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#from the secret history all i can think is richard getting his ass beat at a party + doing cocaine in the burger king parking lot
half-lights · 3 years
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i always end up focusing on the wrong things when reading a book
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jawritter · 4 years
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Prank Gone Wrong
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A/N: This was a private request from my sister. So you guys don’t crucify me upside down lol. This was originally posted on wattpad, and someone who wished to remain anon asked me to bring it over here. So be nice lol. As always all mistakes are mine! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one. I was nervous about writing it. 
**Disclaimer!** This is a complete and total work of fiction. I don’t believe Jared would ever do something like this!! LOL Even though Misha may beg to differ..... 
Warnings: SMUT, unprotected smut, drugged!jensen, jared being an asswhole on accident. (kinda), language, exaggerated effects of a drug, hint at reader with body image issues (very brief), male masterbations (also brief). Shifting viewpoints. I think/hope that’s everything.
Pairing: Jensen x Jared, Jensen x reader, Dean x Cherry (reader’s character), Richard Speight x reader, Richard Speight x Jensen, Misha x Reader, Jared x Reader, Jared x Misha. 
Word Count: 5103
Want more? Check out my masterlist!
****MASTERLIST****
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Jensen's POV:
"Jensen, JENSEN!" Mikaela screamed at him. Making him jump in his seat. 
"Sorry." He said, Settling back down in the makeup chair. Turning his head for her like she wanted so that she could even out the base coat of makeup she was applying to his face. 
"You feeling okay? You're really zoned out this morning."
"Yeah, yeah I'm fine, just tired I guess." Jensen said. Knowing that was an absolute lie. He wasn't tired at all. In fact he'd never felt more awake in his life. 
Today was the day he'd been nervous about since he found out about it. The sex scene between "Cherry," Dean's new love interests.. And Dean. And Cherry just happened to also be Richard's niece y/n. 
See Jensen has had a secret crush on y/n since she started working for the show four weeks ago. He'd been separated from Danneel for six months now. The only ones on the set that knew that was Jared. So there was no way that Jensen could ask y/n out even though he really wanted to. He had to wait for things to become public, and he didn't want to do that until the divorce was finalized. 
Now here he was, going to have to preform a sex scene with the woman that he can't seem to get out of his head. While everyone, except Jared, thinks that he's still in love with Danneel.
"Morning sexy!!" Jared said, flopping down in the makeup chair next to him. Handing him a cup of coffee that he gladly accepted. 
"Thank you!! I was running late this morning, and didn't get go by and grab myself any." 
"So you ready for today's scene with y/n?" Jared said wiggling his eyebrows at his friend. Watching him intently as he took a deep swing from his coffee.
"Yea, guess as I'll ever be... "
"Okay Jensen your done!" Mikaela said. Ushering him out of the trailer door. He was running late to the costume trailer as well, so he downed the rest of his coffee, and bolted for the door. Glad to be away from Jared and the conversation at hand. He did not want to discuss today's scene with anyone. He just wanted to get it over with. He definitely didn't want to admit he was fighting everything in him that was excited to see her underneath him, even if it was just pretend.
Jared's POV:
Jared rushed out of the makeup trailer headed toward the costume trailer. Seeing Misha coming out of it already in full Castiel mode. 
"Misha you coming to watch Jensen and y/n's scene today?" He asked. Making only two short strides of his long legs in order to catch up with the shorter man. 
"I don't know, should I? My coverage isn't until once they're done with you in the bunker library." Misha said. Looking up from his script he was reading when Jared had caught up with him. 
" Well you might want to, it might get... Interesting..." Jared said. Almost bouncing on the balls of his feet with glee. 
"What did you do Jared?" Misha said. Looking at the overly tall man, concerned, but grateful for once It was Jensen and y/n who were in the line of fire and not Misha himself. 
"Well. I was at my uncle's house on the brake, and while I was snooping in his guest bathroom I found some Viagra shots. So.. .I kind of stole one of them... Anyway, I knew Jay and y/n had this scene today, and was running late. So I got him a cup of coffee and brought it to the makeup trailer for him. With the Viagra shot mixed in it..." 
Jared was grinning like a criminal that had just pulled off the greatest bank robbery in human history. Misha stood there with his jaw on the ground, caught somewhere between amusement, and concern for Jensen. 
"Well did... I'm... Oh my god Jared... Did he drink it?" Misha said. Concern growing, but amusement winning out in the end. He did make a mental note NEVER to accept coffee from Jared ever again...
"Yep downed it before he left the makeup trailer. Come on, it's going to take them about an hour to set up. So it should be good and in his system by the time they get down to business." Jared said taking off toward the costume trailer to hurry and get changed into Sam's outfit. This may be the greatest prank he's pulled yet!!
Your POV:
You were having one of those days.. Nothing was going right. You spilled your coffee this morning before you got to finish it. Cliff was late getting you and Jensen to set, you both lived in the same apartment complex while filming in Vancouver, so you usually just car pooled with them, it was just easier. 
Even though you guys were already running late, traffic kept you even later, like the whole universe was trying to cosmically get you back for having  a huge crush on this extremely handsome and extremely married man that was sitting next to you. 
You where nervous about the sex scene today. No matter how many of them you did, they were always awkward. Add in the major crush you had on your costar, and that made it even more awkward. 
Jensen must have been nervous, because he wasn't his normal talkative self on the way into the studio. 
It was an hour worth of hair and makeup for you, then to your trailer to change into your nude underwear and robe to head to set. It was also December in Vancouver, which made that a very cold walk.
By the time you got to set that morning. Everyone was there and in place. Jensen was standing off in the corner talking to the director, you took your place already in the bed. For this scene your character Cherry was supposed to be sleeping, and Dean comes into her to.. Well You know... After an extra difficult hunt and your characters argument that you filmed yesterday were Dean had admitted his feelings for Cherry, but ran out of the bunker before she could respond to him.
Stripping your robe you get under the sheets and turn on your side as directed by Eric. Your uncle Richard comes over and kneels down on the side of the bed to talk to you.
"How are you feeling kid, are you sure you're okay with this?" 
"I'm a big girl Richard. I think I can handle a little sex scene." You tell him. Trying to downplay your nerves a little. 
"Okay, Okay," He said. Throwing his hands up in mock surrender. "You know what's going to happen, Jensen's going to come through the door, stand next to your bed. The coverage is going to be on a sleeping Cherry, Dean will then strip down and slip into the bed with you. That's where we're going to start the fun stuff. Now we haven't scripted this scene. Because no matter how much we've tried we can't make it look real on paper, so we're going to have Jensen adlib it. Just follow his lead. If at any moment you feel awkward or uncomfortable, just let us know and we'll reset and start over again. Okay." 
"Okay." You said. Feeling a little information overload, but you should be used to that by now. 
"Okay." He said, Standing up as they brought the lights down on set. "Jensen's a professional, don't worry." He said winking at you and making his way over to his directors chair while you tried your damndest to calm down your racing heart rate. 
Jensen's POV:
Jensen stood off to the side of the set, letting you get comfortable and covered before he made his way to his mark. Trying his hardest to keep his mind on the upcoming task at hand. To do this with as few takes as possible. 
He felt funny, but attributed it to his nerves, and tried to shake it off. Looking over to the side of him behind the camera he saw Jared and Misha standing off to the side by the PA's whispering to each other. Probably going to try and find a reason to make fun of him after this scene is over. Great more pressure. 
Jensen adjusted his stance uncomfortably as the lights came down and they called the markers in place. The commands started to come out. Y/n adjusted in the bed and smiled at him. A smile that nearly knocked the breath out of him. The only problem is it seemed to show off her cleavage in the brief moment that she turned toward him. 
"Quiet on set!!" 
Fuck he was already getting hard, and he hadn't even gotten to the bed yet were she was laying. What the fuck was wrong with him? He tried to low key adjust himself to make himself more comfortable, and hide the fact that he was already having some problems. He'd never done this before. His heart rate quickened. 
"Action."
Your POV:
As soon as they called action your eyes closed and you started to put on the presumption that Cherry was asleep. Waiting for Dean to come through the door with battered breath. You never get tired of watching Jensen play Dean. Jensen was sexy to begin with, but when he put on his bad ass hunter act it just did all sorts of things to you that you weren't ready to admit yet.
You could hear the door shut to Cherry's room, you could also hear your heart beating in your ears, but you tried to ignore it. Keeping focused on keeping your breaths even, like you would if you were really sleeping. 
You could feel Jensen's presents behind you. Even though your eyes were closed. Hearing Dean's clothes hit the floor as he made quick work of them. 
You felt the bed dip as his weight came down behind you, his lips finding your throat. You knew that there was no script to this, and that he was just winging it. So you lay there. Playing off the fact that he hadn't woken her up yet. 
His lips ghosted over your throat to the pulse points behind your ears and you couldn't stop the shiver that went down your back.
"Cut!!!"
"Okay guys great so far. I don't think he needs to do that again. The next time it cuts to you guys your already going to be deep in the act. So... Let's start from there. Since this isn't scripted this might have to be done a few times. You guys good so far?" Richard called out from his directors chair.
"Yea, let's just do it." Jensen said, his voice was a little more strained than normal. He must be nervous too. 
"Okay you guys get in position and Jensen nod when you're ready."
Jensen adjusted himself to be hovering over you. Trying his best to keep staring at the wall, and not you lying underneath him. 
To say that the man was breathtaking was an understatement. A light sheen of sweat already coating his chest. You wondered if they sprayed him before he got into the bed. Why would he already be sweating? Jay wasn't really a sweater. Not that you'd ever noticed anyway. 
