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the-yellow-birdy · 1 year ago

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I come at this hour, only for you

AN: IM BACK, okay so your girl can't stop and she's incredibly indecisive, so forget the post from yesterday (except the recommendation of the other tumblr) and know that I have returned. Truly hope you will enjoy this L.O.L - Yellow bird

// 18+ audience only! - Heavy dom/sub dynamics - Dom!LarissaWeems x Sub!FemReader - BDSM - Power dynamics/Power play - consensual manipulation - Lesbian yearning - All characters are above the age of 18\\

Click clack, click clack.

The sound of your spool heels hitting the cobblestone floors, was penetrating your ears as you sauntered down the empty firelit halls. It aligned untempered with the beating of your heart, which was already on its way up your throat, trapping your breath, preventing you from deeply inhaling the cool air around you. The pencil skirt you wore, made it fairly difficult to walk at a fast pace, but it was probably for the best. Your hands were clamped with sweat and the white blouse you wore was already getting damp from your warm body and doing a small marathon right now would make your sweaty nervousness visible to anyone. To her. Merciless her.

The skirt could be seen as a bit inappropriate and you were starting to wonder if maybe you shouldn’t have worn it.

Or maybe you should.

What if she says something? Would she look?

What if you want her to look.

Definitely not. You definitely don’t want her to look, she shouldn’t look. Surely she won’t look. Perhaps she will have stopped with these foolish games. Maybe she will like it and not say anything.

Or maybe she won’t.

You were nearing her office taking a couple of deep breaths as you swiped your bangs out of your face, smoothing down your neat ponytail.

You’re gonna be fine. Just, calm down.

It wasn’t unusual for you to be interrupted in the late evenings by Nevermores headmistress. Whenever your screen lit up as you sat comfortably in your bed about to succumb to sleep, you knew there was no protesting. Well maybe if you weren't so pliable there would be, but you being you, there was no displeasing Larissa Weems.

But it was at night that things got…

Strange

—

One night she had called upon you as you were closing your eyes to the tv-screen in front of you, requesting your presents. It wasn’t the first time, and the appeal of staying in your bed was grand, but you had of course complied as the reliable secretary you were.

You always did.

She didn’t tell you why it was urgent, yet you expected some immediate reports or mails to be written and sent the following morning, calling you now simply as a favor to your busy schedule, giving you some time to write them. But you were far from right.

She had requested for you to make her tea.

Tea? At this hour?

You thought. But of course your thoughts and thinking didn’t have a lot of time in the company of the woman. So with a single tilt of her head you did as you were told standing in the middle of the beautifully crafted office, and made tea.

The act in itself was harmless and quite pure, actually. It wasn’t like you were already asleep when she texted you and was being completely unfair. You could still get home at a decent hour to get some sleep if you hurried.

“Take off your heels, and come pour me the tea.”, she had said, quietly reading a document in her hand, her reading glasses at the bridge of her nose. Only looking over to see if you had sat them neatly aside by the wall. You didn’t, she thought and looked back down at the paper.

You of course wondered about the demand of your heels, but again, not much time to contemplate when Larissa was awaiting you.

She had you stand by her side the entire night. Having you repeatedly pour her tea when her cup became empty. She had only allowed you to leave, when the tea got cold and you had to make a new brew. Not even a bathroom break was given.

You had definitely seen the benefit she gave you of leaving the heels behind.

Oh, how kind she truly was to you.

As the night came to an end and the early hours of dawn were showing, small birds chirped outside the office window, your eyes had closed, pot in hand, and you were swaying in the morning lights as if in a trance.

A gentle hand on your hip had your eyes flew open, coming out of the hypnotizing calmness. You couldn't see them, yet you knew there were large gray bags under your eyes.

“Well done, dear.”, she had said, drawing lacy circles on your hip bone. You had no idea why you felt like crying when she smiled at you, but you held the tears back.

She had given you the day off to rest, yet expected you back the next morning with the new student reports.

—

Headmistress - Larissa Weems

You looked at the gold plate engraved into the big oakwood door. The expensive shiny gold against the plain dark wood was a contrast that could only be adored, as you knocked twice on the door.

“Ms. Weems, it’s me Y/n”, You almost didn’t hear her timid reply of you being allowed to enter over the thumping of your heavy heart beats.

Just calm down. Nothing is gonna happen. You can always stop it. She would never if you don’t want to.

But what if you did?

You entered her office, seeing her tapping away at her computer in the distance. Not offering you a single glance as you made your way towards her desk.

You stood in front of her for a couple of minutes, waiting patiently for a sign, a breath, a nod, a clearing of her throat, anything. When she finally looked up at you, finishing her sentence with the final period, she said nothing as her eyes slid down over your exposed collarbones. They traveled further and further over your curves and creases. The subtle outlining of your visible breasts given the bra you had chosen, the skirt of which was far too short for a respectable woman such as yourself, and finally the almost see-through white button-up shirt tucked into it.

She said nothing. Only after seconds lasting what seemed like eternity, did she take her eyes away from you and down to her desk once more. The hairs on the back of your neck had settled again, yet the tingling feeling of a sugar rush in your veins remained.

She always gave you attention during the day. Walking past you desk with a smile and the occasional

morning dear

Or words of affirmation when your job had been executed without flaw.

What would become of me without you and your splendid work my darling?

You lived for it, a single praise from the woman, could plant a stupid smile on your face the rest of the day. You truly were pathetic. You knew you did a good job and what you were capable of, so why did you crave her approval so deeply?

But when nights came around such as this one, she changed.

She took a stack of papers on the edge of the mahogany table and stretched her arm towards you. Her tea, placed right next to it. She was now looking you in the eyes, ripping off your clothes and exposing your bare self to her, with just a look. Your cheeks burned and you knew she could see it.

“I would like you to go through these letters from the parents. And I'd be very pleased if you only hand them to me, assuming anything serious was to show.”, She had a shine to her eyes. The beautiful laugh lines around her mouth and eyes prominent in the glow of the fireplace. She was absolutely breathtaking. Terrifying. Fearless. Charming. Warm, oh so warm. Cold. Beautiful.

Dominant

Mesmerized, you glared a second too long at her elegant hairdo, snapping your eyes to her face.

“Uhm, yes Ms. Weems. I-Is that everything?”confusion was visible on your face, she loved it. Is this it? No more games? No more long nights, no more stares or touching. No more awaiting atmospheres of what's to come, what she wants or does next, that erupts butterflies within your whole body?

“Yes. That would be everything, Ms. L/n”, She gave you only the tint of a smile as she redirected her attention to her screen once more after you took the papers, leaving you utterly dumbfounded.

“Yes Ms. Weems, goodnight”, she gave you a small goodnight as you made your way to the door. Eyebrows wrinkled and the feeling of fireworks in your veins dilapidating.

Was this it? no more?

The endless taunting, lessons, reprimandings and taut praises gone? It was as if your heart felt lighter, almost too light. As if something was fading and dissolving from it.

Your heartbeat fell into its normal, monotone rhythm. Maybe it was good. It surely was. All you had to do was leave and do your work. Simply take ahold of the door handle and…

A thud.

“Oh my, I’m quite the klutz. Would you mind helping me for a minute, my darling?”, her voice was calm, unnervingly calm as you listened to the woman behind you. It was sweet, bittersweet as she spoke the words in her thick accent. The hairs on the back of your neck had risen once more. Your heart, leaving its once peaceful rhythm.

