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anneshirleycuffbert · 4 years

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YOU ASK AND I DELIVER !!

AWAE Alternate Universe: not-officially-dating shirbert at Queen’s College (stand-alone fic)

Summary: Everyone knows that Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and Gilbert Blythe are practically an item, despite the lack of official announcement that the two are courting. Well, everyone except Royal Gardner. Will the two finally own up to their feelings for each other?

Gilbert Blythe stared at an aggravated Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, who was presently glaring at the trigonometry problems in her textbook.

He felt his heart flutter as Anne bit her lip, trying to focus on solving the fourth equation. The two had made it a habit to study together within their first two weeks of attending Queen’s College, and Gilbert didn’t know how much longer he could bear having Anne at such close proximity yet far from him in matters of the heart.

The study group started out with all the Avonlea students, but the number dwindled by early-October when other pressing matters, like courting and social engagements, presented itself. Anne and Gilbert, unsurprisingly, were the only two who had stuck it out thus far throughout the year. Diana Barry would never tell Anne this, but she felt it right for her to bow out and join a secret study group that Jane and Prissy Andrews were in, not wanting to be a third wheel to an unofficial couple.

It was now mid-November, and the two students were sitting at their usual table on the second floor of the library.

Anne groaned and looked up at her study partner and friend. Gilbert flitted his eyes down to his notebook before she could notice he’d been staring.

“This is impossible. I’m not getting this at all, Gil!”

Gilbert coloured. He loved the new nickname with which Anne called him. He definitely preferred it over Slateface, a name she would tease him with when occasion called for it. “Gil” spoke of friendliness and familiarity. Fondness.

The curly-haired boy cleared his throat. “What’s confusing to you?”

Instead of explaining what she didn’t understand, Anne began her classic rant on the perils of trigonometry and why it should not be mandatory to learn. She then glared at Gilbert, which startled him.

“What?” Gilbert said, feeling defensive.

“Why are you smiling?”

“I’m not?” Gilbert immediately felt the corners of his mouth drop.

“But you were!”

Gilbert’s half-masked smile turned into a full blown grin. He threw up his hands. “Okay, okay! I’m sorry, you’re just so...” he trailed off, trying to find the right word to describe Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.

“So what?” Anne’s brows furrowed in confusion, her lips slightly pouting.

Beautiful, Gilbert wanted to say, focusing all his energy on not glancing down at Anne’s lips which he suddenly wanted to kiss, then and there.

“I don’t know,” Gilbert shrugged, defeated.

Anne frowned at him and opened her mouth to speak, when a familiar voice called her name.

Anne and Gilbert turned to find Royal Gardner approaching their table. Gilbert’s hand reflexively clenched tighter around his pencil.

“Hello Anne,” Roy greeted cheerfully. He glanced at Gilbert briefly. “Gilbert.”

Gilbert only offered him a tight smile and curt nod.

Anne smiled politely. “Hello Roy. How are you this afternoon?”

“Swell. I actually came over to congratulate you.”

Anne blinked, confused. “On what?”

“You don’t know?”

“Clearly not, since she’s asking what you’re talking about,” Gilbert muttered quietly. Anne kicked him under the table.

“Why, you won the Avery scholarship!”

“What?”

“I was looking at the announcement board outside the registrar’s office this morning to find they had posted the recipients of the various scholarships. You’re one of them, Anne. Congratulations!”

“Are you serious?” Anne pinched herself, and when she flinched, her eyes widened.

“Come, see for yourself,” Roy motioned for Anne to come with him and she bounded out of her chair.

She glanced back at Gilbert. “I’ll be right back!”

The sound of a pencil snapping in half made Gilbert jump in his seat. He frowned when he realized that he had broken his pencil.

It wasn’t that he was angry about Anne getting the Avery scholarship, no. Gilbert was always proud of Anne’s achievements and believed in her when no one else would. Gilbert Blythe was aggravated. But with whom?

Anne’s frantic voice rang through the library floor and Gilbert looked up from his broken pencil.

Behind her trailed a grinning Roy Gardner, and Gilbert knew just with whom he was aggravated.

“Gilbert! Gil!” Anne flew past the desks that students were sat focused in until the redhead began making a commotion.

Gilbert stood up. The moment his eyes landed on a joyful Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, a genuine smile made its way onto his lips. He stumbled a bit when Anne propelled herself to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing.

“Oof!”

“Gil, you got the Gold Medal! Congratulations! You got the gold medal!”

“And you?” His voice was muffled in her hair.

Anne pulled away to look him in his soft hazel brown eyes. Her grin was radiant. “I got the Avery!”

Gilbert laughed and in a surge of celebration and joy for the both of them, embraced Anne and spun her around.

“Congratulations, Carrots,” he grinned at the redhead who was very flushed.

“Congratulations, Slateface,” said Anne, out of breath.

Gilbert noticed Roy standing a few feet away, watching them. Gilbert’s face grew serious and he motioned to Roy with a shrug. “Gardner is waiting for you.”

Anne, looking confused, turned. “Oh, he’s waiting for the paper I edited for him. I’ll go give it to him now.”

Gilbert sat down in his seat and watched as Anne grabbed a folder from her bag and walked over to Roy.

“I made some notes on the side,” Anne began explaining her edits to a very invested Roy. Her back was now facing Gilbert.

“Oh, this is fantastic! Thank you, Anne. This is exactly why I asked you to edit my essay. You’re absolutely brilliant,” he smiled.

Anne nodded and said something Gilbert couldn’t quite make out.

“You give yourself too little credit. Thanks again, Anne,” Roy said. “I’ll see you in Writing Club?”

As Gilbert sensed the conversation coming to a close, he propped up one of the books he was supposed to be reading instead of eavesdropping on Anne. He was going to pretend he didn’t hear anything but when Anne sat down across from him with a wide grin on her face, he couldn’t help it.

“How’s your boyfriend?” Gilbert muttered, grumpy after having just watched Roy Gardner flirt with Anne.

Anne, without missing a beat and without looking up from her book, replied with, “I don’t know, Gilbert. How are you?”

The two friends froze as they realized the implication of more that had escaped from Anne’s mouth without permission.

“I’m fine,” Gilbert choked out, sounding on the verge of tears.

Anne kept her gaze on her book, feeling her face flush a deep red at her response and Gilbert’s reply. Quiet occupied the space between them for a few agonizing seconds before Gilbert allowed hope to settle in his heart.

Gilbert cleared his throat. “Anne?” Worry trickled into his voice at the sound of her stunned silence. “Carrots?”

Slowly, her eyes traveled up from her book to Gilbert’s red face. When her eyes landed on his familiar kind ones, she felt her tense muscles relax a little.

Anne sighed. This was Gilbert, her best friend. She had been content to let things stay the way they were because she loved their friendship. But more than their friendship, Anne loved Gilbert, and she could tell by the stolen glances and laughter from past study sessions and inside jokes and the way his eyes bore into her, like they did now, that he felt the same way.

Anne broke eye contact from the intensity of it all. How could she risk their friendship? What if Gilbert didn’t even feel the same way and she just tricked herself into thinking his kindness and friendship and the way he looked at her was more than it actually was?

Gilbert’s eyes furrowed in confusion and frustration. After the whole situation with Winifred, he knew Anne was the girl he truly loved, the girl he was in love with. But he had made the mistake of letting go of the momentum it took years to build in the progression of their relationship. Gilbert had left a letter declaring his love to Anne, which Anne, for reasons unbeknownst to him, did not receive. Hazel mentioned a letter Anne left for him but had mysteriously vanished.

Neither refused to disclose the contents of their letters and so here they were, back to pining and feelings of unrequited love that they knew deep down were anything but.

Anne had just about made her mind to continue this act of just friends, remembering the feelings of a broken heart she‘d experienced when Gilbert was courting Winifred. The voice of reason in her mind brought up the fact that Gilbert had broken things off with Winnie. Anne bit her lip to keep the tears threatening to spill from her eyes at bay.

Gilbert felt desperation surge through him. “Anne.”

Anne looked at him with shiny eyes. “Gil, I... I don’t know what to say.”

“I do,” said Gilbert, determined now. “I don’t know exactly how to say this so I’m just going to say it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Anne felt the corners of her mouth tipping up. “Gil?”

“Sorry,” Gilbert breathed out. “Just gathering my courage.”

The sound of Anne’s laughter gave him all he needed.

“Anne, I know some time ago we had sent each other letters,” he began. “That neither of us ever received. I thought I could go on without you knowing how I feel about you. I can’t anymore. I can’t sit by while others ask to court you–“

“No one’s asked to court me,” Anne rolled her eyes. “And I doubt anyone will.”

“But they will. Roy Gardner has had his eye on you from the beginning. Anthony Partridge and William Smith have been competing for your attention. But that’s not the point,” Gilbert exhaled. “The point is... I like you, Anne. No. I love you. I’m in love with you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. I can’t let us go on at Queen’s without you knowing how I feel, because I’ve allowed myself to hope that you might feel the same for me.”

“I–“

“And it doesn’t matter if you don’t have feelings for me. I mean, of course it does, I’ll respect whatever your response.”

“I–“

“I just want you to know that you shouldn’t feel obligated to say or do anything because of how I feel for you. If you don’t feel the same, I’m content to remain friends because I love you, Anne.”

“Will you let me say something now?” Anne looked at the boy with a pointed stare.

Gilbert blushed, sheepish. “Yes.”

“Gilbert Blythe, I love you too.”

Gilbert blinked. “Yes, I know you love me as a friend Anne–“

“No,” laughed the redhead. “‘I love you’ as in I’m in love with you, you idiot.”

“Oh.”

The two smiled at each other with burning cheeks and joyful hearts. After a long time of waiting and pining, they were finally on the same page.

A familiar voice broke the trance Anne and Gilbert were in. Cole Mackenzie stood a few feet away looking at them knowingly.

“Hi Cole,” Anne greeted, elated to see their friend.

“Hey,” nodded Gilbert, smiling.

“Finally figured it out for yourselves, have you?” Cole smirked, glancing between the two.

“Shut up,” said the two in unison, garnering triumphant laughter from the art student.

Gilbert turned his gaze toward Anne, not bothering now to hide how captivated he was by her. He watched as Anne scolded Cole for skipping his class, even if it was to visit them, even if it was to escort his friend Genevieve to visit her sister at Queen’s, and does Aunt Jo know of your shenanigans because if not, you shall certainly be found out!

Anne felt the warm heat of a familiar pair of hazel eyes, and her cheeks flushed without even looking at Gilbert. She said goodbye to Cole, who didn’t even bother saying his standard dramatic “au revoir!” to the raven-haired boy because he knew Gilbert’s one-track mind was thinking of only Anne now. Anne felt Gilbert’s left hand take hold of hers across the table and she interlocked her fingers with his.

Silently, with the soft hum of kindred and requited love beating through their locked hands, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert and Gilbert Blythe went back to studying.

That is, until Anne could finally focus again on her trigonometry problem and be faced with the same infuriating dilemma, to which Gilbert would laugh and face the wrath of a redhead scorned by mathematics.

to read more of my awae literary universe: click here or click #awae:dlu !!

#awae:dlu #anne with an e #anneshirleycuffbert #awae #shirbert #renew anne with an e #renew awae #renewannewithane #annewithane #gilbert blythe #anne shirley cuthbert #cole mackenzie #diana barry #awae fic #awae fluff

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isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

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Lightning in a Bottle | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: None :)

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Music is Edmund’s love language, apparently.

Request: Hey! Could you possibly do a cute high school au with Edmund? Maybe they’re both crushing on each other and everyone knows except themselves, anything you wanna do really haha 😂 thanksss :)

A/N: Thanks for the request!! God, I love Edmund so much. And here, we have indie boi Ed. This oneshot is inspired by Electric Love by Børns. (Specifically, the video linked) This is one of my favorite songs, and I thought it fit the indie-main-character-high-school vibe :) I didn’t really nail the “everyone knows but them” thing, but still crushes! Enjoy ~

masterlist | here is a playlist of the songs in the mixtape mentioned | read on ao3

Edmund Pevensie was obsessed with listening to music, particularly with old musical technology. While it wasn’t uncommon to have a fascination with cassette tapes or vinyl records, it hit a special chord within Edmund’s heart. Something about listening to music, old and new, on the outdated tech made the music sound better, hit harder, and stick in his mind better. He was the type of guy who took the AUX on long car rides to play one of his thousand Spotify playlists.

Another notable thing about Edmund was that he was very intelligent with very high standards for himself. He was a natural at academics, having been in advanced classes since he was young, and he was the guy everyone hated in math class. After dozing off in class, and mouthing off to the teacher every now and again, he still came out as the teacher’s favorite and a straight-A student.

The majority of the time, though, he tended to keep to himself. While he was genuinely liked by his peers and was rather charming, he didn’t really consider anyone his friend. Unlike his older brother, Peter, he liked to remain closer to the shadows with earbuds in his ears. He knew he could never fill his brother’s shoes; Peter had basically come into Cair Paravel High School to be captain of the soccer team. He was so good that even though his grades were subpar at best, he received a full-ride scholarship to Archenland University to study sports medicine and play on their soccer team.

Then there was his older sister, Susan, who won her Student Body President campaign by a landslide. Everyone liked Susan; she was patient, gentle, and got along with pretty much everyone. She too got a pretty large scholarship to Beruna State College and is double majoring in child education and European history.

Finally, there was Edmund’s little sister, Lucy. She was only a freshman at Cair Paravel, and very into student council. Edmund thought she was practically made to be an ASB kid; she was excited, friendly, and much too kind. Lucy made the switch to high school seamlessly and had a big group of friends by the time the final bell rang on the first day.

Edmund was a senior now and he couldn’t wait to get out of high school. The people were unintelligent, he was constantly compared to his siblings and he was ready to start his life. Edmund had high ambitions to become a lawyer, specifically criminal law. He didn’t really have much to leave behind at this school, so he was just trying to get through it as soon as possible.

One thing he would miss was the quiet girl that sat behind him in his music appreciation class. Edmund didn’t really want to take the class, but at the last minute, he discovered he needed to fulfill an arts credit to graduate. He appreciated music and liked easy classes, so he chose this one. Little did he know it was mostly analyzing classical pieces.

Y/N was super cute in Edmund’s eyes. She always mumbled sarcastic comments whenever their easily excitable teacher, Mr. Tumnus, would stretch when over-analyzing a stanza of music. By the time October passed, Edmund had grown quite fond of the girl. She almost always was reading a comic book of some sort instead of paying attention in class. Y/N even ended up lending Edmund a few for his viewing pleasures; he always made sure to return them in the exact condition he received them. Batman seemed to Y/N’s favorite.

Y/N loved watching Edmund write. He held his pencil wrong and always had ink smudged all over his hand. Maybe it was because he was a leftie, or maybe it was because he wrote too fast. Probably a little bit of both. His handwriting was also weirdly slanted to the right, which didn’t make any sense to Y/N. He was left-handed but his letters slanted to the right? Not the mention how half of it was in cursive and half of it was in print. It was definitely messy but, oddly enough, still intelligible.

“What are you listening to?” Y/N asked Edmund. “Better not be Christmas music. Christmas was last month.”

Edmund pulled an earbud out of his left ear and turned so he was sitting horizontally in his chair. He leaned an arm on the top of her desk and grinned. “Currently, I’m listening to Can I Call You Tonight? By Dayglow. What are you reading?”

“Currently, I’m reading Volume 1 of The New Teen Titans,” Y/N copied Edmund. “I’ve never heard of Dayglow, are they good?”

Edmund smiled, offering her his earbuds. “Listen and see for yourself.”

As she listened Edmund searched her face for any clue to what she’s thinking. Her face housed a small smile so he concluded that she enjoyed it. Once the song ended, she took out one of his earbuds and placed it on her desk.

“I like it,” She concluded, listening to the next song.

“Good, so do I. It fits my mood for today.”

“What’s got you so happy today? You have a great way of showing happiness, by the way.” Edmund was dressed in all black with his hood up. Edmund rolled his eyes.

“What I can’t be in a good mood?”

“I never said that, Pevensie. You just look very Edmund-y today.” Y/N pulled the other earbud out of her head and held them out to him.

“No, keep listening. I’ll play some music for you throughout class and maybe you can tell me what you think at the end?” He pulled his hood off of his head and smoothed out his hair. “And what do you mean Edmund-y?”

“I don’t know, all black, hood up, dead look in your eyes.”

“I don’t have a dead look in my eyes!” Y/N giggled at her own joke. “Just for that, I’m going to take this.” He snatched the open comic book that laid open on her desk.

For the remainder of the class, Edmund dictated what Y/N listened to from his phone. He played everything from The Beatles, to The 1975, to COIN, to Duran Duran. Every now and then, Edmund would peek his head back to see her eyes glued to the back of his head. Her body swayed to the music almost lazily, and a smile graced her features. For some reason that made his stomach feel fuzzy.

She returned his earbuds at the end of class, and he returned her comic.

“That was fun,” Y/N complimented, shoving her materials into her bag. “I like the get better song you played.”

“I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers,” Edmund corrected her as they left the classroom. Music Appreciation was the class of the day for them, seeing as they were seniors who left at lunch, so the two started making their way towards the parking lot.

“You have to meet your sister right?” Y/N asks, pulling out her I.D. so she could leave campus. “The really sweet freshman girl? Honestly, you two are so different I wouldn’t have guessed you were siblings.”

“Oh, Lucy, yeah. We grab lunch every Thursday before I drop her back off for the remainder of her classes.” The two showed their I.D.’s to the campus aid and walked into the parking lot.

“That’s sweet. We should grab lunch sometime, or something. It could be fun! We could do our analysis questions about Bach.” Y/N started to walk in the opposite direction and Edmund felt his cheeks warm. Luckily, Y/N’s back was now towards him.

“Yeah, sure. Don Giovanni, right?”

Y/N’s laughter could be heard as she grew further away. “That’s Motzart, Pevensie!”

Edmund shook his head and met Lucy. She was leaning against his car looking bored.

“Who was that? Is that your girlfriend?” Lucy asks, opening the door once Edmund unlocks the car. This made his cheeks flush more.

“No, she’s just the girl that sits behind me in Tumnus,” Edmund puts the key in the ignition and starts the engine.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not, Lucy. It’s just hot in the car, it’s been sitting out here for ages.”

One day in the middle of March when Y/N walked into Music Appreciation, she noticed a small rectangle box on her desk. Upon opening it, she found a cassette and a note. The note looked as if it was typed using a typewriter.

Y/N,

I’m not very good when it comes to words, but I’m good when it comes to music. Hopefully, this says it all. Enjoy, my love.

Side A //

Electric Love / Børns

I Love You So / The Walters

Fallingforyou / The 1975

Your Song / Elton John

Someone To You / BANNERS

Side B //

Babe, Can I Call? / The Hunna

Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy) / The 1975

Luv, Hold Me Down / Drowners

love somebody like you / joan

TV Dream / Larkins

Y/N didn’t recognize most of the songs, but just reading the titles made her blush.

“Mr. Tumnus? Did you happen to see who left this on my desk?” She held up the cassette so he could see. He shook his head.

“No, sorry.”

Other students started to trickle in and soon the bell rang, no trace of Edmund. It wasn’t uncommon for him to skip this class, it was basically pointless, but it made Y/N sad every time he wasn’t there.

The door swings open and a drenched Edmund steps into the classroom. Without even looking up, Mr. Tumnus addresses him.

“You’re late again, Mr. Pevensie.”

“Sorry, I got stuck behind a group of Sophmore girls who wouldn’t move.”

“In the rain?” Mr. Tumnus raised an eyebrow.

“No, if it was in the rain I would be wet right now, sir.”

He plopped into his seat and started raking his hands through his wet hair. His cheeks were slightly rosey, as were his nose. His lips were pinker than usual and they stayed slightly parted. Hair stuck to his forehead as he ran his fingers ran through it and the hair on the nape of his neck dripped down his back. Y/N had to stop herself from staring at him with her jaw unhinged.

“What’s that?” He whispered, noticing the open present on Y/N’s desk. He had taken up sitting horizontal in his chair at all times so he could more easily talk to Y/N.

“It’s a mixtape. It was left on my desk when I got here,” Y/N responded and handed him the note. Edmund took it and began to read; his eyes scanned the paper and his lips moved slightly as he read. Y/N couldn’t help her this time, so she allowed herself to stare. His lips were always so pink and so puffy. She fantasized about how soft they must be.

“Wow, looks like someone really likes you,” He comments, placing the paper back on her desk. “Do you have a cassette player?”

Y/N didn’t even consider that. Who the hell has a cassette player in the year 2020? Apparently, her answer was evident on her face, and Edmund chuckles. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a walkman and a pair of earbuds.

“Here, you can have mine. I got a new one last month and I don’t really use this one as much.”

Oh, Edmund has a cassette player in the year 2020.

Y/N smiled, taking the player from his hand. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Wouldn’t want you to miss out on those songs. Whoever made that has good taste, you’re lucky.”

When Y/N got home tonight, she took out her walkman. It sat easily in her palm, just big enough for the cassette to fit inside. On the bottom, “E.P.” was scratched into the plastic. She smiled and put her mixtape inside.

As she listened, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Edmund. They had grown much closer in the past few months, even going lengths to hang out outside of school. Y/N learned that not only was Edmund extremely intelligent, but he was the funniest person Y/N had ever met. He always had a sarcastic comeback or joke to offer her, no matter the subject. He had also let many of his walls down, letting Y/N get to know him better. It all felt so comfortable and natural. No longer was he just the cute guy from Music Appreciation, but he was the pain in the ass that Y/N had fallen for. And Y/N had fallen hard.

Against her first impression of the mixtape, Y/N had actually heard all of these songs. After the first day in January, Edmund had lent her his earbuds near-daily and she would listen to whatever he played for her. Her eyes widened.

Why would Edmund carry around a cassette player he didn’t use? And to school for that matter? And the note; it was typed because Edmund had such distinct handwriting! Y/N rewound the cassette and listened to it again. Why didn’t she realize in the moment?

“Hello, Y/N,” Edmund greeted in the parking lot the morning, he happened to park next to Y/N. He gripped the coffee in his hand and got his backpack in the trunk. “How are you on this fine morning?”

“Tired, I stayed up, like, half the night listening to that cassette I got yesterday.” Y/N slung her own backpack over her shoulder. He closed his trunk and locked his car.

“Yeah? And what did you think?” The two started walking towards the building.

“I thought that the songs all sounded oddly familiar.”

Edmund took a long sip of his coffee. “Like you’ve heard them before?”

“Mmhm,” Y/N hummed and walked onto campus. She held one of the straps of her backpack as she walked. “Almost as if this dumbass guy I know played them for me a while back,” Y/N’s voice was teasing and light.

“Yeah? Who is this guy?” Y/N stopped walking and looked up at Edmund.

“Thanks for the mixtape, Ed.”

“Whaaaat...just because this guy has great taste in love songs doesn’t mean it was me. I’m flattered though, really,” Edmund took another long sip of his coffee.

“Oh, what a pity. I actually got excited when I figured out it was you. Considering normal people don’t just carry cassette players in their backpacks. Especially not ones they don’t use anymore.” Y/N’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Excited?”

“Yeah. I’ve kinda liked that Edmund guy for a while, but he doesn’t like me back so…”

“You like me back?” Edmund was grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, babe, I like you back. I have since October since I started letting you borrow my comics,”

Edmund placed his coffee on a bench and pulled Y/N closer to him by the hips.

“October, huh?” Y/N smiled bashfully at Edmund’s tone but nodded.

“What? You’re cute, I couldn’t help myself. Plus, now you make me cute mixtapes.”

Edmund leans down and places his lips against hers. They were just as soft as she had imagined. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers quickly finding the hairs at the nape of his neck. He pulls away and leans his forehead against hers.

“Be my girlfriend, then?”

“You nerd,” Y/N took a small step forwards and pecked his lips again. “I would love to.”

#edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund x reader #edmund pevensie fanfic #edmund pevensie fanfiction #king edmund the just #king edmund #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #the chronicles of narnia fanfic #the chronicles of narnia fanfiction #modern au #fluff #c.s. lewis #c. s. lewis #skandar keynes #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction

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seostudios · 4 years

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happy without me: all about luv - h.rj

ALL ABOUT LUV ‣ HAPPY WITHOUT ME

just face it, she’s happy without you. but i don’t believe it, is she really?

paring: huang renjun x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 2.5k

info: exes to lovers!au, non-idol!au, college!au, cousin!jaemin

warnings: sensitive themes, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, toxic relationship, mention of rape and sexual assault, sexual assault, explicit/vulgar language

tag list: @jenotation @luvlyjaemin @woofie-nctzen-fanarts-320 @tzuqui @sunnyrenjunnie @nino7011 @thatanonymousgirl-as14 @minhehe @chrspychan @jimelonji @mykokorobeats4u @aminihhj @jeonjungkat @wishfulldreamss @ilymarkchan @ja3hy4n @beautifulbakerycookiegiant @jisungiepwark52 @sharamanne @commentgirl @littlefluu @chicksung @lixseu @jenosgirlllll

a/n: i’m sorry this is so short i did renjun dirty :( i got writers block writing it but it’s ok! ill do better on the next one which is chenle or jeno (prolly jeno) i gotta chekc but yay finally part 2 to all about luv

APRIL IN JEJU

It's been 7 months since you've parted ways with your first love. You two were the supposed high school sweethearts of your year so it confused most of the other students when they found out. Renjun and you were meant for one another but the fact he decided on attending SKKU since had received a scholarship for his outstanding academic records, he couldn't turn down the offer and was determined on enrolling however you were attending Cheju Halla University which was all the way in Jeju City. That was a 55-minute plane ride away from Renjun! Avoiding the future relationship problems to come from long-distance you two would most likely face, the breakup was mutual and you two parted ways at the airport indulging in a rather pitiful hug.

Here you were, walking through the Department of Equine Science, trailing behind your friends Soomin and Mina. It was the first time you decided to skip class and it was thrilling in your opinion, "Come on, they're waiting!" Soomin whisper-yelled. They?

You make sure to ask her who 'they' were since you and Mina weren't standing dumbfounded and possibly in trouble. "The volleyball team dummy," Soomin says skipping to past the classrooms into Gym A. It brought you back to the old times, visiting Renjun during Soccer practice, making sure he's well-fed and not overworked. Quickly snapping out of it you join the girls on the bleachers to cheer on the boys. Although you are able to tell people you've moved on from your first love, you've spent restless nights looking back at your messages, pictures just reminiscing the past.

The butterflies he's caused you still flutter every now and then hoping their commotion was heard and you've finally made the big move back to Seoul but sadly you haven't gotten up and gone yet.

Tonight you were preparing for a mini-quiz, it so happened that Mina shared the class with you. Scheduling a sleepover at Soomin's place here you all are sitting in her living room stuffing your faces with whatever salty and sweet treats her mom had bought. "Oh. My. God." Mina tells you after reading your DM request on Instagram, "What?" you ask confused over what she thought was so extraordinary. She motions Soomin to look at your earning a surprised what the fuck from the girl. "Min-fucking-Ho wants to DM you... He's like one of the hottest guys in our division and has never been seen with a girl so wanting to text you definitely a what the fuck moment. You shake your head before opening the DM request..."He's asking me out for dinner?" You say which Soomin demands you to accept the offer before he moves on. "You've gotta move on from Renjun you know? He won't come by swooping you by the legs asking you for his hand in marriage. He's all the way in Seoul Y/n, I'm pretty sure he's moved on by now with someone else it's time you do too. Now hand e your phone so I can tell him you want to go on that date." Mina tells you after you attempt to reject Minho. She gave you the truth even if it hurt (a lot), you sigh in defeat handing over your phone.

"Can't believe you're going on a date with Minho," Soomin says watching Mina type away. "I know right, lucky girl" Mina replies as you nod.

