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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

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anonymous asked: I'd like to see the whole family, including William, maybe LJ, celebrating Jamie's birthday on the ridge. Of course after Roger & Bree have returned.

Homecoming - Epilogue

Book 9 speculation; William arrives at the Ridge with his cousin Dottie the same day that the MacKenzie family has made their unexpected return.

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen

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The snow and ice of winter had melted away and the early warmth of spring had coaxed some green from the bare branches and ground of the mountainside. Too much longer and it would grow difficult for those unfamiliar with the way to find the path through the woods an up to Fraser’s Ridge. It might have been a few years since he’d last visited, but the way was still distinct enough in Lord John Grey’s memory for him to follow the trail easily.

William had let him know about his plan to escort Dottie and her baby to her husband’s sister on the Ridge. When that trip turned into a prolonged visit, William had written him about that as well. But it had been Jamie who’d informed John about the young man’s decision to stay on the Ridge through the harsh winter months. It was a decision that sat uncomfortably with John. Even now, having heard from William several times and knowing that the stay had proved satisfactory, John wasn’t sure what to make of it.

On one hand, he was pleased that the tension between father and son appeared to be resolved. But on the other, it was strange to no longer be the conduit between them… to be left out by both of them. He wanted them to be happy… but he wanted to be there to enjoy their happiness, to have a shot at being a part of it too.

It was silly to feel that way about it, he told himself. He had been invited, after all, so they weren’t going out of their way to exclude him. And there was more to it than just William and Jamie. Jamie had written about the return of his daughter and son-in-law to the Ridge with their children. And there was other family living there as well. It was a place full of Jamie’s people — the Ardsmuir men, his fellow Highlanders, and more.

Not a place for the man those people remembered as the governor of their prison. Even if the Frasers welcomed him warmly enough, what would the larger Ridge community make of his presence?

It would be a short visit then, no more than a few weeks. And would William be leaving with him at the end of them? John hoped so. He missed the young man’s company and there was plenty of business the young earl needed to take care of, both in Virginia and at the estates he’d inherited abroad. He couldn’t hide in the Carolina mountains forever.

Except he could, and he just might. John knew better than to guess at what time in the wilderness with the likes of Jamie and Claire Fraser might have changed for William.

The trail grew more distinct and the woods thinned having been largely cleared for building and fuel. He urged his horse to a quicker pace, eager to be done with his ride and among people again — he was growing tired of only having his own thoughts for company.

There was a sudden movement up ahead and his horse startled and reared. John barely kept his seat, surprised himself.

“Sorry!” hollered a youthful voice as a small form scrambled up from the ground, dusted itself off, and began speaking to calm the horse.

When the horse had settled enough, John slipped from its back and took a firm hold of the bridle, running a soothing hand along its neck and quieting the animal the rest of the way.

The boy came closer, apologizing repeatedly and when John caught sight of the ruddy hair and piercing blue eyes, he chuckled and shook his head.

“You must be Brianna Mackenzie’s boy,” he remarked. The boy broke into a grin and nodded. “You look like your mother.”

“Aye, everyone says so. There’re worse things, I suppose,” Jem quipped. “I didna mean to startle yer beast there. We’ve been comin’ out and keepin’ watch for ye everyday this week. I thought I might see ye comin’ from farther off if I climbed the tree but the branches were a bit more broken than I counted on and when I saw ye were so close already, I put my foot in the wrong place and — well, I suppose ye can guess the rest.”

They had only advanced a few yards along the path toward the house when additional noise signalled the approach of the others sent to watch for the expected guest.

“Was that you made such a stramash?” Germain asked, ridicule and amusement infusing his voice.

“Grannie Claire warned ye,” Mandy scolded. “She said ye were gettin’ too big to be climbing the trees and she’d see ye in her surgery did ye keep it up.”

“Aye, well I’m no hurt, am I,” Jem countered. “Now run ahead and tell them he’s come.”

“Uncle William’s excited to have ye here,” Mandy bubbled as she turned, ready to sprint.

John found himself smiling as he followed the two boys at a slower pace and listened to their babbling. It seemed he had arrived in time for a small celebration that would be taking place in honor of Jamie Fraser’s birthday.

“It’s just the Murray’s that’ll be over and perhaps Mrs. Hunter and the bairns, now ye’ve come in time — ye’re her uncle, no?” Jem asked.

“I am,” John confirmed, not that the child was paying much attention to the answer. He’d launched into a list of the food the women were busy preparing while the men were at work on the house for the returned Mackenzies. It must have been a long winter indeed, with so many people crowded under one roof.

The new Mackenzie house was closer than the rebuilt Fraser homestead and they soon heard the shouts and pounding of roof shingles being passed up and nailed into place. The boys ran down a shallow incline toward the nearly completed structure while John paused to observe.

It was easy to spot Jamie, crouched on the roof and wiping sweat from his brow with one hand while he waited to be handed the next shingle. Ian Murray stood with a pile of shingles in his hands, Roger Mackenzie laughing behind him. Which meant it was William who had the girl, Mandy, sitting on his shoulders. Ian would hand the shingle up to her and she passed it along to Jamie who shuffled along the roof and nailed it into place.

Jamie looked up as the boys careened toward them, screaming with excitement. Spotting John, Jamie raised his hand in welcome and moved toward the ladder to come down. William turned then and smiled at the man who’d raised him.

The children were again sent ahead while the men of the Ridge welcomed the visitor and tidied up, happy for an excuse to end their day early. Roger and Ian casually hastened their pace so that they soon were much further ahead of Jamie, John, and William.

“You survived a winter in the mountains then, son?”

William laughed. “Yes, though it might be more accurate to say the mountains survived winter on the Ridge.”

Jamie chuckled warmly at that. “Aye. We’d more folk to stay than we’d planned and there were times it seemed we might need to bed some down alongside the animals in the barn so we’d no be so much under one another’s feet. This is one of several houses and expansions we’ve been at work on so far and thank the almighty the weather’s cooperated and helped us along.”

“We’ve expanded the Murray’s house so that Dottie and Minnie have a room to themselves,” William explained. “She’s had word from her husband that he should be granted leave to visit soon, but whether he actually gets it will depend on the war, of course.”

The mention of the war lead to a prolonged silence, eventually broken by Jamie. “I’ll take yer horse for ye,” he offered as they approached the big house. “William can show ye to the room Claire’s prepared for ye, if ye dinna encounter her on yer way.”

“Thank you,” John said, handing over the reins while William removed the bags with John’s clothes and other things.

John thought he saw movement at one of the windows but when they entered the house, all the noise seemed to be concentrated in the kitchen in the back. William led him upstairs and John suspected it had been Claire at the window and that she’d seen to it he and his son would have a few minutes to themselves ahead of what promised to be a boisterous gathering.

“You look well,” John told William as they began arranging John’s things about the small but comfortable room. “You’re enjoying yourself here, then?”

“I have, yes,” William confessed. “I thought it would be… awkward. And it was. At first. But now… Mother Claire told me that, when she looks at me… she sees the life they might have had if they hadn’t been parted by circumstance… She said that she looks at me as the son they should have had.”

John nodded but kept quiet, watching the color rise up William’s neck and settle. He felt a slight strain in his chest, waiting for William to find the words he was struggling with, waiting for his son to look at him.

“You know, Brianna was raised believing another man to be her father?” William asked, finally looking at him. John could only press his lips together, recalling the day Brianna had told him about her other father. William looked away again, out the window toward the barn where Jamie was tending to John’s horse.

“Since I first learned the truth… I wondered, sometimes, what it might have been like. If what Mother Claire said could have been true — if I had been their son and been raised by them… with a sister and cousins… I think I would have liked it. I think… it would have been… I would have been happy.”

John cleared his throat quietly, the strain in his chest getting tighter. “I think so too,” he said. “They’re good people, and would have raised you well.”

William looked back at him again and smiled. “I’m still glad that you were my father, though. Whatever it might have been… I wouldn’t trade you.”

John smiled and blinked back the tears in his eyes as he stepped forward and put a hand on William’s shoulder. William turned and embraced him, the tension in John’s chest disappearing under the pressure of his son’s arms. It lasted only a moment and then William stepped back, chuckling quietly.

“It’s helped to talk with Bree,” he confessed. “It’s difficult to wish for such different things at the same time — what might have been and what was.”

John nodded. “It’s all past, now, and nothing to be done about it. You can only appreciate what you have in the present, and look to the future.”

“Mmmm… And in our very near future is strong Scottish whisky, a fine dinner, and some music and dancing, if Roger Mac has anything to say about it. Let’s go down. Mother Claire will be wanting to see you and Dottie will be here soon — her baby looks just like Aunt Minnie.”

#and that's all for this one #;mod lenny #homecoming au #book 9 #featuring: william #featuring: john grey #featuring: jem #featuring: mandy

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

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Title: Convince Me To Go {12}

AU Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Angst, Plot

Words: 4.5k

Summary: When we run away, we’re usually running from something. This time you may have run toward it instead.

Note: Welp. 🤷🏾‍♀️ I hope you enjoy this.

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Your studies in school you studied many different theories and laws. Some of your favorite were The Butterfly Effect, Chaos theory, and Murphy’s law.

Murphy’s Law says that “Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” Case in point, your wedding day. You hadn’t slept a wink, you tossed and turned and even rolled off the bed at one point which resulted in you banging your head on your nightstand table. Your mother had a fit which prompted her to make you have almost every facial treatment at the spa that morning. Her hope was that they would be able to exfoliate and microdermabrasion it all away.

