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txemrn · 3 years

Text

Faded

Book/Pairing: The Royal Romance; Leo x Madeleine

Warning: angst (some dark discussion that would give away the plot); smut 🍋 (awkward, NOT sexy); language

Word Count: 3008 (+/-)

Song Inspiration: Faded by Alan Walker ft. Iselin Solheim (lyrics quoted in the text)

A/N: This is a Royal Roulette, technically, but then again, RR was created specifically for Wacky Drabbles, and I just couldn't get the word count down! Oops! Anyway, this idea came to me when I heard this song, and this story needed to be told. Some of it is canon; some of it is creative canon; some of it, well, we'll call it creativity. lol Any and all of these ideas came from my head, but I acknowledge that others have probably written similar stories (purely coincidental).

Huge special thanks to some of my sweet writing friends: @ao719, @charlotteg234, and @kat-tia801. This took a group effort, and I love you ladies so very much for pre-reading and making this story better. And as always, these characters belong to our friends at Pixelberry!

***

He was a rushing wind; my billowing sails drift me into the unknown, but I don’t care. He’s an incinerating inferno: every tradition I was taught was set ablaze by his touch. My caged heart was unlocked by him; he set the monsters running wild inside of me. In my world of propriety and decorum, he taught me to live; more importantly, he dared me to love.

He broke free: from the customs, our culture, the captivity of our world. He broke free.

Without me. And the mess is all mine to clean up, left with only a picture of our passion--a photo of the love we once shared together. But even that is fading, and will be lost.

I’m alone with my thoughts this morning on my walk. The bite of salt in the coastal breeze tickles my nose, inviting my platinum strands into a carefree dance amongst the sunrise. Adjusting my oversized tortoise-shell sunglasses, my bare toes leave the comfort of the white sand beach only to discover the sting of the barnacle laden steps to the stone jetty. But, the shallow waters never met what I needed. My soul craves to commune with the waves from the deep.

I’m lost; there isn’t enough time in the world to think this through, and yet somehow a decision has to be made. God, where are you now? Was it all in my fantasy? Were you imaginary?

Many described our relationship as ‘destiny’--no, not exactly the romance you read about in foolish fairy tales or hear about in silly love songs. Our families ran in the same spheres of wealth and power. Politics. We are royalty. Since we were close in age, we would spend countless hours together throughout our childhood and teenage years. Being the oldest son to the king, he is--well, he was--the crowned prince of Cordonia; an agreement to our nuptials started well-before my formal training specifically for his social season.

But, something was different about Leo and me. We grew quite fond of each other, a friendship that developed into sharing secret kisses in darkened corners. Was this normal for friendships? Or did we have something deeper? Was this love?

As long as I can remember, I was taught my body was not my own; I was born with a greater purpose, and in that purpose, I would bring honor to my family and my name. I would earn my place in history: a woman who gave of herself everything she could for the sake of a country. Even love.

My reputation is to be held in the highest regard. My efforts in style and wardrobe would be subject to conversation and scrutiny. My eloquence and table etiquette could determine whether or not I’d be fit to be a queen. Every eye movement, every smile, every response could bring honor or dishonor to my family. No one cared about me as long as I presented a pristine package to court, a sacrificial lamb for king and country.

But, when the moment came for me to be chosen as his bride, I felt the swelling of joy inside my chest, bursting like strobes of light for everyone to witness. Suddenly the ideas of ‘the one’ and ‘happily ever after’ that I read about in the great classics teased my senses; I wanted to cry, to scream, to laugh. My body had a sudden thirst, a yearning for him that I didn’t understand.

In my innocence, this could only be one thing.

“Countess Madeleine,” he knowingly grins, “will you do me this honor?”

Swallowing thickly, her jade eyes flutter open at the sound of her name. In a handsomely fit tux, adorning his family colors in full regalia, her future husband, the future king of Cordonia, takes a knee to present the stunning canary solitaire. The dread melts away as the butterflies overcome her nerves.

Keeping with propriety, she nods her head while curtly dabbing away tears. But, something is distracting her: she is to be relishing in her accomplishment of winning the honor, for winning all of the glory, for winning the crown. She is to be the next queen of Cordonia.

But she is overwhelmed by all thoughts of him, her husband-to-be, the father to their future children. Suddenly the life she had been training for didn’t matter; she was betrothed and in love.

Smoothing out the tightness of my heathered linen pants, I take a moment to stare at my empty ring finger. I feel soreness from the collection of tears, but I refuse to allow anymore drop on his behalf. Today is hard enough.

I hug my body, remembering the warmth of his intimate touch. I had kept myself pure for him. Until that night.

Within an hour of making his intentions known to the court, Leo scurries away with his future bride, leaving only a trail of giggles and whispers along the way to his chambers.

Shrugging off his jacket, Leo presses her petite body against the locked door. His hand gently cradles her head, his thumb tracing the length of her jaw. His lips hungrily search hers, wolfishly devouring her mouth before she can react.

“Is this okay?” he whispers under his breath, his smoldering gaze entraps her innocent eyes. Breathlessly focused on his swelling lips, she nods her head dutifully.

He places his hands on her waist before sliding them intently back onto the curves of her ass, grabbing at her fullness under her whimper. A growl becomes his breathing, staring at his prey.

“Do you love me, my future queen?”

Love. Was that love?

The hypnotic rise and fall of the waves is starting to sour my stomach, but the ocean spray is so inviting and calming on my clammy skin. Finding a smooth stone, I seek refuge from the surge of the sea’s tantrum. Relaxing under the gentle rays of the morning sunshine, I close my eyes, only to see him.

He cheats her out of her next breath, his tongue overwhelming her mouth. His eager fingers find the zipper to her ballgown. He paws at her back, his fingers brushing against the secret skin of her body.

Her bra tosses to the wayside; admiring his new found treasure, Leo’s hands plunder her supple curves. His mouth plummets to her hardening nipples, his teeth teasing her nerves with fear. The sudden twinge of pleasure thrashes her head against the door.

“Shall I continue, beautiful?” he exhales, catching his breath; but, before an answer is uttered, he stumbles back into the temptation of her perfect body. His fingers tease across the waistband of her petal pink briefs; her eyes cinch closed, her mouth unable to hold back a moan.

“Someone is enjoying themselves,” he chuckles, standing to tower over her. He kisses her cheek, leaning his mouth close to her ear. “Is this what you want?” He tucks a strand behind her ear.

“Mhmm,” her lips curl slightly, leaning into his touch.

“Do you like what I am doing for you?”

“Yes,” she softly groans.

“Yeah?” He reaches into her panties, her knees buckling to the wandering of his fingers. “Mmmm,” he pulls his hand out, licking his fingertips, “that’s my good girl. You love my touch.” He stands back, shaking off her body. Locking his eyes with hers, he casually steps backwards until he reaches the bed. He slides off his belt, unfastening his slacks.

“Come here,” he motions for her to step closer. “Show me your love for me.”

Madeleine’s eyes focus on his growing girth, bulging from his unzipped pants; but, then her gaze darts around the room. Surely he knows that she isn’t well-versed in such endeavors.

“Maddie?” he combs his fingers through her blonde tresses. “I love you. You know that, right?”

She closes her eyes. The words send a jolt of happiness through her veins. She was experiencing love. She was prepared for everything else, but this?

"Then, let me show you,” he growls, pushing her back onto the bed. Hungrily ripping off her panties, he exposes her to his touch. Youthful and pure. "Are you ready?"