APRIL IN SEOUL

Meanwhile, at SKKU Renjun's majoring in Arts & humanities. Languages, Literature & Linguistics which has been taking up most of his time keeping his mind off his recent split. He was devastated the first week but had to obviously push it aside if he wanted extraordinary marks just like in high school, even if he wanted his thoughts to be occupied with your figure in his head he simply couldn't know his classes were paying attention to him along with the other honor students that attended on a scholarship.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Jeno, Renjun's only friend at Sungkyunkwan asked. He's got to know Renjun for who he was today but he's never really opened up about his life before University. Jeno noticed Renjun staring at your recent Instagram post for a little too long to not think you were at least flirting in direct messages. "No," He said quick and panicky before shoving his phone back into his pocket, after relaxing he turns to Jeno. "She's my ex, we broke up 7 months ago." Jeno's mouth goes agape momentarily in realization, "Why? If you don't mind me asking..." He asked the smaller boy beside him. "She went to Jeju for University when SKKU was just a 20-minute train ride from our neighborhood," Renjun replied with a scoff recollecting the memory of the day you told him you got accepted into Cheju Halla. Jeno nods understandingly deciding to continue studying instead of riling him up.

JULY IN JEJU

A full three months have passed and you were still in the first place you were in back in April, heartbroken. Although a lot of things have drastically changed since April it had only made you feel worse about yourself. For starters, you've been 'dating' Minho since April even if you realized on the first date he had only wanted you to fulfil his sexual desires. He's strung his act long enough and you've tried breaking up with the boy for a month now but he won't let you, he's always threatening you "I'll tell the school what type of whore you are." or something about inflicting pain on someone close to you like Soomin or Mina, which is why you've kept quiet for about the last three weeks.

You were in pulled harshly by the arm by Minho as he pulled you into the supply closet of the Gymnasium, “Minho, I don’t want you to touch me there,” You politely ask the boy who’s currently taking advantage of his supposed spouse. “I don’t even want to date you! Why do you keep acting like this- Let go!” You whisper-yell to Minho who’s trailing his hands up and in between your thighs. "Shut up," He simply tells you before snaking his hand to your mouth shutting you up as you let out a choked cry.

JULY IN SEOUL

"She looks so happy with that Minho, right?” Renjun asked Jeno, scrolling through your tagged post. “I mean from what we know yeah,” He tells him. Renjun sighs, he knew he would genuinely be happy for you if you moved on but it had seemed rather quick. "It's almost been a year, she's moved on. Why don't you?" Jeno asked innocently. Renjun had a gut feeling of some sort; telling him not to move on and instead of ignoring it like you (which brought you nowhere since you're still deeply in love with him) did he's just kept a close eye on you. Shaking his head no he tells Jeno, "Something isn't right about.." He lifts the phone to the photo of you and Minho, Mina had tagged you in, "That."

DECEMBER IN JEJU

"I promise I'll text you, I just need to get off this freaking island for winter break at least." You tell Mina and Soomin on Face-time, "Okay we will miss you! How did Minho take this? It's your first Christmas together and you leave?" She asked worriedly. You mumble a fuck before looking at the camera. "I didn't tell him," You say earning gasps from the two. "He's your boyfriend though.." Soomin said; "Who doesn't treat me like a fucking human being." Your words were strong, rippling a wave of awkwardness, "I'm fine by the way I’m staying with my cousin Jaemin, but if I don't come back it’s cause he spoilt me into staying."

DECEMBER IN SEOUL

"Merry Almost Christmas!" Renjun screeches before entering his shared apart with his new friend group, Jeno had introduced Renjun to his best pal, Jaemin and Renjun had taken in a very lonely Haechan later introducing him to the two. Today they were all celebrating their first Christmas together with a classic holiday film and cupcakes every day until Christmas.

"Guys we have a guest today!" Jaemin sings opening the door widely to show a shorter girl beside the boy with a suitcase in hand.

"What are you doing here?" Renjun and you said simultaneously as you locked eye contact. "I'm visiting Jaemin, my cousin." You tell him hands moving into the air to point towards the boy, "I am Jaemin's roommate." He responded before getting up from the couch brushing off the crumbs off his lap before walking towards the door to stand in front of you. He hadn't grown any taller still rocking his tiny 5'7 figure, but tall enough to tower over you, who hadn't grown since freshman year.

"She's here." Jeno tells Renjun who's head is under the pillow, "She's here." Jeno repeats, "She's here, She's here," Renjun whispered to himself taking it all in. He always wished for you to get off the fucking island go back into his arms, transferring to SKKU, knowing you had the skill to land a spot without hesitation, but finally seeing you after 10 months of no contact was frightening to him. Why did you seem so brittle? You looked pained, it wasn't his job to care about you anymore, but he couldn't help himself. He loved you more than himself and there's a (humongous) chunk of him that still did. Renjun gets up and sits crisscrossed on the single bed across from Jeno's bed where he was idling on his phone laying down "She's here but she's not here." He said which caught Jeno's attention, his face wrinkling in confusion. "She's not okay, something's wrong. I know it," He finishes getting up to walk out to you- who's catching up with Jaemin in the kitchen while preparing for dinner, stopping immediately as a rush of nerves came over him telling him to stop.

"Hope you boys like Hotteok!" You said facing Jeno and Haechan who were smiling in awe of your cooking skills, "I know Injun and Jaems like it so I made it tonight." You cheerfully smile towards the other two boys. “Glad to see you remembered,” It took a lot for Renjun to even say a sentence to you without having a gaze on you for a little too long afterwards.

It was his chance, he walked out of the bedroom the moment he saw you walk by his door towards the guest room. "Can I come in?" He asked. "Of course Injun," You couldn't believe yourself, being so calm and comfortable with all the tension. Had it really been ten months? He thought to himself as he sat beside you on the bed. "So," He rubbed his thighs nervously "How've you been?" Horrible. You stare down at the carpet admiring it while you figure a way to lie to the boy who knew you better than you knew yourself. "Fine, I've been..." You sigh avoiding eye contact, "Fine." He looks at you concerned, "You can't lie to me Y/n." Grabbing your hand caressing it for a second knowing it relaxed you a bit in tough scenarios. Suddenly your phone began to ring, grabbing to read the caller id. "Oh, should I go?" Renjun asked after reading the contact name 'Minho' "No!" You shouted quickly grabbed his wrist pulling him back down before he walked out. Declining the call you spoke, "I'd talk to you over anyone any day." Damn, when did I get so smooth You mentally note that smirking to yourself slightly watching as Renjun bursted into a frenzy of laughter, "Smooth," He comments.

"So, was that Minho guy...your boyfriend?" He asked in which you replied with a strong No. "Well," You started "A boyfriend is someone who listens to me someone who values my opinions and beliefs. Someone who is truly interested in what you enjoy doing, or what you like most in life and interested in who I am as a person." You pause to see him grab you hand intertwining your hand, quickly signalling you to continue. "Someone who makes me laugh, or trusts me. But more importantly, disrespect me and force me into," Tears collected in your eyes threatening to fall, "Things." Renjun knows what to do to comfort you quickly pulling you into his embrace, melting when you wrap around him, head in the crook of his neck sobbing quietly. "He made me do things Renjun-ah. Horrible things. I hate him so much, I can't break up with him. Figured running away would've been a better option." He strokes your hair telling you it's okay and to relax. He couldn't help but smile though; he was right. He knew, he knew something was off and made it his number one priority to find out what it was, who would've known you would open up and make your first actual conversation with your ex- whom you dated for a nearly all of senior year about the toxic relationship you found yourself in after him.

JANUARY IN SEOUL

"I got to leave tomorrow." You told Renjun, whom you rekindled an old flame with over your stay. C

"Do you think about me sometimes? 'Cause I think about you sometimes" You asked Renjun looking at him from the mirror, as he watched you do your hair for an outing with your cousin. After that night in your bedroom, you decided on hanging out more and became close friends once more. But the butterflies in your stomach didn't leave, instead, they emitted flying more enthusiastically near him, with him. "I don't think about you sometimes 'Cause I think about you all the time," He said, which made you look down to the floor before turning around to face him. "It made me so jealous knowing you were so far away with that disgusting bastard happy without me" He grabs your hand; which you intertwine your fingers with happily a smile dancing upon your lips watching him reciprocate it.

"Stay." He tells you. You cuddle into his embrace as he caressed the top of your head. The two of your legs entangled under the sheets having one of your midnight talks. "You know I can't," You start quickly zipping your mouth not wanting to go any further, "Students who have outstanding academic records, or who have financial difficulties, who have submitted a complete scholarship application," Renjun said, which just made your jaw drop. Did he do his research? "You can still enroll for the second semester which starts in two weeks. Have your friends send your belongings." He finished watching as you lifted yourself up resting your head in your palm. "Really?" You asked, breath taken away to say more. Could you really live here in Seoul? With Renjun? "Yes, I can kick Jeno into the guest room while we can have this room all to ourselves." He kissed the top of your hand watching the cheeky smile erupt from you with giggles. "We can be together." You said- asked to yourself, "We can be together" Renjun tells you before pulling you back.

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rottenprincessshura100 · 3 years

Text

First chapter of Fanfic.

I’m reposting this in case people haven’t read it. This is the first chapter of the fanfic I’ve been working on for years. It started off as just a conversation in my head. What would Mephisto be like in a job interview? If a person met him for the first time, how strange would it be? He’s cunning, manipulative, and of course obviously a demon. Bits and pieces of me are evident in this chapter, i have a background in contemporary arts as does my OC character. (I started off writing what I know.) I thought back to that time when I finished grad school, was completely broke and couch surfing. What time a job would I have done for basic groceries? Pretty much anything.

Anyway...here it is. Feel free to pick apart the writing style. I’m trying to improve and get better at it. ;)

CHAPTER 1

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Well, I hope today's interview will go well.

My student loan papers sat on my kitchen table with ominous foreboding. It was time to pay up.

I won't allow this new job to define my life, and it would be good enough, just for now. Plus, I'd get a chance to spend more time in my studio making art. I just had to impress the academy director during today's interview, and I'd be able to afford some decent groceries in two weeks. That's right, Evie, think positive!

So, what should I wear to this silly thing?

It's a private religious school; that means I should dress as professionally as possible.

I have two suits to my name, so I guess I'll wear a black jacket and a red blouse. Or is the red shirt too much? Yeah, I look like a cocktail waitress.

Back to the closet I go.

Okay, how about the wine-coloured blouse and black jacket? Sensible pants and a pair of heels. Fine.

My hair is a bit harder to work with; it's pinkish-brown. I'm an artist, so I tend to be riskier in my appearance. Today though, I have to clean up—no wild eye-makeup. I need to look like an ordinary boring temp worker that can file paperwork. I pull my hair back into a severe bun, like a schoolmarm or a librarian. Yep, now I look like a vodka aunt in a cheap suit. Effective.

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I drove along the busy narrow streets through True Cross Acadamy town. The school was a place for the well-to-do, and I'm almost embarrassed to park my junky car on the grounds.

Much to my mortification, the car backfired, drawing numerous stares from the crowds of uniform-clad students, practically bursting from every building.

Poor-ass artist alert! Here I am!

I slunk down into the seat, hoping the sun's reflection on the windshield washed out the crimson stain quickly spreading across my pale, freckled face.

After speaking with a guard at the main gate (located at the far end of an ancient drawbridge), he instructed me to drive up a long winding road to the highest point. This so-called town was, in reality, a walled city, consisting of tightly layered buildings in an array of architectural styles, all flawlessly intermixed. It was the oddest urban planning I'd ever seen, either designed by a crazy man or an absolute genius. From my own experience, I find the line between the two decidedly thin in most circumstances.

People from the mainland would often joke that True Cross City would never be completed but renovated in an endless loop. The rumours stated that the school's wealthy director never allowed the construction cranes to cease because it was merely bad luck to stay idle.

I continued my drive through the school campus to the mountain's apex—my job interview scheduled at the golden manor house of Sir Johann Faust on the 5th. The director himself would see me in his private office.

I swallowed back a slight wave of apprehension. I hope this guy isn't some sort of pervert. He most assuredly was eccentric. That I could handle.

I pulled up in front of Faust Palace, and just like the rest of the town, it's unusual. As I parked and exited my car, I'm in the shadow of tall golden spires shining like twin suns. The rest of the building reminds me of a cross between an ancient Greek temple, an art deco apartment and a mythical Arabian kingdom. I wiped my sweaty palms on the sides of my black dress pants, my demeanour full of apprehension.

Yeah, I don't belong here. I've got a bad feeling about this.

At that point, I decided to leave. Yet, I watched with foreboding as a pair of security guards materialized from the shadows and closed the elaborate golden gate, trapping me within the compound. Shit!

I made my way over the interlocking marble slabs to the ornately carved wooden front door with a heavy sigh. Before I'm able to raise my hand to knock, it quickly opens. A short older gentleman greeted me with a nod.

"Miss Evelynn Smith?" He inquired.

"Uh...yes. I'm here for the interview?"

"I am Belial, the keeper of the house. Please follow me; Director Faust will meet with you shortly."

The butler escorted me up a seemingly endless hallway. It was odd that an inconsequential temp worker, like myself, was being given the grand tour.

White marble pillars accented the grand structure, with furniture from various periods arranged throughout the abode in mini tableaus. It seemed more like a museum than someone's house. How very strange!

There were many rooms with identical doors; this place was more like a goddamn labyrinth than a manor house! I hope I can find my way out of here after this interview was over!

I tried to get a feel for my potential boss. Being an artist, I, of course, took in the paintings that hung salon-style from every square inch of walls. There seemed to be an abundance of demons and death themes. How morbid.

Stefan Lochner, The Last Judgment, Vincent Van Gogh, Head of a Skeleton with a Burning Cigarette. But wait? Aren't these all part of museum collections? I'm confused. Are they copies?

Just as the creepy dark artworks start to grate on my nerves, I round the corner into the next hallway and find myself engrossed within a pop art nightmare; wall-to-wall pink Takashi Murakami paintings hung in tandem with Jeff Koons, Made in Heaven.

Jesus! Who the hell was this guy? He's adorned his house in pink flowers and porn stars! Surely the students didn't walk into this hall?

As if on cue, the butler regarded me sheepishly. "Pupils are not permitted in Director Faust's residence. He only grants top members of the Vatican access to his private quarters."

I attempted to hold back my laughter. "So, this is a private religious school ran by the Vatican no-less, and we have trashy kink splashed all over the walls. I gotta say, I'm intrigued."

"The master has a dark sense of humour."

"Understatement of the century."

"This is the master's office," The butler ushered me quickly into a large room. "Please, take a seat. He is running a bit late from a previous meeting."

I turned back toward Belial, but he's long gone. I'm all alone in an empty room.

The office is quite different from the hall and decorated in deep mahogany wood, decidedly masculine. The desk is large and ominous; that is, it would have been if it weren't for the strange little collection of toys and knick-knacks carefully arranged next to the computer. I picked up a pink porcelain rabbit in the palm of my hand and raised an amused eyebrow.

"I'd ask that you do not touch the things on my desk."

Crap!

I hastily placed the toy back on the wooden tabletop and jumped to my feet. A tall, impossibly slender man strolled confidently into the room to greet me. He wore a crisp white suit and a long heavy cape. I shook his purple-gloved hand firmly. As I stared up into his face, I furrowed my brows in confusion.

What the actual fuck?

"Please, take a seat, Ms. Evelynn Smith." He bit his lip and snickered. "Or do you prefer...Eve..."

"Uh...Eve's fine." I replied with hesitation as I slowly eased into the yellow and blue jacquard chair.

I should look away, but I can't. Mr. Faust's hair is an impossible shade of violet purple with platinum highlights that shimmer just at the crown, he has pointed ears, and his teeth are small sharp fangs. He's dressed up like he just got back from Comicon.

Also, what's with that curly plume at the top of his head? Is it some sort of fascinator? Is it a feathered hair ornament? I don't get it.

"Okay, Eve, spill it. What's on your mind?" He rested his chin on his gloved hand and smiled knowingly. "Do I have horns growing out of my head or something?"

"It's just....uh...a great costume." I stammered. " Those ears look so real."

He seemed taken aback for a brief second. "Oh, yes! I'm an Otaku. I've had quite a few physical modifications, and it will all make sense in time."

I nodded slowly. What the hell does that even mean?

"Getting back to your resume...Eve." He finally pulled out my paperwork from a nearby folder. "So, you possess a minor in classics, a minor in philosophy and a master's degree in contemporary art. How intriguing."

"Pardon?"

"This job is for an assistant to the Vatican. Your degree is all about a personal quest for knowledge, not exactly chock-full of practical skills." He crossed his long legs and leaned back in his chair. "Your parents must have been completely disappointed, wasting all of that money. An arts degree instead of a doctor? If there was a wizard school, would you have signed up for that?"

"I paid for my education through scholarships."

He smiled smugly and read a few more pages. "So contemporary art, hmmm? Tell me how you make your artwork. What's the methodology behind it?"

"Well...I tend to work under the idea that the world is in a state of flux. Time isn't static, and we live in a non-linear narrative. I open my mind to thoughts of the impossible, the idea that they might indeed be probable under different subjective conditions. I try to allow play, chance, and chaos into the things that I build. Often by allowing more variables into a composition, we can get closer to the truth of our existence and find a deeper meaning."

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on his desktop.

"I will be candid with you, Eve. I saw some of your work in a gallery in Northern Cross a few months ago. I greatly enjoyed it. You have a very open mind, which is the biggest necessity for this particular position."

"I just noticed your art collection." I countered. "It's not every day that one walks into a room of wall to wall vintage Cicconlina."

"You know your porn stars, I see?" He laughed with a merry twinkle.

"I know my art history."

"Oh...." He razzed. "Distinction made!"

"Director Faust, about this job....."

"Please. Call me, Mephisto." He gushed. "Faust is an old legal family name."

"Mephisto? Really?" I stare at him in confusion. "Your last name is Faust, and you call yourself Mephisto? Am I...?" I stammered. "... Am I walking into Dante's Inferno here?"

"You dare mock my name." He challenged. "Yet, your parents named you after Eve. The woman who was the downfall of man."

Who the hell does he think he is; Literally, devil's advocate?

"Eve decided that knowledge was more important than a paradise of ignorance. I firmly believe that a woman needs to know what she's getting herself into, Mephisto."

"I wholeheartedly agree." His large green eyes narrowed. Mephisto's attention now seemed quite dangerous, almost transfixed to my face. "Knowledge is so critical. It's the most important thing to you. Isn't it?"

"I would say so," I answer slowly. "Without knowledge, life is a waste."

"Eve, do you believe in the paranormal?" He changed the subject abruptly.

"I honestly haven't got the answer to that question."

"Oh, I think you do." He pressed. "You can see quite a few unexplainable things. Am I correct?"

How did he know?

It was like he could see right through me. I've seen weird shit my entire life, but you just don't talk about that sort of awkward nonsense. People would think I was crazy. My experiences had been terrifying, and I suffered alone in silence.

"Eve, what if I told you this job would answer all of your deepest questions? Questions that you cannot answer through traditional science and reason."

"I'd say you were full of shit."

"So says the artist!"

"Touche."

"Getting back to the idea of wizard school, I wasn't ribbing you entirely for fun. This academy is a training facility for exorcists. We use very non-traditional methods for ridding the world of darkness. If you choose to take this job, you will need to suspend your current notions of reality for a modified one."

"You mean I will believe in ghosts, goblins and demonic possession?"

"That's a fundamental understanding, yes. This job will explain the workings of the universe to you. Give you access to the vast knowledge that no other humans are privy to. There is one caveat; however, once you sign a very aggressive contract. You cannot tell anyone about the true nature of our work. Not family or friends, the Vatican takes security extremely seriously."

I started to get cold feet; this is a lot to consider. Am I cut out for the responsibility? This entire meeting was getting stranger by the minute. The job sounded downright ludicrous; the premise piqued my interest, but how could I believe in such nonsense? Plus, the more time I spent with Mephisto, the less human he appeared. Did his pupils just dilate like a cat!?

"You know what's funny?" He stated coyly, his fingers toying with an ornament on his desk. "You voyage into my office and instantly take note of my strange appearance. Most people don't possess the ability to see me for what I truly am. I tell you my legal name is Faust, and my current name is Mephisto. I have artwork depicting demons throughout my lavish abode. Eve, you're intelligent enough to connect all of these dots, and your mind has already solved the puzzle. Yet, your human conditioning tells you to disbelieve the apparent truth sitting directly in front of you."

"The truth?" I stammered.

"I'm a demon, my dear."

I take in his admission with a shocked and irritated face. This guy is a bonafide nutjob.

"I think I've heard just about enough of this Mephisto; this degree of wackiness is far beyond me. I think I'm the wrong person for this position." I stood and prepared to take my leave; only I can't. I'm unable to move a muscle. What the hell is happening? My eyes grow wide with panic.

Mephisto slowly removes his gloves and rests his chin on a black-clawed hand.

"I see. I'll have to prove it to you then. Fair enough, let's give you a little taste, shall we?"

He snapped his fingers, and I'm suddenly surrounded by a hoard of disgusting gremlins, clawing at my ankles with oozing toothy gullets. I saw the same terrifying creatures as a child, invading my daydreams, hiding in the dark shadows when I was alone. I'm so frightened; I can hear the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. It was my worst nightmare brought back to life, these creatures as real and substantial as the floor under my feet. As the horror of the reality became almost too much to bear, suddenly, he was there. Mephisto expelled the creatures one by one into poofs of purple smoke with a simple flick of a finger. I fall back, no longer able to stand, and he catches me quickly. I'm still shaking from the shock as he carefully sits me back into my chair.

"Those creatures have followed you your entire life. As you have gotten older, you've noticed them less, but they were still slowly feeding off your energy. They are quite volatile." He sat demurely on the edge of his desk, swinging his legs playfully. "They won't bother you now though, I've exorcized them from your presence. You see, this is what we do here. We help humans battle the unsavoury monsters from Gehenna."

I sit dumbfounded, rendered speechless with bewilderment. Mephisto continues with our one-sided conversation, unconcerned like this was completely normal. "...The pay for this position is quite handsome for an artist. It's also part-time, which will allow you to continue to work in your studio. You will report here five days a week, from 9 am-2 pm. You will receive correspondence from the Vatican, and you will keep me informed of all inbound information. You will also book and coordinate exorcists for special ops and daily assignments. My butler Belial will train you appropriately."

"Mephisto...I'm..."

"Terrified and disconcerted?" He grinned. "Happens every time I make a new hire."

"I don't think I can't handle all of this."

"Do you think I pick my employees out of thin air? You wouldn't be here if I didn't find you entirely capable. I've researched you extensively. You long for knowledge, and I will provide all of the deepest desires in your quest. All you simply need to do now is agree." He presented me with a contract.

"I don't know," I whispered nervously. "Can I think it over?"

"I haven't the time." He responded with a hint of a smile. "I am a very busy person, you see. It's now or never, my dear."

My rational mind screams for me to jump out of that chair and run from the building. Yet, my desires kept me staring in a trance at the contract. Mephisto presented me with an old-fashioned quill pen. I grasped it with my shaking hand and stared at the bottom line.

"Oh...we need some ink to seal the deal. How silly of me to forget something so important." He took out a silver hatpin from a glass decanter and poked the end of his finger. A river of blood ran along his impossibly pale skin and dripped from the end of his glistening black claw. As it flowed freely into a bronze dish on his desk, I stared in dismay. I can't believe what I'm seeing! Mephisto then gently took my hand and poked the end of my finger. A tiny drop of my blood intermixes with his.

"What the fuck," I whispered hoarsely. "No...I'm not signing this. No way!"

"You will sign." His eyes bore into mine, and I'm once again drawn physically to the contract. I dipped the quill as if hypnotized and slowly write my name.

"Excellent!" He seemed pleased with himself. Meanwhile, I'm totally in a daze and fall back into my chair, suffering from strange exhaustion. Did I just sign a contract in blood?

I stood shakily, preparing to leave.

"Eve, I will see you back here tomorrow morning, bright and early." Mephisto rambled on with a sing-song voice. "Here is some research about me. It will teach you the basics of demons and how to work with them."

Belial is now instantly at the office door, he handed me a stack of books, and I find myself escorted from the building.

I jumped into my car and locked the doors. As I put the car into drive, the transmission lurches forward. The books flutter open on the car seat; the top hardcover was a book about Ancient Demon Classification, followed by a copy of Faust and Dr. Seus, Green Eggs and Ham.

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

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Here’s the link to the rest. ;)

https://www.wattpad.com/711456559-the-interview-a-blue-exorcist-fanfic-the-interview

#fanfic #mephisto pheles #blue exorcist #posting my own content because there is none and I'm sad.

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threeminutesoflife · 4 years

Text

Manipulation Station

Pairings: Snowpiercer Dark!Curtis x Dark!Reader

Warnings: 18+, Snowpiercer movie (movie line*) spoilers, unprotected sex, poisoning.

Summary: Curtis accepts Wilford's offer to lead the train and selects the Reader, the resident executioner for the first class criminals, as he wife.

Written for @jtargaryen18 Dark Curtis Holiday Challenge. The way she writes is an absolute favorite. Read and enjoy her pieces- she's a gifted lady!

Prompt: “I don’t owe you patience or trust.”

Word Count: 10.5k

“Do you think you’ll be safe when I’m gone, dear girl?”

“I can take care of myself, Wilford. I have most of my life.”

“Yes, but you’ll need to sleep sometime.”

Wilford rose from the chair and made his way to the rolling drink cart along the office wall, “You’re great at what you do. You’re an investment to order.” He smiled proudly at you before turning his back to mix a dirty martini. “But when I’m gone, there may be family members looking for revenge. That worries and saddens me deeply. To think I can no longer protect you. Especially after everything you’ve done and all those times you’ve kept order on our sacred engine.”

One.

Two.

Three olives plopped into the glass.

You bit the inside of your cheek at his words, remembering how many past punishments and executions you carried out in Wilford’s name. The many times you were requested to maintain control for him and administer repercussions on the first and second-class passengers.

You were good at it. Maybe too good. Without Wilford’s protection, you’d have to be on constant watch until someone relieved you from your executing position permanently.

“This may not even come to pass, but if it does- I need to know you’ll agree. I need you. He’ll need you. Between you and me, Gilliam reassures me you’re a shoo-in. And I don’t doubt you for a moment, dear,” Wilford raised his glass to toast you before sipping the drink. “Curtis’ll want you on the spot. You’re an extremely important tool. Trust me. You’re more his type than even he realizes.”

“I do trust you,” you replied automatically. “I always have. You’ve protected me and allowed me the pleasure of administering your final word to those ungrateful, sir.”

“Exactly, dear girl. You understand my picture,” Wilford patted your shoulder as he passed by to take a seat. “Our picture. I need you to keep being that important tool. Keep the train on the right track, so to speak.”

He winked at you before biting into an olive.

Lifting a silver dome cover off the platter, Wilford offered you a warm chocolate chip cookie.

“You, my girl,” he said while waggling his selected cookie in air, “know the right kind of structure. And that kind of structure is our right kind of order. Things must remain as they are, the order must remain as it is. But most importantly, you respect it. You’ll teach Curtis to do the same. I need you at his side. Connected in all ways.”

“But marriage? I don’t understand the purpose, Wilford. It seems unnecessary, we’re forever on this train-”

“He’ll have too much power if he makes to the front. I need you to harness your husband, show him how good things are up here. Let him see what he’s been missing, let him feel like you and him are a united front. You two will be the face of what structure must be, an example and reminder of what was and should be. To keep the structure, you must be structured.”

You coughed slightly around the cookie locked between your lips. Working with someone upon Wilford’s request was one thing, but annexing yourself to another person… What was the purpose of that? But there was a small voice growing louder in your head, reminding you that you needed to be on Curtis’ side if you wanted to survive longer than Wilford’s burial rites. Still, having to give up your freedom completely…

“Why marriage when I can simply work for him- like I do for you, sir?”

“Call me old fashion or an engineer of the future,” Wilford explained further, chucking regally at his choice of words. “Either way, I want you both devoted to each other and the train. Standards and images must be upheld, dear girl. You two will be married and form a united front- for generations to come. We need a little more Norman Rockwell than Kathe Kollwitz.”