You turned around. The principle was staring daggers at you, without having moved an inch from her spot. Eyes fixed on the price as her hand held onto the edge of the desk, head tilted slightly as she looked at you with a faux hopeful expression of your service.

The now empty teacup laid on the expensive Agra rug. A dark patch of the liquid had formed on it as a result of the small accident.

“Come here.”, she straightened her head and morphed her expression back to one of seriousness.

Click clack, click clack.

You came to stand in front of her again.

“Would you be a dear and clean the mess. I am terribly fond of this rug and I would hate to see it ruined by a simple cup of tea.”, she wetted her bottom lip, tongue sliding over the plumb flesh, leaving you with vivid imaginations and a horrible need to cover yourself in her expensive lipstick. She didn’t give you a smirk or even a hint of a smile, but the smugness, the eye contact and the feigning helplessness was drowning your mind.

“Yes.”

“Oh aren’t you too sweet.”

You timidly smiled at her, face lighting up in rosy colors at the exaggerated praise.

She blinked a couple of times, the kind features she displayed, coming to an end.

What do you do? Wait? Leave? Speak?

“On your knees, Y/n.”, It wasn’t mean nor a request, rather a polite demand.

What? Knees? You won’t! There's no way you heard her right! Of course you heard her right, she’s insane. You’re insane. You shouldn't even be here at this hour, cleaning her mess, let alone on your knees as she feasted her eyes on you. You shouldn’t. Should you?

Your mind was blinded by fog and uncertainty. But in the end you knew that when one eyebrow lifted slightly, eyes narrowed at your soul, there was no reason to resist. Like butter on a burning pan, your destiny was to melt.

Hypnotized, you got on your knees, putting the papers beside you. Your gaze not faltering from hers, seemingly kneeling in front of the dark spot, but in reality you were kneeling before an entirely different darkness.

Larissa’s breath raked, she had waited so long. She had too. There was no springing this on anyone. It had to be developed, a process of trust leading up to this exact moment, letting her know that her patience had paid off. You truly were hers. Look at you, such despair you showed, thinking she was gonna give you no more recognition. You were absolutely perfect, especially in this exact view with your skirt bunching so far up it covered nothing of your creamy thighs, and you didn't even notice.

“What are you waiting for, hm?”, She raised an eyebrow at you.

You blinked, “I have no cloth, Ms. Weems.”

She looked at your doe eyes, her body was about to give in. About to help you find a cloth, rip it off of you, providing you with the guidance you clearly needed in your state of haze. Tell you just how to do it, how to clean, how to sit, how to breathe, eat, look, dress, please.

Her eyes moved from your face to the white button-up. She could see the top of your pleasing breasts. How long until you’d beg her to simply brush a gloved hand across them, she thought.

She looked up at you once more, slowly trailing her eyes down onto the white fabric.

You looked at her with doubt, could it really be true. You needed to be sure. But deep down, you knew what she was asking. Demanding.

I have no intentions of giving in to your puppy eyes, sweet girl.

You slowly grabbed the top button and freed it from its restraint. You looked down to see what you were doing, wanting it done properly and agile. You felt ashamed, bare, fragile, but at the same time the feeling of being free was the one dominating, making all the doubt disappear.

yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, such a good girl

“Look at me.” Her voice dropped and she had shifted on her office chair, so that she sat right in front of you. Head to chest. Her hands had folded over her soft stomach, an elbow on the edge of the desk and elegant, pale, long legs crossed.

Blue orbs observed you, as you gradually revealed yourself more and more to your employer, the headmistress.

It’s wrong. You have to stop.

When all the buttons had been freed you paused, she gave you a tiny nod of her head, the only sign you needed. You slowly took off your shirt and placed it in your lap, your eyes faltering slightly of a new found shame bubbling in the back of your mind. You must be looking incredibly silly.

Oh dear. You were doing it again.

Your lack of obedience didn’t pass the principle. What to do with you? She brought the tip of her stiletto to your face. She placed it under your chin, lifting it and making you look at her a second time.

Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

Your mind went blank with only her as your epicenter. No idea of what to do, you simply looked up, mouth agape, baffled by her impotent behavior leading to the uncivilized act.

She looked so serene from this angle. Stoic. You were looking at her smooth calves, not able to look higher, the fabric of her skirt in the way. Dainty stockings protecting her skin from the cold, you, had to endure. Her elegant ankles, framed by elegant black heels. Flawless.

She was an angel. A devil disguised was probably the right answer. You never knew hell could taste, look, feel so sweet. And how could you deny it, when it was breathing you in right above you, like an addict. An addict fighting the urge to consume their drug, the thing bringing them simple, addictive ecstasy. Her eyes almost dazed and shoulders moving with her shallow breath.

Won’t be long now, my sweet

“Go on, darling.”, the touch of her smooth plastic heels left the skin of your neck.

There was only a millisecond of halting in your movements before you started soaking up the dark spot with your blouse. The white pious color, changing to one of light brown. You have to admit it was one of your more favorable shirts, but you didn’t object to any of it. You knew it would lead to nowhere.

The chilling air of the office, had goosebumps erupt on your arms and back, yet the glow of the fireplace gave you warmth in the coolness and made it almost refreshing.

Why did she like this? Watching you clean her floor. Naked. Sacrificing your favorite shirt, just for the sake of her rug. She must be ill. Really ill. But who are you to talk? After all, you are the one feeding it to her, giving in. moremoremoremore

You tried not to think about it, but a heat within your lower stomach was no longer a single burning match, it felt like flames were burning you up on the inside as you felt her gaze on you and nothing and no one could help, except the woman in front of you.

I know.

Larissa looked over your body. She had of course never seen this much of you, yet it wasn’t a lot she had seen of you before. How come you don’t show more of that beautifully freckled skin, maybe a bit more cleavage and collarbone. The only thing she really was able to vividly imagine at night, was your neck and how it bobbed with nervousness everytime you were in her presence.

She didn’t worry too much about it at the moment. There would be time for changes later, but right now all that mattered was you.

youyouyou

Her fingers itched and tapped over each other in excitement. She couldn’t wait any longer. Maybe she could indulge, just this once. She was so desperate to caress and claim your skin. Oh how she desired you from the very first times she had spent with you. So full of life and curiosity that could surely kill the cat, which it did. Your passion for what you did, your hobbies, your future, others. Her. It sent her into a place of admiration no one ever had before, and now here you were. Right beneath her, half naked and the best part of it all, was that you loved it, just as much as she.

A firm hand reached for your chin. Disturbed from your ministries your head was turned. You were enraptured by her touch and your eyes closed with a whine from your throat. Her fingers pressed onto your cheeks, squeezing. You let go of the wet fabric and opened your eyes - crystallized lilly’s of the nile -

though it didn't seem to help much, as your vision was showing a thick fog, while everything seemed to move at lightspeed.

Click clack, click clack. Breathe, just breathe.

"Crawl."