He spreads her legs apart, her thighs trembling. She grips the sheets with her tiny fists. Her doe-like eyes stare into his hunting blues as she feels him touch her again; but this time, it wasn't his fingers.

With an inexperienced push of his hips, red flashes before Madeleine's eyes as she squints her eyes in pain, hiding the gathering of tears. He thrusts again; her teeth gnash at the breaking of her body. Her head thrashes back and forth, groaning as she serves a penance under his rhythmic plunges into her warm, narrow core again and again. Harder and harder. Faster. Deeper.

Without warning, the beating of her body stops, leaving her stretched, completely filled with him. Moaning her name in the company of obscenities, his breathing becomes quick and shallow despite his efforts to slow down. Sweat gathers across his brow as he savors the delicate tightness of her depths. Stumbling into his ecstasy, he loses control, pouring himself into her. The sudden rush of fullness makes her whimper, the sting begins to dull as a smile crawls across her face. His lips meet her soft, glowing skin. Finally, it’s over.

That night: it was so long ago. But, I can still feel it; I can still feel him. The smell and taste of him lingers on my tongue. I miss him.

And with that, my breathing labors as I choke out a sob. I press the back of my hand to my lips as tears cloud my vision from the Mediterranean horizon. A sour pang creeps up my throat as I cradle my tender belly with my other hand. Clenching my eyes closed, I hope to hold back the downpour of tears from my soul. God, please not again.

Madeleine's head rests on Leo's shoulder, his strong arm securely around her exposed body. Her marigold diamond catches the pale moonlight perfectly, it's brilliance mesmerizing the bride-to-be as she subtly teeters her hand on his well-structured chest. He suddenly engulfs her hand with his. Turning towards him, her lips meet his perfectly like the final piece of the puzzle, locking seamlessly in place.

"Runaway with me, Madeleine."

The flecks of evergreen in her eyes sparkle with curiosity. "What--?"

"This life, Maddie," he gently rubs her back, "is this really the life that you want-- that you'd want for us?"

She sits up, taken aback from the peculiar question. "You mean the life we're living right now? Us? Being engaged?”

“Yes--I mean, no. I--” Leo stumbles over his words, dragging his hand across his face. “I love you, and I want to be with you--” he pushes a platinum strand behind her ear, “--but do you ever wonder what it’s like out there? Out in the real world? Away from all of this pressure? Away from all of these rules?”

“Away from the public eye? Living life--” she titters into a big smile, “--like everyday people?"

"Yes." He sighs, pressing her hand against his heart. "Before long, we will be in charge. In charge, Maddie. Of an entire country." There is a quake in his voice, a quiver that even makes her feel chilled. "I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” a breath hitches in his chest. “Will I even be a good king?"

“Of course," she whispers, offering a doting smile, “Of course, Leo," her voice becomes stronger, authoritative. “You can do this. You were made for this. And while, yes, you are the king, you’re not alone.” She laces her fingers with his. “You’ll always have me. You have my support--” she kisses the back of his hand, “and most of all, you have my love.” She leans down to kiss his hand again, but rather he captures her in his arm, bringing her to his lips, making her squeal.

“I love you, Madeleine.”

She moans into his pout as he kisses her once more. “I love you, too, Leo.”

The creaminess to his baritone voice dissipates from my memory, fading away much like our love. How could I have been so foolish? I gave him everything--I promised him everything. My life, my whole existence was for him, and I naively thought that love would somehow stitch us together, that somehow we would be the monarchs that did have it all. Wealth. Power. Love. A happily-ever-after that could join the rankings of the greatest love stories ever told.

But, it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough.

The sudden rapping on the door abruptly wakes Madeleine from a deep sleep. The sunlight pours mercilessly through the windows as she grabs the sheets to cover herself.

The door suddenly tramples open, Constantine bounding first into the room, followed by his head guard Bastien. “Where is he? Where’s Leo?” The king sneers as the blonde trips out of bed, reaching for clothing. “For God’s sakes, couldn’t you two show some fucking self-control?”

Madeleine cinches the high-thread-count sheet around her body, leaving her slender shoulders and décolleté exposed. As a blush crawls across her face, the question begins to haunt her: where is Leo? He wasn’t in bed this morning. In fact, his clothes are missing from their disheveled heap that was next to her discarded dress. His watch and cell phone were missing from the bedside table. But, otherwise everything seemed to be in place.

Madeleine rushes to the ensuite bathroom, hoping to find a logical clue to Leo’s whereabouts there.

"Call him. Now," the king growls at the anxious countess.

"He's not answering us, Countess Madeleine. We assume given your current relationship with his majesty--" Madeleine nods in understanding.

"I'm sorry, but the phone number you're trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

Her eyebrows furrow as she ends the call. "I--I--I don't understand," she stammers, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. "His phone has been disconnected--"

"Fucking ungrateful--” growls Constantine, ripping the phone from Madeleine's tiny hand, “--selfish son of a bitch!" He throws the phone against the wall, shattering it into pieces. He gruffly turns towards his future daughter-in-law. “Are you certain you dialed the right number?" He spits. Madeleine braces herself against a wall, turning her face away from him. She carefully nods, refusing to make eye contact. “Unbelievable!” Constantine knocks over some antique silver candelabras before exiting the room, leaving Bastien behind.

“Sir?’ Madeleine quietly calls to the guard, drawing closer to him, ensuring her body is covered. “What is all the commotion about? Where is Leo?”

“Leo failed to report to his morning engagements about last night festivities. According to our cameras, he left this morning through the northwest gate in an unmarked black Sudan around o’four hundred hours.”

Madeleine cups her mouth as she stumbles to sit down on the bed. She nervously combs her fingers through her tangled tresses. “What does this mean?” She spouts nervously, her body shaking with tears gathering in her eyes.

“Please try not to worry, ma’am,” Bastien carefully places a comforting hand on her bare shoulder, quickly withdrawing it when their eyes awkwardly meet at the gesture. “Um--” he clears his throat, “--I don’t know what he’s doing, but we will find him.” He turns on his heel to leave Madeleine alone when suddenly a thought hits him. “By any chance, did he mention anything to you?”

‘Runaway with me, Madeleine.’ One simple request. He asked me to just simply follow him. I thought he was joking or simply making a hypothetical request due to his uneasy nerves; but, my love for him aside, this was my calling: to serve him. If I had chosen to honor him rather than challenge him… if I had chosen to remind him of responsibility and duty rather than trying to win him over with ludicrous ideas of love in marriage…

Leo abdicated the throne.

No one speaks about royalty relinquishing their responsibilities. We’re born into this; we were made to do this. We spend our entire lives preparing, being told that it is an honor to bear such greatness, it is an honor to host such power. No one speaks of the alternative. Truth be told: if we knew there was a way to escape, to renounce such a life as this, how many of us would take that chance?

It’s been seven weeks since that awful morning. Seven weeks of silence and darkness. Seven weeks of broken dreams and false hope. Seven weeks of only one absolution: Leo had found his freedom. He wasn't coming back.

I pull out the photograph of our love just one more time as the tears gather once more in my eyes. Leo’s last words to me were ‘I love you;’ but somehow as I trace my fingers amongst the black and white print, I have to say, ‘goodbye’ for both of us this morning.

“Ms. Amaranth?”

“Yes, ma’am?” Madeleine wakes from her daydream, her voice trembling. She chews incessantly on her nails as her crossed legs bounce nervously. The sterile white walls around her seem to be closing in around her; the air grows thick, stifling. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

The dark brunette stands to come closer to the blonde. She straightens out her white coat while fixing an endearing smile on her face. She sits down next to Madeleine, taking her hand. “I asked if you are sure about this decision?”

