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evandearest · 4 years ago

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OMG! this was so good! i just don’t know where to start because there is so much to talk about!

first—the commitment you put into this is insane, i feel like a little fool compared to you because i can never make my works this long 😂😂 you are so freaking creative with how you think everything out—it just astonishes me! seriously there is so much in there that parallels between flashbacks and present. both the length in general and the way everything is thought out is so extensive in the best way possible. 🤪😁🤩

the fact that you can create something so vivid is just so shocking! you wrote so much but it never got boring and all added to the plot tremendously! 😆 you are seriously an author. like WOW. 🔥🔥🤩 i’m so excited to read 3.5! i’m kind of upset because i didn’t have enough time today to read both this and 3.5! but i promise girl i will respond fully to the specifics when i finish. i loved this part so much. can i just say that i love how well you write the other characters, both the ones you made and the show’s characters! you are literally amazing darling. 🤍

please everyone here on my tumblr, READ THIS! it is seriously so worth it to take the time to read it because it is literal perfection as far as literature goes.

you are a legit AUTHOR. I WILL NOT SHUT UP. thank you for making my afternoon so great 😌

Adam & Eve | Part III: The Green Little Fairy

Pairing: James March x Reader | Part: (3 of 5)

Summary (Part Three): James shares a first dance with the bride of The Cortez, recalling a glorious nightmare of both life and death. Hazel Evers cries over her breakup. Liz Taylor introduces you to staff, in the cutest way possible. The Countess feels envious, after decades of pure apathy. This is the tale of the green little fairy.

Warnings (To Part Three): Being a long term creative project, I literally wrote a BOOKS LENGTH LOL 🤣 I have posted Part III: The Green Little Fairy in TWO segments: Part 3 and 3.5. One will start in a past flashback; one will end in flashback (this one). So just keep that in mind when reading segment 3.5.

‼️ (Posting 3.5 tomorrow due to technical difficulties) ‼️

Before I get started, please also take the time to go check out @evandearest beautiful series, ‘The Garden of Eden’! As it is not only SO inspiring and just downright an outstanding example of a literary masterpiece, but an absolutely breathtaking work of art featuring juxtaposition ideas, mixed with an exciting romance! It is definitely not something you want to miss, and such a treat if you’re a little book enthusiast like me. 😉 I love it so incredibly much. You are a gem, @evandearest! ❤️

This chapter (Segment 3 and 3.5 included) is where things really get AHS twisted, creepy, dark, whatever other descriptions fit the fandom. It gets bloody, cause we’re dealing with James March here. There is death / slaughter / violence, and this part will really begin telling you and James’ story. It has a subtle build up to something big! 👀That’s all I’ll say; keep a look out for foreshadowing events (In both segments).

Do not read if any of the mentioned is triggering.

Abuse in general (physical / mental / emotional), angst, arguments, alcohol, betrayal, blood, crime, cussing, cheating, demerit goods (e.g. smoking, drug mentions), death, fighting, fluff, guns, graphic descriptions, mortality, murder, mystery, mature themes, sexual suggestions (no smut), twisted religion / morality, theft, violence.

It also includes two main original characters: Alistair Banks & Papa. There is also a bridesmaid named Missy (Minor character). They help tell the story and hence are incorporated. This was originally in third person, however morphed to second upon popular demand.

Author’s notes: This is chapter three of my James March x Reader series ��Adam & Eve’ , after chapter two: ‘The Ring’. I recommend readers to read the series in order, because things begin to make sense in this chapter. Especially nearing the end! 🙊 Things in chapter one: ‘The Peony’ are greatly expanded here. ❤️ It may (or may not) be puzzling if you haven’t read Chapter I or II, as it has mentions of Eden and recurring themes or motifs.

Due to the long length of this, Part III :The Green Little Fairy, is split into segments. THIS IS THE FIRST.

I’ve added chapter indents within each segment of Part III, so readers can take a break from reading if they so choose.

The flashbacks are set from the 1925′s onwards (Important to consider when reading), however with modern day interactions at the Cortez, meaning near and around the end and finale of the show. Anything non-italicized is happening now. The next and final (?) chapter however will be entirely in the present. This means this is the last flashback! 🎉

Despite its morbid dark themes, it’s fun because it has more characters— whether original or canon, and focuses on the relationship between you and James. It will give readers insight as to their “character” within the AHS fandom and especially in this fanfic. It was based originally on an original character, but written into second person for your enjoyment!

The biblical inspiration behind this chapter is the more literal fall from paradise, not only within the inner workings of the characterization of Eve (Reader) we got to see in Chapter Two. Simply put, it’s like an actual kick out of the Garden of Eden. Religious allusion and symbolism are interwoven throughout.

Nearly everything was juxtapositional in this chapter, from details, to orders of flashback memory; it was very fun to write, somewhat a great challenge for me too. I loved experimenting with every aspect of this. There are fun parallels too— I won’t spoil it here, but if you spot them you a real one!

PLEASE NOTE THE MISS EVERS PART GOES FROM MODERN DAY INTO A FLASHBACK. It should be self-explanatory when you read it.

Segment two of Part III: The Green Little Fairy WILL begin in a past flashback! It will be posted tomorrow, I apologize for the technical difficulties!

I hope you enjoy my lovelies! 👼🏼

Work and school have really picked up my end. So, I really appreciate everyone’s patience. Feedback is always welcome and I truly appreciate all the love and support I’ve received whilst creating this so thank you all so much. I hope the length of this chapter (In segments) will compromise for the longer stand by time until Part 4 and 5 come out. That might be subject to change, depending on how long each chapter is.

This is a fan-fiction. Additionally it doesn’t change the original storyline of the show but molds into it, just like an OC would in a role-play. A disclaimer that I do not own AHS, it’s plot-line, or characters whatsoever, and they belong to their rightful owners; this was just a creative literature piece inspired by the fandom.

Tags: @evandearest @imwritingfromtheblock

Small butterflies erupted in your stomach as you watched the whirring floors past you. You stood still within the red carpeted elevator adorned with golden art-deco interiors, only ever brushing your fingertips slightly against your form. Your hair was in curly waves, a new dress comfortably fitted around your waist; high-end powdered makeup on your prepossessing face. James March stood beside you quietly, the atmosphere between you both somewhat lewd and awkward as he fretted with the buttons of his vest, mind ticking as to the things he could say. After all, it had been almost ninety years. And— very rarely sometimes, your large eyes would avert around modestly, only ever catching James and his handsome jaw slightly. It wasn’t like James to get this self-conscious, yet with a girl like you and so much history interwoven it wasn’t surprising. But you’d always smile a reassuring, warm smile; ‘Just trying to diffuse the tension’, you would think, and it was as if he could hear that too, for before long James had to hold himself back from an impish grin. He always admired how starry-eyed and ingénue you could be— even at his slaughter house; the way you would always stay true to yourself.

You had taken a nice, warm bath earlier, followed by James rummaging through his ex-wife’s closet in secret when you were in the bathroom of his office. By the looks of how cold you’d been, he was sure you would’ve caught a cold, even as a ghost. He told you to make yourself at home in his suite; so you did, frankly, and distracted yourself like a child taking a bubble bath. To the average person, The Hotel Cortez wasn’t a place to be tampered with and quite literally existed as a hell-mouth. Yet to you, it was your abode. Whatever you were given in life, you had an ability to make the best out of it— bringing it to perfection every time. And, as you blew your filmy lavender bubbles in the tub, James ran. He had even frightened Vendela and Agnetha in their room as they were making out with Mr. Wu, watching in vicious shock as the serial killer seemingly stormed in and raided their bathroom: of their bath bombs, tiny makeup bags, and sample size hand creams. He had been ecstatic about your sudden return, so much as to even leaving behind an outdated hundred dollar bill for them out of courtesy. March ran out so fast that by the time the three spirits had peeped out from behind their wooden door—clothed this time, he was gone.

Subsequently, James continued to rummage every room of the hotel, for a smaller dress that could possibly fit you. Eventually he succeeded: a classy pearl-white dress that the Countess had hated back in 1929, when James had first gotten it for her. So, she’d passed it down to Liz Taylor. Elizabeth had tailored it before, and that’s why there was an elegant slit on the right side of the skirt. He knew it might be too risqué for you, yet it was the best he could do, given such short notice of your sudden arrival. The gown was full-length and timeless, embellished with flushed roses and their green woven petals— all around the high, feminine waistline, as well as the opaque white sleeves and slightly puffy skirt. If anyone else had worn it, they would have looked outdated and horrendous. Even Elizabeth Johnson couldn’t pull it off. Yet once again, for some reason, you could— for whatever anyone gave you, you hid in your vault, and brought it to perfection. The soft, silky fabric fitted your silhouette perfectly, accentuating your womanly features. So much that James found himself staring at you for way too long, especially when you weren’t paying attention.

The buttons within the elevator lit up in a way you had never seen before, having been born in the 1900’s. When it let out a ding your eyes widened in wonderment, the doors opening as James explained the miraculous works of modern technology to you. You nodded as you listened, and to everyones’ horror, James would crook a smile at you as he spoke— a genuine smile, his face appearing rather handsome with his perfected pencil-stache he’d spent extra time grooming whilst you were in your bubble bath.

“The modern world is an awfully uncomfortable place, don’t you think?” He asked, looking over towards you.

He offered his larger hand towards you as he studied the gentle arch of your brow, his own bushier ones rising, magnetized by the appealing daze behind your [E/C] eyes. You took it innocently and stepped out of the lift as he spoke.

“I know the accoutrements of modern living allow an ease of power supply and communication, yet the price paid for that is that no one actually sits and talks over a drink—” James paused, hesitantly, “—Would you care for a drink, darling?”

You nodded, vacuously. The last time you were here, the Blue Parrot Lounge hadn’t been finished.

“Is that why there’s a rip in my dress, James? From modern day accoutrements?” You asked. You wondered the possibility of trying a mint julep.

“Yes, my dear.” His accent drew out his consonants, an intrusive worry within his swarthy eyes when he thought of the possibility that you didn’t like your clothes. But they softened upon taking in your delicate features, which were somewhat blank. He sighed in relief before he focused onwards at the hallway in front of him, flickering ever so slightly towards the many residencies he knew of as he walked with a cane in one hand, you the other.

The ghoul guests, even if in hiding, all began secretly marveling at your majestic essence. For the flutter of your dress and the crunch of James’ leather boots was hard to ignore. James couldn’t blame them; you were quite the sight for sore eyes. He continued then, in a half-murmur: “You look positively gorgeous, darling.”

“And you look positively medieval, Jimmy.” You joked, curiously twiddling the chains of his pocket watch chained to his vest.

March chuckled at your ability to always make him smile, to make him feel things, the way you’d ask him questions in your low, thrilling voice. It was amazing to him, absolutely amazing— how you could stimulate him by just your sheer presence. Your voice was literally a deathless song. And, unlike Elizabeth, you praised him in such a way any man in the world would so want to be eulogized. “What year is it, anyhow?”

The spirits within the Cortez halls took notice of how you both seemingly walked with a glide of aristocracy towards the Blue Parrot Lounge, even as they whispered amongst themselves. Will Drake appreciated your style; Sally jaundiced at it. The two Scandinavian tourists were delighted by your murmurs, all of a sudden holding in such esteem you had even used their makeup. It wasn’t that they could hear your conversations with James, however your chatter had the power to magnetize them in such a way they’d lean in front of their toes just to hear more of what was going on. James was wavering his cane up at the lighting fixtures and big chandeliers, going on about how they were inspired, almost as if trying to impress you. And you’d look up in amazement to let out a charming little laugh: “That’s a dream, James.” You would cry out, “An absolute dream.”

And the way James’ eyes looked at you immediately upon your every remark— they all knew. They all knew he loved you.

James took his time giving you the grand Cortez tour, allowing your hand to gently sneak in and link onto his arm, even if the air was still soundlessly ticklish and there was at times no direct conversation between the two of you. There was something comforting about that though, especially as you both walked through the hallways; something comforting about the fact he no longer had to put up a facade around you.

Soon enough, he took you down the grand staircase, your feet tapping against the dark ceramic steps before you descended onto the carpeted lobby floor. You were back. Your shuffling feet came to a halt when you and James reached the center of the geometrically designed floors, surrounded by only two wooden tables and six maroon sofas. Smooth, modern jazz was playing from the bar above on the second floor, the rich saxophone sounds flowing down blissfully only to vitalize your ears. You began to sing with the music in a husky, rhythmic whisper, bringing out a meaning in each word that it had never had before. James struggled slightly to try and transform the lounge space into a ballroom floor. It took him only seconds to nudge back the wooden tables a little, and once again with a swift turn and chivalrous bow he faced you, tossing his cane pertly on a rouge chair. This caused you to laugh; James and you looked like you both came out of a 1930’s romance movie.

“It’s been quite a lengthy period, I know—” He started. “But [Y/N], my darling, would you do me the honor of joining me for the first dance?”

You smiled brightly then, a gentle crinkle to your eyes, and a beam of an upturned smirk on the corners of your mouth. Curtseying back respectfully, you took his hand. “It only took you nine decades, sir.” And once again he chortled, before asking once more: “My darling, may I have your first dance?”

“But they’re watching us, James,” You mumbled.

March closed his eyes then as he rested his cheek on the side of your gracious face; your voice— oh, the exhilarating charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle to it, the unforgettable cymbals’ song of it. The sweetness of it all. You were James’ deathless song. They’re supposed to watch you.

“Let them,” He took a deep breath inwards, smiling gently as his nose buried shamelessly into your hair, picking up your celestial scent. It was lavender, vanilla, and musk, and quite frankly smelled homey to him. “Let them envy you, my love.” He continued on, his voice a hushed whisper; a husky bedroom tenor only you could hear.

And you hummed out in happiness then when you felt his larger hand intertwine with your own, almost instantaneously, even if his wedding band was still on his finger. The cooling silver seemingly sizzled against your warmer skin, even as a ghost. James March had never felt a more blessed day in his extensive life, dead or alive; you were together again, forever, this time— and to him, that one face, that one voice, that one very fact, erases a multitude of sins you’ve experienced with each other. And as you continued to dance with him, a paragon of perfection— your silhouette seemingly fit as an exact match to the stained glass windows that stood behind the Blue Parrot Lounge; the bride of The Cortez, as folks would call her— you were back. The wedding bells rang in the form of bluesy jazz, and fluttering his eyes shut, James fell into a reverie once more as he began savoring the very first dance alongside his never-ending romance.

-♣-

Across your boeuf bourguignon and lyonnaise salad on the dining table, Alistair Banks sat directly across from you, in room seventy eight, standing up whilst explaining to everyone the types of graft wall street had been experiencing in New York City the previous year. James felt both proud as to have made a name of himself high enough to sit among the people of the old-money east—in his very own murderer palace in Los Angeles too— but also uneasy at the presence of such prestigiousness. This was especially the case for Alistair Banks, whom he thought of as a major competitor. Not only for you, but for the fact he owned three hotels too.

When you told your father as to your true feelings about your arranged engagement, and about James March, he couldn’t help but feel genuine contentment for you despite being clouded with preconceived notions about new-money men. You have always been your fathers most beloved child. Whenever you’d chided with your soft, sweet voice, ‘But he’s just like me, papa!’, your father couldn’t help but give in— even though he’d demanded to see James Patrick March for himself. It was an understatement to say your father was relatively pleased, though also intimidated, by the vigorous passion within the boy that once built your garden fence and marquee. Either way, the wedding of [Y/N] [Y/L/N] and Alistair Banks had been intermittently cut off until further notice; it was the talk of the whole town for a while, despite your family’s attempt to make it appear less scandalous and more of a technical error.

In fact, they blamed it all on wall-street. And, despite it booming in the 1925’s, it had it’s falls which had been your very saving grace.

At first, they’d link the issues of money to jobs, which linked to money needed for renting vacation villas, which linked to excuses of an inability to find the perfect honeymoon location. And everyone knew [Y/N] must have the perfect honeymoon location. Alistar took refuge in the basis too, for he had ruined his own reputation through his own infidelity, which made it to the papers the night you’d left New York for California. Banks had crashed his Chevrolet into a lorry and ripped out the front wheel of his car, the girl with him also making the news because she broke her nose. What was most amazing was how unfazed you had been from it all; it was like you hadn’t encountered a day of stress throughout your whole life— that Alistar had done nothing wrong, for you had been so happy with James. You genuinely thought they were just rumors.

“There are two kinds of gaft,” said Alistar, “—that ought to be wiped out by law. That’s wall street speculation and recent burglaries.”

Banks had shining but arrogant eyes, which favored fixating on James before setting upon you. He somehow appeared domineering, like he was always aggressively leaning forward. “I trust you gentlemen understand what I’m on about.”

“I believe you’ve forgotten about the lady of the house,” James pointed out, gesturing a hand over towards you picking at your last crumbs of french coconut pie. A lovely smile curled onto your lips hearing your chosen suitor get called out by James, and Alistar disregarded his comment awkwardly with a gentle scratch of his head. You loved this about James; how progressive he was, despite his murderous tendencies. The subtext in the room was incredible.

“Must we always talk about money, Alistar?” You queried innocently, “Why do we always talk about money?”

“Nearly everyone would agree with you as one of them, my boy,” said Papa to Banks, with a laugh. James’ guffawed alongside the banter, seeming somewhat dramatic; laughs were always redundant when it came to the east, whether you were richistanis or not.

“I think burglaries ought to be wiped out first,” Alistar added, looking over towards you in particular when he spoke. You looked at him absently and excused him with a fluttering blink; you were like expensive property to him, and Alistar had suspicions James had wormed into the estate through unlawful means.

Though no one said anything, Alistar could pick up on when his women seemed disinterested, let alone a girl he was engaged to. He had chosen you because you were good-natured, beautiful, pure, and gallant; the daughter of a man he used to work under. Now it was your arranged husband who stood on top, on top of all the wall street markets and things. He owned three hotels— one in the West, not that you cared to learn about. And with you so inexperienced when it came to hiding your genuine fondness, it was evident James Patrick March— though socio-economically lower, stood above him when it came to matters of affection.

And that bothered Alistar greatly, even if he thought you were still his little virgin.

“Remember three months ago when we had bad company?” His voice was loud, “There are two times in a man’s life when he does this— when he’s dead broke, and when he’s living rich.” He took a bite out of his sliced buttered baguette then, his voice suggestive, “Wouldn’t you agree, James?”

“Alistar’s been reading profound books lately,” You murmured with an expression of unthoughtful sadness, hoping March didn’t take offense in what Alistar had said. “I think he’s joking, though his jokes aren’t very funny…”

James merely mused a grin at your whisper, admiring your soft locks of hair and the way your eyes glimmered underneath his chosen lighting fixtures. You were both charming people, but very antisocial. At least in the sense you’d both greatly enjoyed one another’s company; so much to the point you and James both loved with such intensity that infidelity or even flirtations would not be tolerated. No matter how hypocritical. He took a sip of his drink politely as he thought about that, only to have been slightly startled by Papas’ bark.

“James!”

Your father broke into the silence, almost defiantly, “Are you fond of French liqueurs?”

And this had been your religiously pious father.

Alistar sighed, rolling his eyes indiscreetly at the old mans’ attempt at fun. Things were about to go from bad to worse.

But James saw you, then; it was as if a shock of electricity jolted through you for your eyes suddenly held a mischievous sparkle. March watched you as you controlled yourself, your chaste eyes staring at him straight. It was as if you had a secret to tell him, for he felt your feet nudging him underneath the table. It was almost cheeky, and we all know he couldn’t help but cock a subtle smile at that.

“I’ll tell you a family secret,” You whispered, enthusiastically. Your smile dimpled as you exhibited the excitement of a youthful church girl, animated at the thought of missing Sunday school. “I bet it’s about the sugar-cube ritual. Would you like to know about the sugar-cube ritual?”

“I’ve never witnessed anyone have such fascination over a sugar-cube, dearest.” He replied. God you were so cute.

As if sporadically at your last word, a bottle of Absinthe was placed on the table with a gentle put. The liquid was a bright green.

“[Y/N]’s always been silly,” Papa continued, “What she means is the absinthe ritual— and you must excuse her as she gets very excited. It’s because I’ll never let her have any. After all, the extent one would go to protect their most beloved child…”

You beamed at your fathers last remark.

“I bet James can do it straight, papa,” You speculated leaning forward, your voice singing and glowing. Alistar seethed on the other side of the room, your father letting out a hearty laugh to try and diffuse the tension between you two. At the very back of your head, you couldn’t help but wonder who would win if they were placed in a cage together: the secret killer or the serial cheater. To you, James March and Alistair Banks both sinned equally— even if a normal lad would clearly point out for James to be in the wrong. But you thought Alistar was a little more cruel. You hummed: “I’ll be on your team, Jimmy.”

James raised his eyebrows at the ongoing conversation in the room, especially when your father started to scold you for getting too into talk of wines and spirits. March had known you to be very popular back east, even when it came to your church potlucks or Sunday gatherings. Thus it’s fair to say he knew your family moved with a fast crowd; many of them were young, rich and wild. Yet you came out with the utmost perfect reputation— a purity he didn’t know could even come to exist. And perhaps it really was because you didn’t drink. Or smoke either, for the matter, even though you’d found smog so beautiful, especially when cigars were smoked by handsome businessmen like James Patrick March.

In fact, a slightly buzzing Alistar had used that as his next chess move. He lit flames within his own blunt just to capture your attention. And you couldn’t help it, especially when he puffed; your widened eyes stared in both inferiority and amazement, your dulcet voice following shortly after. “You look so cool,” You complimented. “You look so cool Ali.” He smirked at his nickname.

And it was a great advantage; not drinking in front of hard-drinking people. For one, you could hold your tongue, or better yet time any irregularity of your own whilst everybody else is too blind or hungover to see.

“A complimentary gift from us, Mr. March— a thank you for having us. [Y/N] had told us you’re still building the Blue Parrot Lounge, so we brought the bar to you, the best way we know how.”

You looked over to James gently as your papa spoke, your face innocent and with a smile. Reaching out with no hesitance, your hand sweetly gave his bigger palm a small squeeze, as if you were the one hunting him now like the first night he held your hand in prayer. And it remained there, much to Alistars demise, for the rest of the evening.

That is, your hand only remained on his until your father mentioned a sighting of a flower trolly down the street.

You beamed at the sound of lavenders. And though James had offered to come with you, you assured him it was only a moment until you would be back. Besides, everything was going so well! You trusted papa the most— and you’d secretly hoped for James and him to bond. Your one almighty God, alongside your biological one of course. It was true: You and James have been like family from the start.

But things got from bad to worse. Even if you did get to purchase a tiny lavender bouquet.

When you returned to the Cortez there was a quietus quality in the air; Papa and Alistar had left, according to the front desk. But they’d left some suitcases here, almost as if allowing you to spend the night.

“Where’s Mr.March?” You inquired at the front desk.

“Room sixty-four, miss [Y/L/N]. I make it he doesn’t wish to be disturbed—”

“Says who,” You insisted, and politely too. “Who’ll escort me there?”

The concierge had no choice but to shoot darting eyes at the bellboy to get on with his duties. The young boy did, however he left you right after the two of you reached his office door. You even gave him a sprig of lavender then, for you felt bad for the poor boy. He looked somewhat like a wet puppy that’d witnessed a thunderstorm for the first time in his life. And you didn’t blame him— the bellboy, for something did feel very off in the Hotel Cortez. It was as if something suddenly became impaired; like a shift was happening in the air. You felt a queasiness befall your chest as your wrist flickered gently on the wooden door labeled sixty-four. To your surprise, James answered it promptly— almost as if expecting you.

“Your wedding will be at the Cortez, [Y/N].”

Things really did shift, fast too.

He tried to keep his voice free of emotion, so it came out quite deadpan. Underneath it all, however, to say James was heartbroken would be a drastic understatement.

And you blinked, lips slightly agape as you froze midway through your greeting.

“My wedding?” You asked.

“Tomorrow. They’ve put it back on, and invited me too.” He stated. His index finger and thumb groomed his pencil mustache, the handsome features on his face in intrusively deep thought. It had been a moment of silence before he licked his lips to prep himself once more before speaking, his eyes looking directly at your smaller frame. Then, in a mellow murmur: “I really need you to go away now, hummingbird— far from me now…”

There was an urgency in James’ voice, as if your one hour absence quickened something within him. And by the way he was leaning towards the heels of his shoes as opposed to the front, you knew something was going on, something going on within and without him in which he’d so desperately wanted to run away from. That was the thing about you and James March; you read him like an open book. In a way, he did too. For your relationship was deep, fated, committed. But you just stood there utterly confused.

“James, I don’t understand—”

“[Y/N]!” He snapped, almost in the same way his father had yelled at him all those years back.

Your eyes widened at James’ sudden roar of a reprimand, the bouquet in your hands dropping at your initial jump at his scare. He notices this however, and promptly corrects his behavior. He soothed a hand down the front of his suit, trying to keep his composure.

“Excuse my temper, darling…”

He blamed it on the alcohol, the absinthe.

“I’ve had… too much to drink tonight. And I know you don’t approve of such a thing.” He was bad at excuses, at least when it came to you.

You gently tilted your head, those wonderful eyes gleaming in concern as your eyebrows turned downwards, as much as they also shone in curiosity. But when James avoided your gaze, you looked away too and shifted your focus back down to your broken lavender bouquet, bending down gently to pick them up one by one. ‘Perhaps a little gift ought to do him right’, you thought.

“Well Jimmy, I got these for—”

“My darling, you should go.” He said suddenly, cutting you off. And this time James paid no attention to the lavenders you got for him out of goodwill. It seemed like he did that on purpose, too.