Only receiving your silence to his humor, Wilford could tell you were not entirely on board with the marriage role. Why would useless established legalities of marriage be necessary in the confines of a wayward world? It wouldn’t.

Yes, he could easily weave the loom to have you aligned with Curtis as a business partner, but Wilford always liked a bit of extra flair. One extra churn from the pepper grinder for his food. You giving in and agreeing to an unnecessary marriage to Curtis, especially forgoing all reluctance to do so, would reassure Wilford of your loyalty to the train even when he’d no longer be in charge.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

He was determined to present the marriage to you in a way you wouldn’t be able to refuse for long. And fear was always a great motivator.

Classics were classic for a reason.

Wilford needed you linked with Curtis. He needed you alive. You were the key; one easy twist in a locked situation that would open resolution. Wilford needed to reward Curtis’ efforts for his revolt and still ensure his ideal vision of the train remained steadfast. You would be the soothing balm to both their burns.

Making sure you were taken care of when Wilford retired was not an act of deep affection or fatherly love, but rather an earned promotion.

A reward for your years of service and delivery of results. Your safety and success would be ensured if you remained in a powerful position. With you safe, you would continue to reap and sow order throughout the train. Your results exponential.

Wilford knew everyone’s history aboard his train. It was his way to keep all things in place, all order- organized and properly named.

Before Wilford gave you passage on the train, you were a gifted student winning science awards and scholarships; catching Wilford’s attention with your potential by winning one of his sponsored grants. Years later when he reviewed your file, the idea of an executioner position bloomed in his brain. He knew you would do perfectly, a vixen face with a delight for mixing chemicals.

Wilford knew human nature had its moments of people falling back to their more animalistic tendencies. But he thought the front end-ers still deserved a more humane and posh way of dealing with crime. Executions did not have to be so graphically unappealing.

Imagine is everything, and who better to administer those punishments than a charming lady? Afterall, the first-class passengers did pay an absorbent amount of money for the privileged to ride his train. Fine taste should be given and enjoyed- even until the final stop.

“Dear girl, this inconvenient uprising may not even become too successful. More than likely, it will end shortly after it’s begun, or when the tallies add up to the necessary sum. However, if there’s a hail mary of achievement, I need to know you agree. When you do, I’ll tell him to allow you to keep your position as executioner. That your role is needed as a giver of dignified death. Besides, I know you, dear girl. I know how much you need that outlet. How that power sings to you and helps ease your cabin fever. That hobby allows you to slip away for a moment- I don’t want you to be denied that peace in the future. Besides, a gift like yours? A gift like you? It would hard for Curtis to deny you much.”

“Is that all though?” Frowning at your cookie and picking away at a chip, smearing and streaking the soft chocolate across the pristine plate. “To keep-”

“You’ve known about the train’s unique replacement parts and protein bars. The careful balance needed to keep the wheels running on this godforsaken frozen track. The balance needed to be kept order between the tail and front ends. You see how kronole is supplied to keep residents distracted. You’re the someone who knows what really goes on, and most importantly, you’ve always reacted positively to my orders and vision. Don’t let me lose you, I want to keep you safe. I need you to do this for me, my dear girl. Agree and marry Curtis. If he makes it- you are my backup plan, my little piece of salvation. Protect him, so I can in turn protect you when I’ve retired. Humor an old man with his old ways.”

“Why not Claude?”

“She’s not the right choice for this. He won’t choose her, especially since she’s the one who measures the parts. You’re my ace in the hole, dear girl. Gilliam and I both agree. Curtis is going to favor you out of the others.”

You took a moment to think of Wilford’s proposition. Keep the order, help steer the new conductor- do what you’re always enjoyed. After all, Wilford just wants you to remain safe. There was a part of you still unsure about the arranged marriage. The idea of it being legal or not, it was unnecessary but you knew Wilford liked to make a show of things. You were tempted to ask more questions, but then you looked Wilford in the eyes.

This was your protector.

His benevolence and care saved you. His vision kept you alive.

Wiping your hand across the linen napkin, you agreed, “I’ll do it. I owe you my life and safety. You’ve allowed me to test my poisons and feed my creativity, sir. The train will remain balanced. First-class shall remain proper, even in their deaths as you’ve always said.”

Wilford winked at you before biting into the soft treat, “Excellent. We shouldn’t be savages to our own, dear girl.”

~~~

When rumors of the impending revolt drew closer, Wilford reminded you of your role in the contingency plan.

When the revolt birthed as fact, Claude collected you with a bit of blood still on her face as she told you Wilford needed to discuss what was happening immediately.

There were no warm chocolate chip cookies offered this time as you asked what spurred the revolt on quicker than what was anticipated, “Why now?”

Claude scoffed behind you, “Idiot. As if animals need a reason.”

The two of you always were odd acquaintances; a mutual honor among thieves that was heavily seasoned with mutual dislike. Stiffening in your seat and gathering your tolerance in with a deep breath, you waited for Wilford’s answer.

“It escalated when Claude went to measure and retrieve a new part.”

“So, he claims ownership of the part?” You quickly inquired. You didn’t think to ask Wilford earlier if Curtis had family of his own before you agreed to all this.

Wilford’s smile stretched broadly at your phrasing, claiming ownership. Yes, he was very pleased you had the right mentality.

Claude’s eyes darted between you and Wilford, hating how he viewed you a blue ribbon breeding bitch for his soon-to-be prized stud.

Trying to regain ground and favor, Claude chimed in confidently, “They are nothing, they own nothing. Wilford is the sole owner.”

Intrigued to see where this potential debate may lead, Wilford picked up his spoon and returned to enjoying the decadent chocolate mousse he started before your arrival.

Dinner theatre, he mused to himself. How he missed attending those outings.

Not bothering to correct or address Claude to her face, you stared straight ahead in Wilford’s direction, “They are not nothing, Claude. They have a role and a purpose. Perhaps, they have even more importance than a glorified bed warmer? Or even a polite poisoner? Without them fucking like animals, as you said, we wouldn’t have replacement pieces. Without their role and purpose, the sacred engine would fail and we would perish.”

Her silence gave you a small satisfaction.

Turning in your seat, you looked at her now, “Tell me Claude. If the sacred engine ever stops due to lack of replacement parts and you’re frozen, when your vagina’s as cold as your heart, who’s bed could you possibly warm then?”

Claude shot out of her seat, fully intending to warm the surface of table by smashing the side of your face down onto it as she stalked over towards your direction.

“Sit down, Claude!” Wilford pulled the silver spoon of his mouth and pointed it at her.

“But she-“

Wilford steamrolled over Claude’s protest, “Better yet, make better use of yourself. Get me and my guest another serving of dessert. Wait in the kitchen until I phone for you.”

Silence hung in the air as you felt Claude’s stare burn into the back of your head.

Finishing off the last bit of dessert, Wilford gave her another pointed look as the spoon knocked against the glass bowl, “Kitchen, Claude.”

With every stomp echoing out the boxcar, you knew she was plotting your demise.

“I’m almost looking forward to retirement. Refereeing you two is a task in itself.”

“Sorry, Wilford.”

“Nevermind about that, just remember our deal.”

“Always, sir.”

“You never did ask what he looks like,” Wilford stated.

You quirked an eyebrow, “Who?”

“Curtis, Mrs. Everett.” Wilford supplied with a wink.

“Loyalty’s blind. It doesn’t matter, I’ll do what you asked.”

“Hmm, love is also blind, dear girl,” Wilford pulled a piece of paper out from his coat pocket and slid it across the table. “Had this sketched for you, but details aren’t the best with it being done over the broadcast screen. Meet your husband.”

Unfolding the paper, you held no expectations. Hope was a stranger in a make-believe land at this point. But your hands stilled at attempting to flatten the page’s creases as you looked down at a pair of fierce, cutting eyes.

So this was Curtis Everett. The artist drew him in several different poses. Some standing and talking, while in other sketches he was sitting and silently watching. Each piece displayed an attractive man with an air of determination and raw intensity. Albeit a bit broken.

Nodding a thank you to Wilford, you refolded the sketches and placed them in your lap.

~~~

As Curtis began his venture to the head of the train, you and six uniquely different women were gathered in a designated boxcar to wait and see if the Curtis Revolution proved to be successful.

“You’ll remain here until further notice,” Claude informed the women in her care. “Don’t think about leaving. If something happens to you, you’re on your own.” Claude held her gaze on you specifically with that last part. “Wilford had the seamstress supply fancier dresses, pick one from the racks to wear later if things progress. Here are your numbers, pin them on yourself when the time comes. We’ll need to differentiate you somehow.”

“Because names wouldn’t help with that?” you asked dryly.

“Be quiet,” Claude hissed back.

Number Six squeezed her paper namesake with excitement, “Oh, new clothes. Magnifique! Look at how luxurious those evening gowns are. Oh, so dreamy! It’ll be like we’re on the red carpet for an awards show.”

You looked at Six in disbelief, how were you supposed to survive being cramped in this small room with people like her?

Hurry up, Curtis. Win or lose- make it quick.

“Red carpet?” asked number Three, the only train baby of the group.

“Be quiet, I don’t have time for stupid questions and even dumber people,” said Claude.

“Always so pleasant to be around you, Claude.”

“Shut up,” she sneered back at you as the other ladies silently slipped away.

You weren’t sure if the other women ignored your exchange with Claude because everyone was familiar to the open hostility between you two, or if they simply weren’t interested in anything that didn’t concern them directly. With the upper class mentality, you assumed it was the latter.

Blowing a kiss at Claude, you picked up one of the books that were put out beside the drinks and cheese tray.

Everything you’ve known for the last seventeen years hung in the balance, and the six other ladies didn’t have a single fret line across their foreheads. Here you were, waiting to see what the train’s fate might be and the others couldn’t tear themselves away from the servings of special occasion Gouda. Perhaps you weren’t much better, you thought as you ran your hand along the book’s embossed hardcover.

Boiling at the air kiss you threw, Claude cut through the racks of delivered dresses. Kicking an extra box of high heels out of her way, she ripped the book out of your hand.

“My, my, Claude. I see you’ve been working out. Manhandling baby-sized parts really improved your strength,” you antagonized while sitting down and crossing your legs.

Openly laughing at Claude’s temper only set her anger off more as she spat out her next words, “You’re a fucking bitch. I can’t wait to see him fail. When he doesn’t make it, you’ll be left behind right where you are. A discarded napkin on top a dirty pile of dinner plates. Stuck to remain a polite poisoner until you’re ended.”

Mocking your earlier words to her, she smirked at you for what she deemed a clever line. With your nose in the air, you blatantly eyed her from head to toe without responding. You slowly uncrossed your legs and gracefully leaned forward, a look of predatory smugness to your features when you saw her tense up. Suddenly, you snatched the book back out of her hands. Keeping your eyes locked on her, you opened the book and cracked the book spine into submission. Slowly, steadily you raised the book from your lap until it fully covered your chin, then your nose, and then your eyes from her view.

Behind the book’s binding you called out, “Claude, why do you continue to test me when you’re fully aware of how potent my poisons can be- and how well I can mix them into your meals? Don’t make me poison you at your next tea party.”

Claude was about to deliver a counter-threat when the phone hidden behind the wall seal rang. You both knew Wilford was watching, he always was.

“Ah, that ringing bell would be for you, dear Claude. Try not to slip on your saliva when you run to answer your master’s call, little dog,” you teased behind a copy of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

As Claude left, you listened to the other women gossip around the snack table. Wilford enjoyed keeping certain cards to his chest and your competition was a hand he didn’t want to show entirely. He said you’d be Curtis’ pick, so why give away unimportant details?

But you liked to be more practical. Knowing details, even little ones, helped you aim for the artery when plotting.

As they conferenced around the snack platter, you overheard why they agreed to participate in Wilford’s selection game and become a tail end-er’s wife. Some needed to repay their family’s debts or their own, others wanted to climb up in rank and gain as much power as possible. A shared answered was wanting a change of scenery on this limited-option train.

They were all lovely women in their own right. If Curtis ran the gauntlet successfully, he’d be rewarded with choosing one of you seven, shiny-eyed brides-to-be.

But as you looked over the options, you couldn’t help but think that your train deserved better. Especially since their only concern at the moment was to consume more Gouda.

The sounds of guards rushing down the aisle of the waiting car snapped you out of your dairy assessment. There was a part of you hoping Curtis would be successful. A small side tempted by the curiosity of what it meant to have a new conductor responsible for the sacred engine. But you were more worried on how a new conductor might not have the same vision as Wilford.

Wilford assured you Curtis would view the world as he did. Wilford believed Curtis to be his successor. So you reminded yourself: Trust in Wilford, so you can trust in Curtis.

But with your curiosity peeked, you left the room of selected women to check-in with the closest guard post. Frowning when you found the post empty, you were about to return to the waiting room when the monitor screen caught your eye. Figures on the grainy monitors showed guards wearing tactical attire as the train barreled to the bridge and into a new year. Masks covered their faces, minimizing human features so their anonymity would be more threatening.

The broadcast feed was not the best quality but you saw a tall man in the middle of the rebel pack on the other monitor. He matched Wilford’s sketch. The size of the group by him was much larger than you expected. Knowing the outcomes of the earlier revolts and rebellions, you thought this revolution would be another failure. Even with those determined, intense eyes of his. Internally scoffing at the idea you would become a widow before you were even married.

Honestly, despite Wilford’s backup plan for Curtis, you didn’t actually think it’d be possible for a tail end-er to make it this far. But there on the screen showed a massive number of rebels. How many more backend boarders were there?

Even with soil and blood-encrusted on him, the man was an attractive leader. You couldn’t help to grin slightly at the feral look plastered across Curtis’ face. Perhaps you had more in common with the third-class revolutionist than you realized.

Leaning into the screen as the attack played out, your breath fogged the monitor as you watched Curtis decide between obtaining his goal to capture Mason or save a fellow man. At the end of the slaughtering and witnessing Curtis’ choice of fatality, you were content with your agreement to Wilford’s chess game of marriage.

Turning away from the monitors, you slipped back into the waiting room to enjoy some Gouda.

Time seemed to pass slowly until Claude dropped off another tray of fruit and ordered everyone to get ready immediately, “Don’t leave this room. It’s too late to stop what’s happened, and now it’s your turn to help the train. I’ll be back shortly to lead you to the selection.”

The sound of the door closing behind her was like a gun sounding the start of a race. Six ladies frantically ran around the room crashing into one another, ripping garments off hangers and knocking items on the ground.

Rolling your eyes at the costume change commotion, you slipped out the door in hopes to eavesdrop on Wilford. After seeing Curtis on the monitor, you fantasized how or if he would accept his new role. Would he be curious and interested in the idea of being able to select a wife, or would he decline it?

---

“’…hold a woman with both arms…*’” Wilford jested.

Curtis looked so broken, nerves and bones exposed. The look of pain filling his eyes and the wordless shock of betrayal and disbelief across his face was not how you pictured this moment for him. Well, you pictured there would be shock, but not this level of absolute destruction.

Something happened to you then as you absentmindedly rubbed your breastbone, a dull ache starting to grow. This man, who was glorious and furious only a short time ago, now looked lost and lifeless. The dull pain continued along your bone and you could almost ignore the pain until he looked over at the wall you were spying behind. It felt like he knew you were there, pinning you in place with his agony as your own discomfort bloomed in your chest. The longer his eyes were in your direction, the more your chest hurt.

But that was crazy, you thought, of course he couldn’t see you. None of them knew you were there listening. Turning away from the hiding spot, you continued to rub your sternum as you made the way back to the ladies.

Reentering the room and seeing the group of potential wives was surreal; how the state of him and his clothes compared to the state of this self-indulgent mock harem. You knew Curtis’ story from Wilford’s files and the small-time you saw his takeover on screen. But to see the vast difference and pain of someone you might align yourself with while they stood before your own eyes- that was somewhat stomach-churning. Even for you.

Normally, you would capitalize on weakness. But Curtis’ pain had the opposite effect on you. Instead of the urge to squeeze, you wanted to hold.

Sitting down before the vanity, you observed the girls behind you in the mirror. Only two looked anxious about the upcoming selection. The other numbers looked like they were having an afternoon away, a short reprieve from the pressures of planning a charity fundraiser.

Number four looked high, kronole you suspected. Thank goodness she was wearing slip-ons. The state she was in you weren’t sure if she’d able to tie her own laces.

Looking at the candidates and remembering Curtis’ grief, your chest dully ached again. For a moment, you thought perhaps the two anxious girls understood the weight of the situation. But the longer everyone stayed in the waiting room, the more you overheard that their nervous whispers were only reservations in having to be in close quarters with a tail end-er.

None of these “I’ll write you a check” girls would do. They wouldn’t last against how feral and pained Curtis seemed. The train wouldn’t benefit with any of them by his side.

You clutched the lipstick case tighter in your hands as your thoughts swirled- none of these lunching ladies could steer Curtis the way the sacred engine deserved.

Despite Wilford’s promise of the selection being in your favor, seeing what Curtis could possibly select instead filled you with enormous dread for the train’s future. These women’s lack of ability and influence over Curtis would never do. They wouldn’t be able to protect him, wouldn’t be able to keep order on the train; Wilford’s vision would flatline.

You were not going to let one of these girls take your place with Curtis and squander the responsibility to keep the train stable. If Wilford believed there was something special about Curtis- that was enough for you to believe, too.

Looking over the inadequate girls, you selected Curtis for yourself.

Wilford reassured you were already Curtis’ type through Gilliam’s late-night chats and catching Curtis’ eye would easy, but you knew holding Curtis’ attention was another matter entirely. A man covered in filth day-in and day-out with limited choices and harsh conditions. You couldn’t imagine how overwhelming everything new must be to him. How everything shiny couldn’t be trusted.

Squinting at your appearance in the mirror, you pondered and planned. Reevaluating the competition, you examined yourself- clothes pressed, hair styled, makeup freshly painted- just like them.

Dropping your lipstick, you wiped your lips harshly and removed your eye makeup. Wetting a towel you wiped your neck, freeing your skin from the perfume. Fresh and clean-faced, you were slightly different than the other artistically painted ladies. Perhaps more approachable? You changed into the most modest evening gown you could find.

Claude opened the door and called for the seven of you to line up.

Taking the fifth spot in line, you waited for her next instructions. Claude surveyed over the seven offerings she was about to bring Wilford and stopped when seeing you. Running her eyes over you, she pursed her lips together.

