black butterfly passed in front of him, causing Nelly to rear up in fear before throwing him off and bolting away.

" Shit" Tommy huffed at the sound of your approaching hysterics as he lay in the mud, his ego having been embarrassingly taken down a few notches off it's high pedestal.

" Am I in hell?" he opened one eye to see your smirking face looming over him with your hand out for him to take, when your smile turned to a scowl and you let him drop to the ground once again. " No, still alive" he grunted as he pulled his body and throbbing head back up, resting his arms on his bent knees as he watched your horse trot towards you. " Her name wouldn't happen to stand for nervous Nelly, would it?" Tommy looked up at you both as he watched you nuzzle your head against her neck, her thumping heart slowly settling with your tender touch.

" Nervous Nelly, notorious Nelly. Even nutty Nelly at one point. My girl has earned herself quite a collection of nicknames, haven't you, darling" you said as you cupped your hand under her muzzle, letting her lick the saltiness of your palms.

" Here" you said, putting your free hand out for him to take. " Are you hurt?" You asked as you both hobbled out of the paddock back to the stables. Both a sight of giggling fits for the staff of Arrow House looking from behind the twitching curtains of your shared home.

" No more than your toe is" he smiled down at you as you walked beside each other, free of any bellowing voices or snide remarks for the first time in almost a week, having both taken a dramatic blow to your obnoxious stubbornness.

" Mr Shelby" you turned to face him as you gave the reigns to your stable hand. " How much did my father owe you?" You took the opportunity to ask the question that had been nagging you in your brief truce before the battle of words recommenced.

" £17,000" Tommy exhaled as he looked at you from the corners of his eyes, a feeling of pity for you and the burden your father had selfishly lumbered you with stopping him from making any smart remark.

With a future of little prospects, other than that of a high-society marriage, every woman such as yourself was destined for. Tommy had come to the knowledge that your father had secured your life by marrying you off into wealth rather than leaving you with his fortune to pave your own way in life.

As your eyes widened and the learnt details of your fathers debt and how big of a whole he had dug in his wake. A guttural feeling of dread weighed down your stomach at the large sum of money your father owed, nearly exceeding that of Arrow Houses' value.

" I will pay you back, Mr Shelby" you said as you looked back to your home and it's surrounding land. Suddenly feeling you had nothing else to offer other than your word.

"Look, Y/N..."

" I will find a way, Mr Shelby" you made a pledge you knew would be near impossible to uphold if the deeds to your house had indeed, no standing.

With a small nod of his head, Tommy gazed down at you as a brief moment of peace captured him in the silent breeze of summer blowing a lock of hair drifting across your cheek, glittering with the welcome rays of the midday sun. A silence you both welcomed in the neutral grounds of no man's land until the sound of your brother hurtling down the drive, car horn blaring, deafened your ears.

" Sister! I won it! I bloody won it! " Your brother laughed maniacally, high on his win with a wad of cash in his hands, having spent the entire morning in the casinos with your fiance.

" God's sake" you felt the embarrassment of your brother's presence as your eyes darted to Tommy undoubtedly judging your renowned noble name, questioning how a family such of your selves came to inherit it as you watched him ignite a cigarette behind the orangery glow of the flame.

" Sweet pea" Cal's voice approached you as you shifted away, stumbling into Tommy as you did. " Sorry" you apologised, tucking a rebel hair behind your ear with your flustered fingers as he steadied your fall with a gentle hand to your back, a touch foreign to you with the heavy strikes you had become accustomed to from the opposite sex.

"Cal, Mr Thomas Shelby. Mr Shelby, Earl Cal Astor" you introduced the two men as you stood in the middle, looking between their glaring stares as you subtly shrugged of your fiances hand on your arm in the process.

"Pleasure" Cal greeted him with a belittling tone of superiority with his hand out as Tommy's hovered momentarily in the empty space between them before lifting it to take a smoke. Only a mere nod of his head in acknowledgment of his presence.

Murder, theft, prostitution, gambling. Tommy did not only live a life in the dark shadows your fiance and brother would visit for entertainment. He was the maker of it. The master puppet to the riches seedy side of life he and his men would adorn with gold-collumed bars, and live jazz music to have them fill his pockets. He had met a dozen men like your fiance. Each a replica of the other. Each of them in the privacy of their home with wives, lovers and maids accustomed to feeling the back of their hand when money didn't get them what they felt they were owed.

There were many things Tommy's wavering moral compass didn't stand for. And have no doubt, he had seen the bruises on your wrists, the tears unspent in your eyes you hid as you hurried away earlier that morning.

"Excuse me. I have a business call" your unexpected houseguest said as he threw his cigarette to the ground, inches from the perfectly kept shoes of your fiance.

" Shelby!" he called with a mocking chuckle, angered by the blow of disrespect he'd been shown. " Perhaps you would grace us with your presence at our engagement ball next week. Then you can find the time away from your pressing business matters for us to get to know the Small Heath gypsy boy living with my soon to be wife" he tauntingly finished with his nose up, lifting the heavy gold signet ring of his family's crest to your lower back you had already felt on numerous occasions, the sharp end of.

Coming to a stop at the steps of Arrow House, you watched the notorious gangster with his hands seated in his trouser pockets as his back stayed turned to you, whilst you silently prayed he would refuse the invitation and childish game of belittling any class below him you knew your fiance was set on making a spectacle out of in sheer spite. A game you were not willing to play.

" Next week it is, Mr Astor" Tommy's low rumbling voice replied, never ceasing the opportunity to further his endeavor as his strong statue disappeared into the darkened foyer and the door shut behind him.

A potential for business, or rather a show of power to the man that had insulted his heritage so freely with one single disdained word used to rile him up and have him show his business acquaintances the true colours of the leader to the notorious cut-throat gang he had kept from their lives until any encouraging reminder was needed. For they were no better than him. Criminals with the most unsavory of dealings. And you had better believe, Tommy had no qualms being the one to show these men their own true colours, and the reminder that they were no different to any small-time thief from Small Heath with only a title of nobility slapped on the end of their name seperating them. No qualms at all.

NEXT PART

Tag list: @weaponizedvirtue @un-interneted @mama-ivy @kmc1989 @leighla3

@emotionalcadaver @mamawiggers1980 @sweetcheesecakesblog @cljordan-imperium @peakyswritings

@tiedyedghoulette

#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader insert #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x fem!reader #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby series #cillian murphy #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders series #uptown girl

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pedge-page · 7 months ago

Note

I can imagine preggo wife literally talking and talking and talking in the middle of a movie and gets offended and leaves when Joel tells her to quiet down

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife : Yapper

notes: Oh I had fun writing this! no warnings (maybe some Fugitive and Raiders spoilers), Enjoy!

- - - -

Joel’s pretty excited for movie night. It’s one of the few films the two of you don’t argue over and can pretty much watch the entire way through without disruption.

Or at least, it used to be.

Joel settles against the couch armrest with his feet propped up, knees bent slightly so you have room to sit in front. He’s got any snack you could think of within an arm reach away, and he’s got the title on pause so you can scooch your fat booty and big belly comfortably. Usually takes about 15 minutes of squirming, smacking his chest to “fluff” it up, adding a pillow at his crotch, then taking it away because you like his hard cock there instead, elbow in his groin and then his knee, then you gotta get up to pee before starting the whole process over.

“OK Im ready!” You say after 15 minutes on the dot, snuggling close to him with the back of your head rested against the crook of his neck.

He finally hits play, and the Lucasfilm logo flashes across the screen. The tropical forest and ominous music plays as the familiar font of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark fade on to the screen.

“Joel. Joel. Hey Joel.”

“Y-yes?”

“Did you know Indiana was named after George Lucas dog? Who also was the physical inspiration for chewy?” You ask rhetorically.

It takes him a second to understand you’re asking him a question. “What?”

“Chewbacca! From Star Wars!”

“Oh ok neat,” he says with some enthusiasm, but quick to end it and get back to watching the movie—

“Yeah also Sean Connery is also apparently—well guess how much older he is to Harrison Ford.”

“Um—I don’t—I don’t know.” Joel says slowly, watching as Indy carefully removes the sand from the pouch and weighs it to the gold idol.

“C’mon, guess!”

“I really don’t know, can we—“

“12 years older than Harrison in Last Crusade! My mom was like ‘WHAT no way’ and I was like ‘Yes way’ and she was like ‘He's his father and he's got all that white in his hair and receding hairline’ and I was like ‘Joel's only in his late 30s and he's got white in his beard.’”

Joel can’t hear a damn thing happening on screen except the shouts about hating a pet snake named Reggie. “Wha—“

“Not that you look anything like Sean Connery in Last Crusade. Maybe in like Bond —oof he was the hottest Bond. Plus you got like a receding beard-line with all the patches, I don’t know, but my mom was like ‘Ya know Joel's got more white hair lately since you've been pregnant’ and I was like ‘Nah uh’ and she was like ‘Ya huh’ and I was like ‘Huh I wonder why that is…?’ Anyway but nope only 12 years between him and Ford—“

Joel turns to look at you with a frown, a bit confused and amazed at how you have so much to say, right now, oblivious as ever.

It doesn’t phase your rambling one bit: “—Like damn, but you know Harrison Ford has always been handsome. But like in the bad boy kind of way, not like handsome upstanding like Christopher Reeves? When I saw The Fugitive, I was like ‘oooohhhh I'll be his wife now’ hahaha! no no I’m sorry, he’s famous and I’m not so that’s why I married you, but that's such a fall film don't you think? Minus the murder and betrayal and fucking Dr Charles Nickles like was he British or not? He was in and out of an accent the whole time? Didn't make sense to me but yeah, it's just such a fall Cozy film.”

Joel looks back at the screen and realizes Marion is already being cornered by the Nazi creep: “Ah huh—honey—“

“OH! I Love her song! It’s kind of like Leia and Han’s from Empire except the last notes are different, like it goes do doooooo instead of da dat dada daaaaaaa, That’s just John William’s for ya, but you’d never notice they were so similar!”

Joel opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out as you continue:

“—Also I know you said my mom made good apple pie but I really wanna try to make it because I want you to like mine more, so I need you to get some apples and pie crust and butter and stuff from the store, I’ll make a list so you can get it. They said we need ground cinnamon but I think ours expired like 5 years ago so don’t forget that. And then I'm gonna tell you how to slice the apples since I can't handle sharp objects and then oh I need you to get the mixer from the top shelf and then you have to mix it all together and slice the top with like little heart patterns and then put it in the oven n stuff ‘cause it's hot and I don't wanna burn OH and that reminds me—!”

“BABE!”

“Hmm? yes?” You ask with a innocent smile.

“Let's try to be quiet and watch the movie ok?”

He offers a gentle smile and nods, pointing towards the TV again and settling to watch it with his beautiful wife.