However the way his accent drawled out each syllable smoothly, the way his eyes looked towards you immediately as you bent down guiltlessly— you knew. You knew he loved you. For James bent down instantly with you, picking the flowers up with you, before settling them into your hands, his two two larger ones clasped over your very own. The rigidity within those eyes melted away as he looked at you from his position knelt on the floor; those dark brown eyes searching yours until they were replaced by the warmth of a thousand suns, replaced by the richness like the dark soil of your gardens always fertile with life. There was something in those beautiful eyes of yours… something in that sweet melodic voice. And, once more James felt himself propelled to get closer to you, this time through extensive means of fixing your hair whilst you were both knelt on the floor. Your eyes— they burned so vacantly. His darkness was engulfed in it, your light, trying to absorb as much as he could. And it somehow made you feel nervous as well as flattered at the same time. You went on, never really aiming for anything at all; there was just something in that sweet voice of yours.

“But I really want to love you…” you whispered into the space between his mouth and your own. Your budding friendship had bloomed into something more; you’ve been through separation together— fell into temptation, together. And once again James fell, this time trying to resist you by pulling away and getting up. He turned his back towards you. Yet still, with your every breath, he fell.

“Who do you love, [Y/N]?” He asked. His voice held a gruffness that was overwhelmingly masculine and powerful.

“I love you.” You confessed, still on the floor.

A pause.

“But…”

You got up.

“But?”

James March was your almighty God. But Papa had been your creator too.

“I love my father too.” You said.

And this, this James could not relate to.

“I’m certain papa wishes for me to be with you, James.” You began lightly.

Furthermore, you stepped into room sixty-four, gently clicking close the door behind you as you did so.

“He knows you saved me that night. Back home?” You remembered, your bright eyes looking over to James, even if it was only the back of his suit now.

He dipped his head as he seemingly leaned his weight slightly on his office desk, which sat in front of his vault door.

Silence permeated the air between the two of you until he let out a long sigh. However, it was you who spoke.

“We’re so alike, James.” You needled delicately, your voice lovely even as it spoke with sorrowful persuasion.

There was an absence to your voice, one which showed that you sometimes get foolish ideas in your head and didn’t know what you were doing or getting yourself into. And James, being a man that so wanted to control the world around him, had a love-hate relationship when it came to babying you about subjects such as affection.

“Your father wants you with Mr. Banks.” He explained, coldly. It was rigid and unemotional, and difficult to hear.

And you always told the truth, religiously so— for James March was stubborn, like you.

“That’s not true—” You denied, matter-of-factly. “He’s always wanted the best for me, James. And you were always at church with us—”

“It is, though!” He yelled out aggressively.

Now you were the one who was hurt. Suddenly, just like that, it appeared that James didn’t care about you anymore. Suddenly, he made up his mind to shut off all his emotions, and you found yourself knitting your eyebrows together as you couldn’t help but feel absolutely pre-owned. Like a commodity, a tool, a whore; you had done a deed with him in which you held onto sacredly, having been brought up so religious. And now he was to throw you away to Alistar Banks, a man you didn’t want, or care for? To top it off, it was as if he didn’t care at all. It was as if room seventy two had been some joke he made for a pretentious one night stand. And, as your mind leered on the topic, your head tilted down pessimistically to the lavenders clasped within your opaquely gloved hands, fretting at them gently almost as if distracting yourself so you wouldn’t cry.

“Take your lavenders and go, [Y/N]. You’ve reached an age you ought to know things better— that you can’t keep such silly ideas in your head. That you can’t have everything at once.” James’ speech was rapid, and came out with a hiss. But still, it showed he held no rancor, not at you, anyways.You raised your eyebrows almost as if surprised at his sudden mood swing, and only licked your lips gently, as if ready to rebuttal. But you didn’t. You held your tongue. And just continued arranging your pretty lilac flowers.

At your prolonged silence James turned his head, like a male stag now, and looked at you. And now there was something in those somber eyes of his. A sense of a plea, an idea, an asking-for-permission.

“What?” You asked softly.

And yet another silence. But his eyes met yours gently once more. The warmth in them glowed with dualistic compulsion, a desire, a delicate delinquency. He needed more light; more void; more clarity. Everything seemed so contradictory.

“Don’t marry Alistar tomorrow.” James warned. His voice was firm but silky.

“What?” You asked again.

“Don’t marry Alistar.”

“Who is Alistar?” You asked innocently.

-♣-

“Well?” Agnetha prodded onwards suddenly, looking at a recently banished Hazel Evers. “Tell us the rest of the story.”

“It was the most horrific stain I had ever seen,”

“But did you clean it?” whispered Vendela, leaning forwards on her elbows. Miss Evers looked around the bar hesitantly at the others before nodding slowly.

“She must’ve been the devil incarnate…” Mr. Wu said in a surfer boy accent.

“Well… no.” Hazel responded.

Mr. Wu was sat by the bar shirtless, eager to hear more. It had been the case too for Liz Taylor, just she wore clothes, and even Tristan— however lost he was, only ever slightly glancing up from his couture magazine when there was a pause. John Lowe stood drinking his whisky ginger, glancing down directly by the indoor balcony where he could see you and James. Iris watched alongside him as she sat on a red cushioned chair, gazing down the ledge of the open porch towards the first floor where the lovers continued to dance. She even cranked up the 1920’s jazz she got from American Dime Stores, somewhat fan-girling over the chivalrousness of it all. There was an air of serenity to everything— an air of innocence; no ones’ ever witnessed James so non-violent before.

The ghosts of the Cortez were currently huddled by the Blue Parrot Lounge, listening intently as Hazel Evers shared her long distant memories of [Y/N] [Y/L/N].

“—No, quite the opposite,” Hazel continued. With that she began.

“I had to work extra diligently that week, the day of her wedding. Of course, back then I didn’t know what for— just Mr. March said his friends were coming in from New York to review the place. Something about business. Either way, I was walking along from one place to another, picking up my cleaning supplies from the old market just down the street. I was happy because I had on my new apron that fitted so perfectly over my uniform, the apron which James had given me himself…”

Miss Evers smiled for a moment before it faltered into a look of exhaustion and misery; she was banished from James’ presence now. She took a moment before continuing, almost as if about to cry from the most wretched heartbreak of her life.

“It would blow a little in the wind— my apron, and it was spotless until I reached the front sidewalk of the hotel. A white roadster was parked beside the curb on the grass which we used to have on the streets. Suddenly the engine rumbled with a boom and my apron was pitch black from the leaking oil as I heard a little gasp. It sounded like a girl— but when I looked up it had been Mr. March who looked back at me from the driver’s seat. And there she was… right beside him. She looked just twenty— or younger. She was by far the most popular of all the young girls I’ve ever seen, people calling her name as they passed us on the streets. The hotel concierge got bombarded that week with calls requesting all for miss [Y/L/N]. She dressed in white, a white flower in her hair, white shoes, the white car belonging to her I suppose… She had the most beautiful laugh, one which made James turn his head every time. They were so engrossed in each other that neither of them noticed me until I was five feet away and ready to head into the hotel…”

“Hello, Miss Evers,” You called unexpectedly. “Please, come here.”

Hazel was very flattered by your speech, knowing that most would’ve just regarded her by her first name. More so, the laundress felt honored to speak to you, because out of all women she’s ever seen in her physical life, she admired you the most. No one she knew of, including James March, held such charm and poise, all the whilst being so polite about it in the process. She thought that you must’ve been the friend James had talked so extensively about. Hazel didn’t know why she was flattered by you; there was just something in that voice of yours.

You reached out your small gloved hand, a business card between your fingertips. Hazel took it hesitantly from you with a half-bow, almost as if nervous.

“Please excuse me,” You apologized, “I know a small designer just west of here. She can suit you up just fine, and free of charge too. Just show her this.” And as you spoke Miss Evers noticed the way James March looked at you; he looked at you in such a way that every young girl would dream of being looked at. Including herself.

“…or perhaps James could take you?” You finished off, and that was when she snapped out of her little trance. At your question Hazel began to reject your offer, profusely.

March didn’t seem very invested, even if he was the one that ruined her new apron with the leaking gas of the vehicle. To him, he had more important things to do, such as fixing your car he’d gotten for you overnight, seeing you had to leave a while back to Alistar and Papa. You told him you were going to convince your father once more. And, James Patrick March was just about ready to do anything for you, so long as you promised to return to him. As long as you promised to return to Eden.

“She’s a laundress, my darling. I’m sure she can take care of herself.” He said, polishing the wheel of your new drive.

James waved her off carelessly; a signal to go prepare the Hotel Cortez for your wedding… even if he had hoped your father would come around. He wanted to take you to Mr.Banks’ hotel himself, yet at the thought that the gentleman already thought of him as an intrusion, he didn’t want to push it. Not yet, at least; after all, he’d technically made love to Alistars wife. The way you had been so popular with all the young officers and businessmen, too, added to your value— at least in James’ mind. And James, for the first time in his life, was worried about appearing too suspicious in front of everyone. In a way, he knew he would unethically bend anything in life just to end up with you, but for now the wedding requests, the want for Eden, the needs— they all had to come from you. Even he needed to know that you wanted him above Alistar before he’d dare to make a move.

When your engine revved a noise, James snapped back into the present. You somehow took over the wheel and with a firm hand he steadied yours on it, another on his hat as he called your name for you to stop. Though you merely drove a millimeter, James felt the pulse in his chest pound.

“My God— You’re a rotten driver!” He protested with a laugh. He was somehow excited by it all. “Now [Y/N], you ought to be more careful dear, or you oughtn’t drive at all.”

“I am careful.”

“No— darling you’re not.” He said again, laughing.

“Well, other people are,” You said lightly.

“What’s that got to do with us?”

“They’ll keep out of my way,” You insisted, a joking little smile on your face. “Don’t forget it takes two to cause a scene, you’re the genius who avidly got me a car.” You pecked his cheek.

And soon James found himself gently kissing the hollows of your temple back as he stepped out of the car, allowing you to get in the driver’s seat. He then requested an extensive debrief of what you were going to do that day: “I’m going to get pancakes from that place, then I’ll fetch Papa, then he wants to check out that place, and an old doctor friend who’s moved here from the park…”.

Any sane person would question the way in which James so desperately needed to track your every move. But he only kissed you lovingly on the lips, before watching as you drove off, carefully this time— hoping for some luck in your persuasion.

But you didn’t succeed.

And instead, the following day got interesting to say the least.

You had your small hours of hope to hold onto, just the memories of past midnight the night before, your lavender bouquet tossed carelessly on the bedside table in Eden, where you and James, who isn’t an affectionate man at all, gave most of his affection to you. It was humdrum as it was romantic; the way you two could disagree but still trust each other like man and wife. Even if you both felt a sense of inability to be wed to one another, you both still hoped, holding onto it like rope; for you were the first man and first woman of God: Adam and Eve.

Though you yourself knew it to be inappropriate— even if it was only in the emotional aspects of it, you could not refuse your forbidden relationship with James even as a soon-to-be wed off woman to Alistar. You had so much history with one another, to which you guys could talk about for hours non stop and never get tired; and James talked a lot about the past with you. If anyone were to fully observe James, you’d have gathered that James desperately wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving you. Maybe he missed parts of himself before he gave you your first kiss, before he was separated from you, for he hadn’t been as murderous as he was now back then when he was with you.

Thinking back, twilight hours in Eden were the only times you would wear his ruby ring, too. March had assured your father he had worked during ungodly hours, which was a half truth given how he’d chronically over-plan things— and this was the only valid excuse Alistar had taken for letting you stay at the Cortez overnight. You had returned too late with your bouquet of lavenders anyways and he wasn’t going to make you wander the streets alone at night. In a way, Alistair Banks wanted to show you he trusted you.

Papa too, wanted you to be happy before the day of your wedding, and you supposedly were… cuddling and sleeping soundly next to James. A part of you felt papa knew you to have loved him truly, for he allowed you your last binges of fun before becoming an official Mrs.Banks. And somehow, the lack of sex between you and James, excluding some tentative kisses and sensuous caressing you both couldn’t resist giving each other in the dark— it somehow added to the intimacy of it all. James remembered your words from that night for the rest of his life; your sweet murmurs of “You know I love you.” Then the gentle kisses, to which he’d teasingly coo to.

“What a low, vulgar girl you are [Y/N].”

He would smirk and kiss your neck playfully, “My mischievous little angel…”

But when you had woken up in Eden… you were alone, the red ring gone from your finger. Much like how alone you felt now, coming back in your white gifted roadster, surprised at the sight of how decorated the Cortez had become after you drove away for the daylight hours. A confused expression clouded your face; it was as if James knew it was too good to be true— the thought of being wed to you.

When you pushed through the vintage paneled doors and into the hotel, scurrying up the stairs, you were alone— yet you searched desperately for James. There was something quite endearingly mad about it; the way you’d look for him, so uneasily too, and say to everyone: “Where’s James gone to?” You had an eventful day, with Papa, with doctors, with friends, yet nothing matched being next to your childhood friend March.

From what you could make out at the Cortez, James left many choices of condiments for you in regards to food. But once again, you’d have to dine alone— and you certainly didn’t want to whilst people decorated the place for your wedding day. Then the hour struck and papa returned with new guests and greeted you, people came at you from the left, right and center to get you all dolled up for your big day. Yet you had also been alone, absolutely perplexed as to how James seemingly vanished. You had your hopes up a second though when you heard Alistars’ voice booming in the halls upon arrival at the Cortez; ‘Mr. March!’, he’d say, most definitely also offering his broad, flat hand with well-concealed dislike, but by the time you’d dashed out from behind the scenes and around the corner to see them, James was gone. It was like he was a ghost.

Not seeing him upset you greatly, especially given you hadn’t even said goodbye. Hadn’t apologized, though you didn’t need to, for your ‘Yes, James. I do.’ was moaned in love and not matrimony. Still, with such ingénue naivety, you felt bad. You thought you’d reached a happily-ever-after yet you were back at square one, absolutely hurt at March’s sudden disinterest towards you— and your flowers too.

In fact, it only made your mind tick more. Soon you found yourself only able to think about the weird incident in room sixty-four; the conversation you both had together the night prior. You were both extremely closed mouthed, you and James— yet intuitively linked. And you felt like he would do something, say something; he’d walk up and face your father to profess his undying love for you, and then you could wear his gorgeous ring instead of Alistar’s. Then Banks could no longer force you to be his wife anymore. After all, James had made it— right? He was one of you now. An upper easter, filthy rich— with a hotel of his own.

But no. Instead he just disappeared. No trail, no explanation, no final words. Poof. He was gone.

There was humidity in the air, having been a spring wedding and almost summer. But the light which shone into the Cortez that early Sunday was breathtaking, almost as if it knew of your marriage ceremony. At the end of each seated aisle, vanilla scented candles and pale orchids hung from naked indoor tree branches. It looked quite elegant even when paired with art deco, and spread down the aisle was a soft golden carpet, decorated with delicate petals, both fresh and dry— spread as far as the eyes could see. The hotel was filled to the brim with white florals, to the point it began to look like the great outdoors or a fancy greenhouse. There were peonies, roses, tulips, freesias, baby’s breath and more; the scent of it all together was magnificent. The guests were opulent, dressing even fancier than James himself. Some close family and friends wore business casual for comfort, but the majority of men wore fine suits alongside their ladies in pretty dresses and all. On either side of the aisle, they sat in lavishly white cushioned chairs, setup especially for them on the glossy floor. It was an absolutely beautiful wedding. The only thing missing from it all was God. And despite it’s utmost perfection, that was enough for you to not want it. For what’s the garden theme, what’s the Garden of Eden, without Adam and his Eve? You didn’t want any of it.

Backstage, to which was an old lounge room by the kitchen, you felt absolutely sick to your stomach as one of your bridesmaids scurried inside to find you. She was a quoted friend, holding a clipboard and small purse, and had a large bandage on her nose. You could’ve sworn it was the girl that made the papers with Alistar.

“[Y/N]! You look exquisite!” There was a fakeness in her tone, “You need to breathe… can you do that for me hon’?”

“Of course I can breathe,” You said to her sardonically, “I just need—”

You paused, eyeing her wearily before reaching for a small pack of cigarettes on her clipboard. Her eyes were wide with shock, because you never smoked before. You were the golden girl; daughter of a kingly figure known well in near and distant churches by every pastor in town. Up high in an art-deco palace, or garden, if that’s what you preferred— an absolute, golden girl. Yet you were behaving abnormally, having been so upset. Missy let out a squeal: “[Y/N] what are you doing?”

When you shrugged her off, she squeaked again. That only annoyed you more. You didn’t understand what Alistar saw in her.

“You can’t smoke, [Y/N], the smell of smoke will get in your clothes!”

“I don’t care!” You cried with effort, and you began to try and light the ciggy between your fingers. As you did so, your hand, it was trembling. Soon, with an unsuccessful try, you sighed whilst you threw the burning cigarette and match on the carpet, causing an ashy burn on the ground. The paper unrolled gently as the tobacco fell out. Your bridesmaid and Miss Evers bent down instantaneously, butting their heads together in the process of cleaning it up.

You needed your James. James March. Your James Patrick March; Your God.

From then on you didn’t say another word, Hazel to your right seemingly preparing spirits of ammonia whilst dabbing a cool cloth on your shoulders, watching you nervously as if she didn’t know what to expect from you next. She helped hook you into your wedding dress, tightly too, securing the shining pearls around your neck, ensuring your little freak-out was over. You could have sworn you felt her full eagerness of wanting you wedded off with Alistar Banks, and away from Mr. March.

Though Hazel couldn’t have been more wrong. For you beat her with your meek little compulsion, underneath all that materialistic perfection. You always got what you wanted, for you always thought about the future of man’s law, in Gods’ law, especially as a woman in the 1925’s. Unification with God was all you wanted. Something you’d devoted to so religiously ever since a child; God was your purpose. And perhaps that was what you saw in James Patrick March— the godliness behind his progressivism. His ability to see ahead of things; to create the hotel, like how God created people. His eccentricity. For you wondered why you couldn’t choose your lover; why you always needed to attend Sunday night suppers. James never faced problems like that, for he had the ability to do bad to do good— to control things carefully; something you knew nothing about. For one, why couldn’t you be with James? Why were you separated from Adam? Why, as the feminine principle of Eve, did you have no voice when it came to worldly things? Why couldn’t you eat from the forbidden tree? For Eve was tempted by the serpent, even if cluelessly. And as Adam’s own rib, she felt a compulsive little rebellion towards her own creator— even if out of love and curiosity.

You excused yourself by sliding out of the room.

And once again, it was all at the merciful hands of God.

The hotel was locked up before the guests arrived, James having been afraid of intruders coming in that might do you and your riches harm. And you bumped into him and Alistair Banks walking together side by side down the large hallway of the Cortez then, talking like men, passing the two same wooden tables and six cushioned chairs. It was quiet, for it was only the three of you in the hall. There were glasses of green liquor in their hands— and James froze immediately as he saw you, the gentlemanly bantering quieting abruptly. It was hours before the wedding, and by the looks of it, both men were as nervous about their own sins as you were about walking down the aisle. Banks took notice of you only after Mr.March. And Alistar looked away at first with a chuckle, for it was bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.

James however puffed his big cigar, long and hard, eerily still— his dark brown eyes in awe at the sight of you. You looked back at him in your wedding dress, for the first time in your life seemingly indirectly disobeying him. You were going to marry Alistar.

And your eyes met then, the way they had met last night when you spoke in room sixty-four. There was something in those beautiful eyes of yours… something in that sweet gentle voice. And, once more James felt himself propelled to get closer to you, this time only able to by exhaling his nicotine smoke so slowly the clouds took their time to swirl over and tickle your nose. His eyes got more and more lost in yours the more puffs he took. For your eyes, they burned so clear and carelessly. His darkness was engulfed in it, your light, trying to absorb as much as he could. And it somehow made you feel nervous as well as flattered at the same time. So you went on, this time however aiming for one thing in mind. Unification with God.

James March and [Y/N] stared together at each other, alone— in space. You were the prettiest flower of them all; prettier than the flower walls, prettier than the chandelier ornaments glowing through the halls. Pretty enough to get away with anything and everything if you so wanted to. You were a real life timeless perfection the Hotel Cortez even had a hard time competing against; A real life fallen angel, a sweet alibi.

And then it happened; there was just something in that sweet little voice of yours.

“You look so cool.” You said innocently, eyes flickering over James’ burning cigar. “You look so cool, Mr. March.”

Alistar’s eyes jerked violently towards you then. Mr. March?

You had told him you loved him— you had told James that, and Alistair saw. He knew something was up, that James didn’t just magically happen to work at midnight. And he was astounded. His mouth opened a little, and he looked at James, then back at you as if he had just recognized you as someone he once knew long ago. Then, the bridesmaid with the bandaged nose scurried out quickly behind you, awkwardly bumping into your back as she grabbed with her hands the ruffled tail of your wedding dress. She was about to excuse herself but you pulled on her wrist, exceptionally tight; a commandment for her to stay. She looked down.

“Good evening, Mr. Banks,” She greeted, yet your arranged husband paid her no attention this time.

Instead, Alistar stepped closer to you slowly, his eyes still flashing between James and you. His jaw cocked in a menacing way as he forced a smile. His hand, trembling with effort at self-control, bore his glass to his lips as he swallowed his last drops of absinthe, fingers trailing then your expensive pearls. He tugged on them bringing you closer, placing a venomously vigorous kiss on your lips as he did so.

“What’s the matter now, princess?” Alistars’ temper cracked a little under his attempt at a coo. “You know it’s bad luck to see me before tonight…” He swayed his finger whilst holding his glass cup, chiding you like a baby. This was the closest thing you’d gotten with him the whole time you’ve been together. “Are you that eager to be my wife? Hm, [Y/N]?”

Your hand gripped harder around your bridesmaid’s wrist, and she stared intently at her shoes, somewhat hurt at the sight of Alistar with you. And your empty eyes didn’t leave James’ handsome face, those dewy orbs immobile for the first time as he felt you staring into his very soul.

Alistar continued. “I want to know everything that’s been going on, my dear little hummingbird.”

And at his nickname of you, you watched indifferently as a familiar James Patrick March emerged, the man clenching his jaw together so tight you saw visible veins by his temples, a familial tremor in his hand as he put out his large blunt with two careless taps on a nearby couch. He gulped down his liquor in one go and continued to denigrate the cigar with the bottom of his lowball glass on the seat, almost as a distraction for himself. His eyes flashed over towards you and a familiar coldness washed over his gaze as his eyes then focused on Mr. Banks. And James fought hard, he did. He fought fiercely to remain calm. With effort he looked away from you both. And at that, you innocently smiled.

The only difference was he wasn’t head-butting his father this time, but internally at himself. His hand reached for his cane, which he gripped so tight the top part snapped off with a crackle under his murderous hand. James gazed at his own error, steadying his wooden stick so it wouldn’t clank against the floor. He breathed, listening intently to the silent conversation between you both, and you seemingly breathed with him as he did so. After some time, he remained steady as he eventually triumphed his own rage with control. That is— until Alistar spoke.

“Have you not learnt one thing in church of how one shan’t commit adultery!?” Alistar shouted out at you frantically, his eyes flashing green with jealousy.

“I have. And you’re certainly one to speak.” You muttered back, somewhat timid.

And James March watched, his eyebrows furrowing with frustration as Alistar Banks began raising his voice at you. More so, when he started attempting to lie.

“You know I love you, [Y/N].” Alistars’ voice dropped octaves lower, almost as attempting to reason with you. “We all make mistakes love, and you know I do. And I know publicity can get messy— but in my heart, I always love you.”

He paused to admire your delicate face, your breaths mingling as you relaxed from the familiar smell of lavender and mint of your acquainted partnership. You felt yourself pursing your lips together as tears welled up in your eyes, clearly hurt from the confirmation of the whole thing. You let go of the bridesmaids’ wrist in the process.

“Now, I didn’t mean to criticize you. I think your friend realizes that his uncivil little flirtation is over.” Alistar smirked, knowing his manipulation was working. And James growled. He continued: “Mrs. Banks… I’m going to take better care of you now, I promise. We’ll start with church together, anything you want.”

Empty promises them all.

Yet your childlike eyes couldn’t help but falter slightly in sorrow at his blithe words, unsure of what to say next. Instead a single tear escaped your eye and dropped onto Jame’s furnished carpets.

Missy did though. In fact, she knew exactly what she wanted to say.

“There you go again!” She cried at Alistar. “It’s always about [Y/N]!”

It was as if she was more emotionally worked up than you about Banks. And, some time forwarded towards the evening as Alistar Banks and her stood face to face, discussing in impassioned voices, whether she had any right to even mention your name.

“I’ll say it whenever I want to!” She screeched.

And James watched as you became more and more distraught, silently, the accusations thrown around within the lobby becoming increasingly personal and insensitive. You only felt yourself stupid then for not having believed the rumors of Alistar’s infidelity, and you drew more and more within yourself at every word in which was spat, even if they weren’t at you, protecting-yourself by padding over softly towards James. He sat on the couches, one of his hands massaging his temple as he stared down motionlessly on his lap. James eyes… they were jet-black.

There was an overbearing amount of hypocrisy in the air; the embarrassment of being cheated on completely fazing over your pride. James looked up at you feeling your delicate fingers wrap atop his larger hand, seemingly befuddled by the whole mess in front of you. You looked down on your lap too as you sat on the armrest of his chair, and you felt him as he leaned in just to brush his lips on your wrists tenderly, the atmosphere around you becoming exceedingly noisy. A familiar picture was painted—of you and James, praying in unison together.

As if a gust of wind had picked up in the lobby, you only looked up at the sound of a whoosh followed by a short deft movement of Alistar’s open hand. It broke the bridesmaids’ nose again and the bandage flew off her face, onto the red carpets as she screamed. She disrespected you out of spite then, screaming at Banks: “[Y/N]! [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N]!”

But that was her last word. James made sure of that, for he found her disrespectful too.