Finally looking down at you when he'd positioned himself between your legs, trying hard not to touch you with his body. He supported his weight on his arms, and knees. 
"You okay?" He asked. Looking down at you finally.
"Yeah I'm good, you?" You were starting to feel a little concerned about him. He wasn't acting like his normal joking Jensen at all. It worried you.
"I'm fine sweetheart don't worry about me." He said, winking at you. Trying to make light of an awkward situation. Even though you had nude underwear on, you couldn't help but feel exposed to him, and you couldn't help but feel self conscious about the parts of your body that you weren't necessarily happy with. 
Jensen looked over to Richard and nodded to him. Then the two of you lay there waiting on the words action!
Jensen had his eyes closed and was taking deep breaths above you. 
"Quiet on Set, ready, and action!!"
As soon as the words were called Jensen's mouth crashed into yours. Knocking the wind out of you. My god the man was a good kisser. 
His lips brushed lightly over your own. That's when you felt him start to move his body above your own, careful not to touch his hips to yours, and keep you covered from the other eyes in the room. 
"Cut!!"
Jensen's head connected to your shoulder and he growled in frustration. "What now Rich?" 
Richard took a tentative step toward the two of you. Jensen still holding his body above your own. 
"I'm sorry Jensen, It just didn't look real, your holding your body too high above hers, you're going to have to have a little contact with each other. You've done this before Jensen. What's wrong today?" 
Jensen took a deep breath, looking from Richard to you. "I just don't want to make y/n feel uncomfortable." He said, keeping his eyes focused on the bed comforter. It was starting to make you feel even more self conscious. Did he not feel attracted to you at all? Did you disgust him so much that he didn't want to even pretend to have sex with you?
Quickly you shoved the feels down, you had to get through this scene. He said he just didn't want to make you uncomfortable. He was trying to show you a little respect, and keeping his eyes deviated form you until absolutely necessary y/n quite being so self conscious!! Jensen is your friend!
"Y/n I don't mean to sound crude, but your niece, and I know you can handle it. I've seen you at parties, we're not that far apart in age, I'm sure you're not a virgin." Your eyes narrowed at him, silently daring him not to go too far here. 
Richard threw his hands up in surrender, and stepped back a step. "All I'm saying is I don't think he'd make you that uncomfortable if his hips ground into you a little. Hell you both have underwear on. It's not like you're really touching each other." 
Rolling your eyes at him and fighting the urge to throw a pillow at his face. "No Richard, it won't make me uncomfortable. Now can we get this done!' 
"Fine, Okay guys here we go!" Richard said running back to his seat. "Action."
Again Jensen's mouth found yours. Slow, but gaining momentum. He ran his hand down your side that the camera was covered on and you couldn't help the small gasp that left your lips or the involuntary shiver that ran down your spine at his touch. 
What you didn't expect was his tongue to run across your lip. Maybe it was an accident. Was he really going to break that rule? Not that you'd mind, but It just didn't seem like Jensen. 
Until you felt it again. This time you give him entrance, and he moans so lowly into your mouth that the camera's wouldn't be able to catch it. The sound is going directly to your core. Soaking your thin layer of panties. 
With that his hips came down fully against yours. Grinding into you once. Something felt off, but you couldn't put your finger on it. His hips came down to yours again as his mouth made its way down your throat. This time you felt him. 
Was he seriously fully erected right now?
He started picking up his pace. Almost rutting into you now. Little moans fall from his lips. 
"Cut!! JENSEN!!"  As soon as his name was called. He flew out of the bed. His back to you and his hands in his hair.  God his back was sexy, but you could tell there was something wrong. 
"Richard I need a few minutes!!" He called over his shoulder not turning around. Jared and Misha burst into a hysterical fit of laughter as Jensen through his robe over his shoulders and almost ran off the set. 
"Okay everybody take 30." Richard said. Grabbing your robe you threw it over your shoulders before Jared and Misha made their way over to where you were standing. Jared was laughing so hard he could hardly breath.
"It's not funny Jared. I think something is wrong with Jensen." You tell him as soon as he gets an ear shot. He couldn't respond only doubling over in laughter.
"Oh yea there's something wrong with him alright." Misha said wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "It's hard to do a sex scene when your horny as fuck." 
With that Jared fell down on the ground on his back rolling. You resisted the urge to hit Misha in the face.
"What is that supposed to mean?" You asked. You weren't about to tell them what you felt, or what Jensen was doing right before the director called cut, because that wasn't Jensen you knew it. They'd done something to him.
"I mean Jared here slipped him liquid Viagra in his coffee this morning in the makeup trailer. He's not quite thinking with his upstairs brain at the moment."
Running your hands over your face as Jared got to his feel heaving with laughter, trying to catch his breath.
"Looks like he ran off to his trailer to try and get ahold of Danneel." Misha said doubling over in his own fit of laughter. Jared on the other hand froze. Not laughing anymore. 
"Oh fuck I forgot." He said, Looking between the two of you. 
"Forgot what?" You said. Fighting the urge to go find a step ladder so that you could slap him in the face without having to jump.
"You guys got to promise not to tell this to anybody, but him and Danni are getting a divorce."
Misha, no longer laughing, turned and faced Jared. "So you mean he's got no one to help him out there, and he's going to basically be stuck with a minimum four hour erection. Jared that's not funny."
"I fucking forgot okay, I knew he had a crush on y/n, he was nervous about the scene today, I just wanted to fuck with him. I didn't think that far ahead. He should be able to just beat it off he'll be fine."
You stood there in stunned silence. "He's got a crush on me?" You said. Looking between the two men. 
They both stopped and looked at you. Jared visibly kicked himself for this prank that had gone very wrong, very quickly.
"Jared you got to go tell him what you did! He's probably freaking the fuck out right now" You tell him. Jared nodes at you, and runs off toward Jensen's trailer. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He felt horrible, but it was too late to take it back now. 
You stood there for a moment weighing your options. 
Finally you made up your mind. 
"Misha go tell Richard we're going to need a lot longer than 30, and that he should go ahead and just do yours and Jared's coverage, me and Jensen can resume after lunch." You said, stalking your way toward Jensen's trailer. 
Misha watched you go. He couldn't help the smirk that spread across his face as realization hit him of where you were going, and just what you had planned to do.
Maybe this prank hadn't gone so wrong after all.
Jensen's POV:
"YOU FUCKING What?!?!" To say that Jensen was livid was an understatement. "What the fuck am I going to do now Jared?!" Pacing back and forth across the trailer. He was frustrated, hornier than he'd ever been in his life, and annoyed beyond belief because of the combination of the two. He was also on the verge of panic. He'd never taken anything like this before, so he had no idea how it was going to react to him, he was only about an hour and a half into its effects. 
"Jensen I'm so fucking sorry, I wasn't thinking about you not having anyone.... to.... you know..." Jensen narrowed his eyes at him in a death glare. Jared threw his arms up, and backed up a few steps. 
"Well guess who gets to explain to Richard why I can't do this scene today?" Jensen says, voice filled with humorless venom. 
Jared looked at the ground, and nodded before looking back up at Jensen who's face and neck was slightly red in the tent. Palming himself through his robes subconsciously. Not looking at Jared at all anymore. Just leaning against the wall with his eyes shut next to the bedroom of the trailer. 
"Maybe I should take you to the hospital?" Jared asked sheepishly. Jensen through his hand up to shut him up. It was getting harder to concentrate. 
"Jared I'm not going to the hospital for this, you've lost your fucking mind." 
"Well if you can't get your... self... under control there you may have to." 
"Jared get the fuck out."
"But.."
Jensen said nothing just pointed to the front door. Jared nodded and walked out the door.  Jensen flopped down on the small couch where he kept his pillow for napping during takes. 
Grabbing a bottle of lotion from the table that y/n had left in there when she was there yesterday running lines with him. The thought of her made him ache even more. His mind is unable to focus on anything but her, and what she'd feel like wrapped around him. 
Groaning and running his hand down his face, he pulled his robe open, and freed himself from his boxers. Putting  a generous amount of lotion in his hand, then began to stroke his aching length. Getting desperate to find some relief. 
He'd only pumped himself about twice when there was another knock on his door. Fuck this was literally going to kill, or Jared, he wasn't sure yet. 
Your POV:
Reaching Jensen's trailer you still your nerves, reach up and knock on the door.... Nothing. Clif's SUV was still in the parking lot, so you knew he was still here. Just not answering the door. 
Reaching up you knock again a little louder. 
"Go away Jared!!" Finally came the muffled response through the trailer door. 
Taking a deep breath, and thanking God that he hadn't had some massive reaction, or had a heart attack from the medication you steel your nerves. 'You can do this.'
"Jensen let me in please." You yell back through the door. Silence for a moment, Just as you were about to pick the lock you heard his voice a little closer to the door. 
"Y/n go away, you don't want to see me right now." 
"Jensen please! I know what Jared did to you! Misha is talking to Richard right now! Let me in!"
Silence. 
"Don't make me pick the lock Jensen."
More silence. 
Just as you were about to pull the hairpin out of your pock to pick the lock on his trailer door, playing a hunter on TV had taught you how to pick a lock pretty well, you heard the latch unlock on the trailer. 
Opening the door yourself you see Jensen leaning against the bar that separated the living room from the kitchen section of the trailer. 
His face and neck were red, he had a light sheen of sweat still on his face. His breathing was a little heavier than normal. You could only see him from the chest down, seeing as he was standing behind the bar. 
