adripaulson - Tumblr blog

adripaulson · 4 years ago

Text

take my hand, wreck my plans [pt. ii]

pairing: amy march x reader

synopsis: in paris where amy learned the manners of a proper lady is also the place where she opens her heart to you, a free-spirited traveler who’s only ever here for a good time.

word count: 4.4k

a/n: part 2!! thank you everyone that signed up for the taglist 😙

part i <<

word count:

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

For the first time in her life, Amy March was lost. She thought she had her entire life planned out, but now she was at a crossroad. It seemed intuitive and natural for her to choose to marry Fred, move to London and start a family, but on the other side of the crossroad was you. You and your ridiculously charming ways have enraptured her in all the ways that she should be with Fred. She was afraid to admit what it might mean for her and you if she admitted these feelings to you, things would look very different.

“What do you suppose comes after death?” You asked her once, lying on her lap, looking up at the clear sky.

“I don’t know.” Amy answered honestly. “I try not to indulge myself in such existential inquiries.”

“But you have thought of it, yes?”

“Not well enough to give you a satisfactory answer.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I think.” You said. “The Ancient Egyptians suppose we’ll be judged on our mortal lives by their gods, weighing our hearts against a feather to examine the weight of our sins. The Christians think we’ll either go to Heaven or Hell, whatever that means. The Buddhists think we’re actually in a cycle of eternal reincarnation, and the deeds in each life affects the next, so you better be good, or you’ll be a puny ant in the next life. But you know what I think? I don’t think there’s anything at all. Utter nothingness. It’s not like we’ll feel it though, because how can we feel nothingness? I think people give importance to what comes after death because they’re afraid of the unknown. Death is just death, a chapter closed. So why don’t they just focus on living? Live life as it’s granted to you . . . But what do I know?”

Amy dusted off the charcoal that had coated her fingers and blew on the page on which she was working on a portrait of you. “Sounds like you do know quite a lot. Most people have never seen enough of the world to form such an opinion.”

“Yes. I suppose so. I suppose they haven’t seen enough.” You stared away in thought. “I could never stay in the dark for that long. It seems suffocating.”

“Well, they can’t be suffocated if they don't know what they’re missing out on.” Amy reasoned, and held the drawing over your face, blocking your view of the sun. Your fingers wrapped around the spine of her sketchbook, then you sat up with a gentle smile.

“If I had known I’d look so pretty in your drawings, maybe I’d asked you to draw me more often.” You raised your eyebrows with a smirk as you examined her work.

“I’m no impressionist, Y/N. I capture what I see.” She spoke and met your gaze.

“Is this your way of telling me I’m pretty?”

She laughed it off, but she agreed with you. You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid my eyes upon, Y/N.

“You’re decent.”

Maybe Amy should have told you. She knew you could take it, but there was always something in her that held her back. You were never discreet with your affairs, she knew this because she has walked in on you in scandalous positions many times. Though that was the problem: it seemed as though you didn’t grasp the concept of courting or didn’t care enough for it. Amy loved you, but she also had self-respect; she would not throw herself onto you, only to be discarded like one of your playthings.

Fred came to visit her at home, and it seemed that Aunt March was more excited to see him than she was. He took her to afternoon tea, but not before she had to turn you down to go to the park first. Watching your excited smile collapse into a frown broke her heart. When you looked towards the street and back at her, there was that charming smirk again, which she knew by now you only sported to those who don’t know you. But Amy knew you, and she knew that you were disheartened by her rejection. “It’s alright”, you only said, “maybe another time”, and left.

“Amy.” She turned away from the sparkling water in the fountain.

“Oh, sorry. What was that, Fred?”

“I said I am quite excited for the ball tonight. Will you be wearing the dress I had made for you?” The man smiled.

“Yes, I certainly will. Thank you, Fred, it’s lovely.”

When dusk came, Amy entered the ballroom on Fred’s arm, all the while her eyes scanned the space for a figure like yours; it was never difficult to. You were already conversing with a group of young socialites whose parents were filthy rich, she figured from the way most of the commotion in the room came from them, like they owned the place. Fred had introduced her to some friends and business partners who came to visit from London.

“Oscar here is a writer. Amy, isn’t one of your sisters a writer too?” Fred asked, making her turn back to the men.

“She is, Fred.” She forced a smile.

“Oh, would I have read anything she’s written before?” Oscar, the writer asked, his Irish accent preceding him.