His very very very unhappy wife. Your eyes haven’t left his, face now downturned in such a scowl, he should be shitting his pants.

You roll your jaw at him once, teeth grinding against one another with slitted, murderous eyes. Joel gulps, too afraid to glance back at you again. His eyes are wide staring at the commotion on the television but, now in your deadly silence, he can’t seen to focus on it at all.

Instead of saying anything, you roll polly up to your feet, arms crossed over your chest defensively as you utter a loud “Hmph!” before storming away from the living room.

He’ll have to deal with groveling tomorrow morning when you might be a little more welcoming. But on the bright side, he’s got way more room to spread out on the couch and he can hear the movie much better now!

.........

He switches it off and runs upstairs to get on his knees by your side of the bed, begging for your forgiveness and promises of a Clyde's milkshake to go.

- - - -

Permanent Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

#joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fluff #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fluff #last of us fic #last of us fluff #pedro pascal fic #joel dealing with preggo wife

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sitp-recs · 2 months ago

Text

Part II: table for two

Following my list featuring the sea (now with a lil banner cause I’m getting in the reccing zone again baby!!!!), I thought I’d make this a series called “fic as a sensory delight” and continue the trend with good old Drarry domesticity walking hand in hand with some food porn appreciation. Who knew that Drarry living their best life while enjoying tasty treats could be so personal? These fics feel like a comfort meal when life gets too crazy and provide a delicious sensory experience. From cottagecore to road trips, found family, case fic, established relationship and even kinky delights - this list has a bit of everything and features food as a main character either bringing Drarry together, healing past traumas, helping them connect with their heritage or simply playing as a love language. I hope these fics bring you as much comfort, joy and healing as they brought me. Happy weekend!

🥘 Breakfast by @moonflower-rose (E, 3k)

Breakfast is Harry's favorite part of the day.

🥘 Market Saturdays by @sorrybutblog (M, 3k)

In which Harry is an accidental part-time cheesemonger, Draco is an organic farmer and they fall in love. Not an AU.

🥘 Salt and Sauce by onbeinganangel (T, 3k)

Sure, of course he knows how you take your tea. But does he know your chippy order?

🥘 Cupboard Love by @shealwaysreads (G, 4k)

Harry’s life, and love, in food.

🥘 Don't Bite the Hand That Feeds You by InnerLilith (E, 11k)

In which Harry takes Draco out for Eritrean food, and Draco has a severe obsession with Harry’s hands. Smut ensues.

🥘 Harry Potter and the Showstopper of Doom by @doubleappled (M, 11k)

In which Harry’s an amateur baker, Draco wants him to go on the Great British Bake-Off, Petunia never misses an episode, Sue is a witch, Paul Hollywood is Paul Hollywood, and everyone eats a lot — like a whole lot — of baked goods.

🥘 Poppiholla by @moonflower-rose (M, 13k)

Harry had accepted that he would pine silently for Malfoy forever, but one, humid summer might change that.

🥘 Connecting Lines, Connecting Crimes by @sleepstxtic (M, 15k)

“Hello, Harry,” Draco said. He was wearing a black turtleneck under a long grey overcoat, and he was already flushed with sweat. His hair was tied into a knot; it was longer than I remembered. He was older than I remembered. There were lines around his eyes, and I wondered if they were from laughing or frowning. “Hello,” I managed. “You must be with the British Ministry?’ He nodded. I thought I might faint.

🥘 Bridges by @cavendishbutterfly (E, 16k)

Harry and Draco are on a trip to Budapest to help with Kingsley's re-election, but that's the boring bit. More interesting: Harry Potter is changing his Tinder preferences to include men. Also interesting: Harry's spending more time with Draco Malfoy than he ever has, wandering around the city. And Harry doesn't hate it. The city's pretty gorgeous too.

🥘 Sourdough by @academicdisasterfic (M, 17k)

Draco writes romance novels and doesn't leave his apartment much. Harry bakes bread and sells it to Draco. Draco is quite weird. Harry might like that.

🥘 Preserving Lemons by @saintgarbanzo, @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm (E, 17k)

Harry is cooking food he couldn't care less about; Draco is making art he couldn't care more about. A story about kebabs, miniskirts and the way preservation can transform a lemon.

🥘 Passion Cake by @icmezzo (T, 19k)

It’s all about desire. (Harry orders a magically enhanced cake from a chic London bakery, and from there it all goes to hell in a cake tin. Also, will someone please tell Harry what Passion Cake is?)

🥘 Knead by laughingd0g (E, 83k)

This is not a story about Harry renovating Grimmauld Place. This is a story about coffee shops and brewpubs, about Ginny and Luna on a farm with creatures, about magical Oregon, coastal road trips, flying, friendship, and Draco Malfoy's lean arms.

🥘 Soup-pocalypse and The Great Curry Cataclysm by SquadOfCats (E, 104k)

Eleven years after the war, Draco Malfoy leads a quiet, boring, and perfectly respectable life, thanks very much. Or, at least he does, until a sudden and very unexpected veela awakening causes him to throw soup all over Harry Potter in the middle of the Ministry cafeteria.

🥘 Make This Leap by @oflights (M, 118k)

Harry owns a struggling restaurant which is running out of money, and his Head Chef has just handed in notice. He's at a bit of a loss as to what to do until Narcissa Malfoy presents an obvious solution: bring in Draco Malfoy as Chef and part owner. Harry does.

#fic as a sensory delight #part 2 #drarry & food #fic recs

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sexydoffyman · 1 year ago

Text

day 21 - PROSTITUTION

John Price

navigation

genre: smut

mdni

A/N: I'm starting to question why are there people still waiting for this, considering my unannounced 1-week breaks.

Your country was at war. Everyone was panicking, trying to get the hell out of there as soon as possible. Companies were crashing, and people started losing their jobs. People were desperate for even a little bit of money.

You knew you couldn't turn a blind eye to the situation when the war broke out. Everyone thought it would be a one-week thing. No one knew how wrong they were. Fortunately, you found a job right after the announcement.

Sure, this job was described as "unethical" or "dirty", but it got the job done. You had a place to live and food to eat. You understood that the job was risky. And sometimes, some dudes really went far beyond your comfort zone. Well... sometimes is an understatement. It got to the point where dudes not breaking the ground rules was a rarity.

Even tho these things happened, sometimes you knew that during an attack, you'd be most likely spared or even protected. No one would want to lose a sex worker in such a situation.

Your customers were mostly military men and cops. Sometimes, you'd even find yourself a drug dealer. Good news has been spread about the British army joining the war and allying with your country. That also meant that the foreigners would be more inclined to pay more.

One day, you met this particular military man. He was always walking around the building as they had received some intel on the enemy soldiers. You met him in a hallway. You wanted to buy a candy bar. You were exhausted after your last customer.

But just as you walked up to the automat you realised you had no money on you. You sat on the floor in front of the automat and groaned in frustration.

Suddenly, you heard some beeps and thuds inside of the automat. You looked up and saw a man staring down at you with a soft smile. He was handing you a candy bar. You recognised him by the hat he always wore. You took it, still kind of disoriented, as he nodded and walked away.

You stood up quickly and yelled out a "Thank you!" He only waved at you as he kept walking down the hall. You kept bumping into him more and more. You always smiled at him, and he smiled back at you. It was a nice, friendly interaction.

As time went on, the stress took a huge toll on him. He was tired, and he wasn't able to focus. And with all of the weight on his shoulders he decided that he would think rationally and slept with someone.

But finding anyone who would be dtf in this horrible time would be hard. So he decided the second best thing he could come up with.

You heard a knock on your door. You got up, taking all of your strength to smile as you opened the door. You really weren't expecting him to show up. He didn't say a word he just handed you a stack of money. It was like three times more than you usually got.

You smiled at him, this time the smile being more genuine. You invited him in and closed the door behind you. He put the money on a small table that was in the room. You went to ask him if he wanted anything specific, but he already picked you up.

He knew what he wanted and felt a little embarrassed that he had to take such measures. He gently put you on the bed and put your legs on his hips. He closed his eyes and kissed you softly. You kissed him back and waited for what was about to come. You knew he was a military man. And from your experience, it was the military men that usually took advantage of you.

You could already feel the bulge in his pants. He pulled your pants off while still kissing you. He then took his own. He didn't waste a second and slipped into you. You were surprised by the stretch. He was huge, and he was aware of it. He didn't want to hurt such a sweet thing.

He pushed in gently and started to move his hips. You usually hated the sex, but this time it was different. He was sensual. It felt almost loving. You whined a bit. He felt the stress wash off him as he listened to your sounds.

He didn't have to be rough to make you go crazy. He caressed your cheeks and peppered you with kisses. He felt himself get close. He got a little more talkative. "You feel so good, sweetheart." "Just like that, darling." The nicknames he gave you made you shiver. You felt the knot in your stomach snap.

Your back arched as you made a sweet sound. The thought of making you cum made Price feel things he couldn't describe. He pulled out and finished into his hand. You laid on your back as he put you down gently. He took a tissue and cleaned his hand with it.

He didn't understand how much of a sweetheart he was to you. He just thought about the time he saw you so exhausted. He put a few extra dollars on the table and left.

You walked up to the table and chuckled, knowing he'd be there for a couple more months and that he couldn't resist you.

You just had to teach him that he's not obliged to pay that much. (He still pays you huge amounts of money.)

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dameronology · 2 years ago

Text

liar (bucky barnes)

based on the paramore song of the same name lol a.k.a the one where bucky barnes is scared of his own feelings a.k.a jazz is back in her bucky era

warnings; language

enjoy!!

-jazz

Bucky Barnes had never considered himself a liar.

If anything, he had a hard time not telling the truth. It escaped from his mouth before he even had the chance to think about; no, Steve, I think your new hair cut sucks and sorry Sam, she wasn’t actually checking you out, she was waving at the guy behind you. Call it a product of his years as an assassin - because he couldn’t recall being this truthful back in the war - but it was part of who he was now. Sometimes he thought it meant he should come with a warning; something to say don’t pull the pin on this grenade, because he won’t lie to your mum about liking her food. Would that have been the worst Tinder bio ever? Yeah, no doubt.

Bucky had a hard time even lying to himself. That had become clear as soon as you whirl-whinded into his life. That day was still as crystal clear in his head six months later. It had been an early morning at the SHIELD HQ - the F-train had been delayed an hour and he’d come sprinting into a national security meeting, Starbucks in one hand (he was already late, he figured five minutes more for a frappuccino wouldn’t hurt) and a jumbled apology ready to offer. Then, not two seconds later, you’d come sprinting through the door, smacking into the back of him and launching the iced coffee from his hand, into the air, and straight into the lap of the British prime minister.