Now at ten in the morning sitting for makeup that bruise was being persistent. No makeup in the world covered it well enough for your mother. So, when the makeup artiste finished while it wasn’t a huge focal you and your mother could still see it. That resulted in almost a thirty-minute tirade from your mother about the importance of your beauty and how things would be jinxed and ruined if you didn’t look like a pristine virgin bride. You tried to tell her that virgin bride hope was long gone, but she didn’t seem to hear.

Next, your hair didn’t want to cooperate for the planned style. Your edges just wouldn’t lay right and after an hour and a half at almost eleven forty-five you stared in the mirror at your coifed hair with dull amusement. You know who wasn’t amused? Your mother. She went on another tirade, this one you didn’t listen to. You simply sat in the “bride” chair and sipped your seventh glass of champagne. You didn’t care that it wasn’t even noon yet.

Next, the lingerie that was picked out for you to wear underneath the dress was delivered and it was all wrong. What was to be nude colored lace that matched your skin complexion was blush. It was pretty but absolutely wrong, compared to your mother. So, you stood around in the blush-colored lingerie, strapless bra, tanga panty, suspender belt, and your garter sipping what else—more champagne. By twelve-twenty there was nothing else to do but continue forward.

The entire time you managed to keep yourself composed and tightly wound. You didn’t mutter a peep or remove the plastic smile that was stapled to your face from the moment you sat up. this marathon was far from over.

Thankfully, your dress was right and as your eight bridesmaids assisted you in getting into the frilly contraption you continued to smile. When you stood in front of the mirror at twelve-forty you almost passed out but not from the pulling and tugging of the laces of your garter back gown or the suffocating way your breasts were hoisted up like you were some eighteenth-century French prostitute, but from the sight of you in the dress. You hadn’t worn it for almost a month and a month ago you felt differently.

You tried to tell your mother that white was unnecessary, but she wouldn’t hear it. you also told her that the ballgown was too much, but she insisted. It was a beautiful gown, one that cost more than most people made in a year and took nine months to make special for you, but it was not you. you could barely recognize yourself. Everyone around you praised you and said you looked gorgeous and Brod would cry when he saw you, but you tuned them out. From the mirror you caught Bree’s expression, she wasn’t smiling nor was she frowning, she had a complacent look as if she were waiting for something. Probably your impending breakdown, you thought.

You were supposed to be at the venue by one forty-five so the ceremony could promptly begin at two. Traffic had other ideas; you were sitting in the elaborate white nineteen thirty-six Rolls Royce limo with your mother as your company. It was bumper to bumper and that was not acceptable to your mother. She proceeded to go on yet another tirade and pestered the driver to hurry up. It was amusing. She didn’t even say anything to you when you popped open the bottle of champagne there. As traffic snailed along you shook your head at yet another thing that had gone wrong.

When the Rolls Royce finally arrived it was almost two. Your entire party had to hurry into the elevators and to the “bride’s chambers” to make final preparations for the ceremony. As everyone bustled around you rushing to make sure everything was as it was to be you sat in your seat and just twirled your new and improved engagement ring. It was never something you’d done. You didn’t have nervous ticks like shaking legs or chewing your bottom lip or fidgeting before. You’d been groomed to always be poised, controlled. Now you had all three.

“Ten minutes everyone. Let’s get our places,” your mother cheerily announced. A knock at the door brought everyone’s attention. In walked your father dressed like the perfect gentleman. His smile was warm as he made a beeline to wrap you in a hug.

“I’ve been so worried.”

“I’m sorry, daddy.” He looked at you for three seconds and turned to everyone.

“Everyone I’d like a moment with my daughter.” Everyone made a move for the door leaving the two of you.

“You’re beautiful, princess.” You smiled.

“No father can ever imagine that there is a man good enough for his baby girl, his only daughter. With Princeton we have it easy, he’s a boy—a man now. You are my princess, my fragile, precious little jewel.” He brushed the back of his hand across your cheek. You smiled.

“You’re different. I can see it. you may be able to hide it from everyone else, but not me. I have always seen you.”

You averted your eyes and sighed.

“I always thought you’d put an end to this thing. I thought you’d come to me and tell me flat out that this was not what you wanted. I thought you’d find the strength, the courage to forge your own path but here we are.”

You studied him and saw that he knew.

“I love your mother more than anything. She’s given me two incredible gifts, you and your brother. I can never thank her enough. She has though turned into someone else over the years. Someone who is completely different than the woman I met. I didn’t love her when I met her or married her. It wasn’t until just before she told me she was pregnant with Princeton that I realized I’d fallen in love with her. It is an unconventional path to take toward love, but we ended up there. Not everyone’s path is the same princess. Grow into love, or Fall into love and grow together. It is all up to you.”

“Daddy, what are you saying?”

“Don’t live your life for your mother, or for me. It is your life. Do what makes your eyes sparkle when you smile, do what makes you feel.”

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead and walked through the door he came. You turned to the mirror and stared at yourself. The breakdown that was steadily approached was so close. You locked the door and pressed your back to it and closed your eyes trying to stave away your panic attack. You ignored the knocks and the rattles of the doorknob. Only when you felt composed enough did you turn it. The first one in was Bree.

“Ready to go?”

You heard the double meaning in her words and nodded your head. You flipped the veil and took your bouquet from her and walked through the door toward where your father stood. When he saw you, a somber smirk spread across his face. You couldn’t tell if it was disappointment on his face or sadness. You bit your bottom lip and breathed out as you stood beside him.

“Ready for the first day of the rest of your life?” It sounded like a threat instead of a well-meant question. Glancing at him his smirk was present but he was looking ahead.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” He nodded and touched your hand and nodded. Giving Bree one more glance you nodded.

The doors opened and your procession line walked down the aisle to the chosen music, a classical piece chosen by your mother. You snorted and laughed. When you tried to stop you continued and everyone looked at you as if you were crazy.

“Are you okay, princess?” you nodded but continued to laugh.

“I’m sorry. Oh my god.” Through the words, your laughter continued. Every time the doors opened to allow another of the bridesmaid-groomsmen pair to enter the guests heard your boisterous laugh.

“Oh my god. Do you—do you realize mom picked every single thing? Everything. The flowers, mom. The color of the bridesmaids' dresses, mom. The groomsmen tuxes, mom. The shoes, mom. The venue here, mom. The priest, mom. The tux you’re wearing, mom. My dress, mom. My underwear, mom, my hair, my makeup, my life. Mom has picked it all. This is her wedding, this is not my wedding,” you frantically blurted out.

“Nothing involved here I picked. Brodrick, mom picked him. she thought our families would mesh well, she thought our families would be able to dominate together.”

There were two couples before you now, and Bree was staring at you.

“I don’t like anything here.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?” You looked at your father’s stern face. He was daring you to grow some balls, daring you to make a decision you wanted. Daring you to live your life.

The doors opened and Bree waited for your signal. You knew she was prepared to get you out of there. You took a deep breath, held it and slowly let it out. The song continued to play, and you knew everyone was growing restless. You could imagine your mother standing there getting nervous.

You looked to Bree and nodded but she didn’t move. She looked to be begging you not to do this. Trying to convince you to go. You nodded again more sternly and she sighed and turned forward and the doors opened allowing her to walk down the aisle. When the doors opened again you were calm. Everyone in the room gasped and awed when you began the walk of your life. You found Broderick at the end of the aisle standing beside his best man Gavin and a smile spread across his face, but there were no tears. You looked to your mother who also had a pleased smile on her face as many whispered to her no doubt telling her how gorgeous you were.

Maybe you could grow to love Broderick, he wasn’t an asshole or a bad guy, he’d always been kind and generous. Maybe you could do just what your parents did. Maybe love was a daydream, maybe it was something impractical and frivolous. Maybe those two days in Boston were just you feeling the stress of today and cold feet. Maybe you really could have a happy life and future with Broderick. Anything was possible, right?

You glanced into the rows of faces; most you didn’t know well. they were there to witness the opulence, the sheer awe of a socialite wedding. You looked up and saw an insane number of flowers just handing from the ceiling and shook your head. This was all too much. None of it felt like you. Now the veil over your face felt claustrophobic, your breasts sitting pretty under your chin felt suffocating, the scent of all the flowers turned from pleasant to putrid, the six-inch heels you wore felt like pins and needles rather than three thousand dollars of comfort. Everything was getting to you, the lights, the falling rose petals from above the flashes of the camera before you cementing every move you made toward your future. A future of doom, you thought. Your steps stopped with the thought. Your mother’s smile stayed where it was, but her eyes were a different story.

Your father leaned to your ear and asked if you were okay. You didn’t respond. You were too busy trying to shake off the feeling of dread you were wrestling with. Slowly you began again and looked from left to right smiling at your guests. They didn’t know you at all, more than half of these people couldn’t say they knew the first thing about you, not even Broderick. That thought made you stop again. You looked down to your ring finger at your engagement ring, your upgrade. You snorted. An infidelity clause and an upgraded ring from six carats to eight, that was what he thought you would need.

You continued your walk and quickly looked to your right and saw him. you looked away before it registered and smiled to your left before your head snapped back to search for him. frantically your eyes went looking but you didn’t see him and thought you imagined him. before you knew it you were at the front where Broderick was waiting. He smiled at you. it was then he lifted the veil off your head and nodded.

“You’re gorgeous.” The two of you approached the priest and you looked out over the hundreds of people in search of one. You hoped you didn’t imagine him, hoped he was real. You wanted him to be real. After looking through nearly all of them your attention was brought back to the ceremony.

“If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

Silence in the room stretched and you looked again and sure as the roses were still falling there he was. He was standing toward the back with wide eyes and a pale face. you almost passed out. He was there. He was at your wedding. He was watching you right now. A ton of thoughts rushed through your head and so many words came to mind.