“Not besides some stories in the newspaper, I suppose. I haven’t seen her in years in the time I spent here in Paris. She lives in New York now.”

You watched the entire interaction from across the room. Though the distance parted you, you could see that Amy didn’t have the heart to get through this entire night. You just hoped Fred was observant enough to realize that, if not you would be the one you take care of her, you thought. That was never in question.

“Y/N, tell us the story of when you encountered pirates!”

“Yes, tell us about the pirates!”

“Alright, alright, settle down now.” You chuckled. “It must have been a couple of years back. My ship was passing through the southern region of the Caribbean when we were attacked by a pirate ship!”

You proceeded to make up the rest of the story, involving an epic showdown with the vice-captain of the pirates and knocking his golden teeth out of his mouth which, unfortunately, fell into the ocean during the encounter. You found that the story fooled the youngsters enough for them to “wow” and laugh loudly at it by the time you were done. Just then, when you glanced over to where Amy and Fred stood, they were nowhere to be found. Your shoulders sunk at the missed opportunity to talk to her, but one of the socialites caught your arm and kept you there. From the way she batted her eyelids at you and stood much closer than you would have liked, you understood her intentions. She was a pretty one, blonde hair and hazel eyes with a lopsided smile as sly as a fox’s. As gorgeous as she was, you could never pick her over the blonde artist you’ve grown to have feelings for, an occurrence which you dreaded.

You saw a flash of blonde behind the blonde that was trying her very best to capture your attention. As the girl rambled on, you watched Amy move with quick steps from one of the balconies out of the ballroom with Fred trailing behind, but stopped defeatedly once calling her name wasn’t enough to stop her.

“Excuse me for a second, will you, dear?” You told the girl and quickly followed where Amy went. You found her hunched over the railing, her head in her hands. You had never seen her so distressed like this, and when she jumped at your touch on her shoulder, something in you might have known what Fred did.

“Did you eat something to upset your stomach?” You jested in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Fred proposed.” She said, not looking at you.

“Oh.” You breathed out.

“I couldn’t give him an answer.”

“That’s no problem.” You shook your head. “He doesn’t owe you one right this instance.”

You let your hand guide her towards you. Her back was still hunched over, and she couldn’t quite meet you in the eye.

You called her name, once, twice. She listened, but she didn’t reply.

“I couldn’t give him an answer.” She echoed.

“And that is fine.”

“I should be able to, but I couldn’t.”

“Amy . . .”

“It’s because . . . I have feelings for another.”

You stood still and waited for her to elaborate, yet Amy would still not meet her eyes.

“Oh,” was all you could manage to say. “Is it Laurie?”

“No.” She groaned, her voice breaking now. “It’s you, Y/N.”

You had hoped for this, for Amy to profess her love for you or you for her, either way and you show her care in the way that you knew best. You held out hope that Amy would one day come along on your adventures, and the two of you would be held back by nothing. And she did; Amy professed her love for you, yet she looked so distressed and disoriented that you couldn’t think about anything else but the well-being the girl in front of you.

She began to walk away towards the opposite direction, her dress gliding in the moonlight like a ghost, jeweled by the light from the ballroom. You couldn’t let this happen. The girl had just poured her heart out in front of you and was now floating away like she was merely a hollow shell of herself, all of her essence she left with you. So you took a brave step forward and grabbed her arm. She was so close to you now, her chest heaving on top of yours. A single tear left her eye and you took the liberty to wipe it away.

“Do I make you uncomfortable?” You whispered.

Her eyes crinkled in the light. “No.”

So you kissed her, lightly and tenderly, and everything changed.

The next morning, you woke up in your own bed in the inn you had been staying at, and you were naked under the sheets. The events of the previous night flooded back behind your eyes, yet the other side of the bed was empty.

Amy March was a mystery to you, she truly was. She was also an amazing actress. The next time you saw her, she was unlike the vulnerable girl afraid of what the future holds and in need of your comfort — she was the artist, the distinguished woman Fred Vaughn wanted to marry. Upon seeing you, there was not even a hint of change in her demeanor.

“You were ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t. I was busy.” She brushed you off so easily, it almost felt insulting. You raised your eyebrows and followed her as she attempted to walk away.

“I tried to find you at home, you weren’t there. I tried to find you at Périer’s studio, but you weren’t there either.”