If Madeleine had learned anything in the past two months, it's that she could only be sure about nothing. She stares at her bobbing toe, hypnotically entranced with the clicking of the clock in the exam room.

“There are other options," the doctor continues. "Adoption. Keeping the baby.”

I tear up the ultrasound picture in my hands, letting the wind chase it to the sea. The tattered pieces drift for a place to rest, sinking to the depths my soul will forever crave, a secret place far too precious for this world. For my world.

Goodbye, love.

***

Tag List (please please please let me know if you need to be added or removed!): @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @dcbbw @forallthatitsworth @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @iaminlovewithtrr @jessiembruno @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @phoenixrising308 @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @taniasethi @texaskitten30 @thefrenchiemama @twinkleallnight @yourmajesty09

#the royal romance #choices the royal romance #leo x madeleine #royal roulette #choices fanfiction #choices trr

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prettieparker86 · 5 years

Photo

There’s A Woman || Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 4b

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: implied questionable consent

Gif Credit: ridget-regans, necromancersatan, drinkthevodka Thank you so much!

Tag: @theskinofmyemotions @3eyeddame@vikifirman@reyloshipper-starwars @londoncharlotte88 @megnificent07 @mafaldaz @deactivated-veen @justmehanav @i-shouldbepainting @dermittts @stylesbooze @neversleeping4am, @icebluegriffin @johhnshelby, @ subhamamu@unicorn-glitter-princess @thatsamegirl, @mafaldaz, @cafe-sabor-a-chocolate, @collegecatlady, @20th-centu-fairy-girl, @xlightning-disasterx @niiight-dreamerrrr @i-shouldbepainting @dermittts @stylesbooze @badwolf-in-the-impala @mafaldaz @athewindsofsummer @peaky50 @weeo @thelightsideoflife@s0tc @i-shouldbepainting @dermittts @stylesbooze @stupiddarkkside @feverxxdream @eiliab @solidly-indulgent @eightyninesqueen @hollabackhollagram

Note: It’s been a Really Long Time since I posted anything. I’m terribly sorry. Not even sure most of you will remember me or my stories. I’ve had alot of challenges over the past few months as many of your know. But I’m trying really hard to get back into writing. So please go easy on me. This is the first thing I’ve completed in a long time.

As always, but especially now after such a long hiatus, likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

This one goes out to @twistedrunes It was suppose to be for her bday, which was ages ago, so big fail, but atleast it’s here now and I know if anyone would understand, it’s her. This ones for you friend! For always having my back and supporting me. and having the privileged of being there for your as well.

Tommy’s barely spoken to you since that night and you’ve hardly had a word to share in return. He filled your world up before that, like time and space, only to suddenly disappear with the blink of an eye. And what he left behind was an empty gaping hole that hollows and aches within you in your quietest of moments, to remind you of what’s gone.

What you did together was the sort of dirty deed that swims around in murky waters. The kind of thing that fills the heart with regret, but still leaves a quiet hunger in your veins when you get too close. But you still can’t decide if you wish you never knew what it was like to have a piece of him, to know him and the magic he encompasses, or wish you would have taken any road that didn’t lead to him and spared yourself the pain.

Instead of facing each other, avoiding one another became the unspoken rule. A game you thought you were both playing and perhaps even winning, until Tommy catches alone; leaving the room you still share with Arthur, though you’re not sure for how much longer. Your eyes meet briefly as he exits his room. You move to leave as if he hadn’t been there at all when he steps in front of you path.

Those heavy iridescent blues like a net pulling you into his trap with a glance. You step back on instinct, trying to break free of the hypnotizing hold of his eyes, but he follows, and you find yourself walking right into a trap, wedged between the wall and a man you don’t want to trust. You don’t want to feel anything for. Not that the pace of your heart is listening.

You break from his stare, turning your gaze stubbornly to the peeling wallpaper off to the side and hold steadfast. But you can still feel him. You can feel the tailored ends of his jacket brush against your blouse. The heat of his body as he stands impossibly close. The distinct smell that emanates off him, whiskey and smoke like the factories that bloom overhead. The sound the steady rhythm of his breath makes. Calm – almost too calm. You can practically feel him on your skin, like the thick heavy dew that covers everything in the early morning hours. He clings to you, sinks into you… as if you could ever forget how that felt. But still you persist, avoiding his gaze you feel so heavy upon you.

He grabs at your jaw, tugging it toward him, forcing your hand. Insisting the way Tommy does so well. Reluctantly you turn to him, but your gaze holds steady on the lapels of his jacket in defiance. Until he says it. Until your name rolls off his tongue, smooth like velvet with a touch of grit at the end to bristle the hairs on the back of your neck.

You meet his gaze as if it isn’t a choice and instantly he has you. The power this man wields over you, the way he makes you feel, you don’t understand it, and that terrifies you. No one’s ever made you feel the way Tommy can and you’re undecided over whether you like that or not.

His lips are sealed as he stares down at you, but you feel his thumb drag up from your jaw and brush across your cheek. You fight the urge to lean into his touch as your heart begins to hammer in your chest. He swallows you in his gaze. Devours you, eating you alive, and you can’t break free. You can’t read his thoughts in those sea of blues. His intentions unknown, but the way he looks at you… you could almost swear he’s as dumbfounded and mesmerized by the pull between you two as you are.

You can’t feel the wall at your back anymore, the whole house seems to almost fall away as his blunt thumb drags across your skin. All that remains is his eyes, his touch, and you.

A creak on the stairs snaps you out of it. Your gaze shoots to the sound and you spot Polly standing at the top of the steps. Her gaze heavy upon you with scrutiny, sending the whole world crashing back at you with force.

“There’s work to be done, Thomas.” You tell him, pulling his hand from your face as you brush past him without a second glance. Your eyes glued on Polly’s disapproving stare as you move to her, slipping past her sheepishly on the stairs as you quickly descend.

Tommy doesn’t even need to turn around to know who awaits him. He’d know the presence of his aunt from a mile away in a pitch-black cave. A powerful woman, who fills space as readily as she commands it. And when he turns to face her, he finds the pointed gaze he knew would be waiting. She doesn’t speak as he moves for the stairs. She doesn’t need to. He can hear her.

Telling him to stay away. Telling him to leave you alone. He knows. He already knows. And that’s why he can’t meet her gaze as he moves past, trotting quickly down the stairs without a second glance. He had no intention of cornering you, of touching you… But like so many other ill thought-out moments with you, he doesn’t know what came over him.

There was a time you and Ada had been close. As girls and throughout the war. You had been thick as thieves, joined at the hip, latched at the ankle. The fire inside her drawing you in like a moth to a flame, to revel and soak in her light. Steal a spark of it to keep in a locket or ribbon close to your heart where she could always be near. But after the war things changed as they so often do with the passing of time.

Sometimes slowly, like a cool breeze settling in around you, sinking into your skin until the chill is so thick it reaches in deep to your bones and then all you can feel is the unrelenting cold. Other times it’s swift, like the slip of a blade moving too quick and suddenly the tip of your finger is gone. You’re not sure which it is with Ada, slow and undetectable or fast and unstoppable. All you’re certain of is the absence of her in your heart and a trusted friend who once shared secrets by candlelight.

No one can let the idea of Kimber and race day rest until more pressing matters arise. When Ada’s secret comes to light, you finally realize why your dear friend has been so distant. And that perhaps you’ve finally lost her for good this time. Lost her to a man who stole her heart and bound her to him with his child. All word of Kimber and his intentions for you fade to the back at the Shelby home.