Bucky was late, but you’d been even later. He liked that about you.

You were a whirl-wind in his life; his best friend from that day forward and the reason he could let go of the breath he’d been holding for so many years. Meetings were never boring with you, nor was the paperwork after long missions or the early starts. Every time he was late, he knew you’d take even longer because maybe his commute from Brooklyn was long but you lived three blocks away from work and managed to sleep through every goddamn alarm you’d set.

It was clear about exactly three seconds after you met that you and Bucky were not destined to just be friends. You knew it and he knew it but neither of you wanted to talk about it. Avoiding the truth wasn’t necessarily lying - Bucky was thankful for that, because he knew that if you asked, everything would come out. He wasn’t ready for that. He wasn’t ready for love.

So, you both left it to rest (and maybe to rot).

“I hate meetings,” you grumbled. It was eight o’clock on a Monday morning and thanks to a national security threat, you once again found yourself in the SHIELD meeting room earlier than you felt to be natural. “Can’t they just put this in an email?”

“Probably,” Bucky replied. “Hi guys, there’s a terrorist threat. If you see something, say something. Lots of love, the security council.”

You snorted. “Did you know I have all of their emails sent straight to my spam?”

“I would do the same but I can’t work out how the Facebook app works,” he muttered. “Why are there so many buttons? What are cookies?”

“Buck, why would you have the security council on Facebook?”

“Isn’t that…” he paused, scratching the back of his head. “Isn’t that where emails go?”

You dropped your head in your hands and let out a groan. “I only just got you used to Twitter. I’ll leave it a few weeks before I overwhelm you with any more social media apps.”

“What about TikTok?”

“I am never letting you download TikTok,” you said.

“Sam said that I should make thirst traps-”

“- please no!” you cut him off. “Never take life advice from Sam.”

Sam was sat across the table from you, a scowl on his face. He was a morning person - hell, the man had already been for a run that morning - but the combination of you and Bucky at any point in the day was enough to drive him up the wall. He glanced between you both, brown eyes calculating for a second, before a grin spread across his face.

“Don’t worry, he doesn’t,” Sam chirped. “Remember last week when I told you to do that thing, Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Shut up, Sam.”

“What thing?” you frowned.

“It’s not mine to share,” Sam shrugged. “But based on the last five minutes’ worth of interactions alone? I think it would be best to listen to me-”

“- I swear to god if you don’t stop talking!” Bucky cut him off; then he glanced at you, blue eyes wavering for a second. “Don’t listen to him.”

Sam knew that he was doing; playing devil’s advocate because a) it meant he could piss off Bucky and b) hopefully get two of his best friends to finally get together after months of pining. It had gotten to the point where him and Steve had literal bets on it. Not necessarily on if you would get together, but more on when.

“I’m not, but you’re acting weird,” you said. “Want to share with the class?”

“No,” Bucky firmly said.

“Buck,” you warned; it was clear by your voice that you weren’t fucking around. “I don’t know what immature high school bullshit is going on right now but I don’t appreciate it.”

“I’ll talk to you about it later, okay?” he said.

“You’re an ass,” you replied.

Picking up your bag and coffee, you shuffled over to the other side of the meeting table where Steve was sat. He hadn’t said a word in any of this; you quite often cursed the lack of boundaries amongst the four of you, but you couldn’t fault Steve that morning. He’d kept to himself, simply watching in awe at the chaos that had just unfolded.

You stopped in the seat beside him, glancing over at him. “If you say a word, I’ll hit you.”

“I’m not saying anything,” he held up his hands in defense.

The meeting was quick, thankfully. Even worse, it definitely could have been put in an email. You also couldn’t help but notice the British diplomats watching your coffee carefully every time you moved - that was a joke you could have made to Bucky, had he not managed to get himself into your bad books.

You’d barely been out the board room five minutes before you were practically wrestling him by the ear into a quiet corner. The meeting had been quick, thankfully. It hadn’t felt that way for Bucky, who’d been sat opposite you the entire time, barely avoiding your dagger-y gaze. If looks could kill, his vibranium arm would have had a fair few dents in it.

“So?” you asked. “What was that all about?”

“It’s nothing,” Bucky quickly replied. “I promise-”

“- bullshit!” you cut him off. “Why are you keeping things from me, Buck?”

“I’m not.”

“You are!” you exclaimed. “Look, I don’t even want to know what you and Sam were talking about but at least have the common decency not to keep me out of a conversation that’s about me!”

“Why aren’t you mad at Sam too?!”

“Believe me, I have it out for Sam too but it’s worse when this stuff comes from you!”

Bucky thinned his eyes at you. “Why?”

“You know why.”

He sighed, shifting from one foot to another. Eyes to the ceiling for a second, he took a deep breath.

“Sam told me last week that I should ask you out,” he said. “Said something about how everyone around us can see what we don’t, and that we’re kidding ourselves, and…”

You sniffed, trying to stay composed. It had been a long time coming, there was no denying that. Bucky had been avoiding the conversation because he wasn’t ready but you’d been avoiding it because you were terrified of the answer. Rejection from literally anyone else in the world would have been fine, but from him? There was no metaphor for that pain, or that fear.

“And what?” you asked. “What do you think of that?”

He shrugged. “I think it’s…”

You both waited for a second, the tension in the air almost suffocating.

“...dumb.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Dumb?!”

“Yeah?” Bucky sounded unsure. “We’re best friends, and-”

“- that’s bullshit!” you snapped. “Buck, I know you can be confusing but…if there’s one thing I am certain of, it’s that we are not just best friends and you know it!”

“Do I?”

You took a step back, sniffing. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s dumb. Forget I said anything.”

“Wait, don’t be like that-”

“- it’s fine, James,” you sniffed. “I’ll see you around.”

“Are we good?”

“Yeah, we’re good.”

(You weren’t good.)

“Okay, I’m glad. Call me later, yeah?”

“Yeah, of course,” you forced a smile.

(You weren’t going to call him.)

–

Five days.

That’s the longest Bucky had gone without talking to you since he’d met you and also the exact amount of time you’d been ignoring him for. He’d given in calling you after three days, and considered coming around your apartment after four, but then he got a last minute call onto a mission where your name was at the top of the call sheet. Fab.

Bucky liked to consider himself a good flier, but it certainly would have been easier to co-pilot a jet with someone who was actually willing to talk to him. It was quite amazing, actually, to see the lengths that you were willing to go to all in pursuit of icing him out.

“This is Barnes to air traffic control on QJ564. We’ll be approaching our destination in about five minutes, currently at 10,000 feet, over.”

“This is ATC to QJ564, you’re cleared for landing in Munich, runway four. Over.”

“This is Barnes to ATC on QJ564. Runway four confirmed, thank you. Could you also tell my co-pilot that I’m sorry and that I miss them? Over.”

“Uh…this is ATC to QJ564. Barnes says he’s sorry and that he misses you. Over.”

“This is Barnes’ co-pilot on QJ564, tell him that I think he’s a cun-”

“- this is Captain Rogers monitoring the channels for suspicious activity from the headquarters. May I remind the pilots aboard QJ564 of the appropriate workplace manners over professional channels? Over.”

After Steve’s voice, the lines went silent. Bucky glanced over at you, eyebrows raised.

“That was rude.”

You continued to ignore him, attention turned to landing the jet safety. It wasn’t hard - Tony Stark had built a jet that practically landed itself, but it was still a good enough excuse to blank out your best friend for the next five minutes. Still, none of that conversation was worth the absolute castigating you were about to receive from Captain America as soon as you were back in New York. He was no fun sometimes.

With the jet safely on the runway, you parked up at the airport and made your way down to the tarmac where the agents were waiting. All you had to do now was await instructions from headquarters on what to do next. That gave you more empty time with Bucky, who was stood next to you. So, you moved away and leant against the wheels of the plane, pulling out your phone to play Doodle Jump.

The call came through eventually, but it was to Bucky’s radio instead of yours.

“Right, agents,” he began, though it was more a sigh than anything. “Coulson is currently ten minutes out on another quinjet to lead the mission. Agent (Name) and I have been removed from this operation for the foreseeable future so that we can sit in the jet, man the communications systems and re-take the online seminar about appropriate workplace language.”

“What?!” you exclaimed. “Nice one, Barnes!”

Bucky forced a smile, trying not to crack up in front of the fifteen junior agents stood in front of you. “Why we have to retake it is a mystery to me.”

“Good luck out there, guys,” you huffed. With that, you spun around and stormed back on board the jet.

Bucky was hot on your heels, closing up the door behind him as he went. He didn’t really know what to say - somehow he’d made you angrier, now - but apolgoising profusely felt like a pretty good place to start.

“So you’re talking to me now?” he asked, following you through the fuselage.

“No!”

“You just did!”

“Fuck off, Bucky!”

“And again!”

“Leave me alone!”

He grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Sorry doesn’t even begin to cut it,” you huffed.

Taking a seat, you curled your legs up in front of you. You didn’t try and swat (or hit) Bucky when he leant down in front of you, which he took as a good sign. It was time to pull out the big guns.

“Can I talk for just…maybe five seconds, possibly ten, without you interrupting?”

You nodded.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never want to hurt you because you’re the last person in the world I’d ever want to upset but I was put on the spot by what Sam said, and then by what you said, and it freaked me out a little,” he began. “You and I both know that he’s right - but never tell him I said that - and honestly, the silence you’ve given me over the last five days made me realise that more than ever.”

You smiled. “What are you saying, Buck?”

“I love you,” he said. It was plain and simple, completely without hesitation and entirely with conviction. “I’ve known that for a while but I just didn’t want to admit it to myself, but like I said…five days without you made me realise I don’t even want to go five seconds without you.”

“That’s how you apologise,” you gave him a watery grin, poking him in the chest.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Anything you want to say to that?”

“Oh, yeah!” you exclaimed. “I love you too.”

Bucky pulled you into a kiss; he held you flush against him, one hand holding the back of your neck, metal one gripping the back of your tac-vest. Despite everything, he was warm and you were certain then that you were never going to let him - if not a little ecstatic that you’d found a new way to shut him up.

You both jumped back when you heard the doors to the jet go, only to turn around and see Phil Coulson on the phone, a glare on his face.

“What is it with you two and inappropriate work place behaviour?”

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xxscarletxrosexx · 2 months ago

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Kiss Distance: When Feelings Can't Reach | Linguistic Analyses on Rick & Rachel's lines foreshadow for TwiYor, DamiAnya, and Marthanderson from Ch. 105.5 (PART 1)

This is gonna be a take from the linguistic + literary lens regarding Rick and Rachel's lines from Spy x Family's Ch. 105.5.

Spoilers beware.

So let's talk about the film: Kiss Distance.