________________________________

Can't find the taglist, my bad

#larissa weems #larissa x reader #principal weems #lesibian #fanfiction #wlw #gwendolineuniverse #gwendoline christie #wlw fanfic #wednesday netflix #smut #writers on tumblr #wlw smut #the-yellow-birdy

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crackspinewornpages · 3 months ago

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The Bridge of San Luis Rey 5/5 -Thornton Wilder

PART FOUR

UNCLE PIO

In one of her letters the Marquesa tries to describe the impression Uncle Pio left on her, the most delightful man in the world, second to her son in law. If he weren't disreputable she’d make him her secretary, but he is such bad company she has to leave him to the underworld. “Alas, what is the matter with this world, my soul, that it should treat such a being so ill! His eyes are as sad as those of a cow that has been separated from its tenth calf.”p.91

Uncle Pio was Camila’s maid, singing master, coiffeur, masseur and everything, even her father. He taught her parts so well people thought she could read and write and gave her flowery small parts so memorization wouldn't be a trouble during the height of the season. Camila made her reputation at the theatre and appeared in a hundred plays of Lope de Vega. No better actress at the time, really, the best in the Spanish world, only Uncle Pio saw it.

Uncle Pio came illegitimately from a Castilian house and at ten ran away to Madrid, living by his wits and attributes of an adventurer. (he’s a jack of all trades book and street smart and has a freedom from conscience) For five years he distributed handbills, held horses and ran errands, for the next five he trained animals for circuses, cooked and whispered information to travelers and spread slander. The next ten years his services were recognized in high circles, and he was sent out to inspire rebellions in the mountains in time for the government to arrive and crush it.

Despite promise of gains he never did anything for more than two weeks, “But there seemed to have been written into his personality, through some accident or early admiration of his childhood, a reluctance to own anything, to be tied down, to be held to a long engagement.”p.94 The lack of gains is what stopped him from being a thief, the dread of being locked up, he could escape but not his enemies. (this book has such long paragraphs) Similarly, why he stopped working for the Inquisition, watching his victims be led off that institution wasn't predictable. (well you know what they say no one expects the Spanish Inquisition)

At twenty his life had three aims, independence, renounce the dignities of public life, always be near beautiful women, it was with them he got the name Uncle Pio. (he was actually decent and kind to them) He wanted to live near those that loved Spanish literature, especially the theatre and he studied it in secret. It was when his life got too complicated to continue in Spain he moved to Peru and proved to be as versatile to Uncle Pio as he was to Europe, within four months he knew practically everyone in Lima. The Viceroy employed him several times but for all his activity he never became rich, he did own a house he filled with dogs and birds. “But even in this kingdom he was lonely, and proud in his loneliness, as though there resided a certain superiority in such a solitude.”p.98 Finally he stumbled upon a treasure, Camila Perichole (her real name is Micaela Villegas) at twelve, singing at a cafe, so he bought her. (I guess you could just do that back then)

She had a bed in his house, and he wrote songs for her and taught her how to listen to her tone. “At first all she noticed was that it was wonderful not to be whipped, to be offered hot soups, and to be taught something.”p.99 (oh Camila) But really Uncle Pio was dazzled by his experiment, the girl devoured the work as she grew into grace, becoming beautiful and she was loyal to him. “They loved one another deeply but without passion. He respected the slight nervous shadow that crossed her face when he came too near her. But there arose out of this denial itself the performance of a tenderness, that ghost of passion which, in the most unexpected relationship, can make even a whole lifetime devoted to irksome duty pass like a gracious dream.”p.99

They traveled to America, encountering hardship, finding jobs then a harder course of training, complicated as she rose to favor quickly. To not make the applause go to her head (you failed) Uncle Pio resorted to criticism. (ah the J Jonah Jameson method) After each performance she would gauge his mood and try to force him to admit what he found at fault. The mere suggestion she was insufficient would send her into tears until he commented on what she did wrong and she’d cry more about the performance, applause and ask Pio if being so bad is why he left the theatre. He’d give her a bit of compliments but still criticize, “Only perfection would do, only perfection. And that had never come.”p.102 Then for an hour he’d analyze the play, who were they trying to please, they tormented themselves on the standards of Heaven. With time Camila lost some absorption and a certain contempt for acting made her negligent due to the lack of interests in women's roles in Spanish classical drama, for years Uncle Pio tried to make her interested in the roles. On one occasion he told her the granddaughter of Vico de Barrera arrived in Peru, he had veneration for great poets between kings and saints, so they chose one of the masters plays to perform for her. After the performance Uncle Pio brought the granddaughter to Camila’s dressing room and Camila threw herself at her feet. Uncle Pio loved it when a new girl joined the company and the new talent bestir Perichole who set herself to efface the newcomer. Her acting was electric but became less frequent even when she was absentminded the audience didn't notice but Uncle Pio grieved.

Despite her discontent with her parts Perichole still warmed herself with the flame of joy in acting. “But that of love attracted her more often, through with no greater assurance of happiness, until Jupiter himself sent her some pearls.”p.106 Don Andre de Ribera, the Viceroy of Peru, a delightful man ten years in exile, he was bored. Camila was passing the years with the routine of the theatre when this Olympian suddenly transported her to the palace. “Contrary to all the traditions of the stage and the state she adored her elderly admirer; she thought she was going to be happy forever.”p.107 (how old is the Viceroy cause Camila is like in her early twenties maybe and an uneducated peasant with no family this won’t end well) He taught her the opposite of Uncle Pio who was anxious of Camila’s invitations to the palace preferring he had her love affairs in the theatre warehouse but when he saw her improve he was content.

After some time the Viceroy asked Camila if she’d like to invite some people to their dinners and if she’d like to meet the Archbishop. The Archbishop loved his duties and was devout to punishing himself for his gluttony, (describes him as fat imprisoned in lard his own jailor) he led an exemplary life in all other aspects. He would learn but then forget all but the impressions and knew most of the priests in Peru were scoundrels and required all his education to prevent himself from doing something about it. “that the injustice and unhappiness in the world is a constant; that the theory of progress is a delusion; that the poor, never having known happiness, one insensible misfortune. Like all the rich he could not bring himself to believe that the poor (look at their houses, look at their clothes) could really suffer.”p.109 (oh he’s that type of religious) Once he almost did something about it, a new rule in Peru for priests to exact two to five meals for good absolution, in indignation he was going to write a letter to his shepherds but could not find ink and was so upset he fell ill.

His inclusion on the dinners was stressful and Don Andres grew increasingly dependent on Uncle Pio but waited until Camila proposed he join and he invited Alvarado. When Camila arrived at the dinners she’d carry the conversation for hours gradually allowing the men to talk. All night they spoke of longing for Spain, the supernatural, earth before man ecetera. “Each one poured into the conversation his store of wise anecdotes and his dry regret about the race of man.”p.111 In the morning each waited for the other to go first and glance at the sleeping Perichole but Uncle Pio’s were on her all night. “full of tenderness and anxiety, resting on the great secret and reason of his life.”p.112

Uncle Pio divided the world into two groups, those that did and did not love, those that had no capacity for it were not alive and could not live until after death. His own definition was gathered from his bitterness and pride from his life, a cruel malady youth pass through and emerged wrung but ready for living and never again saw a human being as a mechanical object and it seemed Camila never went through it. For years he waited, even after she bore the Viceroy three children she was the same, her passages of plays were the secret joy now were more cursory as she tired of Don Andres and found new lovers. Now she wanted to be a lady and referred to acting as a pastime, going to church and learning to read a little, becoming virtuous. She made up family and obtained legitimization for her children and carried a candle in penitential parades. “Her sin had been acting and everyone knows that there were even saints who had been actors-”p.114

Camila’s son Don Jaime was seen and inherited his father's convulsions (epilepsy) and he frequently took walks with his mother. Camila left the stage at thirty and took five years to have a place in society and it was that progress up that told Uncle Pio he’s not to be seen with her in public and even grew impatient with his discreet visits. (so she had a taste of the high life and wants to leave behind her everything that made her who she is while also thinking she’s too good for them including the man who took her in) Finding reasons to quarrel, they were down to once a month and when impossible he’d visit the children. He met her in the French Gardens south of town waiting for Camila, (he was excited to see her be called Uncle Pio reliving their vagabond life) she says it’s Dona Micaela now. He asks that she listen, she refuses to return to the theatre daily insults of that filthy place, he’s wasting his time. She doesn't want his criticisms or advice just give up and put her out of his mind.