Ada’s pregnancy became just the distraction you didn’t know you needed, and while it pains you to see such an ill fate befall her, it only strengths your determination to go through with your plan. When Arthur leaves and you know he will leave, you’re determined, now more than ever, to make your own way in these cruel streets, without a ring on your finger and little ones biting at your ankle. A life that would only leave you at the mercy of a man who could philander, leave, or die at any moment; leaving you destitute and helpless. No, you would not become your mother. You will make your own way. You will do this. There is no stopping you.

You slip into your finest dress. The one Arthur bought you, because you said you needed it. Because with the guilt he feels over Linda you could have asked for anything. You slip the soft fabric over your body. Let it glide down your figure like rain drops slipping over bare skin. Pull the straps carefully in place with the tips of your fingers as you relish the feel of such delicate fabric against your skin. You’ve never worn a dress this beautiful, never had the occasion, but staring at your reflection in the mirror, touches of color on your face, fine fabrics draped over your body, you look quite convincing… you feel convincing. Not a broken young woman from the filth of Small Health. Something beautiful, something to be coveting and desired.

“Tommy know what you’re up to?” A low quiet voice sounds from your back. You catch sight of John’s reflection in the mirror just before you turn to face him. Blue eyes ensnaring you as he leans against the door frame, drinking in your image.

Your face drops, unable to meet his gaze as you nod. It’s the sound of his scoff radiating through the room that sends your gaze back up on him. Watching silently as John plucks a pick and pinches it between his teeth in frustration, slowly shaking his head. You can hear the words he doesn’t says, but you know he’d never go against Tommy.

You watch him silently, watching the tension in his shoulders, the clench of his jaw, as he slowly shakes his head. A whirlwind of thoughts storming around him, none of them you can hear, and yet you can still feel them filling the space between you in the room.

He pushes off the wall with a start, tossing his pick to the floor with unnecessary force as he moves to you.

“Fuck it, let’s get outta ‘ere.” He tells you pointedly, blind determination bursting from his gaze as it holds you in its grips.

Your taken aback by the insinuation alone. It takes your mind a moment to realize he’s actually suggesting you abandon Tommy’s plan for the races. All of it. Take off together instead. You’re not sure you’ve ever heard John go against Tommy and you’re not sure what to make of it until you watch a sad softness wash over his baby blues.

He’s no fool. He knows what will happen if you go to races with Tommy. Why Kimber wanted you there. It’s that truth, the weight of it on your heart, the way it makes it beat faster, makes your veins suddenly hum with anxiousness, makes you nearly question everything, that has you pulling away from his gaze. Pulling your eyes away, trying to smother the fear building rapidly inside you.

You go to move past him, in pursuit of the door and the distance it brings, but John blocks your way, stepping in front of you, and your eyes meet before you can stop yourself.

“You look beautiful.” He tells you, the words so earnest, so genuine, they melt your defenses. As the crooked grin curled on his mouth and boyish charm dancing in his eyes disarms you.

You can’t resist the smile that forms on your face in return. You lean into him, to place a kiss upon his cheek, but John surprises you, turning to you, he captures your mouth instead. The breath strips from the lung as he kisses you painfully hard. His hand gripping tightly at your face in desperation. You’re shocked and stunned, but only for a moment before you welcome his assault, meeting him with an urgency of your own. A jolt races through your spine as your senses fill with him. Heart pounding so hard you swear he must hear it as John devours you with his kiss.

It’s only when John breaks away, shaky breath fanning against your lips as he rests his forehead against yours, that you realize how different this kiss was from any you’ve shared before. Your eyes slowly blink open to his find his gaze heavy upon you, his thumb stroking steadily at your cheek.

“He doesn’t deserve you.” He whispers, so close you swear you can feel the ghost of his lips against yours with every syllable.

You’re not sure you’ve ever wanted to stay in a moment the way you suddenly want to stay in this one. John’s never shown himself to you like this. Fear and pain, and something undefinably desperate in his eyes as he pierces through you just a heartbeat away.

“Let me get you outta ‘ere.” He tells you, but you have enough sense to realize his words spring from a ball of coiled emotion. Pulled too tight with the knowledge of what’s to happen today. What your arranged to do. What you must do. Because you can’t be saved. You won’t be. You refuse it. You can’t let John rescue you from this.

Pulling from his embrace, your mind is made up. This is something you need to do, even if it is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. Even if it costs you everything.

Unable to see what awaits you in his eyes, you look only to open door and move for it without apologies or second guesses.

Tommy pulls you close then spins you on the dance floor. You’ve never been to a place like this, where bright lights and big music surround you. This place, these people they’re unlike anything you’ve ever known and everything you seek to gain. You follow Tommy’s lead, your steps feel light, his hands strong, and for a moment your back home on Watery Lane.

Dancing to the faint flicker of candle light, when your thoughts were naïve and your ambitions twice as strong, before you decided the only path to your dreams was through a man’s heart like the pierce of a dagger. Dancing in the arms of the man who has the power to bewitch even your sharpest instincts, you could almost swear you were back there, in the safety of your home. But as you move to the center of the dance floor you can feel Kimber’s eyes on you. Sharp like the prick of a needle as it slips to quickly as you finish a stich. You feel your muscles tense as you’re sent jarringly back into reality and the weight of what your about to do envelopes you like a blanket intended to suffocate.

Your heart begins to race as everything falls into place and your fate is sealed, and every second that passes only brings you one second closer, but then you feel it, the grip of his hands as he squeezes you. Subtle and steady, so indiscernible you could almost swear it didn’t happen, but you know better. It’s Tommy reassuring you the best way he knows how, without words.

You turn to face him, taking in the sharp lines of his cheekbones, the depth of his blue eyes and the way they suck you in until you can’t look away. The intensity of his attention, you thrive under it, bask in it, feel yourself blossom under its rays. And for a moment, you’re untouchable. Nothing can hurt you. Lost in his eyes, you’re fearless, and capable of anything. Lost in his eyes you remember every moment in that cold musky room, the creak of the bed, the heat of his skin, the look of his gaze when he saw only you.

But then you remember how swiftly the winds can change. How easily he can discard you – can and will. That truth, that scar - It’s sharp and cold, and you nearly flinch when you feel it. You trusted him – the words vibrate and echo through you. Trusted him after everyone warned you. Believing he’d never intentionally hurt you. That somehow you were different, immune. Until he did. Till cut you like a knife whose blade chipped in the battle and now lies embedded in pieces in your heart. The wound festering and rotted, so you’ll never forget. Never forget what it’s like to be everything and then absolutely nothing. You can’t trust his kindness anymore then Kimber should trust his word. And in a room full of liar, you know you only have yourself to trust.

You told yourself you convinced Tommy to let you come. You’re that clever, that smart, but that isn’t what really happened. Tommy only does what he wants. Only truly out for himself. You know that now and can never forget. But staring into his eyes, you suddenly realize he needs you too. You may have lost your naivety, but with it you’ve gained insight… Tommy’s weak to you and if he has a chance of stealing everything away from Kimber without a fight, he’s needs you just as much as you need him. And with that truth, you know you’ll never be a silly little girl again.

You watch something register in those piercing blue eyes that have the power to make a fool out of you if you let them. You find yourself wondering if he can read every thought in your heart as you swiftly turn your gaze away and back over his shoulder as the trumpet fades out.