Spinning on her heels, she called out while leaving the room, “Follow me, hurry up.”

~~~

When you floated in single file into the boxcar and lined up before Wilford, Curtis noticed you immediately. Weak from the fight, or from seeing you- a reminder of a life before the snow and ice, he stumbled slightly when stepping forward. You embodied the type of woman he fantasized about before CW-7 wiped out the world. And he began to feel an attraction he didn’t think he’d feel again.

As he walked closer to the numbered selection, Curtis stopped in front and looked each woman in the eye to see how they’d react to a lowly, dirty, tail end-er. A tail end-er who was now demanding respect. Counting the beats, he stared them down and waited to see if their movements gave way to any hints of judgment.

Option One seemed to be uncomfortable in her own skin, nervously rubbing the long sleeves of her dress. Was she nervous about the situation or him? Regardless, she wouldn’t do.

Number two was not his type, although she did hold her head high and make eye contact with him for the full time. Perhaps she’d be a civil option.

Three’s nostrils flared as soon as Curtis leaned into her view. Eliminated.

Four, well, he wasn’t sure if Four even knew what day it was, let alone where or why she was here. Discounted.

Five, Curtis tried to remind himself not to show how he already favored you from across the boxcar. Because up close, he wasn’t sure he could remain stoic in front of you for long. An odd feeling of being lost and found was stirring around his gut at the moment.

This foreign, mixed feeling made Curtis frown slightly before he was able to school his features. Seeing Curtis’ frowned reaction to you, Wilford made a small step forward towards the lineup. His own worry slightly showing before he was able to place back his mask for benevolent indifference. Claude gripped the gun in her pocket tighter, gleeful that you might fail Wilford and not gain a higher position.

Curtis never had any use for poetry but here you were right in front of him, something so incredibly unattainable that was now so easily in his grasp. The accessibility to having you made him unsure of himself. He was drawn to you when you entered the room, but having you so close, he knew he’d choose you. Fresh-faced and different from the others, you quirked an eyebrow and tilted your head slightly at him as if you ask, “yes?”

Curtis bit the inside of his cheek, trying to ground himself and not give away his interest. As he did with the earlier numbers, he crowded into your personal space and stared, hard.

His mistake, because that was the instant a voice whispered in his head, mine.

That forgotten feeling of sexual possessiveness slowly started infecting Curtis. At least that was how he related this estranged desire, an infection. A limb waking after being denied blood flow for too long, pins and needles racing across his skin. A drop in the middle of a pond, causing ripples to fold out to opposite sides of the banks. Seeing you from afar and now smelling your light, teasing scent sent a sensation of twists and turns to his stomach making him light-headed and his cock twitch.

He became lost in the thought of you laying next to him. Your lips bruised from kissing and your scent on his clothes as he’d tell you to dip your hands inside your panties for him. He’d praise you as you’d moan next him, watching you pleasure yourself.

You were drawing Curtis in deeper into the web of the sacred, eternal engine. And Wilford looked on you both like a proud matchmaker and smug creator.

Stepping away from you reluctantly, Curtis moved to number Six and looked her in the eyes as well. From the corner of his vision, he watched your reaction as he brought his hand up to fix the strap of Six’s dress. Uninterested in Six’s hitch in breath, he concentrated on how you kept yourself facing straight ahead but narrowing your eyes in annoyance. Satisfied on seeing a reaction from you when he touched another, he moved to number Seven and repeated his action by fixing her shawl.

Turning away from Seven, Curtis never looked back at you or the other candidates. Instead, he made his way to the chair he sat in before you entered.

After Claude escorted your group back into the waiting car, Wilford sat down across from Curtis and pulled out seven numbered files, “I’ll let you review.”

“Five,” Curtis stated without touching any of the folders.

Nodding at Curtis’ choice, Wilford fixed the lapels of his robe and leaned forward to rest his clasped hands on top of the desk. “Excellent choice, dear boy. But in the sense of honor and one passing the so-called baton, you’ll need to know your soon-to-be wife’s job aboard our, well, your sacred engine.”

Wilford watched Curtis’ reactions closely as he explained how you helped maintain order and delivered a well-mannered serving of absolute punishment to any upper class rule breakers.

Wilford spoke poetically; Curtis listened intensely.

“I’ll give you a moment to think it over. But remember what I said, it is a marriage. The contract between you both will be followed because we need structure, social form. There’s an image to uphold. Once you select who you want, that’s it. They’ve all agreed to this.”

“So why did she?” Curtis asked before he could think better not to.

Wilford knew this question had been bouncing around in Curt’s busy little head for a while, “She enjoys her job and she enjoys your train. She knows how people are.”

“She likes to murder and punish.”

Wilford tsked and rolled his eyes, “Stop being dramatic, Curtis. She enjoys order and knows responsibilities. She is a good person to have on your side, especially in our high position of power.”

“So you want me to use her as protection?”

“She is structure. Besides, you can’t deny she’s more than easy on the eyes. More importantly, dear boy, she’s someone you can trust. And it’s sad to see you without anyone to trust nowadays.”

Curtis cut a sharp glare at Wilford, “And who the hell played me the whole way?!”

Sighing noisily, Wilford rose from the table and came around to Curtis’ chair.

“I understand you’re upset about Gilliam. But she didn’t have anything to do with his choices. If anything, choose something in the opposite direction of what I’m offering then. Number Four seems like an easy girl to mold,” Wilford patted Curtis’ shoulder ready to leave and allow him some time to think alone. “Is number Four the type you want to be saddled with? Do you have enough kronole?”

Curtis ignored Wilford’s baiting question as he read your file history and achievements. “Why is she the executioner?”

“'It’s easier for someone to survive on this train, if they have some level of insanity,*’” Wilford shrugged casually.

Curtis frowned slightly at that understandable line, absentmindedly rubbing the scar on his arm.

“Think it over, Curtis. You two would be amazing together. You went with your gut and made it to the front end. You went with your gut and picked the best girl out of the seven. Make the best choice for yourself and your sacred engine. Would you like some water while you decide?”

Curtis ignored Wilford’s question. He looked at your old photo from when you boarded and a more recent sketch of you now. Running a dirty finger across your detailed sketch, his cock twitched in his pants again as he traced your painted lips.

Wilford set the tall glass of water down in front of Curtis, and with a flare that only Wilford possessed, dropped a single ice cube in the drink.

“Are you fucking serious?” Curtis growled after seeing a bullet frozen in the cube.

“Take your time to think it over. Read the note. The choice is yours, my dear boy. I’ll be back after it melts.”

The door closed behind Wilford and Curtis’ breath hitched in his chest.

Alone, quiet.

Curtis tried to compose himself in the eerie solitude. When locked in the tail section, he prayed for solitary confinement. A moment of silence. Now alone, he wasn’t sure what was worse.

Curtis raised the water glass up to the light and watched the prism paint the walls, choking out an uncomfortable laugh deep within. Gulping down the water, he spat the ice cube into his palm. Dirt began to run and channel along the lines of his palm.

Having enough of Wilford’s games, Curtis threw the ice cube on the floor and stomped on it.

He twisted the bullet casing apart and stilled his hands for a moment before unrolling the note to read the message.

Blank.

Asshole.

Curtis looked over at Wilford as he came back into the room. He didn’t say anything about the blank message, determined not to give him any more entertainment.

“Number Five,” Curtis stated, pushing the closed folder back across the table. Your pictures safely tucked inside his pocket.

“Excellent! Wise choice. Wait here and I’ll call Claude to show you to your new living quarters, there’s a private bath and a large bed for the soon-to-be-married couple. You’ll find out soon enough, but your soon-to-be misses and Claude aren’t the best-,” Wilford chuckled at the memories. “-Well, you’ll find out that detail out for yourself. What’s the fun in hearing everything secondhand?”

Curtis ran his hands over his face, not sure what to make of all that’s happened within these last days aboard the eternal engine.

Wilford snapped his fingers, making a show as if he forgot something and patting the pockets of his robe, “A piece of marital advice, dear boy. Your soon-to-be wife is more clever at making you feel welcomed than you know.”

Wilford pulled a tube of lipstick out of his pocket and rolled it across the desk. Curtis eyed the cylinder, trying to understand what Wilford was hinting at.

And then he knew.

Your sketch burning a hole in his pocket with your painted lips. Tapping the end of the lipstick on the table, it was that small detail he favored about you over the others. You were the only fresh-faced lady in the bunch.

---

The soft, classical music became a white noise as you looked out the dining car window and allowed yourself to relax. White noise, whiter scenery.

Dabbing the crisp linen napkin to the corner of your soft mouth, you arched a sleek eyebrow in anticipation.

Across the table, the slumped body finally lost to gravity and fell hard against the lace tablecloth as the train jostled and creaked itself out of a turn. The heavy weight of the fresh corpse shook the table causing a melody to play out on the fine China, vibrating a song of disturbance.

Huffing softly at your former dinner companion’s poor manners for falling face-first into his plate, you placed your hands on the table to settle the dinnerware’s rattling tantrum. Taking in the accomplished sight of your fresh kill, you gracefully held the teacup and saucer and brought the warm liquid up to the cold smirk on your lips.

Before settling back into the plush chair, you grabbed a cookie and closed your eyes to enjoy a moment of unsupervised silence.

“What did I tell you the last time you asked to do this?”

Shit.

Opening your eyes, you saw Curtis slide the dining car door close behind him, locking both doors on the keypad. His boots echoing loudly with each step as his eyes pinned you in place. His barely concealed anger immediately caused irritation to run down your spine.

“I don’t recall, please be more specific,” you couldn’t help but douse your words in annoyance before taking another sip of tea.

Why did he have to visit the dining car so soon? He was supposed to be having meetings with the security and maintenance departments. Swirling the remnants of tea, you couldn’t help but feel cheated that Curtis walked in and stole a bit of your alone time away.

The more you thought about the peace and quiet now lost, you rolled your eyes in the direction of the slowly chilling body across from you. Why did he always have to ask questions to obvious answers? Anyone would have known what you were doing here, the dead body gave it away for christ's sake. There was not much to deduce. He had always known what your tastes were like when he selected you- that was part of the deal. So for him to keep stifling your gifts over the last several weeks had become unacceptable. Looking over at the dead man’s ruffled hair you couldn’t help but snicker how things finally came to a head, so to speak.

Curtis narrowed his eyes at the sound of your soft laughter, “Watch yourself.”

Keeping in a sigh of vexation, you placed down your teacup and crossed your arms over your chest. Maybe if you restrained yourself, you could keep the displeasure you felt with Curtis about his lack of action concerning the poisoned body in front of you.

And then the thought dawned on you, “Seems your meetings ended earlier than I anticipated.”

Curtis shook his head at your blasé attitude of being caught doing something he specifically told you not to do.

“So sorry to interrupt your time with such a wonderful conversationalist,” he mocked, waving a disinterested hand at the body, “Things worked out better than you anticipated?”

“No, not as well as I anticipated,” you added back, giving him a pointed look. “Obviously didn’t have enough time to move the body before you found me.”

“I’ll always find you what you’re doing, you’re mine. My responsibility,” Curtis stated seriously.

Before you had time to enjoy the way his claim warmed you, he moved on and mentioned how Claude was currently overseeing the maintenance meeting.

You realized then Claude must have known what you had planned for your dead dinner guest, Vardo, and squealed to Curtis.

Seizing a bread roll from the basket, you roughly tore off a chunk between your sharp teeth. The longer you pictured Claude’s face, the harder you chewed. Your resentment for the woman mixed itself in with the taste of butter and sesame.

Claude liked to be an accessory to anyone with power. She only remained loyal to a person with sturdy purse strings, climbing the social ladder within the front end until she was able to get close enough to catch Wilford’s eye. You remembered how Wilford’s open position for a parts measurer was between her and another woman, Livia. Claude received the promotion and Livia avoided everyone for the next two weeks.

Shy and quiet, Livia didn’t speak a lot. Which seemed like a winning trait for someone who would measure humans to fill the role of replacement parts to the grand machine. But the reality of how the train was able to still run after these long 17 years was too much for Livia.

Upon finding out, she suffered hysterics and refuse to eat; crying for hours and mumbling incoherently about locks and gears, tumblers and bolts, little bodies and broken bones. Wilford was becoming increasingly agitated that her outbursts might happen in public and upset others. He said something needed to be done to ensure the grand secret of the sacred engine would not be revealed. During all this, Claude was increasingly delighted how Livia’s breakdown worsened each day.

Before the end of the second week and with Wilford’s concerns in mind, you convinced Livia to visit the club car and have a girls night with you. In between dancing, she told you how Claude was leaving notes with measurements and little tools on the food trays she brought to Livia’s room. Becoming so upset, she wouldn’t be able to eat. Even high on kronole, she didn’t give away details of what she saw or had to do during the job interview.

But her fate was all too late.

She mumbled once too much wine, “Never sanitize soul, not clean.”

Frowning at her jumbled words, you poured her more wine, “You’ll find peace soon, dear girl.”

The poison took her mercifully quick.

The bread roll circled and wobbled around your plate after you tossed it aside. You would never allow Claude to get too close to Curtis. You did care for Curtis, probably more than you were comfortable to admit. Besides, there was limited space for suggestions in Curtis’ head. Your voice held residency along with Wilford’s, and even Gilliam’s, words. You weren’t about to give any elbow room for Claude to whisper ideas to Curtis also.

When the train first started its maiden voyage, you tried to remain civil to Claude but she always gave off an air of unearned self-righteousness. And after what Livia told you, civility was barely hanging on.

Growling at your stubbornness, Curtis came closer to your side of the table. “I told you to give me time. Trust me like you trusted in Wilford. I would have given you what wanted soon enough.”

The memory of Livia still fresh in your mind, you snapped back at him, “Loyalty is what you were promised, but I don’t owe you patience or trust.”

Curtis narrowed his eyes at your attitude. He knew he overindulged your unique desires, but disrespect was something he would not allow. “Knock it off, dear wife. Act like a loving spouse and not a mediocre black widow.”

“Mediocre,” you scoffed at his comparison, “I could knock you off, you know. But what good would that do me, Curtis? I’m not sure I have enough poison for everyone on this train. At the moment.”

“You’re acting like a damn brat,” he muttered, annoyed and bitter at the thought you were still only with him for protection.

“I’m not the one continually breaking promises and then asking for the other spouse to keep believing in them,” you countered back, stomping your feet under the table and crossing your arms over your chest again.

“What, did Claude scurry over to you and rat me out?” You slapped your hands on the table and pitched your voice nasally high to mock, “'Oh, I’ll help you great and powerful ruler. I’ll run the meetings for you.‘”

Sneering at what you imagined Claude’s words might have been to him.

“I took out the garbage for you, Curtis. Vardo’s rumors would have hurt you. You could thank me instead of reprimanding me on how you didn’t sign off on this.”

You truly were a murderous brat.

Most passengers didn’t bother to recognize or question that the shiny new conductor next to you was also the dirty blood-covered rebel monster, who smashed through their glasshouse.

Truthfully, most didn’t care as long as their food was warm and their shit was flushed. Some believed so much in Wilford’s vision, they’d never question Wilford’s prophetic news that Curtis was their new conductor.

But some others did want to question. However, they knew better than to ask; except one, your dead dinner companion, Vardo.

Most believed the revolution was squashed and the rebels snuffed out. That the rebellious end-ers were tagged and placed back in their cages.

So when your freshly deceased guest started making inappropriate advances and asking too many questions at too many tables, you invited him to sup at yours.

Because if there was something you knew how to do, it was to tie up loose ends with a soft smile and a kind offer of something to drink. Every time you asked Curtis if you could take Vardo out for dinner, he would only reply- 'Soon.’

You finally got tired of waiting for Curtis’ permission and listening to Vardo’s rumors about the lack of skills the new conductor possessed.

And Curtis’ current lack of thankfulness towards you was pissing you off, “If you want out of the marriage, let me know.”

Curtis frowned at your obscene words, “What are you fucking talking about?”

“I’m not ignorant or daydreamy, Curtis. I know everyone on this train has a purpose and when that purpose or if room runs out, so will my usefulness. Besides, I’m already a shit listener if that dead weight across the table counts for anything. Maybe what I offer isn’t purposeful enough? Maybe we run out of room on the train again and I don’t make it past the cutoff number? Sure I could be safe if the number was 73% like last time. But there’s so many hypothetical questions. Wait, what was that deduction percent again?”

“74.” Curtis answered without a thought but then immediately looked harder at you.

Smirking slightly you carried on, “Ah yes, that’s correct. 74%. See, there wouldn’t be enough room for me. And the inevitable would happen again for Wilford’s wish of order to remain.”

Curtis’ jaw shifted at your words, he knew you were damn well aware the number was 74%. You were always off to prove a fucking point, but he wasn’t about to entertain the idea of you not being by his side. The notion that you could be separated from him brought a jab to his stomach he wouldn’t ignore.

He was owed this companionship, he was owed you.

He owned you.

He knew there was more to you that day during the selection. No hesitation or disdain when he leaned into your proximity. The silent challenge you gave him. There was something behind your expression, something he was still curious about exploring.

When Wilford revealed to him what your role was on the train, Curtis knew he found the connection, a shared portion of darkness. You offered a safe harbor to him for what he had done in the past and an understanding of what he’d have to do in the future.

He swore he wouldn’t lose you to any conflict- mathematical, mechanical, or man.

Curtis called your name as he calmly stacked the dishes in front of you and moved them aside.

He looked too calm to you, especially after walking in on you with a dead body. His features were cool as he nodded for you to give him the teacup sitting out of his reach.

As he continued to pile the dishes down the table towards Vardo’s body, you remembered how well acquainted Curtis was with death. Surviving all those years in the end section and massacring his way up to the front, one mere non-bloodied body wouldn’t give him much pause. It was you not waiting for his permission concerning the execution that soured his mood.

“I want an answer. Why did you do this, when I denied you my approval?”

“There was nothing to approve, I didn’t ask for your consent… this time,” you grumbled softly with admission.

“Oh, I know that dear wife,” he clicked his tongue at your retort. “You’ve been a goddamn worm in my ear about him for weeks but suddenly go radio silent about him? I knew you were up to something.”

“How did you even know I was here working?”

“A few things. The first, Claude mentioned you were having an intimate dinner with someone who wasn’t your husband.”

“Busy-bodied bitch,” you mumbled. “Hardly intimate. As you can see, it was work.”

Leaning forward and removing a sugar cube from the bowl, you tossed it at your dead dinner guest.

Watching it land down the back of his collar, you continued, “It’s been riveting conversation, too. What were the other few things?”

“She isn’t the only busy body here. Don’t waste food,” Curtis picked the sugar cube out of the man’s collar and tossed it in the air, catching it in his mouth.

“It looks like it was plenty intimate to him,” Curtis kicked Vardo’s chair leg with his heavy boot. “Asshole’s sporting a fucking death erection.”

“What?” Sliding your gaze under the table, you saw Vardo’s pants tented. “Pft. That’s just the poison, not the conversation.”

“I still don’t fucking like it, y/n.” Curtis stated darkly.

You shifted in the chair suddenly uncomfortable on where this conversation may lead, especially with the tone he just used. Recalling what he said shortly ago, you tried to move on, “What did you mean about Claude not being the only busy body?”

“I find it surprising you have to ask that, especially when you’re so busy keeping such thorough records of everyone’s conduct.”

Surprised by his discovery, you tried to figure out when he may have found your notebooks. You knew you never mentioned the records you kept concerning the passengers to him, the scorecards on who should receive punishment when they tallied up too many transgressions.

“Wilford told me. Relax, I can hear the gears moving in your head so loudly, they’re drowning out the sound of the train’s.”

“...Why did he?”

“You already know how Wilford explained what your job was to me before I was allowed to pick you. But he told me other things I didn’t mention to you. He said you’d record events, a little homicide journaling. He described it as a dear death diary on why you wanted someone removed. But more fucking importantly, dear wife- he said you always ran punishments by him before carrying them out. But this one, you didn’t run by me.”

Not yet ready for Curtis to know how sincerely you cared for him, you opted for a vague reply, “This was because of personal reasons.”

“Yes, murders usually happen due to those.”

Huffing at his dry reply, you couldn’t help but feel exposed after hearing Curtis read your records. “When did you find them?”

“Two months ago, after Wilford’s death,” he smirked down at you. “I can keep secretes, too. Glad you finally did Vardo in. Took you long enough though.”

“What?” Your head snapped up from shock.

“I read about the inappropriate comments he made to the men and women in the working section. How he made similar comments to you. How they were increasing, making others more uncomfortable. I was pissed to read the fucking things he said to you, but even more when you didn’t come to your husband and say what was happening.”

“Nothing happened, this was work. Trash removal.”

“Oh, I know that dear wife,” Curtis ran his finger down the column of your neck and over your shoulder.

You could feel yourself respond to his touch, goosebumps and tingles.

Curtis leaned into the shell of your ear as he confessed against your skin, “I made sure to encourage him.”

Breaking out of the soft lull his touch put you in, you slapped his hand away and stood. “What are talking about, encouraging? What did you do?”

“I encouraged Vardo to pursue you. Told him to spread the rumors and concerns about me. Told him if he was able to get my wife to cheat on me and expose your lack of loyalty, I’d reward him for exposing the snake in the garden,” Curtis stepped in closer to you, moving his hand back to your neck and tracing the length of your soft throat with this thumb, “He was the snake. Not you, never you.”

You couldn’t believe what Curtis was admitting. “Why would you do that? I haven’t given you any reason to think I’d break my marital agreement to you, Curtis.”

“Not for that reason.”

“Then what reason?!”

“A wedding present.”

“What.”

“You enjoy doing what you do, so I let you, dear wife. Everything you do, I let you do. I read how little you could stand him. Anyone could tell how much you disliked Vardo, except Vardo.” Curtis watched your shock take over as you tried to process everything. “Vardo was stupid. Stupid enough to think he’d gain anything by going after us. After you. I told him to spread the rumors, prove to me how my dear wife wasn’t faithful. He objected, in the beginning, believed it was a trap. But when I offered him the chance to sleep with you- he agreed greedily.”

“…You set him up to see if he would sleep with me?”

“No, sweetheart. I set you up... to see how loyal you’d be to me.”

Snarling at his words, you smacked his hold on you, “Aren’t you just fucking splitting hairs, husband?”

Moving his hand tighter around your neck, you felt his thumb press into your windpipe. “Mind that bratty attitude. Vardo was fucking stupid, not knowing how tail end-ers are possessive. No one gets to covet my wife.”

As he pushed his thumb harder in your skin, you dipped your head back to gain a breath to speak, “You orchestrated all this?”

“You’re welcome,” Curtis lifted his thumb, relieving the pressure on your windpipe as he dropped his lips to your clavicle.

His touch and confession slammed into your core. Gasping at the feel of his lips, your hands wrapped around his wrists, squeezing them to encourage him to keep the pressure on your throat. Lowly moaning when he did.

Curtis knocked his knee between your legs and grazed your center with his thigh. Moving his thigh back and forth against your clothed clit, you bit your lip when you heard him say, “Rub.”

Rolling your hips against him, Curtis chuckled at your pleasure.

“Good girl.”

He dipped you back against the table as he sucked your neck harder between little sharp bites and kisses, “How wet are you, sweetheart? Grinding that pretty pussy against my thigh. I want to see how desperate you are.”

Your hips jolted up, lost in the smooth and steady twisting of his words.

“Fuck,” you gasped out.

Freeing a hand from your neck, Curtis ran his touch down along your body. Sliding his hand under your skirt, he bunched the material up your hips and licked his lips when he saw the large wet spot on your panties. Moving the damp material aside, he grazed his finger along your slick folds.

Your breath hitched at the contact and the darkness in his eyes.

Curtis teasingly twirled his fingers around your inner thighs, lightly circling your clit. “Can you purr?”

Not waiting for an answer, Curtis kissed you and dipped a finger into your pussy.

He bit your lip and hungrily moved to swirl his tongue over yours. Everything was vibrating in you, a fight of dominance and battle for acceptance.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let some of that tension go,” he encouraged, sliding a second finger into you.

Your resistance weakening, the grazing of his thumb circling your clit- you wanted to melt for him.

Bringing a leg up off the table, you hooked it around his waist and mewled at the sensations he was creating in you by the furious rate his fingers worked you.

Curtis began to slowly scissor you, only pausing his kisses to see your reaction better, “Fuck. You’re so beautiful. That’s it, sweetheart, squeeze my fucking fingers.”

“Please,” you whimpered, extending your other leg out as you tried to gain more friction.

He held your hips down against the table, “Look at you, so beautiful and wet. All fucking mine. My fucking reward.”

“I’m going to cum,” you squeezed the words out past your lips as your walls tightened around Curtis’ fingers.

“No, you’re not. Not yet.” Pulling his fingers away from your pussy, Curtis chuckled deeply at your forlorn expression. “I want to be inside you when you do.”

Bringing his wet fingers up to his mouth, he groaned in pleasure from the taste of you before pulling you off the table.

Kissing you possessively, Curtis’ tongue willed for access to your mouth again. You could taste yourself as you feverishly returned his kiss.

Without warning, he turned you around and bent you over the table. Your stomach seizing from the cold surface while your ass was fully on display in the air.

Yelping in surprise you felt Curtis kick your legs farther apart. Stepping between your soft thighs, Curtis grabbed your legs off the floor as your torso warmed the table underneath your skin. You heard him free himself from his pants and groan deeply.

He ran his hands up and down your legs unable to touch enough of you as he moved your knees back. Praising and kneading your ass cheeks, your heels hovered over your bottom as Curtis locked your folded legs underneath each of his arms. You felt his tip run along your slit, the head of his cock parting your wet lips. Grabbing your hips and with one strong thrust without warning, Curtis buried himself into you.

The table shook with every claiming thrust as Vardo’s body rocked against the fine china on the other side of the table. Curtis pinned his eyes on the corpse before dropping his gaze on your back.

Curtis railed into you harder, “Say you’re mine.”

Moaning at his command and losing yourself in him, you only whimpered in reply. You never felt like this before. You moved your hand behind yourself, trying to feel his hips, his hands, anything.

“No.” Curtis grabbed your blindly-reaching hand and covered his over yours, bring them down on the table. Locking you in place again, his stomach brushed against your back. The sounds of his balls slapping against you echoed throughout the dining car. Perched over you with more leverage, Curtis moved faster in and out of your tight cunt.

“Say it,” another snap of his hips, another long hard drag of his cock along your pussy. “Fucking say you’re mine!”

“Yours,” you finally panted out, your face flattened against the tablecloth that was crumpled in your fists. “Always.”

Curtis almost lost himself when he felt you squeeze your walls around his cock, throwing his hard thrusting off.

“Cum for me, sweetheart. Cum right that fuck now. Fucking milk my cock.” His soft-toned, harsh words made you close your eyes as you screamed his name out in release.

Feeling your pussy tighten and flutter around his cock made Curtis bit his lip and drop your legs. Smacking his hands down on either side of your head, he encased your body with his grunts. All you could focus on when you opened your eyes were the muscles of his forearms flexing in your view as he rutted into you.

The sounds of Curtis fucking and using you to chase his release caused your body to tighten up again. Dropping his weight on top of your back, he snapped and slammed his hips into you. His primal moans set a ripple through you, your eyes rolling back as another orgasm took over causing your tight count to flutter around him again.

Growling out your name, he coated your walls, “Mine. You’re mine.”

Opening your eyes with sigh, you laughed softly at the window you and Curtis managed to fog up next to the table.

After catching his breath, Curtis propped his weight onto his forearms and kept himself within you. He wasn’t ready to pull out and let you go just yet.

The cool air hit your skin when slightly move off your back. Bowing down gently, Curtis kissed your sweaty shoulders making you shudder when he rocked against your sensitive core.

Basking in the aftermath of Curtis slowly softening within you, you realized how much you were willing to do to protect your husband. It was no longer just about the train.

“No more secrets between us. Understood, dear wife?”

“Understood, dear husband.”

“Good. It might be time to invite Claude for dinner,” Curtis said before kissing the back of your neck.

#dark!curtis x reader #dark!reader #dark!curtis everett x reader #darkcurtisholidaychallenge #dark!curtis x dark!reader #snowpiercer #curtis everett #snowpiercer fanfiction #curtis everett x reader #curtis x reader

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bywordofaphrodite · 3 years

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Book Reviews 7&8: Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen & Anne of Green Gables by L.M Montgomery

This review’s theme is female-led romantic classics ! Audience age: roughly age 10+

This review is about two of my all-time favourite female-led classics! Pride and Prejudice is one of the only classics I can truthfully say I enjoy, sorry to lovers of classics I just cannot bring myself to love many of them. Elizabeth Bennet is a timeless heroine, and her story is an easy, comfortable read. Anne of Green Gables, likewise, echoes the same sentiments, albeit with considerably more hijinks added into the mix- and with the heroines’ age gaps and very different circumstances, this is to be expected!

Nostalgic review

Rating: ★★★★★

These novels are, if I didn’t already make clear, comfort stories in the best sense of the word. It’s been several years since I last read either of them in full, but there is a special ease about them at all times; even in the midst of disaster, you know there is hope just around the corner.

In the case of Pride and Prejudice, I’ll admit that as much as I love Lizzy, it is the entirety of the story that draws me in more than just her character. I love the general vibe of the novel, the drama and gossip in the town and all the fuss that comes about with each new ball the Bennet sisters must attend for social reasons. The surprising scandals are all very alluring, and really, Jane Austen’s stories walked so Gossip Girl could run!

On the flip side, Anne as a character- she is one of my absolute most favourite characters ever written. I’m no orphan and I’ve never had to struggle in the way she did, but I grew up the odd one out in a small town, with a hot temper and a huge imagination that always managed to get me into trouble. Everything about Anne is relatable to me- right down to the infamous scene where she attempts to dye the red hair she hates and it goes green instead (I tried to bleach mine and it went orange, so I didn’t fare much better).