Your breath juddered up your chest when James suddenly pulled you down fully onto the cushioned couch, the flutter of a quick pulse speeding up in your chest as you held down your layered wedding dress. You lay there surprised; You’d thought to land on his lap but instead your head hit the pillows of the chair as he stood. With counted, steady steps, James made his way towards the bickering pair in front of you both, a handkerchief in one hand, the splintered head of his cane in the other. He tapped on Alistars shoulder politely, and you suddenly heard a deafening wail as you scrambled to straighten up your posture.

James forced the white cloth down Missy’s throat as she fell from his brutal force. His hands were so tense the veins aback his hand were protruding slightly with his every lurch forward. She had muffled screams, and was backpedaling on the floor. Alistar’s mouth parted to say something but was all at once choking at James single handed obstruction, his white-knuckle grip unfaltering as it held onto Alistars throat, gripping it so tight his fingerprints left an imprint as he jabbed his homemade weapon into his neck, the broken wooden splinter puncturing Alistars very flesh. James began then, sinisterly: “Pardon, sir, for thou shan’t bear false witness against thy neighbor.” You froze.

Alistar gripped March’s shirt violently back however, pushing his face with a large palm, causing a fight. You struggled for air, pupils darting back and forth as you saw a frenzied looking Mr. March steadying himself as he angled his broken shard once more. With an aggressive push and pull of utter silence, James carved a half open, splintering wound on Alistar’s vocal chords. James further pummeled the other side of his face with his free fist, watching with blackened eyes as life slowly began to seep from Alistar’s body. A familiar euphoria of Godliness heightened his senses once more; He once more felt the power of God, the power of cleaning up a messy world.

You stared wide-eyed and trembling as James fists quavered and bloodied further with every strike, the panic in your chest tripling by the second as you heard the boff and bash of his fists against Alistars’ bone. Then your ears muffled; everything became kind of slow motion. Banks opted for his last resort, and rugby tackled James to the floor. You could barely differentiate the two brawling like wild animals on the ground, legs kicking, suits ripping, and arms scrambling just fighting for control. You drove them mad— these men. Yet you only flinched when James let out a loud roar, the argh sound causing you to shut your eyes tightly in fear of seeing him get disowned. But James only dominated Alistar like an alpha male, and got up on his two feet rapidly, almost tearing his collarbone in the process of the brawl.

“Remember the sabbath day—” James seethed, gyrating his arm a bit. He pressed a heel on Mr. Banks back and paused, seemingly counting. When he was sure it was Sunday, he lowered his foot full force; stepping down so hard on Alistar you heard a crack. “Remember to keep it holy.”

And through it all his face remained absolutely emotionless, even if there was an intoxication heightened behind those dark brown eyes. Your mind began fogging with incomprehensible thoughts, the fast heartbeat in your ribcage overtaking your senses as you saw your arranged husband squished down on the carpets as his wound gushed rich mahogany, so much it looked inky black. March took his splinter from the floor again, and this time hit the metal part of it across the back of Alistar’s head. The regular flush in your cheeks became overbearingly hot as you tremored from the scorching heat you felt underneath your layered dress, your heart thumping as your hands clasped over your mouth and nose, grimacing at the waft of bodily sweat.

Alistar laid on the floor weak, seemingly groaning as his hands could no longer navigate his own anatomy anymore. He tried to press a hand over his leaking throat but was unsuccessful. Then, James’ face shifted into a menacing smile of satisfaction, his expression somewhat mocking Alistars’ very own. So much blood was oozing out from Banks’ neckline he’d become paralyzed and unrecognizable, his features bruising into a violet purple as his hair further disheveled. His body appeared tangled on the floor. Missy’s shuffling was what shifted both you and Jame’s attention, and the murderer even helped her up forcibly as she did so. The woman let out muffled screams as James stared intently at her face, almost bearing his teeth. She appeared to be choking. And, seemingly almost out of context, James unstuffed the handkerchief from her blocked airways. He cackled out one simple word, his mustache tingling with a voice demonically hoarse.

“Run.” He said, his upper eyelids and eyebrows raised into a crazed stare.

You were about to say something but only squeaked and fell back on the chair as Missy ran past you rapidly, accidentally pushing you down. She was calling out the words ‘Killer!’ and ‘Help!’, and though you saw the world upside down, to your surprise, James’ lips puckered up into a sadistic smile.

“And thou shalt not covet your neighbor’s house…” He drew out, accent thick.

James looked at you then almost as if accomplished, his chin and chest puffed up as a sudden wham followed. He wiggled his eyebrows to your horror almost as if once again a young boy, reminding you to ‘Watch this’. Missy had hit the only corridor exit and, soon after, stuck into what looked like a secret wall. Having witnessed this from the position of laying upside down demented the whole experience further. Suddenly, as if spiders crawled upon your very skin, you felt goosebumps as your mouth parted with shocking realization she ran into something sharp. As if her movements had been too fast to even comprehend, she was then seemingly jerked off her feet violently beneath her, her whole being disappearing into the darkness of the secret chute, sliding into a rift alongside the metal that punctured her very gut. You couldn’t tell if there was flooring behind that door as it slowly creaked shut. Your mouth was parched dry, your breathing unrhythmic as you tried to process it all. For as you let out one, single, absurdist titter, you didn’t know if you were internally crying… or if you were frightened… or if you were enthralled by it all.

Then you breathed. Though you harmed no one, you were exhausted from holding in your breath too long.

[Y/N] [Y/L/N]… the green little fairy.

The sound of Alistar gurgling his own blood caught your attention, and though you sat up absolutely motionless, your eyebrows furrowed in empathy as those innocent eyes doted on him with compulsive compassion. His face was purple by now, and it looked like the pain James inflicted on him was really settling in. James cut in.

“And thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s wife.” He said as he looked down to Alistar with haughtiness.

With seemingly no thought, you jumped up from your seat, a confused expression settling into James’ handsome features as you did so. He walked over steadily towards you, whilst Alister stared at you one last time. There was a sorrowful hope within his eyes. You can get help. You can save him. You can stop James.

Or you could save yourself.

“Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image…” You murmured lightly thinking aloud, your gaze trailing between James and Alistar. Who was your God? And there it was again, that void to your gaze, as ethereal as it was. And you reached for James face then when he got close enough, soothing two small knuckles tenderly on his cheek before slowly pressing a chaste kiss on his nose. Your eyes then searched within his, lovingly. “You are the Lord… thy God—”

Your God.

James stood there, orbs hazy as his eyebrows relaxed. He looked like a hysterical wolf, with puppy dog eyes. His serious features faltered at the very sparkle behind your stare. You chose him. And he was glad. A little turned on too.

The moment seemed perfect until it was cut short; you lifted your dress and ran, ran down the elongated carpets of the lobby towards a faint source of masculine voices trying to enter the hotel. You called out then, your voice affluent— as if nothing had happened before.

“My— gentleman, it’s so hot!”

Yet tears brimmed your eyes as your neck beaded up in sweat. You couldn’t decipher your own emotions then, but only felt a compulsion to talk nonstop about everything. “Everything’s so confused!”

They stopped dead in their tracks. “We’re here for the air ventilation, miss.”

The size of your fabricated wedding dress seemingly covered enough of the lobby from the vision of the workers in front of you. They never made it past the first set of entrance doors.

“Father called for air ventilation at my wedding hours ago, all down that way to Ali’s hotel.” You directed, pointing outside. You steadied the tremor in your hand successfully, and the two men turned their way out the door. “You know— the Hotel California,”

“I thought the wedding was—”

“What are we to do?” You cried softly, on the verge of tears. It hit you then, Alistar was gone. You pushed between them and linked your two arms with theirs, musing a charming little smile. “I’m to be wed off soon, gentlemen— why, who wants to take my car? There’s so much work to do!”

The laborers raised their eyebrows, clearly understanding you to be Mrs. Banks. The [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. Especially at the sight of your emotional state, they explained onwards that it wouldn’t be necessary for you to come along. James took the cue then.

He flipped Alistar over, who was surprisingly still alive, and struck the final timbering blow of his splintered stub in his chest. Alister’s eyes reeled back, his knees trembling like aspens before straightening and giving away beneath him. Slowly, James nudged him in place before using his full strength to drag him off by the armpits, as silently as he could. They disappeared behind the grand staircase, James gelled black curls messy as he did so. He looked so handsome— your James, even when doing such inhumane, atrocious things; his shirt collar was ripped yet the suspenders remained absolutely unspotted as he backpedaled. He took extra care of his little peony.

As the handymen apologized fulsomely and turned back out the curb for a different hotel, you turned your gaze back inside the grand entrance of the hotel; James was gone again. Only Hazel Evers remained, smooth jazz music in the background as she mused an awkward grin, sat by her bucket of bubbles, eagerly scrubbing and scrubbing; a sadness clouding her features knowing you have and always will be Jame’s darling girl.

-♣-

To be continued in Part III: The Green Little Fairy / Segment Two

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evandearest · 4 years ago

Text

The Garden of Eden | Part IV: Betrayal

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (4/4)~

Summary (Part Four): Warnings are to be remembered, although most stored away for future use only to be forgotten. Cycles repeat to teach lessons; to warn of future events. Threats may remain even if not for the blind eye to see. However, ignorance might be the biggest threat of all.

Warnings (in this part): murder, blood, death, poison, religious twists, dark themes

Word Count: 5,018 (haha this part ended up with the most words... to end it off I suppose!)

Notes: This is the last part of the Garden of Eden! I just want to say thank you to all who read - especially @etoile-writings , for supporting me. Please go check out her series Adam and Eve, as it is a literary masterpiece and she deserves so much recognition.

I have seriously had so much fun writing this - it really has been my pleasure. I also want to apologize to all those who may have been waiting for awhile for the final part! Disclaimer: I tried my best to edit the grammar and everything in this but this is the best I could do! I hope there’s not many mistakes I may have missed. Please ask any questions and give me all your comments about this finale - I’d love to hear any and all thoughts! I also hope everyone is safe, healthy, and happy :) Feel free to send in other requests, whether it be AHS or Supernatural.

Also a heads up - keep a look out for the final review and analysis if you are interested. It is still in progress but it should be out within a couple of days at best.

A few side notes - the Countess and James are still legally married here, as they are in the show, but in this situation it is only because they haven’t gotten the chance to divorce. This part may seem to have very long sentences, but I just wanted to let you guys know that it is a writing technique that I used to create mood, tone, and theme. That’s all, thanks!

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

Something about the young couple in the bar had your mind reeling. Their hands remained interlocked on the table, both of them staring at one another with all the joy and adoration that only true love can bring. Their relationship was new and exciting. The honeymoon phase was always so perfect. You remembered how that had felt with James; so invigoratingly energizing. It was enough to make you feel as if you ruled the world; love blinding a vision of truth. It was, for many years, what you had considered paradise to be.

Paradise.

You realized now that it never had been perfect with you and James. There were so many things standing in the way, so many hidden threats. When you were younger, it had been your parents and their obsessive need to marry you off like an object to a rich man. Even as he had began his journey to success, James’ social status as new money hadn’t seemed good enough to them. When you had first gotten back with James only just around a month ago, you had thought that you’d conquered everything. You had been blind to the truth which was right in front of you once again. You should have expected some kind of change in James. It was inevitable, after all that time spent apart.

But now, however, right at this present moment... well, now, everything was out in the open. Now, you and James truly understood one another. Now there really was nothing in your way. You could see no obstacles ahead, no threat, so long as James was by your side. All you saw was James, and all that clouded your mind was your admiration and devotion to him. He was your everything; your soulmate, your leader, your God. He had dragged you from the fire and brought your paradise back to you; good, true, and everlasting this time around. Your precious Garden of Eden, controlled by none other but you and your God.

Your God; who had been the utmost of clever in his recent schemes. He’d been outraged when he did it, but it wasn’t to say that he wasn’t brilliant. He was of excellent prosecution; his statement out in the open and clear. A Sunday morning: police finding piles of dead bodies compiled with numerous copies of nothing other than the book of God himself. It was sadistic and morbid, but it was perfect. It was everything that James needed to say. He was on the verge of something momentously renowned.

Once James was finished, no one would ever forget his message: religion was the worst thing to happen to society. It controlled the will of man, when truly nothing in creation could stop anything. Everyone was put equal on the Earth to sin, to live in the most pleasurable way.

It was the entire reason Adam and Eve had been cast down. They were sinners, except the garden was a place controlled by God’s rules. They had wanted to control their own lives, so God banished them to Earth. James, however, had created his own paradise; his own Garden of Eden. He had climbed so far above all other men that he now controlled the garden. He had to prove to others the ridiculousness of holiness--for all were meant to sin. Religion was, essentially, suppression. To some, it may seem horrible, but to you, it was art. A simple expression of belief that most didn’t understand.

Voices floated into your ears, startling you out of your thoughts. Soft echoes through the lobby of your beloved’s name piqued your interest, your feet immediately carrying you to the railing without much thought. You left your drink on the bar’s counter--still full, but long forgotten. Your eyes landed on four men clad in black suits, shiny gold badges on their shoulders reflecting light from the chandeliers above. You scanned the area, noticing a certain maid standing close by, listening in, much like you were.

“We have suspicion based upon evidence that Mr. March was involved in the murder this past Sunday. We have already taken the time to get a warrant for his arrest,” one of the officers explained to the receptionist at the front desk. Time seemed to take a standstill, your heart seeming to stop completely as your brain registered the man’s words. No, this couldn’t be happening.

The cycle was repeating again. They were trying to tear you apart again.

You didn’t understand how this could’ve happened. He said he was careful, and you could never see James making a mistake with something this important. He was detail-oriented, his brain practically ran off of the certainty of perfectionism. He would never let a small mistake ruin everything for him.

The entire empire he’d built, and everything you’d rebuilt, was about to be destroyed all over again.

Your body seemed to catch up with your mind as you sprung into action. You twisted around, your feet pushing you forward only to come to a halt at the close proximity of the once unknown presence behind you. Your eyes widened, a sharp breath escaping your lips at the stop you made compared to your sudden momentum. You stared into the eyes of none other than The Countess, clad in only the most extravagant clothing and makeup.

“That’ll be a hard one to get out of,” she said, although her face was seemingly expressionless. You stared at her, your frenzied brain jumping to the first conclusion you could make.

“Did you...” you trailed off, your breathing suddenly heavy. James couldn’t have made the mistake, so that means that somebody else had to of given the police some kind of tip in order for them to seek James out. The woman standing before you was quite possibly the number one suspect. “Did you do this?” Your voice held tones of disbelief and anger.

Would Elizabeth really go to such extent when she hadn’t even expressed a major disliking? She hadn’t talked to you at all since that first time, in fact the only interactions you’d had with one another were passing glances. She’d seemed to have just steered clear of anything to do with you or James. You had no idea what she had thought, but you had supposed that she didn’t care about you and James, otherwise she would have spoke her concerns. Had you been wrong about her? Could a simple mistake end it all over again? Elizabeth scoffed, her face hardening.

“Oh God no...” she said wryly, a small sarcastic grin forming on her lips as she looked at you quizzically, “what would I get out of it now? As I am still his present wife, I don’t need James dead to use his money. And besides, now that he has you he no longer bothers me.” She was smug as she spoke to you. She grinned, all teeth and mischief, her eyes sparkling. “It’s a winning situation for the both of us if you ask me.” She paused, her grin falling slightly as her gaze wondered off to peer down into the lobby.

“I could bet I know who the rat is, though,” She said, turning back to you. “I’m wagering it’s his loyal minion. That poor woman has been in love with James since the beginning of time.” She paused, her eyes intense as they rested on your face. “And based on your expression you think so too.” She smiled at you and then turned, walking slowly away from you. “Good luck,” she called back to you without turning around, your eyes watching her back as she went.

You stood contemplating her words for a moment. Elizabeth was smart and straightforward, and from what you could tell if she had a problem she would speak her mind. And what she had said made sense. Miss Evers was in love with James, but her love was unrequited, and that’s why she constantly seemed at odds with you. She could never even have a chance to be with him, so long as you were around.

Your feet carried you quickly as you raced to the elevator. The police were still conversing with the receptionist, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they found out where James was. You recalled a conversation you’d had with him in the morning, concluding that he had to be caught up attending to his hobby.

The police would find him in his office, in the middle of his business, and it would all be over. He would be taken from you once again.

You didn’t even knock upon arriving; you opened the door and closed it quickly behind you. You turned to face James, in all his blood-covered, god-like glory. You took in the scene of James’ office quickly, your eyes tracing over every detail. A large bin sat in the center of the room, a rugged corpse contained within it. James had been busying himself with pouring a substance over the body, of which could only be acid, as it had sizzled upon impact with the dead man’s skin. At your arrival, James halted his methods in confusion.

Several items were scattered across the floor, one of which catching your interest. The glass of the vase; a damp spot surrounding the area where the unaltered mess remained. The roses remained too, the petals wilting from lack of nourishment. You paused, your mind trying to puzzle out their unmoved position. Miss Evers had to have been in here since last night, so why wouldn’t she move them? She might have been scheming, but she was extremely adamant on being neat when it came to James’ specific rooms. You couldn’t see her ignoring it, and yet here it was sitting puzzlingly. You were caught off guard for a reason not entirely known to you. Something about their appearance had you alarmed, a string of words suddenly ringing out in your head; perhaps a memory brought to the surface.

“If you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.”

The old woman was suddenly prevalent in your mind, her warning dawning upon you, your heartbeat stuttering at the looming echo of her words. James was waiting for you to explain yourself--the police were coming--Miss Evers had betrayed you--everything you and James had worked so hard for was crumbling down around you. Your heartbeat was fast, the pulse beating quickly, perhaps the reason for the pounding in your head.

You looked James in the eyes, studying his features. He was so handsome--even before you knew him, that day in the garden when you had first seen him--you had marveled at his beauty. And that was before he’d become such a man; his features sharp and masculine, beautifully sculpted by the gods. His dark brown eyes and hair, so dull yet so prominent--a symbol of his darkness. You could stare at him for eternity and never bore, your love for him everlasting.

And yet, here you were at the end with no escape, hell a threat once again hanging above your heads, looming just around the corner. Just a few more minutes and everything would be over. Just a few more minutes and you’d be lost again, stranded without your guide; your purpose--your God.

“James,” you gasped, stumbling slightly as you made your way to him. You’d just managed to get to him before you fell over slightly, your arms reaching out to grasp onto his tightly. He caught you, keeping you level as his face filled with concern. The pounding in your head was intense, beginning to drown out your thoughts and quicken your breath.

“Darling, tell me--what is it?” James demanded, his voice panic-stricken. He lifted your chin to look you in the eyes, his widened orbs meeting yours with intensity.

“I-it’s--the- the police,” you barely managed to get the words out, clinging onto James like he was your lifeline. Nothing seemed right; your thoughts suddenly taking too long to form into words, your breathing heavy, vision blurry, and it was becoming much harder to stand. What was happening? You stared into James eyes, shifting all your focus into him. “They’re here to arrest you.” One hand gripped his arm firmly as you brought the other to rest upon his cheekbone, leaning chest to chest as your body began to collapse into him. He held you steady, forever the one and only thing to truly support you. “They’re going to take you from me,” you sobbed, an onslaught of tears overcoming you. “Again,” you cried quietly, gasping for air.

The door opened, your heart skipping a beat at the intrusion, your mind going straight to the thought of the police. Your eyes landed on Miss Evers instead, confusion settling on you once again. She’d gotten what she wanted, hadn’t she? Why was she here now, to prove something? You wished you had the strength to question her, to say anything, but everything felt heavier and heavier as more time passed.

“Tell me,” James barked at her just as she’d closed and locked the door, “what in all creation is happening? Speak right this instant, and quickly.”

“The police are here,” Miss Evers explained, James grip on you tightening as you leaned onto him for support. He glanced down at you, worry glinting in his eyes as you just barely managed to look up at him.

“Darling,” he whispered, “what is happening? Are you ill?” A moment of silence passed as you tried to respond, your mouth opening but no words becoming audible. A moment of silence passed, the only action being James assessing you. Your words couldn’t seem to form, a burning spreading through your entire body. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt. You began to wonder yourself if you were somehow ill.

“It was supposed to be me!”

The maid across the room suddenly shrieked, desperation clouding her judgement as she flung her arms up in the air. “I was the one for you!” She sobbed, stumbling slightly as an expression of hurt formed upon her face. “I always loved you, and these women--they never did! They used you, and I always cared!” James eyes widened, shock coming across his features. He stared at the woman, contemplating her words.

“But you never saw,” the woman said sadly, her head hanging in shame before her face went emotionless. “And so I did the only thing I could.” She looked at him, dead in the eye, a type of malice suddenly overcoming her. “You’d be surprised how easy it was.” Her eyes settled upon your frame, your head moving slowly to get a glance at her. You stared, blinking rapidly as your vision faded in and out. You could barely comprehend what she was saying, but you felt as James’ breath quickened. It was taking all of your willpower to stay awake--you needed to, for James.

“What?” he stated, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it, a rage within his eyes even you had never seen before as he stared at her. He was tense, as hard as a rock, glaring daggers at the woman who had seemingly betrayed him.

“I--,” Miss Evers hesitated, obviously intimidated by his fury, but decided to continue. “I’ve found that you have a secret stash of cyanide in the bar.” She faltered once again, her eyes shifting away from James and to the floor. “I wanted us to be together, and she-” she pointed at you, “-she was always in it for the money! They all are, all but me!” She burst into tears, falling onto her knees in hysterics. Your eyebrows furrowed as you racked your brain to gather all of the information. She poisoned you at the bar. You remembered brief flashbacks of the one tiny sip you’d taken of your previously forgotten drink.

James seemed to be shaking as he gently moved you to sit in a chair by the wall, turning away from you for only a moment. Your eyelids began to flutter as sleep beckoned you, visions of James’ movement around the room the only thing to hold your focus. A loud pop suddenly reverberated off of the walls as it rang out, causing you to sit up slightly from your slouched posture, your eyelids flying open to search for the source. James stood over the body of his betrayer, smoking gun resting within his palm.

You felt so weak, your thoughts jumbled, unable to focus on only one. Only now you knew it wasn’t just an overreaction. You’d only taken a mere sip of the drink from the bar, but you supposed now that it had been enough for the poison to go into effect. You wondered briefly how she’d gotten the cyanide into the drink in the first place, and exactly how much she had put in for it to have such a potent effect on your body.

Your eyes traveled to her corpse, and to the fresh blood splattered across the wall from the headshot. You blinked, barely registering what had just occurred before you. You were too dazed to process the incident, even if you understood what had occurred subconsciously. Relief was the only thing you felt; relief for one less thing to worry about standing between you and James.

Eyes shifting slightly to the left, you stared at the browning roses, the sweet old lady’s warning once again echoing, a distant memory brought to the surface of your mind. James crouched in front of you, suddenly the only thing in line of sight, his lips moving but you couldn’t hear his voice over your own in your head. The roses were dead. You left them on the floor. You betrayed them for--

You sprung up once again as a loud banging at the door shocked you back into your senses. James glanced briefly at the door before turning back to you quickly. He pulled you out of the chair, holding you up and close to his chest as he stroked your hair tenderly.

“James,” you just barely whispered as he shushed you.

“I know, darling,” He said reassuringly, pulling back to look into your eyes. “It’s all going to be okay, dear. It’ll all be over before you know it.” He smiled charmingly as you nodded weakly, holding tightly onto the cloth of his shirt to maintain stability. And you believed him in that moment, as he always seemed to find a way.

One way, or another.

You rested your head on his chest, closing your eyes as the pounding on the door increased. Or maybe it was the pounding in your head; at this point you couldn’t decipher what was real and what was just a figment of your imagination. Cold metal pressed against the skin of your temple, your brain too bleary to question it. Mere seconds passed as you contemplated moving, but suddenly it was as if everything had settled away. James’ warm body faded from your grasp.

-🤍-

Your eyelids fluttered open, eyeballs moving back and forth as you tried to become familiar with your surroundings. You recognized the familiar room immediately, for it was your bedroom when you had first moved into the Cortez. You felt strange. Zen, almost, but maybe that was just because the pounding was gone. You felt... disconnected. It was the most out of touch with yourself you’d ever felt.

You climbed to your feet from the floor, thoughts running rampant at what was unknown to you. Where was James, how did you get here, how long had you been here, and why did you feel so cold? Flashes of what seemed to be both years ago and only moments ago clouded your mind, filling you with dread. Scenarios of what could be frightened you and sent you into a state of panic, pushing you forward.

Out of the room you went, through the quiet and empty halls, searching, searching, searching--no fixed destination ahead except something, anything, that could lead you to your James.

It seemed that days had passed before you finally found the lobby of the hotel. Navigation through the building was proving to be much more difficult than you remembered. Why was it taking so long?

The lobby was sparsely populated, unlike the usually crowded area that you were used to. You glanced around, noticing only a few people in the bar, the receptionist, and someone asleep on the sofas. Your feet carried you to the hotel entrance, pushing the first door open, the sunlight peeking through the opaque glass surprising you. If it was the daytime, then why was the hotel so empty? On ordinary occasions people came and went like flies; the Cortez was a hotspot in the city of Los Angeles, after all. Your hands reached out to push open the door to the outside, the metal handle of the door cool against your skin, and then suddenly nothing. In front of you was the door no longer; profound confusion coursing through you as you stared at the walls of your bedroom once again. You had been there one second, and in the next it was as if you had been teleported back in time.

And so the cycle repeated for what seemed like years; many times set adrift through the halls, eventually to the lobby where the sunlight no longer shone through the windows and unusually few people inhabited. You were reaching forward for the handle of the first door for what seemed to be the hundredth time, only to freeze at the call of your name from a familiar voice.

“Y/N.”

Your name sounded of honey dripping off his tongue. It was like hearing that voice for the first time again. All your worries deflated and anxieties subsided--for you had found your God once again. You turned to face him, to see his face--the face you had longed to see for what felt like years but may have been minutes. You still didn’t entirely understand the detachment from your body you felt; it was as if you no longer had a life source, no blood running course or lungs cycling air. You felt out of place and trapped at the same time.