He pleads with her, they notice she’s not there and the audiences are leaving, no one can speak Spanish or walk correctly anymore. Camila apologizes for her behavior, Jaime was ill but it’ll be no good for her to go back, they were foolish to try to keep alive that Old Comedy. “Let people read old plays in books if they choose to. It is not worth fighting with the crowd.”p.119 (and so the art dies and is forgotten to time) Uncle Pio asks for forgiveness, as for his pride he never gave her the praise she deserved, she might have a chance in Madrid to be famous, she can be Dona Micaela later, they will be old and dead soon. She won’t go to Spain, he’s fifty and still dreaming, of course he loves her more than he can say. “You are a great lady now. And you are rich. There is no longer any way that I can help you. But I am always ready.”p.120 Camila says there’s no such thing as that kind of love in real life, (a girl beaten her whole life then trained to perform for no praise and that her looks were the only thing she had is it any wonder she has this way of thinking) he wasn't convinced and she told him not to try to understand, don’t think about her. “Just forgive, that’s all. Just try to forgive.”p.121 She went away but he sat for a long time trying to understand the meaning of those things.

Suddenly the news Dona Micaela was Camila Perichole and had smallpox was all over Lima and a hope her beauty that caused her to despise her class would be impaired. As soon as Camila was able she sold her little place, returned her jewels and sold her clothes, but her admirers still sent her gifts. Like all beautiful women she believed it was the basis of attraction and now any attraction was from pity, she had never realized any love but passion. (I say there’s Uncle Pio but he’s more of a hardass that’s bad at expressing himself) The sharpest expression of self-interest, not until it passed through great doubts and self-hatred can it take place among loyalties. As her friends tried to draw her back out she grew angrier, convinced her life was over and her children’s. She gave back more than she owed and now approached poverty to her lonely future.

Uncle Pio wasn't discouraged, making himself useful lending money but even still Camila was convinced he pitied her and lashed out. “He loved her the more, understanding better than she did herself all the stages in the convalescence of her humiliated spirit.”p.123 But one accident lost him his share in her progress, he opened a door as she tried to conceal her pockmarks, and she yelled at him to leave her house forever. She hurled things at him as she chased him down the hall and gave orders to forbid him from the grounds but he still tried for a week. He eventually returned to Lima and thought of a strategy, he returned to her house and imitated a young girl weeping under her window. (how can a man in his fifties make his voice sound like a little girl) When Camila asked who was there Uncle Pio said he’s Estrella and needs her help when she came out he revealed himself.

She’s angry he won't leave her alone, she doesn’t want to speak to anyone, her life is over now. He only asks one more thing then he won't bother her again, let him take Don Jaime with him to live a year in Lima as his teacher in the Castilian. No, he’s sick, only the country is healthy for him, Uncle Pio begs he’ll make arrangements, a mother can't be separated from her child like that (if only it was that) now give up thinking about her, she and her children will get by. Uncle Pio used the hard measure and wanted the money she owes him, she’ll pay what she can, he didn’t mean it, he just asks for Jaime, was he such a bad teacher to her. She says it’s cruel to urge gratitude, she was but now there's nothing to be grateful for, if Jaime wishes to go he’ll be at the inn at noon. The next day Jaime was at the inn with little clothes but soon after they left Uncle Pio knew it wouldn't be good for him. As they got to the bridge, “Jaime tried to conceal his shame for he knew that one of those moments was coming that separated him from other people.”p.128 (listen to your gut feelings) Uncle Pio said they’d rest after they crossed but that wouldn't be necessary.

PART FIVE

PERHAPS AN INTENTION

“A new bridge of stone has been built in the place of the old, but the event has not been forgotten.”p.133 (never forget) The tragedy passed into expressions, some poems, anthologies but the real monument is Brother Juniper’s book. (you mean the one no one reads because the only other copy is lost in a library) “There are a hundred ways of wondering at circumstance.”p.133 Brother Juniper arrived at his method from a friendship with a student at the University of San Martin. This students wife left him and two babies for a soldier now he was locked in bitterness and derived joy from all that was wrong in the world. In moments of almost defeat and he would explain why stories like this weren't difficult to believe with so many sneers at faith, Brother Juniper saw that it was time for proof. He took notes on survivors and victims of tragedies for their value sub specie aeternitatis (thanks to analog horror every time I see Latin I instantly think of Vita Carnis) rated on a basis of ten, of goodness, piety and usefulness. (the disabled can go fuck themselves I guess) It was more difficult than first thought, “Almost every soul in a difficult frontier community turned out to be indispensable economically, and the third column was all but useless.”p.135 Brother Juniper added up the index for each peasant and compared it to the survivors and discovered the bad were five times more worth saving, so Brother Juniper tore up his findings and threw them in the ocean. (your scientific results don’t prove your theory so you just destroy all your work) “The discrepancy between faith and the facts is greater than is generally assumed.”p.136 Another story from the university student gave Brother Juniper a hint for how to proceed after the fall of the bridge. He was in the Cathedral of Lima and read the epitaph of a well-loved lady and got angry that people perpetuate the legend of selflessness and disinterestedness, so he sought out everyone who knew her and thinks she's just an exception. “And everywhere he went, like a perfume, her dear traits had survived her and whenever she was mentioned there arose a suffering smile and the protest that words could not describe the gracious ways of her.”p.137

In compiling his book Brother Juniper feared admitting the little details will lose a guiding hint but still couldn't find their setting so he re-read to find hidden facts. People gave conflicting perspectives, and he found there was the least to be learned from those closest to the subjects. “He thought he saw in the same accident, the wicked visited by the destruction and the good called early to Heaven. He thought he saw pride and wealth confounded as an object lesson to the world, and he thought he saw humility crowned and rewarded for the edification of the city. But Brother Juniper was not satisfied with his reasons.”p.138

After the book was done it was judged to be heretical and ordered to be burned with the author and Brother Juniper submitted the devil made use of him. He spent his last night in his cell seeking his own life pattern that escaped him in the five others and longed for a voice to testify for his intentions were for faith. “But the next morning in all that crowd and sunlight there were many who believed, for he was much loved.”p.139 There was little delegation from the village many stood puzzled as he was given to the flames. “Even then, even then, there remained in his heart an obstinate nerve insisting that at least St Francis would not utterly have condemned him, and (not daring to call upon a greater name, since he seemed so open to error in these matters) he called twice upon St Francis and leaning upon the flame he smiled and died.”p.139

The day was clear and nice for the service, the Archbisop sweated on his throne, Don Andres knew the crowd expected him to play a grieving father and wondered if Perichole was there, Alvarado stepped in for a moment to call it all false. The Abbess sat with her girls, the experience left her pale and firm. “She had accepted the fact that it was of no importance whether her work went on or not; it was enough work.”p.141 Pepita wouldn't continue it and it would relapse to the indifference of her colleagues, sufficient for Heaven, the disinterested love in Peru flowed and faded and she quietly told Pepita her affection should have had more of that color and her life that quality but she was too busy. Camila attended, her heart filled with consternation and amazement. All the tragedies in her life and now the Viceroy was sending her daughters to a convent school in Spain, she was alone, (see be careful what you wish for) but she couldn't feel anything thinking she had no heart. (no you’re just numb) Then she felt great pain, “I fail everybody,’ she cried. ‘They love me and I fail them.”p.142 She despaired for another year then heard the Abbess lost two she cared for in the accident, she would know how to explain.