While it has been a long time since I last read these books, I am expecting more positive surprises than negative ones, now that I’m older with a bit more perspective!

Pride and Prejudice Review

Post-read: ★★★★★

Synopsis: Elizabeth Bennet, the second daughter of a middle-class family desperate to marry off their five daughters, navigates her way through matters of marriage, estate, love and temperament in an attempt to make a match that ensures her own happiness in a time where love was not always a priority.

Set in Regency England, the middle-class family the Bennets begin to fear their ruin as Mr Bennet grows older. See, Mr Bennet’s estate and fortune detailed in his will can only go to a male heir upon his death, thus ruling out his five daughters without their marriages taking place. As luck would have it, two eligible rich men arrive in town, and Mrs Bennet becomes obsessed with setting up her daughters with them. Amidst numerous balls and trips to the rich families’ residence of Netherfield, Jane Bennet catches the eye of sweet Charles Bingley, while Elizabeth begins a cold war with Bingley’s best friend Fitzwilliam Darcy, after he slights her upon their first meeting, to Mrs Bennet’s fury.

Over time, Mr Darcy becomes increasingly attracted to intelligent and witty Elizabeth, but so do other, less appealing characters to the likes of Elizabeth’s pretentious and stupid cousin, the clergyman Mr Collins, and the handsome militia officer Wickham, who tells Elizabeth that he has lost his fortune because Darcy stole it from him. When Elizabeth’s fifteen year-old sister runs away with Wickham in the middle of the night, Elizabeth is forced to hear our Mr Darcy’s side of the story and put aside her prejudice toward him. He, in turn, overcomes his pride, and by the end of the novel the two are able to freely admit their love without pride or prejudice standing in the way.

For such an old book, it really does stand the test of time. The lessons Austen teaches in this story are forever applicable to relationships in any timeline, though we have to make do without the fancy dresses and balls (and the gender norms and sexism, so it’s still a win for us, I suppose). I enjoy her writing and love how humorous it is; Austen perfected the art of polite mockery. Elizabeth is a good role model, and her character development over the course of the novel is wonderful.

Characters who aged well: first and foremost, Elizabeth Bennet of course. She’s headstrong and real, and satisfyingly selfish when necessary (nobody should be selfless when presented with a proposal from Mr Collins, and I will not hear otherwise). Mr Darcy remains an eternal heartthrob- I do sometimes wonder how someone less determined to see the bad side in Darcy would have viewed him from the get-go (my guess that had Jane been the perspective offered, Darcy might have been cut a bit of slack earlier. But where would be the fun in that?). I won’t comment on all the characters, but I will mention that I appreciated Jane much more as an adult. As often happened with sweeter female characters, internalised misogyny used to get the best of me on occasion and I would resent them for being ‘boring’. Now I just think she’s lovely.

For a villain, Mr Wickham aged so well. I once saw a Tumblr post declaring him the 1800s equivalent of a modern-day fuckboy and it’s stuck in my mind ever since because yes, that’s exactly what he is.

Characters who aged badly: Everybody hates Mr Collins, but I don’t know if I’m entirely correct in listing him here, given he wasn’t well liked back in 1813 either. As an antagonist, he technically aged well, but I’m going to keep him here anyway because I felt like ranting about him. The same goes for nauseating Mrs Bennet and Mary… they aged as intended, but I will remain frustrated with them anyway.

Favourite scene/quote: ‘An unhappy alternative is before you, Elizabeth. From this day you must be a stranger to one of your parents. Your mother will never see you again if you do not marry Mr Collins… And I will never see you again if you do.’

This line never fails to make me laugh, whether on paper or onscreen. He does delight in vexing his over-excitable and irritating wife, and in this case it was all the more pleasing: he saw his wife trying to force his favourite daughter into marrying perhaps his least favourite person on the planet and supported Elizabeth’s decision to reject the man wholeheartedly, as well as reinforces the bond between father and daughter in a humorous way.

Scenes I particularly enjoyed are the ones surrounding Wickham’s secrets and shocking fake elopement with Lydia, partially because Lizzy and Darcy become close, but mostly because all the detective work unravelling the drama is so entertaining. It’s pleasing to see Darcy come out the undisputed hero after all Wickham’s deceit and attempts to ruin many girls’ reputations in attempts to get their fortunes.

Anne of Green Gables Review

Post-read: ★★★★★

Synopsis: red-headed orphan Anne Shirley is adopted by unmarried siblings Matthew and Marilla Cuthbert by accident. After a trial period, they agree to keep Anne, and the misunderstanding brings the greatest joy to their small farmhouse in the town of Avonlea.

This book! Everything about it!

As I anticipated, time did not change any of my love nor expectations for this book, but rather made me fall in love with it all over again.

Starting at the beginning, Anne’s introduction to the Cuthberts starts off with her first asking him to call her by a name she chose herself, and then settling with keeping her own name as long as they remember to spell it with an ‘e’. This alone is already something I relate strongly to- I can’t bear when people forget the second ‘e’ in my name… it looks so empty.

Moving on from the names!

Anne is enrolled in school, a place she is successful in due to her intelligence, yet many adults in the town, including her teacher, refuse to treat her very well. Anne’s temper gets her into trouble of numerous occasions with adults and classmates alike, the most memorable instance being when the handsome popular boy Gilbert Blythe calls her ‘carrots’ and tugs her plaits to get Anne to notice him- and she does, but likely not in the way he hoped: she smashes her writing slate over his head. Utterly iconic move.

The friendship between Anne and her neighbour Diana is a high point of the book, too. Anne is always on the lookout for ‘kindred spirits’ or ‘bosom friends’, terms she applies not only to Diana, but also to Matthew and her second teacher, the amazing Miss Stacy who represents that one literature teacher every writer child connects with.

Navigating dozens of scrapes and accidents, Anne manages to graduate school and attend an academy where- with Miss Stacy’s encouragement- she obtains her teaching license in one year instead of two, and ties first place with Gilbert Blythe, whom she has ignored to the best of her ability since the ‘carrots’ incident, though he has tried many times to obtain her forgiveness. Toward the end of the novel, Matthew has a heart attack that shatters both Anne and Marilla, and she gives up the scholarship she won in favour of teaching close to home in order to stop Green Gables from being sold. Gilbert Blythe passes on his teaching position at Avonlea school to Anne so she won’t have to struggle, and Anne finally accepts that she has lot more love for Gilbert than anything else.

Though they do not get together in this book, the following sequels end with their marriage, and their developing romance is a special part of this first novel too.

Characters who aged well: Anne Shirley, best girl! I think I’ve already listed enough examples to showcase what I think of her, but I also think she has aged very well as an interesting character and feminist role model, all the way back in 1908. Gilbert, too, is a wonderful example of how a man should be, and his character growth is every bit as good as Anne’s. The supporting characters are wonderful too.

Characters who aged badly: Mr Phillips, Anne’s first teacher who treated her terribly and tried to marry a student in the same classroom. Predator teachers exist now too, of course, but this man simply did not cop the jail time he deserved (yes, times were different then, I don’t care).

Favourite scene/quote: ‘I’m not a bit changed- not really. I’m only just pruned down and branched out. The real ME- back here—is just the same.’

This is the essence of Anne’s story, and I like to think for many people. Most people like to think they’ve changed while growing up, but the truth is that most people remain the same, they just grow into their ideas and find new dreams to follow; change doesn’t have to signify loss, just growth.

There are many great scenes in Anne of Green Gables, and narrowing down favourites is quite hard. As a romantic, I loved any scene with Gilbert, even though Anne herself was desperately trying to ignore him. All of Anne’s scrapes are hilarious, too, but if I had to choose, it’s when Matthew picks Anne up from the station the day they meet, and the quiet man- whose only interactions are with his sister- immediately takes a liking to the poor orphan girl no other adult has ever been kind to. Their ride home together signifies a beautiful change in both their lives, and their instant bond is heart-warming.

Overall verdict: I’ve read both of these novels more times than I care to count, so there was never really any strong doubt that I wouldn’t continue to love them a fair amount. It may seem a ridiculous thing to say that I still find them both to be well-written, but as someone who finds many ‘classics’ incredibly boring and too wordy to properly enjoy (looking at Charles Dickens, by the way), I’m making a note of my contentment with Austen and Montgomery’s writing styles. I do generally prefer female authors in the first place (and not just because most men can’t seem to write good female characters to save their lives) so I’m not entirely surprised by this, though I think it necessary to mention after my shock over the stunted sentences in Enid Blyton’s works and Nancy Drew and the Mystery at Lilac Inn.

While rereading these books I also felt compelled to re-watch the televised versions and show them to my younger sister too (she loves them!). I do have personal favourite versions, and this is due not only to the actors in the cast, but to which I deem the most accurate and faithful in comparison to the original written source material. For Pride and Prejudice, contrary to the popular version amongst most people who reference it, my favourite is not the Kiera Knightley movie. I greatly prefer the BBC show, finding the casting, setting and costuming far more accurately detailed. I don’t hate the movie, just to be clear! But if you want accuracy watch the television show, especially because the episodes had a chance to explore more of the script than the movie did, so there was no need to cut things out or rush certain developments.

As for Anne of Green Gables, there are a few different movies and series. My forever-favourite is the Megan Follows and Jonathon Crombie led film series, with the first movie released in 1985. The casting was perfect, I adored the settings and costuming, and Megan as Anne captured everything about the character in the most perfect way imaginable. As for the newer Netflix series Anne with an E, I have only seen a few episodes but I think that was really well done too; the casting of the leads was also very faithful to Montgomery’s novels. It’s a shame that Netflix chose to cancel a show that so many young people really enjoyed, but I hope maybe some of them will watch the movies or pick up the books!

The true importance of these books for me as a child was my connection to the characters, which hasn’t changed at all. Though I do identify in part with Elizabeth, it is Anne who is so much like me, and while I haven’t reviewed past the first book here, I can confirm that my personality has evolved in the same way hers does in the sequels. Something interesting I noticed when mentioning either of these series to people unfamiliar with them is that they are surprised I like these books. The reason? Owing to how old the novels are, people expect the characters to be boring and grounded in sexist tropes. While I cannot deny there are plenty of books out there that are full of these issues, the characters of Elizabeth and Anne are very much feminist in the best way possible. They fight against the expectations for their gender and forge their own paths. Their relationships with the male leads take a long time to develop- Anne and Gilbert do not get together until proper adulthood- because they want everything to be done on their terms, within their own certainty. Neither lead suffers from ‘not like other girls’ syndrome, both cherishing their friendships with the women around them, and Anne especially is a celebration of the best parts of femininity.

Ultimately I find both Pride and Prejudice and Anne of Green Gables to be comfort novels. There is conflict and angst, humour and love, and the reassuring knowledge that by the end of it everyone will get their happy ending.

#Pride and Prejudice #anne of green gables #anne with an e #feminism #feminist literature #university project #romance #classics #female leads #character development #book review #book rating

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stahlop · 4 years

Text

Making a Memory (4/?)

Thank you everyone who has been reading this story. I’m so happy you’re enjoying it. This chapter is really long, but you’ll be getting to know Killian and Emma a little more.

Thanks once again to @profdanglaisstuff and @thisonesatellite for being the best betas ever.

And don’t forget to give @gingerchangeling some love for her amazing artwork!

Chapter 1 2 3

Ao3 Link

It was a four hour drive from Boston to Chantey’s Lobster House, and Emma was still confused about what the hell was going on with Henry that he not only took his sister and another girl from camp, but that he wanted to meet at a random restaurant in Maine. She had looked it up online and there didn’t seem to be anything special about it. No reason why he chose this place over another. It did seem to be the last establishment near civilization for a while according to the map. There wasn’t anything near there for the next 100 miles or so, which seemed really strange for Maine, since the forested area near it didn’t seem to be part of any national parks land or trust either. Emma had used some bail bonds tricks to try and see if Henry and the girls were staying at a motel nearby, but as far as she could tell, no man had checked in with almost identical twin girls. Could they possibly be camping out in the woods? They had to have stayed somewhere the previous night.

Emma and Killian were now on the road to said eatery, which was not awkward at all. No it wasn’t. Especially not after the conversation they’d had with Henry that morning. Nope. Not awkward at all.

“Mom?” Henry said as Emma put the phone on speaker so both she and Killian could listen.

“Henry, thank god!” Emma’s eyes began spilling tears that she’d been holding in since the previous night when this whole mess had started. Killian had touched her shoulder to comfort her at the first sign of her distress. She almost didn’t notice it, because it felt so natural, like he should be the one comforting her. And it almost felt familiar, like she knew exactly how his hand would feel on her shoulder. Like he’d done it before. But that was impossible, because they had just met this morning. And just as Emma was about to panic about how not panicked this was making her feel, he snatched his hand away, as if he was also realizing that they barely knew each other and it was not appropriate for him to be comforting her.

“Henry, I’m here with Killian, just like you asked.” Emma said.

“Hello, Henry.” Killian’s voice was deeper than normal and sounded a little menacing, yet calm at the same time, as if he were talking to an actual kidnapper and not her son (and for some reason this started to conjure images in her head of how he would talk in the bedroom, and this was not the time or place for that line of thinking).

“Hello, Killian, it’s good to hear from you again.” Henry stated as though talking to Killian was a normal occurrence. That threw Emma. Why was Henry talking to Killian as if he were an old friend? It seemed to throw Killian too. He looked even more distressed, pacing the room while tugging at his hair.

“Do we know each other, lad?” Killian asked, clearly troubled at the friendly way Henry was speaking to him.

“We did.” Henry sighed. “Once upon a time.”

Emma looked quizzically at Killian as if he was supposed to know what that meant. He shook her head and looked just as bewildered as Emma felt. What the hell was Henry playing at?

“Ok, Henry, you have some explaining to do and we’d like that to start now.” Emma said as calmly as she could. She was trying to keep this situation under control as best as she could, but the cryptic information that Henry possibly knew Killian at one point was messing with the both of them.

“Not until you two meet me in Maine” Henry replied. He was eerily cool, which set off alarm bells in Emma’s head immediately. She put the phone on mute for a moment.

“Something isn’t right.” Emma said softly, even though Henry couldn’t hear them. “Henry is the kind of kid...man, that gets excited about everything. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him sound this...this, I don’t even know what mood this is for him. I’ve never heard it before.” She chewed on her lower lip in worry.

Killian stared at her, his blue eyes showing the worry reflected back at her. She shouldn’t need to make him more concerned, but this was not the Henry she knew. Something was wrong. Killian pushed his hand through his black and silver-threaded hair before reaching toward her. Emma suddenly had the image of him taking her chin in his hand, caressing her face to make her feel better, and softly kissing her. But the image disappeared when his arm reached past her to the phone where he unmuted it to respond to Henry.

“Why is it so important to you that we meet you in Maine, Henry?” Killian asked him, again calm as a cucumber, his British accent making Emma feel quite at ease. What the hell was going on with her? Her daughter and son were missing and she should be freaking out about. It was if the sound of his voice just made her feel safe and secure and like everything would work out.

“I’ll explain it all when you get here.” Henry repeated again. I’m sorry about this Killian. I really am. But rest assured, Alice is safe. She told me to tell you not to worry about your Starfish.”

Killian’s mouth started to turn upward into a sad smile and the lines around his eyes crinkled. Emma saw tears starting to form in the corners of them.

“She’s really all right then?” Killian asked as though he hadn’t believed Henry before.

“Of course she is Killian. I would never hurt my ….my ….a friend of my sisters.” Henry replied. “Now look. I need you two to come up here as soon as possible. There is much we have to discuss. We’re waiting for you.” And with that, Henry hung up.

Both of them stared at the phone as if Henry would magically still be on, even though it was showing her call log.

“So, I guess that’s that.” Killian said, threading his hand through his hair again. Emma nodded in agreement, licking her lips, they’d become dry during the phone call, but she saw him staring at her lips as if he wanted her as much as she wanted him. How would his lips feel on hers? How would his salt and pepper scruff feel rubbing against her cheek? He was a silver fox now and she could see in her mind how good he probably looked as a younger man. She shook her head of the unbidden thoughts that would not leave her brain, realizing this was not the appropriate train of thought to be having (and maybe in the future they could look back on this and laugh about it), and when she looked back at him, saw that his hand had now moved to rub at the back of his neck. He looked stressed.

Right.

Daughter.

Taken.

By her son.

Of course he was stressed. Emma really needed for this all to be over.

“My car or yours?”

They sped along the I-95 in Killian’s Jeep Cherokee. It was an older model, one she didn’t even think they made anymore. But it ran fine and could get them where they needed to go.

Emma had offered her car, the ancient yellow Volkswagen Beetle that she’d stolen when she was 16. The car was older than Henry and she had no idea how it was still running, but it was, and so she kept it. And even though Neal had given it a clean VIN number years ago to help her out after her stint in jail for his crime, she never once thought to get rid of it, because it reminded her of all the bad decisions she had made. Even if those bad decisions had given her the two best children in the world. Or at least one good child, Emma was starting to rethink Henry’s status at the moment.

“Music?” Killian asked, breaking Emma from her thoughts.

“Uh, sure.” She said, hoping some music would break some of the tension floating in the air. It was bad enough that Emma’s son had taken their children, but this attraction that Emma was feeling toward Killian was driving her insane, being this close to him in his Jeep, where she could smell his natural aroma (and he smelled amazing), and practically feel the heat emanating from his body, was doing things to her body that she hadn’t felt in years. But it wasn’t the attraction that was making the tension, it was the fact that it almost felt natural, like sitting next to Killian Jones was the most natural thing in the world, and that was freaking Emma out more than any sexual tension between them.

The strains of an old classic rock tune, one she couldn’t place, but knew she’d known at one time, filled the Jeep. Killian started to hum along, and Emma could see some of the tension ease out of his body. His shoulders sagged against the back of the car seat, while his muscular arms loosened, and his grip on the steering wheel did too. Emma was impressed with the modern hook he wore that hooked into the driving apparatus so he could have both ‘hands’ on the wheel.

Emma forced herself to stop staring at Killian and leaned her head against the window, watching Boston fly by. She had never been on a proper road trip, although, she wasn’t sure if she could call this a proper road trip but it was probably the closest she’d ever come to one. Growing up in the foster care system didn’t really lend itself to road trips. She and Neal talked about road tripping it to Tallahassee before the whole watch incident happened, and then again when he came back into their lives, but then Hope came, and then Neal died, and Emma never got around to having that road trip. Maybe if Henry had gone to college somewhere outside of Boston, but he’d stayed home. Saved money, he claimed, living at home and getting in-state scholarships.

A tear slipped down her face. Emma tried her best to not let Killian see her wipe it from her cheek, but even with his eyes on the road he was very perceptive.

He turned the music down with his right hand, his prosthetic hook staying in the steering wheel apparatus.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?” Killian asked with that wet-dream inducing British accent. Ugh! Well, she certainly couldn’t tell him that part of her thoughts now, could she.

“Not your love.” She said too quickly. She needed to get her walls back up. She couldn’t allow her nether regions to control her. This whole thing was bordering on ridiculous. “I...I just don’t know how I got myself into this mess.” Emma responded, curbing her tears. “I did not raise Henry like this. I don’t understand what is happening right now.” She was frustrated at this whole situation. “And Hope is my practical one. Why would she go along with this! Henry was always the one trying to convince her to do crazy things as a kid and making up stories. She was...is such a pragmatic kid.” Emma wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince that this wasn’t her fault, Killian or herself.

“Look, lo...Swan,” He began, and the way he said Swan did something to her. She had been too upset when he’d said it earlier to really hear the way it sounded. She didn’t realize her last name would sound so sexy coming out of his mouth. And it also sounded completely natural, which was odd because no one called her by her last name, ever. “I really don’t think Henry kidnapped Alice.” Emma turned to stare at Killian, because how could he not think that.

“I know my Alice, and while she may be shy with people she doesn’t know that well, she’s also fiercely loyal to those she’s friends with. I also know she’s been practically obsessed with this damn book your boy wrote, and if she had the opportunity to leave camp with him for some reason, especially since he’s a camp mates’ sibling, then I can totally see her doing it, consequences be damned.” Killian gave a small smile that Emma could tell was to soothe her. She gave a small smile back, a real genuine smile that she hadn’t used around a man in years. If he hadn’t been driving the car right then, she probably would have kissed him. Just grabbed the lapels of his red flannel shirt, pulled him close, and laid one right on him.

“Why don’t you try and take a little nap, Swan. We’ve still got a good three and a half hours on the road.” Emma realized that everything was catching up to her, and she was exhausted. She was asleep within five minutes.

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She was climbing something, she wasn’t entirely sure what. It certainly didn’t feel stable like a rockwall or even a mountain would. And she wasn’t alone. Someone else was climbing with her. She wasn’t talking to whomever it was. She couldn’t make much out, just black leather and shiny metal.

“You never forget your first.” She heard from her climbing partner.

“I love a challenge.” She grabbed a vine. A vine? What the hell was she climbing that vines would be involved? She looked up at the now obvious man that was above her on a….beanstalk? And yet, it didn’t seem odd at all.

She was up high again, but this time she felt like she was on stone. There was a giant coming after her. Why was there a giant coming after her? The man in black leather was nowhere to be seen. Had he abandoned her? She struggled to find him, but oh, crap, the giant was coming for him. The giant passed by her and she struck him with something that knocked him out cold.

“I don’t mean to upset you, Emma, but we make quite the team,” he said happily, but Emma was only annoyed.

She had what she’d come there for and she, oh no, she chained him up with the giant.

“Swan. Swan!” Oh, god, the anguish in his voice. She recognized it now. It was…

She was in a nursery. Two babies were laid out in matching cribs and matching outfits. They were crying and she couldn’t get them to stop.

“Who are the cutest babies?” She was about to break down. Why had she thought two babies wouldn’t be that hard? “You can stop crying any time now. Mama just wants you to stop crying.” The sing-songy voice she was using didn’t match the panic in her voice. Rattles appeared in both hands and she was furiously shaking them to try and entice the babies to stop crying, but it only made them cry harder.

“Don’t you worry, my dear.” A voice sang over the crying from behind her. She turned and saw a heavily-lidded woman with dark, curly hair standing behind her.

“Who are you?” She said backing up to protect the children.

“Never you mind.” The woman said, moving toward her. “Just know, you won’t have to worry about your children for much longer.” The woman’s cackle echoed throughout the tower. The babies’ cries grew louder and louder. She needed someone, the other half of her team, she needed...she needed….

“HOOK!” Emma bolted straight up in her seat as she woke from whatever nightmare she was having. She startled Killian who was getting back into the car. Emma noticed they had stopped at a gas station. He was holding two take out coffee cups.

“You okay there, Swan?” Killian asked, looking concerned. Emma shook her head to clear it from the obvious nightmare she’d been having.

“Yeah, sorry. Just a really weird dream.” He handed her the coffee cup which she graciously took. She took a sip as he settled himself back into his seat, placing his coffee cup in the cup holder next to him, and was pleasantly surprised at what she found in her cup.

“Hot chocolate?” She queried as her tongue savored the sweet taste. “With whipped cream and cinnamon?” The spiciness of the cinnamon rounded out the sweetness right at the end of the sip.

The tips of Killian’s ears went red and he rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Uh, yeah? I don’t know. I started making it before I even thought about why. Um, Alice likes it this way. I didn’t want to waste it.” He stumbled over the words, obviously embarrassed about bringing her a kids drink. He looked so cute, all blustering and blushing. She took another sip.

“Well, it’s my favorite too. So Alice has good taste.” She said smiling at him and holding out her cup. He grabbed his cup from the holder and gave her a mock cheers in return, then he started the Jeep and got them back out on the road.

Emma checked her watch and saw that they’d only been on the road for two hours. Just another two to go before they reached their intended destination. Before they got some answers.

“Care to tell me what your dream was about?” Killian asked with a hint of caution in his voice. How could his voice just drip sex when he was just being a concerned person?

“Oh, it was just a bunch of nonsense.” Emma said, trying to calm her body down. “Something about a beanstalk and a giant. I think I must have been thinking too much about Hope and maybe that triggered an old fairy tale in my brain or something.” She smiled sheepishly and pulled a loose strand of hair from her ponytail to behind her ear.

“Oh.” He said, sounding a little troubled by her response. “It’s, just, um, well...” He was nervous, continually rubbing at the back of his neck. Emma wasn’t sure why he was so nervous all of a sudden. It wasn’t like he was having inappropriate thoughts about her. Was he? “You, uh, screamed my name at the end, when you woke up.” Killian clarified.

Emma could feel her skin getting hot and the blush creeping down her cheeks and into her chest. She thought back to the end of her dream, that moment between dreaming and waking up. There had been something about screaming babies and a woman, and…

“I didn’t say Killian, I said Hook.” It came out like an accusation. Was he trying to embarrass her in some way. “I don’t even know what that means. I could have been dreaming about Captain Hook for all you know.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and now she was angry. Dammit!

“Oh, I…” Killian let out an exasperated huff. It must have been hard for him to have a decent conversation with her having to watch the road the whole time. She knew he could really only see her peripherally and was not getting the full range of emotions. “Sorry.” He said. “It’s just, with this thing,” he motioned his head toward his hooked appendage, “that’s something I tended to get called. My colorful moniker if you will.” He added looking at her quickly with a sexy smirk and a really bad attempt at a wink, that was still very flirtatious. Was he flirting with her?

And why did it feel perfectly natural despite the fact that their children were missing?

Ever since Neal had died Emma hadn’t felt the need for a relationship. A one night-stand here or there, but they’d never felt right. She had no desire to attach herself to a man again. And yet, here she was, attempting to not flirt with this gorgeous man sitting beside her, who, from the looks of it, maybe was flirting with her too.

Killian seemed to take her awkward silence as something else, because he immediately put his eyes back on the road.

“Sorry, Swan, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You can get back to fantasizing about Captain Hook, by all means.”

Oh yes, he was definitely flirting. And it actually wasn’t awkward at all.

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Killian could have kicked himself after the Captain Hook comment. He was trying to defuse the obvious tension in the Jeep. He just hadn’t realized the tension was sexual in nature on both sides. He’d felt the attraction right away, but the prospect of her son having kidnapped his daughter had put a damper on that. But somehow, finding out that Alice was safe and had gone willingly because Henry happened to be her favorite author, made the attraction to Emma come out full force. At least, that was the excuse he was telling himself.

She had fallen asleep almost right away when he’d suggested taking a nap at the beginning of the trip. He’d been glad for it. Had given him some time to think about things, reflect on his life and what not. He’d always felt like something was missing after Milah had died, but Alice had been enough. She was all that he needed. But now he was wondering.

Wondering if the potential for a relationship had slipped out of his grasp now that he was 49. He refused to say he was almost 50. What a harsh number 50 sounded to him. Neither of his parents had made it to 50, or he guessed his father may have, but seeing as he left when Killian was small due to less than legal dealings, Killian had always assumed his death had caught up with him much sooner.

Wondering if Alice was truly happy without a female influence in her life. She was his whole life, but from this whole camp experience and now running off with Swan’s children, he was beginning to realize that he was not her whole world anymore. He knew that day would come eventually, but did it have to coincide with his mid-life crisis as well?

Wondering if there was potential for something with this woman softly snoring beside him, as long as Henry was telling the truth and no harm had befallen their children. Would that be weird to pursue a woman whose child had taken off with his child? Was that akin to Stockholm Syndrome in some way? Or, what was the quote from that awful Speed sequel that was on the other night? “Relationships based on extreme circumstances never work out.” Is it just the rush of the situation that is making him notice things like the way her eyelashes flutter when she breathes out in her sleep, or the stray piece of hair that he wants to move back behind her ear, or how her green eyes have tiny flecks of hazel in them.

After about two hours he feels the need to use a restroom and grab some more coffee. He figures they’ll be eating at the lobster house (hopefully everything will be alright and they will have appetites at the lobster house), so he doesn’t get any snacks for them to share. He makes the hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon before he even realizes he’s doing it. She drank coffee at his house this morning, but for some reason he automatically made the hot chocolate for her.

Alice had an affinity for the sweet concoction. Killian had no idea where she got the idea for it. She was not someone who liked sugary snacks or drinks. She prefered tea like he did, sour and licorice flavored candies, and fruit if she wanted something on the sweet side. He didn’t even keep hot cocoa in the house. He had gone into a convenience store once for a cup of coffee before they took a trip somewhere, he can’t even remember where, but she had insisted on a cup of it and adding the whipped cream and cinnamon. It had been summer time, so he’d been surprised there was even any hot cocoa in stock. Alice had been five or six if he recalled correctly. So any time he went somewhere with her he got her the chocolate treat. He hadn’t even thought about it in the gas station when he got himself his coffee this time. He blamed it on Alice being on his mind.

He’d come back to the car to find her in the throes of a nightmare, thrashing about in her seat. . He wasn’t sure if he should try to wake her or let her ride it out. Alice had nightmares as a child and the therapist he’d gone to see after Milah’s death had suggested to let her work through them, that waking her up could be detrimental to what she was working through.