Just as your hopes had soared, they plummeted at the sight of the bare lobby. Emptiness sat instead where you had expected James to be, crushing all sense of direction. You wanted to cry, to scream, to tear the hotel to shreds with your bare hands. But just before you gave up all hope completely, your eyes caught on the tiniest of details.

Barely noticeable, unless payed close attention to; unless already a prominent object in one’s mind. Small, dainty, white petals lay scattered in high correlation, leading on to an unknown but obviously specific destination. You treaded lightly as you followed the path closely, afraid any disturbance would somehow make them disappear.

Unease settled through you, possibly just a usual feeling as of late, but considerably appropriate when meeting the isolate hallways once again. You began questioning your sanity; was this just yet another repeat in the cycle? You’d been lost for so long, was this just another loop? What was the energy here, and why did it not feel like you and James’ beloved Cortez, the place you called home? You felt like you were stuck in a punishment of some kind; a purgatory; a hell.

And at last, you arrived; the room in which this cycle had began, or ended. The office of James Patrick March: Room sixty-four. You paused, contemplating, before making a bold decision and gripping the handle, opening the door and entering the room. There you stood in what was once James’ office, now empty of most furniture, only few items remaining. And there it remained: the vase on the table in the center of the room, petals leading straight to their source.

Inside sat the very white roses themselves, southern California glory and all. They looked just like the ones in that very first garden: huge, bright and beaming, petals spread with all the beauty and radiance of nature and purity. And just behind them stood their God; the master of the garden who held the utmost control in his realm. Your God, who’d saved you from hell; who’d broke all cycles.

The feeling you felt at sight of James did not fail to excite you just the same as it had on that first day years ago. Something about his presence next to yours soothed you, for you knew that he was still there, that he hadn’t been taken from you, that no matter what had happened you were still okay so long as he stood next to you.

You rushed forward and into him, basking in his embrace. His arms wrapped around you, but the challenge once again presented itself: an unignorably apparent absence of warmth. It’d been just before you’d first woken up what seemed like years, or maybe just hours ago, that you’d been in his embrace just the same, his warmth seeping into you and igniting your soul as you had faded in and out of consciousness. But now, you couldn’t feel it. You felt his body wrapped around yours, but nothing inflaming, the detachment from your own warmth just the same. It was missing, a shell of a comfort that used to always be present; something you had gotten entirely used to, for to be absent of warmth was to be dead...

You gasped, pulling away from James to look him in the eyes, the reality setting in and the drunkenness fading away. Your mind was becoming clear, all clarity suddenly bestowed upon you.

“James, are we...” you froze in panic, for it felt as if you didn’t have lungs, the normal rise and fall of the simplicity of breathing gone... the feelings of life were all gone...

And it clicked.

“James,” you whispered, your eyes tracing over the details of the room. The blood stains on the floor and walls were the only evidence of foul play left. You felt strange, for people didn’t normally expect to see the place of their death after the fact. Realizations settled over you as you stared at the room, just as you had initially when entering to warn James of the police, the truth of the events that had happened finally dawning upon you. In your poison-induced state of mind, it’d been hard to realize. You had been dying, the poison slowly but surely shutting your body down. You’d barely processed it when James had held the gun to your head and pulled the trigger, ending your pain.

“Yes, darling?” James replied to you, bringing you back to your conversation. You stared at him longingly. Although you didn’t entirely understand why you were still here, or the concept of the afterlife, you were glad to have James next to you. A moment of silence passed as you tried to pinpoint what you wanted to ask him exactly.

“I have so many questions,” you said, deciding to just speak your mind. You furrowed your eyebrows, blinking rapidly as you tried to sort out your thoughts. “I-I’m so lost, James.”

“Of course you are, dearest,” James said reassuringly, his hand brushing the stray hairs away from your face. He stared at you sadly. “I’m terribly sorry for all that happened, you must feel perplexed beyond understanding my dear.” He paused, his eyes traveling over your features as you stared up at him, listening intently. “This was simply my only choice, darling. You were succumbing to the poison’s grip long before I finished your pain. Miss Evers...” He trailed off, his jaw clenching tightly. “Nevermind that. I came to a conclusion upon the authorities’ arrival, and that was that if I was damned to be put away I might as well flee with you, my queen... it was the only right option.” He smiled down at you softly.

You smiled right back at him, your love for him the only warmth left inside of you now that you no longer had your body to call home. You basked in the feeling of being close to him as he pulled you to his chest, his lips leaving a soft kiss against your scalp. Even if you didn’t feel warmth, simply the love you had for him was enough. He tenderly stroked your back, calming your nerves. It amazed you how he could ease your mind so easily, if only just a little. However, you couldn’t shake your thoughts away. Sure, you could just let it all go, but the truth of the matter was simple.

Your entire life had been a cycle. A cycle of undeniable foolishness; you’d been ignorant of the truth for all of your living years. Oh, how it angered you. You hated something truly for what seemed like the first time in your life. You hated yourself; you’d let yourself believe false truths just to live in an illusion that you thought was happiness. You were naïve. And ultimately, that was what had ended you.

You’d ignored all warnings and left the roses to wilt, betraying the one thing that had always been on your side. You’d ignored all threats and committed yourself to making paradise in the land of the evil; it was simply impossible. The Garden of Eden wasn’t a place for the living. It was a place of freedom, and so long as you’re living, you can never truly be free. For in life, one threat always remains: death. You could never truly be protected. You could never truly have paradise.

But with James, in the Cortez, in the paradise he’d created for you... even death didn’t stand a chance. It was a gateway to greatness; a place where nothing truly stood in your way, where no threats were great enough. You couldn’t be harmed, or imprisoned, or separated here; you were finally utterly invincible; real Gods. Hell and Earth were no longer a threat. It was your true paradise that James had promised you.

Your Garden of Eden.

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Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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....currently finalizing and writing the explanation :) decided to tease the title a little.

The Garden of Eden Series Masterlist

Part I: Cycles

Summary (Part One): Life with James March involved has had many cycles. In a time long ago, you once flourished. But things don’t always stay the same forever, do they? Will James find his way back to you?

Part II: Reflection

Summary (Part Two): When memories are all that clouds your vision, how do you begin to break cycles and live in the present? Can you overcome your irrational fear when paradise is only a memory of long ago? Living through hell can make or break you.

Review (Part One and Two): The Garden of Eden Explanation

Summary (Review pt. 1&2): Author’s notes to help explain symbolism and literary elements used in the series. *Beneficial if you are confused!

Part III: Hidden Darkness

Summary (Part Three): Sometimes, even when things seem to be at their best, hidden truths can seep through the cracks. Sometimes, it can ruin relationships, but other times, it can make them. What will happen when you and James find that everything is not what it seems? They say opposites attract, but how far can that really go? The truth is a magnet, but the question still remains: will it bring you together, or force you apart?

Part IV: Betrayal (final part coming soon)

Review (Part Three and Four): (final review coming soon)

Main Masterlist

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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Happy 34th birthday, Evan Peters!! ❤️🎂

I adore and admire him so much. He’s the celebrity I have had a crush on for the longest, and it’s going to be like that forever because he’s just SO PERFECT.

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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January 20, 2021

Happy Birthday Skeet & Evan! 🥳🎉🎉

Today Skeet Ulrich is 51! & Evan Peters is 34!

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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Update

I’m working on part four of the Garden of Eden! I’m going to finish both part four and the review before I post either, plus I just started back at school, so it may be a little before it gets posted. It depends on whether I can finish most of it this weekend (which is very possible). I just wanted to say that I am so excited right now as I am writing this, because I am really enjoying this story. I’m so excited to let you guys in on the way all of the ideas connect together!

#the garden of eden series #james march #ahs imagine

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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Can I just say WOW????!!! 🤩 This is so incredibly amazing in every fashion and honestly I am just entirely speechless. The details, oh, the details! I am just completely flabbergasted by how incredible this journey of a story was! @etoile-writings YOU ARE A LITERAL AUTHOR. This was beyond fan-fiction darling, this is like a whole other LEVEL of writing that definitely deserves to be on pages in a book and not tumblr. I just had to say it. 🥳

Like WOW; the morbidity to the romance to the innocence and to the loss of—this chapter was literally freaking INCREDIBLE—I can not stop raving. I will not stop raving. 😱

The murder scene though. The way the reader character was in such a weird type of trance—like a dream—all the while she was aware (but not really!) had me so sucked in that it almost felt real! I mean come on! That was literally intense horror/thriller writing EXCELLENCE! 😍

Oh but the romance in the beginning though—it was so sweet and I swear I just like melted. lol 😆🥰

The details throughout the entire thing though. Like the way the scenes were described!! I’m just stunned. 😮 Jaw dropping.

AND OMG— what about themes and underlying symbolism and ideas? Like holy crap! 🤭 The Adam and Eve concept was just—I mean just literal perfection. The loss of innocence and the juxtaposition was captured so perfectly. The VOID THOUGH—the way she was so indifferent to right and wrong! The GOD CONCEPT OMG!!! 😫😫

I just can’t stop raving. You absolutely nailed this Bella. You completely outsold everybody. This is literary perfection. Period. 😝😚🤪🥳

YOU. ARE. SO. TALENTED. 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

Everybody should be reading this right now because it is the best decision you will ever make!!! 😆

Adam & Eve | Part II: The Ring

Pairing: James March x Reader | Part: (2 of TBA: I predict 4 or 5)

Summary (Part Two): James enters Eden, following a glimmering light to find you. And he succeeds, as reminiscent memories of a wholesomely broken-dream flashes right before his eyes. It seems as though it’s reviving in front of him one last time. Welcome to the Hotel Cortez. Or— welcome back.

Warnings (To Part Two): This is novella-dense, like two and a half chapters meshed into one for flow! Angst, blood, cuss words (swearing), drugs (mentions), graphic descriptions, death, hinted twists of morality (in characters), murder, mature themes/ sexual themes, smut, violence.

Author’s notes: Happy 2021 everyone! Wanted to post this before school and work swamps me again. This is chapter two of my James March x Reader series ‘Adam & Eve’ , after chapter one: ‘The Peony’. It’s set from the 1920′s onwards. The reason it’s so long is because it’s a huge flashback, to which I’ve even indented and broken down into two long chapters, in case readers need a break. However, due to literary logistics, it’s still posted together otherwise part three would start in the past.

The second part of the chapter gets very adult-literature (SMUT), so do not read it if you’re uncomfortable with full-on sexual content. However, that will be where certain biblical symbology reveals itself; hints of a fall from innocence / paradise.

The time setting of this follows suit from the “present day” Cortez, meaning around and after the finale of the show, but with flashbacks of you and James before he died. Chapter II: ‘The Ring’ introduces Eden. This chapter is especially long; even I read it in two to three sittings. Religious allusion and symbolism are interwoven throughout, especially nearing the end of the full chapter in the garden. The play of flashback memory versus present day interactions are incorporated, all stylized with juxtaposition effect. More symbology and meanings will become apparent as future chapters come out. I hope you guys enjoy it, and thank you for your patience! ❤️

This is a fan-fiction, and was written originally in third person however morphed to second due to popular-demand. Additionally it doesn’t change the original storyline of the show but molds into it, just like an OC would in a role-play. Finally a disclaimer that I do not own AHS, it’s plot-line or characters whatsoever, and they belong to their rightful owners; this was just a creative literature piece inspired by the fandom.

Word count: 4040 first, 7350 second. Parts separated by the indent!

Tag-list: @evandearest

James March was dead, but not stupid. The Countess knew nothing of you, nothing about James plugging her in as a sort of fancy eternal rebound he eventually began to obsess over, for James was smart enough to know that if Elizabeth did know about you, you would be used as bait for his eternal torment. It was evident she didn’t know about room seventy-two, even if she was the owner now; she didn’t know of Eden, for it had been the only room built in the hotel larger than her own suite yet eventually blocked off by James himself. It stood directly opposite his own room, room sixty-four, and had once been open to all. In fact, everyone loved that room, the workers and the painters, especially if [Y/N] [Y/L/N] was staying the night— for it was as if it’d been made of the ace of diamonds instead of spades. Though people died at the Hotel Cortez, [Y/N]— and her Garden of Eden— made it less painful.

Presently, what stood in front of it was a concrete wall, with a clean, geometric painting hanging from it Jame’s had picked out himself. He had even done it in your favorite colors. He took a moment to study the art, reaching out to straighten it, his pencil mustache twitching slightly as he spotted an imperfection. And with one last puff from his tobacco pipe, he straightened his face and adjusted his pinky ring with his thumb, carefully stepping through the painting as a ghost. And he went on from there, through the thick walls, through the cemented bricks, and into the long forgotten Eden.

Inside, some of James’ finest pieces of art hung on the walls; nothing human of course for he knew you weren’t quite as extreme. Exotic animals lined up against one another: wildcats, blackbuck antelopes, even bisons, hinged on the walls ornamented with what would’ve been the freshest of flowers, now all withered and dead. Soft gold and finely carved platinum decorated the walls, all in the style of art-deco, the tailored luxe furniture standing as dust collectors in the dark. The king size bed was directly across a beautiful old-fashioned fireplace, the pearl silken sheets on the mattress still soft, having not been exposed to the sunlight in so long. A precious record player stood in between two antique closets by the bedside table, directly beside two fine glass windows which stood as a barrier between the bedroom and a large stone fountain out on the terrace, the sheer size of it enough to fit a group of four. The renaissance statue James had especially imported in from overseas stood tall on the rocky bathe, its eyes gazing down at the moonlit water like the eyes of God. Every single tree that stood on the balcony was flowering, even the trees that March was sure weren’t supposed to flower. In particular, the oak blossoms were very beautiful but in a grotesque sort of way, and a branch hung right over the fountain as you stirred awake, underneath the water.

The jewel on your ring finger glistened in the luscious moonlight when you wavered your hands in the process of sitting up, the large ruby and tiny pearl complimentary on your delicate hand. The light of it reflected on the glass doors as you sat up from the fountain— gasping for air and rubbing your eyes only to let out a mewl. You realized you had been soaked from head to toe; not exactly the entrance you were hoping for. But, being the buoyant energy you were, you didn’t mind, for the fountain was surrounded by bushes of roses and peonies, magnolias, lilies, babies-breath, lavenders, foxgloves, gardenias— and more, all dying or growing out of control from the lack of care the place had received over the decades. And it took a few minutes for you to settle, panting in and out the crisp evening air, before you looked around wide-eyed with fright. It looked like an absolute jungle, beautiful as it was, the vines having sprawled up the ancient brick walls. You steadied though as you focused on the giant hotel sign over the balustrade in front of you, the neon lit letter ‘O’ flickering ever so slightly, almost as if greeting you. And then it dawned on you: The Hotel Cortez. Your James had built this place. And at the thought of him, the corner of your lips gently curled upwards into a genuine smile; Eden, you thought, why— you never lose your charm, not even if I’ve been away for so long.

-♢-

For as long as you both could remember, James had felt wed to you long before you ever came to know of his feelings. The two of you didn’t really need the rings to say that you were married, for the roots of your relationship go deep. Whether you were involved socially, emotionally or financially, [Y/N] and James had a way of coming together in serendipitous situations, with flowers or with blood, which made you both feel a sort of tie to one another that’s… inevitable, fated almost; like that one night his father hit you, or the first day back in front of your lavender field. You and James were different, like a man would be from a woman, old-money to new, but likes and dislikes were never the important motives to you both. It was as if free choice wasn’t really involved, like it was all at the merciful hands of God. Sure, the love affair was slow to develop, especially seeing you’d deemed him a working boy or a neighboring friend. Not to mention you had very different upbringings. Yet somehow through all that, it was no doubt the two of you had common origins; you guys have been like family from the start.

It was only when he’d set up his mind to leave for California you’d slowly come to realize that your fortunes are inextricably linked; with James as a rising industrial man, it was only a matter of time your father would deem him worthy as your chosen suitor. The only thing was, how to keep him, his interest? You didn’t want to see him go. So, in 1920, he gave you a promise ring.

It wasn’t much, the tiny pearl instead of a diamond, but it was all he had. But you loved it, much to Jame’s surprise; oh, how you marveled at it! You would look at him, then at the ring, and then at him, and oh what nice eyes he had, deep, but such a warm cavernous brown, and oh how the pearl would shine! Your face would then be paralyzed with a sort of exuberant happiness, the smile on it accompanied by a shrill he couldn’t help but grin at. That was what James loved about you, that you’d been moved by all, even the smallest gestures. You breathed in life whilst he brought out death. And you were one of those very few people he’d ever come across in life that could make him feel a lifelong promise that there was no one else in the world you’d so praised but him, no one else in the world you’d so wanted to see. Whatever anyone gave you, you hid it in your vault and brought it to perfection. An inexhaustible warmth flowed from you; you were a real life timeless muse that even The Hotel Cortez would have a hard time competing against. Iris had said James March put every atom of evil into building this hotel, but the beauty of it, the magnetism— that had to have been purely inspired by you.

You and James talked about everything together. Studying, traveling, marrying, a home, a family of your own. And in Jame’s vision, he could only picture such things with you. But the thing is, James made you wait.

“When will I see you again?” You queried subtly, curiously peeking into the sophisticated train. It was sumptuous, and had fully furnished purple chairs with matching pillows.

“Soon, hummingbird,” replied James, loading the last of his luggages onto the overhead rack across the aisle from his seat. He gave everything a final shove before coming back to join you by the passengers window, the glass separating you two. It rolled down, and he stuck his head out of the open gap, peering down at his beloved as the train station made its final boarding call.

You padded closer to the train and to him, your blonde leather Mary-Janes clicking against the cobble grounds. He smiled at you, admiring your white dress and cocooned fur coat, and the small beaded purse that hung from your wrist. Though he would never outwardly admit it, James felt an all-consuming attachment towards you. You were his before he even knew of possession, and he’d never met someone with such an artistic eye for detail. More so, you weren’t like the normal “old-money” socialites that shunned him. In fact, that had been the very reason he’d have to bring his ideas out west, the very reason he was going to have to leave you for now. He was going to miss you.

“But who’ll walk me to fetch the peonies now then?” You piqued, eyes big and focal on James. He chuckled at the sight of you, holding a paper pack of fresh lavenders and calling out for peonies.

“[Y/N], darling, by the time I come back for you I’ll get you the biggest bouquet of peonies in the world,” He reassured.

“Well, how about the garden-parties? At home?” A demure pout settled on your face then; you’d really enjoyed papa’s regular gatherings more when James was there.

He wasn’t as obnoxious as other boys you knew from school, and seemed to have life expertise from outside your circle. A real life working man. You were sure papa liked him too, at least that was what it seemed like; but your father found in him a feeling of apprehensiveness knowing he was made of new-money.

“We’ll have the greatest party ever held. And a delightful garden party too.” James proposed. With that you gave in with a commiserating look, sighing with disappointed eyes but a small smile.

You looked down at the small bouquet of lavenders in your hands, pinching up a single flower, giving it a gentle whiff. It was a goodbye gift he got you from a little booth you both passed earlier as you were walking towards the train station. He pursed his lips at the sight of that; how guiltlessly gorgeous; he was really going to miss you.

“Keep a lookout for my letters, won’t you darling?” He took off his hat then, surveying you, the hat now a derby and not a newsboy. He didn’t know how, but the virtuous hope behind your eyes somehow made him feel unsatisfactory—made him feel bad— for having to leave you. After all, it was your social group of people that eschewed men like him. “I promise I’ll invite you out West. I just need a little time.”

As you stared vacantly at him, he brushed it then—his hat— pondering on directing the conversation elsewhere to cheer you up. He patted his titfer, almost like how your father would before he left readily to the office every morning. But that was when he caught your fruity giggle, for he hadn’t noticed the flakes of lavender you’ve placed within the inner lining and sweat band of his derby, now sitting on his perfectly combed hair.

You could barely keep your face straight, the smile on your lips positively infectious. He leaned in with a curious grin.

“What is it darling?”

And that was when he leaned in too far, the buds of lavender falling from his curls to the bridge of his nose. With [Y/N] [Y/L/N] it was always vivacious; he found himself only able to be himself around your silliness, taking refuge in your unprejudiced demeanor— if not yet as a killer, at least as a little boy.

“Why— You have a sprig of lavender in your hair, Mr. March.” You said, affluently.

Oh how he loved the light in your eyes, and the mischievousness in your heart.

And as the train began to blow steam, you watched as James retracted from the window into the train, bending down to pat his hair clean, a smile pastured on his face before finding and pinching the sprig of lavender stuck in his hair. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it up to his nose, sniffing the smell. And, when you saw that gesture you were once again mesmerized, forgetting all about the fact he was leaving for California, a place almost three-thousand miles away. You stared, in wonder, at him caring for things like that—caring for details, like the smell of lavender. After all, how many men did you know would have done such a thing, just like you had whiffed your bouquet earlier, and back at it again you were, marveling at how extraordinarily neat James was, the first working boy you knew. Why couldn’t I have him, rather than all the silly upper class boys I have to mingle with and who came to papa’s Sunday night suppers? Your innocence was endearing, like that of a cute little buffoon.

With the kind of voice an ear would follow up and down, the intoxicating allure of a gentle symphony, a sound that promised your speech was an arrangement of notes that will never be played ever again, you gave the simplest goodbye words to your sweetheart.

“Your face is the kind of beautiful that people often have to look at twice, James.”

He was taken aback by such a sincere compliment from the lady, let alone how desperately delightful your input sounded. How did you do that? He would wonder; How did you worm into his mind, just like that?

“I suppose that— and lavender flowers, well that makes you a killer combination.” You finished off with a sunny smile, curtseying as your eyes shone in a way that made people feel like they were utterly unforgettable; that they were the only person you ever cared for. And James cocked a brow, giving you a devilishly handsome smile as he did so. Why, you out-charmed him. He was very impressed.

“Then does that make you a sweet serial killer?” His remark came suddenly, catching you off guard. “With that doll-like face… and all that garden variety…”

His voice was roguish before the repartee came to a final halt.

The announcer confirmed the train was now leaving from Penn Station, New York, to Los Angeles, California. And as the train chuffed you inhaled a long sharp breath, listening to the conductor speaking, your genuine smile becoming diffident as reality hit you all over again. James took notice of this and beckoned you closer to the window, leaning down as far as he could to pull you into a tight semi-embrace. He buried his face on the top of your head as you rested a cheek at the nape of his neck, holding onto his warmth one last time. He kissed you then— pressing his lips to your temples, then one on your dainty hand like a gentleman, right on top of the white pearl on your ring finger. You both didn’t know what was ahead of your kindred friendship. You hadn’t a clue where he was going. But you wanted James, and he wanted you, yet you were both so young, both so torn apart and kept together by a fleeting promise you knew could change at any second through any circumstance, even if you were faithful.

And to be frank, you were right.

When James had been busy out west, you’d been locked under your fathers wing. Your family had been busy finding you a proper suitor, hosting grand parties that would make the papers. Yet you would write James constantly, with seemingly no avail. No one matched him; you’d even test them by playing the same fine joke, to which they’d brush off the lavender specks carelessly. They’d seem disingenuous when it came to your flowers. And James, he would take ages just to send a letter back, having been too preoccupied with his new found hobby alongside building the Hotel Cortez. He kept all your letters, all your photographs; the ones of you together, even a twig of lavender from your bouquet. Or he’d cut out a rare sight of you in the newspapers if he spotted the [Y/L/N]’s on the paper covers. Pictures of you kept him going— the letters kept him striving. And sometimes, James found himself reading them again and again, with a little too much to drink by the bar, and if he was lucky your honeyed voice would then dance along the walls of the constructing hotel. You would say, “Your face is the kind of beautiful that people often have to look at twice, James.” And James would fix his peony pin there, not forgetting you, before getting on with whatever crooked errands he had planned for the day.

They were so time consuming, his peculiar appetites, so time consuming that he’d forgotten to write you back an important letter one night:

‘… you have always been the one with whom I could seek counsel. Then I plead with you to tell me candidly if I’m right or wrong, when I confess you are the only one who is worthy of my love. Come home, James, so that I may show them who truly makes me happy. I could wait a lifetime for that— for love, for the most wonderful person on this planet who also cares for the smell of lavenders. And I know by your ring and every promise in between that we mustn’t let our glorious love end in nothing. Not now, not forever. For I’m waiting for you, James, and for every long, sweet dream of you to come true…’

But the problem was, he wasn’t returning east. Ever.

You signed off like a siren, and James had finished scribbling a reply only to realize it was stained with blood and not the dark ink of his pen. What followed that was him throwing a tantrum as he screeched for Miss Evers to get more bookstore supplies so he could start over.

But she stalled.

However that didn’t mean he loved you any less, even though you thought so. You thought he’d gotten bored— that he’d forgotten about you. That no response back, was also a response.

That was, until early January of 1925.

It had been months and months before the actual opening of The Hotel Cortez; James had first handedly invited all those back from the upper east to attend his ribbon cutting event. A deliberate ‘fuck-you’, to the elites of east coast society who had shunned him back then, including Alistair Banks, your arranged and swindle husband. Though James didn’t return home to the east, you were the first to know about his grand success for he had invited you out west before the rest, just as he had promised you back at Penn Station. When you received a cordially invite after five lost years, you held the golden card with that same hand still wearing your promise ring, now on your pinky finger. You were to be the very first person to set foot into his engineered palace besides James himself, excluding his minions and workers of course. You felt so excited, yet so… sardonic.

The only problem was you were to be wed to Alistair Banks of New York, heir to one of America’s richest families. He owned three hotels, perhaps none in the west— but three nonetheless.

And ironically that was the only way you’d convinced your father to let you visit James March, all on your own too— as he’d already forgotten about your childhood friend. Friend; exactly that. Yet you couldn’t help it… that sweet pit of hope inside. That curious little butterfly within, waiting for the perfect nectar from the sweetest flower.