On X/Twitter, all I said was my analysis senses were tingling. There was a strong linguistic and creative writing/literary devices indicating foreshadow from the movie, and this just surprisingly got attention.

So now, I'm finally addressing this specific section in a long analysis post.

I cannot stress how much I love Endo-san's short chapters. There are so many things going on in terms of literary devices, and now, I think he plays with linguistics in them. I believe that the last time he did this was during Ch. 90.1 when we learned that Ania's name turned into Anya. I remember freaking the hell out that linguistics was touched upon, cuz honestly, what manga does that? Someone is finally paying attention to linguistics in a story, and it's just further pulling me into my rabbit-hole fixation and obsession with Spy x Family.

Although the chapter is only 5 pages long, it has SO MANY THINGS TO COVER. I won't be able to do that in this post, but I DID cover the entire thing in a video analysis that you can watch here:

What I will mainly cover in this post will be the film: Kissing Distance and the characters (Yor, Anya, Becky, and Martha) watching it + post-watching it. I cannot stress the ridiculous efforts embedded in just 3 pages, so I need to divide these sections into a linguistic lens (part 1) and a literary lens (part 2).

Let's start with the linguistic lens.

Spelling reflects language association + cultural history + maybe it's a meme too.

Spelling reflects language association

At the top right corner of page 2, we've got some English texts on the movie's billboard. "Interesting" and "Entertaining" are stacked on the left while "Movie" and "Theater" are stacked on the right.

Of these words, the word that stands out the most to me is Theater. English experts recognize that there are 2 spellings of this word: theater and theatre. These spelling tell you that it is either American (theater) or British (theatre).

I'm no expert on geography, but I believed that Ostania and Westalis were loosely based in Europe. I think I read someone talk about the architecture in Berlint also reflected European style houses--I'm so sorry that I can't recall who addressed it. The wars also felt like they were influenced by WWI and WWII. But what I do know is English it's my goddamn expertise. I'm not gonna be an uptight ass about pointing out every nook and cranny of inconsistent English, because that's just a whole lot of work for a creator and his team can do, realistically speaking. If Endo-san wanted perfect control in the language he's portraying in SxF, then he would need a dedicated team of linguists to help with translations. It may surprise you but there are many variations of a language (ex: English has AAVE. It's still English but used by this group of speakers--more on this later). But this is a hell hole of work, so I'm giving him so much slack on it as well as the translators handling the translations (like, really. No hate. Thank you for your services <3).

Another caveat: the English translation may also be a reflection of the translators. Maybe they favor American English than British English--who really knows? But I digress.

I'll stick to what I already know of the Ostanian language: It's English (variety is unspecificed, feels American) + Japanese.

Spelling shows cultural history

Next, let's address that these are adjectives slapped on a movie billboard. Normally, American movie theaters do not post adjectives. They post about the movie, the actors, etc. Comments about movies theaters being "family friendly" are subtext under the current film, etc. Here's an example of a movie theater from the 1950s found on gettyimages:

So this brings me to consider that English is being used as kazari eigo which means 'decorative English' in Japanese. In Chris Broad's (AbroadinJapan) words:

"... English in Japan is most commonly used as a form of cheap decorations and prestige, or value to a product and because so few people here understand it, the companies that plaster English all over their products and items rarely bother to check that it makes any sense." Reference:

Maybe it's a meme

This chapter, overall, felt really silly. There were silly drawings, silly play on words, silly foreshadows, etc. I couldn't help but think that maybe Endo-san was throwing in something amusing in these small things (cuz he's got attention to detail). Is it:

Interesting Entertaining Movie Theater OR Interesting Movie Entertaining Theater

It reminds me of:

Endo-san does have a tendency to incorporate memes into his manga/anime. Like... was Anya's jump not a Jojo's meme...? //sweats

youtube

I don't know if I'm severely poisoned by JJBA memes but, yeah, I saw it since the day this chapter came out. I just thought:

ANYA = DIO BRANDO

Anyway... whether it was intentional or unintentional (for this section), I love when mangakas incorporate something meme-y

2. Ricky's English Variety

This is where I went berzerk in this chapter with all of these small linguistic details. Ricky's speech says so much about him.

His introduction of himself is that he's a broken razor. Essentially, he's painting the bad-boy ML image. But he's not just any bad boy. He's a bad boy with issues controlling himself/the situation. In other words he's toxic and not good for us healing men/women //joking. However, out of all of these words, the one that stands out to me is shaddup. His speech suddenly changed because romance conflicts need to have a wall between the main couple. In this case, other than Ricky's pompadour, it's his speech. What we have here is a clash between English varieties.

To understand what is variety in linguistics, you might be familiar with these words: language, dialect, vernacular, and accent. Language is the most obvious, but dialect, vernacular, and accent can be a lil confusing to distinguish. So here's a definition and a chart I made to help distinguish them:

- Language: a system of communication that uses words, grammar, and spelling to convey meaning, languages can be spoken, written, or signed-- Ex: English, Spanish, Arabic, etc. - Dialect: is a variation of a language that is spoken by a specific group of people, such as a community, culture, or region. It includes differences in vocabulary, grammar, and how the language is used -- Ex: American English vs. British English vs. Australian English - Vernacular: is a type of dialect that's used by the "common people" of a region. It's a non-standard dialect that's spoken rather than written. Vernacular language is often made up of slang or regional terms -- Ex: African American Vernacular English (AAVE) - Accent: is the way people in a specific group pronounce words, which is also know as the prosody of speech. Prosody refers to the tone and musicality of someone's speech -- Ex: Boston accent

In Summary (a simplified version of the above info): Language is the standard language (aka what you learn in grammar class and in public speaking class) Dialect is born from language where it becomes variations of the language and adopts different grammar, vocabulary, and language use (like American English vs. British English vs. Australian English) Vernacular is a type of dialect used by "common people" and often include slang words and regional terms (think African American Vernacular English, or AAVE) Accent is a type of dialect that is mainly focused on prosody, or how a person pronounces a word (think Boston accent)

Now that you understand the linguistic terminologies, here's a fun exercise to show you what I see:

Ricky predominantly uses the standard English language in the film:

The moment a language's word has a (legitimate) spelling change, it automatically turns into a dialect (which touches on my previous topic about theater vs. theatre).

These are Ricky's English accents:

Finally, this is Ricky using an English vernacular:

POP QUIZ!

Now that you know what English variety is, can you guess which one Ricky has? If you guessed dialect, then you're half a step there. If you guessed accent, you're so close! But the correct answer is vernacular. This is because accent overlaps with vernacular, but accent stops at word pronunciations. Vernacular has accent and slang.

3. Discourse Analysis on Ricky's Vernacular

You should now have a good understanding of Ricky's vernacular, but now let's talk about why this is significant in discourse analysis.

Linguists who specialize in discourse analysis are responsible for analyzing why and how people speak a certain way. Many linguistic features are observed (lexicons, syntax, phonology, semantics, etc.) but what they share in common is who it's presented to. They're looking at the relationship between interlocutors (people who take part in the dialogue/conversation). In other words, depending on who you converse with, the way you speak is affected.

You may have already realized that Ricky is code-switching (a speaker switches between one or more languages and/or varieties) between standard English and his English vernacular.

Now, pay attention to who Ricky speaks to and when he code-switches.

We can observe in the above panel that Ricky uses standard English when speaking to Rachel. This is because Ricky has linguistically profiled her.

How am I so sure that he's linguistically profiled her? Well, because the majority of human beings unconsciously linguistically profile their appearances. Linguistic profiling does have a similar general word: stereotype. The only difference is that based on appearance, we make a split-second assumption and decision on how we talk to that person.

In this case, Ricky spoke first (exercising dominance through initiation) and used standard English. From a linguistic lens, Ricky is telling me: hey, I know I look like a bad boy, and you may have linguistically profiled me as someone who didn't have good education, which would have reflected in my speech, but I'm more than competent to use standard English. And because I can use standard English, I'm on the same equal playing field (metaphorically and linguistically speaking) as Rachel.

But then, notice the moment, Rachel tells him that she hates Ruffians like [him], Ricky's replies with an accent of shuddap (shut up). Linguistically, he's drawing a line between them. This also indicates that they're no longer on the same side before adding his threat: "I'll cut you!"

In this scene, notice Ricky's accent comes back again, but who is it directed to? An enemy or someone from his linguistic background. He uses this accent with an interlocutor of the same English variety background to make it clear to the person he's beaten up that he's speaking in the "language" that they both completely understand.

But, the moment Ricky speaks to Rachel, he reverts back to standard English. What this means is that Ricky is linguistically assimilating/aligning himself with Rachel to show that he's on her side. This can also mean that he's making himself appealing to her through discourse. On the other hand, Rachel makes herself appealing through physical means (her taste in clothing has changed--more on this under literary analysis).

In this scene, Ricky changes appearance (more on this under literary analysis) and he speaks using standard English. But the moment he loses his pompadour, guess what happens?

Ricky goes back to his true self and shows it through using English vernacular.

Rachel has never changed in her English, so she's always been true to herself. It's Ricky who goes through these changes. And it becomes a beautiful and romantic moment of a man undergoing change not only visually but linguistically.

4. Language parallel/mirroring between the anime and the manga

The fact that Endo-san decided to give Ricky an English vernacular in the English translation of the manga reflects his attention to details between the manga and the anime adaptation.

Linguistics in Anime (what you hear)

Maybe you've noticed, maybe you haven't, but Takuya Eguchi, Loid's voice actor, ingeniously incorporated different prosodic features when assuming roles for [redacted], Loid Forger, Twilight, and Robert. Catte-b covers this in her Leitmotifs in the Spy x Family soundtrack. Piracytheorist also provided a video demonstrating Loid, [Redacted], and Twilight's voices. In both posts, Eguchi's changing voice is called timbre (Catte-B and Piracytheorist have a music background). Timbre is defined as:

In other words, timbre is an individual's voice quality or vocal signature. It's how listeners can recognize a singer regardless of what song they sing and how anime watchers can identify a VA's voice by the character's name in another anime--there's just a certain quality in a person's voice that makes them identifiable.

Because of this definition, timbre is unfortunately not the correct terminology. Using vocal/voice timbre when describing vocal register, at the end of the day, is just pitch. Catte-B and Piracytheorist, however, are not wrong in their analyses. They have correctly identified one of the characteristics of speech and even provided vocal qualties (sharp, flat, soft, etc.) but the more appropriate term should be prosodic features.

I want to highlight the most important thing about prosodic features and it's the features that make it up: intonation, stress, rhythm, pitch, and pauses.