“HOOK!” Emma shouted as she bolted up as much as she could being belted into the seat. The name jarred Killian. He hadn’t been called Hook in a long time. Back when he first lost the hand he’d had a few of his coworkers start referring to him by that due to the hook he wore at work to help him out. Once he got into management he started wearing the prosthetic to work and the nickname died out, and also because he was now their boss, and it wasn’t appropriate to call him that. He could only imagine what Emma was dreaming about that had caused her to call out his old moniker.

“You okay there, Swan?” His eyebrows furrowed in concern. Emma didn’t seem the type to have nightmares. He could tell she was a pretty tough woman. She’d told him she worked in bail bonds when he’d tried to be chivalrous and open the Jeep door for her, scoffing at him and everything. If they hadn’t been in the middle of, whatever it was they were in the middle of, he’d have kissed her right then and there.

“Yeah, sorry. Just a really weird dream.” She said, shaking her blonde ponytail about. He placed his coffee cup in his cup holder and then handed Emma hers. He had just started to maneuver his hook into the driving apparatus when he saw her smile at the sip that she took.

“Hot chocolate?” Killian could see her savoring the flavor in her mouth. “With whipped cream and cinnamon?” He’d almost forgotten that he’d gotten that for her instead of coffee. He felt the heat of embarrassment creep across his face and his ears, and his hand automatically went to the back of his neck, a nervous tick he’d never been able to kick.

“Uh, yeah? I don’t know. I started making it before I even thought about why. Um, Alice likes it this way. I didn’t want to waste it.” God, he was an idiot. He couldn’t even get this beautiful woman a grown up drink. She must think him the biggest buffoon ever.

“Well, it’s my favorite too. So Alice has good taste.” She smiled the most genuine smile he’d seen from her yet. It seemed she had an affinity for hot chocolate as well. Killian mentally patted himself on the back. They pretended to toast their drinks, both taking a sip. Killian put his coffee cup back in the holder and got them back on the road. They had another two hours to go before they would reach the lobster house.

He should have just turned the music back on. Or made some small talk. Asked her more about being a bail bonds woman. Hell, even ask her about Hope and Henry. Talking about their daughters should have been the most natural topic to talk about given their circumstances, but, no, he had to ask about the damn dream.

“Care to tell me what your dream was about?” He didn’t want to pry too much, but he was also curious about why she yelled out his old nickname.

She looked at him with ...confusion? He wasn’t sure what the look was that she was currently giving him. “Oh, it was just a bunch of nonsense.” Emma said. She took a deep breath as though the dream were still lingering on her mind. “Something about a beanstalk and a giant. I think I must have been thinking too much about Hope and maybe that triggered an old fairy tale in my brain or something.” She tucked a strand of her ponytail that had come loose back behind her ear, and Killian wished he wasn’t driving at the moment so he could have done it instead.

“Oh.” That was not the response Killian was hoping for. Of course, it’s not like she would have just come out and said I was having a sex dream about you. “It’s, just, um, well...” He rubbed at the back of his neck again, making sure to still keep his eyes on the road and keep his hook in the steering apparatus. Should he tell her that she said the name he used to be called? She might be embarrassed that she was dreaming of his hook and called that out. He quickly made the decision to say something. He rarely flirted with women anymore, and something inside him told him she wouldn’t be upset. “You, uh, screamed my name at the end, when you woke up.”

Killian could see out of the corner of his eye that she was all flushed. Had she really been dreaming about him?

“I didn’t say Killian, I said Hook.” Emma practically spat out. “I don’t even know what that means. I could have been dreaming about Captain Hook for all you know.” Killian could see that maybe telling her that had been a mistake. But now she seemed to be accusing him of making things up.

“Oh, I…” Don’t ruffle the woman who you have to spend another two hours in the car with, you git! “Sorry. It’s just, with this thing,” Killian nodded his head to his left side, “that’s something I tended to get called. My colorful moniker if you will.” And, as if it were beyond his control, he turned quickly toward her, gave her a smile and a wink, and then turned his head back to the road.

He immediately regretted doing that. But it had felt completely natural. Like it was something he would do with her. His skin prickled under the slight unease he’d now brought into their conversation. What was she thinking? Was she thinking he was an absolute letch? He thought the flirting was coming from both sides, but maybe he was wrong. Or maybe, he thought as he peeked slightly at her and seeing her slight flush coming back, she was thinking the exact same things he was thinking.

“Sorry, Swan, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You can get back to fantasizing about Captain Hook, by all means.”

Killian settled his eyes back on the road with another little smirk, but he could feel the tension in the air disappearing, with the smile he’d seen peeking out of the corners of Emma’s mouth before he had put them back on the road completely.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Emma and Killian spent the next two hours talking about anything and everything. It was all that Emma had imagined really getting to know someone was like, something she’d never had growing up.

She learned how Killian had lost his parents at a young age.

“Cancer. Can’t really remember what kind, I was pretty young. I just know she was sick and then she was gone.”

He paused slightly, “It took a few years, but then my father left as well. I was in my teens. He just didn’t come home and then I think some guys came looking for him. It’s all real hazy. I just know he must have been doing something illegal.” Emma nodded along realizing they had similar backgrounds.

“I started working at the docks as soon as I got out of high school so I could make some money to go to community college, but I really liked working near the water. I’d hoped to save up for a boat someday and run tours out of the harbor, but then….” He trailed off and Emma could see a far away look glaze his eyes over. “I met my Milah. Again, the details are kind of fuzzy, but she was married, he was abusive. She had run away to the docks at one point after one of their rows, and I saw her, crying, and being the gentleman that I am,” Emma rolled her eyes and gave a small snort to that statement. She wasn’t sure why as he’d been nothing but a gentleman, but it had just bubbled up as if it were the most natural reaction to that statement. “I’m always a gentleman, Swan.” He responded in a slightly flirtatious tone and that smirk that once again made Emma’s cheeks blush. “I offered to take her to the police. She almost refused, I found out later it wasn’t the first time this had happened, but she eventually realized this handsome stranger, her words, not mine, Swan; I’d have gone with dashing rapscallion,” Emma put her hand over mouth as if she was trying to suppress a laugh, but she was secretly smiling, “was everything her husband was not. I was kind and caring and nurturing, and we were friends for a long time as I helped her prepare to leave her husband. And then we went past the friendship stage, and she realized I was also someone who truly loved and cherished her.” Killian gave a sad smile at the memory. Emma could only imagine that type of love, having never experienced it herself.

“Of course, her husband wasn’t happy when she left him, and I can’t really say where he went, just that once he lost his power over Milah, he left us alone.” He frowned a little bit at that part, as if he hadn’t got it quite right and was trying to remember some specific detail. The pause was so great that it almost seemed as if his story had come to an end, but then he continued on.

“We had tried for years to get pregnant. We assumed that it wasn’t in the cards when Alice came along. It was a cruel fate of the gods that my Milah only got to see the first two years of Alice’s life before she died.” He took a shuddering breath before pressing on. “It’s been me and Alice ever since.” And in a much happier tone, “I think we did pretty well for ourselves considering.” He gave a quick smile to Emma before turning his attention back on the road.

Emma, in turn, told him about her past, things even some of her closest friends didn’t know about. It was eerie how easy it was to open up to him.

She was an orphan, “Found on the side of the highway. I don’t know what kind of parents do that to a newborn. I can only imagine it was some teenaged mother who couldn’t bear to kill me herself and hoped either a car or nature would do it for her.” Emma seethed.

Being bounced around from foster home to foster home, “I had a family for the first three years of my life, it’s how I got the Swan name. But when they got pregnant they gave me back.” Emma said rather sadly. It had always been a point of contention with her that someone would throw away a child once they finally had one of their own. Had they really loved her that little?

How she’d met Neal and their life of crime together. “You stole a stolen car?” Killian asked incredulously. “He was asleep in the back seat, how was I supposed to know?” Emma said slightly defensive.

She told him how Neal had framed her and left her in jail, “Bloody wanker he was.” Killian retorted, almost as if he were responsible for Neal doing that to her.

And how she’d found out she was pregnant, “But I was determined to do something better by Henry. I didn’t want him to have the same doubts and questions I did, so I collected him from the foster home he’d been in, I got my GED in prison, and I found a job and housing through an outreach program.” Emma said proudly. She didn’t actually remember a lot of those details, but just remembered how satisfied she’d felt when she was able to retrieve Henry and do something with her life.

“Neal came back when Henry was 11. I don’t remember why or how anymore, just that now that he knew about Henry he wanted to be a part of our lives again.” Emma sighed, vaguely remembering how angry she’d been at Neal for just showing up back in their lives. “I never fully forgave him, but I let him back in for Henry’s sake. And obviously succumbed to his charms, again, because, Hope.” She furrowed her brow trying to reach for the emotions that had come from that particular reunion, but found that she couldn’t find them. It was like she knew the memory was there but perhaps the emotions that went with it had faded from time. That didn’t seem right, but what other explanation was there?

Emma took a deep breath as she came to the part that required her to bare more of her soul than she was comfortable with, yet she felt it was easy to bare it to Killian. “I could never truly love him. He’d broken that trust when he’d sent me to jail. And even though we were stable and both in a good place, when he died in the fire, it was like a weight had been lifted off my chest that I would no longer have to wait for the other shoe to drop. Hope and Henry are enough, they’ve always been enough, and they are all I need.”

She started to chew on a fingernail, an old nervous habit of hers, after all that had been said. “Well,” Emma said, shifting uncomfortably in her seat and adjusting her seatbelt as if that’s what was making her uncomfortable, “that, was…”

“A lot?” Killian said with a slight laugh. Emma could tell he was trying to lighten the situation, as if they hadn’t just unburdened all their past trauma to each other. And yet, it didn’t feel weird to be telling someone who’d been a stranger until that morning about her past.

‘Look, Swan.” Killian began, placing his hand on hers in her lap. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of here. We’ve both had atrocious childhoods, but nothing that could be done by either of us to change anything. We’ve both overcome it to lead admirable lives and have wonderful children. This...whatever this is with Henry and the girls, is merely a small blip. I’m sure it’ll just be another amusing story we tell in years to come.” Emma’s skin broke out in goosebumps, not missing how he used the word we as if they would be telling the story together, something she didn’t seem utterly opposed to, especially since she’d also thought it earlier. She was about to say something back when her stomach let out a loud grumble. She smiled sheepishly.

“Guess I should have insisted you wait for me to get a snack at that last stop, huh?” She commented, pushing a little on her stomach. Killian quickly drew his hand away. The placement of it now seeming too familiar, like he’d had his hand on hers over her stomach plenty of times before.

“It looks like we’re about 15 minutes away now.” He said, checking the time on his map app on his phone. Plus it’s almost noon. We haven’t eaten since breakfast at 7:30 when we were leaving. Or whatever you called that ridiculous pastry that you insisted was breakfast.” Killian said shaking his head, some of his hair falling into his eyes. Emma was about to remark how a bear claw is not a pastry, but a superior breakfast food, but her mind had instead conjured up an image of Killian leaning over her with that hair hanging over her, his blue eyes gazing at her hungrily as though he were going to devour her right then and there. The image that was now seared in her mind felt more like a memory rather than a fantasy. Where the hell had that come from?

After the outpouring of tragic backstories, they listened to the radio instead of talking for the rest of the drive. Killian still had it on a Classic Rock station, the smooth sounds of Take it Easy by The Eagles wafting throughout the Jeep. This had been Classic Rock when she’d been a child and she smiled, thanking god that he didn’t listen to the music his daughter was probably interested in. Emma hated when she’d catch herself singing along to whatever famous-at-the-moment popstar was on the radio because Hope was currently obsessed with their songs. He even sang along to the songs under his breath, which was adorable.

Emma tried not to be too obvious about staring at Killian, especially when he was singing, but even his profile was gorgeous. She was sure he’d been a looker when he was younger, but she still thought he was a fine specimen of a man. She wished she’d been able to see the gray starting at his temples, getting to make fun of him for finally looking his age. She frowned a little at that thought. Where had that come from? Emma shook her head from that line of thinking and noticed that they were entering a more wooded area, civilization falling behind them. But it wasn’t until they were only five minutes away that Emma’s brain started getting that niggling feeling, like she was forgetting something important, and her arms broke out in gooseflesh. And that’s when she realized that this road looked awfully familiar.

It had been 19 years, but she knew exactly what this place would look like. She’d been there before. Emma was surprised the place still existed as she remembered the woman working at the counter had told her the food wasn’t that good and didn’t exactly instill customer loyalty. She was surprised that when Henry told her the name she hadn’t remembered.

How did she forget the place she was discovered as a newborn?

How did she forget meeting the person who would turn her life around from one of crime (she hasn’t told Killian that part, the part where she had lost her job and due to her criminal record could find another one and had resorted to petty thefts and pickpocketing to help her and Henry survive) to a badass bail bondsperson? Hope’s middle name was Cleo after all, the name of the woman who believed in her and taught her about building those walls and inspiring the red leather jacket of armor she still wore to this day (although, not the original, that was long gone in the fire). It was as if the memory had been buried and had suddenly exploded to the surface when they’d rounded that corner.

Emma could see the outdoor patio as they turned the corner and her heart started picking up speed. The sign proclaiming the name of the establishment still had its red lettering and outline, although a little worse for wear now after so many years. Emma started to sweat as Killian pulled into the parking lot. Just a moment ago she’d had goosebumps and now she felt like she needed to rip all her clothes off for how hot she was feeling. It was as Killian pulled into a spot that Emma’s heart felt as if it were going to explode from her chest and she started having, what she assumed, was a full blown panic attack.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Killian wasn’t sure what had happened. One moment Swan had been nodding her head along to the music, and then she’d gone extremely quiet, and now he thought she might be having a heart attack.

Her breathing was erratic as she took in great big gulps of air, like she couldn’t breath. Her lovely face, that had had beautiful smiles on it earlier in their car trip was now pale, clammy, and covered in sweat. It was when she closed her green eyes and put her head in her lap that he realized she may be having a panic attack.

Killian understood panic attacks. He’d had them for years after Milah died. Sometimes he’d wake up having one; once he’d even had one just from feeling the heat from the stove (he’d burned dinner that night). Over the years (and through therapy) he’d learned how to calm himself down when he was in the height of one, and even though he had no idea what had triggered Emma’s, he was sure as hell going to try and calm her down.

“Emma.” He said with a calming and soothing voice and slowly turning the car engine off now that they had arrived at their destination. “Emma, love, can you hear me?” He dared not touch her, even though his fingers itched to give her comfort. He remembered how Alice, being much too young to understand why her Papa was shaking uncontrollably on the floor, had tried to lay her head in his lap, more for her own comfort than his, and him practically throwing her off of him. Her subsequent crying had actually brought him out of the attack, his paternal instincts kicking in over the panic that had overtaken him. But he knew that touching Emma would be more about what he wanted than what she could take at the moment. “Emma?” He asked again.

She shook her head in her lap and grunted something unintelligible, but it was a definite indication that she wasn’t all right.

“Emma,” Killian said again soothingly, “darling, I think you’re in the midst of a panic attack.” Talk her down, that’s what he needed to do. Provide her with a measure of safety. “Can you take my hand?” he asked, holding his hand out next to her. Emma bolted upright in her seat, eyes still tightly shut, sweat still on her brow, breathing still all over the place, but she thrust her hand into his and squeezed it.

“Well, I’ll admit, Swan, this was not how I imagined holding your hand for the first time.” He joked and then silently berated himself for flirting during this situation. Smooth, Jones. He thought to himself. Real smooth. But Emma gave a slight laugh, so he figured he must be doing something right. Holding her hand certainly felt right, and slightly familiar. Killian could already hear her breathing evening out. She squeezed his hand about every ten seconds or so until the shaking and the sweating stopped. After what seemed like a century, but had only been about one minute according to the digital clock on the dash, Emma finally relaxed her face and her eyes slowly opened. Her color and breathing had returned to normal and she relaxed the vice-like grip she’d had on his hand.

“I’m sorry.” Emma said, taking back her hand and using it to brush some of the matted hair off her face. She kept her eyes gazing straight ahead, looking directly at the lobster house.

“Not to worry. Although, I was afraid I was going to be left with no hands at one point.” He gave her a goofy grin and waggled his eyebrows, even though she wouldn’t look in his direction. She smiled at the joke at least. A wonderful smile that got her back to her normal state a bit quicker he hoped. “I used to get panic attacks after Milah died.” He shrugged, letting her know she wasn’t alone. She took one more deep breath which seemed to finally put her back to rights.

“This place…” She began, “Henry wouldn’t have known. There’s no way he would’ve known.” Killian wasn’t sure what she was getting at, she seemed to be babbling to herself now, until, “Killian, this is where I was brought as a baby when I was found!”

And now he understood. He couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if he had to go back to someplace that had such a negative connotation to it.

Emma was wringing her hands in her lap. Although he’d only met her this morning, he knew being vulnerable was not something that happened to her often. He knew she thrived on being strong and not letting others see her weaknesses.

“Emma.” He said as he put his large hand over her small ones to calm them down. “It’s just a place. It doesn’t hold any power over you.” He hoped that was the right thing to say and that she didn’t spiral out into another attack. Instead, she laughed; a thoroughly hearty laugh.

“Okay, Goblin King.” She gave out a final laugh before pulling herself together. And then there she was again, the Emma Swan who he’d met that morning, no trace of vulnerability left. She pulled down the visor mirror and scrubbed her face, getting rid of the redness that had been there, and then redid her ponytail the best she could without a brush on her. Killian wanted to offer to help her, having mastered ponytails and braids for Alice with just the one hand, but the flirting seemed out of place now after everything that had just occurred.

“Let’s go in and see our children.” Emma grabbed the car door handle and swiftly exited the car ready to face this challenge.

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5lazarus · 3 years

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“I'm leery of freelancing but I do want to start pitching book reviews and go back to the research interests I had when I thought I could have a career in academic, from looking into the material mark the collegium tignariorum (guild of masons) left on Late Antique Roman cities to looking at dmoia (enslaved women who worked in the house) in Homer and their economic labor. I'd love to write for a living” this is genuinely the coolest thing I’ve read all week & you’d be awesome at it ⭐️ I would read the fuck out of that

<3 <3 <3 my thing is I'm so divorced from current scholarship and even when I was studying, I was struggling with disassociation so I don't even know where to begin, and I've been told that most of the work that I'm interested in has been published in German and French. I think I can drag myself through French with a couple dictionaries and liberal use of google translate, but German--I'm good at languages, I enjoy learning languages, but this many years from the academe, I can feel myself getting less and less plastic.

but you know how it is, insecurities choking so I can't even focus enough to read. I struggle with a trauma-response every time I go back to my research, not because of the field itself, but bc of the people around me when I was trying to delve into this, so they have become inexorably entwined with even just picking up my Latin dictionary. frustrating to have something I devoted my life to for a decade locked away. slowly it's getting better but it's slow. I still have my basic research in a box in my closet at my dad's apartment. I still have my books. just never any time or space to sit and delve into it, even though it'd do me good. but I'm trying. the one thing I've learned from the past four years is sometimes to just let myself sit. and let's be honest, I don't think I would've been happy (is anyone happy in academic?) in a phD program, I like being fully engaged with contemporary politics and prioritizing paying off my loans and going into a profession I would find politically & emotionally satisfying, that would still put food on the table and rent in the landlord's hands. I think I'll like law school better than doing a master's in classical archaeology, however much I miss it. there is a point where I just have to be practical.

#personal

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cicelythereaper · 4 years

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Hello! I was wondering if you had anything on Y Gododdin 😃

hey! fellow gododdin enthusiast! what a delight

i presume this is a request for reading recommendations - i don’t know exactly what you’re looking for, or how accessible these will be, but i’ve tried to cover most bases here. i WISH there were more literary criticism, maybe there is in the welsh-language scholarship and i just haven’t found it?

it’s entirely possible that i will have missed some obvious things here, i’m mostly sticking to stuff that i personally have read. if something mind-blowing has come out since the last time i did gododdin reading then it’s not here, i’m afraid!

but enough disclaimers. on to the recs!

text and translation:

for a translation, i cannot recommend enough joseph p. clancy’s translation as found in the triumph tree: scotland’s earliest poetry, 550-1350, ed. t. o. clancy (1998). this is fantastic. it’s poetic, it’s a joy to read, and having used it as part of a deep read last year where i went through the welsh text in detail i am honestly AMAZED regularly at how well clancy handles the many translation issues that arise. it’s loose, and it doesn’t translate every single stanza unfortunately, but for the spirit of the poem you really can’t do better

that said, if you need another translation to check against/to fill in the gaps, i’d recommend kenneth jackson’s the gododdin: the oldest scottish poem (1969). it’s a prose translation, so it’s harder to use in conjunction with the text, but it’s pretty clear and accurate

text-wise... things get complicated. honestly, the best edition is probably still ifor williams’ canu aneirin (1938), in terms of faithfulness to the words on the manuscript page. (i also really enjoy his textual commentary, but it is in modern welsh so not accessible to everyone.) the major problem with it is that you are not going to get the stanzas in the order they appear in the manuscript - he reorders them into groups of perceived variants. this also makes it harder to distinguish between the A-text and the B-text. AND it means that the stanzas are not in the same order as in any of the translations!

if you can get hold of it, i really really think it is worth having daniel huws’ llyfr aneirin: a facsimile (1989). the introduction is SO useful for understanding the manuscript context, and it comes with gwenogvryn evans’ transcription of the book of aneirin, which you can compare with williams’ edition if need be to work out where a stanza actually goes.

there’s a conspectus of editions which i think thomas owen clancy put together but i cannot for the LIFE of me remember where it is - if you think you’ll need it, PM me and i’ll see what i can do

dating, textual criticism and historicity:

t. m. charles-edwards, wales and the britons, 350-1064 (2013), chapter 11 - this is from more of a historical perspective than a strictly linguistic/palaeographical/dating perspective, but it’s a really good general introduction and i definitely recommend starting with it. if you read nothing else, read this. this whole book is a godsend

t. m. charles-edwards, 'the authenticity of the gododdin: an historian's view', in astudiaethau ar yr hengerdd, eds. bromwich and jones (1978), pp. 44-91 - this kind of lays out the standard view which everyone has been deconstructing ever since. we don’t know anything about what’s going on with y gododdin, but at one point we thought we did know something and this was what it looked like

d. n. dumville, 'early welsh poetry: problems of historicity', in early welsh poetry: studies in the book of aneirin, ed. b. f. roberts (1988) - and HERE is the deconstruction! a pretty good overview of the issues with “knowing anything” when it comes to y gododdin

p. sims-williams, 'dating the poems of aneirin and taliesin', zeitschrift für celtische philologie 36 (2016), 163-224 - i don’t have any notes on this and haven’t read it recently, but i remember it being good (it’s sims-williams so of course it is). almost certainly contains linguistics, but is probably also written readably

o. j. padel, 'aneirin and taliesin: sceptical speculations', in beyond the gododdin: dark age scotland in medieval wales, ed. a. woolf (2013), pp. 153-75 - if you can stand linguistics talk, padel does his best to make it understandable here and gives a good overview of the linguistic arguments for and against suggested dates for y gododdin. this whole book is actually very useful

g. r. isaac, 'canu aneirin awdl LI', journal of celtic linguistics 2 (1993), 65-91, AND 'readings in the history and transmission of the gododdin', cambrian medieval celtic studies 37 (1999), 55-78 - DEEP IN THE TEXTUAL CRITICISM. honestly, my poor attention span means i find it hard to pay attention all the way through these two, but if you want a really in-depth look at the possible relationships between the A and B-texts of y gododdin, this is the way to go

historical discussion and background:

charles-edwards in wales and the britons chapter 11 again

j. rowland, 'warfare and horses in the gododdin and the problem of catraeth', cambrian medieval celtic studies 30 (1995), 13-40 - this is a pretty cool look at the role of cavalry in y gododdin and while i don’t agree with all of it, i think it’s really useful reading if you’re going for a historical take on the poem

p. m. dunshea, 'the meaning of catraeth: a revised early context for y gododdin', in beyond the gododdin again, pp. 81-114 - makes some ESSENTIAL points re the question of: is catraeth catterick? moreover, IS CATRAETH A PLACE?

c. cessford, 'northern england and the gododdin poem', northern history 33 (1997), 218-22 - a historical perspective on the poem with some very useful points, comparing the situation as sketched out in y gododdin with what we know of the area at the time

m. wood, 'bernician transitions: place-names and archaeology', in early medieval northumbria: kingdoms and communities, AD 450-1100, eds. petts and turner (2011), pp. 35-70 - a welcome look at the archaeological and place-name evidence for what was going on in bernicia as it changed from a brittonic to a germanic-dominated area. really useful to have in mind both when reading the poem and when reading more literary history

r. collins, 'military communities and transformation of the frontier from the fourth to the sixth centuries', in the same book, pp. 15-34 - pretty fascinating look at the earlier background running up to the time period depicted in y gododdin, and the possibility of continuity between the roman occupation of hadrian’s wall and the post-roman era there. useful social/archaeological perspective!

f. h. clark, 'thinking about western northumbria', in the same book, pp. 113-28 - an early medieval english perspective on the area at the time, useful for comparison and completeness’ sake

literary discussion:

ifor williams, lectures on early welsh poetry (1944) and the beginnings of welsh poetry, ed. bromwich (1972, 2nd ed. 1980) - THE CLASSICS. an old-fashioned, not to say outdated, viewpoint, but that’s because this is the guy who INVENTED the viewpoint back when it was new! even now there’s a lot of good stuff packed into these and ifor williams’ prose style is a real pleasure to read. not to be missed

a. o. h. jarman, 'the heroic ideal in early welsh poetry', in beiträge zur indogermanistik und keltologie, ed. meid (1967), pp. 193-211 - likewise somewhat old-fashioned now, but lays out the classic viewpoint well and makes some good literary points. it may also be worth reading the introduction to his edition/translation, aneirin: the gododdin (1988). (i don’t recommend using it as an edition because he conflates the A and B texts and renders the text into modern welsh - this means it reads very smoothly but is quite a bit further away from what’s on the manuscript page.)

h. fulton, 'cultural heroism in the old north of britain: the evidence of aneirin's gododdin', in the epic in history ed. davidson, mukherjee and zlatar (1994), pp. 18-39 - a pretty interesting read, about the mindset expressed in the poetry, its purpose and its construction

this isn’t lit crit but i’m putting in my favourite g. r. isaac quote from his article ‘gweith gwen ystrat and the northern heroic age of the sixth century’, p. 69: ‘Koch writes that the Book of Aneirin’s ‘immediate milieu is… not the Celtic Heroic Age, but the High Middle Ages’, as if the ‘Celtic Heroic Age’ were a period of comparable historical status to the High Middle Ages. This is not the case, however. A ‘heroic age’ cannot be the ‘immediate milieu’ of any literary production, a ‘heroic age’ cannot produce literature, because a ‘heroic age’ is itself produced through literature (taken in the broadest sense). It is a literary product. The Homeric epics are not the product of a Bronze Age Achaean heroic age, but vice versa. The Irish Ulster Cycle is not the product of an Iron Age, pre-Christian heroic age, but vice versa. And the medieval Welsh poems of ‘Aneirin’ and ‘Taliesin’ (and Triads, sections of the Historia Brittonum, and much else) are not products of a sixth-century North British heroic age, but vice versa.’

honestly there just is not nearly enough lit crit for y gododdin, in english at least, especially to explain cool shit that the welsh text is doing that isn’t visible in the translation, and/or things that could be subversive or ambiguous about it - so, i don’t know what your level of engagement with the medieval welsh text is, but if you’re curious, if you want to know more about what’s going on in a specific stanza (or which stanzas are extended puns), or just which things i’ve been dying to yell about all year, PLEASE message me and I! WILL! YELL!

articles which are almost certainly good and useful but it’s been too long since i’ve read them to say:

t. o. clancy, 'the kingdoms of the north: poetry, places, politics', in beyond the gododdin again, pp. 153-75

m. haycock, 'early welsh poets look north', likewise in beyond the gododdin, pp. 115-52

FINAL NOTE:

one of the problems with translations is that they give an impression of way more certainty about the meaning of the text... than is actually there. you’re pretty safe with clancy or kenneth jackson, but tread carefully. again, i don’t know your level of engagement with medieval welsh, but if you want to know if there are any major textual issues with a stanza, hmu and i will gladly consult my copious textual notes! but in general, BEWARE of basing anything too heavily on the following groups of stanzas:

A40, A41, B5, B6 (Am drynni drylaw drylenn; Clancy ‘For the feast, most sad, disastrous’)

A42, B25, B35 (Eur ar vur caer; Clancy ‘Gold on fortress wall’)

A48, B3, B24 (Llech leutu tud leudvre; Clancy ‘Standing stone in cleared ground’)

A62, B14, B15, B16, B36 (Angor dewr daen; Clancy ‘Anchor, Deifr-router’)