"Are they going to cancel the scene for the rest of the day?" He asked. His voice is rough and low. The sound alone sends shock waves through your body. Landing somewhere in your core. 
"Yeah, we're off the hook until lunchtime." You tell him reaching over and locking the door behind you. His eyes following your every movement. "Jared and Misha are going to go ahead and shoot their coverage, that should give us about three hours for you to recover."
You start to undo your robe and slip it from your shoulders as you are talking. Your eyes never leave Jensen. He reaches down, obviously palming himself behind the counter. "Y/n... You don't have to do this....." 
Deliberately walking around the counter to him. His robe open, His chest showing bare for you to see. His black boxers barely cover his swollen length. Walking up to him you run your hand down his chest. A shiver visibly runs through him, and he leans himself into your touch. 
"Let me help you Jay, Jared already told Misha and myself that you don't have anyone that can help you. You don't want to end up in the hospital."
Leaning his head down on your shoulder for a moment. Taking a deep breath before wrapping his arms around your waist. 
"Y/n I don't want you to do this because you feel sorry for me." He said, not looking at you, just pulling you closer to him. Your chest now against his. His breathing is getting deeper. 
"Jensen I would do this regardless if Jared drugged your ass or not. Have you seen you lately?" You say jokingly. Trying to make light of his situation. 
Grabbing his hand you pull him toward the open door of the bedroom of his trailer. He follows you silently without a fuss. Pulling the bedroom door shut behind the two of you. 
You lay down on the bed and back yourself up against the headboard with Jensen hot on your heels. His eyes lust blown. Deciding it was no use to fight it. If he didn't do something to get himself off he was going to lose his fucking mind. 
Crashing his lips into your his kissed you deep, fully of passion and need. His tongue sliding easily into your lips. Expertly gliding over your own. A moan rose low in your throat, and that spurred him on. 
Making his way down your jaw line, to your pulse points on your neck, nipping and marking the skin there as he went. 
Reaching around behind you, you arched your back so that he could quickly unlatch your bra. Jerking it away and throwing it across the small room. Taking a moment to look down over you exposed chest. Gently running his fingers between your cleavage as he admired you. Outside your breast. From one to the other before leaning down and gently sucking on each nipple. Making them stand on end for him. Your body arching into his, sucking in a deep breath. 
He hissed as your body pressed against him. Ripping your panties off, and throwing them across the room with your bra before removing his boxer. He quickly lined himself up with you. Slipping just the tip inside your already dripping core. 
"You sure baby? I don't want to do this if you don't want to. I'll just go to the ER if it gets worse." 
Putting your lips to his to silence his worrying, you run your fingers through his short hair as your mouth moves smoothly with his. 
Deliberately he slides himself fully into you with one swift thrust. Both of you groaning as he fills and stretches you in a way no man has ever. Visibly shaking as he holds himself still, giving you a moment to adjust to him. Kissing you deeply before pulling himself almost all the way out, and sliding back in. 
The sensation of his manhood dragging along the inside of your walls was almost enough to send you over the edge right there. You dig your nails into his shoulders and arching your back into him as he finds a steady rhythm. Both of you are touching and feeling all of each other that you could reach. He kept his body pressed close to yours. His hips hitting your clit just right every time he slid himself home. 
Over and over again he repeated his steady rhythm, not faulting once. Building you higher and higher. The coil winding tighter and tighter in your belly. 
"Jensen.. Fuck.... I'm close..." With that you were thrown over the edge walls tightening around his pulsing length. Grunting loudly he worked you at a steady pace through your high. Picking up the pace casing his own. 
Slamming his hips into you faster until he was pounding into you at a punishing pace. Then starting to falter his body jerked above you and inside of you as he spilled seed deep inside of you. Moaning loudly into your shoulder. Slowly trusting himself into you as he road out his own high. Finally stilling inside of you. 
Rolling you both over to your sides before pulling out of you. Kissing you a lot calmer now. Sweeter. Taking his time exploring your mouth, you hands tracing the outline of the curves in your body that you honestly hated. He treated it like it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
You don't know how long the two of you laid there. Just holding each other as your hearts went back to a normal pace.
"How are you feeling now?" You asked him quietly as he ran his fingers through your hair. Peppering you with little kisses. 
He shrugged. 
"Don't know, ask me again in about 15 minutes. They say that shit he gave me last up to four hours. I still have almost three hours to go...."
"Well.... we're just going to stay here and take care of you until you feel better. Good practice for the scene today..."
Giggle a little with you he pressed his forehead to yours. Taking a deep breath. 
"Y/n... I'm a pretty fuck up person. I'm not walking out of that marriage completely fine,  but if you will have me, I really don't want this to be just a fling because Jared is a jackass."
You felt your heart flutter in your chest. You couldn't help the stupid smile that spread across your face as you brushed your lips over his soft pink ones. 
"I think I can handle whatever you have to dish out Ackles."
"Well in that case remind me to thank Jared for being a fucking asshole and drugging my ass." He said with a laugh. You could feel his body already responding to you as he quickly began to harden again. 
"Yeah, I'm going to have to send him a fucking thank you card."
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@deanwanddamons @imabitch4jensen @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278​
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pavlikovskaya · 4 years
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the secret history live blogged
forever mad that i got spoilered so much on this book.
anyway hello! and welcome to this … shit fest of the secret history by donna tartt aka the biggest letdown of my life
enjoy! i didn’t
ok whaatttt the fuck. he was walked over?? he was packed and squished under ice?? WHAT DID THIS BUNNY GUY DO TO MAKE Y’ALL SO MAD????? istg what the fuck. cruel cruel fate
four against one, i knew y’all were assholes. you sounded like assholes before i even knew what your names were.
i have to say, i’m not a very big fan on the beginning: hello, my name is richard, i am 28, this is my story. makes it sound like he’s in an AA meeting, but i’ll let this one slide.
years at home dispensable like a plastic cup? fictional history and upbringing tales? [*clears throat in relatable*]
my father was mean, my house ugly, my mum didn’t give me attention, must kill someone to cope and serve the aesthetic™ of rejected, unloved child, brooding and mad at the world. got it.
if richard, plain and poor is the one who kills the rich asshole bc he’s a rich asshole, i might relate to him more than i thought.
[*slams book shut*] okay. okay. am i gonna have to google every other phrase in this godforsaken history book or is donna gonna go easy on my ass?
sounds like a university i would love to go to. oh, pardon me, CoLlEgE.
wait, they’d pay him back for the plane if he GOT IN??? and if he didn’t well then what, soz dude, tough luck , such is life, see ya never? makes a lot of sense. should pay him back regardless imo but hey, i had to pay £50 six times to audition at universities who, all six times, rejected me, so.
three days on a bus and arrival at six in the morning? i cannot fathom a worse scenario.
this prof conducts his selection on a personal level rather than on an academic one, said with a note of sarcasm? is he … you know … ?
ahhhh these saucy saucy tea spilling french people, gotta love em. ‘listen, i know i’ve only met you three minutes ago, but i’m bout to spill some serious tea which i must ask you to keep to yourself and never mention for i have some formidable enemies in the literature division, yes, my very own department, but we all actually love each other. you know, in a very shakespearian ‘i shall murder you at the end of the play but for now, let’s make sweet love under the stars as a witch friend of mine who will later murder you watches’ way. all very platonic. but don’t say a word of it.’
who do you think was with morrow when richard came to see him in the lyceum and what were they talking about? GODDAMN IT, this french bastard put me in a gossipy mood.
bunny — short for edmund…….
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god, i love a redhead.
richard and me being whipped by francis and his long, flapping black coats, love to see it.
‘pseudo-intellects and teenage decadents abounded and black clouting was de rigueur’ can I enrol ~now~????
francis talks to cats and bunny yells from his window down at the incest twins to stop snogging in the garden. i can’t wait to see which one am I at the end of the book
henry and julian driving off together? do i smell something…. gay?
THEY WRITE WITH FOUNTAIN PENS????? [*flashbacks from my childhood intensify*].
i do not understand most of these references or sentences and if the whole book is like this, i will throw myself out the window in attempted suicide even though i live on the ground floor.
i have absolutely no idea what they’re on about.
hwhat
francis in black cashmere and cigarette smoke brushed past him and almost touched his arm. how bloody delicious is this??
‘give him some flowers and he’ll enrol you.’ ok, julian is definitely the gay prof everyone falls for.
at this stage, i would rater have voted we kill henry, not bunny, but we’ll see.
‘i was tired of being poor.’ [*buys a tie with pictures of men hunting deer on it*] ‘that’s better.’
‘i believe that it is better to know one book intimately than a hundred superficially.’ donna tartt gave me the book and the reason both.
constantly chuckling at the way richard is so completely mesmerised and intimidated by francis to the point that he’ll duck into a doorway to let him pass even though they’re going to the same lesson.
I don’t know how a ‘bostonian voice’ is supposed to sound like so francis will be slightly british in my mind for the rest of the book.
cubitum eamus? cubitum. eamus? CUBITUM?? EAMUS????? OH! GOD! HELP ME! THE SWEET SWEET HOMOEROTIC FORESHADOWING OF IT ALL!!! throwback to when, in a much too similar vein, boris, upon being asked by theo to say something in russian for him, he said ‘fuck you up the ass’. my heart is racing with yearn. i can’t fucking believe i just read this. it’s time to bust out the annotation tabs again.
oh my gooooddd whAt is henry’s problem????? he reminds me slightly of number one from the umbrella academy, but in a meaner, more show-offy, bastardish way that’s supposed to showcase his superior intelligence over all mortals like fuck you, go read harry potter and chill.