Intonation: is the variation of pitch across a phrase or sentence. > in a way, it's creating a melody when speaking. > its purpose in spoken language is to convey meaning. This is usually the case in tonal languages that require a specific pitch to indicate a word. However, in English, intonation is present when we ask a question (the last few words tend to be higher-pitched) vs. a statement which is either consistent in pitch or can sometimes be lower-pitched. Stress: involves giving prominence to one or more syllables in a word. This is achieved through increasing the length, volume, or pitch of a syllable, or by changing the vowel quality. > stress is important for helping listeners understand meaning / word class and distinguish words during rapid speech (ex: address, graduate, permit etc.) > it can be used to emphasize a specific word of a sentence (ex: Where did you go last night? vs. Where did you go last night? vs. Where did you go last night?) Rhythm: refers to the sense of movement and flow of speech. It's a combination of stress, length, and number of syllables. > mostly concerned with syllables and larger parts of speech rather than phonetic segments like consonants or vowels > important for making speech sound flow well and helps us understand what's being said > 2 most common types of rhythm in language are stress-timed and syllable-timed (English typically uses a stress-timed rhythm) Pitch: indicates highness or lowness of sound. > A person's pitch can reflect friendliness and warmth from the upper register (higher pitch spectrum) to mysterious and sexy with the lower register (lower pitch spectrum)--or at least, this is a consensus opinion that I've heard in English-speaking communities when it comes to the opinion of an individual's vocal pitch for both men and women. Pauses: a break in speaking or a moment of silence that can help add structure to the speech. Pauses have several functions: > gives listeners time to comprehend and digest the information > can be used to emphasize words or ideas > helps speakers transition between ideas > prevent rambling > can signal speech breaks, especially in languages that utilize pausing as a prominent cue > can denote high-information content

There are more prosodic features listed like juncture, loudness, duration, and tempo, but this is where it'll get too specific. Rhythm kinda already accounts for duration and tempo. Juncture is relating to annotating pauses (like indicate when a pause is greater than a certain milisecond), and loudness could kinda fall under the category of rhythm.

Timbre isn't listed as a feature, but I think it should simply because timbre is what makes your voice your voice. And because timbre is the "vocal signature", the shouldn't change--not unless you're as vocally talented as Tara Strong, who can easily change her timbre with different characters.

youtube

Eguchi-san does, however, have some roles where his timbre does change, specifically as Shuuji Hanma from Tokyo Revengers and Kazuya Kujou from Gosick (he does have some moments when he slips back to his familiar timbre).

youtube

Now that you have an understanding of what prosodic features are, you'll be able to hear that Eguchi-san's timbre doesn't change as [redacted], Twilight, Loid, or Robert. I believe Eguchi-san intentionally kept the same timbre for [redacted], Twilight, Loid, and Robert because they're all staying close to home. You can still recognize it's still the same person. But what changes are other prosodic features (intonation, pitch, rhythm, stress, and pauses). The following video is from Piracytheorist's post and the YouTube video is from Calle-B.

youtube

Here are my descriptions of the 4 voices:

[Redacted] - Intonation: N/A. Japanese is not a tonal language. - Stress: vowels and consonants are even for syllables - Rhythm: slow and steady - Pitch: low register, feels like it can be the middle (makes sense since this is the voice he's born with) - Pauses: frequent pauses (also, no way in hell you can convince me to measure the mili-second of his pause) - Tone: warm and soft - Other quality(-ies): reminds me of slight head-mix dominant (60% - 70%). In singing, a mixed voice is when a singer mixes his/her/their head voice and chest voice together (you might commonly know this as belting). But with mix voices, the singer can choose to make it an even mix of both head and chest, or leaning to either more head or more chest. Twilight - Intonation: N/A. Japanese is not a tonal language - Stress: consonants, vowels, syllables, and long phrases are rushed - Rhythm: his speed is fast. it's like water gushing out - Pitch: low(est) register. This is probably the deepest voice he can go while maintaining his timbre - Pauses: They only exist when a completed thought is finished. Twilight, BREATHE, man - Tone: cold and sharp - Other quality(-ies): sometimes his low register have a bassy quality to it Loid Forger - Intonation: N/A - Stress: His consonants and vowels are spoken fast in some syllables but also have a slight elongation typically towards the last few words of a completed thought - Rhythm: fast like Twilights, but has an upbeat rhythm to it - Pitch: upper register (it's the customer service voice lol) - Pauses: It's a mix of Twilight and [Redacted]'s. He has moments where he pauses after a long completed thought. Sometimes, he pauses in between a few words/syllables. Pauses feel irregular here--like he doesn't know if he should relax of speed up (as if he's being pulled to either Twilight or [redacted]'s pause pacing) - Tone: sounds cheerful - Other quality(-ies): 80% head-mix voice. The chest voice is still there, but head voice stands out Robert - Intonation: N/A. Japanese is not a tonal language. - Stress: elongated vowels and consonants -- similar to [redacted]. - Rhythm: originally slow and drawl. But as soon as he realizes that "Robert's mission is over", he starts speaking fast like Twilight - Pitch: low register and soft - Pauses: He has similar pauses to [redacted]. There seems to be a lil bit of longer pauses to indicate passiveness (reinforce the boring image of Robert) - Tone: monotone and soft - Other quality(-ies): head voice. The chest voice seems to be absent (chest voice is perceived as the power in singing and speech) as to reflect Robert as someone who is small and doesn't have much personality (as to not stand out during this identity). This voice is achieved by keeping your voice low but above a whisper. When "Robert's mission is over", the chest voice emerges and his head voice becomes head-mix.

Prosodic features are best accurately portrayed in discourse, meaning it's exclusively for speaking, not writing. So, how can Endo-san incorporate any linguistic feature in writing? We've already answered that with the analyses above: spelling.

Linguistics in the manga (what you read)

I've already went into great detail about spelling reflecting dialect, so I won't regurgitate what I've already covered. Instead, I want to focus on the fact that Endo-san actually acknowledges and uses prosodic features to mirror the 2 mediums of Spy x Family. This is significant because it reinforces the mirroring characters between Ricky and Loid. After all, it's going to be a foreshadow. Normally, I'd talk more about foreshadow under a literary lens, but for once, foreshadow is illustrated through linguistics.

In discourse analysis, the way you speak almost always portrays your identity.

Ricky's English vernacular is his real speech. > [Redacted]'s voice is Loid/Twilight's real speech, which often came out in the presence of Yor Forger.

Ricky speaks in standard English to mask his real voice and make himself more appealing to Rachel. > Loid's voice is used to mask both Twilight and [redacted].

Ricky gives up his pompadour (the most important thing in his life--which also happens to be a part of his identity) to destroy the "barrier" between him and Rachel. In doing so, he goes back to speaking with his English vernacular. > FORESHADOW: Loid will give up one or two of his identities for Yor (it might be Twilight and/or Loid). In exchange, [redacted] will come back.

Another possible foreshadow is what Rachel says about recognizing the importance of Ricky's pompadour to him. Because Rachel is a parallel character to Yor Forger, it can be implied that Yor would recognize how important Loid's identity is to him. In a previous analysis, I mentioned that Ch. 90.1, is the closest thing to an identity reveal. When Yor carved out Anya's name as Ania, she never once questioned it. She also didn't question when she had to carve another sign and spelled it with Anya. I'm aware of the caveat in this claim, such as Yor lacking education in Ostanian orthography which is why she doesn't react.

Be it grasping at straws or not, Yor has the emotional maturity to bounce back from the shock of an identity reveal. Yes, Yor would be sad and hurt to find out that Twilight is a spy from the opposition, but she would understand. They know they're both orphans because of the war. Yor already has a positive bias towards Loid based on observing his behavior at home, in his efforts to provide a better future for Anya, regardless of blood relationship. The point is, Yor is already infatuated with him and her feelings for him will influence her compassion and understanding for the person he's become, so bouncing back from feeling betrayal (not the romantic kind) would be faster for her than Loid.

Loid, on the other hand, may have more reluctance towards accepting the identity reveal (this is also mentioned in my Ch. 90.1 analysis). This is mainly because he's been conditioned to be skeptical and overanalyzing. So, he'll definitely need time to brood and reflect on their situation. Or, maybe he just might have already reached a point where he's just tired, and deflatingly accepts the situation. He'll self-loathe himself for being Westalis's best spy only to have married a legendary Garden assassin--seeing both as a win and loss (he'd be the type to say that he should be dead right now because his identity was revealed to the deadliest enemy). The confession of their love for one another just might be the thing to smooth out the wrinkles.

Someone once commented that, technically, losing Twilight as an identity isn't technically a loss. Twilight was born from a sacrifice. Loid technically isn't a loss either since he was born as a role for Twilight to play. Which leaves [redacted]. Like the film for Ricky, [redacted]'s foreshadowed arrival is just an opportunity for him to come in full circle.

PHEW.

This was a long linguistic analysis of these few pages, and in real-time this took me 8 hours to write. I did lose a night of sleep cuz my brain hyper-fixated on writing this. Help. But we're not done yet. The knowledge that you've acquired will definitely be beneficial through a literary lens in part 2.

I'll update this post with a link when Part 2 is finished.

#spy x family #spy x family ch. 105.5 #spy x family manga #linguistic analyses #linguistics #discourse analysis #orthography #English #English variations #scarlywroteathing #yor forger #anyaforger #becky blackbell #martha marriott #twiyor #damianya #marthanderson #Youtube

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unhetalia · 8 months ago

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England headcanons (pt. 1):

Chain-smokes like a motherfucker. Alfred, who doesn't smoke and pretends very hard to think smoking is disgusting, hasn't yet realised where his secret smoking kink comes from.

Currently works for British Intelligence/has infiltrated his own government.

Carries around either a cane or umbrella that hides a sword even though he has never ONCE had to use it. He just feels more comfortable having a sword. (He does also carry around a gun, which, in contrast, has been used often.)

Also carries around his own pen, and absolutely loathes the thought of using someone else's. The pen is a first edition Michel Perchin Serpent in Champagne LE Fountain Pen given to him by Alfred - only ten were ever made and it cost a cool 8k. While Arthur has more valuable things - especially from his time as a pirate and back when he personally knew his royal family - the pen is still one of his most prized possessions.

His favourite tea is actually French Earl Grey - which is Earl Grey with rose petals. Not actually French? But Arthur's still pretty annoyed about it.

As mentioned in a few of my other posts - Arthur is incredibly physical and has kept up with sword fighting and various martial arts over the years, and regularly goes to the gym. He's very disciplined about it.

Tends to eat only for fuel as opposed to enjoyment whenever he's left to his own devices.

If pressed, Arthur will admit his best friend is Francis. Francis would say the same about Arthur.

(Despite their individual body counts, Francis and Arthur have never slept with each other.)

(Arthur doesn't have a lot of friends and has a strained relationship with his siblings, and has always felt that people don't like spending time with him. Even when he was on top of the world, working with his government to become an Empire, he still felt like an underdog.)