the Gorchanau if you’re interacting with those, especially the Gwarchan Maeldderw - if anyone tells you they know exactly what is going on in these, do not believe them. isaac has a full translation of the gwarchan maeldderw in cambrian medieval studies 44, and it’s useful, but i’m not by ANY means completely convinced by it, so tread carefully.

the more stanzas there are in a group of variants (or at least a group that shares lines), the more likely it is that those stanzas are going to be SUPER DUPER TEXTUALLY FUCKED UP, is a pretty good rule of thumb.

#y gododdin #cicely speaks #academic book recs #asnc things #I AM SO DEEP IN THE QUESTIONABLE ETYMOLOGIES AND SADNESS ABOUT DEAD YOUNG MEN #i have PAINFULLY detailed textual notes on this whole fuckin thing #behold my continuing love affair with ifor williams' prose in welsh and english #ANYWAY #hmu for GODODDIN YELLING #it may be yelling of sadness about dead dudes! it may be yelling of frustration about FUCKING SCRIBES!#who can say!#violetcancerian

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freddiesaysalright · 4 years

Text

Soft in Love Part 2

A Gwilym Lee x Student!Reader Fic

Summary: Y/N is an acting student in her last semester of college. When a professor unexpectedly can’t make it for the senior capstone class, a very famous (and handsome) substitute is called in. When they connect, they face a few challenges.

Word Count: 2.7k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural, @someone-get-a-medic, @bensrhapsody, @deakyclicks, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession, @minigranger, @crazyweirdocalledfriday, @benders-diamond-earring, @im-an-adult-ish, @anincurablefangirl, @kiainspace, @lookuptotheskiesandsee If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Hope you all enjoy this next part! Sorry it’s taken a little longer than usual, I’ve been pretty busy at work.

Warning(s): None! Well, more pining, but hey, y’all asked for this.

Part 1

Part 2 here we go!!!

That night, you went to Sloan’s for pizza and a movie. Since you lived on campus as part of your scholarship, you tended to hang out at Sloan and Andrew’s apartment once classes were over and homework was done. You had a room to yourself, but it wasn’t spacious, so the three of you normally were at their shabby, typical New York apartment with little space and even less furniture.

“So, what should we watch?” you wondered as you plopped down on the couch.

“How about Bohemian Rhapsody?” Sloan suggested, wiggling her eyebrows at you. “Y’know, so you can really see Gwilym in action?”

Andrew groaned. “Come on, Sloan, we’ve teased her enough.”

“What?” she shot back. “They were really connecting.”

“Connecting?” you questioned. “We barely said two words to each other.”

You had neglected to tell them about running into your substitute in the library. You were keeping that moment to yourself. It felt like something private, even though it was perfectly innocent. You wanted to keep it in your heart. For now, at least.

“All that eye contact,” Sloan continued. “It was like Edward and Bella in there.”

“If it was like Edward and Bella, he’s more likely to murder me than anything,” you retorted.

“Edward doesn’t kill Bella!” she argued.

“He turns her into a vampire!” Andrew pointed out. “That’s the same thing!”

“No it isn’t!”

“Yes it is!”

“Okay, Jacob!”

“Guys!” you interjected. “If we talk anymore about Twilight, I’m going to kill myself. Let’s just pick a movie.”

“I still vote for Bohemian Rhapsody,” Sloan said. “Y/N should see at least one thing our new professor is in.”

“I think we should watch a classic,” Andrew replied. “I haven’t watched Casablanca in a while.”

“One vote for Bohemian Rhapsody, one vote for Casablanca,” she said, then looked at you. “Would you like to cast a vote, or add a contender?”

You thought for a moment, but you already knew what you were going to pick. You just wanted to give Andrew the illusion of having a chance. You tapped your chin with your forefinger.

“I’m gonna go with…” you paused. “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Oh, come on!” Andrew mock complained. Then he smiled. “Alright, I’m gonna order the pizza.”

“We’ll start the movie,” Sloan assured him.

As she picked up the remote, you considered telling her about the library. You weren’t sure why Sloan should be allowed this information and not Andrew, but you’d noticed he had sort of drifted from you while you were dating Daniel. Now that you and Daniel were broken up, Andrew was friendlier than before even. It made you a little confused. And the distance really hurt you.

But you looked at Sloan and thought about what she had said so far. You didn’t think she would tease you about the library, but she also would likely turn it into something it wasn’t. She had a tendency to gas you up for things that were hardly ever a big deal in reality. So you decided not to tell her. The moment would remain just yours. And Gwilym’s, of course.

The movie began, with the pizza arriving about half an hour in. You wouldn’t call yourself a huge Queen fan, but you liked their hits. You admired the movie’s aesthetic, but you especially admired Gwilym’s performance. He looked so cool with the curly hair and the seventies clothes. It was rather unlike the man you’d met earlier that day. Not that Gwilym didn’t look cool, he just wasn’t as glam. At least, not on that level.

When the movie finished after the Live Aid scene, you had gotten a little emotional. You wiped your burning eyes and sniffled.

“So, what’d you think?” Sloan asked, switching the television off.

“It was good,” you choked out.

“Oh my God, Y/N, you’re such a sap,” Andrew joked.

“Shut up!” you returned. “I just have feelings. There’s nothing wrong with that!”

He laughed. “Nah, I guess you’re right.”

You stretched out on the couch, nudging his thigh playfully with your toe as you giggled and yawned. He smiled back at you.

“I’m beat,” you sighed. “I think I’ll head back to my dorm.”

“You know you’re always welcome to stay here,” Andrew said.

“I know,” you replied. “But I don’t like to intrude. Plus, your couch is lumpy.”

“You could take my bed,” he offered.

Something about the way he didn’t look at you when he said it rubbed you the wrong way. If Andrew had feelings for you, you wished he would either say it or get over it, but not say things like that to leave you wondering. You knew it could never be that way between you, so you hoped for the latter.

“I’d rather be in my own bed,” you said, keeping your tone light.

You got off the couch and stretched again. As you put your backpack on, you thanked them for the pizza and then bid them goodnight.

Sloan closed the door behind you and looked at her roommate.

“Could you be any more obvious?” she said. She continued by doing her best Andrew impression. “Stay here, sleep in my bed, suck my dick.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he returned, disappearing in to his room.

You headed back to campus, which was only a few blocks away, your mind racing. Everything from your chance library meeting with Gwilym to whatever the hell had gotten into Andrew was swirling around in your mind.

As you passed the coffee shop closest to campus - frequented by mostly students and faculty, you spotted Gwilym though the window. You watched him as he pored over the book you had recommended, sipping his drink with something of a refined air about him. The temptation to go in and say hello was overwhelming. You were just so drawn to him for some reason. But you decided against it, remembering the way Sloan had compared you both to the cringiest couple perhaps ever written. Showing up suddenly at the coffee shop after one earlier chance meeting seemed very stalker or Edward Cullen-ish. Even if it was genuinely a coincidence. With a sigh, you moved along.

Gwilym lifted his eyes from the page he was reading and looked around. He felt as if there was someone he knew nearby, but as his eyes scanned the room, he saw only strangers. Movement by the window made him look out, but he missed who or whatever it was that created the motion. He blinked in that direction, his mind drawing up - for some reason - an image of you standing there.

Something resembling disappointment crossed over his heart, but he pushed it down. He didn’t need to be wishing to see you anywhere outside of class. His phone ringing brought a welcome distraction.

“Hello?” he said, picking it up.

“Gwilym, hi!” chirped the voice of Dr. Bennett. “I just wanted to check on you and see how the first day went.”

“You’ve just given birth, and you’re worried about me?” he returned. “Emily, that’s ridiculous.”

“Don’t scold me, Gwil,” she answered lightly. “How’d the class go?”

“If you must know, it went just fine,” he told her. “I’ve been introduced to everyone. You have a very talented class there.”

“Excited as I am to have my son, I am a bit bummed I won’t get to teach them,” she agreed. “But, I’ve left them in very capable hands. I’m glad it’s going smoothly.”

“It really is,” he said.

“What do you think of Y/N?” she asked.

His chest tightened.

“She seems like a lovely girl,” he said stiffly.

“She’s a real star,” she went on.

“I haven’t heard her sing yet, but from the way you and Dr. Curtis talk, I feel I should have a handkerchief on me or something.”

She laughed. “She’ll impress you I’m sure. Be careful there.”

He paused, wanting to know more about what she meant. It was an odd thing to say about a student. Was she joking? Was she giving him some warning about who you were? Were you not what you seemed? He wanted answers, but decided to ignore it entirely. That was the best way to deal with something like this, in his opinion.

“How are you and the baby?” Gwilym asked, desperate to change the subject.

“Perfect, so far,” she said. “Just ready to get home.”

“I’m sure.”

“Hey, Gwil,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Please keep me updated on everything,” she requested. “I’ll come and see the show at the end of the semester, but I want to know how everything comes together.”

“Will do,” he promised.

“Thanks,” she said warmly.

“You get some rest now,” he said.

“Will do,” she replied, and he heard the smile in her voice.

They said goodbye and hung up. Gwilym’s mind still reeled with her warning. Be careful there. Be careful of what, exactly? Perhaps it was better if he never knew.

On Thursday, you showed up to class early, as usual. The auditorium was empty except for Gwilym. Your heart rate quickened as you approached him.

“Morning,” you said brightly.

He turned his head and smiled at you. “Hello, Y/N. You’re early.”

“I’m always early,” you said with a shrug. “How’s the book?”

“I’m only three chapters in, but it is interesting,” he replied. “Fond as I am of Shakespeare’s plays, it’s his poetry that really gets me.”

“Oh, really?” you wondered.

He nodded. “Yes. Poetry and songs I think are the most intimate forms of writing. The authors put their feelings out and wrap them up in beautiful language. And somehow, that makes others feel it. As if it were their own. If that makes any sense.”

You pondered his words a moment. You thought of every time you’d sung in your car at the top of your lungs, the words of a song just punching you right in the heart.

“It makes sense,” you said. “I didn’t realize you were so into that stuff.”

“There’s a lot about me that may surprise you, Y/N,” he said.

You met his gaze, searching for the meaning behind that. He cut his eyes away before you did, clearing his throat.

“Would you like to get started?” he asked. “We can begin with your solo, ‘The Boy Next Door’.”

“Sounds good,” you agreed. “Want me to sing acapella or play piano?”

“You sing, I’ll accompany you,” he returned.

“You play piano?” you questioned. “You certainly are full of surprises.”

The teasing tone felt a bit unfamiliar to you. Were you flirting with him? If you were, was it wrong?

“I play piano, but not very well,” he replied humbly. “I can play a simple tune like this.”

You smiled as you both took the stage, you stopping in the center and he taking a seat on the piano bench. You waited for his cue, and then when he began, you opened your mouth and began to sing.

“The moment I saw him smile

I knew he was just my style

My only regret is we’ve never met

Though I dream of him all the while

But he doesn’t know I exist

No matter how I may persist

So it’s clear to see, there’s no hope for me

Though I live at fifty-one-thirty-”

Gwilym missed a note on the piano and stopped, bringing you to a halt as well. You shot him a questioning look.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not good enough to turn the pages on time.”

“Oh, is that all?” you teased. “Here, I’ll stand next to the piano and turn the pages for you.”

“I’m very much obliged,” he returned.

You walked over and stood to the side, looking expectantly at him.

“From ‘so it’s clear,’” he told you.

“So it’s clear to see, there’s no hope for me

Though I live at fifty-one-thirty-five Kensington Avenue-”

You turned the page.

“And he lives at fifty-one-thirty three.

How can I ignore the boy next door

I love him more than I can say

Doesn’t try to please me

Doesn’t even tease me

And he never sees me glance his way…”

You stole a glance at Gwilym as you held this note. His face was screwed up in concentration as his eyes followed the music. His hands, which were large and smooth, moved gracefully. His long fingers pressed the keys with ease. He looked very handsome.

“And though I’m heart sore, the boy next door

Affection for me won’t display

I just adore him

So I can’t ignore him

The boy next door…”

You held the note and came off of it slowly and softly. Gwilym did the same with his final note. As the song closed, you looked at each other. A moment of softness passed between your gazes. Gwilym was beginning to understand his friend’s warning. You were so...charming.

“That was very good,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said sweetly.

“I’m impressed you knew all the words,” he remarked.

“I’ve been a fan of the movie since I was little,” you told him. “I literally wanted to be Judy Garland.”

“Well, you don’t have very far to go,” he said. “Although, I believe Y/N Y/L/N is perfect just as she is. You don’t have to be Judy Garland.”

Heat came to your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you said again, looking at the floor.

You paused, searching for something to say in return, some compliment to pay him.

“The piano playing was -”

“Please, Y/N, let’s not go there,” he said, a smile pulling at his lips. “My piano playing is absolute shit.”

He held his breath as the words left his mouth, fearful you might take offense to the language or feel he was getting too comfortable. When you clapped your hand over your mouth to stifle the most adorable giggle he’d ever heard, he was relieved.

“It wasn’t shit!” you protested. “Really, it wasn’t!”

“I appreciate you trying to bolster me, but the most redeeming part was playing through your page turn, which was executed flawlessly.”

You laughed some more.

“Well, I am known around here for my page turning skills,” you joked.

“I have a feeling you’ll be known for many things, Y/N,” he said. “Including turning pages for barely capable pianists.”

Your smile lingered on your lips as your classmates began entering the theater. Sloan eyed you questioningly as he saw how close you were standing to Gwilym. When had you drifted that way? You hadn’t felt yourself move.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you stepped away, back toward center stage. Gwilym got to his feet and followed you, turning to address the other students.

“Welcome back, everyone,” he said.

He took roll quickly before getting into rehearsal. He and Lily were working on their early scene in the wagon. You watched him ease her into comfort with him. She was six, just like her character, Tootie, and though not shy, did need to warm up to people. Sloan’s sister took a seat in the audience, and you saw her soften as she looked on as well.

“Isn’t that sweet?” you said to Sloan as she approached you.

She looked over at Gwilym going back and forth with her niece.

“Precious,” she said flatly. “You and Gwilym seemed pretty cozy.”

You rolled your eyes, but knew you still looked flushed.

“Oh, please,” you said. “We were just practicing.”

“Y/N, look at me,” she said with uncharacteristic seriousness.

You did.

“I know we’re joking about how hot he is and all that, but it’s not smart to think any further than that,” she said. “He’s a professor - at least right now - and both of you could get into trouble.”

Defensiveness surged through you.

“You’re talking about it like we’ve been sleeping together or something,” you said, harsher than you meant to. “You’re the one who’s been making the jokes. Nothing’s happened, so spare me the lecture.”

“Y/N, I’m just trying to be a friend,” she said.

“Look, it’s perfectly normal to connect with a teacher,” you returned. “It’s nothing more than that.”

She looked you over, skepticism coming over her sharp features.

“If you say so, Y/N,” she said with a sigh. “But, for the record, I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you were looking at him when we walked in. Ever.”

She walked away, leaving you stricken where you stood.

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

Eardrum Torture

PART THIRTEEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: mentions of a broken arm, lots of unintentional angst but here we are it just happened, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 4.4K

Summary: Application season takes its toll on Ella.

Four days. She had four days left until the applications were due, and she was about ready to rip out her hair. A Wednesday evening brought with it October wind and thick clouds. Though she had the night off, she sat wringing her hands over a scattered pile of papers at a corner table in the diner. It had been danish day, Luke rushing around to accommodate the breakfast and afternoon crowds, and the restaurant was equally packed at dinner. Ella raked her hands through her messy hair, tying it up in a ponytail and blowing loose strands from her eyes. Her nails were bitten down and she had dark circles under her eyes. The only solace was her knowing the torture would soon end. Envelopes were addressed, the stamps were bought, the essays were written, but she couldn’t manage to feel as though the applications were finished.

In all honesty, she knew there was no real reason for all the nerves. It wasn’t as though any of the colleges she was applying to were her dream schools. Financial aid could do some help, but it was simply fruitless to spend application fees on Berkley when she knew she would never be able to go anyway. Instead, the state schools and community colleges which made up her list were modest and affordable. And her father and Fiona were glad to have her able to live at home. No one would have to pick up her chores, and they could save for the wedding.

And she couldn’t bring herself to be angry with them. Disappointment was there, but she knew it was simply realistic. They couldn’t pay for the schools, and they didn’t want her to be buried in debt for the rest of her life. She could appreciate that, especially when she was likely to end up with a degree in something she wasn’t particularly passionate about. What could one do with an art degree anyway? She would settle for something stable, in business or economics, instead of starving for her hopeless dreams. Blowing out a breath, she tried to wake herself up by widening her eyes as she picked up an essay about a significant person in her life to read over for the third time. She’d actually had to write it twice, considering how illegible her cursive was in the first draft.

Rapping his knuckles on the table, Jess sat down across from her with a smirk and a plate in his hand. “Sweepin’ those chimneys nonstop, huh?”

Ella rolled her eyes. “Bite me.”

“You’re gonna give yourself a headache,” he said, holding the plate with the turkey sandwich out before her. It was nearly closing, and she still hadn’t ordered any dinner. He took the liberty of making something for her. Lately, she’d been forgetting to eat altogether.

“Well, we all have to make sacrifices sometimes,” she muttered flatly.

“Look,” Jess sighed, “just take a break for a second, alright? I’ll read it for you if you want.”

She cleared her throat in annoyance, then finally tossed a glance his way. Before she could help it, her stomach growled at the sight of the sandwich. Classic turkey was her favorite. Jess smirked, but said nothing. Ella narrowed her eyes at him and stared him down for a moment, then finally relented. They did a quick exchange, Jess with her paper and Ella with the ceramic plate.

“Thank you,” she said tiredly.

A smug smile painted his face as he began reading the essay. “You’re welcome, Stevens.”

As she ate, he read, brows furrowed in concentration. His face was indecipherable, and her stomach rolled with anxiety at him looking over her work. The sandwich was gone almost instantly, and she hadn’t realized how hungry she was. Luke was making preparations for closing as the last few customers finished up their dinners. The last pot of coffee was empty, and the twinkling lights in the square illuminated the dim evening in a cozy whitish-yellow glow. She licked mayo from her thumb and wiped her mouth with a napkin, finished eating, just as Jess turned the paper over and set it back down on the table.

“So?” she asked, arms crossed over her t-shirt and an expectant look on her face.

Jess nodded. “It’s really good, Eleanor. I like it. Very descriptive. I can tell you’ve got a James Joyce obsession.”

She laughed in spite of herself. “Shut up, jackass.”

“But, really, I love it,” Jess said.

“Thank you,” she said humbly, averting her gaze with a shy blush still present.

“Did she really know June Carter Cash?” he asked.

A wide smile crossed Ella’s face. The essay, though monumentally stressful to finish, had been a joy to write. Instead of offering a more melancholy tale about her mother, she’d chosen her grandmother. Whose necklace she wore, who she had a framed photo of on her desk, and who taught her how to persevere. Though she had died before Ella was ten, the woman was still so present in her memory. Her mother had been a tender rose, but her grandmother had been a giant sunflower, standing tall. A force of nature.

“Yeah. They sang at the same club a couple times. My grandma’s stories could give Miss Patty’s a run for their money.”

“High standards to meet.”

“That they are,” she said fondly, taking the essay and straightening a stack of papers in front of her. Then, she looked back up at him with a teasing eye. In spite of herself, she picked up the essay and began skimming it again. “Aren’t you on the clock? Slacking off, are we, Mariano?”

He scoffed. “Luke let me off early, Caesar’s helping close. Time off for good behavior.”

“Not likely,” she teased, snorting a laugh, then brought her fist to cover her mouth as a yawn overtook her.

Jess felt a pang of sympathy, watching her regain her composure and blink back a watery shine from her reddish eyes. She looked positively exhausted, and he hadn’t seen her without a pencil or an essay in her hand in what felt like forever. Even when she was behind the counter at the diner; Luke was being especially lenient for application season.

“You wanna hang out upstairs? I think there’s some Alfred Hitchcock on tonight.”

She only raised an eyebrow, gesturing down to her applications and other schoolwork.

“How many days do you have left?”

“Four.”

“And you have them all finished?”

“More or less.”

“And you can’t take a break from rereading to hang out with your boyfriend for one night?”

Ella paused for a moment, and a teasing smirk crossed her face. “Boyfriend?”

He cleared his throat and a blush crept up his neck, but he maintained the confident facade, smirking back. “Oh, am I not your boyfriend?”

She shrugged. “I guess. Just didn’t know you’d fully committed to the label.”

“Oh, I’m committed.”

“Oh. Okay,” she smiled lightly, the dimple showing in her freckled cheek. “And I’m your girlfriend?”

“I figured. Was I wrong?”

“No. No, you weren’t.”

“Good,” he said shortly, and felt a little squirmy under her teasing gaze. “Now, are we gonna go watch some ‘50s murders or not?”

Ella snorted a laugh at his embarrassment. She looked down at the stack of work doubtfully, then sighed. It was too tempting to resist. Then, she stood up and began clearing up her things.

. . .

Mid-way through Psycho, Jess noticed Ella’s continuous yawning and the way she struggled to keep her hazel gaze on the grayish screen. He could hear Luke closing up down in the diner, and Caesar’s music droning from the radio. But it was cozy, the October night closing in and bringing silence to the chilly town streets. There was an old quilt spread out over their laps, their hands laced together. She cleared her throat and straightened up slightly, trying to look more awake as the onscreen hunt for Marion Crane intensified. Jess sighed and took his hand from hers. Putting an arm around her, he brought her head to his shoulder and she leaned into him tiredly.

“Oh, I see, you��re doing that thing where you put your arm around me, and then you sneeze and try to grab-”

“Am not,” Jess interjected, laughing. “I should’ve never let you in on my moves.”

Ella giggled. “Right, your move.”

“Maybe I invented it. You could never be sure.”

She scoffed, smiling, and shifted to get more comfortable. He pressed a kiss to her hair and leaned back into the old couch. Even still, he looked down at her bitten nails and frowned.

“You’re gonna get into those schools, y’know,” he said softly.

Ella sighed. “Yeah, I guess there’s a good chance. I don’t want to count on anything.”

“Stevens, you have a four-point-oh. They’re lucky you’re even considering them.”

“And I’m lucky they’re cheap.”

Jess ran a hand over his mouth, nodding. “I bet you could still get a scholarship to Berkeley somehow. Or some school in some other city. I mean, you don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna do.”

Sleepily, she nodded. “I know, Jess. But I’ll get to live in a city someday. I’ve lived in that house for seventeen years. I can manage a couple more.”

“You could still apply, though. If you wanted,” he said.

Again, she sighed. “Really, Jess, I’m okay not applying to Berkley. I knew I’d never be able to go, it was just some stupid dream I had when Lane and Rory and I were kids and thinking about which colleges we would end up at.”

“And what rebellious kids you were,” he smirked.

Ella nudged him with an elbow. “Whatever. Southern Connecticut State is good enough for now. I’ll get some bullshit degree and a decent job, so I can have money and time to really work on my art. Someday.”

Jess hummed in acknowledgement.

“Besides, I don’t wanna leave Adam alone. My dad may be getting better, but it’s not gonna be perfect there overnight,” she explained, ending with a yawn again, behind her hand.

At that, Jess dropped the subject. He knew she needed sleep, and bringing her little brother into it would lead to a whole other conversation. Besides, it wasn’t his place to say what she should do with her life, no matter how hard it was to watch her settle, like she’d already had to do so many times.

“Okay,” he said quietly, running a hand up and down her arm.

Then, after a pause, her husky voice piped up again: “And next year you’re just gonna keep working here? And Walmart?”

“I suppose.”

“You know you’re gonna have to tell Luke about that at some point, right?”

“Well, I’m holding out as long as I can.”

She snorted a laugh. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey, you’re still sworn to secrecy,” he warned playfully.

“Yes. Cross my heart, remember?” she asked, and he nodded. Looking up to see his face in the low light, she pursed her lips. “What would you do, Jess? If you weren’t Walmart’s best employee. If you could do anything you wanted?”

There was a long silence as he thought, and she almost figured he hadn’t heard her. But then, he cast his eyes down, the movie momentarily forgotten.

“I don’t know. Maybe...write something.”

“Something?”

“Yeah. A novel. Short stories. Something. Or find some job where I could just read all day. Either one would work.”

A smile crossed her lips, turning the idea over and over in her mind. “Hm. I could see it. ‘A novel by Jess Mariano.’”

He only shrugged.

“No, really, Jess, that’d be awesome. You should do it,” she said, brightening, sitting up a little and gaining passion as she spoke, gesturing with her nail-bitten hands.

He scoffed, brows furrowing. “On what? That brand new computer I own?”

She rolled her eyes, then lowered her head back down to his shoulder. “I don’t know. You’re too smart for your own good, Mariano. I’m sure you could find a way. I just think it’d be great. If I’m owning my narrative, you have to own yours.”

Shaking his head at both her stubbornness and the memory of her spontaneous trip to New York, he kissed the crown of her head again. “Maybe.”

“Okay, chatty Kathy,” she said, scoffing at his nonchalance.

Within minutes, she had fallen asleep on his shoulder, leaving Jess to watch the reveal of Norman Bates’s mother and think on his incredibly ambiguous future.

. . .

Sunday afternoon customers flooded the diner. For once, Jess had broken a sweat serving them, a towel flung over his shoulder and an apron around his hips. Luke barked out directives as Caesar kept the grill sizzling, pancakes and bacon and patty melts, even as the afternoon crept in. Trudging around, Jess’s boots were heavy on his feet. Ella had the day off, and she hadn’t made an appearance. Usually, he would take breaks to flirt with her, trade her a book or two, as she poured over her homework. Instead, a random, loud family occupied her corner.

Eventually, he saw her blonde figure rushing down past the front window. Her cheeks were flushed scarlet as she came inside, her bag heavy on her shoulder. Luke only nodded and grunted at her, and she responded with an almost identical greeting. It became clearer to Jess every day why Luke and Ella had such a benevolent boss-employee dynamic. He held the steaming coffee pot in his hand as he came over to her. She hung the heavy shoulder bag and tattered peacoat by the door.

“Hey, your usual table isn’t open but if you wanna wait at the counter-”

“Can I borrow some angry music?” she interjected, a crease between her brows.

“What?”

She huffed and spoke with her hands. “I wanted to listen to some angry music but I only have sad shit, and I wanted to borrow some from Lane, but she wasn’t at her house, so I came over here because you have all that punk upstairs.”

“Um...yeah,” he said, throwing a glance back at the staircase. “It’s kinda swamped here but if you wanna go use the boombox upstairs?”

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” she nodded, breathless from her rant. Ella gave him a quick peck and, in a moment, was bounding up the stairs.

He stepped back slightly in surprise, eyes lingering on the checkered curtain she had disappeared behind. On a normal day, she would never kiss him on the lips in the middle of the busy diner. But on a normal day, her eyes weren’t so stormy.

. . .

Finally, mercifully, Luke let Jess take a thirty-minute break. The Distillers were turned up to head-splitting level as he entered the apartment, though they could only barely hear it downstairs under the customers’ chatter. Ella sat with one leg crossed over the other at the kitchen table, her sketchbook in front of her. She shaded a drawing furiously, not looking up as he came in. Sighing slightly, brows furrowed, he went over and turned the volume down halfway. Still, Ella gave no response. Crossing his arms over his chest, he came over beside her to regard the drawing.

Jess scoffed as he glanced down at the page. The dark lines and shading clouded the drawing of a screaming woman. Wilting flowers surrounding the face, and there was fire drawn in the figure’s pupils.

“Jesus. You draw some scary shit when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset,” she said shortly, not meeting his gaze.

“Y’know there’s a reason you’re an artist not an actress, right?” he drawled.

Ella rolled her eyes, stuffing her sketchbook into her bag and gathering herself up. Blowing out a long breath, she made to brush past him. “I’ll call you later.”

“Hey, where’s the fire?” he asked, his voice earnest as he placed a hand on her arm to stop her. “What’s the matter, Stevens?”

“Nothing.”

“Really? Then what’s with the eardrum torture?”

Swallowing dryly, she scowled at him but said nothing.

“C’mon, what’s the problem?”

Sighing again through her nose, she shrugged off his hand. “Just back off, Jess, for fuck’s sake.”

Without another word, she stormed down the stairs and left him confused. He stood with his eyes dark, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, the bass vibrations of the music thudding in his chest.

. . .

A dusky, golden October evening fell on Stars Hollow. Jess debated just staying in after his shift ended, brooding over the Bronte book Ella had loaned him, eventually falling asleep with furious thoughts cycling through his mind. Instead, he donned his leather jacket and turned down the Gilmores’ street. The gravel crunched under his shoes and he felt his heartbeat speed up as he neared the familiar house. Tall trees lined the sides of the road, and the crisp wind rustled the orangey leaves, falling around him and in his hair. He sighed heavily, taking a crunchy leaf from the top of his head and crushed it in his hand. In all the time he’d known Ella, he’d only seen her quite so angry a couple of times. Usually, it was just a bite in her voice and the sharpness of her tongue. Storming out was a move Jess expected far more from himself than from her.

He knocked on the front door, nerves building in his stomach. And his expression dropped just a touch when it was Lorelai who came to the door, slightly out of breath and less than thrilled to see him.

“Hi,” he began lamely, glancing behind her and trying to listen for other voices. “Is Eleanor here?”

Breathing out a short sigh, Lorelai put her hands on her hips. “No.”

“...do you know where she is?” Jess asked.

“She’s at the charity book sale at the high school with Rory and Lane,” she said, after a moment of debate over just slamming the door shut in his face. And, before he could run off, she added: “And I wouldn’t go find her.”

“Why not?”

Lorelai looked down at her shoes, crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe. “Look, Bender, I know you fancy yourself her knight in shining leather-”

“Hey-”

She raised a hand to stop him, and continued with a tense tone in her voice. “But she went through a lot before you ever got here. She’s still going through a lot now. And she doesn’t need you butting in and complicating all her complications.”

“I just wanted to know what’s wrong,” he explained defensively, mirroring her guarded stance.

“And it’s not my place to let you know. She’ll tell you when she’s ready,” Lorelai said. “She broke her arm during a dance at Miss Patty’s when she was ten. And do you know how long it took for her to tell anyone how much it hurt?”

He shook his head.

“Five days. Her arm was practically a purple tree trunk by the time they got her to the hospital! And that may’ve been an extreme case, but the point stands,” she said, straightening up and softening her face just a touch. “I think I’ve only seen her cry twice in ten years. She likes to work things out on her own. And she’s just got some communication issues, like someone else I know.”

She gave Jess a pointed look and he averted his gaze self-consciously.

“I bet Ella’s told you she doesn’t believe in love.”

Sighing heavily, Jess nodded.

“But we both know that’s not true. She’s cleaned my rain gutters every week for the past few years, just because I don’t like heights. When Rory had the chickenpox, Ella came here everyday after school with a new card or drawing, and stayed over until it got dark out. She always sneaks Lane her new contraband music through this weird window dumbwaiter system they made years ago. When Miss Patty needs a piano player, Ella fills in without pay, no complaints.”