“Let’s continue then. Dearly beloved--.” The words of the priest brought you back as Broderick’s hands squeezed yours. You couldn’t breathe. When you looked still there. Your heart sank and you began slowly hyperventilating. You felt everything you felt over those two days come crashing down. Flaring your nose your tears sprang to your eyes.

“Do you Broderick Pierce Havenmayer take F-N/ M-N/L-N” to be your lawfully wedded wife?

to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death you are parted by death?”

“I do.”

You looked to him again and didn’t hear the priest ask you the same question. You got lost in his eyes again. You then looked over to your parents. Your mother had a stern look that was a threat you knew it, but your father looked mellow, neutral. You looked back to him and you saw the break in his calm disposition. His jaw clenched and his nose flared, and you recognized the slight look of pain.

“Y/N?”

Looking back to Broderick and then the priest you nodded. “I—I—I—do.”

The priest continued to speak and when you looked up it was in time to see the door close. He was gone. Panic went through you, panic you’d never felt before, panic you didn’t know how to deal with. Panic that had you grip your stomach and groan loudly.

“Are you all right?” those in your bridal party sprang forward ready to assist, your parents were also there as well as Broderick. You fanned them all off and hyperventilated loudly.

“I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.” Your bridesmaids fanned you as the murmuring throughout the room increased. You felt hot and agitated. You ripped the veil off your head and sent a few tendrils of your curled updo in disarray. You then fanned and batted each of them away. “Get away, get away. I can’t—I can’t—I can’t do this!”

Everyone gasped and gaped at you.

“I can’t do this, I can’t do this. I can’t continue living this complete lie. I can’t keep pretending to be this perfect daughter, a perfect debutant. I don’t care about any of this, this is ridiculous. I look ridiculous. I hate everything about this day, everything. I only like my underwear and that was a mix-up. you snorted and took the first deep breath that felt good enough in a long time. You then looked at Broderick who looked sad.

“I can’t marry you, Broderick. You don’t love me, not really. You don’t even know me and that’s not your fault until the day before yesterday I didn’t know me either. I can’t stand up here and vow all of these things especially if I don’t love you. I don’t want to grow to love, I want to fall in love and grow together. I want to go to candy stores and eat candy, I want to go to diners at two in the morning and pig out on everything, I want to walk through libraries and do nothing, I want to sit at your besides worried you’ll die because I care, I want to trace your freckles that are on your back with my fingertips in the dead of night when you’re asleep but I’m wide awake. I want to build something for myself, not from my parents, I want to stay up all night doing impractical things, spontaneous things. I want to drink gin and coconut rum together because the combination is actually pretty great. I want prince charming. I don’t want any of this. I’m sorry Brod.” Everyone was silent.

Your eyes finally landed on your parents. Your father was smiling but your mother looked furious.

“I’m sorry mom. This is your life; this is your everything. It’s not mine. I want more than just we fit together, or we look good together or we can have a life that most dream of because of money. I want everything else. I want we belong together; we go together, we are going to have a life that most dream of because of love. I want love.”

She didn’t speak and for the first time, you were so glad about it, because you didn’t care. Your father stepped forward and hugged you. “Go find love.

You smiled and then took off the ring you wore and handed it to Broderick. He sighed and nodded. You hurried down the aisle you just walked up and out the doors. Frantically you looked around hoping to see him. Every wait staff you passed you asked if they’d seen him, but none had. That continued with you looking throughout the rooms for him.

After thirty minutes you had no idea what to do. You didn’t even know his name. slowly you became discouraged and walked outside. The snow was coming down and you stood there taking in the fresh air, taking in your freedom. For the first time in your life, you were completely free. You could do whatever you wanted, and you were absolutely terrified.

Those who passed by stared at you as if it was a strange sight to see a woman in a grand wedding dressed just standing outside in the dead of winter. You probably looked like you belonged anywhere else. A little girl approached you and smiled.

“You look like the fancy woman in a snow globe.” You smiled and bent down to her and took out one of the flowers in your hair and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She giggled and ran off. You smiled and watched her and took another deep breath. Across the street, you saw a bar and decided why the hell not you had nothing else to do.

You gathered what you could of your dress and walked down the steps to cross the street. you drew the attention of everyone walking down the sidewalks and driving. When you walked into the bar you had to pull your train in after you. When you finished everyone was watching.

“Hey, where’s the groom beautiful?” You scoffed and approached the bar and gathered your dress around you as you sat. Thanks to all the pouf and frill it was a comfortable sit but now you were surrounded by while tulle and frill.

“At the altar, where I left him.”

“Oh, tough for him.”

“He has a lot of money to keep him warm.”

“What can I get ya’? it’s on the house in honor of this.” He pointed up and down on you.

“Thanks. Gin and coconut rum.”

“Together?” You nodded, he looked at you as if you were crazy.

“Keep em’ coming.”

He walked off to prepare your dink. Behind the bar, you saw the mirror and it was the first look of yourself you got. Your hair was a mess, curly tendrils fell down all around your face, the put-together look you had hours ago was gone. You looked crazy. you snorted and laughed at yourself. The bartender put a drink in front of you and you wasted no time downing it in one breath. The burn woke you up and made you breathe out and shake your head.

In the mirror, you saw his reflection. He was sitting in the back, in the dark staring at you. Your heart sped and you looked at yourself again. The glint of the gold wrapper of butterscotch in a dish on the bar made you smile. Sliding off the stool you walked over to him with the drink in your hand. The train and bustle of your dress bounced seats and other patrons. When you stood in front of him he took you in from toe to face but he didn’t speak.

“What’s a nice man like yourself doing in a place like this at three in the afternoon?”

“Looking for a runaway,” he responded.

“Runaway? What did she run away from?”

“Well first she ran from her perfect put-together life that had no love, then she ran from the possibility of one that wasn’t so perfect or put together but would have been all the love she needed. Now it seems she ran from this perfect loveless life again.”

“Maybe she realized that in order for her life to be perfect and put together all she needed was love.”

He nodded. “Spoken like the writer of a Hallmark card.” You smiled.

“I still don’t have millions of dollars. I don’t come with some earth-shattering wealth and companies that are worth billions. I don’t have private jets, or fancy outfits and cars to offer you. I don’t have a penthouse in the sky with doormen and drivers. I probably can’t afford a Harry Winston diamond. I won’t be able to take you out on my yacht, or keep you decked in Chanel, Fendi, Prada, and Loubitons every single day of every year. I’m not Broderick.”

“Thank god for that.” You bit your bottom lip put the drink on the table and held out your closed hand to him then opened it showing him the butterscotch in your palm.

“Can you promise to love me for the rest of my life? Can you promise to listen to me, respect me, honor me, be faithful to me one hundred percent? Can you promise that you’ll always be a man of integrity and goodwill and will work every day doing honest work to keep us comfortable? Can you promise that though I have an overabundance of wealth you can easily exceed it in love, devotion, and passion?” A small smile spread on his face. he reached for the butterscotch and you closed your palm.

“It’s only yours if you can promise those things.” He stood coming face to face with you.

“I promise fancy face,” he answered. You smiled and held out the butterscotch. He took it then popped it into his mouth. He then pulled you flush against him and wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace. You relished his scent and the feel of him in your arms again. It was a feeling you thought you’d never have again.

“Are you sure about this? You sure you won’t regret this and wish you could be who you are?”

You touched his cheek. “I wasn’t me until I met the nicest asshole in the world who saved my life twice and showed me who I was.” His smile was wide as he shook his head.

“Asshole huh.” You nodded.

“But I love the asshole. He’s the only man I could ever love. I love you prince charming. you never had to prove to me or anyone else you were good enough. I needed to be good enough for you. I left Broderick because he wasn’t you.”

He looked choked up and you saw the emotion in his eyes.

“I love you, fancy face.” You smiled and crashed your lips to his and kissed him with every ounce of love and passion you had for him.

“Careful buddy, she left the last guy at the alter!”

Everyone around you laughed, you pulled away and laughed as well.

“You did.”

“I did. You missed the best speech I’ve ever given in my life. In front of everyone, I blew up my life.” He smiled and took out his phone to show you a video of you doing that very thing. Your jaw dropped. You’d made it to the gossip blogs already.

“I caught it. I was pretty good.” You smiled again and kissed him some more. You’d never get tired of kissing him. He lifted you into the air against him and the joy you felt couldn’t be measured or duplicated.

“Ready to go back to Boston?”

“Convince me to go.”

He smiled again then whispered the kinkiest things you’d ever heard in your life. You looked at him with wide eyes and his laugh was loud, the laugh you loved.

“Don’t you think it’s time I knew your name?” He smiled again and stepped back from you then held his hand out.

“Chris Evans.” You smiled, he kind of looked like a Chris.

“Y-F-N/Y-L-N.” He nodded then shook your hand.

“Nice to meet you,” the two of you said in unison with smiles as wide as Manhattan. Chris took up the drink and gulped half then held it out to you. you finished the glass and nodded.

“Good together huh.”

“Belongs together,” he finished.

You smiled and kissed him again. Then the two of you walked out the bar into the snow, you in your fancy two hundred-thousand-dollar wedding dress and six in heels and him with a smile plastered to his face. He took his jacket off and put it around you then held his hand out for you. You took it and both of you walked down the sidewalk ready for whatever came next.