‘meke (s.p.) you Wear it’? i take it meke is actually make but what on earth is (s.p.)? google gave me 238 possible definitions for that acronym and, needless to say, i didn’t bother.
i love how donna’s main characters are funny essentially bc they’re bitches towards other people they deem inferior to them in their internal monologues.
if you were drunk and ‘slam-dancing’ at a party, i don’t have to be stuck up or elitist to judge you and hate on you. even less so if you throw your beer in my face.
‘love that jacket, silk, isn’t it?’ ‘yep, my grandfather’s. totally not from that annoying girl in my dorm whose mate your mates beat up at a party last term for shoving camilla and throwing a beer in her face and who probably only gave me the jacket because she wants to fuck me, nope.’
‘let me get that door for you.’ that’s it, that’s the tweet.
when bunny said they should round up the ‘officious fags and burn them at the stake’ i yelled the loudest what the fuck i’ve ever yelled at a book. i can see now why they killed him. and i bet that’s only the tip of the iceberg.
okay, his true colours are starting to show. it’s even more unnerving when i think about the fact that like half of this stuff is supposed to be true.
called it, they’re boning.
i can’t wait until francis locks lips with richard. i am simply tingling for it. i hope he and camilla have a threesome with richard at this country house. oh wait no, they’re all here. eh, maybe another time.
oh, we finally get some juicy inside gossip
if francis and richard don’t fuck in that gorgeous immense library, i will riot.
okay, what’s henry’s deal? he’s nice now? and he’s oddly … interested in/caring towards richard? like who the fuck says ‘i hope you slept well’ without at least a little affection towards them.
AHAHAHAAHA, NOW I GET ALL THOSE MOON LANDING QUESTIONS ON THE TSH RELATED UQIZZES I STUPIDLY TOOK. I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS REAL. imagine them lot in present day completely bewildered and confused at the fact that the whole world is in lockdown for some weird fucking reason. this is the funniest shit ever, swear to god.
dogs get heart attacks?
wow they’re being dicks. that shady shit they’re doing’s so fucking rude aajksdhfkfh and to think i had initially thought richard was the ‘leader’ of their group...
okay, they’re either all into bdsm or they’re some odd breed of late vampires who don’t have much of the traits/qualities of ‘classic’ vampires as they have possibly diminished over the centuries as the species was becoming extinct. maybe witches. hm. or occultists. I REALLY DON’T KNOW!!
richard be like ‘what should I tell you?’ well—and this is merely a suggestion—, how about you start with what they’re actually doing when they’re not hanging out with you?????
i can’t wait for bunny to figure/find out richard’s not actually rich and be a dick about it.
two months??? what kind of bonkers winter vacation between terms is that???
is being constantly cold part of the dark academia aestehtic? cos it certainly seems to be.
what the fuck are these (sp)s bunny keeps putting in his letters??
i hope somebody (henry, or maybe francis? as something that would bring them together?) is fake rich too.
ouuuuu here comes the dark, mental stuff.
richard dropped out of drama to study the classics. if we were villains is a group of people studying shakespeare. coincidence? i think not. it is with dread that i think at the possibility that i might like the other more because so far, i can’t say i’m heavily impressed with tsh.
now i’m all for weird, fancy names, but marchbanks is really an odd one. who the fuck looks at their newborn baby and goes ben? nah. tom? no. MARCHBANKS! perfect.
henry winter saves richard from a piping cold winter. ah, don’t bother, i’ll do it myself [*jumps out the window*]
henry dislikes electric lights? smokes cigarettes without filter? reads milton translated into latin ‘just to see if a language with no noun cases could possibly support the structural order he attempts to impose’? can this dude be any more pretentious?
BUNNY! IT’S BUNNY! HE’S FAKE RICH THE BASTARD! ALL THAT ‘oops, forgot my wallet’ BULLSHIT, I THOUGHT IT WAS A TEST FOR RICHARD OR JUST RICH PEOPLE LEECHING OFF OTHERS (why spend yours when you can spend theirs?) BUT NOOOO, HE’S BROOOOKE! AND AN ASSHOLE! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!!! serves him right, the asshole (that gay people being burnt at the stake comment really bothered me despite the fact that i laughed). and not only is he broke and leeching off of henry, he leeches in the most shameless, greedy, extravagant and ignorant way, ordering the most expensive thing on the menu fuck out of here.
ha! he got fat the bastard. found some sugar daddy to sustain you during your last month in italy or what?
this rabbit dude sure has some big balls for a broke ass bitch.
‘let me see your head wound.’ vs ‘your arm.’
‘that sort of tension which i, being rather more disinclined that way than not, am quick to pick up on. i had caught a strong breath of it from francis, a whiff of it at times from julian (…)’ sounds like we got another one boys, a straight dude with the best gaydar in the world. that being said, julian is the fakest bitch in the book so far.
this secrecy is killing the ever-loving shit out of me. argentina one way?? whY
lol if you’re gonna steal his book with the intention of having him come back to the apartment and see all that shit, at least don’t put it in such an obvious place where he couldn’t have possibly missed it. for such a smart guy, you sure are dumb, dude.
francis’ mother be like ‘give that bad boy a kiss from me’ and i’m like HE BETTER.
richard the worst liar. just say your mum called for fuck’s sake! you could get your boyfriend in trouble!
cheesecake cover: ‘please do not steal this, i am on financial aid.’ bunny: [*steals it*] the cheesecake: [*sucks*] me: serves you fucking right, pig.
THINKING ABOUT HIS HANDICAP. I’M YELLING. funniest thing donna tartt ever wrote.
i bet they’re all there sat at the table like nothing happened and weren’t supposed to leave anywhere at all.
called it! motherfuckers.
what the hell is going on. are they a gang of assassins or something?
richard: ‘you killed somebody, didn’t you?’ henry: [*laughs as if it was the most ridiculous idea in the world and how could you possibly suggest such a thing*] yep
bunny: gays are weirdly obsessed with food, don’t you think? also bunny: [*gets excluded from the bacchanal because he couldn’t stop eating*]
okay. i can see now why this book started the whole dark academia aesthetic
aight, that’s all good and great (far from it) but WHERE IS MY FRANCIS CONTENT????
going through the motions of hating and liking henry every other chapter.
everybody: [*burning clothes, cleaning the car, running this way and that to get rid of evidence*] francis: aight y’all imma take a power nap real quick cool? cool
there is hardly anything in the world i hate more than loose-of-tongues. bunny and that bitch ass hely from the little friend. god, i want to sock each and every single one of them in their stupid bloody loud mouths.
i want to know, i really want to know if there are any bunny apologists or … s…. s… [*grits teeth*] stans out there. don’t worry, nothing will happen to you, i just wanna talk.
if it’s henry and richard and not francis and richard,,,,, i will riot.
boy this henry guy smokes a lot…. more than me in my prime.
as if this dude reenacted the murder he wasn’t even present at in the lobby of a hotel just to torture henry. i can’t believe this character is still alive and has been for so long.
FINALLY! one francis moment that indicated there will be no more francis moments…. .
funny that, reading the secret history put something into perspective about the goldfinch for me.
i love how richard just casually throws it in there whenever he happens to mention camilla that he loves her and wants to kiss her and that she’s so beautiful and blah blah blah and then it’s never brought up again ever because he’s constantly going on and on about henry.
wait, don’t tell me it’s happening now, in the middle of the book! that would be most unexpected as there’s a whole entire book following.
henry is such a stone cold bitch, i wonder where they put his heart when they made him, in his ass?
don’t tell me henry went boxer dogs on JULIAN?!?!?! he wouldn’t. … would he?
i don’t know. i get it, obviously, the gravity of the situation, but going as far as killing him to silence him is a bit … extreme in my opinion.
thank you, charles, for being the only voice of reason in this madness.
okay, i understand it’s in richard’s best interest not to be involved, but they called him there to what, make him listen to all this and then send him on his merry way?
charles: well, if you wake up intending to murder someone at two o’clock, you hardly think of what you’re going to feed the copse for dinner. [*crickets*] francis: hey, how about asparagus?
henry: someone’s coming. quick! act normal! richard: [*turns to inspect the trunk of a tree*] [*footsteps approach*] richard: [*inspection of tree intensifies!!*]
you’re a bit late, bunny, just saying.
and now what the fuck is the rest of the book about? what do we do, let’s run, let’s stay, let’s go to the police, what do we do with him?
i love how richard describes himself as part of the process: we dwelt on it, we convinced ourselves, we devised plans when in reality, he was only there as an attaché, he wasn’t included much, almost at all in the actual planning process of it other than to give his insight on the poison route because henry thought it was his area of expertise so to speak when, really, it wasn’t and then was told about the other plan because they simply thought he should know. even then henry tells him ‘you can go now, if you like’ because there wasn’t anything they sort of needed him for anymore since he wasn’t going to be there, he was just a pair of ears. i like to think he was there in hopes to maybe dissuade them, try to stop them, tell them how mad it is, tell them there’s another way, but he didn’t do much of that either (not that I think he would’ve succeeded anyway, had he tried, henry’s one stubborn motherfucker). he didn’t come up with shit, he wasn’t supposed to even be there, i think, much less contribute in any way. had bunny not told him about the bacchanal, richard would have probably found out about it after it was already done, he was only included for the fucks of it and yet, he talks as if he was right there in the room with them, brainstorming ideas how to kill him. and i get how it only comes from a sense of obvious guilt because he knew about it, he was there and didn’t do anything to stop it, but he’s by far not one to have agreed to the whole thing or condoned it in any way from what he’s told us in book one. he himself says in the very same paragraph that he only watched. he’s very much a dark academia nick carraway type of character and i hate it. because i like him. he deserves better.
i’m pretty sure that the reason that serial killer autobiography you picked up in an airport was bereft of details is because no publishing house would allow such lurid specifications that might shock, disgust, enrage or give ideas to the reader in their book, not because the author is shy, richard, but ok, let’s move on. actually no, let’s not. you can’t expect the autobiography of a killer to only tell you about the murders, especially since in this particular instance, he was caught and went to prison. of course he’s going to tell you more about that than the killings, have you any idea what prison life is like? how much it eats away at your soul? how it crushes your spirit if you have one and how hard it is to get over? the time he spent in jail is going to haunt him forever and after such a long time in there, however long it was, you hardly think about your crime as anything but a huge mistake that was not worth the torment if you’re not a downright psychopath which, since he came out and wrote a book about it, doesn’t seem to be the case here but i guess you’ll find out all about it soon enough.