She went to the Abbess and introduced herself, the Abbess knows her, having wanted to see her but was told she didn't want to see anybody and at the mention of her losses from the bridge Camila felt pain again. She asks the Abbess what to do she is alone, she takes her to the garden and tells her she wanted to know her even before the accident. She had lost two a year ago in the accident, but Camila lost her real child and has Camila tell her about it.

“But where are the sufficient books to contain the events that would not have been the same without the fall of the bridge? From such a number I choose one more.”p.144 The Condesa d’Abuirre came from Spain to call on the Abbess, Dona Clara came in prepared to defend her mother to the Abbess to allow her to speak. (now you give a shit about your mother) At last the Abbess told her of Pepita, Esteban and Camila. “All, all of us have failed. One wishes to be punished. One is willing to assume all kinds of penance, but do you know, my daughter, that in love-I scarcely dare say it-but in love our very mistakes don't seem to be able to last long?”p.145 The Condesa showed her mother's last letter and she was astonished Dona Maria could have such words and was very happy the trait she lived for had proof and the world was ready and asks Clara if she’d like to see her work. She showed Clara everything she worked for and spoke of there possibly being a language for the deaf (recorded history of sign language starts in the 17th century but reference to hand signs go back to 5th century BC Greece) and dumb (dumb as in not being able to speak) there’s hundreds in Peru, is there a way found in Spain, maybe someday there will be. She thinks something can also be done for the insane, but she can't go where those things are talked about, are they gentle with them in Spain. “It seems to me that there is a great secret about it, just hidden from us, just around the corner.”p.146 (the Abbess was truly ahead of her time) If there's something in Spain write it to her if she’s not too busy. (good luck she was too busy for her own mother)

The Abbess leaves for a moment to talk to the very sick and returns with Camila and leaves again to talk to the flour broker. But Dona Clara watched the Abbess talk to them, to all those in the dark, Esteban and Pepita, alone, no one to turn to and those in beds within, a wall the Abbess built for them, light and warmth. “and without was the darkness they would not exchange even for a relief from pain and from dying.”p.148 Almost no one remembers Esteban and Pepita, Camila will die and so will the memory of her son and Uncle Pio.

“But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love returns the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.”p.149

FIRST

#the bridge of san luis rey #thornton wilder #books #book summaries #historical fiction

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batarella · 4 years ago

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3 birds 1 stone - chapter 13

‘Dick, Jason, and Tim. Supposed brothers 'till the end, until all three fall in love with you. Who wins your heart?

The man who earned it, the man who stole it, or the man who always had it?’

A/N: Last chapter until the pre-finale!! I can’t believe we made it this far. This might be the series I’m most proud of! I love you guys so much. HAPPY NEW YEAR

WORDS: 10,448 WARNINGS: mentions of trauma

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

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Tim:

Perhaps it wasn’t best that he asked her to come over, instead of it being the other way around. But what good were customs when it meant seeing that very smile he’d grown to work for tirelessly, the same when she’d be stricken with the best, most pleasant surprises? She did love surprises, as he’d learned to know. Whatever it was he’d give her, whatever the gift, her eyes shone just a bit brighter when she hadn’t expected what he brought her, whether it be just a cup of her favorite drink he’d stopped to get along the way or a client that wanted to pay her five times her usual price.

But maybe he should have at least sent for a car to pick her up, with his many drivers and a limo that would have made the trip more convenient, instead of having to hail for some stinky cab and go through the horrors of Gotham traffic, but he wanted nothing more than for this to catch her when she least expected it, never mind how it was on that very day itself, and how calling her this day asking to spend it together would have been a dead giveaway, but he’d prepared for that. He’d asked her to come over to the office more times over the past month for the most stupid reasons not even he would have come up with, but she never grew irritated. She just went with it, without much question, as if she truly did enjoy his company. Every day for the past week. Hopefully, today, she’d think nothing of it and that it was, in actuality, just like any other day.

He looked like a creep as well, looking over the large, glass window behind his desk. He fixed his suit, tightened the tie around his neck, and made sure his hair was combed over the back of his head. His hands turned for each other for some comfort, something to hold onto, when he watched every taxi that drove by hoping it was hers, hoping that it’d stop in front of the building and put an end to this torturous waiting. When was the last time they spent Valentine’s day together? Years, at least. Of course, this made him more nervous than when he had to face a whole conference room full of people, if they even were to be called that, from the likes of Lex Luthor and Maxwell Lord and even Roman Sionis. That didn’t even do so much as raise a hair at the back of his neck.

This, on the other hand, made his hands shake so much, his palms sweaty and uneasy.

Tim looked out the window and he didn’t even give his work a glance of attention until he saw that cab, which he knew just had to be hers, that stopped right in front of the building’s entrance.

Y/N walked out of the car, and the wind decided to be nice to her and her hair, her flowy blouse, her pants that flared to her feet, and her graceful demeanor.

Tim loosened his tie. It had gone too tight. And he never allowed himself a second away from watching her look around the street, at the people that were nothing more than ants to him at that point when all he could look at was her, and he didn’t even have a lot of time to enjoy that view when Y/N walked into the building and disappeared. That’s when Tim realized he had his hands pressed up against the glass window trying to look past the corners just to have her in his sight.

A few minutes after, there was a knock on the door.

“Mr. Wayne, Ms. L/N is here to see you.”

His throat had clogged up and he had to take a few seconds just to clear it. “O-of course. Bring her in.”

His secretary shut the door, and he tidied himself as if he hadn’t already done enough of that the whole morning. Did he look too groomed? Would that give it away?

Too late. She was here. Even more beautiful up close, as she often is. He quickly took his seat and pretended to be so invested in whatever tab was open on his laptop, which was nothing more than the Google homepage.

“Mornin’, Drake.”

“Morning, L/N.”

He sounded casual enough, didn’t even look up from the screen to greet her, but when she walked closer to where he was sitting, not even a Kryptonian would have the strength not to look up and get lost in this seemingly infinite depth of a gaze.

Tim almost jumped out of his seat when Y/N leaned over to kiss his cheek, then she pressed her back against his table to rest. “Happy Valentine’s day.”

“Happy Valentine’s day, Y/N,” he sighed, then he relaxed and sat back against his chair. Idiot must have been smiling his face muscles off.

“Are you really gonna spend the day strapped to your desk?”

“It’s not like it’s Christmas.”

“And are you absolutely sure everyone in this building is as bitter as you?”

“Offices don’t celebrate Valentine’s.”

“You could have at least pasted cut-out hearts over at the hallway.”

He snorted. “Cut-out hearts?”

“Doesn’t match the boring gray?”

Tim playfully rocked her leg over to her side. “No. It doesn’t.”