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

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TagList:

@chaneajoyyy @firedolphin04 @sonjashuterbugjohnson @caramara3 @vannahvannahhh @academic-glowup @lorainnebabyy @patzammit @yourwonderbelle @pennywisesmistress @theblulife @kelbabyblue @bugngiz @disneysdarlingdiva @toniilaney @areubeingserved @thinkxlovexloud @cocothewriter @periodtcevans @southerngracela @bellaamor88 @mack-jay@queenbetter @zaddysqueen7 @ben-wyxtt @dangerouslovefanfic @alyxkbrl @heladoom @angrybirdcr @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @rynabarnesrogers

#convince me to go fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #chris evans au

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unda-dittaboot · 4 years

Text

More Than A Number: why violence against black trans women is barely in the media

In the past two years violence among the black trans community has increasingly been brought into the light of the media. When I use the term “increasingly”, I use that term very lightly as this small amount of media coverage has only slightly grown compared to the nonexistent media coverage of the black trans community in the past, especially coverage on black trans women. The real question I have, and I’m sure many people have, is why it took until there was a vast amount of death and violence in the trans community, specifically against black trans women, for the media to represent this community. Even now there is barely any news about black trans women other than to report their deaths and even that is very insufficient. Even with coverage the media tends to only portray these women as numbers. Reporting them as statistics that happen to be increasing. They turn into a hashtag. Into a trend until eventually these women are grouped into a narrative and then forgotten or looked over as an unfortunate event. These women are more than a number and to solely just view them as a statistic is extremely dangerous as it feeds into the erasure of black trans women. These women are people. They belong to families. They are daughters, mothers and partners. They deserve the coverage of a normal human being because that is what they are.

Representation for black trans women in the public is barely even visible in the eyes of the media. Something as important as safety for this community and something that should be seen as a human right is barely even given to them in the media. The fact that some of these women are even being reported in the news and media is partially due to the Black Lives Matter movement going on currently. Not because the world thought it was right but because the black community has stood up and said that it is time for them to be represented correctly. Society as a whole has started to be held accountable for ignoring black voices. This raises the question of why violence against black trans women is not being reported in main forums of media? Especially largely utilized media forms like the national news we watch on television or in the papers. This also reinforces the fact that the Black Lives Matter movement is so essential for not only the representation of the black community but for black trans women who are already viewed as less than a person. The only real form of media, I have personally seen, that has slightly represented black trans women is on social media. I see it through threads on twitter or insta story posts but shouldn’t a large pattern of death in an entire community be seen as news that should be reported on a national level or on forums of media that are supposed to inform the public daily. Even then the coverage of black trans women should go beyond reporting their death rate. They should show these women living, accomplishing, and thriving. Correct and equal representation is such an important action that should be taken into consideration when it comes to the lives of a large community. Because the media has only represented these women as a statistic, I want everyone reading this to know the names of the black trans women who have recently passed so you are able to hear part of their story and so that they are seen as more than just a number.

Dana Martin. She was 31 years old. According to the Human Rights Campaign and an Alabama-based trans advocate named Daroneshia Duncan-Boyd, Dana was “a person loved by many”

Ashanti Carmon. She was 27 years old. She was engaged to Phillip Williams who said that “She did not deserve to leave this Earth so early, especially in the way that she went out.”

Claire Legato. She was 21 years old. She was remembered by friends and family as someone who was “full of life.”

Muhlaysia Booker. She was 23 years old. She was remembered as “such a beautiful spirit taken took soon” and as a woman who “lived her life and loved all of who she was.”

Michelle “Tamika” Washington. She was 40 years old. She is remembered by loved ones as a “beloved sister and mother.”

Paris Cameron. She was 20 years old. She was a beloved friend.

Titi Gulley. She was 31 years old. She was loved by her family.

Chanel Scurlock. She was 23 years old. She was remembered by a friend as “living her life as she wanted” and being “unapologetically correct about her feelings and expectations of herself.”

Zoe Spears. She was 23 years old. According to Ruby Corado, a transgender advocate and founder of Casa Ruby, Zoe was “very bright and very full of life.”

Brooklyn Lindsey. She was 32 years old. She is mourned and missed by her friends and family.

Denali Berries Stuckey. She was 29 years old. She is remembered by her family. “I lost my best friend” wrote her cousin.

Tracy Single. She was 22 years old. She is remembered by Monica Roberts, a Houston-based transgender advocate, who says that Tracy was “taken away from us way too soon.”

Bubba Walker. She was 55 years old. She is remembered by family and friends as “one of those people who was really fun to be around. She was very kind, and she loved helping people.”

Kiki Fantroy. She was 21 years old. She is remembered by her mother as having “a heart of gold” and for being “a very loving person”

Pebbles LaDime “Dime” Doe. She was 24 years old. She is remembered by her family and friends as having a “bright personality” and someone who “showed love.”

Bailey Reeves. She was 17 years old. She is remembered as “a person who lived her life to the fullest.”

Bee Love Slater. She was 23 years old. She is remembered by her loved ones as someone “with a really, really sweetheart” who “never harmed anyone”

Itali Marlowe. She was 29 years old. She is remembered by Sue Kerr, an LGBTQ+ columnist, as a person who “deserved to live a full and robust life.”

Brianna “BB” Hill. She was 30 years old. She is remembered as a “beloved member of her community” and a person who “loved spreading joy by sharing funny videos on her Facebook page.”

Yahira Nesby. She was 33 years old. She is remembered by her family and friends as “a good spirit.”

Layleen Polanco. She was 27 years old. She is remembered as “a sweet, amazing [..] and generous human being.”

Monika Diamond. She was 34 years old. She was highly involved in the Charlotte LGBTQ and nightlife community.

Nina Pop. She was 28 years old. She was “deeply loved by her family, friends, and community.”

Dominique “Rem’mie” Fells. She was 27 years old. She is remembered by a friend as a “unique and beautiful soul.”

Riah Milton. She was 25 years old. She is remembered as for her “resilience and optimism as a person facing a trasphobic, mysoginistic, and racist society.”

Brayla Stone. She was 17 years old. She is remembered by Tori Cooper, HRC director of community engagement for the Transgender Justice Initiative as “a child just beginning to live her life.”

Merci Mack. She was 22 years old. She was remembered by her loved ones as a “beautiful friend.”

Shaki Peters. She was 32 years old. She was beloved by her family.

Bree Black. She was 27 years old. Not much information has been released but protesters are fighting for her justice.

Dior H Ova. Age unknown. She is remembered as a “beautiful soul full of life and love.”

Queasha D Hardy. She was 22 years old. She is remembered as “extremely loved by her community” and as “truly one of a kind.”

Aja Raquell Rhone-Spears. She was 32 years old. She was beloved by her family and remembered as a “vibrant personality.”

Too long have these stories been misreported or even unreported. A change must be made to not only the media system but the justice system. Say their names, tell their stories, and most importantly view these women as more than just a number.

#blacklivesmatter #black trans rights #black trans lives matter #black women #more than a number

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diveronarpg · 5 years

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In fair Verona, our tale begins with CALINA SOKOLOVA, who is TWENTY-FIVE years old. She is often called CLEOPATRA by the MONTAGUES and works as their EMISSARY. She uses SHE/HER pronouns.

Her life began as the lives of most LEGENDS do: a far cry from the way they’re bound to end. She came into this world kicking and screaming, but not a soul was there to see it—no shepherds, no kings, not even her own mother. For the first few hours of her life, the world hardly knew she was there at all; she’d snuck into it unnoticed and unannounced, though certainly not for a lack of trying, and she’d have left it that way too, had fate not laid her in the arms of a woman who’d prayed for her for years without ever having known her. A princess of the dark alley she’d been born in and nothing more, she was given a roof over her head and a name to call her own, something to remember her by and something to come home to when the world got a little too cold. Calina Sokolova was born from the ASHES of the nameless girl she might’ve been, a child spared from the pain of being forgotten because she’d never been known in the first place, and for a time, she was loved. Her new mother promised her what her first one never could—that she’d never be alone—and for fifteen years, she made good on that promise. The diamond she’d found in the rough grew into a young lady with a mind that could save them both from the comfortable gutter they called home, and by the time Calina was on the cusp of adulthood, they’d scrounged enough money for her to go to Novosibirsk in search of work and a better life. Things were looking up for the girl who’d always thought to keep her head down.

And then the sickness set in. It was subtle, nearly gentle, in the way it took hold of her mother, the way it stole the light from her eyes and turned her sun-kissed skin a ghostly pale, and Calina HATED it for that, for likening her mother’s demise to the wilting of the flowers they’d both so loved to pick. Her desperation to see the woman who’d given her a life far greater than the one fate had dealt her to live led her to spend every penny they had trying to save her, to buy one more day, one more hour, one more minute with her, but in the end, she lost her, and the world kept turning in spite of it all—in spite of her. The sun rose the next day as it always did, CRUEL in the way it shone as if nothing at all had been lost, and Calina was left to pick up the pieces of a life that could’ve been, a life that should’ve been. It was in the days and weeks following the only real tragedy she’d ever known that she learned the difference between savagery and true destruction, the difference between spilling blood and KILLING HOPE. What truly haunts people is seldom the means by which things meet their ends, the maladies and blades and disasters that take, but what remains and what once was: a necklace her mother always wore, the smile she’d loved so much.

She lost her mother a second time—piece by piece—when she struggled to move on, to pull herself out of the hole she’d plunged into. First, she sold her possessions—the sweater she’d gotten for Christmas and worn so much it was like a second skin, the pots and pans and cutlery they’d prided themselves on using so artfully. When the money ran out and she found she had nothing left to give, she sold the only thing she had left: her body. She spent years working in a brothel for far less than she deserved, pulled in and TRAPPED into a never-ending circle of unpaid debts by a madame that preyed on those who knew no better or were too desperate for money to care. It was almost shamefully easy to become someone else, to be anyone or anything her clients wanted—anyone but herself, and she did her job so well that Calina Sokolova became little more than a distant MEMORY, a girl who’d once had it all and lost it—a girl who’d died with her mother. But it wouldn’t rain forever, it seemed. Salvation came when she least expected it, as it often tends to do, in the form of a red-haired stranger that paid off the remainder of her contract in full, and clever enough not to count her blessings prematurely, she walked out of the brothel a free woman with the knowledge that her FREEDOM would undoubtedly come with a PRICE.