Running a hand over his mouth anxiously, he nodded again. It was times like these when his heart ached for Ella, knowing how both similar and different they were from each other. He dealt with things through anger and trouble, and she dealt with things through guilt and silence. Neither method was healthy, but Ella’s was far less outwardly destructive.

“Jess, when Ella loves someone, she loves them completely. She trusts them completely,” Lorelai continued, eyebrows raised at the young hellion. “She’ll live and die for them. But it takes her years to get there. You have to be patient.”

“Alright.”

“And if you hurt her, so help me God-”

“I know. You’ll string me up in town square to set an example?” he interjected, waving a dismissive hand.

“Something along those lines.”

“Noted. Well, I gotta go,” he said, making to leave. Lorelai only hummed in acknowledgement. Before he stepped off the porch, Jess turned back over his shoulder and muttered out a “Thanks.”

In response, Lorelai gave a tiny smile, and disappeared back into the house.

. . .

His collar was up against the wind, and Jess had to try three times to light his cigarette. The diner was closed up, lights off. Bluish smoke formed hazy clouds in front of him, obscuring his view of the nearly-deserted town square. The twinkle lights were shining, and a few stray cars rolled past him every now and them, their red brake lights glowing in the darkness. Everyone seemed to be in bed already, at half past nine, in preparation for the week ahead. It made him sad, thinking of how vibrant New York was at this time of night. He wondered what his mother was doing, which boyfriend she was with. And then he scoffed at himself and let her leave his mind, crushing his cigarette out beneath the toe of his boot on the sidewalk. Looking up, he saw Orion’s belt in the autumn sky. He was homesick for the first time in recent memory.

“Hey, tough guy. Thought you kicked the habit?” he heard, and looked over to find Ella, coming from the direction of Lane’s house, arms crossed to keep herself warm.

He laughed humorlessly. “The addictive personality comes and goes.”

She sighed, leaned against the front window of Luke’s next to him. Keeping a careful distance, she tried and failed to catch his eye. He looked ahead, watching as an RV, presumably a family of tourists, rolled by on the other side of the square.

“I’m sorry,” she said, running a hand through her blonde waves. Goosebumps formed on her legs beneath her tights. Darkness had brought a harsh breeze. “I didn’t mean to freak out like that.”

“Mm,” Jess hummed, still not meeting her gaze.

Ella sighed through her nose, looking down at her disintegrating converse. “I just got in a fight with Fiona. She keeps wanting me to call her mom, so we scream at each other, and she cries so I’m the one who ends up apologizing. And then she said she and my dad are trying for another kid.”

His eyebrows shot up, and he finally turned his head to her.

Clearing her throat, she shot a bitter smirk his way. “I know. When they’re doing so well with the ones they already have, right? Anyway...I left the house and I didn’t know what to do. So, when you saw me earlier, I was just completely in my own head and...I was angry at you for nothing. And you don’t deserve that. I’ve been so stressed and caught up lately. And I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, voice husky. And he took her cold hand in his. She closed her eyes and felt her breath catch in her throat for a moment. Swallowing down her feelings, she took a step closer to him. She hadn’t expected such easy forgiveness.

“No, it’s not okay. And you don’t have to say it is. I’m just new at this whole thing. I’m not used to...talking about anything, really, let alone everything. Most of the time, even Rory and Lane don’t know too much about what’s going on with me.”

“I know. That’s okay, honey,” he repeated, and she finally let a weak smile across her lips. Jess smiled a small smile back, and hoped she could know what he meant in so few words. As he saw her shoulders relax and surprise shine in her hazel eyes, Lorelai’s words remained in the back of his mind. Patience. He could do that. He could wait. Especially when he’d waited for her so long already.

“Thanks. For…”

“Don’t mention it,” he cut in, bringing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her in to plant a kiss on the top of her head.

“Really, Jess. I don’t think you realize how nice you are,” she doubled down, looking him straight in the eye.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at the compliment, brushing it off.

Ella rolled her eyes back at his secret bashfulness and kissed him on the lips. The air was cold, but a warmth began in her stomach and spread throughout her upon feeling his touch. She stood on her tiptoes and he brought a hand to one of her hips. A moment passed between them, but thought popped suddenly into Ella’s head and she pulled away from him.

“Hold on,” she said, turning around to rummage in her bag. Eventually, she pulled out a book with yellowed pages and a black and white cover. As she held it out to him, Jess recognized the face on the front. On Writing by Stephen King.

Raising a hesitant eyebrow, he took it and immediately turned it over to read the back.

“I know it’s Stephen King, but I saw it at the charity thing today and if you’re gonna write the great American novel— which you are—I figured you could use a little advice from one of the professionals.”

“Huh,” he chirped, his voice with a surprised lilt.

She smirked. “Trust me. Rory told me lots of her favorite authors swear by it. And since you guys both have similarly questionable tastes...”

Jess shot her a teasing glare.

“I was going to give it to you for your birthday in a few days, but you let me borrow your angry music and be a jackass to you today. I decided to make it an early present. On your actual birthday, I’ll give you something by an author you don’t despise.”

He chuckled a little and turned to her, smiling more genuinely than she expected. Bringing his arms back around her waist, he pulled her in for a tight hug and she could hear a muffled “Thank you” through the kisses he pressed to her cheek.

#jess mariano au #jess mariano aus #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano one shot #jess mariano one shots #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls imagine #gilmore #jess #mariano #lorelai gilmore #luke danes #jess mariano x oc #original character #original character stories

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redthreadoffate · 4 years

Text

magical music [matt simmons]

relationship: matt simmons x female!reader

warnings: none (aside from matt not being married); mistakes here or there

request (anon): hi! can i rq a matt simmons x reader? i’d prefer if she wasn’t related to reid bc that implies that the reader is white and i’m not white. the prompt would be that the reader is a musical therapist consulting on the case who helps out a young kid during the case and after Matt asks her out? thank you!

notes: i am in no way saying that my understanding of musical therapy is correct. i’m an educational psychology student and i have been to a psychologist and psychiatrist but i am in no way a musical therapist. please forgive me for any mistakes i have done as i am not entirely sure if i did my research correctly (i really did try). :(

summary: you’re working with the bau to help a little girl, anna, calm down

Her name was Anna. Eight years old. Being the only kid who was able to escape she was placed under the protection of the FBI. Her parents had been notified and were with her every second they can.

“What do you like to do?” you asked her.

You have been brought in to help the young girl. Anna was a musical prodigy and the BAU had requested a musical therapist to help her calm down to be able to relieve some memories of the place she was captured in to help out the ones left. “Maybe she’d respond to music,” her parents suggested. “Get her to play the piano, that always helps.”

“Piano,” she replied. The large instrument was sitting in front of her. She had yet to touch it. “I like to play the piano.” You were in the hospital, on the ground floor where the piano lay for those who want to play and somehow lift up the spirits of those around them.

“Will you play it for me?”

She shook her head. “He would play it for me.”

You leaned forward. “Who? Who would play it for you?”

“Mr. Candyman.” She looked at you with a worried expression. “He might come back for me if he hears me play, Ms. Y/N. I don’t want that. Please don’t make me play. I’ll be good, I promise.”

You nodded your head. “I won’t force you to do anything. He will never get you again, Anna. The FBI is here to protect you. And so are your parents. You’re safe now.”

She nodded her head slowly and whispered a quiet ‘thank you’. You looked back at the agent with you and he frowned but allowed the nurse to take the little girl back in her room. You sighed as you watched her retreating little figure disappear into the corridor.

“It’s only the first try,” Agent Matt Simmons assured you, “when we think she’s ready, we’ll try again.”

“But what about the kidnapper? Won’t it be too late?” you wondered, panicking a little.

“While we work on this part, the rest of the team are still trying their best to gather as much information as they can. We still have a chance to catch the guy even if we’re still here.” He shrugged. “That’s the way it is, Ms. Y/N.”

You bowed your head a little. “I see. But just a quick check on how things work around here. You’ve got a psychotherapist waiting?” He nodded and you did as well. “Good. I can only do so much. I’ll do my best to get her to relax for us. But as soon as she does, you have to bring her straight to the other therapist. We don’t know how long her relaxation will last due her traumatic experience.”

“We’ve got it all covered, Ms. Y/N. Don’t worry.”

You smiled. “I’ll be going back to my office, Agent Simmons. Just call me when you need me.”

“Will do, Ms. Y/N. Thank you for today.”

He watched you leave the ground floor and into the elevator. When the doors closed, you heaved a heavy sigh and leaned on the wall. Not only were you nervous about being on the case, it was your first time helping with a crime after all, but you couldn’t help but have a slight crush on Agent Simmons.

‘Stop it, Y/N,’ you thought, ‘you don’t even know if he’s married. And anyway, your first priority is to help with the case. Not be attracted to the agent.’

You reached your floor and enter your clinic a few doors down. You sit on your chair and begin to leaf through the files that the Bureau had allowed you to read to help them out. So far, you’ve only gotten the file on Anna, her family background which included her musical talent, and what they have gotten on the unsub’s modus operandi.

This was your first time reading something like it and you couldn’t help but imagine all the gruesome happenings that the unsub could be doing. ‘Those poor children,’ you began, ‘I need to do my best to get to Anna. Why does it feel like their lives depend on me?’ You shook your head. ‘Maybe it does.’

During the second day, there was a tiny bit of hope..

You were having a nice, friendly conversation with the little girl. You were talking about artists and songs, who her favorites were. And although she had an interest in the classics, you can’t help but be amused by the fact that she enjoyed modern day pop more. It’s not the first time that you’ve heard of this scenario, but you loved how talkative the girl actually was. Maybe she had warmed up to you.

“I like Ariana Grande,” she told you. “The Way is my favorite. I also like Lourde. But that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the songs that my older sister grew up with.”

“And what’s that?” you asked, genuinely interested. You loved music and being a musical therapist and helping out those in need were just a big plus. “What songs did your sister grow up listening to?”

“Late ninetys and early two thousdands. She memorizes a lot of them. She especially loves Westlife.”

You grinned. “I love Westlife, too. Nicky is my favorite.”

“She likes Shane. But my favorite is the Backstreet Boys. Nick Carter is so cute.”

“I agree,” you said with a nod. You heard Agent Simmons laugh softly and you blush as you realized that you may have sounded like a teenager when you agreed with Anna. You can’t help it, though, Nick Carter was really cute.

But what was more important is that you believed that this was your chance to let Anna feel as though she was safe.

“Which one is your favorite song?” you asked. “My personal favorite is What Makes You Beautiful.”

She gasped. “Oh I love that! I heard that while watching Princess Diaries with Emma.”

“I liked that movie,” you remarked.

“But my favorite song of the Backstreet Boys has got to be I Want It That Way.”

You chuckled a little due to the reminder of the cold opening from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. “You are/my fire…” you started.

“The one/desire…”

‘Yes, keep going, Anna.’ “Believe/when I say….”

“I want it that way…”

‘Almost there.’ “Tell me why…”

“Ain’t nothing but a heartache…” Then she began to laugh. She was already pretty but she looked even cuter when she genuinely happy. “That was fun.”

“It was, wasn’t it? I haven’t sang that song in awhile.”

She giggled. “Emma would have loved to join.”

You sat up straighter. “How are you feeling?” Meanwhile, you’re feeling a tad bit excited at the progress.

Her laughter died down and she shrugged. “I’m okay.” She looked at the piano and cast her eyes down.

“What are you thinking about?” you pried.

“Just the piano,” she replied. “I miss it.”

“So what do you wanna do about it?”

“I wanna play the piano…”

“Do you wanna play now?” You were getting much more hopeful by the second. You always were excited when something new comes up from one of your patients. You would jump up for joy inside, heart leaping as you realized that there was some sort of progress. But outside, you would always remain cool, calm and collected. “Do you wanna play for us, Anna?”

She shook her head. “I’m tired, Ms. Y/N. I think I’ll go take a nap.”

You made sure not to show how disappointed you were. You nodded your head and the nurse waited for permission from Agent Simmons. Her parents looked at him with sorry expressions on their faces.

Once they’ve left, you groaned in frustration, forgetting that you weren’t alone in your office.

“Are you okay, Ms. Y/N?” Agent Simmons asked.

You frowned. “We were so close.”

He gave a small smile. “You did your best. Hopefully they’ll allow us to see her again tomorrow. I have a feeling it would be the day.”

You didn’t mean to look into his eyes, but you did anyway. You didn’t reply for a minute and he looked at you worriedly. You snapped out of your thoughts and pouted. He laughed lightly and you immediately pursed your lips. “I sure hope so, Agent Simmons. I really do hope so.” And you looked at the corridor that Anna had disappeared to then back at the black, sleek piano just a few feet away from you. “I hope so,” you repeated softly.

The next day, despite Anna’s parents already having second thoughts about whether she should continue with the musical therapy to help with the case, it was to everyone’s relief when the young girl began playing with the instrument that she once loved.

You sighed, finding solace that you finally got one thing right.

That day, you were talking about her achievements. You pretended to not know much about her background as she spoke.

Both her paternal grandmother and father were pianists as well, and when she began playing along with them they decided to teach her; first it was for fun then after awhile, they realized her potential and began teaching her professionally. She won many school talent shows since the age of three. Then her parents received news that a scholarship was waiting for her in a prestigious school.

That was where Mr. Candyman took her.

When she hit the final note, everyone applauded. You smiled at her and gave her a standing ovation. Anna seemed unfazed by the fuss over her, she was grinning from ear to ear, just like she always does.

“How are you feeling, Anna?” you asked when she walked back to you.

“Thank you,” she said. You smiled. “For telling me to face my fears.”

Before she ran to the piano earlier, the two of you had been talking about crowds and first days. You figured it was a good time to tell her that it was best to face her fears, and you hoped that what you said would reach to her fears of playing the piano again.

However, you also realized that much like your other patients, you couldn’t force them to do anything. Yes, they were there to get better but you can only do so much. This girl was kidnapped, along with other kids, and she was able to escape but not without the expense of being traumatized. You remember how she refused to do anything except cry when they first got her.

“You’re a brave girl, Anna,” you told her softly. “So so brave.”

She smiled.

Agent Simmons appeared beside you and squatted to be able to talk to Anna directly. “Are you ready to talk to Ms. Katie?” he asked. He looked up to her parents and you see them give a nod of approval.

“Yeah, I guess,” she replied. Then she looked at you and said, “I’m going to miss you, Ms. Y/N.”

You smiled. “Thank you for being with me, Anna. I’m very glad to have met you.” You patted her shoulder and her parents whisked her away. They looked back at you and Agent Simmons and mouthed ‘“thank you” before heading towards the corridor, two agents following them.

After a minute or so, you turned to Agent Simmons and said, “I suppose my job is done for now.”

He gave a half-smile. “I suppose so.”

“Did I do well?” you asked worriedly.

“You did a wonderful job, Ms. Y/N.” He smiled.

“Thank you,” you said, smiling back at him. You sighed and clutched your bag which was lying on the seat beside you. “I better go, Agent Simmons. If you ever need me again, you know where to find me.”

When he didn’t reply, you bowed a little and began to walk away but he called your name softly and you turned around to face him once again.

“Yes, Agent?” You tilted your head to the side. “Anything else I can do for you?”

“Two things,” he said. “One, call me Matt.” Your heart began to thump faster. “And two,” he paused, “when all this is over, do you, maybe…wanna have dinner with me, Ms. Y/N?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “That’s sounds lovely, Matt. And you can call me Y/N, no need for that ‘miss’ ‘miss’.”

He grinned and held out his phone. “I think I’d rather have your personal number than the one in your calling card.”

You laughed and punched in your digits before handing out your phone to him. “Maybe I need a caller ID so I can answer your properly.”

It was his turn to put in his number. After a minute of planning, you two headed your separate ways.

In two days, he had called. “Does Italian sound good to you, Y/N?”

“Definitely,” you replied.

And so, that very same night, you put on your best dinner date clothes, fixed yourself up a little bit more than usual–which you scolded yourself for–and waited for Matt to pick you up.

The doorbell of your apartment rang and you looked at yourself one more time in front of the mirror and smiled. “You go, Y/N.” You brisk walked to the door and outside is Matt holding a bouquet of flowers. “Hi,” you said.

“Hey,” he replied, smiling. “For you.” He handed you the flowers and you thanked him. You had asked him to wait for you as you ran into the kitchen to get a vase and fill it with water. When you were done, he asked if you were ready to go.

“Since the first time I saw you,” you answered, blushing.

He grinned. “Let’s go then.”

#matt simmons x reader #matt simmons x y/n #matt simmons x you #matt simmons fanfiction #matt simmons imagines #matt simmons imagine #daniel henney x reader #daniel henney x y/n #daniel henney x you #daniel henney fanfiction #daniel henney imagine #daniel henney imagines #misc: cherish writes

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frayed-at-the-seams · 4 years

Text

And then it was him.

(Lan Jingyi x Lan Sizhui)

Jingyi gazed out of the window languidly. In the front of the classroom, the teacher’s voice faded to a monotonous drone as Jingyi watched the leaves sway in the warm spring breeze. He absentmindedly chewed on the end of his pen slightly. The soft early morning sunlight making him doze. He had spent too much time playing mario cart with his friend, Ouyang Zizhen, the night before and the lack of sleep was making itself known.

“Lan Jingyi!”

Jingyi jerked his head up with an undignified yelp. The teacher was levelling him with a fearsome glare. Jingyi hastily wiped the stray drool from his mouth and brushed his curtain of a fringe behind his ear. “Yes Sir?”

“Pay attention. I know that you are still new to this school but I expect better”. Humiliation curled up in his stomach as the rest of the class giggled and Jingyi felt himself blush in shame. He had only been in cloud recess a week but he missed his old school. There had been less rules. ‘And’, he thought as the teacher continued the lesson, ‘the teachers had been nicer too’.

Originally, Jingyi had been born and raised within the rich district of town known as cloud recess. But his dad’s company had fallen in to bankruptcy and Jingyi and his parents had moved to the far away Mo village. Jingyi had been six at the time. However, he had adjusted quickly to the poor but friendly village, making friends with Zizhen and joining the local school.

But whilst he had flourished within the small community, his parent’s relationship had grew progressively worse. It started with drinking, then snide comments which progressed into shouting fights and slamming doors. By the time he was sixteen, there were bruises on both his parent’s faces. The fights having turned physical. Jingyi learnt not to step between them after he had gotten his third black eye. It didn’t mean that he didn’t still try though.

It was Zizhen that raised the subject of scholarships. Jingyi, who was beginning to feel suffocated, jumped at the idea and applied to as many sports scholarships he could. It was only luck that he was able to win a Classical Chinese dance scholarship to the prestigious Cloud recess academy. It was given that something would go wrong and ruin his luck. Just one week in and he was already mucking it up. Curse those who decided that he had to take maths and Chinese classes as well as his dance classes. Whoever they are, they were evil.

The slamming of the classroom door made Jingyi jump, disturbing his train of thoughts. Startled, he turned his head to the doorway to watch as two figures bowed to the teacher.

“Mr Lan, Mr Jin, what time do you call this?” The teacher asked. ‘Ah’, Jingyi thought. He eyed the two boys up and down. ‘The princes’.

“I apologise sir”, Sizhui smiled charmingly, as polite as always. “We got held up in traffic. Jin Ling snorted at the excuse but did not speak. The teacher assessed them warily then sighed.

“Just go and find a seat”. Both Sizhui and Jin Ling nodded before turning their faces towards the class. Sizhui’s purple brown orbs flittered across the room before alighting on the empty space next to Jingyi.

Trying to look busy, Jingyi pretend to be reading through his notes as the chair moved beside him. It was only when Sizhui had sat down did Jingyi notice that he had not actually taken any notes and that his notebook was not even open. Glancing up at his new desk partner, he watched as a neat white pencil case and a clear pale blue notebook were placed on the table. The colour of the notebook matched the famous Lan ribbon tied around Sizhui’s wrist.

Before he even came to cloud recess, Jingyi had heard of the Lan family. His father from from a very distant branch, so removed from the main family that the only thing they shared was the name. They were nothing like the twin jades.

Everyone knew of the twin jades, head of the Lan mafia which controlled fifty percent of China. The other half was split between the Jin clan, the Nie clan and the Jiang clan. All the clans got along famously. Especially due the the fact that the head of the Lan clan, Lan Xichen, was married to Jin Guangyao and sworn brother’s with the fearsome Nie Mingjie. But a more famous story, one that everyone knew, was the love between the Yiling Patriarch and the Second jade. It was Wei Wuxian, adopted brother of clan leader Jiang Wayin, and Lan Wangji who were the most feared.

It was their adopted son who was sitting next to Jingyi now.

As if he could hear his thoughts, Sizhui turned and gave Jingyi a stunningly warm smile. Feeling the blood rushing to his face, Jingyi hurriedly broke contact and turned his head towards the front. It stayed like that for a few minutes before he heard the click of a pen and the sound of Sizhui taking notes, that Jingyi could relax his stiff posture slightly.

Despite being the child of the mafia, Sizhui was an elegant student. Ever since they had first met as kids in preschool, Jingyi had admired him. Sizhui never let his reputation affect him. The guy was as charming and gentlemanly as a fairytale prince. He was the president of the student council and had the top grades of the year. People ignored that he was the heir to the largest mafia in China, and instead treated him like an idol. Jingyi had even heard a rumour that Sizhui had beaten up a gang of bullies single handed, only to then scold them on bullying and assist them to the infirmary.

But despite having been fierce childhood friends, honestly, the guy was a conundrum. They had lost contact when Jingyi’s family had moved away, which his younger self had cried about. He gazed at his new desk partner. Sizhui’s black hair was cut short and neatly against his head. His skin was smooth and unblemished, almost matching the pristine white of his shirt. His uniform was ironed and fresh. Compared to jingyi’s rumpled and still sleepy state, Sizhui might as well have just walked out of a fashion magazine.

“Is everything okay?” Sizhui’s calm voice asked. Jingyi blinked to find Sizhui watching him.

“Oh um yes!” His voice cracked. “Yes! I’m fine. You just have blood on your...” Jingyi broke off, his hand moving to catch Sizhui’s sleeve. He caught the end of the blue Lan ribbon between his fingers and began to absentmindedly rub at the small stain.

There was a beat of tense silence as Jingyi realised what he was doing. Colour drained out of his face. Mercifully, the bell rang. Dropping the ribbon, Jingyi hastily gathered up his stuff and fled the classroom, leaving Sizhui alone at the desk.

“What the hell was that all about?” Jin Ling barked, having watched the scene from his desk a short distance away. He was obviously spending too much time with Jiang Cheng and his potty mouth was increasing because of it.

Sizhui let out a hum, fingers toying with end of the ribbon on his wrist. “Nothing”, he decided finally, despite Jin Ling’s assessing gaze. “Let’s go”.

——

“Good! Again!” The instructor called with a clap of his hands.

Jingyi paused to wipe the sweat off his forehead before taking his position at the beginning of the mats. The mats covered a long line across the floor of the gym, almost like a runway. A runway and Jingyi was a pretty awesome plane.

Grinning, Jingyi started his run up. One flip, head over heels into a forward somersault. He flipped into a series of five forwards somersaults before using the last of his momentum to launch himself up into the air, body twisting sideways before landing on his knees. The mats cushioned his landing, so when he got up it was only with a slight ache.

“Excellent Jingyi!” The instructor, Mr Lee, called with delight. He was a large heavy set man with a encouraging grin. Jingyi liked him the best out of all his teachers. He clapped him hard on the back, almost sending Jingyi stumbling.

“Thanks Mr Lee”. Jingyi grinned and ran a hand through his sweaty hair. His fringe, which was long enough to graze his jaw, was pushed back by a white sweatband. The rest of it was cut short for convenience, but Jingyi still wished that he could grow it out.

Catching his breath, he walked over to the side of the room to grab his water bottle. He took a swig as footsteps sounded behind him. As Jingyi turned around, he choked in surprise. Hurriedly, he wiped at the water dripping down his chin.

“What are you doing here?” He gasped.

Sizhui smiled at him. He was still immaculate in his pristine white and blue uniform. Jingyi felt inappropriately embarrassed. He was sweaty and gross and probably smelt. Sizhui smelt of sandalwood and orange blossom. Even his damn scent was perfect.

“I came to speak to you”, Sizhui’s smile was like dawn light, innocent and pure. Jingyi fought the urge to snort. “Is this a bad time?” Sizhui looked like a kicked puppy.

“Um”, Jingyi glanced around at the rest of the class. “I’m in the middle of practising at the moment. But we should be done by four”. Why did he mention the time?

“Oh”, Sizhui perked up. He beamed at Jingyi. “I’ll wait then”.

“Oh um sure. You do that”, Jingyi averted his gaze and tried to quell his flaming cheeks. He set his water bottle back on the ground. Sizhui lowered himself into sitting cross legged beside it, smiling pleasantly. Jingyi tried not to make it look like he was running away.

“Why is Lan Sizhui waiting for you?” Zizhen hissed as Jingyi preformed a windmill turn. He transitioned out of the movement into a vertical split, holding his position.

“I don’t know”, He muttered back, focussing on maintaining his balance.

Zizhen did not answer for a moment. Throwing himself forward into a travelling straddle jump. Once he had landed, he circled back to Jingyi’s position. “Dude, he’s Lan Sizhui! You must know something”.

Jingyi let his foot touch the ground. Rolling his shoulders, he spared Zizhen a sheepish look. “It may have something to do with the fact that I touched his ribbon earlier”.

Zizhen gasped. “Jingyi! You know how important those ribbons are”. Jingyi winced with the scandalised tone. He did know. Every member of the Lan family had one. They represented restraint, only to be touched by your family or significant other. It was a family tradition that had been held for years. Even Jingyi had been given one at birth like all Lans, but his parents didn’t care much for the traditions. He had lost his as a child and never received a new one. When they had moved away and the Lan family had cut ties with his parents, it didn’t matter anymore.

Jingyi felt a small amount of dread settle in his gut. Those ribbons were held within the highest esteem by the main family. So much so that there were rumours that the last person to try and forcibly touch Lan Wangji’s ribbon had died a gruesome death. Jingyi shivered.

“It can’t be that bad right?” He asked. Zizhen, who was preforming his cooling down stretches, shrugged and patted him on the shoulder. Jingyi put his head in his hands and sighed.

——

Once the class was over, Jingyi reluctantly made his way back over to where Sizhui was sitting. The boy smiled at him and handed him his water bottle, which Jingyi drank from greedily.

“I can talk now if you want”, Jingyi said as nonchalantly as he could. Sizhui stood up, causing Jingyi to mentally curse the few centimetres that the older boy held over him.

“That’s good. Shall we get drinks? I know a coffee shop nearby”, Sizhui asked. Jingyi eyed him warily but nodded.

Together they walked out of the practise room. They made their way through the building, only pausing long enough for Jingyi to pull on a jumper and a pair of shoes in the changing room. Sizhui insisted on taking his bag.

“You shouldn’t have to-“, Jingyi started, hands itching to pull his backpack from the other boy’s shoulder.

Sizhui smiled in that disarming way and shifted the strap up higher. “I insist. Your muscles must be aching from all that practise. Let me do it”. Jingyi grumbled a bit more but eventually gave up with a huff, pouting as they walked to the coffee shop.

The coffee shop was only a few blocks away luckily. The silence as they walked was so awkward that Jingyi felt like crying. When they got there the scent of coffee and the pleasant sound of chatter and clinking cups washed through Jingyi like a wave of calm. The cafe was warm and cozy. The walls were accented with wood and photos. A sign above the door named the place ‘ghostly scent’ and Jingyi found himself feeling a bit better.

“Uncle Ning”, Sizhui greeted as they neared the counter. A frazzled and nervous looking man looked up from the coffee machine and beamed at them. He had long black hair tied away from his face in a low ponytail by a red hair tie which matched his red apron.

“Sizhui”, he greeted in a quiet, stuttering Voice. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a black coffee and he’ll have a honeycomb hot chocolate”, Sizhui answered. Jingyi blinked. How they hell did he know his favourite drink? His mind faltered for a moment as Wen Ning turned to make their drinks.

“Wait, I can pay”, Jingyi said, scrambling for his wallet.

Sizhui shook his head dismissively as Wen Ning waved a hand. “No need. Sizhui and his friends always get free drinks here. Just go and sit down. Xue Yang will bring you your drinks in a moments”.

Sizhui thanked him and took Jingyi gently by the wrist. He lead him over to a table in the corner, removed from the main hubbub of the cafe. Jingyi felt like he was going to spontaneously combust right there and then. He didn’t. Instead, he obediently sat down opposite Sizhui, ignoring how he still had his wrist within his grip.

“Um, is this about your ribbon?” Jingyi stuttered. “If so then I’m really sorry. I was half asleep and I didn’t realise what I was doing-“. Sizhui shook his head, cutting him off. Jingyi fell silent as a scowling teenager with badly cut black hair set their drinks on the table.

Sizhui took a long gulp of his tar like drink and Jingyi nervously followed his example. The flavour of honey and chocolate eased his aching body and he found himself relaxing in his seat with a moan. Sizhui watched him.

“To not about the ribbon”, Sizhui smiled. Jingyi blinked slowly at him, not computing.

“Then why am I here?”

“Because I wanted to talk to you”. Sizhui’s grip on his wrist had travelled down to his hand without Jingyi noticing. He linked their fingers together with a smile that had Jingyi blushing as red as Wen Ning’s apron.

Sizhui squeezes his hand and continued. “I want to ask you on a date”, he stated. Jingyi must have died, how could this be happening?

“What?”

Sizhui used his free hand to pull something from his pocket. He unfolded a piece of white material to reveal a embroidered Lan ribbon. With shock, Jingyi watched as Sizhui let go of his hand to tie the ribbon around his wrist.

“Remember when we were kids and you were moving away?” Sizhui asked. Jingyi nodded numbly, brain trying to absorb what was happening. “You had come running to me crying about leaving. I told you that we would see each other again and you gave me your ribbon and made me promise”.

As Sizhui talked, the memory surfaced in Jingyi’s mind. He had been distraught that he would have to leave Sizhui behind and had runaway to his house. He had cried and dropped his ribbon onto Sizhui’s palm before running home.

“I thought I lost it”, Jingyi breathed. Sizhui smiled warmly at him and unravelled the ribbon around his wrist, stretching it out to show the embroiled characters of Jingyi’s name sewn amongst the cloud design.

“Jingyi”, Sizhui asked once he had retied the ribbon. He took his hand again, palm warm against his skin. “We found each other again. Will you go on a date with me?”

Jingyi found himself laughing slightly hysterically. All doubts and fears left his mind as he giggled. He grinned, squeezing Sizhui’s hand. “Yeah. Let’s go on a date”.

#wangxian #jin ling #lan jingyi #lan sizhui #lan juniors #ouyang zizhen #fanfic

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