OH! a francis moment???? could this be it? please dear god may this be it.
it wasn’t, but there’s another one!
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
‘it’s fun, i promise you.’ [*dies*]
if this is it, if that’s all, i am not forgiving this book.
‘i tried to pull him out but it was no good; his head lolled back uselessly’ YEAH. BECAUSE HE’S DEAD, RICHARD. [*scoffs*] ‘uselessly’
i wish i held any of my teachers and professors in at least half the high regard henry holds julian. i also wish they were half as competent and passionate about teaching as julian.
I DON’T BELIEVE ‘HE WAS JUST THERE’. IT’S BORIS AND THEO AT 6 AM IN THAT NEW YORK BAR ALL OVER AGAIN. HE’S ONLY SAYING THAT BECAUSE RICHARD WENT ALL ‘YOU’RE NOT HOT’ ON HIS ASS AND I REFUSE TO BELIEVE OTHERWISE. if they don’t kiss again—
i can’t help but admire the way they communicate sensitive information to each other in ancient greek, they sound like characters from jane austen novels while talking about drugs and saving face from tabloids and gossip, it’s rather amazing.
quite pointless to go through all that trouble to hide the cigarettes and deny having been smoking when the smell will be there no matter what and she’ll know for sure. i swear, all these seemingly smart ass people are actually idiots
my question is why would anyone, drunk or not, for any reason, leave the top down in the rain? why? what possible pleasure could one get from driving in the middle of the rain with rain actually pouring down on them?
isn’t linoleum a bit tacky for a house that looks like it’s been in architectural digest?
why is charles so on edge? why are they all always hiding??? camilla and her late night 3 am phone calls, her secret phone code with henry, charles mysteriously going out for cigarettes so brusquely without a word in the middle of the night and refusing to talk about it, what are they all always hiding?! nobody trusts one another with anything, it’s very annoying, to be honest. aren’t they supposed to be super best friends? you’d think that after a bacchanal and a double homicide, you wouldn’t keep secrets from one another, but i guess not.
ah, shame. was kind of hoping for some sneaky richard/francis basement action, but alas. what’s their ship name anyway, richis?
i just spoilered myself again, twice, by going through the tsh tag on tumblr and then looking for francis/richard fanfics on ao3 and finding out that francis marries? gets with? a girl who’s apparently called fucking priscilla. donna tartt really has a knack for weird fancy names, huh? i’m here for it tbh
richard you fucking snitch! you had one job!!!!!!
why the fuck are they still keeping him in the dark about shit? henry and charles quarrelled and charles is in jail and henry still won’t tell him what’s so bad about it and why he wants richard to handle all this shit instead of him and why bunny’s murder still matters and why why just why are they still using him as their pawn??
seriously, this exchange was about the worst they’ve had so far. he himself knows it: ‘there was a silence during which I felt acutely the hopelessness of ever trying to get to the bottom of anything with henry. he was like a propagandist, routinely withholding information, leaking it only when it served his purposes.’ THEN WALK AWAY. SAY NO. PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN. FUCKING—UGH!!!!!!!
they’re all so shamelessly using him… i can’t read. it’ll kill him, one way or another.
these ungrateful little shits i swear to god. richard bails him out, he’s all thankful and sweet when he wants him to do ‘this one little favour’ of taking him to his francis’ house so he can break in and when richard’s like i don’t have a car, he immediately turns sour and passive aggressive like you know what?! richard hasn’t slept all night and all morning waiting for your ass to go to court cos you were a drunken idiot and decided YET AGAIN that driving in that state is a great idea so he can bail you out and when you are finally out, you start being fussy and then it’s all ‘right. thanks a lot’??? richard doesn’t fucking need this shit! y’all are horrible friends. he’s not your bloody servant. how about you take that stick and privilege out of your asses and start treating him a bit more kindly, huh???
‘henry made me swear not to tell.’ WHAT. WHAT. BITCH, GET THE FUCK OUT.
this is by far the most toxic friendship i’ve ever heard of.
oh wow that kiss was hot. i thought it was just a speculation that they were incestuous with each other, but i-i guess not.
FINALLY it gets interesting. Mr Abernathy spilling some piping hot tea mmm
he literally just said i’d sleep with you if you got drunk enough to let me. oh dear god help me.
oh fuck it got sad. It’s patrick and brad all over again ugh always happens to the best of gays
finally richard my boy starts hating them, as he should. except francis, you’re a dick in that respect. he’s only joking for fuck’s sake, don’t get all butthurt, jesus. sensitive much?
uuuuuu tunts Tunts TUNTS! shit is hitting the fan. henry, henry, henry, our ‘golden boy’. nothing but a crook himself, the motherfucker. i’ve been waiting for this reveal since the beginning of the fucking book. if they gang up on him and kill him, i will never stop laughing.
it’s as if he’s begging to be excluded and hated, i swear. why is he being such a prick? does he love her? is that it? then there are a BILLION other ways to go about it, he doesn’t have to be such a shady bitch!! besides, wasn’t he in cahoots with julian?
‘i was depressed, i thought if i slept here it might make me feel better.’ that’s so precious tho….. funny, but precious. such child-like innocence in this grown ass intoxicated man, i melt.
clever, luring him out of the playground under the false pretext of a drink when he’s had plenty. think like a drunk
the only consistent, recurring and ever-present elements in donna tartt’s books are the hors d’oeuvres.
it’s so cute how charles needs him, i—
girls be like: watching a film, listening to a podcast, talking on the phone, having dinner, figure painting, filing nails, writing an essay and doing their makeup all at the same time
this so called love he feels for camilla is so unfounded and feeble and just … it seems so out of the fucking blue every single time he mentions it, i can’t read this shit. IT’S SO SEE-THROUGH!!
okay WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK DID I JUST READ. WHAT. THE ACTUAL. MOTHERFUCKING. FUCK. one second he’s ‘i love her so much’ the next he wants to strangle and rape her?????????????? i have zero goddamn words. i am fucking speechless. i don’t think i have ever been this confused at something since i watched the turning. i don’t think you realise quite how done i am with this fucking book at this point.
i think i do hate henry more than bunny and i’m afraid i’ll like if we were villains better.
richard: [*takes sleeping pills*] also richard: [*surprised he can’t keep up with the film he started watching after taking sleeping pills*]
‘look,’ said francis. ‘let’s just go, if we leave now we can be in montreal by dark. nobody will ever find us.’ vs ‘well, i’m not going,’ said boris serenely. ‘fuck that, i’m running away. do you want to come?’
this henry bitch is the most difficult piece of shit i’ve ever fucking encountered. ‘you mean, it’s something you need to tell me in private?’ oh FUCK OFF AND STEP OUTSIDE, FOR FUCK’S SAKE. IT’S ONE THING I ASK OF YOU, YOU TWAT.
huh, i thought he was doing this shit on purpose, leaving the page face down on the table so that julian could see it, i thought it was some sick twisted plan of his.
lmao called it. everybody saw through julian’s façade except richard and the others and i completely understand. in a fashion much like julian’s, i think he knew that, he saw it, but just chose to ignore it because the image he posed and richard himself constructed of him in his mind was much more favourable to what he really was. i mean, fuck, who the fuck says ‘i hope we are all ready to leave the phenomenal world and enter into the sublime’ with their whole chest and mean it?
if you think he’s not coming, why sit in silence staring out the window, ignoring everyone and wasting everybody’s time instead of telling them from the very start this piece of information you have on hand that could save everybody a lot of trouble, time and overthinking? why be all mysterious and enigmatic about it? just tell them from the start, you’re not in a film for fuck’s sake……..
charles, one of the four of them (henry, camilla, julian and himself) might be the one i despise the least, almost like had he not been so brutal towards camilla,,,, but i don’t know if i can trust her, that whole scene seemed … staged somehow. i don’t know. i don’t know
didn’t expect henry would turn on julian too though. first real thing he’s done all book.
agatha
christie
writes
good
mysteries.
richard does seem like the type of fellow who would grow up in a household where his dad would strike his mum for no fucking reason.
okay so did henry punch him for that comment or not? what was all that father beating mother bit for?
#boysweekendinthecountry! 🤪 #partytime! #ignoringourproblems! #woooo!!!
oh my fucking god chARLES!!!
yes, henry, great, brilliant, fucking splendid idea to antagonise the man pointing a gun at you.