To her credit, she wasn’t wrong, but she was also far from right. Damiano was not a man seeking to use her, to drag her by her hair from one hell into another; he was a man who wanted her cooperation, her allegiance. He, with the machinations of his war-worn mind, knew that she was a WRAITH looking for a soul to tie itself to. So he gave her one: Faron Vasiliev. Told of the girl she’d once been by a client of hers, all sharp wit and quiet ambition, he’d sought her out with a proposal of sorts, one she’d be equally foolish to accept as she would be to refuse: she could build an empire with him, or she could turn around and ask her madame for his money back. “Didn’t anyone tell you that you can’t make a whore into a housewife?” She’d asked, dark eyes narrowed in the way of a tactician looking for a suitable place to strike. Vasiliev laughed then, the sound every bit as unexpected as her question, and said, “I don’t need a housewife. I need a general.” And so a general she became. This is the story of a girl turned woman turned PHOENIX, a girl who learned that true conquering comes not from cutting a man down at the knees, but by making him kneel of his own volition. Calina Sokolova has not come to burn your city to the ground; she’s come to see you strike the match yourself. This is her TORCH SONG; remember her not only for who she was, but what she took from you—everything.

MONA CHEN: Mark. The Montagues and the Capulets war over territories like the Greeks warred with the Spartans -- as though Ares himself had a hand in the game that was being played. The Dark Lady is perhaps the most sought-after by the Montagues, Mona’s particular services being a rather coveted source of information and revenue. It seems, though, that Calina has gained the woman’s interest in particular. The emissary feels the weight of her gaze and the subtle knives that are meant to cut into her so that Mona might piece her apart. She has learned, though, to be an enigma, has learned to keep her cards close to her chest so that none might know the hand that she wishes to play until it is too late to step away from the game. Mona will be hers, though. Mona will rue the day that Calina ever learned her name.

BORIS KOVROV: Distrust. She errs on the side of Faron’s judgment only when it aligns with her own, and though it tends to be a rather rare occurrence, they can both agree on this: Boris Kovrov is not to be trusted. Calina has seen her fair share of snakes in this world, ranging from harmless to utterly lethal, but she’s never known a man so confidently cunning, so elegantly manipulative. It comes as no surprise that he’s found his niche among the Montagues, surely, but there are few things their mob condemns more than treason, and he’s a known perpetrator of the art. But despite knowing what he’s capable of, she’s hardly compelled to do much more than keep a wary eye on him and rein him in from time to time; the real puppeteer stands just behind him, but what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

GRACE DALY: Suspicion. Brutal and gentle things alike have always left a bitter taste in her mouth, and the soldier’s affinity for red—for blood and lipstick and everything violent—has never sat well with her. It’s not as though Grace is the only one among their ranks with a love of savagery in its most base form, but she’s among the closest to the top of the hierarchy, and Calina knows—perhaps better than anyone—that wild things ought to be watched closely. So long as the woman’s teeth are bared in another direction, she won’t have to make her shut her mouth.

ALEXANDER RALLIS: Intrigue. She’s heard stories about him. Tales of conquering and red-tinted dreamscapes made into bloodied battlefields; fables of a self-made god who had built himself up from the husk of his own mortality and the dust of his enemies’ bones. Calina is indifferent to these tales as she is a firm believer that solid actions speak much louder than fickle words—but she knows that every myth carries a figment of truth. And that is what her reluctant intrigue towards the man stems from; a desire to glimpse the truth within the fabrications of glory that the consigliere is so enshrouded by. So far, the only true thing that she has been able to perceive is Alexander’s swift climb through the tenuous Montague ranks and it has prompted a strange wonderment within her especially when considering the fact that anyone who speaks of Alexander Rallis speaks more of his achievements than his beginnings. Calina understands how crucial a beginning is to every story and thus, she can’t help but wonder where it all started for him.

Calina is portrayed by BERTA VÁSQUEZ and was written by BREE. They are currently TAKEN by KIERSTEN.

#literate rp #crime rp #mob rp #bio rp #lsrpg #mont #calina sokolova #t #w #tw

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ella--cooper · 4 years

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Reconciliation | A Big & Little Bear Conversation

mentioning: @evieblmnt @franmellina

“I want you to walk me down the aisle at my wedding.”

The words were out of Ella’s mouth as soon as she set her eyes on Hector. After the weekend she had finally decided to stop avoiding him, to stop punishing him for something they had no real control over, especially not when she was engaged and getting the kind of happiness she had been craving. So she had gotten up that morning and skated her way over to Fran’s house in Kings Park, knowing he’d be leaving for work soon, and she was right as she caught him in the driveway heading out to his truck.

“I’ve been..avoiding you, obviously. Because I’ve been trying to wrap my head around all of this shit, you know? I mean,” she took a deep breath and shook her head, “It’s like okay you get the experience of being there for a pregnacy for your kid but this is also supposed ot be my experience being a mom and like we’re sharing it and I’m selfish, I-I can’t help it. But it’s stupid, because you were gonna be in this baby’s life anyway. A-and..its like,” she sighed, chewing at her bottom lip a bit as she tried to get her thoughts together, “I love Evie and I love that you two get along but it’s like...sharing you is hard to, you know? I mean Hec you...you’re like everyone’s dad and big brother but for me, you were always there. I mean you were the one who gave me girl advice, who always picked up the phone when I called from college, who stayed with us for weeks after my parents died and I..I was angry, that all of our worlds got tangled up in each other because I just..feel like everything’s changed and I look at you and it feels..different. And I hate that but I’m..I’m getting over it. And I love you, dude. Like a whole fucking lot. And my dad loved you, like you know he always wished you were his son, so, that makes you my brother. And I can’t think of anyone else who I’d want to walk me down the aisle, even if I am totally marrying your baby mama. But like you and Fran are good and me and Evie are good so, I want us to be happy, you know? I want us to help this kid never feel unloved or uncertain. But also like make mistakes like a normal human being. I want us to just, not spend the rest of our lives trying to wade through the awkwardness and I don’t want our kid to know anything other than us being the fucking coolest, weirdest, hottest, most brilliant parents there are. All four of us. You, me, Evie and Fran, because we all know she’s fucking supermom and also she can throw down in the kitchen pretty much equal to you and I have a lot of respect for that. So, is uh, is that cool with you?”

Hector had been caught off guard to say the least, having struggled to even get out the house this morning. Since the family dinner he really didn’t know what to do with himself. He had said his peace but his family was everything to him, being without them, looking at his sister differently, it was uncomfortably devastating. But there were pockets of goodness, in finding out he was having a son, in spending time with Fran and Bree, in being grateful for the home he now had and was becoming more and more comfortable in. And then came Ella..

“Y-you want?” Hector let out a deep breath, wanting to laugh at how perfectly Ella this was. He knew she took a long time to think things through, always acting dramatically and emotionally and then coming back to her consistent kindess and forgiveness. He knew this about her and yet still had worried that he had ruined things between them, that she would never look at him the same, the little girl who used to follow him around the block, always wanting to try what he was doing. The girl he taught how to drive a car and how to throw a punch, the girl who’s wedding he’d 100% be sobbing at.

“Fuck yeah, you know I will. I mean that means I gotta get an even nicer tux but I’m there, I’m so there.” His expression softened and he took a few steps forward, his arms opening as she took quick steps to wrap her arms around him and held onto him tight, his own wrapping her up as he closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled and held onto him a little tighter.

“I’m sorry, too, kid. But also I’m not cause, little lime is gonna be a boy, that’s gonna be a hell of a kid.” He laughed softly and kissed the side of her head before pulling back, shaking his head as he sniffled. “I’ve been crying too much these days, you’re not helping.”

She laughed and shook her head, reaching out to punch his shoulder lightly. “Hate to break it to you, old man, but you were always a cryer. It’s that Aquarius energy,” she joked, feeling lighter now that she had gotten off her chest. “You know what you look like?” She waited for him to ask before smiling. “You look like a dude who needs to say fuck work, let’s go smoke up, get some good ass food and go to the fucking batting cages. You’re driving.”

Hector’s smile widened easily, remembering the days after the Coopers death where he would take Ella to the batting cages to get her rage out and they’d always end the day with a big meal and his stupid stories. So much had changed for them and yet, so much had stayed the same and he was grateful for that, grateful for a chance to do as much right as he could. “You got it, champ,” he told her, moving to the drivers side as Ella hopped into the passenger seat.

“So,” Hector started, as he pulled out of the driveway, giving Ella a cheeky grin, “What do you think about Hector the third?” He let out a laugh at her expression and as she reached out to his his arm, not hesitating to mess with his radio, their laughter filling up the car. And they both knew, they both felt it, and they both finally made peace with the fact that everything would be okay, it always would be.

#sp #self para #ft. hector #:)#some happiness #lol #Reconciliation #im 2 tired to proofread lol #pregnancy tw #death mention tw

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sinceileftyoublog · 3 years

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Billie Marten Interview: Quiet Confidence

Photo by Katie Silvester

BY JORDAN MAINZER

“Where are you calling from?” I asked Billie Marten during our Zoom last month.

“East London,” she replied, “Like everyone else,” simultaneously rolling her eyes at and embracing the scene in which she’s found herself embedded.