“Let’s get this business done.” You tell him through a tight jaw and forced smile, now more determined than ever to see the plan through and show Tommy just how formidable you can be

You play along, pretending as if you don’t know Tommy’s made you a part of the deal. You smile and act coy as Kimber joins you at the bar. Pretend you’re delighted at the offer to see his giant mansion tucked away in the countryside just beyond the city. Pretend you’re impressed by all he’s amassed and can introduce you to, because it’s your charm and innocence he’s after, and as long as you spoon feed it to him, he’s good as yours. He’d never imagine you’re clever and cunning, and you use it against him at every chance.

But what surprises you more than even how easily Kimber falls into your hand with every stroke at his ego, is the way Tommy keeps watching you with an air of disinterest you’re not convinced by at all. You distantly wonder what he’s up to, before he breaks from the plan completely.

Taking you and Kimber by surprise when he asks for a moment alone, pulling you away from Kimber’s side just as everything was going to plan. But there’s something piercing and undefinable in the hollows of Tommy’s cavern eyes. Pulling you below, down into their pits as you stare back at him trying to decipher the secrets of a man so locked away he swallowed the key when he buried his heart. But you can’t say no to his request, your lips seem incapable of it.

You let him lead you away as if it were a choice, as if you can control the pull between you. It’s a quiet corridor Tommy leads you to as your eyes scan briefly around the empty space, looking for anyone who might overhear, but it’s the grip of his hand upon the side of your face that draws your gaze back to his determined pair. Pulling you into his vortex.

“You don’t have to do this.” Tommy tells you suddenly, hollow blue eyes pinning you where you stand. His voice lower and more full of grit than usual. Sending the hairs on your skin standing on edge.

“It isn’t necessary. I’ll sneak you out the back to Arthur an’ I’ll tell Kimber you weren’t feeling well.” Tommy says in haste, undercurrents of panic sweeping through his veins as he stares at you.

Rattling his bones though he’d never show it. Looking at you, his heart begins to thump the way it did that day on the train station platform. The power of it pulling him to you in a way he can’t stop anymore then he can understand. He had let himself believe he could live with you going through with this. The part of him that can do what has to be done regardless of the cost. But staring into the light that shines from your eyes, the clench of his gut tells him – he can’t let you sell your soul to that devil.

The raw urgency in Tommy’s eyes, it makes your knees tremble as if you suddenly stand on unsteady ground. It’s akin to the urgency you saw in his eyes that night. It makes you weak, weak to him. You hate that almost as much as you’re drawn to it. How anyone could break your heart, make you want to lash out against them in spite, but at the first sight of their softness, the first gentle touch, everything inside you wants to give in all over again. Somedays it makes you weak to him, right now it just makes you mad that he can have such power over you when you feel you so little in return.

Smacking his hand from your face, your mouth pulls tight. “You always underestimate me. I can do this, Tommy.” You lash out at him.

You shove at his shoulder as you try to push past, but Tommy’s swift and easily drags you back against the wall. Pushing his way into your space, the heat of his breath fanning at the hair that dances around your face as he lingers just a breath away.

“Fuck him, fuck the plan. Fuck all of it. It doesn’t matter, ya understand?” Tommy whispers on a harsh determined breath, intensity blazing in his eyes. His fingers digging into your shoulders as he tries desperately to convince you.

“What I need is for you to be ok.” He says on a softer breath, his heart giving way. Revealing itself in a way it so rarely does, because staring at you as he imagines Kimber’s hands pawing at your gentle flesh, it feels like the shovels digging against the wall of his mind all over again, like a pick axe to his heart. You shouldn’t matter, he shouldn’t care about you in this way, but he does. He undeniably does.

Your heart races as you stare at Tommy, all sharp edges and dangerously handsome. Your heart melts and surrenders from the confines of your chest. Because you’re weak to him. Drawn to him inexplicably. Even at the determent of your own heart. Dancing around something intimate and real like two teenagers fumbling and groping about in the dark. You’re the same, you tell yourself, but you’re not entirely convinced it’s just that.

The way your heart races under the glow of his affection tells you it’s something far more incendiary then that. Something that could and has caused you so much more grief and heartache. It would be easy to give into him now, but even under the warmth of his affections you know you can’t trust this. You know it could change on a dime. He’ll change his mind. He always does.

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the plan.” You whisper back to him full of resolve. The ice on your breath enough to freeze any man’s heart, even one as cold as Tommy’s.

Slipping from his grasp, you put your back to him as you move away. “Two hours, Thomas.” You remind him. Your bones trembling with an anxiousness you blindly ignore. Refusing to stare into the face of fear. As long as you don’t acknowledge it, don’t think about what your about to do, you can go through with it. Only when the moment looks you dead in the eye will you face its ugly truth. Doing what has to be done… A woman’s work. Because that’s what you do sometimes - you race toward the flames with reckless regard for your own life while everyone else runs for safety.

Kimber eyes you on approach, gaze sweeping the length of your body with lascivious pride. He’s cocky and entitled, and that’s what makes him weak, you remind yourself as you swallow the last of your champagne, letting the bubbles go to your head.

“Shall we?” You smile with your best girlish charm. The charm that makes Arthur fold and John smirk. The kind of charm that makes Tommy’s guard slip. The kind he told you was a weapon and if used probably could bring the best of men to their knees. The space between your body and heart feels so vast one could nearly swear they were separate entities entirely.

And if you prayed anymore, you’d pray for the strength to be like Tommy. The strength to do what has to be done no matter the cost, or how much it frightens you. Here in this place you won’t feel. In this space you will deny the racing of your heart, the tremble in your veins. There’s no room for feelings here, only what must be done, what will be done and everything you stand to gain from it.

The drive back from Kimber’s is bumpy. The road no different from the drive-up Tommy took to retrieve you, but every bump, and every rattle somehow feels harder, more jolting as he glances over at you from across the seat. You sit silently beside him, staring out, without a sound. No familiar light, no bursting spark… unmoving.

And while you’ve been distant and quiet with him for days now, this silence feels deafening as Tommy wraps his lips another yet another cigarette, pulling and tugging away at it with tight unease. He tries to focus on the road, but his gaze just keeps wandering over to you. The seconds tick like a clock winding up, each tick tightening the muscles in his shoulders a little more, until he can’t bare the pressure a moment longer and he has to break you out of your trance or he’ll surely combust.

Subtle as not to startle you, Tommy runs the back of his hand down the length of your arm. You don’t move and suddenly the thought races through his mind, what if you never move again, but as he reaches your wrist and his eyes glance back over from the road he finds you staring at him. Silently staring at him, lips sealed, eyes blinking, suspended. And the momentary relief that washes over Tommy to seeing you move, is quickly dashed as he stares into your eyes.

Dry and tearless, though he almost wishes they weren’t, because the emptiness in your gaze is startling. It sends Tommy’s eyes shooting back to the road. His mind racing, recalculating – what has he done? How could he let you do this? How could he agree to it? Glancing back, he finds you’re still there, there and yet miles away, somewhere he can’t see anymore then he can reach.

His heart heavy with guilt, Tommy reaches for your cheek, running his knuckles gently against the apple of it. Willing some spark to ignite back inside you. A reaction. Something. Show him a glimmer of the girl who bewitched him so effortlessly, but you only turn away – from him and his touch.

A feeling akind to war rekindles inside Tommy’s chest. The same sickening heaviness he used to feel when he’d send men out on orders he knew they’d never return from. The look in their eyes as they realized they weren’t coming back, the way they’d look at him – Sergeant Major – before charging out of the trenches to their inevitable demise. Something in your eyes harkens back to those pits of hell. Tommy’s pulled so many triggers he’s lost track, but there’s something about sending a man that trusts him to slaughter that snuffs out another piece of his soul.