On that note, Arthur worked with his government longer than the other Nations, and was a huge part of establishing the British Empire. It made his already fraught relationship with his siblings even worse, and he regrets a lot of it.

Nations get scars very rarely, because very few things have the ability to give them scars - magical weapons is one of those things. Out of all the Nations, England has the most scars.

England is amazing at knitting and crochet, and he gifts Francis crocheted figurines from French cartoons for his birthday every year, which Francis adores. He also knits Canada scarves and gloves and beanies whenever he remembers him.

One of Arthur's most embarrassing memories is getting gonorrhea during his pirate days. He didn't have sex for a month after his healing kicked in - a record back then - and he became a lot more diligent in procuring and using the linen sheaths they used as condoms at the time.

Three of Arthur's back molars are implants made of real gold.

Alfred is the first (and last) person Arthur will say he's ever fallen in love with BUT the closest he's come is with another American - a nurse that took care of him during World War I. She was blonde and blue eyed and once shouted Arthur down when he insisted on continuing to fight even with a bullet lodged in his shoulder. She completely disappeared in April 1917, just before the Americans officially joined the war. He sometimes wonders what happened to her.

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betsey-laurens-hamilton · 5 months ago

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attention ELAMS ONESHOT john survived au!

I can't believe I haven't posted this. it's one of my favorite one shots ever. its john and eliza, he gets to the hamilton household alive and well after everyone thinks he was dead bc he wouldn't send letters to alexander for a while. its giving he wasn't dead he was just depressed

anyway enjoy!! I love them so much! 🥹

⋆ ☼ ☽

“He looks happy.”

John looked over at the woman standing near the counter. He struggled a little to keep his eyes plainly open but did his best nonetheless.

“Alexander?”

“Yes. You two are a good fit.”

A little smile made its way to Eliza’s lips and she gently dipped some cotton into an alcohol-based solution.

“Well, I appreciate that.”

Laurens winced when Elizabeth placed the cotton on one of his open wounds, though maybe that was just because he had relaxed and completely forgot to prepare for the pain.

“Fuck.”

“It’s about the third time I hear you curse in the past hour, Mr. Laurens, you sound like a sailor.”

His blue eyes darted to her. Eliza was focused on his wound, however, she managed to sneak a touch of a fun tone to her voice. She was not very serious about what she’d said. He snickered after a few seconds staring at her, and shook his head.

“Sorry, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“Please call me Eliza. As appealing as the title is to me, I feel like we should be going past formalities by now.”

“Eliza. Sorry, Eliza.”

Both of them chuckled a little bit, looking and sounding a tad shyer than they usually did.

“I am merely messing with. How did you manage this wound, by the way? My husband has spoken several times of your endearing ease to get yourself in trouble. The war is already over, what could you be up to?”

“Well…” Laurens sighed. “I was simply serving my duty to the country. Fighting for the land. The british are yet to leave us alone fully.”

“Are those battles not more dangerous than the previous ones?”

“Sometimes.”

Eliza stared up at John from the wound for a few seconds. He shrugged.

“Well… Alexander has also spoken of his desire to see you again, written letters quite a few times, yet you never seem to acknowledge it.”

John frowned, eyes on her once again focused face. She was bold, that mistress of his companion. Perhaps why they fit so well.

“A man on duty can’t give everything up to pay a friend a visit any time he wishes, no matter how much he might wish otherwise.”

“No, but you have had plenty of free time despite your efforts to keep yourself busy, so I’ve heard.”

“I do get busy with things other than battles. I have personal matters, do I not?”

“Exactly what we are talking about, Mr. Laurens. I was just quite curious about the reason my husband’s best friend would rather not show up to his wedding day.”

John couldn’t help his cheeks from warming up at Mrs. Hamilton’s comment. Did she know he had also been invited by her husband to the aftermath of it? Was it something that they had thought of together or was she oblivious to the entire situation? John couldn’t even begin to wonder how a woman like her would react to such indecent ideas. There was, however, a curious spark about it, hidden away…

“John?”

“Uhh…”

Eliza wiped the soaked cotton over his wound one last time, ripping a wince out of him.

“I’m not angry at you, John. Alexander might be a little, but I’m not. I am quite curious, though, but I don’t want you to speak on subjects you may not be comfortable with or find displeasing.” Eliza collected the dirty cottons and stood up, scaring Laurens slightly. “Stay. Are you alright?”

He just looks at her, blue guilty eyes and a hard swallow followed by an apology and yes. A few seconds later, Eliza returned with bandages and a glass of water.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. If you feel better, sit up a tad.”

And then he did as said, holding in a grunt of pain.

Eliza worked in silence for a few seconds. Sometimes, she’d glance up at him, but John was unaware, having closed his eyes. Just tight enough, Schuyler wrapped bandages around his arm, making sure to soothe any rough patches beforehand.

“You know, your hair resembles wheat.”

“Hm?” Laurens blinks his eyes open, slightly unaware of his surroundings. Eliza worked like an angel, so much better than any nurse ever did and, god, he was tired.

“The blonde in your hair. I knew it reminded me of something. It’s wheat in the morning sun.”

A breath got stuck in his throat. How was he supposed to hold on much longer?

John swallowed.

“Specifically morning sun?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Mr. Laurens!” Eliza abruptly looked up at him.

“John. Call me John.”

“Fine. John, how come you do not know the difference? You’re an artist as far as I know…” She sighed. “The morning sun is… well, definitely less yellow, leaning more into a whiter shade of sunlight. It hits the wheat and reflects a light beige, a beautiful one at that. It’s different.”

He stays in silence for a brief second, only to realize there’s a smile on his face.

“It’s…” Eliza sighed, cheeks flushing slightly but also quite a smiley expression. “It’s one of the most beautiful hours of the day. I wish Alexander would rise earlier more often, just to appreciate the daylight and the fresh air of mornings.”

“I would always try to convince him back in army days…”

“And would it work?”

“Definitely not,” He chuckled.

Eliza joined in with quiet giggles.

“I forced him out of bed sometimes for a walk. He despised it.” John added.

“He has the loveliest grumpy morning face.”

“He does…”

Both of them lean gently into their smiles, sighing in content one after the other. John, however, quickly noticed what he said and shot Eliza an indiscreet wide gaze, which the brunette met with a calm, yet aware one. A knowing, very discreet gaze.

Heavens, did she know?

Laurens rapidly cleared his throat, shaking his head. “Either way we never spent too much time out, General Washington always had plenty of work to do, much more pleasant for him.”

“Yes, the writing?” Eliza finished up the bandage, checking it around a few times.

“Yes.”

“Hide the pen and present him with a sweet activity once he comes asking for it. Just a tip… Well,” She grinned. “You’re all done, Mr. La.. John. You’re done, John. I suppose I should leave you to rest.”

“Thank you, Eliza. Truly.”

“It’s nothing, John. Good night, just shout if you need something.”

He chuckled, meeting her gaze a last time before she opened and closed the door behind herself.

“Good night, ‘Liza.”

#elams #hamliza #johnliza #i love them so much #<3 #eliza schuyler #elizabeth schuyler #hamilton #throuple #alexander hamilton #john laurens #john survived au #historical #historical appearances #lams #bisexual bitches

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tarysande · 27 days ago

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Also!

I meant to post about this earlier, since it, uh, starts tomorrow, but if you’re looking for a community writing challenge in November that isn’t the one currently going through upheaval, the Federation of BC Writers is running one.

You don’t have to be a member (though it’s cheaper if you are, and we do a ton of great online programming throughout the year; much of it is free for members!).

There is a fee, but it’s basically just to cover admin costs throughout the month. You also don’t have to be in British Columbia (or even Canada) to join/participate. I may have already convinced @w0rdinista to join 👀

If you do join, the org has reduced rates for volunteers and those who are struggling. Also, it’s Canadian dollars, so… like, 30% cheaper in USD and the euro. More than that in GBP.

Full disclosure: I’m on the board of directors. But I’m only on the board of directors because I love the organization. Annnd the org is really inclusive and really open to suggestions and feedback. And we’re planning so many good things! Plus the executive director and I talked about Star Wars and Star Trek for like, hours this past weekend. So it’s a nerd-friendly environment. 😂

#I signed up for THE ACCOUNTABILITY #yikes #tara talks writing #I guess I’ll be working on the new book…

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louisupdates · 3 months ago

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Louis Tomlinson - does it ring with this name? As a singer of the British boy group One Direction, he was successful in the years 2010-2015. Together, the band decided to take a break. It has remained so to this day. In 2016, however, Louis began to take his own path. On his solo paths, the singer-songwriter has developed a style that takes up influences from British rock, alternative and indie pop. His music is often melodic, with catchy guitar riffs and a rather down-to-earth sound reminiscent of British bands of the 2000s. Already his first single Just Hold On sold 1.8 million copies. In 2020 and 2022, he released his two albums Walls and Faith In The Future. This was followed by two incredible world tours with over 170 concerts in 47 countries on 5 continents.

For this, an idea matured - a live album should be created, but a very special one. Thus, individual songs were recorded during the tour. On the 25th In April, the result was surprisingly published digitally. 14 songs have been released. Each of them was recorded in a different city. So the listener at home can also mentally go on a small trip around the world while enjoying the individual songs. Now the physical versions of the live album also followed, which make the concert feeling in the living room perfect. These include four more, exclusive tracks. In addition to the double CD, a double picture vinyl edition is available and it has it all!

The vinyl edition contains a special tour book. Fans were able to submit personal impressions about their concert experiences. And these are now included in this extra booklet. Louis decorated the recordings with individual hearts, smileys or crosses and handwritten the first names of the respective fans. This recorded, mutual appreciation is truly a magical highlight. The 28-page, regular booklet is no less lovingly designed. In addition to the lyrics, you will encounter the London set list, high-quality backstage photos and touching recordings made during the concerts.

Louis is happy about this release: "I have been lucky enough to tour the world twice in the last 3 years. The feeling I get when sharing these live moments will accompany me forever. The opportunity to record these songs anywhere in the world and release them as an album is something very special and a real tribute to the fans, who make every single show a unique and incredible experience. Thank you! Enjoy!"

Right at the opener The Greatest, you seem to be in the middle of the action with your eyes closed. In addition to the live sound, the fans can also be heard clearly. Louis invites them to tune in with him: "Sing it with me!" And they do! The spirited mood comes across clearly. In the meantime, the fans also get the space to sing alone. You get used to the choruses and the delighted shouts from the audience very quickly. In Bigger Than Me, the British singer gives space for personal growth and self-reflection. In the song, Louis describes how he deals with the changes in his life and realizes that life is bigger than himself. He talks about taking responsibility for his actions and decisions, especially with regard to his career and the people who support him. The song contains a powerful perspective on growing up and taking responsibility.