The 22-year-old’s wry sense of humor, observations, and self-awareness complement the earnestness she’s shown on her three LPs, especially last month’s terrific Flora Fauna (IMPERIAL/Fiction Records). Though the rawer aesthetic of the record was influenced by a spontaneous, drunken purchase of a bass guitar, and many of the album’s instrumentals were fleshed out in the studio with producer Rich Cooper, Marten both dug deep within her psyche and branched out to the world around her to tackle the album’s themes of self-care and empathy. Opener “Garden of Eden” doesn’t waste any time, its drums rumbling and guitars scraping as Marten compares caring for people to tending to plants. It’s a sentiment that hits even harder after a year-plus of lockdown-induced isolation, when for many of us keeping our pets and plants alive was the only thing we felt like we could control. Throughout the record, Marten’s honest about her relationship with herself, relatable in her alternating between endurance and self-doubt. “Trying hard to teach myself a lesson / Give my body patience to bree free,” she sings on the hip hop-influenced “Heaven”; even if a partner or folks in the world around her think they’re already self-actualized, Marten’s looking out for her own mental health. On the flipside, a chaotically fuzzy stomp like “Ruin” has Marten declaring that treating others like she treats herself would be bullying: “Got a war with my body / Never win, never lose,” she sings desperately.

Flora Fauna is much more than a collection of the good days and the bad days, though. Marten communes with all sorts of living things, from street pigeons to gardens. And perhaps the most consequential song on the album is “Human Replacement”, a song about women not being able to walk alone at night, inspired by a seemingly increasing rash of violent attacks on women in the UK over the past few years. In its juxtaposition of infectious groove and essential, in-your-face subject matter, it reminds me of U.S. Girls’ weighty “Incidental Boogie”. For Marten, putting herself in others’ shoes, in a sense, allows her to become something else. On minimal closer “Aquarium”, over strummed acoustic guitar, she sings, “Do you wanna go to the aquarium? / I feel I lately wanna drown / Sit down, stare out, shut up, and swim around.” She’s able to nurture an environment by immersing herself in it, like how dirt finds its way on her face and between her teeth on the album’s cover.

Marten’s getting ready to get back out there, with some festival dates in the summer and a UK tour in July. For now, she’s relishing reflection and admissions. Towards the end of our interview, in which she had her camera on but I didn’t, she told me, “I like that your camera’s not on. It feels like I’m in a confession booth.” Flora Fauna’s got to be the greenest confession booth in the world.

Since I Left You: How did you approach the order of the tracks on Flora Fauna?

Billie Marten: I definitely wanted it to follow the classic storyline writing/curve. “Garden of Eden” starts off with the plant, everything’s open, and you really get the main feel of the album there, and “Creature of Mine” is twisting you up to this darker, punchier world, and “Human Replacement” is very in-your-face. “Liquid Love” would be the plot twist. Then, eventually, we float down to the second side of the album and get back into that acoustic-y world slightly more, but it’s definitely still different from the first two albums. Laid bare with nothing but an acoustic...on the last song of the album. I love that it’s quite a loud beginning but very quiet ending, which is what a lot of album campaigns end up being. You’re selling this thing you’ve made for two years, and it’s all, “Look at me, here I am, here’s what I’ve been doing, here’s how much better I am.” That air of improvement has to be there. But in the end, it is what it is. Take it or leave it. I’m not a naturally outgoing, competitive person, so I quite like finishing it with an air of quiet confidence rather than being brash and loud.

SILY: "Garden of Eden” almost has its own quiet confidence. It starts like you’re already in the middle of a conversation.

BM: I definitely wanted it to be immediate, like you’re dropped into my life without any warning. Have you seen Soul?

SILY: Yes.

BM: What did you think?

SILY: I thought it was very good. What about you?

BM: I loved it, and I thought it was the best philosophical education you could have in two hours. It made me think of it that way, because he drops to the real world. I wanted that feeling here.

SILY: I read an interview you did that had the title “We really are just plants,” and I was thinking that while reading about the record before it came out and eventually listening to it. Was it important for you to start the record with a song that compared us to something that’s also living but we don’t always think about as living?

BM: Absolutely. Well said. We’re actually really easy to take care of. That’s why I wanted to simplify it down in the melting pot. Take away emotion from it. In the end, we just need water and light and a bit of space, but not too much, to survive. I was very aware of that whole concept. Especially in London, it’s, “Look how much I’ve grown or will be growing in the future,” not, “How’s everyone else doing? How’s your soil?”

SILY: On “Liquid Love”, you sing about “wanting to wake up as a human every morning.” Does that song point to an eternal optimism?

BM: That was very much an affirmation type line for me. That line about waking up every morning was about how glad I was able to do that, because not everyone gets to do that for a long time. The song’s a love/hate relationship with drinking, which I was doing quite a lot of in the first few years of music. I get hangovers really badly. It doesn’t take me a lot to be completely out of action for the entire next day. That line was about just waking up and feeling proper and normal as a human, because I’ve spent a lot of days not being able to function, and it was really getting to me. We rely on our conscience to remind us to take care of ourselves all the time.

SILY: Is your relationship with drinking now different?

BM: It’s definitely a lot better, and I’m a much happier person. I don’t use it the same. I don’t need it in my life; I just enjoy it. 80% of us probably have the same struggle with it. It’s something you can control, and something that takes us out of real life entirely. It takes up your attention for hours and hours at a time. It’s an incredible mask for genuine problems. With music, it’s around a lot of the time. Some people just can’t function without it. I have big realizations all the time. My body’s telling me to stop doing it and stop smoking as well. I keep getting tonsillitis every month. I think it’s its way of saying to chill out.

SILY: The theme of being able to control certain things seems to pervade the record. It relates to nature, too. On the album closer, your garden seems to represent a balance, a place where you can influence nature but not control it.

BM: I have a really strong urge to protect an environment. I use the word cradle a lot. It’s important that humans can do that with other ones. I wanted that side of confidence I’ve developed but to let people know it’s okay to be and remain vulnerable. I think those are some of the best sides of people. If I think of my friends, I don’t think of them as who they are when they know they’re being watched. I tend to think of what they’ve been through, their low points, who they are when they’re being honest. “Aquarium” is very much that sort of confessional poem.

SILY: There are other natural entities in song titles on here that symbolize something, like “Walnut” and “Pigeon”. I think I read the latter is a yoga pose?

BM: No. I was literally referring to the one-legged pigeons that hang around London that are all gammy and rough and ready and tough characters.

SILY: The pigeon is really smart and historically used for a lot but we think of them as rats.

BM: They’re complete vermin.

SILY: It’s almost like the way we treat nature and/our ourselves.

BM: Exactly. There’s such a different between a rural pigeon and a capital city pigeon. They’re almost completely different species. It’s funny. I’m getting a lot of misconstrued things coming out of this record, people saying I’ve left London, I’ve found spirituality, the pigeon thing. All of these things just aren’t true.

SILY: That’s sometimes a good thing. Of course there’s a line where someone says something completely wrong and claims it to be true, but do you like in general for people to be able to interpret your lyrics the way they want to?

BM: Yes. I’ve had a lot of experience [with the former], especially because we’re doing these things on Zoom, and then you read the written piece and it’s so different from how the conversation went. It’s an interesting social experiment. But I love when people take images and phrases and meanings for themselves and make them their own. It’s a great sign someone’s getting something from your music even when it’s not happening in your head.

SILY: On “Creature of Mine”, that post-apocalyptic, “this is our last chance” type vibe--Is that a scenario you often entertain, and how do you feel about it?

BM: I’m a sucker for diving deep into rumination in a very large, existential plane. Thinking just spirals until it gets bigger and bigger and you get to a point where you’re completely irrelevant. Like watching Cosmos or David Attenborough. [It puts] your existence into a tiny hole. I think sometimes that’s really positive because it helps me understand when I’m nervous for a performance or gig, it’s good to put yourself in perspective. However, it sometimes makes you not want to do things because they’re ultimately not important. It’s a fine balance with that style of thinking. It’s automatic for me. It’s my constant thought train.

SILY: Are there other places on the album, even if not in the same context, where you refer to that spiraling thought process?

BM: I think “Ruin” is especially difficult in that I was noting down my thought process, and that’s what the verses are. I don’t know why I do it, but it makes me feel good. I needed to do that to get it out of me and understand how ridiculous that thought train is. The chorus tries to put this analogy of [wasting] time being a crime. That’s what I was doing: I was wasting a lot of time thinking about it, so every time I sing it, it’s a weird slipstream universe type thing.

SILY: I asked the question hoping you would say “Ruin”. When you sing, “Got a war with my body / Never win, never lose,” it reminded me of that thought process. It goes in a circle. It’s not a linear thing.

BM: There’s no point in putting an element of battle into it. There’s no opponent. It’s just you. You could try and find opponents with other people, but that doesn’t usually work out either. This whole album is fleshing out these huge subjects I ultimately have no control over. Putting my two cents in and leaving it at that, making these musical, experimental creations.

SILY: “Human Replacement” seems to be one where the juxtaposition between the instrumentation and subject matter is sort of contrasting. It’s this funky strut, but the song’s about women feeling and being unsafe alone at night on the streets. Were you conscious of that contrast making that song?

BM: Me and my producer [Cooper], that was the first song we did together in this album, so it needed to come out very immediate. I just had that [sings melody], and he sat on the kit just trying it out. I had no idea what I wanted to talk about. I was going into this Queens of the Stone Age, grungy, late-night mood. I didn’t have the narrative because what they sing about wasn’t relevant to me. I was looking outside and hearing all the sirens and hearing about what was happening in the news every day, and it was a subject that needed to happen. I wouldn’t say I’m in any way a political writer, but it is a massive problem. It’s a shame that narrative came out of me. The subject matter had to match the severity of the song. I couldn’t really talk about my own feelings in that song. It had to be a bigger subject.