“Fine then, [Y/N] pet. The wedding reception can be at The Cortez, and you may invite your friend.”

You beamed at your fathers remark. You were sure James would do you the favor, given everything you’ve been through together.

When you arrived in California after a four day trip, it had reached sundown. You’d never seen palm trees in the evenings before, and you mused at the sight of them whooshing past the city streets as your taxi drove; they were long and tall, as if they didn’t have a care in the world.

And finally when you’d reached The Cortez it’d been almost dusk. The hotel stood sturdy and tall, too, as if it didn’t have a care in the world either. It was the loud booming coming from within that perplexed you when you got out of the cab, though; You’d imagined to see Jimmy at some dinner, or a small gathering. You’d even been worrying for the past hour about what to say if you were late.

But when you’d entered gracefully through those large monolithic doors, all eyes seemed to be on you as you were instantly sucked into the splashes of colors and flashes in front of your eyes; the rip-roaring atmosphere of new-money industrialization. The glittering crowds, and shimmering smoke; the smell of cheap perfume and cigarettes. Loud, jazzy blues music and catty chatter permeated the air around you; glasses shattering, bottles popping, leather shoes tapping. You’d been the first to be cordially invited, yes, but James threw a huge party, inviting all those he knew in California— all those related to Mr. Capone, to his business partners, and to his partners’ partners, knowing you’d be fond of such social festivities.

Yet those dewy orbs of yours cared for none. For your eyes were searching and searching, through blinding lights, sequined dresses, and painted faces, until it collided with those of James Patrick March, atop his resplendent staircase, cane underneath his two hands, a strikingly familiar hat on his head. He looked up, and you gasped in awe.

You’d both grown like flowers in the garden of life, yet those dark eyes had remained the same. You watched those coals simmer, softening at the sight of your pure gaze; watching as his eye-line moved with yours, like a snake would mimic its snake-charmer. And for some odd reason, it was as if you breathed life into the Hotel Cortez itself, for the gears really got turning after you arrived.

You watched in amazement as people played poker and dominos; the overflowing champagne tower and squealing girls. The flappers, the jazz bands— collections of bass, violin, trumpet, saxophone, clarinet, and drum players; the gangsters with their fancy hats and Bolivian marching powder. Strangers came in, pushing past you, some drunk, others drugged, others wanting to talk your legs off; there were ladies, and gentlemen, and congressmen, congresswomen— even schooling boys and girls. It was like you never left the east; and that this was the largest Californian feast; the shrill thrill of it all! And to top it off, rumor has it the roaring, chandelier-shattering parties would last for days, the mysterious festivities put on back to back, all for you, all because James wasn’t sure when you’d arrive.

And then finally, through all the careful push-pass of new-money and faces, a familiar grip found your hand. The same comforting hand that held your hand firmly in prayer back home.

“[Y/N], darling!”

His voice was loud and charming, like that of a businessman. Then he paused, just as you had, as if time froze still then for you both, even with the joyous blowout surrounding you. The promise of new love, with the same love, all over again. You both stared in wonder at each other’s presence, eyes lionizing each other before they met. How much has changed? There was a familiarity you brought to one another, like ancient roots that held together a sacred tree. He missed those eyes. Those eyes that reflected so beautifully in his, almost like you knew all of James’ secrets, as he’d known your own. And then he spoke once again, nonchalantly through the booming music and party shrills. “Come up to my office with me!”

And with that, he took you across his office, and straight to Eden.

You choked on your own breath when you got there, completely and utterly unable to hide your peal of laughter. First the colossal party, then this! The way the room drowned out all the noise until every sound was merely just a drone, like smooth jazz gently flowing from a record player. Then your eyes settled on the garden and you could barely catch your breath. Your mouth was wide like a lost child in a candy store. Then a charming laughter of pure bliss escaped your lips as you fully gave into your rapturing smile.

“James, why—I don’t believe it!”

“Do you like it, darling?” He shone a smug smile with a welcoming gesture, quite proud at how far he’s come. After all, James had built this whole room and garden for you. Five years ago, he had just been a working boy with big dreams.

Now it was you who didn’t respond to his question. For you just ran, giggling, onto the veranda from tree to tree, prancing, from bush to bush, sweet laughter up in the atmosphere and into the walls of Eden— then through the hallways, through room sixty-four, and into James whole hotel, a feeling of elevation in your veins like you’ve never felt before. It was like you were drunk on happiness and this was the one week James made sure he was absolutely sober. You climbed up on the edge of the fountain, where you’d tossed small coins into the splashing, iridescent cascade, making a little wish. James leaned on the doorframe just admiring your other-worldly essence. He could barely catch up with you when he decided himself to go running after you through his perfectly designed blueprint, almost as if hunting you, yet getting distracted as he watched you bring everything to life. The way you would hide under the petals of the peony flowers, giggling at his loss of direction, and then peek up from a neighboring bed of pungent roses. It was as if those five empty years you waited were never real. As if you’d been eating your breakfast sandwich again, with James, on your fathers lawn and garden. As if boy-meets-girl, all over again, just this time, with no pain, with no parents— with no religion.

Soon you both collided with a large oomph by the tree adjacent the fountain. And you stared wide eyed, like a hare finally getting caught in the hunters trap, but continued to snicker and break observing an awkward but hearty laugh sputter from James who was now top of you, a bit shy too, finally catching you where he then tickled you. You were so youthful, almost like you’d gotten younger as you aged. And you’d exclaim out in happiness, laughing even more at the mixed smell of cigars, cologne and fluorescent lilies now all stuck on James. You whirred at the way those kiss-me-at-the-gates looked down at you by the statue, the stone sculpture staring down at you like the eyes of God.

“James…” You both took a moment to pant, recovering from all your speedy movements through Eden. “Is this why I haven’t heard from you?”

And your heart sank bleakly; just how were you to tell him you were going to get married to another man, in the very walls of his hotel?

“I know I couldn’t go home to you… so I brought it to you, here.” He replied. “I was hesitant, dear, I wasn’t sure you were going to come.” And before he heaved, he rolled over beside you to glance up at the dangling fuchsia flowers by the statue. He took notice of the full moon in the sky before continuing.

“But, you did, darling, and— I couldn’t be more pleased. If you let me [Y/N], I would hold onto you forever. I won’t ever let you go. That had been my response, yes?”

And James drew out a sharp dagger from the inner pocket of his coat, and with a gentle swift of his steel knife, cut off a large section of the peonies that were blooming right by your side. That waylaid you so you let out a little squeak causing James to chuckle, your lips slightly agape as your eyes stared at the man lying beside you, struggling with the assortment of the large flowers before him. He reached out to hand them over to you when he was finished.

“Not exactly the way I thought I’d give them to you, [Y/N]. But, your peonies, darling,” And he kept his promise, those were the biggest assortment of peonies you had ever seen. “I also want you to open them, one by one.”

“But then I’d ruin it—”

“Some sacrifices are alright, my dear,” He reassured indifferently, his breath finally steadying a bit. You grinned at how silly he was being, just like the day he’d corrected you about the marquee.

You sat up then and James joined you, laying on his side as he watched you admire the blossoming florals within your hand. It was quite an endearing sight for him, watching you pluck the white petals of the decidedly rare flower in front of you, then a red rose, then the tiny daisies, a little mischievous grin on the corner of your lips as you tried your best to stay calm, cool and collected. You looked almost fairylike, and then he was spellbound once again by the excitement in your voice, the same one that men who had cared for you found so difficult to forget. A meek little compulsion that whispered ‘listen,’ not forgetting your manners, a fickle promise you had done such important, coy, and exciting things just a while since he’d been gone, and that there were more exciting things happening now that you were both together. So much, that you’d told him about your family and Alistair Banks. About never receiving a letter. And, as serendipitous as James was with you, as mesmerized as he was, he fumed.

His stomach dropped at the sound of your arranged marriage, let alone when you asked a favor of having the reception at his hotel. He felt volatile; vexed at the sight of his promise ring on your pinky finger. Yet he kept himself in check as he reached for your hand quickly and took it off you with a gentle jerk, almost like a toddler ashamed at his own mistake. But then you gasped, with a million-dollar smile and enlarged eyes, and once more he was enthralled, his eyes looking at you as you inspected the giant ring stuck in the center of the petal-less peony flower, right in the pistil. A ruby and a pearl, the red stone reflecting the glistening full moonlight, shining brighter than any diamond you had ever seen. She found it so quickly, he thought. And he took it as a sign then, to get up and bend his knee.

You breathed. “Oh my God,”

And James knew this was his one chance; he couldn’t let you marry another.

“[Y/N] [Y/L/N], my intended,” His trench coat carried shreds of dried grass, “I can no longer sit in silence. As accommodating as I am, I must speak to you by such means as you are still within my reach…”

There was an awkward pause, for James hadn’t planned a speech. In his head, you would’ve taken the whole twilight to find the ring, through the whole garden. You were always one step ahead, as if you knew the hotel yourself; always caught him at the funniest times, like a little mouse. But he carried on nonetheless.

“Dare not say that a man forgets sooner than a woman, that his love has an earlier death— for I have loved none but you.”

And it was true, as sadistic and twisted as James was, as many loose encounters he’s used for his bloody horniness or hobby, he has loved none but you.

“Marry me [Y/N], and make me the happiest man alive. And bring the greatest honor to my name, as James Patrick March.” His eyes burned, with an all-consuming love, “Unjust I may have been with your love, weak, slow, and resentful— But never for a moment in time inconstant.”

For James knew he had cherished you the way God cherished his first creation of Eve.

“I know you may have changed your mind, darling, but I promise you we don’t ever have to be apart again. There will be no more lost years. Not here.”

Not in Eden.

For James knew that night, fighting his father for you had bonded you both for eternity. For life. Beyond death.

Your gaze instinctively dropped to his lips, finally noticing the fast heartbeat in your ribcage when you felt a certain exhilaration wash over your senses. He still loved you. And James leaned in, your breaths mingling with his face just inches away from yours, awaiting your final response. Your doe-eyed gaze searched his dark brown orbs, and they searched yours back, patiently, curiously, awaiting a green-light; say yes dammit! For he feared his own barbarity if you said no. He had read all your letters, and he agreed with you that you couldn’t let your glorious love end in nothing, even if he didn’t get the proper chance to write you more. You stayed silent for a while, your silence giving you leverage over James himself.

You two laid next to one another on fresh grass, him taking off his coat just for you to lay atop it as his fingers traced soothing circles over the top of your hand. The night was getting chilly. And the last thing he wanted to do was scare you off, so he stayed quiet too— praying, for the first time in his whole life, praying that he didn’t mess this up. Your free hand brushed his jet-black curls in place almost as reassurance whilst your mind ticked. For this is a step that could cause wars, between families, between people, between papa and you.

And somewhere between the thinking, and the peony and rose petals on the greenery beneath you, it’s as if there ceased to be two bodies. James Patrick March and you had become all mouths, and tongues, and fingers, and senses. For your mouths sought after one another, sensually licking, breaths tantalizing each other, intimately biting. Then with his lips he massaged a breast, a nipple, his hands smoothly running up your thigh and lifting your dress; holding you by your pearl necklace as he rubbed you, and soon you laid entangled, moving so very slowly, clothing unkept as you kissed one another until the kissing became a torture and the body grew restless. James’ bulge within his pants was surging for release, practically exhausted by your teasing fondles and sweet embrace. He has waited his whole life for this voluptuary moment, and it seemed like you had too. The man was about to speak up when he heard a loud shuffle; it was a lost man, nervously peeking in and ducking at you both from the entrance to Eden.

And so James, having become the serial killer he was, did what he did.

He instantly and violently jerked the man into the room by his forearm, somewhat an image of what his father had done to you. He roped his hands with your string of pearls, now not on your neck, demanding an explanation. Yet you were too lost in thought as to what to respond, as to answering yes or no to his proposal, as to the way you’d touched a man for the first time just now, as to the way the complimentary gems glimmered on your ring, as to the way it looked so gorgeous underneath the moonlight. And— oh my! Where were your pearls?

You watched as James seemingly pulled out a secret chute beside the balustrade of your balcony, right by the corner in the wall, the beauty surrounding you making it look like nothing but a fun park slide. The men had been causing a row, much like the roaring party noises still happening downstairs in the Hotel Cortez, the noise having drowned out in Eden through the abestious within the walls. James found the nearest weapon he could: a metal crowbar, and you’d been lost in a haze as he seemed to aim for the victims eyes sadistically; punishment for having almost seen you naked; a broken commandment, for he’d never let such unholy eyes lay on your pure soul. All at once blood spurted from the strangers gashes on his head as James gauged him further, seemingly more satisfied with every blow. You gasped as you covered your mouth with both hands, a familiar look on your face that mimicked the very first night James fought his father. But this time— he very much killed a man. You turned away at the unpleasantness, shutting your eyes as tight as you could when hearing the terrorizing shrieks of pain, however undetectable it was from the outside thanks to The Cortez and your massive jamboree. Your focus went back down to your lavish silk clothes, fixing them skittishly as you glanced down at the wedding ring now between your index finger and thumb. It was as if the glimmer of the ring centered you once more, and you were so lost you hadn’t even heard James grassy under-foots back towards you after he disposed of his horrific mess, him having locked the door this time to prevent further disturbance. He began apologizing for the intrusion, but you only breathed inwards in admiration as your eyes lifted to fix on the bush of white roses freshly spritzed crimson red— the sight of your pretty flowers causing a heated euphoria to rise up into your neck and cheeks once again. A small smile curved on your lips, and you called out for James softly, sushing him, once again mesmerized. You’ve decided.

“My darling, I’m immensely sorry for your pearls.” James’ hair was scruffy as he spoke, his eyes somewhat vast having come so undone through his savageness earlier, and he began to fix it indiscreetly. He thought you were displeased. “I thought on my feet just now and your string of pearls were the closest thing to rope—”

Silence permeated the space between you both, and James grew hesitant as you sat upright, motionless on his navy trench coat, your eyelashes fluttering as you blinked at him, trying to process how fast everything had just happened before you. The party, the garden, the proposal and— right— the gruesome murder of a man.

“I’ll get you a new stri—” cajoled he, backpedaling his thoughts, “Set of pearls, dear. I’m sorry if I’ve frightened you just now, but I can explain.”

He had just slaughtered a man before your eyes!

Yet you hummed, head tilting almost as if daydreaming.

“—That was sporadic dearest, and the way that man had looked at you…” His tone grew harsher and more metallic as he relived the evening of you returning his bible to his house, and the way his father had looked at you with such perversion. “He had followed you here from the train station, that was all I managed to get from him—”

And you got up, amidst his speedy speech and frenzy.

As he stood there blood drenched on one side and clean the other, realization dawned on you as you thought of all the instances you had seen all his dark little secrets, innocently and serendipitously. And with what looked like a fair attempt to keep himself in check, he composed himself from his rant and rave, almost surprised into murmuring an apology when you walked closer.

“Darling, I’m sorry for what you had to see here, especially on your first visit here at the Hotel Cortez. I wanted this to be a grand surprise, however I got too carried away after seeing you and forgot to secure the door. Please excuse me, as there is something you should know about me, about these years we’ve been apart…”

Yet you beamed at him, a sad lovely face with a day’s eye; a blind devotion because he was the only man you knew.

“I’ve found my purpo—”

James was cut off however by your sudden kiss, your lips colliding with his in ecstasy; unification with God was all you wanted. God was your purpose.

The urge of a male principle to experience bliss; hungry for your own Godly experience. James was frankly powerless when he’d noticed your blithe immodesty, eager for the revival of the intimate moment you shared together earlier. And he couldn’t help but purr in excitement as he felt the force of your delicate hands pushing him back, holding the suspenders by his shirt, the ruby ring now perfectly fit on your ring finger. You were totally unfazed as to James having been splattered with blood stains. His white shirt was drenched, yet you feathered your tongue along his bottom lip as you both gently fell on the bed. Your right hand soothed a thumb over his cheekbone lovingly, the red splats on his face smearing as you did so.

“Hummingbird,” James’ voice was amorous, yet his jaw clenched as your lips trailed to his neck, his voice low and lusty, “I must warn you. You’re treading on very dangerous territory.”

But you were oblivious and lightsome, and James huffed hearing the sounds of your sensual smooches, the light hum in your voice, the sparks he felt as you licked his diamond cut jaw. Oh, how he missed you.

His eyes followed you curiously from the side. “Do you love me?” James asked simply. He knew he did, back at his fathers home when he kissed you, yet you’d never said those three words back.

His voice was unsure as he pulled away gently when you aimed at his lips, his dark brown eyes searching yours as he rested his forehead along your temple. “Even… after everything?”

For even James Patrick March was surprised— and your eyes burned brightly then, burned like pure, colorless hydrogen-fire, a weary and lovely face with flushing cheeks and a parted mouth. Your orbs flickered with his. And once more, the void; he felt himself sucked into it.

Your voice, the poetry of speech, composed a song of a phrase. A promise you were his, that you would live with him here, that you brought everything, and he needn’t care.

“Have you only gotten white flowers just so you could paint them red for me?” You chortled, cupping his face. A romantic readiness flowed from you, like a nursery rhyme— innocent as it seemed morbid. He had just got rid of a sinner, right? Like a God, protecting those He deemed worthy. Then an absurd, but charming little laugh flowed from you, which stimulated James further to nervously chuckle, and he noticed your eyes turn to your once white flowers outside— now stained crimson after James slaughter. When you turned back to face him, with your face just inches away from his, you asked with a love-beckoning concern.

“He’s not like us… is he?” You asked, your tone opulent. But you were genuinely concerned. And like a puppet, James slowly shook his head.

You were like Eve, shameless and unaware of your own nakedness, your own guiltless sex appeal. You were like Eve, ignorant but blissful in the garden of God. You were like Eve, the first extension of a man, forever a baby under the arms of Adam, having no knowledge of what was right or wrong. You felt a rise of fire within your body as you contemplated the most monumental step in your life in front of your childhood sweetheart. A step that could cause wars, between families, between papa and you. And, staring back at James eagerly, you kept your own clothes on like the proper girl you were, and sat upright on the bed, taking James’ hand and bringing it under your dress. Your eyes flickered studying him, wondering for a moment if he’d noticed the white-lace underwear you’d left outside on his trench coat.

But all you heard was a dark rumble escape him when he realized you were no longer wearing panties, his larger fingers feeling the warmth of your pure, untouched core. It was deep, warm, and very wet. He parted his lips letting out a silent hiss as his fingers explored you, and were all but sucked inside. And you bit into your bottom lip gently, James smirking at the sight of that, at the sight of your dishabille purity, and then suddenly you both were at it again, ravishing into the taboo act of coming together after so many long years apart. James pinned your delicate frame with a swoop of his hand. He bent down then, his lips against your cheek, brushing it lightly—and still that light touch sent shivers through your nerves, shivers that made the arousal between your thighs triple-fold.

“If you want me to stop, tell me now,” he whispered. He studied you, his face serious, and when you still said nothing, he brushed his mouth against the hollow of your temple, his pencil-mustache tickling your soft skin. “Or now.” He traced the line of your ear. “Or now.” His mouth was against yours, absolutely galvanized by your devotion.

“For I shall have no other Gods before you.” And even your mumble held such a powerful melody, even when under his dominance; a melody of thick, sweet naivety. Your fingers lifted to fiddle gently with the buttons of his blood-stained shirt, eager to see what was under. The sight of you was indescribably graceful and erotic. And James knew he did not deserve such a thing. Yet his eyes darkened like the black ace of spades, a heavy godliness fuzzing his senses as he locked his jaw momentarily, controlling himself as to all the devilish things that ran through his mind at the thought of penetrating you. He never wanted to hurt you, unless it was for your pleasure; something about [Y/N] pierced his very soul.

“Well then,” James began greedy, his accent thick.

He spread you wide and you closed your eyes at his touch, his grip somewhat firm at your ankles. The atmosphere was lewd, lascivious, and lovely, and you were grateful for the moonlight that shone in through the glass doors, as much as you were desperate for more of the dark. He positioned his face in between your legs. “Have you touched yourself before, darling?”

You shook your head down at him, not used to such frank questions. Your hands searched for him desperately, and one of his larger hands caught your wrist, James allowing your other one to grip into the curls of his jet-black hair.

“But…”

He stopped there, eyes glancing up at you whilst his warm breath tickled your dampened folds. He blew softly on the exposed center of your glistening femininity, teasing you. His voice was hushed, husky. “But?”

“But when I think of you, Jimmy… I get like this…” Your cheeks flushed like an evening rose for James, your breathing patchy at your next inhalation. “And then I want to touch it. But it didn’t feel right, not without you.”

Though it was James who knelt, worshipping you, it was you who confessed in front of him. You heard a low growl of satisfaction, his smirk widening in the darkness, James pleased at your fidelity.

And you gasped in delight feeling James suddenly reward you for your honesty, his mouth consuming your folds, consuming you like fire, his tongue stroking your delicate flesh in long, slow licks, curling in a slick promise at your pink pearl, sucking until you let out a mewl of pleasure. You felt him smirk into your arousal, where he then drove his tongue inside of you, setting off a louder moan from you that was music to his ears. To James March, you made the most glorious sounds— raw, intense, innocent, yet devilish; absolutely delicious noises of pleasure, as he further plundered you with his tongue. You whimpered as you watched him enjoy you, your chastity shattering as you felt James removing his firm grip on your wrist to further spread your tightness with his fingers. And when your tiny hand curled to grip his hair, he thrusted one large finger inside you, groaning at the sight of your tiny fit before crooking it to massage a spongy spot inside. That caused you to pule out his name.

“Ah—And did you save yourself for me, darling?” He coaxed, his voice like a silky thread. He wanted to hear it. That Alistar hadn’t gotten you first. That you loved him, still, after five years, and that you loved only him.

He slowly pumped you until you let out airy moan, then he removed his finger and looked up at you. A grin set on his handsome face, his dimples showing as his fingers continued to glide over your soaking sweet spot; a little payback for having turned him on earlier. Your eyes almost held a gleam of despair, craving for more as you whimpered and nodded in response. My God you were a sight for sore eyes.

“Good girl,” He cooed.

James moaned with you under his breath, watching as your toes curled when he slipped in two fingers just to prep you. Charmed by your delicious looks, he hovered over you completely, allowing his erection to cushion against your inner thigh whilst hoisting you further up the bed so he could kiss you once more. As he did so he gently fed you his wet fingers, and you instinctively sucked as you watched him struggle with the buttons of his shirt and buckle of his pants. He let out a low growl and it was only moments until his attire was on the floor, James bare in front of you with his shaft over the lips of your entrance. He kept his scarf handy, however, and pinned your wrists above your head, tying them together with the delicate material. He soothed your feminine dress upwards, the tip of him tickling your clitoris. He rolled his hips ever so slightly, just to run his member fully through your sheath, imagining all the things he wanted to do to you. The head of his penis tingled unbearably against you at his wild thoughts; it was hot and swollen, a drop forming at the tip.

“Please James. I want it to be you. Not Alistar. You.” You breathed, the breathing so delicate you beckoned him like a siren’s song. You squirmed and gently rocked your hips upwards, and from that James knew you so badly wanted him. He smirked at the plea in your eyes, giving in almost sinisterly.

“Then bend over for me, [Y/N].” He commanded. “No hands, darling.”

So you did, slowly, and bent over teasingly, unaware of your own gloating. There was a stark power imbalance here, James completely overpowering you, yet that had been your power, too. You were the least advanced yet most crude, yet most advanced as James favored you. Pure power, through your inexperienced innocence. He hissed at the sight of your tantalizing figure, your virginity, the voluptuousness he felt which was both thrilling and revolting. You arched your back, then neck, to gaze at your lover, but this time actually licking your lips like an animal, biting them, and James caught a devilish sparkle from your eyes underneath the full moonlight. He felt his erection grow larger and harder as he slowly saw revelations to a side of you not visible to the public eye. It was as if you both held an unspoken oath of secrets to one another that nobody knew of but each other. He was your Adam. And you were his Eve.

With a careful but accelerated push, James shoved his full cock inside of you, moaning at his own attempt to slowly split you open and let you adjust to his size. His mouth parted wistfully as he felt himself already about to burst wide open through his own wanton movement, your tight muscle enveloping him fully. Then, he watched as your tongue lapped your pink lips, the delicious sound of your humming interjection, which caused him to let out a airy grunt at the sight of your aching bliss; the way you maintained your innocent eye contact as you moaned his name sinfully, the way you kissed his middle and ring finger as his grip tightened around your neck, the way you savored and sucked them fully between your rose-petaled lips. The way you blossomed for him; the way you saved yourself for him; the way you so badly wanted him to take you. The way you took the initial pain at first, eyes watery with delight, then the mewls of pleasure that followed every time his erection bumped against your cervix. He groaned your name fully and loudly at the feeling of your hymen stretching and splitting, the sight of your light strands of blood and arousal on his groin glorifying his senses.

And then it came: “Fuck me harder,” you’d whispered, arms tried in front of you, giving him permission and taking him into your flesh with more force, a soft invitation into madness. There was thirst and hunger within James, and you were the forbidden fruit.

“Language, my darling,” smirked James. He tsked’ you as he gave you a gentle smack on your backside, his gelled curls disheveled as he continued pumping his large size into you, your ass cheeks bouncing back with his every buck forward. You moaned as your eyes fluttered shut, muffling your smaller face into the silken sheets, breathing in the smell of lilies, enjoying the richness of everything around you. He had met his match; his savage callousness seemingly absent in the face of an innocent submission just craving to worship her male counterpart. To worship her God. You grumbled with desire as you thought about the power James held within his very own hands. Power over life and death.

“More, Jimmy, more,” Your voice, girlish, held a slow, sweet, svelte jingle, even as you croaked a breather, “I want more.”