She stood up from his desk, went over to the window to watch the streets, and Tim could look at her from the reflection of his laptop screen.

“So this is all you got planned for yourself today?”

“Pretty much,” he lied.

“You’re lucky you have me then,” she said. “Sorry I was late. I sent three commissions over to my clients so I won't have to work all day.”

“What were they?”

“Gifts. As usual. For their spouses.”

“Good for you.”

11:30 AM. Should be the right time now. Fuck, what did he just spend the whole morning rehearsing over and over again?

“Fine. Y/N. You got me.”

“I got you?”

Shit. Reverse. Reverse.

“I, uh, meant maybe I should take a breather. Just for today. Wanna go up to the balcony? I have one of your sketchbooks you left. We can spend a few minutes up there.”

She shrugged. Yes. “Sure.”

He pretended to spend just a few more minutes on his laptop, then he stood from his desk. She smiled at him and right then he knew she wasn’t expecting anything at all.

Oh, man. Oh, man. The veins in his neck should have popped out bleeding by now. Even the ride up the elevator felt too tight, tight, whatever the hell that meant. He just knew it was true, like some unknowable force had their hands all over his throat and there was no easing it until this whole thing blows over, which he definitely didn’t want to happen so soon. Even when he knew the longer this lasted, the more chance of him screwing up, even when this shook every core and nerve in him so much he had to be so cautious of everything he said and did, he wanted to drag this on so it lasted for so long as he was awake.

When the elevator doors parted, he couldn’t bring himself not to hold her hand, as he often couldn’t, and she welcomed it so naturally, too naturally, the kind of comfort that was none he could find in another. They walked down the halls, and when they reached the end of it, he held his breath.

He let her open the door, still holding her one hand, and when she did, he couldn’t miss a detail on her face even if he tried. The soft smile that immediately dropped, her mouth parting without her knowing, her eyes so wide they were wonderous and unreal, and the light that touched her face, the light he’d strategically placed just for that consequence, it made all else stop the way he knew it would.

He prepared for it all night, told her it was all for work when really, he wouldn’t trust any of his employees to do it the way he specifically wanted it to be. And it had to be perfect.

It would have been a lot better at dusk when the sun would have set so perfectly on the horizon before them, but that noontime light didn’t exactly do much to diminish its beauty. It was simple, really, with it just being one small table set at the center, two chairs laced with white and red cloth, flower petals on its surface, trays of food waiting for them on opposite ends. And outside of it, four poles on four different corners, with a vine of roses suspended from each end, forming a square that housed their space much like a little escape from all else around them, even the winds and the rushing sounds were to no effect. It was peace, beauty, and it was all so simple but it was that simplicity that made it so breathtaking.

At least, from what he could see out of her, it did take her breath away.

She let go of his hand and stepped under that archway, head up so one of the petals would fall onto her nose. He wanted to remember this picture of her until the end of time.

She whispered. “You did this?”

Tim’s head was bashfully held down, he couldn’t bring himself to be so smug when he should be proud of all this, but he kept his hands deep into his suit pockets, and still that itch in his throat no amount of tie loosening would fix wasn’t much he could ignore, but none of that mattered. All he could stare at was her, and that smile, that same when he catches her off guard of the many surprises he’s given her, it will forever make his day for every day he was awake. Because one day, the start of many days, this one might be all he’ll have.

Every day might be the day she makes her choice, and when she does, he’ll never have this again. He’ll never have her again, and be able to just call her into his office or visit her at home without it bearing so much more meaning than it should. And as much as it broke his heart, he distracted himself with his own efforts. He had to make this count. And perhaps, it already did.

He wanted to kiss her, right then, in the middle of her marveling over the tables and the flowers and everything. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

But he could hold her hand. He went up to her and took both of them, and the way she welcomed them was incomparable.

And the way she looked at him, even more so.

“Is this alright with you?”

She smiled so brightly. Nothing has ever felt warmer. “Alright?”

“It’s not weird?” He held her hands tighter. “Or uncomfortable?”

“Tim, this is…”

She looked at the flowers, the table, the view that was just made for them, just for that moment. “This is everything…”

“Good. I was nervous.”

“You’re nervous?”

“Yeah. Believe it or not. I am.”

The way she swayed their arms together like nothing could ever pull them apart, not the sun’s hot rays nor the winds that wanted them to part, she was right. He couldn’t remember what he was so nervous about.

“You know you never have to be afraid of anything with me.”

“I know.”

Y/N had on the kind of smile that would have cured the Black Plague, as it cured every bit of doubt and darkness that had been left over in him that he didn’t even think to fix himself. Tim couldn’t fight it, even when he probably should, but he brought her hands up to his lips, and that smile grew even brighter. He wanted to whine when she let go of his fingers only to lean in even more when she had them holding the sides of his face. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He wanted to kiss her, again, but it wasn’t as if the warmth of her embrace was any worse. In fact, it grounded him.

Nothing he could ever think to accomplish could haul him up to the top of the world, no well-doings well enough that would make him soar to such great heights, as much as having her so close to him that he could feel her hair within his fingers, face to his shoulder. And he’d give up everything, the whole company even, if it meant having this kind of contentment for every day he was alive.

He didn’t let his mind trail off to even more buts and what-ifs. He just took this moment for the whole of what it was. And it was perfect. He didn’t even have to try. She was there. He was there. Tim could have this day and make it last for as long as he wanted it to, even when it wasn’t possible.

“So,” she loosened her hold around him and went over to the table, arm around his waist. “What do you have for me?”

“Pasta. Roast beef. And whatever side dish you want.”

He took the two lids off their plates and her face lit up even more as if it were possible.

“You’re a saint.”

“Thank you.”

He pulled her seat for her to take, and he sat down across from her. Even if she weren’t prepared, still she looked so radiant and perfect, and not even the flowers could grow into such bloom, going against the lights like she were a reflection from every bit of serenity there was to be seen, a mirror to the world.

He had to stop staring. He was starving.

Tim poured her a glass, then they clinked their glasses together at the brim.

“You know,” she took a sip. “I don’t remember you doing anything like this when we were together.”

He started slicing his beef, but he knew he was in for a whole day barely getting a bite out of their plate. “Come on. I wasn’t that bad.”

“I didn’t say you were. Just that it wasn’t anything like this at all.” She held her hands holding her knife and fork up to point at the flowers. “And it’s highly unlike you.”

He shrugged. “You welcome to change?”

“Oh, I do.”

He wanted so badly to reach for her hand over the table. “So what did I do for you all those years ago?”

“Mmm,” she chewed on her pasta and swallowed. “Let’s see. We were together for two years, but we made it through three Valentine’s days.”

“The first one?”

“The first one you took me to the zoo.”

“Ah.”

“We spent the whole day there. And in the petting area, you almost got mauled by a kangaroo.”

“Kangaroos are assholes.”

She laughed and took a bite out from her fork. Her hair fell to the side of her cheek. He resisted pulling it behind her ear.

“I loved that day,” she sighed, eyes on her plate. “It was my first Valentine’s day with someone else.”

“Mine, too.”

She twirled her fork around her pasta. “I remember it started to rain, and you gave me your jacket even when I told you it wasn’t cold. It was our first month together.”

“I was nervous.”

Her smile grew wider.

“Then we spent almost an hour under that shed. It rained pretty hard, but we didn’t even care. We just sat there and waited until it stopped, and after that, we kept walking around even with our shoes wet.”