MY PAUL SMITH SHIRT!!!!!!!!! AHAHAHASFSHDGFDK
i love how absolutely nobody noticed fucking richard BLEEDING RIGHT NEXT TO THEM
‘expected everyone to stop and look at me. no one did.’ and they never will. that’s your whole friendship summed up in two lines. you don’t matter to them, you never did, you’re absolutely unimportant. just a tool, a pawn, a nobody. sorry you had to get shot to realise that.
‘’he shot me.’ somehow, this remark did not elicit the dramatic response i expected. before i had the chance to elaborate—’ ELABORATE WHAT? ELABORATE WHAT?! THAT’S ALL YOU NEED TO SAY!! GOD, this hurts to read. this angers me beyond words, but it also fucking hurts so bad…
nothing, not even getting shot can make richard lose his wit
disGUSTING henry and camilla moment. I HATE THEM
oh shit. did not see that coming. well, glad that’s over.
ugh, time to read how francis got hetero married :\
[*chokes*] DUE TO THE VERY EXCELLENT EXCUSE OF HAVING A GUNSHOT WOUND IN THE STOMACH I DIDN’T TAKE MY FRENCH EXAM YAY!!! god, i fucking love Richard.
the thing is, right, i read that line, ‘i managed to get out of taking my french exams the next week’ about three or four times and somehow, the following line or even the words ‘gunshot wound’ never made it to my eyes! i don’t understand how! but i’m completely happy about that given the fact that i spoiler myself on every single book i read by reading ahead like an idiot..
how much do you want to bet that it was the inn keep who called the ambulance and not those fuckers? because of course henry, dead henry’s more important than slowly dying, almost dead but not quite richard.
despite everything, it sounds like he had a nice summer in brooklyn. good for him. god knows he deserved it, the poor guy.
yeah no, fuck henry’s post-mortem hero narrrative.
lol, at least he got a nice car out of it. this book shows me once again that things happen just the way they should happen.
OH MY FUCKING GOD NO. NO. NO. NO. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! I CANNOT READ. I DO NOT SEE. I REFUSE TO COMPREHEND THIS PIECE OF INFORMATION.
i will not say a WORD on this, much less his letter. i am hurt, i am wounded, i am grieving, my head is full of thots and i cannot speak. i died on this bed.
ugh [*rolls eyes*] this fucking guy again with his sudden, out of my ass declarations of love towards camilla. JUST GIVE IT UP ALREADYYYYYYYY!!! TELL IT TO SOMEONE WHO CARES!!! (francis) i wouldn’t be surprised if she was married or engaged and just didn’t bother to mention it ‘because he never asked’ or some bullshit excuse like that.
I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY I HATE HENRY [*deep breath*] I FUCKING HATE HENRY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
he’s telling me about all these people and where they ended up after graduation but not only do i not give a single solitary fuck, i actually don’t know who the fuck he’s talking about?? like who the fuck is bram guernesnesnica? rooney wayne? what the fuck do i care what jack jud and frank did?
the only people i do remotely care about are the professors (the saucy french teacher and the boring, senile dude who wouldn’t shut up and who kept referring to richard as ‘jerry’ in his grad school recommendations letter ahahah that is the content i signed up for, not dumb and dumber’s bar or whatever) and the cat charles left at francis’ country house who lives in a ten fucking room apartment in boston.
love how ionic the whole marion storyline turned out to be. marred another corcoran who looked just like bunny and had a daughter who, despite having her and his mother’s name ended up being nicknamed also bunny. i’m sorry, i just—i have to laugh.
[*slams fists on the table*] THE AGENTS??? YOU’RE GONNA TELL ME ABOUT THE BLOODY FBI AGENTS???!!!!!! CAN THIS BOOK PLEASE JUST FUCKING END ALREADY??????!!!!!!!!
a dream. a dream. if it’s a dream of henry i will personally shoot you and make sure i aim a little higher than your abdomen this time.
[*shoots the book*]
oh, you died and suddenly you have a sense of humour?
‘that information is classified’ [*shoots a torpedo at the book*]
‘are you happy?’ / ‘not very.’ vs ‘are you happy here?’ / ‘not particularly.’
okay. so. final thoughts: fuck this book.
good night
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human-trash-fire · 4 years
Text
Beautiful Disaster: Chapter 5 (Pynch Soulmate AU)
Alrighty my loves, this chapter has been a labor of love from the beginning. As you continue reading you will see art pieces and each is correlated with a song (those will be at the end), and references yet again will be made to the EMFS playlist (Ronan’s rehab playlist- I’ve actually made it on spotify! you can find it here)
As usual you can find this story on Ao3 @ glam_reaper 2 if you’re interested <3
TW: Mention of suicide attempt, a panic attack though not super descriptive, cannon typical language.
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Iv.
You,
I made a friend last week.
I know for most people that wouldn’t be a big deal, but I assume by now You understand what that means for someone like me. I guess “friend” may be a generous term? I don’t know if we are there yet, Blue definitely disagrees with him “on principle.” 
You see, President Cellphone as she calls him, or Richard Campbell Gansey III (I know, what a douchey fucking name) is all boat shoes and privledge and perfect teeth. Gansey isn’t someone I’d normally associate with mind you, Henry kind of met my quota for rich extroverts in the inner circle, and yet…
So, here’s the story. I’m writing my last letter right? And I was so fucking lost. I decided to walk home from Nino’s- I thought maybe it would help me settle. And there, right around the corner is this fucking ‘73 camero. It should have been beautiful, really.. A classic like that? It’s a dream to look at. Only this fucking thing is the UGLIEST color of candy orange you could ever imagine… And it’s blowing smoke all over the damn place. I was honestly going to leave boat-shoes to call his daddy or mechanic or what have you, but he looked so confused. I offered to help him out and was able to get it running long enough to get to Boyd’s.
I expected him to just drop off “The Pig” (the car) like any normal person and come back for it, only I apparently made “quite the impression.”
Gansey ended up staying with me, prattling on about his Masters History program and some welsh king the ENTIRE time I worked on the damn car. At first I was tuning him out, but without realizing it I became completely entranced by the whole story. I’ve never seen such passion for anything, and I have VERY spirited friends.
He has one of those voices you know? The kind that can stop a room, raise an army, lead a nation. The kind that demands to be heard without ever having to raise itself.
That’s Gansey though.
I think he’ll be good for me, I don’t think he’d give me much of a choice in the matter though to be honest. He kind of adopted me this week? That should bother me and yet, being around him is just… It’s being included. It’s a sense of purpose.
I think he needs it too, he doesn’t seem to talk about negative things but you can tell, he’s haunted by something. That’s what solidified it for me really. He may be a senator’s son but he’s seen some shit. 
I wish you could have met him, I wonder if you would have been as intrigued by him as I find myself. 
Blue is being a total idiot about him, but I’m about 82% sure it’s because she is into him. I know for sure the feeling is mutual. It took Gans approximately 15 minutes after meeting Blue to ask me for her life story, offend her beyond measure, and then haul ass out of Nino’s. It was the first time I’d seriously laughed in so long. Have you ever been second-hand embarrassed for someone? It was that. 
I’m going to wrap this up now though, I need to head to Nino’s for my shift, Blue’s working so of course Gans is stopping by. He said he’s bringing one of his best friends with him, some dude named Noah. Apparently he’s pretty cool, so I’m moderately less apprehensive. He said he wished he could bring his other best friend/ his and Noah’s third roommate but the guy is staying with family for a few months or something. Idk? He doesn’t talk about the other roommate much. I honestly don’t even think he’s ever said his name. Who gives a shit though, I can barely handle one new friend, let alone a 3-pack of Ganseys. Good God… I hope Noah isn’t another Gansey…. Fuck.
Welp.
Here goes nothing.
*****
It started with a not-so-subtle idea from the esteemed Dr. Allen. “Show me what happened.” Ronan was never great with words before all this, and since… When he spoke it was usually a litany of curse words. So Dr. Allen had suggested art. In the weeks since his entombment in this fine rehabilitation center, Ronan had kind of already been doing what he was being asked to do now. Though, he didn’t mention it to Allen. He’d spent countless hours sketching his life, the whole thing, in snapshots inside that beautiful leather sketchbook Gansey had given him. 
He started at the beginning, pictures of Aurora and his brothers, the Barns, his father playing guitar by the fire. He drew their family vacations, the cows he used to sneak out and sleep beside when he was a child, the feeling of winning the Tennis State Championship when he was 15. He drew the bad things too, his nightmares, his drug-trips, that old stained couch in the basement of Kavinsky’s house. He put every piece of himself, all 22 years of memories down in that book, woven together with song lyrics in the margins. 
So when Dr. Allen asked him to look specifically to his addiction and create, he didn’t see a problem. He needed to return to school with a series anyways, Declan had called to inform him that strings had been pulled to allow him to finish his final semester at Georgetown, but he needed to walk in with something to show at the January exhibition. Two birds, and all that.
He settled on 7 pieces, each done in oils on canvas, each accompanied by a song. 7 moments in the life of his battle with addiction, from the beginning to now. With each stroke of his brush he felt infinesmally lighter, pouring his grief into the images before him. 
It started with “The Fall.” His father’s murder in reds and greys; fracturing lines and deep shadows. He mixed his paints with tears and used his heart to drag color across the canvas. For the first time in years, Ronan allowed the memory to consume him. He’d re-lived it plenty of times in his nightmares, but this was different. His hands shook, jagged strokes of anger and confusion bleeding through. He painted the brief moment, the final moment, when his world was whole before his teenage mind finally realized what it was he was looking at. His last free breath. And he painted his screams, the cacophony of pain, endlessly mixing with sirens until his vocal chords gave out. 