Holding On To Heartache puts the fans in great excitement. screams welcome the gentle song. This is about how difficult it is to let go of the pain after a breakup. It's about holding on to grief because it's connected with the memories of lost love, and it's not easy to finally finish with the past. The single We Made It is powerful. In the booklet, the single was translated into Filipino - after all, the recording comes from the concert in the Philippines. Although Louis sings the title in English, this hidden greeting is really adorable. By the way, this approach can be found several times in the booklet. For example, All This Time/She Is Beauty We Are World Class, the titles played in Munich, were also translated into German, for example.

High In California, for example, can only be found on the physical editions of the album. This lightness that the song contains is clearly noticeable. This is about escaping everyday life and getting lost in a state of freedom and lightheartedness. The lifestyle and atmosphere of California make you forget your worries and problems for a moment - just as is the case with Louis' concerts. Here you feel protected and can escape all negative thoughts.

Common People is about the appreciation of ordinary people and their experiences. The song deals with life in everyday life and how important it is to connect with the "ordinary" people and understand their perspectives. Challenges and struggles that many people experience should be taken seriously instead of romanticizing them. It is his tribute to the authenticity and reality of life. It therefore becomes gently rocking with All This Time/She Is Beauty We Are World Class. Here you rock with real fun from the sofa. The groovy guitars do the rest:

youtube

In Walls, delicate strings underline the song about emotional barriers and the struggle to show themselves vulnerable. Louis addresses the need to dismantle one's own walls in order to enable real connections with other people. It is an honest and personal song about vulnerability, love and the desire for closeness, despite the difficulties that can be associated with it. Louis calls on his fans: "Here we go! Scream" and together the fans sing with their idol: "But these high walls, they came up short. Now I stand taller than them all. These high walls never broke my soul. And I, I watched them all come fallin' down. I watched them all come fallin' down for you."

Out Of My System is then reached harder into the guitar strings. The drums are also picking up speed. With the fast track, the good mood is at a peak. This is about the internal conflicts and the difficulties of freeing yourself from the emotional burdens, while at the same time trying to find yourself and your identity. Overall, it is an energetic track about the process of leaving the past behind and starting over. In Paris, Louis is impressed by his crowd: "This looks fucking amazing!" With a warm voice, he performs Saturdays - a song that clearly reminds you of Oasis.

Silver Tongues is accompanied by a lively piano playing and you can really imagine how the euphoric fans on site shine with shere joy and rock them together again. "Krakow, you have been absolutety incredible tonight. Thank you, thank you, thank you! Sing this next one with me, here we go... as loud as you can!” And the crowd settles in: "You and me until the end. Wakin' up to start again. You and me until the end. Wakin' up to start again. There's nowhere else that I would rather be."

youtube

The record ends with Kill My Mind from Santiano. Louis sings of a roller coaster of emotions in a passionate, but also chaotic relationship. It's about the challenge of letting yourself be overwhelmed by the feelings and the inner struggle that arises when you are trapped in a relationship that is both exciting and stressful.

Louis Tomlinson and his crew have succeeded in a truly remarkable work. What is actually the advantage of a live album? You are not terribly sweaty, the way home is not imminent and you do not fall into the aftershow blues like a real gig afterwards, but can simply start all over again. 🙂

Louis Tomlinson's album Live was released on 23.08.2024 as a CD and vinyl via the label BMG.

Tracklist LOUIS TOMLINSON - Live (Vinyl Edition)

01. The Greatest - Live from London, 17.11.2023

02. Face The Music - Live from Nashville, 07/18/2023

03. Bigger Than Me - Live from Vancouver, 26.06.2023

04. Holding On To Heartache - Live from Barcelona, 06.10.2023

05. We Made It - Live from Manila, 16.07.2022

06. Chicago - Live from Chicago, 15.06.2023

07. High In California , Live from Amsterdam, 15.10.2023

08. Fearless, Live from Rio, 27.05.2022

09. Common People, Live from Sheffield, 10.11.2023

10. All This Time/She Is Beauty We Are World Class, Live from Munich, 22.10.2023

11. Walls, Live from Buenos Aires, 21.05.2022

12. Only The Brave, Live from Milan, 03.09.2022

13. Written All Over Your Face, Live from Budapest, 15.09.2023

14. Out Of My System, Live from Brisbane, 30.01.2024

15. Saturdays, Live from Paris, 14.10.2023

16. Silver Tongues, Live from Krakow, 10.09.2023

17. Kill My Mind, Live from Santiago, 15.05.2022

Tracklist LOUIS TOMLINSON - Live (2CD Edition)

Disk 1

01. The Greatest, Live from London, 17.11.2023

02. Face The Music - Live from Nashville, 07/18/2023

03. Bigger Than Me - Live from Vancouver, 26.06.2023

04. Holding On To Heartache - Live from Barcelona, 06.10.2023

05. We Made It - Live from Manila, 16.07.2022

06. Chicago - Live from Chicago, 15.06.2023

07. High In California , Live from Amsterdam, 15.10.2023

08. Fearless, Live from Rio, 27.05.2022

09. Common People, Live from Sheffield, 10.11.2023

Disk 2

01. All This Time/She Is Beauty We Are World Class, Live from Munich, 22.10.2023

02. Walls, Live from Buenos Aires, 21.05.2022

03. Written All Over Your Face, Live from Budapest, 15.09.2023

04. Out Of My System, Live from Brisbane, 30.01.2024

05. Saturdays, Live from Paris, 14.10.2023

06. Where Do Broken Hearts Go, Live from Tallinn, 05.09.2023

07. Silver Tongues, Live from Krakow, 10.09.2023

#louis tomlinson: live #Louis promo #louis press #26.8.2024

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deakyjoe · 2 years ago

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Somebody’s Watching Me Part 11

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (“Sarge”, she/her, British, backstory)

Category: slowburn coworkers to friends to lovers with grumpy x sunshine dynamic/idiots in love

Summary: Feelings are finally revealed in the face of mortal danger. Some good, some bad.

Warnings: British terminology/slang, strong language, injury detail, war/death, mask is off and on, angst, canon-typical violence, mentions of stalking, sexual references

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: This took me two weeks to write. For a not very long chapter. Also, I hate it. Enjoy!

Consider buying me a coffee :)

Things became complicated. More so than they already were. The range of emotions you were feeling was making life difficult. You couldn't concentrate. The most simple of tasks were becoming far more complex than they ever should be because your mind was focusing on one particular subject.

Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley.

He'd ruined you. Ruined your life. Ruined everything.

It didn't help that he knew it either.

"You still haven't forgiven me yet, have you?" He uttered one evening after you'd spent the last hour or two trying to forget everything that had happened through the simple will of human touch and physical affection.

Your voice was soft when you replied, almost reluctant but not quite. "No."

"Okay." He was beginning to become more accepting of the situation. Maybe finally realising that what he'd done was not just bad. But terrible. Morally awful. No matter his initial intentions.

In short, he was starting to feel guilty. Really guilty. And not just about being caught. But he didn't quite know how to express this to you. And whilst you could see that he was becoming more understanding and could appreciate that, his inability to actually show this to you or even say it meant that forgiveness was not quite ready to be dished out.

You stayed rather quiet around him now, often silent. Never rambling like you used to. He missed the incessant chatter constantly spilling out of your mouth. Sometimes he'd walk into a room with you in it, and you'd be talking to Soap or Gaz, and spouting words like there was no tomorrow. But you hushed yourself as soon as his presence was detected. It was like you were uncomfortable speaking around him now, as if you didn't want him to know more than what was absolutely necessary about you. He knew why and he hated it.

And he didn't miss the way you avoided looking at him whenever he had the mask on. That would've been fine, many people didn't like looking at him with it on as they tended to find it intimidating, but whenever it was off you always made a point of making eye contact. The most burning, piercing eye contact of his life. And he knew why you did it. You were looking at Simon, not Ghost, Simon. He hated that too.

But it prompted another question out of him another day. "You love Simon?"

The question was odd but you understood why it was being asked, your eyes opening blearily as you answered. "Yes."

"Not Ghost?" He pushed.

"You're..." You hesitated and sighed, face scrunching in thought. "You're one in the same to me. Almost. But I fell in love with Simon first."

A startling realisation hit him. "But I don't even know who Simon is."

You mumbled something under your breath and looked at him, his glazed over eyes and forehead slicked with sweat matching yours. "Then maybe figure it out before you ask me for forgiveness."

It was biting, a low blow even, but he knew why you said it. And he thought you had a point. He hated that you had a point. Simon Riley was used to being right, always having the upper hand in situations because most of the time he knew he was correct. This privilege did not extend to you. Why? Because you were always more right than he was. And it was made worse by the fact that you were good. Morally good and just... good in general. Simon knew he couldn't fight you, especially now, because he knew that you were right and good. Meaning the situation was entirely in your hands. All he could do was await forgiveness, if you ever even decided to bless him with it.

So, even though you seemed to be spending countless hours with each other whenever you could spare the time, it felt as if the two of you hadn't really hung out properly in a while and bonded. They were just more stolen moments in his office and sometimes supply cupboards. Nothing with substance. You were trying to keep your distance as much as possible so he could figure himself out, a few weak moments of needed pleasure from him thrown in here and there, and he was trying to keep his distance to allow you the time to calm down from what he'd done whilst he collected his thoughts to grant you a proper apology, taking the random opportunities for closeness when you offered them his way.

The main problem with this though was that neither of you were succeeding in what you were supposed to be doing. Simon wasn't managing to collect his thoughts in any coherent manner in order to extend an apology and you were not calming down after the effects of his weird behaviour. As much as you wanted to forgive him for purely selfish reasons, it just was not as easy as you hoped it would be. Turns out you had more self-respect for yourself than previously estimated.

It was obvious to outside eyes, other than Ghost's, that the turmoil raging inside of you was taking over your mind. Even if you didn’t want it to.

Soap found you one day in the rec room, stretched out across a chair with headphones over your ears and a pout on your lips. "Are you alright, hen? What's with the sad face?"

You'd just managed to hear him over the music and had ripped the headphones from your head and looked up at him with wide eyes. "ABBA are taunting me."

His eyebrows had scrunched in confusion but an amused smirk had curled the corners of his lips. "ABBA?"

"ABBA." You reiterated, slightly more deadpan and serious now.

Soap sat down on the arm of the chair and looked over your shoulder. "What song are you listening to?"

"SOS." You sighed and pouted again, thinking of the lyrics.

"Oh... here, let me just-" He picked up your phone and started scrolling through the playlist.

"If you play Chiquitita I am going to cut your dick off and feed it to you." You snapped, completely sincere with the threat.

He dropped your phone and raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, forget it then."

You groaned and stood from the chair, extending your arms above your head. "I'm sorry. Just in a bad mood recently."