“Y/N, I do not have the time to hang around with you all day. I actually have a job to do, unlike you.”

You winced mockingly. “Are you sure you’re not just avoiding me to hide the fact that you love me?”

At this, Amy turned around with the most despicable frown you have ever seen and grabbed your arm.

“Don’t say that.” She hissed and inspected her surroundings for any eavesdroppers, but no one batted an eye and went about their business. “You can’t just say things like that here, what is wrong with you?”

“Amy.” You eyed her. “There’s no shame in that.”

Amy pursed her lips so hard you thought her lips might start bleeding. Then she pulled you from the crowd towards a dark alley, and pulled you in for a rough kiss.

“I could kiss you all day like this if I could. Believe me, there’s nothing I’d want more than you.” She whispered, ghosting over your lips, her hand found the back of your neck and stroking the hairs there. “But we can’t do this, not around other people. It’s dangerous, and I can’t put you in danger, not if I can help it.”

She leaned in again, this time much slower and more passionate. “So will you please behave?”

You raised a slow smirk. “Whatever will your aunt say about this, Amy March?”

She shook her head. “I don’t care.”

I don’t care, but of course she cared. About her paintings, her pretty dresses, her money so that she could support her dreams, her vanity, her reputation . . . And that was Amy March, perhaps it was because of all of her ambitious plans that you fell in love with her, and you couldn’t blame her for wanting so much in a world where she would be given so little. You couldn’t take it all away either, you dared not. So you enjoyed it while it could, to have a woman like her by your side, because once you left this city you knew there would be no other like Amy March. “What Amy wants, Amy gets.” Laurie told you. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Most of the snow had melted by the time your stay in Paris was coming to an end. Serge had come by to let you know, and told you to pack your things to be packaged and put on the ship to avoid hassle on the day. Your bourbon sat half drunk in its bottle, and the liquid rippled when you peered inside.

“New tune?” He asked.

You hummed and kept your fingers gliding over the keyboard. You struck a chord, a major seventh and let it ring in the closed space. “This will be the greatest piece I’ll ever write, Serge.”

“I’m sure it will be.” Serge chuckled, pulling the door closed behind him. “Same old Y/N. All this for a girl you barely met.”

You let him laugh at you because he didn’t understand, but you didn’t blame him. You must seem crazy to fall in love so deeply and passionately, and be so unapologetic for how you feel. Lucky for you, you never really cared what others thought of you anyway . . . maybe Amy . . . just Amy, and no one else.

When she invited you over to her house, you didn’t hesitate to accept, as you knew it would be one of the last times you get to see her.

“So what’s your next destination, then?”

You shifted on the blanket, turning to the side where she sat with her dress fanned out like a rose beside you. You thought about not answering, but decided against it. “North Africa, just the region by the Mediterranean coast.”

“What will you do when you’ve traveled the entire world? And there’s nowhere else to go, nowhere else to explore?” Amy asked, flipping over her embroidery canvas to start a new thread.

“I’ll find somewhere nice to settle down in, somewhere quaint, maybe by the sea, maybe in the countryside . . . You know, somewhere that feels like home.”

“And? Do you already have a place in mind?”

You pointed your gaze at Amy who looked back with a soft gaze. “No.” You answered. “None in particular. Do you?”

“You know I’ll make a home out of most places.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll make the best of my circumstances.”

“I know you would. With Fred Vaughn’s 40 000 a year, I suppose.” You chuckled under your breath.

“Don’t make fun—”

“I said his name.” You raised your eyebrows and grinned, slightly taken aback by how quick she was to respond at the mention of Fred.

“He is rich, much richer than you.” She pointed out.

Dusk was starting to approach, signalled by the harsh streaks of orange over golden sky, like one of those paintings Amy used to do when she was bored. The day was coming to an end, yet there were still so many things you wished to tell her. You adored the way time seemed to pass so fast when she was with you, which made all the time in the world insufficient to the amount you wanted to spend with her. Looking at the blinding sun peaking over the trees in the distance, you realized that time was running out for her and you.

“Don’t marry him.” You said, suddenly dropping the sarcastic banter.

Amy seemed to have sensed this and met your eyes. “Don’t do that. You know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I can’t just back out of this, Y/N, you know that.”

“Why not? Fred Vaughn is boring, you’re signing yourself up for a lifetime of tedious domestic work, the very thing you hate. Come with me, Amy. My crew leaves next week, and you can travel, see the world, it’ll do you good and give you inspiration for your art!”