SILY: Are songs like those more or less difficult to perform live?

BM: I don’t know. I worried about playing that one live because it’s so serious. My between-song chat is very much not serious. It’s my personality, which is who I am when I’m not performing. So I was worried I wouldn’t give it the air time it needs. Then again, most people don’t even listen to lyrics. They just like the way a song feels. It’s important to entertain those people as well. It can’t be all doom and gloom. I would say it’s harder than talking about myself, which I’ve been doing since I was 12.

SILY: How was playing your gig?

BM: It was at Banquet [Records], a record store in South London. I thought we were gonna be in the actual shop, me and my long-term collaborator and bandmate and TM Jason. He just makes a bit of [drum] kit, and I’m on acoustic. It turned out to be in this proper venue in this theater. It was a gig. I’m really glad we got pushed into that environment. Anything else would have been a lot more daunting.

SILY: Was it your first time playing many of these songs?

BM: Yes. There are still ones I have no idea how to play. I need to figure that out quite soon. [laughs]

SILY: Are you looking forward to touring?

BM: Yes. Massively. I really needed this break to make me realize that because I think gigs can be really hard for people. I definitely find that. There have been certain moments where I wish I wasn’t going on stage. Now it’s just like we have been given this gift again of living normally. It would be incredibly inappropriate to feel otherwise.

SILY: What else is next for you?

BM: Definitely writing. I want to start recording again. I can do it now since we’ll be so busy. It’s shaping up into a completely different soundscape again, which is interesting. You’re always going.

SILY: Anything you’ve been listening to, watching, or reading lately that’s caught your attention?

BM: This band called Coco. I don’t even know how I found them. They’ve got no information about them whatsoever. I think they’re American. They have 3 songs on Spotify. They’re very very good. To be honest, I’m not very good at watching things at the moment. I watched Nomadland and loved that. Mostly it will always be The Simpsons. To be honest, I’ve been too busy recently. I’ve been looking forward to June. Wait, we are in June! It’s the 2nd day of June. Well, I’m looking forward to this month, where I can do more domestic things again and stop talking about myself. [laughs]

youtube

#interviews #billie marten #banquet records #flora fauna #katie silvester #zoom #rich cooper #u.s. girls #soul #cosmos #david attenborough #queens of the stone age #coco #spotify #nomadland #the simpsons

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marjaystuff · 3 years

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Elise Cooper Interviews Joshilyn Jackson

Mother May I by Joshilyn Jackson is a domestic thriller that has readers ponder many issues. There is love vs loyalty, seeing both sides of a person's character, and living or rejecting the trust and denial while tackling gender roles, sexual assault, revenge, socioeconomic status, kidnapping, and murder.

The book opens when the main character, Bree Cabbot, dreams of seeing a witch peering into her bedroom window, dressed all in black. Yet, later that day, while attending a musical performance of her teenage daughter, she sees the woman again. After putting her infant son down for an instant, Bree realizes someone has taken him. There is a note left in his place, warning her that she is being is being watched; if she wants her baby back, she must not call the police or deviate in any way from the instructions that will follow. Bree now has to do exactly as the woman says to get her baby back alive. This is where readers take a journey with Bree to rescue her child.

Bree has decided to reject her mother’s fearful outlook. She has overcome her social-economic status by marrying into wealth. It seems Bree has it all: wealth, power and connections, a loving lawyer husband, two talented young teenage daughters, a new baby boy, a gorgeous home, and every opportunity in the world. But none of that is enough if she cannot find her kidnapped child.

This is a suspenseful thriller that will captivate the reader. The unexpected twists and turns allow for a very riveting story.

Elise Cooper: How did you get the idea for the story?

Joshilyn Jackson: I wanted to write a book that had theatre, plus a revenge-fantasy story.

EC: Now you write domestic suspense?

JJ: My switch over to domestic suspense comes out of my work with the performing arts. I serve on the board and am a volunteer for Georgia’s Women Prison. As a teacher, before the pandemic, I taught in Georgia’s Maximum-Security Prison. I saw all these possible levels of justice and the number of chances someone basically gets in life.

EC: Why put in about the Grimm Fairy Tale?

JJ: I always reference fairy tales in my books. Ever since I was a young child, I have been an avid reader. I like fairy tales, so I just put them in the stories.

EC: How would you describe the antagonist, the witch?

JJ: I wanted this person to be frightening. Bree dreams of her, but also feeds into the thought that little old ladies are not threatening. Yet, this person kidnaps Bree’s child. It was a way to have a threatening moment for Bree. I thought of the fairy tales where the old witch wants to eat children, something very scary. Objectively, the witch does terrible things.

EC: Are there similarities between Bree and the witch?

JJ: Both are from the same economic background, although Bree had upper mobility. Both were fighting for their children. In some way, they understood and felt empathy for each other, forming a weird connection. Both are mothers. The difference is that the witch is doing incredibly evil things, becoming a terrible dangerous person.

EC: How would you describe Bree?

JJ: An imperfect person, but one I would go to lunch with. She is warm, brave, loyal, loving, and hopeful.

EC: What role does Trey, Bree’s husband play?

JJ: We see him only through the eyes of women. He never speaks. The way to get a real window into him is through the women in the story. His judge and jury are women. Also, many readers who are women, will be his judge. Bree is conflicted because she knows him and how he always treated their daughters and herself with respect.

EC: Can you give a shout out about your next book?

JJ: I will continue to write domestic suspense. It will probably come out next year and is titled, With My Little Eyes. The plot has a former sitcom star fleeing to Georgia to escape an excessive man. This stalker has followed her and her daughter across the country.

THANK YOU!!

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fennbirn-fandom · 6 years

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Okay I know this is a lot but reading this guy’s thoughts gives you all the feels of reading the book all over again and it is amazing (x)

1. Okay first of all I am SO excited it’s starting back at Greavesdrake 2. Love this little poison bitch 3. “These are only a bit of fun.” I am living 4. I cannot wait for this reunion omg I can’t wait for ANYTHING

5. Book one Katharine vs. book two Katharine:

6. Fifty bucks says Thomas and Michael don’t make it to book three 7. Maybe it would be easier if Joseph didn’t make it to book three 8. Omg that’s right if Arsinoe wins as a poisoner then the poisoners will want to claim her as their own dang there is so much going on 9. I LOVE THIS BOOK 10. Wait did they never kiss in the first book 11. Are you kidding me Joseph and Mirabella shacked up in a seaside cavern and the real royal couple is out here willing to die for each other without ever having locked lips?? 12. Ew imagine someone spit on you I would scream 13. “Next time it won’t be spit. Next time it’ll be a knife!” LMAO WHAT 14. Can you IMAGINE 15. They’re already going to fight I can’t believe this 16. I love Bree 17. I’m screaming Kat just enjoys RUNNING PEOPLE DOWN in her free time 18. WHO IS THIS GIRL 19. Black marble and spitting gargoyles is such an aesthetic 20. I lied the GODDESS STONE is an aesthetic 21. Omg she’s referring to herself as “us” this is amazing 22. Luke/Hank 2020

23. THERE IS GOING TO BE A FIGHT 24. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ME

25. I love that every single character is like “Well I don’t WANT to kill them, but also I myself do not want to die, so,”

26. Except for Jules she would absolutely kill a man

27. Do I love or hate Madrigal? I just don’t know 28. WHAT 29. Omggg I love this I love Jules 30. Wait DROWN HER these people are so DRAMATIC 31. I want to know more about every single gift 32. They’re gonna fight!! 33. They’re gonna fight!!!!!!! 34. Mirabella the bear isn’t there just KILL HER

35. Ok if these girls didn’t have such a flair for drama I guarantee this war would already be over

36. “Mirabella has found her nerve.” Yes she has 37. Lmao jokes she still won’t kill her 38. Like… just do it!!! Just kill her!!!!!!!!!! 39. WELP now you CAN’T because there’s a BEAR 40. Katharine is insane THAT’S FUN 41. You know I’ve always wanted to learn how to throw knives 42. Omg Pietyr?! 43. Jk 44. I don’t know Nicolas but I love him 45. Don’t you DARE throw my queen off a cliff 46. “He doesn’t smell like the last one.” Billy the last one was dead 47. BILLY’S GOING TO THE WESTWOODS 48. Honesty, the DRAMA 49. “Because I saw you first,” ugh I love them

50. I can’t believe I’m only a quarter of the way through this book I need a nap

51. Ugh why doesn’t anyone love Mirabella 52. Don’t worry I love you Mirabella

53. PREGNANT 54. SHE’S PREGNANT 55. Oh my god 56. Thomas and Michael are here someone get the death cannon ready 57. AHHH 58. What did I say 59. “At least they were cousins,” Katharine PLEASE 60. I want a buddy-cop spinoff where Natalia and Luca fight crime 61. Aw okay at least Mira has a friend Billy is nice

62. “Where is your bear?” “WELL HE’S NOT IN MY POCKET.”