"I have noticed. But it's okay. I know things have been bad with Ghost." Soap watched you walk towards the fridge, pausing for a split second at the mention of your lieutenant. That made him smile slightly.

"He's really fucked me over, y'know?" You called back over your shoulder, ignoring whatever quip he bit back with.

And when you opened the fridge door, you were greeted by a sight that both horrified and amazed you. Stacks and stacks of apple juice. Bottles of it, cartons of it, even cans of it. There was no mistaking that this was Simon's doing. Some strange, little way of apologising and proving something to you. It was unclear in your heart whether it was endearing or irritating. Maybe it was just both.

You exhaled heavily and grabbed one of the bottles, recognising it as somehow being one from the farmers' market. How he'd managed to get it out here, you had no idea. But you guessed he had his ways.

"He's fucking crazy." You turned back to look at Soap who was failing to suppress the grin on his face. "What? What are you smiling about?"

"Gifts. It's a love language."

"Oh, fuck off, MacTavish." You scoffed and threw the bottle at him where he barely managed to catch it. "Do you think I should say something to him?"

"Depends how much you want to make him pay, hen."

"I'll keep quiet about it for now." You decided. It's not like you were taunting Ghost, which is what Soap thought you were doing as a way to torture him, you were just extending the punishment into what you thought was fit. It would be over once you truly belived he'd paid for what he did wrong and had apologised profusely. Honestly, a small part of you wanted to see how far he'd go to achieve forgiveness. To see how much you were really worth to him.

But then he had to go and fuck up that plan by walking into the room just as you were grabbing another bottle of apple juice for yourself.

The two of you stood still on opposite sides of the room, like deer frozen in headlights, with Soap right in the middle ready to be mediator if necessary but mostly just waiting to see how this would play out.

One of the downsides of the mask, that he insisted on wearing, was that you couldn't easily read Simon. There were no visible facial expressions. Only what he gave away with his eyes and the little skin you could see around his eyes. And now he was too far away to see properly. So you had to gauge this on his body language alone. He was stiff and unmoving, that much was clear. But that was typical Ghost.

You raised the apple juice bottle in the air awkwardly. "This was you?"

You knew it was. And he knew you knew. So he only nodded in response.

"Thank you." You pushed out, ignoring Soap's stifled giggles. "This- this is nice of you."

He shrugged. "You're welcome, Sarge."

You'd given up on reprimanding him about the nickname. It wasn't like he planned on giving it up anytime soon no matter how much you told him to stop calling you that. Besides, it seemed like everyone on the base appeared to have at least some fraction of an idea about what was happening between the two of you even if they didn't have the full story. You blamed word of mouth and two gossips whose names would not be mentioned.

Nothing else was said after that. Simon made himself a cup of tea and silently left the room, avoiding you very obviously staring at him as he went.

"I don't know what to do." You confessed to Soap once you were convinced that Ghost was very much out of earshot.

"I don't think he does either." Your Scottish friend added with a head tilt in the direction of where your lieutenant just went.

"I so badly want to forgive him but just... can't. And I don't know how to explain how I'm feeling." You confessed, burying your face into your hands.

"Talk it out with him."

"It might surprise you to hear this, but he's not much of a talker." You snorted, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes so hard that you saw stars.

"Okay, so you talk and he listens. Then he begs for you to take him back. Easy." Soap suggested and poked you in the centre of your forehead to emphasise his point.

As you slapped his hand away with a roll of your eyes, you realised that maybe he had a point. And a good point at that. You could talk. Simon was always saying how much you loved to talk and how you could talk enough for the both of you, able to keep a conversation going without anyone else saying a word. Filling in the blanks and awkward silences was your strong suit. So, yeah. You could talk at him and have him listen until you were done and ready to let him beg for forgiveness. That was doable. So that's what you would do. Now, only to suggest the idea to the man himself...

It only took a couple of days, well actually almost a week, before you mustered up the courage to broach the subject with him. It happened after a briefing for your next mission which you barely paid attention to, as usual, and Ghost appeared very shocked that you were choosing to talk to him as you dragged him into an empty room where he immediately removed his mask.

"I have something to say and I need you to keep quiet until I'm done, okay?" You asked and he nodded simply. "I don't even know why I'm asking. I know you're very good at keeping quiet. It's one of your many skills actually. Anyway..."

Knocking yourself back into your original thought process, you failed to notice the smirk that Simon was sending you over your inability to stay on track and not stray away on tangents. He loved you so much. And all the little things that made you you.

"We need to figure this out because not knowing how I'm feeling about you is killing me. Yes, I'm in love with you but I also hate you right now and I don't know what to do about it. So we need to talk. Properly. You need to explain everything to me completely truthfully and then I'll consider forgiving you. And I need to attempt to express my emotions so you can grasp some understanding of it all. Does that sound fair?" You asked, breathless after rambling for too long.

He nodded again. "It does."

"Great. So stay alive."

He looked perplexed. "What?"

"We're doing it after this mission. I need you alive for this. So stay alive." You waved your hand around as if it were obvious.

"Sarge, I-" He cut himself off when he saw the genuine look of concern on your features.

"I might not pay attention in briefings but even I could tell Price was nervous. Like... like we're not all expected to make it back. More than usual." You paused. "This conversation and my potential forgiveness are incentives to keep you alive."

Simon wanted to kiss you. "Alright."

"And- and I don't want you dead."

Simon could double kiss you. "Got it. Don't want you dead either."

"If you die then I'll have to bring you back just to kill you. So no selfish heroic moves, alright?" You pointed a finger at him, completely serious.

He tried to hide the smile that was threatening to crack his face. He was getting his Sarge back and, as much as you didn't want to allow that to happen, it could not be denied any longer.

"I'm not much of a hero, Sarge. So I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement about this."

You scoffed at him, willing to play into his game. "Maybe that's what you think. But I don't need you sacrificing yourself just because you think you're not worth saving when we've finally decided to talk this all out. I won't let you get out of it that easily."

"Ah, you see right through me." He raised his hands in mock surrender, waving the metaphorical white flag as he gave in to your suggestions. You were right, as usual, afterall. "Okay, fine. No dying and we'll talk afterwards. Or you'll talk and I'll do some listening and maybe a little begging."

"A lot of begging. I want you on your knees demanding forgiveness out of me. I won't settle for any less."

"I've been on my knees for you before." He observed, thinking back on scenarios in your flat when the two of you didn't quite make it to your bedroom. And times when you did. "I'm sure I could do it again."

"Oh, haha. Very funny, Riley." You added sarcastically, knowing exactly what he was remembering. The ideas made heat rush to the surface of your skin. "I'm not joking. I want a genuine conversation."

"I know, Sarge." Simon sighed. "And I'm very willing to give it to you. More than you could possibly know."

That shocked you. "Fine. Good. Great, even. Then... then we'll do that."

"Looking forward to it."

But, of course, he had to break that simple promise.

"Simon!" Your voice echoed around the room, loud but still distant, and he ignored it. He couldn't drag you into this, couldn't risk you too.

In short, he'd been shot. A couple of times actually. And he was on the floor bleeding out and willing to sacrifice himself for the safety of the rest of the team. He was doing exactly what you'd asked him not to. He believed that if he ignored you for long enough then you'd give up and go away, leave him to die in peace with the hope that you would have forgiven him if things had gone differently.

But unfortunately for him you were persistent, he'd argue stubborn, and you weren't giving up until you found him. Which you did quicker than he anticipated. When you stumbled into the room, you were relieved to find him still conscious but curled up against a wall in obvious pain.

"Aw shit, Simon..." You rushed over to him and collapsed by his side, pressing one hand into the wound on his leg and the other hand over the one on his stomach. "What did you do this for?"

"I didn't get shot on purpose." He argued back, knowing exactly what you really meant.

"Simon..." The blood spilling from between your fingers was worrying. "Can you walk?"

"Yes, that's why I'm sitting here." He huffed back, dry humour still intact, and winced when the action made the damaged flesh stretch in an uncomfortable manner. "Listen, Sarge-"

"Nuh uh, not now." You shook your head at him, voice dropping into a warning tone. "We need to get you out of here first."

"And I'm trying to tell you that I don't think that's happening." He wheezed as more blood poured from him and his vision blurred slightly.

"You promised me a conversation and a proper apology, Simon Swayze. Didn't you?"

He smiled at the nickname. "I did. And I'm sorry to be breaking that promise."

"You're not. Because I'm getting you out of here even if I have to carry your six foot four butt out of here myself." You hooked an arm around his torso and used your legs to plant yourself firmly on the floor to drag the two of you up. Somehow, with a great deal of determination and adrenaline, you managed to get the both of you in a standing position where you immediately rested against the wall to gain a proper sense of balance. You couldn't lose him, not now. Not when you were so close to fixing everything.

"You're strong, Sarge." The words were slurred as the blood loss was making Ghost minutely delirious.

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Now let's go." Steeling your body for his weight, you pushed off the wall and started forward through the rubble.

He didn't pay much attention to where you were going. It wasn't like he could give much input into whether or not you were going in the correct direction as he was quickly losing comprehension of the situation.

"Sarge...?" He mumbled next to you, head drooping to awkwardly lean against yours.

"Yes...?" You mimicked his tone in the hopes of brightening the situation. But it was going to take a lot more than that to actually succeed in doing so.

"Love... you..."

You let out a sudden laugh, short and snappy. "What a fantastic fucking place for a love confession. So fucking romantic, Lieutenant Riley. Really. You've outdone yourself."

"Sorry."

The apology was mumbled, but genuine. You knew he couldn't help it. Serious blood loss and shock from injuries could really make you say the craziest of things. It just would've been nice if the first proper time he told you he loved you was not where either of you could die at any second.

"It's okay, Simon." You offered back, meaning it truthfully, as you adjusted your grip on him and dragged him along.

You ignored the burn in your own legs from carrying the weight of two and navigated your way through the building. Gunfire echoed in your ears as you weaved your way through the corridors, feeling a pinch or two as maybe a couple of bullets grazed you. But you couldn't focus on that. You could only focus on getting you and Ghost to safety, mostly Ghost. He was more important than you in this scenario, in all scenarios really. At least, he was most important to you no matter what. No matter the fuck ups, no matter the trials and tribulations that he caused and therefore put you both through. As much as you hated to admit it due to what he'd done, you needed to hear him out and let the apologies be accepted as he was important to you. You loved him too fucking much to suddenly lose him now.

And when you cleared the building, and heard someone scream your names, you allowed yourself to collapse to the floor after depositing Simon onto another pair of shoulders and fade into the blackness as blood slowly seeped out from the several bullet wounds you had been blissfully ignoring. He was safe. That’s all that mattered.

A/N: There should only be one more chapter and then the epilogue after this :)

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