He growled out in pleasure as he pulled himself out of you, steading his steamy rod with one hand, the organ throbbing and pulsating as he couldn’t believe how close he was to orgasm. He wanted to bust all over you, and he had never felt anything so divine. A low snarl ripped from his chest as he grabbed the dip of your waist and flipped you face-up, his testosterone getting the biggest workout of his life, his five senses drunk on lust.

“Lift your hips for me now, [Y/N].”

You gripped the pillow atop your head with your tied hands and rolled your hipbones gently upwards. He pressed a firm palm on your wrists, suddenly asserting full dominance.

“Don’t move now. Understand?” His order came out an aggressive demand, and with that James let go and began to breathe heavily onto you, hot air down your body, which started to sweat and slip underneath the soft fabric of your dress.

His hands, murderer’s hands, gripped you forcefully by the hips, and with one pull finally tore off your clothes, pressing himself fully onto you shortly after, pouncing on you at your dewy hole exactly where it matters, splintering himself into you, slamming faster and faster; forcibly, feverishly, with every thrust, exactly where some demonic set of nerve receptors you had finally switched on full gear amidst the tryst. You practically cried his name, having waited patiently to be found and used, all by your God, like buttons on a game controller. James cocked a cheeky grin at the sight at your rude awakening, and you threw your head back in ecstasy, not knowing if it was James moving into you or if you’re doing it yourself back into him under his bruising grip, one of his hands reaching over to your exposed neck to choke you with inclines of pressure. Just enough to get his dick to fill up your body more, until there’s nothing left of you inside, just his dick and his load. James nearly sputtered at the sight of your perfect fit molding intimately against his cock, his choke hold shifting to grab your face between his index finger and thumb, eyes darkening with hunger at the sight of your bouncing breasts and blushing cheeks. He tilted your head down to make you watch. “Always look at me with those pretty eyes when I reward you, dearest,” and he slipped his large thumb between your lips and into your mouth.

You bit his thumb though, and he let out a wicked smirk, clearly surprised. You took that chance to level your eye-line back to his, challenging him as he hissed. “That’s obscene, darling—” He breathed, “I never knew you were such a dirty girl, [Y/N] [Y/L/N].”

“Thank you Mr. March,” and in your innocent luscious voice he fell to pieces, huffing at the strangest sensation within him as he felt something that went beyond simple sexual pleasure. The sight of your open pout already left filthy ideas in his mind, and it was almost like you knew, for you’d then curl up your little tongue and say the most obedient things. He groaned as he picked up his pace inside of you until it was fast enough for you to hear his wetted glides into your vagina, his hand slithering to supporting your neck as his thumb sought out of your mouth and onto your clit. He pressed down in rigid motions, making sure you were soughing before he softly pulled out of you. You were giggly with delight only to then goad; “Don’t stop.” You moaned.

Adam fell after Eve; You were the death of death himself.

“You like that don’t you?” You whimpered at his velvety temptation, then at the brutal strength of his passionate vigor when he leered forward close to you, his voice accented but low. His member was virile and swollen as he gripped one dampened and quivering thigh, pressing you wider as he stroked himself; He knew you were close to climax. “Tell me dearest, what did you learn today?” His voice was as sly as his face, “Tell me and I will spoil you once more,”

“I don’t know James,” You said. That earned you a light but swift slap on your crease.

“Try again, dear.”

“I belong to you, James.” You tried meekly. That earned you three calloused fingers, gliding slowly through your glistening folds.

“Uh-uh. Again, dearest.”

“I mustn’t be greedy.” You pleaded, eagerness in your voice as you said so. That earned you a teasing meandering on your clit; you didn’t know what was better, the feeling of his luscious vessel hovering your opening or his killer hands.

“Last try, darling.”

And so you thought hard, breathless with impatience.

“Thou shalt have no other gods before Me?”

Bingo.

Your eyes fixed on him desperately when he promptly pushed into you deeply at your response; so far in you felt an urgent need to unload. And you gripped hard onto the silvery pillow above you, clenching fists of luxury, his mouth crashing on your parted lips as he reached up softly to hold onto your face, moaning with you as you let out breathy mewls. Your cooing cries of yes’es sent him into a wild recklessness, before an elation of sugared giggles escaped your lips as you flung the pillow above your head at James and watched it explode into a million tantalizing feathers, covering you both whilst he continued to work in and out of you. He dipped his head lower in the cook of your neck, trailing a liquid kiss and soft bites that rushed lust through you as his tight hold moved from your face to your tied wrists, pulling them down and over him, so he was in a headlock with you.

He slowed down his pace then and played with you by fully removing himself, before beguiling your pussy with his full strength again, this time so deep and full of sensuality you felt the end of his shaft and the slap of his balls. He stared at you with a mouth slightly agape, fascinated with the soft roundness of intimacy he had never experienced before. And again and again he stuffed himself into you, until you were nicely stretched out for him; the sound of damp penetration permeating the lusty air, your mind reeling as the gentle persuasion of his kisses comforted you alongside the tickle of white feathers adding to your wealthy senses. His lips got sloppier at every grip from your feminine portal; your pussy almost milking the life out of him. And you whimpered helplessly, him watching as your eyes narrowed to half mast, rolling back ever so slightly at the sharp spasms of a desperate need for release.

“The longer it takes me to get between your ravishing thighs, darling, the rougher I’m going to be when I finally get there. Understand?” This time he drew the words in a smooth whisper by your ear, his facial features genuinely affectionate as he noticed your feeble state, his come hither grin chuckling lowly at your adorable attempts to hold on. You were the most precious thing to him, and your eyes continued to flutter open and close at him with obedience, even if they were now tired and vulnerable. His hand moved down from your face to rub your soaking clit, and you moaned once more.

“Yes James, I do.”

And your response answered both his questions, including his proposal.

He kissed you tenderly there as his free hand moved to untie the neckerchief around your hands, granting you freedom. You were now his equal. That was how much he loved you; allowing you to have your own ebb and flow of things, even when he knew he was a total tycoon. He continued to spoil you, his precious little girl, with his cock, and James Patrick March had been proud of many things in his life, but nothing quite as much as how well he’d kept his load locked in when he was making love to you. And soon he began to struggle to form words, muttering incomprehensible murmurs in your ear that you are the first woman he’s ever loved, his one woman for eternity. It was quite endearing; this needy side of James before climax, his rubbing on your clit becoming more erratic and thirsty. Your soft walls began to clench around his shaft as you gripped onto his shoulders tightly like a baby; like Eve did Adam; for Adam was the only man she knew.

And the sudden, delicious sense that James was now yours, for eternity, entirely and completely yours, fills you with as much warmth and force as his hard-on. You gyrated your hips upwards to his thrusts, this time his arms sprawled over you almost as to shelter you, your free-roaming hands tracing his toned arms, his pecs, down his muscled belly, soon clamping your legs around his waist, driving him further into you until your balmy bodies are sliding together and you once again became but one.

And like Adam and Eve, you both guzzled up the forbidden fruit; knowing with certainty you were both unable to go back— the devotion of Eve to Adam and Adam to Eve; it was like an incarnation was complete. He lowered his head down to a breast as his lips gently grazed the ripe bud of your nipple, tongue dipping and swirling hotly around it in circular motions, sucking it gently, causing you to peak. An enthralling obsession overtook your senses as you cried in pleasure of release, James moaning softly at the feeling of your spasm around his shaft, the squirting juices on your legs and his rod causing his sensations to heighten like an opiate he had no wish for to kick in. Your contraction was tight enough for his final surrender, much to his own demise; and like James had said, you were a sweet serial killer; with doll-like eyes, and all that garden variety. And he purred your name, over and over, as if attempting to cool his own senses as he weakened; praising you for your unconditional loyalty. James looked handsome, hypnotic, and powerful, as much as his hormones percolated, his brown eyes staring at your [E/C] orbs, his mouth coming to a sudden part as a loud animalistic moan escaped him at last, a feeling of satisfaction pulsating through his veins as he felt himself finally filling you up with hot shoots of honey; claiming what was his; riding out his last ripples of pleasure as his eyes slid shut in ecstasy. A soft, smokey coziness warmed up to you both as you intimately embraced one another within the petals of passion’s very aftermath, the mixed smells of cigarettes and vanilla orchids adding to your vortex of heady sensations.

-♢-

James stared intensely behind the glass windows, his eyes focal; it was you. He was sure of it, for he had that ring intricately and custom made just for you, the translucent ruby having come from the same red rock on his signet pinky ring. And he swallowed as he felt his throat suddenly become parched with an incredible thirst, his mind running a million times as fast as he tried to process all these lost years between the two of you. He had to admit you were the best birthday surprise of his life, right after dessert on Devil’s Night. However he had no idea how to approach you. What would he say? More importantly— How did he look?

When you finally stood up to gaze at the full moon, James felt himself dazed, the sight of you soaking with water somehow adding to your ethereal essence. You had been and still are the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, a breathless epitome of perfection, yet you were completely oblivious of it. He could see your aura was alabaster white, probably the only to have set foot in the Cortez with such an energy; and it was blinding. Your mesh white dress was damp, and it clung onto your body; and once more you were naked, James enjoying the time he took to admire you. He leaned in the same spot, by the glass door frame, enraptured. And after what seemed like forever, he finally mustered up his courage, clearing his throat benevolently.

“I’m James March,”

The familiar slow Brahmin diction ringed in your ears as you turned around, like a deer in headlights. The dying lavenders beside the cobblestone fountain seemed more alive by your sheer presence as you inhaled deeply, the hotel suddenly breathing with you. Your breath hitched a hold ever so slightly at the sight of your love. It had been long years of being on the other side, this being the very first time you saw each other as ghosts. “I—”

“—built this hotel…” You finished his sentence for him softy, almost as if reading his mind. And then you smiled, that lovely sad million-dollar smile, with those sweet doll-like eyes, the same warmth radiating through your flawless skin. And James’ jaw clenched ardently; My God, it really was you.

“[Y/N] [Y/L/N]. I’m awfully delighted to see you again—” Your voice; oh, the exhilarating charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle to it, the unforgettable cymbals’ song of it. The sweetness of it all.

“[Y/N] March—” James corrected you gently with a courteous nod, the longing evident in his voice as he crooked a heartsick smile. He had always wanted to call you that, wanted to regard you as his own family and kin; as Mrs. March. But the timing never seemed to be right. His eyes were dark but glossy, and hesitant at the very gorgeous sight of you. He had loved none other than you. Made love, to none, but you. And he wasn’t going to let you slip away again, not after everything that’s happened. If only he knew what brought you back; why you hadn’t come home sooner. Yet none of that mattered now as you stood before him once more.

James March was dead, but not stupid. In James’ extensive eternity, he had missed nothing more. Not even such as the Countess could take your place. And as he stared at you through dying vines and wick trees, he knew with certainty that he was falling in love, all over again, this time as a ghost, and this seemed to be a never ending cycle for you both. [Y/N] was by far the one thing that made him soften around the edges; the one thing he felt he had genuine empathy towards. And he held in a deep shaky breath, his eyes laced with a long forgotten dream after ninety years of darkness. He tossed his tobacco pipe to the side as he fast pedaled towards you, watching as you shivered like a leaf stepping out of the quaint fountain. How things have changed, he thought. But how they’ve stayed the same. He took off his Devils Night tuxedo and wrapped it around you like a warm blanket; your aura whirring at his jet-black energy despite his handsome white vest. You caught him shifting his left hand nervously, almost as if concealing his wedding band. But you had seen it nonetheless, not that you said anything.

The Hotel Cortez seemed different; darker, and a lot heavier. Eden was dead. But everyone knew death was James art, and you’d forever become a dead dream— a beautiful nightmare, he could never get rid of.

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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I’m literally screaming, your Part III to Garden of Eden was perfect! 🎉 I saw the underlying juxtaposition themes throughout, and when you combined the dark and light of the character and James, I literally got CHILLS - like oh my gosh she’s crazy but she makes the story flow along so well, and the captures of “You’re…uh… not afraid?” was so well written lol! 😆 You literally painted such a vivacious picture with all your descriptions too, and I adored the different perspectives interwoven -

(continued) - throughout. 💞 It was so so well written and sweet, but also hella AHS, and that’s a hard combination to work and write with yet you absolutely nailed it! You are mad talented hun! Whoooh this is the best and most interesting series I have ever read for AHS and I am living for it! I can’t wait for part four! 😍✨ I sense something still behind the curtains with certain characters...dun-dun-dunnnn 👀

Thank you so much darling! It was kind of hard but I wanted it to be like... terrifyingly intimate, you know? Like scary AHS themes, but also a slightly domestic relationship between reader and James even amidst their screwed up views on religion... lol. You are so freaking sweet hun.... and I am just as excited for this final part too. There is definitely underlying things happening... 👀

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evandearest · 4 years ago

Text

The Garden of Eden | Part III: Hidden Darkness

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (3/4)~

Warnings (in this part): drunk person (briefly), anxiety, twisted morals / religion bending, murder / blood, lying, sexual scenes (no real smut)

Word Count: 4,723 (OMG lol)

Notes: Can we just pretend I didn’t mess up the location of the backstory? I just have no idea how to change it in the story now. I didn’t remember that James was from New York until just recently as I’ve been re-watching Hotel. Let’s just say that for the sake of this story, James moved from New York to L.A. at a much younger age for some reason lol. I’m so sorry for messing that up, it bothers me so much! Ugh. In this part, I decided to give a peek into James’ point of view a little bit. :) Also, the sections in italics are flashbacks if you are ever confused. This one gets pretty twisted as far as morals go. lol. Also, this is the longest part so far... and I’m impatient to get this posted because I’m so excited, so I apologize if there are any errors. Without further a-do... let the show begin. :) Enjoy!

(p.s. let me know if you ever have any questions/comments about the story, I love feedback!)

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

Something had been going on with James. As much as it might not seem to some, you were smarter than you looked. You were attentive; you watched the people around you. You cared about those kinds of things. Some would call it trust issues, but you call it surviving. Through all you’d been through, being vigilant was the one thing that had seemed to keep you going.

It’d been the best month you’d ever had. Everything had seemed to fall into place; you and James’ relationship had been stronger than ever. Everyone had seemingly accepted it, too, which surprised you greatly. You had figured that many people would criticize you, but if there was one thing you had learned, it would be that people didn’t question James. You loved that. Not having to answer people’s critiques and being respected was a feeling you’d never known, and it was a feeling that you definitely got used to quickly. You didn’t even have to worry about people questioning you, because if they did, James was quick to take care of it. However, you had noticed an odd pattern: any person that said something rude to you seemed to vanish.

For example, today. You had been sitting at the bar, minding your own business while sipping a fruity cocktail, when a man with whiskey breath approached you. He was stumbling, slurring, spitting, and frankly you had quickly become uncomfortable. So you’d politely and discreetly moved seats in an attempt to get away from him, which ended up failing. Plan B had been to excuse yourself to the bathroom. When you returned merely five minutes later, the man had vanished. While it wasn’t strange for drunk men to wander off, it was strange for drunk men to get very far within a few minutes. You’d walked around the main hallways of the hotel in search for him, but he was nowhere to be found. And this hadn’t been the first time this had happened. You were beginning to get suspicious.

You wouldn’t have suspected him in the first place if it hadn’t been for the fact that you’d caught him in some peculiar situations.

It was late. The clock on the side table read 2:00 A.M. when you heard the door to the room open and close. Even in your sleepy haze, you’d managed to catch sight of a black figure. You’d slipped out of bed not soon after, your silk robe dragging on the floor behind you as you made your way out of your room. You gently closed the door behind you, quietly padding down the hall. As you rounded the corner, you caught sight of a familiar suit-clad back at the end of the hall. Just as you were about to call out, you heard a faint moaning in pain, silencing you. You swerved around, on a mission to hide your body behind the corner so as to just observe, when that familiar voice called out to you.

“Y/N?”

You turned around slowly, smiling softly at James from across the hall. You yawned, furrowing your eyebrows together in confusion.

“James?” you asked, your voice cracking from having just woken up. He smiled, although you could read the nervousness all over him. What was he doing? He slowly crossed the hallway down to you, his hands reaching forward to grab both of yours.

“Why are you awake, darling? It’s nearing two,” he asked worriedly, reaching up to gently brush your cheek with his knuckles. You paused, staring at him in confusion.

“Just having some strange dreams,” you said, averting your eyes to look over his shoulder for a second. “Did you hear that noise?”

“W-what noise, dear?” he tried to recover from his stutter quickly, but you didn’t fail to notice it. You paused once again, studying his handsome features. He wasn’t lying to you, was he?

“Nothing...” you trailed off, lost in thought, before letting out a breathy laugh. “I must just be tired, darling. Are you alright?” James shoulders dropped visibly, a toothy grin forming on his face.

“Of course,” he said, before placing a kiss onto your forehead. “You need rest up, dear. We wouldn’t want anything happening to your pretty little head.” You genuinely smiled at that. He was very sweet; although you did have a strange feeling about his behavior. You couldn’t describe it, it was more intuitive than certain, but you just couldn’t deny or brush it off.

“What about you?” you asked him, reaching over to squeeze his hand in a loving manner. “Aren't you coming to bed?” James raised his eyebrows, quickly shaking his head.

“No, no, dear, I’m afraid not,” he sighed, smiling at you sadly. “I have quite a lot of paperwork to catch up on, and I’m afraid I won’t rest until it’s done.”

“Okay, just don’t overwork yourself darling,” you said and sighed while looking at him pointedly. You then leaned up to place a chaste kiss against his lips. “Goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight dearest,” he whispered, and you turned and made your way to your room. You opened the door and stepped inside, turning to place your ear against the door for a moment. You swore that you could hear a faint groaning again. You shook your head at yourself, telling yourself it was all in your mind before settling back into bed.

Ever since that night, a week ago, you’d been suspicious. You just had an innate feeling that you certainly were not just hearing things that night. And based on the way James was acting, he knew you weren’t either. He’d been distant, staying up late every single night. He’d go to bed with you at first, only to get up and leave in the middle of the night at such unearthly hours you could hardly believe the clock. You tried to dismiss it the best you could, but it was getting harder to ignore.

So as soon as you had woken up today, you decided to talk with him about it. You’d thought a lot about just asking him, spouse to spouse. It was James, after all. You knew he wouldn’t get mad at you, by all means, but you just felt like he didn’t want to tell you for whatever reason. It was driving you mad.

-🤍-

“James?” your soft voice called out, startling James from his paperwork. He glanced up, his eyes landing on your frame as you stood in the doorway of his office. You were clad only in your silky robe and slippers, your hair still slightly disheveled from having just gotten out of bed. He was surprised, for it wasn’t often that he would see you in such a state. You would normally make yourself up before coming to see him in the mornings, as he generally got up earlier than you. It wasn’t a problem to him, though. In fact, he would never admit it, but he secretly adored you like this. You looked even more vulnerably pure than normal. That’s what James admired about you the most: your ability to remain such a source of light and hope; your maintaining of innocence when surrounded by darkness. No matter what you went through, you always seemed to find a way to come out shining. His beacon of hope.

He stared at your figure, taking a mental picture to forever remember this moment. He never wanted this to end. Even the thought that he was the only one that would ever get to see you in such a state excited him. Just the sight of you lit up his entire being in a way he didn’t even know was possible until he met you. He couldn’t help but think back to the time when he first realized how much you had impacted his life; how you’d made him fall apart in the best way imaginable. A particular day flooded his thoughts.

You stared at him with your doe eyes as he looked away from you. Even from his peripheral vision, he felt it. Just the thought of you sent a jolt to his heart. When he’d seen his father above you, he’d felt a rage so accumulative it felt as if he might implode on himself. But then all you’d asked him was a simple question, and yet he had no idea how to respond. How was he supposed to tell you that he thought his own abusive father was right? He couldn’t even swallow the fact that he agreed with his father, let alone tell you, the one who always managed to keep him from succumbing to the darkness. If it weren’t for you, he didn’t think he would have a real purpose to strive for.

He simply couldn’t tell you that everyone with whom you’d ever spoken to was probably using you for something other than a nice conversation. He’d met your family; and although they seemed picture-perfect, he knew their true intentions behind closed doors. He’d met the people of Los Angeles; he knew how they worked. It was all money and entitlement. They had planned to ship you off to a rich husband since you had been born.

He wanted to tear them apart. He wanted to do unspeakable things for the simple pleasure and satisfaction he’d get from it. You were the one who separated him from this unspeakably dark craving for blood that he felt. He’d known it even then; if you had somehow gotten taken from him, he wouldn’t stop himself any longer. He’d be lost in his darkness forever, and he would never find the light again.

“James?” you spoke again, and James snapped back to reality at the sound of your voice. He smiled at you, setting his pen down to give you his full attention.

“My my,” he said cheekily, “to what do I owe the pleasure?” You stood in your tracks for a moment, a slight pink coloring your cheeks as you pulled your robe tighter around you.

“I’ve come to ask you a question,” you said, deciding to just put it out there. James smile fell from his face at your serious demeanor, concerned curiosity clouding his features.

“Yes?” he asked, his accent drawing out the word in a way that sent shivers down your spine. You sighed, gathering your thoughts for a moment.

“Well, I’ve just been wondering recently,” you said, slowly making your way over to sit in the chair in front of his desk. “It’s not an extremely important thing, I just...” You trailed off, your words getting caught in your throat, lost in translation from your head as you stared at James.

“Darling, you can tell me anything,” James reassured, resting his hands together on the desk in front of him as he leaned forward slightly. You sighed once more, averting your eyes from his. You took a deep breath before continuing.

“I’d like to know where you’ve been going these last few nights, James,” you said, your voice filled with unintentional shakiness. You didn’t mean for all of your emotions to come out that way.

James faltered, the small smile on his face wiped away at your question. He didn’t know how to respond at first, his mind going through all of the possible excuses he could make. There was no way that he could ever tell you what he was actually doing. He feared your reaction too much.

“Darling,” James said, putting as much charm in his tone as he could. “I’ve already told you how behind I’ve been on paperwork.” You met his eyes once more, disbelief clear in your orbs. His own eyes widened slightly at your clear observance of his dishonesties. He didn’t anticipate that you wouldn’t believe him. Perhaps he’d underestimated your perceptive ability to catch liars.

He knew then that he’d have to tread carefully from here; he’d have to weigh his options. He couldn’t tell you the truth--for he feared the result. But genuinely lying to you? He knew, then, that that would only push you away. Lies were like bricks; they built and built and built until eventually a wedge formed. He didn’t want a wall with you. He didn’t want to ruin the only true connection he’d ever had.

It was ironic, how just moments before you’d asked, he’d been consumed with memories of the one other instance in which you forced him to answer to something he couldn’t. He never expected he’d be in this situation again. Yet here you were, once again, presenting to him a question in which he could not answer truthfully.

He didn’t want to take that look in your eyes away. He couldn’t. He couldn’t imagine what would happen to those eyes. Those eyes that had been his source of comfort for so long. He’d seen your shock when he killed your husband, but he’d gotten lucky. That was someone who had directly affected you; the man who had ruined your life. You had already wanted him gone. He didn’t want to imagine what you would think about him participating in a hobby in which taking life was the sport. He didn’t want to steal your light away by consuming you in his darkness. He feared the imbalance would destroy the life you’d just rebuilt together. What if he was too different now? What if his embrace of darkness repelled your light away?

“James,” you said softly, suddenly much closer to him. Your hands gently cupped his jaw as you stood directly in front of him. He blinked in confusion at his failure to notice your movement from one side of the desk to the other. He looked up at you questioningly.

James had been so lost in thought that it had frightened you slightly. You couldn’t help but notice how tired he looked. You shamed yourself for not thinking that he could just be stressed. James had a very hard job; he managed a new Los Angeles hotel that was constantly bustling with people of all kinds. You were obviously reading too much into it, and you realized that now. Sometimes you just couldn’t stop your anxieties caused by your last marriage, as much as you tried to. You cursed yourself for not thinking of him in all of this. You quickly enveloped the man into your arms, holding him in a comforting embrace.

“I understand,” you whispered softly. “I get that work can be overwhelming. I just wish you’d let me help rather than overworking yourself.” James sighed, his shoulders relaxing instantly. You smiled; your comfort was working.

“You are completely correct as always, darling,” James replied, pulling you to sit in his lap comfortably. “And I am terribly sorry for not spending the nights with you. My wish is not to make you feel lonely.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. You laid your head on his shoulder, cuddling into him.

“It’s okay, James,” you said sweetly. “I know how hard you work. It’s one of the things I love most about you.” James gently brushed your hair away from your face.

“You truly are the most accommodating, dear,” James said lovingly. “What would I do without you?” Your grin felt splitting. Talking to James was the best decision you’d ever made.

You spent a few minutes just sitting there cuddled into James as he continued his work, basking in the warmth and love you felt from him. Your moment was interrupted when the door to his office opened abruptly.

“Mr. March,” a voice called, in which you recognized as Miss Evers. “Sorry to interrupt-” She paused when her eyes landed on you and James, her expression falling slightly. “I’m sorry, are you busy?” She asked, her eyes seeming to burn holes through you. You tightened your grip around James’ neck slightly. You didn’t like the way that she was looking at you.

“What does it look like?” James barked in response, visibly annoyed. Your eyes widened at his harsh tone as his hand gripped your waist tighter. Miss Evers grimaced.

“Well, you see,” she started hesitantly, “you have a delivery for floor seven.” James’ grip loosened at her words, his expression changing to one of understanding. You sat up, pulling away from James slightly.

“I see,” he said to her before looking to you. “Darling, I’m afraid that I have some business to attend to.” You nodded and stood from his lap, walking with him as you both made your way out of the room and to the elevator.

“Well, I am going to get freshened up,” you smiled at James, planting a kiss on his cheek before you got off onto your floor. He grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it in return, smiling at you charmingly. You briefly glanced at Miss Evers again, your mood faltering once again at her steely glare. You didn’t understand why she was glaring at you, but it was beginning to worry you. You looked back at James, catching one last glance at his charming grin before the elevator doors closed.