You echo through him like the blast from a shell as Tommy pulls his hand back and coughs dryly, trying to loosen the tightness in this throat and chest. Trying not to be pulled under with the realization he’s betrayed you now twice, in the worst of ways.

Pulling the flask from his jacket pocket, he extends it toward you, nudging your arm faintly. He watches you from his periphery as you glance down at it without response.

“Take it,” He orders, nudging you again, before you finally move. Taking it into your hands, you unscrew the cap and draw it to your lips.

Tommy knows he can’t fix the damage he’s done, can’t mend the kind of wounds gaping in your eyes, but he can ease your suffering, like a shot of morphine to an ailing soldier on the battlefield.

What kind of person are you? What kind of person does the things you’ve done? The words float in and settle like a storm moving in from the sea, to linger unbudgingly against the raw strip of earth that makes up your current state of mind. You listen to the water shift around you as you move, listen as the fire cracks and cackles at you tauntingly from the fireplace. You stare down at your body, taking in the shape of it. The softness of your belly, the width of your hips, skimming steadily down the length of your legs, to where your toes peak out and breach the water. When did this become your body, you wonder, as if you haven’t seen it a million times before. And more importantly, why does it feel so foreign to you now?

You’ve stripped yourself of your dress, and scrubbed your flesh clean, but still the feeling persists, and you find yourself wondering if it’ll always feel this way… Like a stranger draped in your skin.

You lied to Pol about the races. You could see in her eyes, she wanted to press, but she didn’t, instead she drew you a bath. John didn’t say a word when you and Tommy returned. He took one look at you, just one, and headed straight for the door, as if the truth was blinding upon you.

The thought of John and Pol makes you sink back down in the water. Drenching your shoulders, pulling your head beneath the warm soap water. You listen to your heart beat in the ears, let it drown out the noise in your head. You focus on the sound and the distraction it brings until your lungs burn and demand for air, only then do you surface once again.

You linger low in the tub, water encircling and swaying against your lips, every exhale from your nose creating tiny ripples in the water. You’re safe here, from your family, from the world… from yourself. You almost convince yourself.

It’s the creak on the step that catches your ear. Second to the top, old and slowly rotting. You slide slowly up in the tub and spot a figure in the low light moving down the hall. Tall and lanky, there’s no need to see his face, but the sight of him alone creates a deep unwavering ache from the hollows inside you. You think he may be the only thing left in this world that could draw you out of this bath tonight.

You dry and dress quickly, your damp hair soaking into the fabric of your nightdress as it hangs down your back. The pads of your feet step light footed and swift down the hall until you reach the room you share. You slip inside, careful to close the door softly behind you. You find him already tucked in bed, eyes closed, chest even. The sight both peaceful and disheartening, because you need him, because he’s the only thing that feels safe.

Moving to the edge of the bed, you lean in to blow out the candle on the nightstand. It’s only then does he stir. His tired blue eyes flutter open, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth with the sight of you.

He pulls back the blanket as your pull off your nightdress. Heart racing, you swear you see his hand waiver in his invite, the blanket tremble in his hand before your climbing atop him. Bringing your bare fresh down upon his, wrapping yourself around his body. Still dressed in most of his cloths from the day, you feel Arthur stiffen beneath you, but his arms find their way around you just the same. A cautious tension gripping his muscles, but still he reaches for you, comforts you.

“Vera,” He whispers your name, concern tightening at his throat.

You want to tell him everything, but you can’t as you burrow against him, slipping your hands beneath his undershirt to let the heat of his skin warm you as you bury your nose in his neck.

“Let me grab your nightdress.” Arthur persists when you don’t respond, arm extending out against the floorboards. But you cling to him, unsure why you need him to touch your flesh, this flesh that feels so foreign to you now. You breathe him in deeply, old familiar musky scent filling your senses with the kind of relief nothing else has been able to give you tonight. The sense your completely safe.

“Don’t go.” You gasp out sharply, arms squeezing tighter. Arthur stops searching for your nightdress immediately, his hand slipping back beneath the blanket to hold you close with your plea.

Clutching you tightly as he rolls you both onto your side. Holding you firmly in his arms as your breath wavers against his neck.

“I can’t lose you.” You confess, the first set of tears you’ve let surface now burn at your eyes. Desperation clutching at your heart like a squeezed fist. You never once considered stopping him. Never once considered stealing the joy he finds with Linda. You wouldn’t dream of taking that away. But in this moment, as you’re riddled with so much confusion and self-doubt, you know he’s the only place that feels safe. Your first hero, your home.

His fingertips message at your scalp as he leans in close, placing a gentle kiss upon your forehead. His breath and lips lingering for a moment longer. “I’m here Little Lady.” Arthur promises. “I’m here.”

#Tommy Shelby #thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagine #John Shelby #arthur shelby

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kat-sucky · 7 years

Note

rapunzel au bro

[ Your request was a little vague, but I think I did it justice. It’s probably not what you were expecting… buuuuut.]

As a party princess, you met your fair share of creepy old men and geeky weirdoes. However, all of those incidents of being hit on by men too old for you seemed to pale in comparison to what was happening now.

Three hours earlier.

The summer heat had long melted off most of your thick foundation, and you were dying inside of your Rapunzel dress. The heavy, long wig you wore trapped heat under it, and you could feel the sweat rolling down your neck in beads. Your dress was made of thick fabric, and lucky you, didn’t show any sweat spots or smell, but you felt like you were drowning under the folds of the skirt and the confines of the bodice. The once cool metal of the tiara had become like a brand under the sun and you could feel it burning your scalp.

On the exterior, you still looked like a perfect princess, minus the foundation, and your lipstick was faded. The kids you were playing with didn’t seem to mind, and ran circles around you, hands linked and laughing. While you were physically suffering your way through this for the money, emotionally you were feeling great and the enthusiasm from the kids had rubbed off on you. During the two hours you had been attending this party for the kids, boys and girls (a man from your company dressed as Superman was there for the boys benefit, but he was being shunned. You were the main attraction, and even the little boisterous boys had become fans.), you had learned a lot about the kids you were entertaining.

There was a little kid named Rudy who loved learning about toilets, a girl named Susan who ate grass because she wanted to be a horse, and so many more. The birthday kid was a sweet little girl around four with a brain tumor and a few months to live named Sydney, and she was so down to Earth. You hadn’t known kids like her existed, and for her family’s benefit, worked on the house for this girl. They didn’t need to pay for this, it was your pleasure to help them.

The party itself had ended a few minutes ago, but you had grown a little attached and the game of tag had continued. The only kids left were the three, and then there was you.

You were quirkless, but that hadn’t stopped you from succeeding in a world of superheroes and aspiring villains. You only wanted to be a princess for now, and then you would move on to bigger things. Being quirkless made the game of tag a little more difficult for you though, seeing the kids were using theirs to evade your grasp.

Eventually though, even you had to go home. You had given your tiara to Sydney and gotten into your car, stifling a few tears. The parents were grateful for you spending time with the kids, and gave you a large tip. You had denied it at first, but saw it rude to deny their insistence twice and took it.

You hadn’t even started the car when a hard force hit your head, and you blacked out.

Currently.

Again, every other time you had dealt with minor stalkers and forward fathers could never compare to this.