“That—that is not what I want!” She receded from you, and stood up.

“Then what do you want?” You followed her just as she turned away.

“Stability. The ability to have financial support. You may be able to live like a traveler with nowhere to call home, but I can’t. I’m no traveler, Y/N. And have you ever asked yourself why you’re always on your feet? Why you just can’t seem to settle in one place? I think you’re scared, Y/N. You’re scared of permanence and commitment. That’s why you keep running away.”

The frown on her face persisted. You clenched your jaw and swallowed the thick and painful lump that has formed in your throat. “You’re hurting me.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” She shook her head, her eyes fixated on you so as you felt trapped, unable to escape the inevitable. “I really am, but you and I are very different people. We had our fun, but it’s time to get back down on the ground.”

“I think we’re one and the same, Amy. We’re lost souls searching for purpose in life. Do you really want stability or is that what you’re told you want?”

“I know what I want, and it’s certainly not the life you see for me.”

“So I guess we disagree.”

“I guess so.”

You hated seeing Amy cry. It made you feel like a failure. “Then I suppose this is farewell.” You spoke quietly.

She nodded with tears in her eyes. “I suppose so too.”

The streaks of orange became a wash of dark colors by the time you looked back at it when you arrived home. Nights in Paris were always more bearable with a full heart and dried cheeks.

On the day, you didn’t have the energy to get out of bed, so that Serge had to hoist you up and make you go downstairs for breakfast. You were to depart earlier, but the wind wasn’t strong enough, so the crew waited until mid-afternoon to pull the anchor. You took this opportunity to walk around the city one last time, visit the places you frequented during your stay, just to see it one more time before you go. Everywhere you went it looked the same, but there was a piece missing — the vibrancy that Amy March sprinkled all over the place like a brush full of paint. She made it clear that she didn’t want to see you despite knowing when you were leaving, so you didn’t make an effort to seek her out. The only person you said goodbye to was Laurie. He came to the docks just when you were about to board the ship.

“Amy left Paris a couple of days ago. Her sister, Beth, became very ill. She might not make it.” The man informed you.

You nodded in apprehension. “She never told me.”

“It’s a personal thing.” Laurie reasoned. “I probably would not have known if I didn’t grow up with her family.”

There was a gap between you and Amy that you couldn’t quite grasp. It was the fact that you couldn’t fathom hinging on the mold of society to survive, and it was all Amy had ever known her entire life. You realized that habits like that can’t be shaken off easily and that, like to those who Amy always tried to impress, she only showed you what she wanted you to know. It didn’t stop you from falling in love with her though; she was a willow in a field of dull weeds.

Then you remembered the piece that you had been working on. You told Laurie to wait while you dashed onto the ship and returned with some sheet paper.

“If you ever see her again, will you give this to her?”

Laurie gripped the pages, his eyes running through the staves, then a small smile spread across his lips. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’m no impressionist.” You spoke. “I only capture what I see.”

“Amy’s Lullaby.” He read.

You pursed your lips. “Amy’s Lullaby.”

Laurie looked up at you, smiling, and nodded.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Amy woke up with the sun on her face. It was warm and inviting which means the snowstorm that had been ravaging for the past three days must have finally stopped. As she went downstairs, her eyebrows knitted at the sound of the floorboard creaking. Alarmed, she slowed her steps and peaked over the railings, to find a small mop of braided blonde hair on a tiny body peeking into the main living room.

Chuckling softly, she called: “Lottie, why are you up so early?”

The little lass turned around with a sullen expression and Amy glided down the stairs. “I’m sorry, Ms. Amy. as just so excited to open the presents.”

She smiled. The girl reminded her of her younger self, always so eager to discover, to see, to have, that she couldn’t blame her.

“Just wait a longer, alright?” She patted the back of her head. “We’ll open the presents after breakfast. Now go and wash yourself. Go on.”

The girl obliged without another word and dashed towards the stairs. She turned back once she reached the middle as if she remembered his manners. “Merry Christmas, Ms. Amy.”

Amy couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Merry Christmas, Lottie.”