-🤍-

Many hours had passed and you hadn’t seen James since the morning. It was half past five o’clock when you began to worry about his absence. You’d expected him to be kept busy with his work for most of the day, but it was unusual to have not heard from him by five P.M. It’s not that you were always worried about him, it’s just that you knew him. He was very adamant about your nightly dinners at six.

Usually he always sent Miss Evers to remind you around five, but you hadn’t heard a peep the entire day, aside from the morning. You had a sneaking suspicion that the woman held some type of grudge against you. She always spoke to you in curt language, and occasionally she’d give rudely blunt comments, but it was only when you were one on one. You had noticed how her behavior changed around James. It was like she was constantly trying to impress the man. It made sense, as he was her boss, but sometimes it really got under your skin in a way you didn’t like. You didn’t want to hold a grudge against the woman; truly, she seemed quite lovely. You just didn’t understand what she held against you to treat you in such a way.

So, needless to say, despite not hearing from the maid, you’d prepared yourself like normal anyway. You knew James wouldn’t forget dinner, it just wasn’t like him. After you made yourself up, you headed out to your normal dining room to meet James. You were surprised to arrive to an empty table, however. You had been wrong. James did forget. You were genuinely surprised. You stood in your tracks, wracking your brain to figure out where he may be. You decided the best place to start would probably be the most obvious place, his office.

Upon arriving at the floor, you immediately felt that something was off. The entire floor seemed vacant. You walked timidly down the dark hallway, your eyes scanning around you warily. It had seemed like a maze of dark passages, leading on and on in silence, until finally you heard a semblance of life. It sounded like a shuffling at first, until you were close enough to the door of his office that you could hear a noise that almost sounded like sawing. Your curiosity spiraled, and ultimately, it won over the wariness you felt.

When the door opened wide enough for you to see, your eyes first landed on James’ back, taking in his rapid movement. His arm pumped backward and forward, his body driving the force to drive a saw through bone. Dark red coated his shirt, as well as the floor and area surrounding, and at first glance you could’ve sworn that the carpet was just regularly that color. You only briefly got to watch his movement, because it was as if he sensed your presence unconsciously, even as quiet as you had been. James eyes met yours, and he seemed to have frozen in space and time. He simply stared for a few seconds, before he dropped the saw and faced you.

“Darling, I--,” he started, choking over his words in shock. Your eyes took in the scene once more, the bloody corpse hard to ignore. A few moments of silence passed between you.

“James,” you said breathily. Your feet shuffled forward until you were standing only a few feet in front of him. Your smaller hand grabbed his larger one, feeling his rough callouses against your soft palm. “Is this what you’ve been keeping from me?” His eyes met yours and you saw the answer in them. You were right.

It all made sense to you now. All that time he’d been gone, he’d been here. It was obvious to you now why he didn’t want to tell you what he had been doing.

“You’re not...” he trailed off for a moment, his eyebrows raised uncertainly. “Afraid of me?” he finished. Your mouth opened in shock at the fact that you hadn’t realized what he had presumed your reaction to this would be. He thought this would scare you off. He thought that you would see this as a negative thing. He thought you’d think he was a crazy murderer just like all other common people would.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

You stared at him in disbelief. He expected you to fear him, to run away from the violence simply for it being violence; to hide from real reason. Did he not think that you would see the truth behind this? The truth being that he’d built an empire from the ground off of ash and dust. He’d climbed up the chain of players until he was at the very top, crowned king. Not to mention that all while doing so, he’d profited majorly, but not only that... he’d became a true god.

You understood now. Being a god wasn’t about riches or the simple power of being respected... it was a service. A service of repenting sin in the truest way possible: punishment. James had been chosen; picked out from the crowd for his vision of truth, for his undying ability to see men for what they were: sinners. Men were first placed on Earth just for the simplest sin of knowledge--and any act after knowledge might as well be considered evil. From then the men of the world raised generation after generation of sinners: users, abusers, liars. You and James had been included in that crowd. You’d both been raised to sin, but you knew now that you were special, for you had been enlightened. You were not ignorant like the most. You saw the true darkness in the world, and understood that it needed to be handled. You were chosen.

You stared at James, a newfound admiration for him arising. He really was special, and yet he couldn’t even completely see it. You didn’t understand how anyone could be so blind so as to not see the utter power he withheld in the palm of his hands. His hands, in which were the epitome of jurisdiction. They were judge, jury, and executioner, and every life they took served a god’s purpose. They offered utter release of darkness for all those chosen by him, freeing them from their evil natures. Other people might see danger in James, but all you saw was glory. That, you thought, was the misconception of death. Many viewed it as a robbery, but it wasn’t that. It was a true freedom, a release of all sins, and those who did not see that were clouded by their selfish desires and greediness. It was an act of nature. An act of God.

You smiled at James, squeezing his hand, before leaning forward to place your forehead against his.

“No,” you whispered, your breath hot against his lips. “No, I’m not afraid. There’s nothing to fear... murder isn’t always evil like most think, especially if it’s a service. James, you aren’t a sinner for releasing others from their sins... James, you are a god...”

James froze in his place, a shiver running up his spine. Usually, he resented religion. But the way you had explained it sparked something entirely different within him. He felt an electricity run through his entire body, igniting his veins in a way no drug ever could. His arms wrapped around you, quickly pulling you flush against him.

No one had ever said something so logical to him. He’d run into many people who preached religion and he despised every one of them. His thoughts were like yours: they were all sinners anyway, so how could they support a holy God? It was hypocritic, and James hated every one of them for it. It was the entire reason that he’d started his new project to mimic on the Bible’s Ten Commandments. However he’d never talked to you about religion, for he knew you’d grown up in a church and generally avoided the enraging subject. But you’d given him a new perspective with your words. He was a god. He held all the power that men reserved just for their one and only God in his hands. He could take any life if he wanted to, with nothing stopping him. He’d realized his power before, but he’d never thought of himself in that way. All those men praying to their god while at his knees might as well be praying to him. When he took a life, he released that person from evil. He held the true power.

He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. He and you had always seemed like polar opposites. That’s part of what he thought was so attractive about you. But it was much more than that. Of course it was. He and you were more similar than he’d ever thought. You completed his image, and he expanded off of yours. Your perspective put a whole new sense to the world that he’d never known. You were light, and he was dark, but together... you were something entirely different. He’d thought that he had had everything figured out perfectly, but oh how wrong he had been. You explained it in a way that he never could have thought of himself. His Y/N... you were so much more than he had ever really known. That mystery excited him undeniably.

His hands gripped your waist tightly as his lips crashed into yours. You gasped into the kiss, for you’d never, in all your time together, received such passion from James. He kissed you almost bruisingly, pouring every ounce of his being into it. His arms left your sides and before you knew it, he was hoisting you up into his arms, your legs wrapped around his waist. You clung to him tightly, kissing back just as fiercely as you felt the tension between the two of you build. Your cheeks were flushed from the heat as he carried you across the room, too caught up in him to see where you were going.

He set you down and pinned you against the wall, rattling the table next to you. His arms were like a cage around you. A loud shattering was the only thing to interrupt you, breaking your kiss as you both turned to see the vase that was on the table now on the floor. The glass was scattered everywhere, the white roses it withheld strewn out across the floor as the water spread. You both stood staring at the vase for a few moments before you wrapped your arms around James’ neck again.

“Leave it,” you whispered, pressing your fingers into his back as you tugged him close once more. Your lips met again, just as intense as before, before he began his journey to kissing your neck. You panted, a sheen of sweat already glistening on your skin and he’d barely done anything. “James,” you pleaded, “I need you.”

James pulled away smirking, his hands traveling down your sides slowly.

“Oh darling, you have a long night ahead of you.”

A long night it was indeed, eventually moved from that spot and into the bedroom, the vase and roses left broken but undisturbed.

---

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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Happy New Years Loves

Just wanted to put out there that The Garden of Eden part three should hopefully be out soon. I’ve been trying my best to work on it but recently I’ve lost my motivation slightly. It should be out soon regardless! I’ve also been reflecting a lot on 2020 and just wanted to say that I hope everyone is safe and healthy. I wish you all the best, sending all of my love and good wishes your way xx

#the garden of eden series #happy new year

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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OMG!!!! This was so beyond amazing honey I just can’t stop clapping!! YOU SNAPPED! The way the story sucked me in! It was so well written, I just loved how you set the scene and mood so well! The abusive scene was so intensely amazing! Seriously you are literally SUCH a good writer girl. This was literal excellence!! I can’t stop raving, I’m so excited to read the next part! Thanks for mentioning me, that means so much! I’d love to be tagged in the next part too! WOW!!!!

Adam & Eve | Part I: The Peony

Pairing: James March x Reader | Part: (1 of TBA)

Summary (Part One): James lost you decades ago, only to find out you’ve really come back. And who could blame you after everything you’ve been through together? He reminisces on his memories with his beloved, pending the tangible reveal of his true, timeless romance.

Request: Juxtaposition (noun); the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect. And flowers! Plus many more fun ideas, such as true love vs. a bad marriage, and they’ll become more prevalent as I write more and more. This idea was extended to the incredibly talented writer @evandearest, who has inspired me to continue creative writing and experimenting with fun ideas! Please do go check out her ‘The Garden of Eden’ series, as it is so wonderfully written and thought out it will leave you absolutely stunned! 🤩❤️ (Perfect Christmas literary treat if you ask me!)

Warnings (To Part One): Physical / verbal / emotional abuse, fighting, violence, blood, angst, a very introductory chapter.

Author’s notes: Merry Christmas & Happy Holidays everyone! The time setting of this series follows suit from the “present day” Cortez, meaning around and after the finale of the show, but with long flashbacks of before James died (Note: He became a killer 1920s onwards). It’ll be interwoven throughout the series- the play of flashback memory versus “present day” interactions. Rich symbology and meanings will become more apparent as the ongoing chapters are written. This is a fan-fiction, and was written originally in third person however morphed to second due to popular-demand. The chapter features almost an entire flashback, of which is also stylized with a juxtaposition effect. Additionally it doesn’t change the original storyline of the show but molds into it, just like an OC would in a role-play. Finally a disclaimer that I do not own AHS, it’s plot-line or characters whatsoever, and they belong to their rightful owners; this was just a creative literature piece inspired by the fandom.

Word count: 3,760

“James Patrick March” Billie stood dead in her tracks, trying to keep herself afloat as she felt herself sucked more and more into the dingly energy of the room. “Oh. I feel the violence in you. So many spirits who you snuffed out.”

James’s smirk widened, downing his absinthe with one gulp just by a small tilt of his hand. She paused hesitantly before continuing.

“I can see all the moments when they crossed over.”

“Tell me,” James began dauntingly, his accent thick, “What is that like? Is it a moving picture, like so many cells on a film reel? Or more like a kaleidoscope of human suffering?”

“It’s not a picture.” The blonde retorted, “It’s a feeling.”

James seethed slightly, allowing the strong liquor to burn his throat. He didn’t like the way Billie rebutted him, and soon, like many of his victims, she was bound to a chair, dark spirits surrounding her.

“So this is Devil’s Night”

“My Murderous Row!” James drawled out proudly.

“How’s that white light holding up Billie Dean?” John taunted, laughter insinuating. James knew the woman was in the room to threaten, but judging by her lack of manners, he’d pondered on the high he’d have just to skewer her throat. It wasn’t long before the interrogation began.

“Grab your weapons ladies and gents!” Of course, James rang his little bell, for extra dramatic effect.

Billie Dean struggled with her cuffed hand, desperately squirming and fighting for a quick escape. But it wasn’t until then she saw a faint glint of iridescent light so delicate only the most modest could see. She felt a cooling breeze upon her feverish goosebumps; the sound of a barely noticeable laugh, sweet enough to draw anyone in. She sensed you in the same place as Donovan— or at least somewhere similar. She smelled hints of lavender, vanilla and musk. Oh, the pure euphoria of it.

“[Y/N] [Y/L/N]” She breathed, intoxicated. Your light was the only thing she could grab ahold of to steadily lessen her fear. She continued, weakly, “What are you doing in a place like this?”

James hadn’t heard your name since the day he’d lost you, almost ten decades ago. Not an utterance from his star pupils throughout the ages, or the fellow ghosts trapped within the hallways; not even those like Mr. Lowe who he’d deem a close friend. Miss Evers had been the closest to finding you out through cleaning up James’ office, catching glimpses of an old leather-skin book full of pictures James had of you, or your film reels with James, and your letters to him when he’d left the east for California. However, you remained a myth to most, especially after James exploded with orders to never touch his work without permission ever again.

“I beg your pardon?” His voice faltered slightly in strength but not sound. James’ drew his knife out, the hum of the weapon whipping through the air. His eyes got darker, an icy coldness washed over his gaze— all to cover for the intense yearning underneath; a deep tragedy, a profound pain, a lost love. He eventually grew impatient with the silence and demanded a response. “Tell me again this instant what it is you said!”

“The peony!” Billie exclaimed. Confusion settled upon the man’s face, his pencil mustache seemingly straighter with a frown. But then it’d clicked, he tilted his head down to his suit pocket, eyes fixating on the small little flower pinned there. That was enough to send James back in time whilst the rest of his guests continued to coerce Billie Dean for the night.

-♠-

You had known James throughout childhood, through your local church, though never spoken to him until 1914, when the boy had just turned eighteen. The [Y/L/N]’s were “old-money”, and had frequent outdoor potlucks, inviting people from the church community one early afternoon to help out with construction work in your yard; a large garden fence and a marquee. Before that there was a group prayer, and with your family so religious, everyone was involved. When everyone bowed their heads and held hands in worship, you noticed in the corner of your eye a young man with chiseled features, beside you, who grew stern and silent to the intercession. He almost looked uncomfortable; repulsed. But, you’d thought perhaps he was just a new guest, or shy, so you smiled and reached out, offering your hand like a child.

“Lord, bless all the people here at the commune tonight;” The sound of the pastor’s voice permeated the silence in the large living-room. You peeked impishly, opening one eye indiscreetly to peek at James. You two had been the only ones who hadn’t been properly paying attention, and you’d wondered how he kept his gelled curls so nice in the front of his hair. Your fun quickly came to a halt however when your father hissed feverishly from across the room, gesturing with his head for you to focus on the ceremony.

So you did, but this time you felt a larger grip onto your hand. James March, like a hunter catching his prey, flashed a small smile whilst you stared back surprised, and doe-eyed, a faint flush appearing in your cheeks before you both looked back down in unison for prayer.

“May we learn the way of relating, to our almighty God, to ourselves, to those around us.” said the pastor, and soon thereafter the voices of many mumbled Amen. Everyone then scurried off to their duties, all seemingly taking orders from your father, the party host— yours having been to finish your breakfast sandwich and to never disrespect a group communion again. But you’d wanted to follow your new friend, James, and though you couldn’t physically at first due to having the moral obligation to your sandwich, your eyes did. You could see him directly through the large living-room windows.

When he’d seemingly taken off his shirt in the yard, exhausted from the heat of a summer’s day, you couldn’t help but peek once more. However, that was when you caught the faded scars on his back. And, though you were younger, your voice, strangely delicate but full of affluence, held power over his. Secretly, you’d gotten out of your chair, taking your food with you as you ran out to the front yard.

“Good morning” you said, copying your mother’s voice. She was always business-like. Though, that somehow sounded so fearfully affected at your age of sixteen you grew ashamed, and stammered like a little girl in front of him. “Oh—er—Mr. March, have you come— are you helping out with the garden festivities?”

“That’s right, miss,” He shifted his weight on the ladder, taking out another tool from his tool box. You could have sworn you knew accurately he’d had scars on his back, even if faint now because they’ve healed. He looked back at you, and knocked back his newsboy hat before giving you a hesitant smile.

“Oh.” You paused, unsure as to how to carry on the conversation. You’d wanted to ask, ask what those marks were. So, you thought of an excuse. “Er—After this, would you, er— care to walk me to fetch mother’s peony orders across the street?” You knew there were no peony orders.

Something was so attractive about your babyish inhibition. You had been the first one to ever refer to him as such, as ‘Mr. March’, and it was a nice change, for he had grown used to his fathers vulgar insults.

“I’m not sure I can stay that long, miss…”

You didn’t catch the hint to him asking for your name.

And so you pointed, piously, to your lavender-lawn, with the hand that didn’t hold your breakfast sandwich. “Um—You can walk me, or— or help the others with the trimming.” You prodded, an intended demand which came out too innocent. Except the people weren’t trimming your lavender lawn, but setting up a marquee.

James chuckled, taking off his hat this time out of courtesy. He caught on, and he slid on his undershirt, as you stared curiously, and he was somewhat nervous by your presence. He took a little too much time to study you back, admiring the gentle curve of your eyebrows and lips, to your delicate bone structure and soft locks. My, you were a work of art. You had been so small, so incorrupt, so inexperienced. He climbed down the ladder stairs before correcting your statement, boyishly.

“You mean, to help the others set up the marquee, next to the lavenders,” His accent drew out the word lavenders.

Your upbringing made you wonder for a moment whether it was quite respectful for James, a working boy, to talk to you bangs slap in the eye. But, you nodded slowly after contemplation, smiling at the way he said lavenders— and he chortled, before asking once more, “And dear, could I get your name now, please?”

And that was it, that was how it all started. The friendship, to the letters of adoration, the blossoming of young, true love. He’d told you his scars were from sporting injuries; brushed it off as if every man would have them. The only thing he didn’t tell you was about his abusive father, his own deep hatred for religion, but you’d found all that out about three years later when nineteen, the night you stopped by at a terrible time, returning James bible he forgot at your house.

You’d heard the sound of smashing bottles and angry men just when you were about to knock on the door, and with your naive curiosity, you’d peeked at the window first to check if this had been the correct address. And, when the real Mr. March had caught you, he instantly pulled you in by the forearm, his breath seething of alcohol and other substances foreign to you. That was the day you’d first seen the darkness of the world.

“Please, sir, I didn’t mean to intrude—”

You couldn’t finish your sentence when you felt a brute force hitting your jaw, the vigor of it sending you straight to the floor. Your hand cupped your own face in shock as your eyes looked up at the beast in front of you, a pocket knife in one hand and a beer bottle in another. You scurried back on the floor, backpedaling on all fours to the living room where you’d found James, bleating weakly as he got back on his two feet. He was getting beat, abused, for coming home five minutes late because he’d wanted to stay with you. You felt so terrible.

“Why, are you the new little bird helping James with all his bandaging?” denounced the old man. It was clear he had found out about all those nights you’d kept James over, even if years ago, just to help him put ointment on his scars, unaware as to how he even got them. You’d even gone as far as giving things to him: bandages, creams, silly gifts, dried flowers, homemade cards, all to which he’d deny for fear of his fathers suspicion.

“But… You are a very pretty one,” He bent down, his warm breath against your skin, face close to yours as you whiffed the reeking halitosis from him. You grimaced, whilst he thought you smelled like… money. Jame’s father looked you up and down, amorally. And James couldn’t tolerate that, his father’s perversion towards you.

“Fathe—”

“Shut up!” The man screamed back at James. He got up and walked over slowly to the bible tossed carelessly on the floor, having knocked out of your hand earlier. He picked it up, clicking his tongue and whistling, before his mouth turned into a menacing grin.

“Thou shalt not steal…” The man started, his voice low. You felt hollow of emotion and gasped when you’d seen James get hit with a sudden punch to the gut.

“Thou shalt honor thy father and thy mother…” Another hit, this time so hard across his face you’d heard the sound of cracking, his curls falling out of place from the impact.

“Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods…” A scratch by blade, and James growled at his fresh cut, somewhat used to it by now, but that was when you had enough. You yelped, even if your voice trembled.

“Please, sir, you have to stop!”

The man’s monstrous gaze, piercingly numb, flickered from James onto you. The old man paused eerily before letting out a disturbing cackle, aware of the flowering love between you and his son. He shook his head, pursing his lips almost as if chiding you.

“The problem with people like you, is you’re oblivious to your own bed of lies,”

You stood confused, unable to understand the logic of the situation. James felt shameful he hadn’t been honest about his situation by this point; perhaps if you knew you’d have avoided his house altogether.

“Have you not learnt one shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbors!?” He shouted out manically, and he charged towards you then like an angry bull, the shadow of his hand making him appear larger than he actually was. James’ father had clearly thought you knew about him and his bad habits, yet you were innocent. But that didn’t stop the older man gripping your ankle, and you held your hands up in protest as tears welled up in your eyes. You cried out then, hopeless, scared of the unknown. You never knew you could scream so loud.

But, he never got to hit you. James made sure of that, for him touching you once was enough.

Your breath rattled up in your chest, the flutter of a quick pulse so foreign to you as you held down your dress and retracted your ankle from his grip when James pushed him suddenly. Scrambling up, the sound of a slap went by so fast it sounded like a whoosh, light blood trickling down James lip as his face turned sideways from the smack. You stared wide-eyed; the panic in your chest tripling by the second. You felt as if you could have lost consciousness, just from a fast heartbeat, the regular flush in your cheeks going pale as you trembled from the temperature drop that accompanied the shock as to what had just happened to you, what had happened to James. This was how James got those marks, you thought.

You had been so lost in yourself until you felt a back in front of you, pressing you backwards, a familiar hand gripping yours tightly from the front like it did the first day in group prayer at your house. It was James, your James, saving you. He took the hit for you. And you’d glanced up with your big eyes - vacant, chaste, and confused, and watched as his face began staring down the larger predator in front of him, their heads butting as if two wild animals in an unkempt zoo. James had been shaking from pent up rage, his jaw clenched so tight the veins by his temple were slightly visible. You had never seen his eyes so cold before.

“Come on then!” His father continued to challenge him. That had to be the loudest bellow you’ve ever heard. “Hit me boy!”

But James didn’t. And his father laughed.

“Pathetic,” Mr. March spat, hurling an empty beer bottle across the room in the process. You flinched behind James when it shattered, but he didn’t move a muscle. “She would never choose you. You’ll never make it.”

That was when it happened, James, triggered, charged head first and tackled his father to the floor, where he lost control, and began punching him, over and over again, one of his hands holding him down, his fists so tight they’d been shaking with every blow. That was the first time he’d felt the power of God; to be able to hypothetically rid evil of this world, for you, for his dreams. Both your hands clasped over your mouth as your innocent eyes stared, until the old man on the floor seemed to have lost consciousness for the evening, so much blood covering his face that he’d become unrecognizable. At that moment, it looked as though James had killed a man before. There was a long silence between you both, the only noise having been the rain that began gently pelting the windows of the living room as a muffled thunder clapped outside. He looked over at you from his peripheral vision, where you stayed frozen.

“James?” You whispered. “Why?”

Silence.

“Why did you—” Then it dawned on you, like all his scars had, as to why he’d never told you, why he stepped in to protect you. And, like a child, you asked in a coaxed breath, “Are you in love with me?”

“My darling, you should go,” he said suddenly, getting up. But the way James’ eyes looked at you immediately upon your question�� you knew. You knew he loved you. The coldness melted away, only to have been replaced by the warmth of a thousand suns, of the rich dark soils in your garden, so fertile with life. And James loved looking at you, at your eyes. And as he gently walked closer to you, he thought he could get lost in them forever for they were so pure, and his sight grew dim as he gazed at you, like you were the only person in this world. His darkness was engulfed in your light— trying to absorb as much as he could. And it somehow made you feel uneasy as well as flattered at the same time. So you mustered out the simplest words.

“But I really want to love you.” you whispered into the space between the two of you. Your budding friendship had bloomed into something more. And he fell, oh he fell.

“That would be the greatest honor any man could ever receive, hummingbird,” James replied earnestly, and he licked his bleeding lip, knowing a commoner like him couldn’t be with someone as flawless as you. He had envisioned himself then and there, in a vision to become an elite, just so he could have you. He looked down, jaw clenching at his gory fists, before back up at you.

“I apologize for what you had to see here tonight. You have done nothing to deserve it.”

“It’s quite alright—”

“No— dear, and he hit you—I thought that if I didn’t tell you after all this time— I—your jaw, does it hurt?” You could tell he cared, and you were probably the only soul in history to have seen him so human.

“It’s quite alright, James.” You reassured again, shuffling closer to him. Your eyes were soft; sincere. “You saved me,”

And you smiled at him lovingly, gently grasping his two larger hands with your tiny ones. They felt sticky from the blood, but you soothed your thumb over the cuts on his knuckles, and your breath hitched slightly when you saw him studying you dotingly. He asked himself then if it was possible for a girl like you to ever love a man like him. He leaned in carefully, then paused, sneaking away his cleaner hand from your grasp to cup your cheek.

“[Y/N] dear, may I kiss you?”

The question was also rhetorical, for James knew by this one kiss he would be damned, that he would’ve hurled himself willingly into the abyss, into your void, for all eternity.

All you managed was a wispy prayer, after all that’s happened.

“God, may I surrender my all to you, withholding nothing,” You began airily, your nose nuzzling his, your voice so indiscreet and contrasting to the wickedness surrounding you. Something about your speech made it as though your prayer was for James and James alone. “—So that I may learn the way of relating, to our almighty God, to ourselves, to those around us—”

James abhorred religion, and prayers for that matter, but your voice— oh, the exhilarating charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle to it, the unforgettable cymbals’ song of it. The sweetness of it, so enchanting that he found himself murmuring your prayer with you.

“—For I shall have no other Gods before you,” you finished off, alone, your clear [E/C] eyes looking at him with a sort of doe-eyed devotion one would only ever come across once in their lifetime.

And James Patrick March kissed you there, ruggedly, with enough passion to start a hellfire, his arms fully cocooning you, a promise to always keep you safe for hereinafter. Something about your innocent submission to him turned him on. The evil in the pit of his stomach turned to love as he felt himself experience an intimacy he had with no other. You had an ability to churn out more masculinity in Jame’s than he ever thought possible. In fact— a little too much.