He drowned the canvas in un-kept promises and hung it out to dry with childhood dreams.
Then came “Chasing the Void.” It was a story told in stark lighting. High beams on a backroad, swirling smoke and broken bottles. It was white glasses and white-powder lines on shark-nosed hood. It was going 115mph, bones rattling with the beat of the bass in his sound system. Ronan painted a black tattoo, used the blood on his knuckles to tint bloodshot eyes. His brush moved with his mother’s disappointment and his brother’s anger. Whimsical lines and Gansey’s head shaking when he found Ronan passed out yet again. He painted the highs and lows when sobriety reminded him that he hated the face that stared back at him in the mirror. 
Each new piece he added to the collection was brought to Dr. Allen’s office. Together they worked through each memory associated with the piece and slowly Ronan felt the weight on his chest lighten. 
Gansey visited every Monday and Friday like clockwork. He kept Ronan apprised to all the goings on of Monmouth and updates on Matthew and Declan. Ronan never asked for them, but he appreciated it regardless. His current obsession though seemed to be a new friend, Adam something. He had been going on for 30 minutes now about how this man single-handedly raised the Pig from the dead. Ronan tuned out most of the conversation, but nodded at what he assumed were appropriate moments while sketching.
“Ronan, are you even paying attention?” Gansey asked, irritation only slightly evident.
“Mmm?” Ronan hummed. “For sure. Pig. Smoke. Some new guy.”
“Essentially. I was saying that Noah and I are heading to his second job, the man works 2 jobs and is getting a masters can you believe it? Anyways Nino’s, so Noah can finally meet him and Blue. Have I mentioned her yet?” 
Blue? He thought. Who the fuck names their kid Blue. “Once or twice.”
“Well they both work this afternoon, so I assume we’ll just hang there until they get off. Then maybe grab a bite. I wish you could come, I’m sure you’d get along nicely with Adam.” Gansey said, choosing to ignore the previous sarcasm and barrell on. Excelsior. 
“Doubt it.” Guy sounds like a douche.
“On that note, thank you for another lovely visit. I’ll see you Monday, Ronan.” Gansey gathered his coat and made his way to the door with a final wave.
Ronan waved back with a single finger and a saccharine “Bye, Dick.” Then shoved his Airpods back into his ears and lost himself in the EMFS playlist.
*****
As Adam gathered the tub of dirty dishes from above the trash and made his way back to wash them, he was lost in thought. These last two weeks, recent events, had been so much and yet he strangely was beginning to feel some semblance of peace. He knew that Blue had wanted him to write letters to help him cope. If he was admitting to it helping, he also needed to be honest with himself in noting that it may have been hurting just as much. He was falling in love with a ghost. A figment of his imagination that he could tell his every secret too, someone who listened without judgment; Someone who never asked more of him than he could handle. It wasn’t healthy, wasn’t what Blue had intended, of that he was sure. But, if it brought him peace and allowed him to sleep without seeing cold, dead eyes, then what was the harm?
He rinsed the mugs and plates loading them efficiently into the dishwasher, and dried his hands. As he moved to toss the towel into the bin, he heard the bell chime above the cafe door. He made his way slowly to the front, knowing that Blue was currently handling the register meant that he didn’t need to rush. On his way down the hallway he stopped to straighten a missing cat flier on the community bulletin board, taking a moment to snap a picture of the cat in question so he could be on the lookout, then continued toward the front; eyes glued to his phone.
He rounded the corner towards the coffee bar to the tune of laughter, it seemed Gansey had arrived. His eyes found Blue first. For all her insistance that she loathed the man in question, she was positively glowing, head tossed back in a hearty laugh. Lost in the bubble of charm Gansey operated in. 
“-And so I asked him, mind you I’ve had a lot to drink at this point, ‘Hey senator, why do you fucking hate poor peo-‘ Oh! Adam” Ganseys story of embarrassing his mother at one of her Republican fundraisers interrupted, as he caught sight of Adam sliding behind the bar.
“Hey Gans,” He smiled. 
“My apologies, this is Noah.” Gansey stepped to the side to reveal the man in question, and Adam’s breath stopped. 
There, eyes blue and wide with shock, mouth agape stood the man from the alley. The one whose scream still haunted Adam in the dark, solitary hours of sleep. The one that began his every nightmare of that night.
He was different now, tears weren’t pouring from his eyes to dance across the plains of his smudgey face. His blonde hair free of blood was slightly tousled, and his clothes were clean, albeit a little disheveled. 
“No,” the word was a broken noise, barely a word at all, closer to a sob. Gansey and Blue looked frantically between the two for what seemed like an eternity before Noah spoke.
“It’s you…” 
“Who? Noah, you know Adam?” Gansey’s voice was quietly confused.
Adam began to shake his head slowly, increasing with speed as his breath finally returned to him; Erratic and wild. Crocodile tears blurred his vision, and he finally croaked a simple question, “What… What was his name?”
“Ronan.”
“Oh, god” Blue breathed. 
Adam ran, desperately fleeing the scene and chorus of his name called from the front. Ronan, his name was Ronan. Adam couldn’t breathe. His pain fresh, an un-mendable wound reopened now that he had a name to grieve. He paused, only long enough to grab his messenger bag from the back, and took the alley door. 
Then he ran, faster than he’d ever remembered running. Tears turning the colors of the world around him to a haunting watercolor. His breath came in painful stabs, each beat of his bleeding heart an excruciating truth.
He somehow made it back to his apartment. The moment the door closed behind him he fell against it and slid to the floor. Ronan Ronan Ronan-
“R-Ronan.” He spoke the name the first time aloud, the feeling of its weight on his tongue was an answer to a question he’d been asking for a month. For a lifetime.
Adam didn’t know how long he sat on the floor, grief taking time and twisting it in on itself. An amalgam of pain, hopelessness, and questions. Gansey, Gansey knew Ronan, knew Noah. Noah the boy he’d last seen carted away in the back of an ambulance covered in red red red. Noah, who’d screamed for help like the world was shattering. Noah, who’d clung tightly to the shredded arms of a bleeding man in a dark alley.
Help me, his mind screamed, his internal voice morphing into Noah’s from that night. 
Help me, I’m not okay…
A key twisting in the lock above his head brought his attention to the present. Adam pushed away from the door, and waited as Blue made her way into his dark apartment. Night had fallen sometime since he’d been here, on the floor, lost in the alley. Lost in a name.
“Hey,” she whispered.
“Th-that was-”
“I know. Noah told us after you left. Adam, there’s… Adam. I need to tell you something.”
It was a concentrated effort to drag his gaze from the space between their bodies on the floor to meet her eyes. Lights from the street poured through the window in the living room, painting Blue’s honey warm skin in a haunting glow. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, so he waited. He watched. She brought a trembling hand to his, her brown eyes lined with silver, she squeezed.
“Adam, he’s alive.” 
A sob born of heartbreak and pain tore from his chest, he couldn’t form words. He broke then, completely and wholly. Blue came to cradle his head against her chest as he cried. Every hope he’d killed since the alley came barreling to the surface; All the pain and confusion, love and questions, beating like waves against the shores of his mind. Some minutes later he finally raised his head and met Blue’s eyes, her smile was wet and broken. He dragged his hand under his nose, across his eyes, and finally found the word to the question he needed to ask. “How?”
So Blue told him. Apparently, him finding Noah and Ronan in that alley, the tourniquet he’d made of his scarf, that extra minute he’d bought him had been enough. The doctors were able to stitch his wounds, and though it had been a close call, he’d pulled through. She explained that he’d had a hard life, though Gansey wouldn’t give details because he insisted those were Ronan’s to share when he was ready. He did however give her basic facts. Ronan Niall Lynch is an artist, a senior at Georgetown. He’s an orphan, and a brother. He’s an addict in recovery at a facility in Arlington, and Gansey’s third roommate. 
Blue explained that, when Adam was ready Gansey and Noah wanted to meet with him, to talk more. She offered to accompany him when that time came, but they all agreed they wouldn’t push him until he was ready. “Thank you,” he’d said to Blue. For getting the information. For telling him. For allowing him space. She understood that his history made this difficult, an addict for a soulmate was something he would need time to process. She eventually asked if he wanted to be alone and when he’d told her “yes” she kissed his forehead, and made her way to the door.
“Adam,” she paused, and he looked up. “We’ll wait on your text okay? Whenever you’re ready. But please check in so I know you’re safe.”
“I will.”
With a perfunctory nod she slid back out the door. 
Adam spent another minute in silence before dragging himself from the floor. He made his way in a daze to his desk and he collapsed into his chair. Slowly, he pulled out a blank sheet of paper. 
His hand shook.
He took a deep breath.
He wrote.
V
Ronan,
You’re alive…
**********************
Art Pieces and their correlating songs (linked):
“The Fall”  The War- SYML
“Chase The Void”  For What It’s Worth- Malia J
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arturcii · 4 years
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                                   Or: A Bastard’s History
tw: mentions of drug use, alcohol, gambling
21 April 1992.
No one cheers for the cries of an orphan’s bastard child. Ana Joséfa should’ve known better, and she’s always known, which is why, she thinks, as soon as the bastard is out, perhaps they’ll welcome her back again. Salvador had always been kind to her. He had never raised a tone or a fist, and he had never touched her when she didn’t want to; no, his disappointment hurt worse. The divorce hurt worse. Ana figured  it was just punishment. She had tried to get the thing out of her – this shame, growing every day and heavier by the minute – and she died trying.