Once all the children have woken up, the living room was filled with their sounds; chatting, laughing, fooling about. She had grown to adore this routine at the school, and to be able take care of the children like they were her own. She was a bit hesitant when Jo asked her to help along with Meg, John and Laurie, but after two Christmases spent at Plumfield (this being the second), she became quite content with her life as an art teacher. After her apprenticeship with Hugo Périer ended, there wasn’t much left for her in Paris. After Beth’s passing, she felt like her family needed her more.

“Okay, students.” Meg clapped her hands. “I think it’s about time we open our presents, yeah?”

She exchanged chuckles with the adults once the children erupted into cheers and quieted down while Meg called their names one by one.

A tap on her shoulder prompted her to look over her shoulder. Jo motioned for her to follow her. “It’s your present.” She said with a smirk.

Amy rolled her eyes as she thought of what stupid present Jo could have conjured up for her. In truth, her sister hadn’t been this nice to her for years. Amy was even prepared for a Christmas prank. She was about to give Jo a snarky remark when the words became stuck in her throat. The sound of Beth’s old piano rang in the tune of her lullaby, the one you wrote for her. This surely was a dream, maybe it was a Christmas miracle, but that meant that it was real. Jo snickered next to her and nudged her forward towards you. At her footsteps, you stopped playing and looked over your shoulder with a grin.

“Merry Christmas.” Now she knew it was real, to hear your voice so crystal-clearly. Her sister clasped her shoulder twice then left.

“How did you know where I live?” She said breathlessly.

“Laurie told me.” You only said, and Amy felt a sense of déjà vu creeping in. You stepped forwards, the floorboard sunken under your feet.

“I love the piece.” She smiled, her eyes stinging. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.” You smiled genuinely. “You know, I thought about what you told me,” you began, “about me always running away and never being able to settle in one place.”

Her face collapsed into a frown. “Y/N, I was very angry. I didn’t mean it—“

“And you’re right.” She looked up with bewildered eyes as you smiled thinly at her. “I’ve been on my feet all my life, searching for something constant that I can hold onto. The truth is, I never felt at home anywhere until I came to Paris. But it wasn’t Paris, not really. I loved the architecture, the fashion, the lifestyle, but none of it felt right. Then I realized that I only loved the city because of you.”

You took another slow step towards her, but you were fumbling with your fingers and your words slowed. “I never really believed one could ever find just one person they could call their ‘soulmate’ or ‘life partner’, but then again I don’t think I’ve ever really loved anyone the way I loved you.”

Amy smiled, as a tear rolled down her cheek, and sucked in a breath.

“I made you a promise.” You said, reaching for her hands. “That I would keep you warm, and I intend to keep it. So here I am. I don’t have money or status to make you comfortable for the rest of your life, but I can offer you me. All of me, in any way you need. I’ll stand by your side, I’ll be your partner and you’ll never—”

Your words were cut off by Amy slamming her lips onto yours. How good it felt to have you in her arms again, to press her hands to your face and kiss you as long as she pleased.

“You always talked too much.” She mumbled, stroking the hairs on the back of your neck.

“It’s kind of my shtick.” You said, and tugged her hand towards the piano and made her sit down next to her. As you played the piece you wrote for her, she watched your hands and smiled.

Until she met you, Amy March had the story of her life all planned out, but no life felt right unless she got to spend it with you.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

taglist:

@celestialcat44 @idkwhygregg @gaby-polito @lucyanddylan10 @peachbear88 @jamais-savader @theperfectlovestory @rivenstrashplaylist @gay-vet-student @wmhmd @autumnvanders @cactus-pugh @sadbackgroundguitar @whatdoesthatevenmeanworld @17nielsen @flynnerdy @bigbiscuitmakereagle @hypnogiantpeanutdreamer @everybodyhateserin @theebaudelaire @adripaulson @nosense-blog1 @ethanwoods1 @orang3-ish @lightat-the-end-of-thetunnel @sogayforcaroldanvers @stressed-but-a-mess @slytherinchevy @mysticpeanutmugduck @jeyramarie @imapotatao @wlwfanfictionss @the-bisexual-mess-express @nosense-blog @hpmarvel @savior01 @marvete445678 @ohsopathetic @wb-reynolds @kassies-take @piano-boo @whothehe11kn0ws5 @whyhaught @messuhp @un-deniable-me3 @alluneedissunshine @latortitasuprema @blkmxrvel @un-name-d @eanna147 @iloveyelenabelovasomuch @snooy245 @aoife-eefah @chonisbestmistake @natxhiddles

384 notes · View notes