You had been kidnapped by an old man around his seventies dressed like Flynn Rider, and he was currently professing his undying love for you. Your tiara had been replaced with what looked like a homemade cardboard, glue, and rhinestone crown. The thought was nice, you acknowledged that, but you really just wanted to go home. You weren’t even all that scared apart from being a little thrown off at the twist in your day.

Wait, correct that, two days. You had been here for a two days now, being held hostage in this old man’s house in the countryside. The only reason you weren’t shaking in your slippers at this moment was because you had dealt with this old geezer before, and he was convinced you were the real Rapunzel in the flesh. As long as you played your part, you should be fine.The really sad part was that you couldn’t escape because he always had your hands tied, and you had no idea where to go once outside the door. It was miles and miles of flat land. Plus, he’d probably kill you if you tried. From the looks of the room you had been in, you weren’t the first Rapunzel to be here.

You had been well taken care of, being able to bathe and all, being fed, but you had to wear your costume and crown at all times, and it was exhausting. Especially with the three times a day tea parties he made you attend. Lucky for you, he wasn’t very smart and actually left his phone out. So, like any smart person in this situation, you had grabbed it before becoming fully restrained into the dining chair again.

Text: from you. [3:34pm]

To: unknown number

My name is [Y/N] and I’ve been kidnapped. So if you could send help to come grab me, that’d be great. I don’t really know where I am.

Was that good enough? You weren’t really sure how this worked, and could only hope they took you seriously. So you also pressed the “send your location” icon for good measure.

Text received: from unknown number [3:38pm]

To: you

Is this a joke?

Text: from you. [3:39pm]

To: unknown number

No! Just send someone. At this rate, I’m going to end up in a dumpster somewhere.

Text: from unknown number [3:43pm]

To: you

Fine. If this is a joke, I’ll make you sorry.

Huh, that was quick. And not very… reassuring.

Discreetly, you smiled to yourself looked up as the old man knelt before you. His old hands cupped your delicately, like he was holding a fairy. He stared expectantly at you, like he had asked you something.

Oh no, had he asked you something?

“Ah… What was that?” You blinked, feigning a sweet smile. You could feel tension forming in your shoulders.

As you began to slide the phone under the folds of your dress, it happened to fall off the chair you were tied to and fell to the floor. Great.

His love-struck expression melted into one of confusion as he picked up his phone. “Rapunzel, why do you have….” His voice trailed off as he read the conversation between you and the grumpy stranger.

It was a switch from gentle wooer to extremely pissed off old man.

“You’re trying to leave me?” He growled, milky eyes shooting up to look at you. Now you were feeling fear for the first time in being here. “After all I’ve done for you?”

You swallowed as your throat went dry, stomach clenching. What exactly had he done for you? “No. Why would I want to leave?”

Either he didn’t hear you, or he didn’t care, because he threw the phone across the room with surprising strength for his age and swung back to face you, getting too close for your preference. “You bitch! You princesses are all the same!”

He kicked the chair, again very strong, and you figured he must have some sort of strength quirk. You and the chair hit the ground with a clatter, and your entire side exploded with pain. The binds cut into your skin, and you knew now was when the fight to live began. As he grew closer, your eyes searched for something to help you. When you saw a leg had broken off of the dining chair, you managed to rip one of your arms from the ropes and reached out towards it. So close. So close.

Too late.

It was nudged away with a foot. That same foot then connected to your stomach with the fury of a once younger man, and you cried out.

“I love you! How could you want to leave me?” You could hear the raw sobbing in the older man’s voice, and you would’ve felt bad for making an old person cry if it hadn’t been for the fact he was scaring you shitless. “I took you in off the streets,” More like my car, you mused, “I’ve fed you, spent time with you, given you a place to stay, your own room!” While in chains! Ugh. The nerve of this guy.

How long had it been since you called out for help? Ten minutes since? Someone should be here soon, right?

Again, you were kicked mercilessly. Then, hit over the face with the chair leg you had been trying to obtain previously. You felt a scratch in your cheek begin bleeding onto the floor. You could tell from the shadow on the tile floor that he was gearing up to hit you again, and it looked to be aimed for your head this time. You closed your eyes tightly, shoulders tensing up in anticipation of the blow.

The was a large explosion form not too far away, and wind swept across the room as a result of the powerful boom. Your wig was detached, revealing your true [H/C] locks. The old man cried out at the sight of your true form, clutching his head and pulling at his skin.

“You’re not Rapunzel!”

“No shit!” You snarled back, your voice quavering.

You strained your eyes to see what was happening, and inhaled sharply as you saw a young man send your captor flying across the room. Your heart pounded heavily in your chest as relief flooded you, because this man was your hero. Who ever you had texted had sent a hero to save you, albeit a ferocious looking one, but a hero all the same. You’d have to thank them la-

“This you?” A phone screen was held in front of your face, the brightness of the words inches away.

This hero was the stranger you had texted? You swallowed, looking upwards at his face. The hero in costume was squatting beside you. He was frowning, as if he was disappointed in you. Or like he was hardcore judging you… Maybe both. The intense scrutiny made you blink. “Yes. That’s me.”

He stood up again, looming over you, a small smirk beginning to play on his lips. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” You deadpanned without a thought. His smirk widened a fraction, and you could tell he was amused. Here you were, a girl dressed like a princess, bleeding from your cheek and almost getting killed by an old man.

“You’re welcome. You totally owe me now.” An arrogant edge took hold in his voice as he sauntered back towards the door, arms stretching behind his head.

As he began to leave, you remembered you were still tied up. “Hey! You gotta untie me!” You frowned at him.

He glanced back, the amusement less apparent. He actually looked a little pissed now. “I do? I came here to save your ass. I did that. I don’t have to do anything else, you shit.”

The two of you engaged in a small glaring contest, and as you huffed, he rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll untie you.”

He walked over, slow. So slow, and it was obvious he was showing you how much of a drag this was for him, and how much he didn’t want to be doing it. It was irritating. This guy was a hero? Unbelieveable. There was a softer explosion from behind you, and you felt the binds fall away from your skin. Pure bliss.

“You double owe me now. Plus dinner.”

#bakugou #katsuki #katsuki bakugou #party princess #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bhna #boku no hero academia #bhna x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #rapunzel au

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thiswaycomessomethingwicked · 7 years

Text

Wrack and Ruin

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Arthur lounges in a chair at the desk in his room. He is attempting to compose a letter to the Cabinet Office as both Master of the Ordnance and Minister of the Occult. He dislikes how the titles and roles are entangling themselves together. He feels there ought to be a distinct delineation between them. He, thus far, has been shot down.

'What are you wearing to dinner?' Napoleon asks as he sticks his head in. Arthur leans his head back so he is viewing the man upside. 'That is a pretty face you're making but not an answer to my question.'

'I was attempting to get some work done.'

'Still not an answer. Oh, I see your man has lain out your uniform.'

'Yes. How involved do you think this dinner will be?'

'Food and drink wise? Very involved. If you want to eat well, always dine with Joseph. In terms of guests? Intimate. He said he was having only one or two people along.'

Arthur screws the lid back on his ink and sets his pen back in its holder. This letter is clearly not going to be completed in the time between present and dinner.

'Very well,' Arthur sighs. 'I will do work after dinner.'

'Think of this as a holiday.'

'I'm here on behalf of the British-'

'Yes, yes. I know.' Leaning over Napoleon adjusts Arthur's collar and cravat. 'Get dressed or we'll be late.'

The dinner party is small consisting of Nicholas Biddle and his wife Jane and a Mr. William Bligh and wife Margaret. Arthur had expected there to be the whispered about Annette Savage, unkindly called Madame de la Folie, but she if she is present in Bordentown at this time she is absent from Point Breeze.