63. I love Billy Chatworth, Worst Cook on Fennbirn Island ™

64. Nicolas lmao wtf 65. WHO IS THIS GUY 66. PIIIIIEEEETTTYYYYYRRRRR 67. “But you will never have me again.” Bye I just screamed 68. You know I think I’d want the war gift it’s so vague and powerful

69. “It only gives you powers over weapons,” you say 70. “ANYTHING CAN BE A WEAPON,” I scream in response

71. I love Katharineeeeeeee 72. Omg wait and Rho can’t publicly help Mirabella 73. So much is happening 74. Oh my god 75. Yeah curse the queens THIS SEEMS LIKE A GOOD IDEA 76. Can’t wait for this one to go wrong 77. “What’s this gonna do btw?” “Oh lmao idk” Super 78. Oh my god 79. Ohhhhh my god 80. Here we GO 81. Can I just say again that I love Nicolas the psychopath 82. Pietyr is going to slap him 83. “This is your life. Don’t tell me to stay out of it.” 84. Imagine this book from Braddock’s POV 85. Omg just KISS ALREADY

86. This is all VERY High School Musical 2

87. Imagine a plot twist that reveals Billy as the true naturalist queen 88. “I’ll love you for as long as I live.” Oh no 89. Everyone is ready for surprise murder but I’m watching Hairspray as I read this and it’s creating quite the interesting mood 90. Lmao I love Katharine and Nicolas!!! What little psychopaths!!!!!! 91. I love Katharine!!!!!!!!!!!! 92. This is amazing 93. I LOVE DRAMA 94. “But that is not fair!” Mira, buddy, pal, 95. SHE SLEPT THROUGH THE ENTIRE FESTIVAL LMAO NO!!! 96. JULLIENNE MILONE!!!!! 97. HOW IS THERE STILL MORE THAN HALF THE BOOK LEFT 98. This girl is literally being HUNTED 99. Omg please Braddock go go go follow her 100. Mirabella NO!!!! 101. Omg omg omg omgggggg 102. I’M SO STRESSED 103. Sidenote I love Mirabella and Arsinoe together 104. WHAT 105. WHAT!!!!!!! 106. JULES 107. JULES IS HERE 108. JULES!!!!! 109. LMAO THEY STOLE HER HORSE I’M SCREAMING 110. Oh my god Katharine no don’t SAY THAT

111. Honestly I don’t super remember Bree from the first book but would I die for her now? Absolutely

112. I’m so stressed 113. THEY WENT TO CARAGH 114. Lol TBH makes it sound like a jewelry commercial 115. “They went to Caragh!” Madrigal will cry, clutching her diamonds 116. “Until they were six, they were mine.” 117. Um @ the Young Queens WHERE ARE YOU 118. Mirabella/Billy 2020 119. Lmao yo I am so freaking excited for Arsinoe to make her dramatic return 120. I’m just thinking about it!! Ah!!!! 121. A DUEL 122. This is madness I need a break and a nap and a snack immediately 123. Katharine!!!!! You can’t just THROW BACK a cup of poison!! Honestly!!!

124. “You cannot kill,” she says, causing me to GASP, “what is already dead.”

125. SHE ALREADY KNEW

126. I can’t decide if I want Katharine, Pietyr, and Nicolas to all destroy each other or if they are the toxic, murderous OT3 of my dreams 127. The venn diagram of those two things may just be a circle

128. KAT JUST FOUND OUT ABOUT THE CHALLENGE 129. Omg she’s throwing a TANTRUM I’m living 130. “I will hold a ball the night before,” This is my ideal dark gothic aesthetic

131. “What if the Goddess is on her side?” “It does not matter. They are on mine.”

132. Why do I picture Madrigal exactly as Alice Cooper from Riverdale 133. She’s going to help Mirabella!!! She’s going to help Mirabella!!!!!!! 134. I’m serious can I vote for Mirabella and Billy on the ticket in 2020 135. Oh my god no 136. No no no I refuse to believe they have their hooks in him 137. THEY CANNOT HAVE THEIR HOOKS IN BILLY 138. He’s a horrible cook he would never fit in with the feast-loving Arrons 139. I love Mirabella

140. Oh my god Katharine 141. Oh my goddddd 142. LMAO WHAT THE F#&K 143. “We have not been your Katharine since you threw me down the Breccia Domain.” WHAT THE F#&KKK!!!!!!!! LMAO!!!?! 144. HE’S GOING BACK TO THE BRECCIA DOMAIN!!

145. Meanwhile, Arsinoe, on a mule, 146. Just looking at the names of the chapters left is stressing me out 147. NAT IS SLEEPING WITH BILLY’S DAD I just CHOKED

148. THERE’S SO MUCH DRAMA AROUND EVERY TURN

149. Oh thank god their hooks are not in Billy yet 150. Omg omg Jules is at the ball here we go here we GO it’s happening

151. “Before Katharine and her suitor take their place amid the Arrons, dazzling in their snakes and scorpions, Katharine cocks her head at Mirabella and winks. Nicolas smiles at Billy and discreetly spits onto the floor.” I’m just obsessed with this entire snippet

152. Oh Joseph honey no go home 153. ARSINOE!! 154. “Dancing with my sister,” Oh my god 155. This is what I LIVE FOR 156. “I am not afraid. I am angry.” 157. “I may be the weakest, but I am a queen, through and through.” 158. Oh my god

159. I NEED TO SEE THIS SCENE ON A BIG SCREEN

160. “They are tired of it.” I SCREAMED

161. Oh my godddd he’s going in 162. HE’S GOING IN THE BRECCIA DOMAIN 163. Oh my god 164. Oh my g o d d d 165. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH 166. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 167. Oh my GOD WHAT A SCENE I SHOULD NOT HAVE READ THIS AT NIGHT!!!

168. Pepper………… 169. Of all the characters I love… I would be ok with Rho dying at any time 170. @ Kendare just fyi 171. Oh my god they pulled it off HOW 172. Of course Arsinoe is thinking of food though 173. F#&k f#&k f#&k here we go 174. I am horrified for what Katharine’s reign of terror would mean 175. Tag yourself I’m the priestess weeping as she fastens Mirabella’s dress 176. Ugh Kat 177. Ok she’s horrifying but she’s also amazing this arena entrance is everything 178. THERE THEY ARE!!!!! 179. “Yes, me again.” JULES FOR QUEEN 180. SHE KNOWS THAT ARSINOE REMEMBERS HER 181. Omg I’m so emotional 182. JULES!!! “She punches the first in the eye and knocks back another three.”

183. “I’m sorry you thought I was dead.” “I’m sorry I agreed to marry your sister.”

184. Oh no Luca no don’t 185. A concept: Madrigal slapping Natalia Arron 186. “Or perhaps there were more sides to a woman than he had ever understood.” Lol oh Billy you simple boy 187. Ugh it was WILLIAM 188. Omg the throwbacks to the very first chapter of the first book I’m dying 189. A tattooed crown they are NOT f#&king around 190. NICOLAS MARTEL 191. “Arsinoe has been banging her head against the stone wall for what seems like hours. But there is no way to tell for sure.” Me in class

192. LMAO IS SHE GOING TO POISON ARSINOE 193. STOP I’M GOING TO SCREAM 194. This is EVERYTHING

195. AND THERE’S A WEDDING 196. Ew Nicolas I changed my mind I don’t love him not one bit 197. “Though perhaps this is what he truly is underneath. Angry, and ugly, and small.” Aren’t all men 198. Oh my god 199. THIS WAS NOT A FIGHT I WAS EXPECTING 200. Ohhhhhh my god 201. YES RHO 202. I lied Kendare thank you for this fierce and wonderful gift of a character 203. “Roll him up in a rug,” LMAO 204. “After all, Mirabella’s first tears were real, before she looked down and realized that Arsinoe was grinning.” I can’t I love them so much 205. Omg wait if Natalia… what does that mean for her deal with Luca?! 206. “Oh!” I LIED I WANT A MIRABELLA/ARSINOE BUDDY-COP SPINOFF 207. God bless Joseph taking responsibility for his actions 208. “How I love you, Jules.” I’m so emo 209. ARSINOE!!!!! 210. Ew someone please kill Nicolas already 211. “… So hard that she hears a crack. That must be good,” I’m dying 212. I LOVE MIRABELLA 213. I WANT HER TO BURN THE ENTIRE CITY DOWN 214. Oh god Joseph 215. THE WARRIORS 216. Oh my god 217. Oh my god oh my goddddd what 218. That is BRUTAL 219. What a way to go, my man

220. “I failed you once. I betrayed you once. But I will not again.”

221. “I’m fine,” Joseph says, CLEARLY LYING 222. Oh my god Genevieve 223. THIS IS SUCH A DYSFUNCTIONAL TRIO 224. AND NOW THEY KNOW EVERYONE HAS ESCAPED 225. Oh my god so much is happening 226. Pietyr is the one true king someone bring him the Iron Throne or whatever the f#&k they have on this cursed and twisted island 227. “It is just that she will be the last.” 228. Omg they’re gonna GOOOO 229. Third time’s the charm, maybe??

230. I’m telling you Jules and Pietyr are going to have to duel and that will decide who the true ruler of Fennbirn Island will be

231. Jules will obliterate him and I will be sad for approximately thirty seconds and then extremely happy for my new queen

232. Aw I loved Madrigal in this book 233. I LOVE THIS LIL’ MOTLEY CREW 234. Lmao I wonder how long Genevieve will last now. What will she do 235. “Then she looks back at the sea and the confrontation that is about to take place there.” I’m so scared for my lil’ motley crew!!! 236. FINALLY!!!! THE KISS!!! 237. Omg come on Mirabella come onnnnn

238. Oh no 239. Oh no Joseph 240. … Oh my god? 241. Oh my god did they do it??? 242. THEY DID IT 243. Oh n o

244. JULES NO!!!

245. WHAT THE F#&K, MAN 246. … I’m telling you she needs to be queen 247. Oh my god 248. I can’t believe they… made it 249. Oh my g o d

#three dark crowns #one dark throne #kendare blake #epicreads

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