He could think about that day until it grows dark. They were still so young, yet he never could say he was any less in love with her now, maybe even more.

Tim swallowed.

“The second year was that time we went to New York.”

She sighed as if looking back to a time so light and free, which it certainly was. The amount of begging he had to go through with Bruce. It was immaculate. Just to have a day in New York, to an art gallery that went on that didn’t often happen in Gotham, and so many other places after that.

“Not gonna lie, you surprised me with that.”

He shrugged like it was nothing. And compared to the results it yielded, it really was. “New York always has been so romantic.”

“I loved it. So much.”

He drank half his glass just to ease that pain that eventually faded away, and it was easier when he had her to look at.

It was nothing more than a few seconds, maybe even less than that, but when Y/N pulled a strand of her hair behind her back, pulled it up so no longer would it frame her face and instead, expose her skin and the radiance of her cheeks, her eyes now shown under so much light, the amount it truly deserves so not a speck of it wouldn’t be shown, Tim almost dropped his knife on the ceramic plate, and that would have stopped her tracks. But, thankfully, he didn’t, and he got to watch her fix her hair, eyes down on her food, and when she looked up, her smile completely destroyed him.

Fuck everything. He can't hold back from this.

“You look beautiful.”

So many times, he’s said that, but never enough. Never as often as it was true. Because if he were to say it as often as he’d like to, he’d say it every hour of every day. He’d say it when she was fresh out of bed, a bed they’ve slept in together and her skin would be dry and itchy, hair messed up in all places. He’d say it in the middle of a conversation and it would be so out of nothing that it would surprise even her, perhaps make it weird even when it never was when it came to her. He’d say it to her in a million circumstances a million times, and not one of them would be from a lie.

She reacted the same way she always does, with a bashful grin, soft, proud, but not smug about it, and with her head down as she’d instinctively look at her feet. Y/N coughed. “Thank you.”

Maybe it had been too much.

But what was so wrong about telling someone so beautiful that they were just that, other than to make the world an even more wonderful place with the smile it would cause?

“Uh,” she gulped. “The third year.”

“Right.” He forced his attention back on his plate. “The helicopter ride.”

“Yeah…”

That Valentine’s day was just three weeks before he’d break it off, which was why it wasn’t often what they talk about, even when it was all the more something to remember.

“That day was…” she smiled looking down at the table like it was anything to smile about. “That day was something else.”

“It was…”

He wasn’t in the best place that day.

He didn’t know how many calls of hers he hadn’t returned because of work, because of Bruce and his place in the company they had to cover up and explain after his disappearance. There was so much to do, and every day the work just never seemed to end, and there won't be an end for a long time.

But that day, he remembered, he told himself he would have that day just for her, even when it hurt the company and possibly lose them a few thousand just for leaving the building. But he forced himself not to care, told himself she deserved this so much more than he had.

A few hours with their helicopter going a few rounds around Gotham, with her in his hands strapped to their seats, looking out their windows much like they used to, at the top of the world. Just how they’re meant to be.

The last day, in fact, that was the happiest in their relationship that still could have been salvaged if he was strong enough.

Like a shard lodged up his throat, he didn’t know if it was something he should be asking. Yet, he did.

“We could do that again sometime. Whenever you're free. If you want.”

Whenever she’s free. When he still could. When she still hadn’t chosen someone else and forever change what they have, which he’ll ultimately accept for so long as it’s what she truly wants.

“I would love that.”

“Great,” he smiled. “It’s a lot easier now. Since I have, you know, my own helicopter.”

She snorted.

The smile she had on, the longing in her eyes, the sheer appreciation she showed just to have him for herself that one day out of many when she didn’t, it haunted him for years. It haunts him until now.

When he looked up from his plate, he thought he’d catch her wiping a tear, or frowning at him for bringing up such a memory.

Still, with the softness that glowed, she smiled, because as Tim should as well, she appreciated every bit of time she had with him no matter what surrounded them, no matter the history of hurt and whatever happened next. She didn’t see it as a day to dread or a day to despise. She saw it as a day to look back to when she wanted to remember what it was like to be content.

So suddenly, it was what he felt, too.

Y/N looked up at him, caught his eyes, but she didn’t say anything. He didn’t have anything to say either. But they locked eyes longer than any two normal friends should, with that subtle burning in his chest that wasn’t something to physically feel, yet still know that the flames went on, scorching his flesh. Her eyes were longing, knowing, and he looked back at her wanting so badly to take her hand.

Who were they kidding, calling themselves best friends for so many years, when in fact they were two people who used to be so in love and definitely still are? Two exes who couldn’t move on, two halves of a relationship that had the strength to last forever but didn’t.

And it still possibly could, if it’s what makes her happy. It might.

All those years, they weren’t best friends. They were two people holding onto what they used to have in a form of another, masking it over with another type of bond when they just wanted each other’s presence the way it used to be, even when it couldn’t.

Tim didn’t take her hand, and it added one to the many regrets that’ll continue to despise himself for.

They spent the whole of the afternoon that day up on that balcony, and he didn’t even care if there were mounds of work to be done just waiting for him at his table. And when the sun started to set, when he realized that time was tapping onto his shoulder telling him that there was, in fact, an end to this day, he never thought he’d accepted it the way he did.

Outside the elevator doors on the floor of his office, it took a while for them to wait.

But that while was all he had.

He had to make it count.

Once again, possibly for the last time, Tim took both her hands and looked into her eyes like he was purposefully trying to get lost.

“Y/N…”

It was in his bag. He held off too long. He should have given it at the balcony while he still could, while he still had even more time to watch how she’d react instead of going out the coward’s way and hide behind what he thought to have been safe, even when it clearly wouldn’t be worth missing out. The elevator was coming up to their floor.

“I have something for you…”

She didn’t look surprised, but was skeptical, though that wasn’t what he was trying to do anymore.

He took a mustard-colored sketchbook from the sling bag over his shoulder. She looked confused when he handed it to her.

“What’s this?”

He just shrugged. Her eyes were so soft and yet so enticing it burned him in the chest.

Y/N opened the first page of the sketchbook and he saw her visibly catch her breath. For the second time that day, she couldn’t speak.

“I know I’m not usually there with you when you paint and draw…” He gulped. “But I thought, if I learned how to draw myself, even when I’m not so good at it, I’ll be a lot closer to you. We’d have one more thing in common.”

His drawings.

Most of them were of her, her face, her lying on the couch, painting on an easel, smiling at the flowers, or of them both with their arms around each other. Some of her favorite flowers, her favorite spots at the manor, scenes from her favorite movies, her favorite skyscrapers around the city.

Everything was about her, everything he could ever draw was about her, because, as he’d realized, he never could draw anything if it wasn’t.

She was his muse, just as he had been hers for a time.

He had his time with her, and even with the chance that that’s all that it will eventually be, his time with her, he’d grown to appreciate it more than if there wasn’t a time at all, just to ease the pain.

“Tim…” she choked.

Her embrace was that peace he will forever miss, and without wasting so much time he pushed his face into her shoulder so he could take in every bit of her depth, every bit of her scent, her form. She was here. She was here.

“Thank you so much…”

“You don’t have to thank me…”

“I do...” she breathed. He couldn’t even look at her face. “I do…”

This wasn’t nearly enough time for him to be with her. Nothing could be enough time when it comes to her. How could this day, as something he didn’t always come to appreciate, pass by so quickly, quicker than a rabbit’s thump of its foot, and without anything he could do about it?