When he’d pulled away to catch a breath, you stared up at James with an admiring smile; he’d become your anticipated promise, your safety-net… your almighty God. And he nestled you in his embrace, his chin atop of your pretty head, catching a glimpse of a fresh, tiny peony in your hair. He smiled at that, and you closed your eyes to the soft rise and fall of his chest, a lot calmer now than the start of the evening. You’d be martyred for your religion, and love was your religion— Your creed is love, James March being it’s only tenet.

-♠-

It wasn’t until Billie Dean’s shrieks James fully came back into the present, snapped away from the reminiscent memories of his beloved [Y/N]. And before Billie dashed off, before she rushed through those vintage paneled doors to never again return, James pressed a firm hand hostilely on her shoulder, the ambience of darkness and laughter in the room covering their short but crucial conversation.

“You mean to tell me she’s on the premise of the Hotel Cortez?” His voice was low and hushed, a rushed whisper. “Tell me quickly where she is—”

“Eden.” Billie said simply, desperate to leave. And he knew from that simple word Billie had been telling the truth, for no one knew about Eden in the Hotel Cortez except for you and him. With that James let go of his firm grip, watching with the rest of the vociferous Devil’s Nights’ guests as the blonde woman ran out of the room.

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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let boys cry.

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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The Garden of Eden Explanation

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Warning: Read After Part Two: Reflection!! SPOILERS AHEAD.

Hey guys, it’s Emilie (@evandearest)! So I’ve just decided to pop in here and make a post about my current James March x reader series, The Garden of Eden. This is just something that I’ve decided to do just to clear things up, both for any readers and for myself <3.

This series was requested by @etoile-writings , who is now one of my good friends here on tumblr :). This post will contain spoilers, so if you haven’t read part one and two I suggest you do! After I finish writing the entire series, I will do a separate review post to explain the symbolism and references in depth with the entire story. This post will just contain an explanation for the concepts and symbolism in the events so far.

JUXTAPOSITION:

The original request was juxtaposition, which is basically just an idea: the fact of two things being seen or placed close together with contrasting effect. It’s just simply a comparison - a contrast between two objects. In this story’s case, the two things are the reader and James. The contrast is revealed as the story goes, but it’s basically the fact that the reader constantly looks at everything in a religious view, while James is completely against religion, as we’ve seen in the show. This will get more prevalent in part three, which at this point in time is still being wrote.

READER’S DARKNESS:

As the story goes on, this will be revealed further, but there has already been multiple instances in which the reader has seemed passive towards violence/physical hurting, the seriousness of the situation seeming to go over her head; no empathy shown. This occurred in two instances: when James killed her husband, and when the man in the hotel was in pain. As I said, this will be explored further, but is to be kept in mind, as it ties in with the juxtaposition concept.

WHITE ROSES:

Now let’s talk about the flowers, which were included as part of the request as well. They mainly tied into the whole “Garden of Eden” biblical concept, which we will get into next. I specifically chose white roses as the flower of interest because of their symbolism:

“ White roses often represent purity, innocence, and youthfulness. White roses are sometimes referred to as bridal roses because of their association with young love and eternal loyalty. White roses can also symbolize a new beginning and everlasting love. ”

In part two, you find out the origin of James’ and the reader’s love; how it all started in the garden, with the roses. However, the roses are very prevalent throughout the entire story, as well as what the owner of the garden said about them: “if you kill the rose, the rose no longer profits you.” (keep that in mind)

They are what is known as a motif of literature.

The first and simplest symbolic thing about them is the fact that they are the readers favorite flower, which is explained in the flashback in part two. Since they symbolize purity and innocence, it’s only right for them to be the reader’s favorite flower, as she is the same symbolic representation.

So far, they have briefly appeared in part one when James arrives at the reader’s house, and then again throughout most of part two.

To recall to part one:

“ Before you knew it, the man you had dreamed of for so many years was standing before you. You gasped as your eyes met his, the same dark brown framed by his sharp masculine features. It was as if you had seen the sun after years in the dark. Your eyes took in his features before shifting to look at the object in his hands. A bouquet of white roses lay clasped between his hands; your flowers. He had remembered. He really had come back for you. Finally, you had your James again. “

Since white roses symbolize a new beginning and everlasting love, I thought it important and fitting to include them as a symbol of just that. James and reader have always loved one another; everlasting love. James has come back for reader and they are starting their relationship again; a new beginning. The new beginning symbolism also applies to when the reader and James first met, or began.

BIBLICAL REFERENCE:

Now here’s where ideas collide a little bit. The Garden of Eden idea intertwines both of the previous topics into one another. First I want to establish what the real Garden of Eden story from the Bible is for anyone who doesn’t know. (Disclaimer: There are many many many interpretations of this story, and I just tried to find the simplest one.)

The Garden of Eden was essentially paradise. God placed an innocent Adam and Eve in the garden and tells them that they can eat freely from all of the trees in the garden, except of a tree of the knowledge of good and evil. When they are coerced by snakes of evil and eat the fruit, they gain the knowledge, and God banishes them from the garden as punishment for disobeying him. They were both sent down to Earth as God’s representatives. In some interpretations, Earth is often thought to be hell. So in a way, they were sent to hell.

That being said, here is how that fits into the story. James and reader meet in a white rose garden when they are young, which implements both the roses as a symbol of youthfulness and the innocence that is said to come with that, as well as a comparison between James & reader and Adam & Eve. When James and reader get older and gain more knowledge, they are forced apart, are no longer together in love, and their paradise is lost. This compares to Adam and Eve’s banishment to hell, when their paradise was lost. So in a biblical way, James and reader have been forced apart (losing paradise) to live in hell (which is just living without one another) as a punishment or consequence for gaining knowledge, or getting older. (Read that a few times to process it lmao)

As a side note, reader’s mother had also warned her of this. In the flashback, reader recalls her mothers words, “One day when all the distractions of young age are gone, you’ll realize why you need to be prepared.” You can assume that she had known that reader would be married off by her father, signifying that the same thing happened to her (it was common in the time), which ties into the “cycle of life“ concept (more about that down below). This is also basically saying that when you get older and become no longer oblivious (gain knowledge), you won’t live life the same carefree way. You loose your inner child. Reader’s mother was just trying to prepare her for that.

GOD CONCEPT:

Now we get to the reader and James’ new beginning, where all James wants is to recreate that paradise for the reader. The reader in turn views James as a God because of multiple reasons: he saved and freed her from hell, returned to her, he’s always been the one she can rely on and always loved (chose) her, made her feel like she was invincible when by his side, and also the fact that he went from being a poor boy to a rich man and built an empire (the hotel) on it.

And from here I’d like to talk about just a few more things; first being the last little bit of part two. I just feel like I need to explain the meaning of that part’s ending in conclusion to everything, to wrap everything up.

To recall once again:

“ You smiled once more at his words, thinking back to that day in the garden once more, and to your mother’s words. The feeling you had now was a reflection of the feeling you had then. He’d always made you feel so incredibly self-assured. You felt like no matter what happened to you and James, nothing could break you at this point and time. And your mother had been right: gaining the knowledge was important.

Now that you’d ate the fruit of the garden and survived hell, what could possibly stop you?

You felt invincible, so long as he was by your side. You no longer feared the past or the future; you were completely centered present, all cycles broken. And it had took James less than a day to make you feel this way. Your excitement soared as you thought about your future with James. You knew that so long as you had him, you were unstoppable together. You were gods.

You didn’t need the garden, after all. Paradise lost stood no match to you, because with James, you could survive anything. “

I’m going to specifically talk about the bold parts. Okay, so “eating the fruit of the garden” means gaining knowledge, as we’ve discussed, and for James and reader that represents their separation when they got older. So it’s basically saying that now that the reader and James have survived everything (from being separated to surviving without one another {hell} to then finding their way back to each other), what else could they possibly face that would break them? And the last line is similar: the reader realizes that they have survived so much already, and feels that they can take anything. They don’t need to “go back” to anywhere; they can survive in any circumstance; they do not need the garden or paradise.

More about the god concept: since the reader views James as a god, and then feels invincible by his side, she feels as if they are now gods together.

CYCLE OF LIFE:

The cycle of life idea was not apart of the request, but upon approaching part one, I just kind of threw it in, as it added to the story quite a lot. The cycle of life ties straight into the whole reflection part of the story, with the reader having flashbacks to the past events that seemed to almost mirror the current events. This happens mainly in the two situations in which it was pointed out: when the reader was being abused by James father in the past and her husband in the present, and the feeling the reader had when she first met James being the same as she feels for him now in this new beginning. It’s a repetition. In the beginning of part one, it also begs the question: do the lessons we’re really meant to learn in life recur without us noticing?

END NOTES:

And that’s it! I hope that cleared some things up if you were confused! Let me know any questions you may have and I will certainly reply as quick as I can! I’m so unbelievably excited to finish part three! Thanks so much to everyone for the support <3. Happy Holidays if you celebrate! Sending love to all~ xoxo

#the garden of eden series #james march #james imagine #james x reader #james march imagine #james march x reader #james march smut #james patrick march #james patrick march imagine #evan peters imagine #Evan Peters #evan peters x reader #ahs #ahs imagine #american horror story #american horror story hotel #american horror story imagine #ahs hotel #hotel

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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Oh my gosh I'm seriously stunned by your writing style and creative capabilities! 💞 I adored part two, the roses, the suspense, the details, and the hints of passivity for the character shook me 😆 You're so so talented! I can't wait to see what happens; I feel something coming 👀… AND I loved the metaphors and biblical references so much. The depth of complexity almost adds to the uneasiness, which I really love. This was such a treat!!! [big applause] 🎉🌟🎉

thank you so much, i’m so glad you loved it angel! 🤍😆 there may or may not be a climax building... 👀

#the garden of eden series

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evandearest · 4 years ago

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The Garden of Eden | Part II: Reflection

Pairing: James March x reader (you) | ~Part: (2/4)~

Warnings (in this part): Slight PTSD, that’s all I would say.

Word count: 3,586

Notes: I’m so excited to be posting this! This part is quite a bit longer than the last one. I absolutely loved writing it though! Be on the lookout for many metaphors, biblical references, and *reflective* events. This part is complex in many ways, and a lot of things tie into one another. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!!

Also a side note, if you’d like to be on the tag list for this series just let me know!

Tag List: @etoile-writings @haileyybird @ietss

An odd feeling settled upon you as rays of sunlight blinded your eyes. Something wasn’t right. You couldn’t exactly pin it down, but all you knew was that you felt calm. Calm was not a part of you, as much as you portrayed to others that it was. Spending nearly ten years with a man you didn’t trust could do that to you.

The bed underneath you was soft, the scent in the air surrounding you lavender. You wondered for a moment where you were, your heart jumping as your eyes glanced around you frantically. That’s when you remembered: you were in James’ hotel. James’.

Your nerves lessened when you thought about James, a small smile curling your lips. As soon as you had arrived at the hotel, he insisted that you get a room to yourself to get the best rest possible. He’d even sent his maid to give you a basket of everything lavender to help you sleep: candles, essential oils, soap. He practically spoiled you the minute you arrived. You couldn’t deny how good it felt, though. You felt like a queen.

You sat up in bed, wondering where the man pervading your thoughts was. You glanced at your side table, noticing the vase of white roses immediately. When had those gotten there? The tiny card leaning against the vase caught your attention in particular. You reached for it and opened it. The small note was in James’ neat handwriting, reading:

“Good morning, darling. Gather yourself and meet me in the lounge. I do hope my accommodations suited you. Yours truly, JPM.”

You smiled, your curiosity spiraling at the thought of what he had planned for you. You quickly jumped out of the bed, going to the bathroom to get ready. You noticed immediately of all the things in this bathroom that weren’t normally in hotel bathrooms. There were tons of beauty items for women that most men don’t even know exist. You knew it was James. He was so thoughtful, giving you anything you could possibly need and more. James had taken the time to be sure you had everything. Your heart fluttered at the thought, excitement settling within you. James really did have everything, and now you had James. You knew it was going to take a long while before you were used to this luxurious treatment, but you weren’t complaining. You’d dreamed of living this kind of life since you were merely a child.

Once you had showered, gotten dressed, and did your hair and makeup, you were ready. You smiled at your reflection. James had picked the most fashionable clothing to put in your closet, and you simply loved having a reason to dress up in general. But it wasn’t even about you, in reality. You wanted James to see how much you appreciated everything he was doing, so you were going to make sure that you put all he gave you to use. It was all for James. You were going to spend every second doing as much as you could for him. He had saved you, after all. You couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if James hadn’t arrived when he did. That was the worst argument that you and Robert had ever had.

You scolded yourself for thinking of Robert. You needed to focus on now, on the new life you were beginning. You couldn’t just shake it off, though. You still felt the need to be vigilant, to walk on egg shells. You sighed. You didn’t want to be in a bad mood today, of all days. James needed to see how much you appreciated and cared for him. You took a deep breath. Just focus on now, you told yourself, before taking one last look at your reflection.

When you entered the lobby, you were surprised to be greeted immediately by James’ maid, Miss Evers.

“Right this way, Ms. Y/L/N,” the woman smiled, gesturing with her arm for you to follow. She made her way up the stairs, you following behind curiously. It was as if she was escorting you somewhere. Your questions weren’t left unanswered for long, however, as you found your answer at the top of the stairs.

The entire bar was empty, which seemed odd compared to it’s usually bustling atmosphere. The dining area was decorated to the brim with white roses, all surrounding a table in which had plates full of fruit, pancakes, eggs, and many other breakfast foods. You gasped quietly at the extravagance as your eyes landed on James, who stood in front of it all, hands clasped together politely as he awaited you. He smiled at the sight of you.

“Hello, darling,” he greeted, walking over and offering an arm to you. You stared at him in disbelief for a moment, a wave of déjà vu coursing through you.

You remember you were so excited. Los Angeles was a gorgeous city in it’s own, and you felt so lucky to have been born in a city in which held so much opportunity. You were merely fourteen; barely old enough to even think for yourself, but you’d always been smart. Your mother had assured you of that since you were born, always putting your education above all else. She’d told you, “One day when all the distractions of young age are gone, you’ll realize why you need to be prepared.” You hadn’t understood why then, but the words had always stuck with you. It was one of the first times that she had trusted you on your own. Most of the time, she had always put her fear for your safety first, but on that day she had given in to your pleas.

She had let you walk to the garden of white roses, three blocks down, by yourself. When you thought about it now, you realized just how defining that moment of your life was, because what happened when you got to that garden had changed your life forever.

White roses had always been your favorite flower, ever since you had first passed that blooming Southern California garden at three years old. The owner was a tiny sweet elder lady, gracious and elegant as ever. She had owned the garden her entire life; it was her pride and joy. She’d always welcomed polite visitors, and if she caught you, she’d tell you all about the flowers, and how special they were. She said that they had brought to her all of the pleasantries that her life held; love, wealth, and even an eternal feeling of youth. That’s why she never picked or sold them, she said; “if you betray the rose, the rose no longer profits you.” Some people said that she was a witch; you just thought she was sweet, maybe a little kooky, but nice nonetheless. You had grown to look up to her.

When you had arrived at the rose garden on that day, however, you were greeted with a new presence foreign to you. The boy stood as still as a statue, his eyes raking over his surroundings. Based upon his height and physical appearance, you had assumed that he was about the same age as you. You watched him as he picked a rose from the bush, bringing it up to his nose to smell. You approached him quietly.

“If Mrs. Smith knew you picked one of her flowers, she’d claim treason,” you said, catching the boy’s attention. He looked at you in bewilderment.

“Where did you come from?” he asked quietly. “I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sneaky,” you said jokingly with a teasing smile. He blinked, his confusion still evident. “But seriously,” you continued, “you better hope she doesn’t see you. She doesn’t like people who disturb her flowers. In fact, she’d probably curse you.” At that, the boy smirked.

“Is she a witch?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

“Some people think so,” you replied, walking closer to him. “If you ask me, I think people should listen to her. She’s very intelligent.” You nudged his side, watching him to gouge his reaction. He raised his eyebrows, watching you carefully.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, for one, she’s ancient. That gives her some credits. For another, she grew this garden, and she’s experienced much more than most people. You should hear her stories.” You smiled as you plucked the rose from the boy’s hand and twirled it between your fingers, admiring it.

“She sounds fascinating.”

“She is.” After a moment of silence, you looked up at him, only to catch his eyes. You smiled shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“James March,” the boy said, offering his hand to you.

“Y/F/N Y/L/N,” you introduced yourself in return, smiling up at him.

There was another moment of silence, the both of you just staring at one another. James suddenly took the rose from you again. He pulled a knife from his pocket, your heart stuttering slightly at the sight of it. But James didn’t try to harm you, he simply chopped the stem of the rose off. His hand came up to your face as you smiled nervously at him.

“I think your wrong,” he said, tucking the rose in your hair behind your ear. He stepped back, smiling softly at you. “See? Sometimes even dying flowers can serve a beautiful purpose. It’s a sacrifice. Sacrifices aren’t evil.” You paused, a shy blush forming on your cheeks at his actions.

“I never thought of it that way,” you whispered, reaching up to tuck the rose more firmly behind your ear. You smiled at James, a weird feeling you’d never felt before settling upon you. His simple action and thoughtful words had made you excited in a way you’d never known. It had created a spark; a strong urge inside of you that was almost indescribable. And as you looked in his eyes, you wanted nothing more than to relive that feeling over and over again. You swore you’d never let him go.

Suddenly, you were looking at his face again, but this time much older.

“Darling, are you alright?” James asked, and you blinked quickly, your focus shifting present.

“Yes,” you said, your eyebrows furrowing slightly as you realized just how deep into the memory you had been. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright, dear,” he said, studying you. “Are you sure you feel pleasant? You were quite far gone, I called your name several times. Did you rest well?”

“Yes, of course,” you said quickly, reaching out to clasp his hand tightly as you smiled reassuringly. “I promise. You just surprised me, is all.” James nodded, seeming fairly convinced, before smiling and gesturing towards the table.

“Alright darling, well why don’t you sit and eat something. A proper meal should do just the trick.” You smiled and nodded back at him, moving to sit in your chair that he pulled out for you. Once you were situated, James moved to sit across from you at the other end of the table.

“I wasn’t sure what you enjoyed most, so I instructed Miss Evers to make several morning dishes,” he said, grinning at you. “I hope it’s suiting for you.”

“Of course,” you said, placing a few items on your plate. A few minutes passed as you ate, your mind drifting back to last night’s events in the silence.

“Are you happy, my love?” James suddenly asked, snapping you out of your thoughts once again.

“Yes,” you replied quickly, smiling at him sincerely, “yes of course!” You could tell from the look of concern still on James’ face that he wasn’t convinced. You sighed, deciding to just be honest with him. “I just... it’s difficult to process how my life just changed.” You paused, watching James closely for a reaction. He stared, waiting for you to elaborate, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. “I’ve been alone for so long, living a horrible, unhappy life. I’m happy now, with you, but I can’t just turn that feeling off, that feeling that this moment is fleeting. It-- it terrifies me...” You trailed off, your mind wondering as you stared at the roses around you. The roses that James decided to decorate your breakfast with. The roses that had ultimately brought you together in the first place. The roses that James kept bringing around for you. Your roses. You turned your attention back to James, your eyes meeting his.

“These flowers, why did you pick them?” you asked him seriously. A look of confusion clouded James’ expression.

“Well,” James started, “I suppose they have some semblance to us, darling... these were the very flowers--”

“Of course, I remember...” you trailed off, thinking of what to say next. “But really, there has to be more to it...” It came out as more of a question than a statement. You just didn’t understand why he was bringing up all of these memories.

“Of course, dear,” James said, sighing. He looked you in the eyes, and you could see the sincerity there. “I knew you wouldn’t recover in a day, a week, a month, even a year...” he paused, his eyes downcast at the tablecloth. “I just hoped that by reminding you of what we can be once again will help you settle. My only wish is to make you happy...” he paused again, his eyes shifting back up to meet yours. This time you were met with certainty. “I want to take us back to that time. To that garden. To when we flourished the most even if the rest of the world was, well...”

“Hell. The rest of the world was hell,” you finished for him, your eyes teary at his sweet sentiment. James, however, faltered slightly at your words. You paused, taking note of the way he cringed at the mention of hell, before you reached to grab his hand, squeezing it tightly, lovingly. “Thank you James.” Your voice held so much emotion, and at that, James stood before walking over to you and pulling you out of your chair and into his embrace.

“Darling,” James whispered into your hair. You hummed in response, burying your face into his chest, breathing in his manly scent. You clasped onto him tightly. “Whatever may happen, I promise I will never let you slip from my grasp ever again... you shall never be afraid again. I would give everything away just for your happiness. You inform me and I will have it done for you, whatever you may need.” It was a firm promise, and you knew he meant it. James didn’t make empty promises. Your chest felt as if it might explode with love and adoration for this man. He really did want to give you the world. He really was your heaven... your God.

-♥-

After you had finished breakfast, James had insisted that he take you on a tour of the Cortez, and you weren’t going to turn him down. It was his pride and joy, and regardless, it was the most gorgeous place you had ever stepped foot into. You were nearly finished, with only two more floors to explore, when James started acting strange.

“James, what’s wrong?” you asked, placing your hand on his arm. He grimaced before looking at you nervously.

“Well, you see...” he trailed off for a moment, his voice hesitant. You began to get concerned. “These floors are still under slight renovation...” You giggled at his words.

“James,” you said sweetly, “it’s okay, I’m not afraid of a little dirt.”

“Well, no, that’s-”

“I’m serious,” you interrupted, giggling once again. The elevator dinged as you reached your destination. You smiled before taking his hand and leading him out. He sighed, still looking standoffish.

James had been telling the truth; there was a particular section of the hallway in which there was a wall being built, but it was small. You didn’t understand what he was so nervous about.

Suddenly, a loud shout rang out through the hallway, causing both you and James to flinch in surprise. There was a sound of commotion and James quickly walked towards the scene; you following closely behind him.

“What’s the issue?” James demanded someone standing at the back of the gathering crowd of men. There was a sound of someone groaning in pain. You stood at a distance away, more interested in the small white rose twirling between your fingers.

“One of the construction workers collapsed, sir,” the man informed him. At this point you’d lost interest, zoning in on the pretty rose in your hands. James barked a few orders at the men, but you weren’t really paying attention.

You looked up as James returned to you.

“I apologize for the interruption,” James said, obviously irritated.

“What’s the problem?” you asked, confused.

He paused, looking at you softly, “I thought that may have worried you.”

“Men get hurt all the time,” you said passively.

“Of course...” James trailed off, looking slightly confused, which made you confused. What did you do? Were you supposed to be worried? You brushed it off, smiling at him expectantly.

“Ready to continue with the tour?” you asked him, turning your back on him. You began walking back down the hall, glancing behind to see James following you. You rounded the corner, only to run into someone unexpectedly.

You stumbled backwards, nearly tripping. Luckily James stabled you before you hit the ground. You looked up, your eyes landing on a beautiful blonde woman. You paused, studying her, before a realization dawned upon you. You’d seen this woman before.

You remember her distinctly, for she was the person who had ultimately made you lose all hope. James’ wife, Elizabeth. You’d seen her all that time ago when you had first tried to escape your husband. She’s the woman that had made you believe James didn’t love you anymore.

When James had come back for you, you’d assumed that his relationship with her had failed. So why was she here?

“Why, hello,” the woman said, glancing between you and James, a weird grin on her face. She looked at James. “And who might this lovely lady be?”

You turned to look at James, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. James’ jaw was clenched as he stared at Elizabeth, and right there and then you knew he didn’t like her.

“It’s okay, James,” she purred, her smirk never leaving. “I’m not offended. We both knew it was never going to work.” She turned to you. “You must be Y/N. I’m Countess Elizabeth.” She offered a hand to you, and you took it gracefully. James was disturbingly quiet beside you. You decided to take the ropes.

“Yes, that’s correct,” you replied smoothly.

“What’s all the commotion down the hall?” Elizabeth asked curiously. You could tell that she had some kind of ulterior motive, otherwise she would have moved on.

“Nothing important,” you replied nonchalantly. It was the truth. You didn’t feel the need to be competitive with this woman anymore; you knew who James stood by, and you trusted him. You turned to him, intertwining your arms together. “James here was just giving me a tour. I hope you don’t mind?” You smiled politely at Elizabeth. She paused, her expression one of slight surprise. It seemed to be a strange look on her.

“Of course not,” she said through tight lips. “You two have fun.” You smiled at her kindly once more, before you and James continued on, arm in arm.

Once in private in the elevator, James turned to you.

“I have to say,” James said, smiling at you, “you handled that well. You do know that Elizabeth was... shall I say, challenging you?”

“I know,” you said, smiling at him reassuringly. “But that’s the thing: she was the one challenging me. Obviously she thought she had something to fight for. I know what’s mine.” James expression morphed into one of surprise, and then pride.

“Of course you do, dear,” he said, smiling down at you. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. The kiss was loving and at the same time slightly rough. You loved how James could make you feel like this; so powerful. After a heated moment, he pulled away.

“Darling, despite your present confidence in the matter,” he began, “I’d like you to know that regardless of Elizabeth and I’s history, she will never compare to your glamour. You truly are a revelation like no other.”

You smiled once more at his words, thinking back to that day in the garden once more, and to your mother’s words. The feeling you had now was a reflection of the feeling you had then. He’d always made you feel so incredibly self-assured. You felt like no matter what happened to you and James, nothing could break you at this point and time. And your mother had been right: gaining the knowledge was important.

Now that you’d ate the fruit of the garden and survived hell, what could possibly stop you?

You didn’t need the garden, after all. Paradise lost stood no match to you, because with James, you could survive anything.

---

Series Masterlist: The Garden of Eden Series

Main Masterlist

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