'Never seen it myself,' Nicholas is saying as the fish is brought it. 'Of course I've heard all the stories. You can't help it in these parts. It reminds one of some of the beasts that Homer wrote of - creatures of remote Mediterranean islands.'

Napoleon perks up at the mention on Homer. ‘You enjoy the epics?’ He asks with great enthusiasm.

‘I enjoy all the classics,’ Nicholas pauses as he searches for a title. Finding it difficult with two Bonapartes present, the Duke of Wellington, and an amiable if bland Mr. Bligh, he settles on nothing. ‘I’ve been revisiting Virgil. The Aeneid.’

‘An excellent choice.’ With an ironic smile Napoleon quotes, ‘He was to be ruler of Italy, Potential empire, armorer of war; to father men from Teucer's noble blood. And bring the whole world under law's dominion.’ A theatric sigh. ‘But, was not to be for him.’

Nicholas spreads his hands as if saying, Such is life.

Arthur, ‘I beg your pardon, but to return to the beast. The stories you have heard, they only speak of one, correct? Or are there more?’

'I've only heard of one,' Nicholas replies. 'Who knows, though. The natives speak of all sorts of strange creatures in the woods. Perhaps there are more.'

'But this one was born of a human?'

'Correct, though our host knows more of the particulars than I.'

Joseph shrugs, he has said all he knows. There is little knowledge left to impart. Perhaps there are still members of Leeds family around? They are the ones who brought this creature forth not quite one hundred years ago.

Napoleon listens with half an ear as Arthur digs into the legend and mildly wonders what sort of letter the War Office is going to receive. Evidently they are concerned about numbers of these strange creatures. Napoleon thinks that a ridiculous approach to it. Folklore creatures do exist in regards to sheer number, that is not their power. It is over the mind that they reign most completely.

Do not go here, do not go there for the Jersey Devil will get you, the giants of Bonafacio will crush up your bones and make pulenta from them like chestnuts, the fairies will lead you astray and down into the dark earth where thirsty roots dig deep. The power of the unknown, the feared other is where true magic of these things lies. He would know, he was the Ogre. The Scourge of Europe. The Bogeyman.

Jane Biddle is a handsome woman and Napoleon, done with thoughts of the unknown for one evening, turns towards her and makes general inquiries about her life. Who was her father? Her mother? Where was she from? Has she and her husband any children? Only two! He asks for their names. Edward and Charles.

'Charles is a good name,' he says.

'I think so,' Jane agrees.

'You should name your next son William or perhaps Harold. Those are names of fame and fortune.'

'If it is a son, sir!'

'Of course it will be a son, you have two already. That is a good sign.'

She teases, 'and if it were to be a daughter?'

'Josephine.'

Jane smiles, 'that is a beautiful name.'

'Of course. Or Pauline, if you absolutely must.'

Nicholas attends to them as he drifts out of a conversation with William Bligh. He catches Napoleon’s eye as the meat course is brought in. ‘Perhaps not as warm a subject as Virgil and Homer but I would like to speak with you on a manner of some import.’

'Nicholas, not work.' Jane says this with the tone of one who knows a hopeless situation when it presents itself.

'For only a minute, my dear. What think you of our current situation?'

'Broadly speaking? The general human condition? Hopeful, I would say. Or more particularly?'

'As you may know, I am the director of the federal Bank.'

'Ah! that sort of import. The current economic state. What is your opinion?’

'It is trying at best, an absolute horror at worst. We'll muddle through it though, I have no doubt. I want to ask you about the Louisiana Purchase repayment process. It has, as you know, exacerbated the current economic crisis and I have been consulting about the best approach.’

'New government in France,' Napoleon holds his hands up. 'I have nothing to do with it. I raise bees and tend my garden in a small village in England now. I am, how do you say in English, a retired gentleman?'

Jane not-so-discreetly nudges Nicholas' foot beneath the table. He smiles warmly at her and says, 'oh fine, we'll talk later. Aside from our current crisis I want a more complete account of the creation of the French bank.'

'Naturally.'

'Your brother Joseph is of little help.'

'Come tomorrow,' Napoleon says. 'We're going on another quest for this devil. Come with us.'

Nicholas at first defers, he would not wish to infringe if this is a specialized practice. He only prepared Lewis and Clarks' report of their western exploration past the Mississippi, he is not a man of nature.

'We are all urban gentlemen,' Napoleon says.

'But you're also all soldiers.'

'Excuse you,' Joseph says primly from down the table. 'Do not cast that aspersion on all of us.'

Nicholas laughs, oh he is sorry. He would not wish to cast any shadow on their host. 'He's a good man,' he says to Napoleon.

'Oh yes, between the two of us Joseph is the more handsome and the kinder.'

Arthur approaches the letter and desk with annoyance once dinner has ended and guests dispersed for the evening with plans to reconvene in the morning. He outlines what he wishes to convey then begins. He decides that he will include an edited copy to interested parties in England such as that botanist Buchanan.

Part way through is the expected knock. Napoleon enters without waiting for an invitation and Arthur twists around to face him, points at him with his pen dripping an errant bit of ink to the floor.

'You should wait until you have been invited, Bonaparte.'

'I knew you'd be scribbling away at your letter. You fairly near abandoned me at the end of the evening.'

'You and your brother were reminiscing about family half in Italian. I was clearly not needed.'

Napoleon leans over him and scans the letter. Arthur remains, despite several years of close acquaintance, unaware of exactly how much English the one-time emperor can read. He partially covers the letter with his hand. Napoleon scoffs, ruffles his hair.

'You just wanted to escape Mr. Bligh. Madame Bligh was charming.'

'Yes I saw you steal away with her into the corner of the room for a time.'

'I did not steal away. We were discussing constellations and so we went to a window to look at them which elucidated the conversation.'

'You're hopeless.'

Napoleon grins and flops back onto the bed. He is still half dressed in evening wear and smells of cigars from the other gentlemen.

'Bligh wished to speak to me of the great innovations being made in ship building in Boston,' Arthur says when Napoleon offers no other lead. 'He was being loud.'

'He was rather loud.'

'And brash.'

'His French wasn't good, I didn't get that far.'

'And dull.'

'The worst offence!' Napoleon juts his hand up pointing to the ceiling. 'Off with his head!'

'He was being an American.'

Napoleon props himself up on his shoulders and raises an eyebrow towards Arthur. Arthur does not appreciate the scrutiny and turns back to his letter muttering that some people have work that needs to be completed.

'You tolerated the few socialites we met in Boston.'

Arthur glares over his shoulder, 'they weren't dull. They were charming, educated women with peculiar accents. I am immune to peculiar accents. You have a peculiar accent and I abide it well enough.'

Napoleon flops back down and says that if Arthur is going to be misish he can do it alone. Arthur says he wishes he could be alone. If other people would only let him. Napoleon, 'you don't mean that.' The tone is teasing silk. Without seeing him Arthur knows he is smiling and it is devilish.

Arthur writes on for a time before he hears Napoleon standing and moving about the room. As the door opens Arthur says, 'what your brother wants you to say.'

From across the room Napoleon's voice is low and soft, 'yes?'

'Have you figured it out?'

'Oh yes.'

'Probably for the best.'

'I disagree.'

Arthur shrugs. He continues writing. The door closes with something like an admission.

#writing #wrack and ruin #napoleon #napoleon bonaparte #duke of wellington #jersey devil

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