10 May 1992.
No one wants to hold that orphan’s bastard child. He’s born without a name but with a religion and a piece of paper that says: this is your mistake. It’s a quiet day for the Windsors. In this house, love is legitimacy and a staff to keep you you away from family.
6 June 1998.
Dr. Gileo smacks the back of his hand with a ruler.
“Again.”
“From the Plantaganets?”
“What else, you silly boy?”
“Mmn...” Something about it hurts. Small, stinging hands clutch onto the edge of his sleeves, nearly disappearing underneath. “Henry III, Edward I, Edward II, E-...Ed...ward... – n-no, Richard...?” Gileo raises the ruler and brings it down with the fury of disappointment.
“Once more, silly prince. No one wants a silly prince in here, do they?”
Arthur doesn’t cry because he’s right. No one wants a silly bastard child.
14 July 2000.
Arthur doesn’t want to go to school again. They stare too hard and point and say that he’s the prince, and now he’ll be sent to Scotland where the accents are funny and people speak in harsher tones. It’s all God etched in every stone there. It’s the summer of the new decade and he’s just had lunch with the Scottish princesses and he thinks of how it must be so cold for their eyes to be that shade of blue. In another life, his would be like that, too.
They curtsy to each other, just like they’re taught, and all Arthur wants is to reach across this distance without the imposing Kings and Queens standing over their shoulders to hold them still. Arthur holds his face still and trains it to smile. It’s defiance when he mouths, “hi”, and even more when he pretends to forget the name of his father. “I’m Art.”
No one wants a silly mistake from a bastard child. He spends the rest of the summer under the tutelage of Gileo again, this time turning the pads of his fingers red from the every day practice of a violin.
30 August 2001.
It’s the first recital of the term and Art messes up a note on stage. He’s the only one to laugh at and he freezes. How many has he missed now with all the beats thundering in his ears? It’s so loud, it’s so loud, it’s so loud! And they’re all staring! There’s a giggle from behind the heavy curtain. Who was that?
Someone gets up to leave. Who is that?
No one wants an embarrassing mistake from a bastard child. Especially not the King.
3 September 2003.
When he comes home, Natalia is accompanied by a strong woman when Arthur greets them, standing beside his father but never looking up at him. Natalia has eyes like the Scottish and a name like the French. Natalia is beautiful and small and Arthur wonders if that is why she’s wanted so badly by everyone in this place.
28 October 2005.
There is a long history of kings and leaders and power in these hallways, which is why Arthur knows the importance of watching his own back and knowing his own blind spot. His mother is a nobody, and not even a nobody wanted a bastard child. He stops the man there, and at thirteen, he swallows a thick helping of his own pride and takes the thin file and places it under his desk drawer. He doesn’t want to look at it yet. He just wants to know it’s there, like a secret kept against what he would become.
1 November 2006.
“C-a-n-d-y,” he enunciates, sticking his hand out to the staff member. They’re supposed to go around dressed like fantasies and beg around an old castle, but Arthur doesn’t beg. Beside him is a boy with lighter hair and a bigger smile, and they laugh when Arthur goes, “I’ll kick you if you don’t give all of it to me.”
They receive an armful and retreat to their rooms and stuff their faces with sugar until one of them throws up. They laugh, and do it again.
It’s only 7 in the evening, and for once, someone wants a bastard child dressed up like a pirate, making threats with a sword glinting in the moonlight. For you, he thinks, I’ll steal all the candy in the world.
25 December 2007.
It never seems to end, but Arthur grins and bears it and pretends that Christmas isn’t already a clusterfuck. He hides the pack of cigarettes in his inner pocket and sits at the table in silent acceptance of what he’s come home to.
His knuckles hurt from grabbing that boy in school – a remnant of a family that turned him into nothing, too – and from punching a wall and yelling at cameras who aren’t there. He’s learned to turn off the TV and sneak drinks from the Pop – those elite – and when he punches one in the face they laugh and give him another in return and say: “brutal, aren’t you, mate?” Everyone believes everything, and everyone else’s legitimacy stories are glowing and wonderful. Arthur swallows all of it like smoke and bourbon and shows up to the dinner table at Christmas, piercing it was a slam of his fist on the table and a laugh and saying, “Why’s everyone so quiet?”
No one wants  a bastard boy with no mother. Everyone else seems to have gotten one for Christmas.
14 February 2008.
Valentine’s Days and romances were always so cheesy. The girl beside him is soft and sweet and has hair darker than snow when they kiss against the pole at the corner of Saville Row. It’s midnight, and Arthur has come out to see her, and isn’t that just sweet, being a rebel in the middle of winter? He brings her to a hotel that night with a promise that they don’t have to kiss under candlelight, and tomorrow, it’ll just be more fuel for the fight.
19 March 2010.
A break-up and a melt-down and a graduation later, Art finds himself one month away from 18 in the dregs of Monaco, smoking tobacco and rolling chips with old men who smell like cheap bourbon. Friends will join him later. Friends will worry if they see.
“Full. House. Pay the fuck up, bastards.” He sweeps them off their feet, and retreats until the door is locked and the floor is the only bed he knows.
21 April 2011.
He’s tired and it’s only two in the morning. In Wales, there would a soft bed waiting and warm arms around him, and that he’s thinking of this more than anything makes him worry. There’s work to do and this year’s term to get through, but he’s already booking a one-way flight to see her. He already knows how it’ll be: her eyes will dart elsewhere and she’ll ask him why he’s there, why he hadn’t called, and that she could’ve been busy. He knows. But he knows he’ll talk his way into bed and wake up to her in the morning where she can’t run away, and he hates it when she runs away.
No one wants a bastard child at two in the morning, eyes straining the dark, with a mouth full of whiskey and not much else.
He’s got a birthday dinner to plan, and the guest list isn’t even done.
14 May 2014.
The man who’s yelling at him reminds him of Gileo. Preferential treatment, my ass, he bites back, earning him a hundred push ups. This is what running away looks like: right in the line of duty, into hands scraping against the asphalt of a runway when he’s told to do push-ups at five in the morning.  University has come and gone and so has a love he thought was love. It isn’t, and he knows that. He knows what it looks like and he knows that it isn’t with him, and there’s....nothing. There is nothing, and he feels nothing towards the empty well of boredom in his veins.
Look! Even he doesn’t want a bastard with nothing in their bones.
So, he avoids thinking about Gileo. He only remembers the face the poor man made when the boy bought him out of house and home. Arthur doesn’t wanna burst out laughing in front of his commanding officer. He’s done enough push-ups to last a lifetime. He’s done enough pretending, done pushing against the void to last a lifetime.
30 June 2016.
Loyal, golden Art with his fingers in the pockets of England licks them clean in the form of white powder on the curves of women he never remembers in the morning.
Loyal, golden Art spends his days marching on the streets and apologising in front of cameras on a pedestal of his own royalty, and spends his nights in the vast underground of his club in London, looking at the blood being spilled on the floors and running bets for whoever can splatter the most crimson on his newly polished shoes. Those are the fighters he likes the most.
Loyal, golden Art, with eyes only to the future, knowing that England is doomed to fail in the hands of people who think they can come into his home and run it like it’s theirs. There’s nothing to take from them yet.
Loyal, golden Art, who let the girl with Scotland’s ice for eyes look elsewhere, and whisper in the ear of someone who would agree with her more often.
In England, in Europe, in politics, loyalty and being golden means nothing. Family means nothing, and the only good thing that an old fool has given him is a useless name that’s gotten him into more trouble than it’s worth. He carves it out in paper with black ink, and in deals and trysts with red. He knows their secrets because he’s seen them at their worst. He knows what their faces look like contorted with fear, in its proper, genuine way – not like the sickening smiles and handshakes and talk of useless policy on TV. Even as everyone turns their backs, the gears continue to turn, and Arthur swallows his anger in bourbon and coke, if only to wait for the final result.
No one wants a bastard for a king.
Not yet, anyway. It’s not like they have a choice.
21 April 2019.
There’s no fanfare for a bastard on this self-made island of money and kings. Dubai is cut-off for ‘security’, but the cracks are starting to show, and Arthur doesn’t make a big deal of it when he arrives. It’s business as usual. He’s spent his whole life cleaning up after England’s mistakes. They call him a snake, here; an angry, bitter vulture ready to pick the meat off the bones of the nation. But the English aren’t dead yet, and he ignores the poisoned well and dives head-first to look for gold in the only way he knows how: in the dark, in their fear, in their desperation.
Maybe he would’ve been better off as the villain, after all.
9 April 2020.
There are unforgivable things he cannot atone for. There are missed calls buried somewhere in guilt that seems so out of reach. There are news of weddings and war. There are tensions in the seas and black in the air.
When the phone rings at four in the morning to a name he’d answer to, he pretends it’s the trilling of a bell, the rise and fall of a death toll he cannot admit.
In the morning, in the sun, they watch him again. They like looking at him, seeing the way the curls of his hair free themselves from the patted-down scalp, the way his smile reaches his eyes and is warm like the sun to hide all this cold on the other side. Mercurial, he comes and goes on this Venus-landscape of politics, all hellfire and brimstone, spitting ash and heat on open wounds. The King tears a seam open and Arthur’s work unravels, and this is how he looks at his father for the first time in his life: the ugly, bitter truth of madness and idiocy under layers of revenance and loyalty. But the King doesn’t look back at his son. Perhaps he never has.
In the ticking of every hand further into the night, he descends – further and further where the sun cannot reach.
No one cheers for the death of an orphan’s bastard king.
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