Nothing, nothing else in his whole life, will be a bigger mistake than when he left. Now, he pays the price. This might be the last day he gets to hold her like this.

“Y/N…”

He loosened his embrace just to hold her cheeks, and she returned that hold by grabbing onto his wrists.

“Whatever you choose to do, promise me I’ll still be your best friend…”

She laughed through the tears, which he wiped off with his thumb. “That’s the most stupid thing you’ve ever said. Of course, I will.”

He laughed as well. Or pretended to. He wanted so much to cry.

‘No. You don’t understand. You won't want me this way any longer. Everything is going to change.’

‘But I’ll accept it. For you. It will all be worth it.’

‘Choose me, so you won't have to promise me this.’

But he didn’t say any of that. He didn’t have to.

He just held her tight, foreheads touching like a lifeline’s hold.

It was a lie telling themselves they were best friends all those years.

But it won't be from now on. They’ll be best friends, whether she chooses him or not, and he’ll hold onto that if it meant everything to her.

“I promise you. I’ll still be here, even if you don’t need me.”

“And I’ll be here for you.”

To just lean in and kiss her. It would have all been too easy.

But the elevator doors parted open, and with it, the end of his time.

He’ll accept this.

He accepted this.

He has to.

And frankly, with the smile she had on the whole day, he’d wish for nothing more than for it to last, even when it meant it wasn’t with him.

He kissed the tip of her forehead, just as she loosened her hold, and with their fingers lingering as they held onto each other’s warmth, he stepped into the elevator and their hands let go of the other.

She waved him goodbye, and just as the doors closed, he waved back.

-----

Dick:

It wasn’t the best idea he’s had.

But he wasn’t at his prime either, and neither should he even be in his prime. He shouldn’t, for all good cause, do anything that could possibly take this out of hand, far beyond what should be thought of as normal. Because as he��s sought out to remember, and remind himself for so many days and weeks and months, their friendship was what he should put before anything else.

And thus, he cannot possibly screw this up. It might be a tad more romantic than it should, but it was Valentine’s day. Of course, he was expected to be romantic at the very least, as everyone else should.

He just didn’t expect his hand to be shaking so much when he raised it against the door of her apartment to knock. He held his wrist, forced the tremors to stop before it’d possibly show. Would it even show? Would the knocking be any different if his knuckles weren’t stable?

It wouldn’t, actually, but it wouldn’t hurt to be careful either.

He forced his spine straight, head held up as he shut his eyes closed hopefully to ease what was dreadfully whirring about in just about every nerve cell in his body, then he breathed.

Just before his fist hit the door, he heard her voice.

“Thanks!” Y/N called out to the cab driver, then she stepped out of the car door and immediately caught her smile. It was nighttime, the sun had just set, still, she looked as bright as day. And perfect. And beautiful.

Dick stopped shaking. He stopped moving altogether.

“Dick?” She stepped over the puddle and he immediately regretted not rushing to help her. But she didn’t seem to mind. “What are you doing here?”

He took the steps down until his feet reached the sidewalk, then she was in front of him. Oblivious. Unknowing. Happy. She was grinning so much it took every bit of breath leftover in his lungs until eventually, he’d die from suffocation without there being a physical stimulant.

Dick swallowed.

“I thought I’d… visit you. On Valentine’s day. I didn’t want you to be lonely.”

Bold of him to assume she would be, of course. Judging from how she looked, where that cab came from, she was with Tim.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have. You just got home. I should be on my way-“

“No! Not at all!” She grabbed him by the jacket and he prayed to the angels above she didn’t catch how he almost choked on his own tongue. “I could use the company. Wanna stay over?”

Okay. Okay. That would be okay.

But it wasn’t what he had planned for them. At least, he could try to ask. If it was okay with her.

“I,” he started. “Actually, I had something planned for us. Tonight. If it’s alright with you, we can head out now.”

She stood there with her mouth open.

“Or not. I should have called.” Rubbing the back of his neck wouldn’t do much to ease that strain. “I’m sorry. We can-“

“No! Dick, please.” She grabbed onto his arm and led him to his car, which he’d parked over at another block. “I’d love to go with you. Take me anywhere. I promise, I’ll love it.”

He wasn’t even sure if he’d already messed up at that point and that was just her trying to salvage his own dignity or if he hadn’t done anything at all. But her smile seemed genuine. He’d know if it wasn’t.

It warmed every bit of him when they continued to walk, and he was just letting her lead the way, take him like he was made of sand stuffed into a bag or a sack. He was limp, weak. And he couldn’t have had it in another way.

Dick laughed. “Alright then.”

So lightly did it start to drizzle, and the droplets visible on their light sweaters and clothes that tickled their skin like a feather’s cold touch. He didn’t know where to start, even though, in fact, he knew exactly where to start. Is this all going to backfire?

No. It won't. Not this time. He knew what to expect, and nothing will be out of hand and nothing will have to set him back two spaces backward.

Through the sidewalks full and the lively streets, with others hand in hand with their partners and gifts being given, surprises being held and smiles and cheers for all around, it was difficult not to feel bitter being the only one who wasn’t holding a spouse or a partner.

But even if she weren’t his, she was still the woman he loved. And the fact that she was here at all, holding his arm as they turned over to the corner of the street for his car, he was the luckiest out of everyone in the block, in the whole mile’s radius. Hell, the whole city.

They got to his car and already he missed her when she let go of his arm and he stepped into the driver’s seat.

Traffic was bad, but it didn’t even matter. She was looking so brightly out the windshield, at the edge of her seat and wonderfully appreciating all else around her. It was hard not to feel the same, to be so excited for life, and even when the world had tried to pull all of her spirits down, she didn’t let it.

And he could admire all else there was if he had more time than he already had, and he had lots of time. He won't let a minute go to waste. He already had the food, the mat, the movie, everything was at the back of his car.

Thankfully, that dark, secluded spot that wasn’t exactly a hotspot for muggers in the corners of Gotham Central Plaza was still free. He had to hold back a yelp as they parked. It was perfect. Too perfect. Any sane man would suspect there possibly was something more in store than he would have hoped. But that didn’t even cross his mind.

“Alright,” he turned his car key to turn off the engine. “Close your eyes and promise me you won't open them until I say so.”

“Dick.” She looked around. “Where are we?”

“Come on. Close your eyes. Please.”

Rolling her eyes over to the other side of the window, he wanted to playfully pinch her chin. But she did as told, closed her eyes, and laid her head to the back of the car seat. He had to move fast.

He went over to the back, took everything out of the trunk, and never has he worked so fast yet so cautiously, even compared to his stealth work in the middle of a raid.

He laid out the mat and dusted the ground off of any critters that might have been littered about. He took too much time at that. A few minutes at least. He looked back at the side mirror on the passenger seat.

“I said don’t look!”

He heard her laugh so hard she had to snort, then she covered her eyes with her palms.

Okay. This should be okay. She’ll love this. He hoped. He laid out the finishing touches and turned on the projector.

He knocked on her window, then she stepped out. He put his hands on top of her eyes, as cheesy as it was, then led her over to the back. “Where are you taking me, Grayson?”

“Just trust me.”

“I don’t think I should.”

“Yeah, you shouldn’t. But you don’t exactly have a choice.”

She snorted again, then when he stopped her in place, he walked over in front of her. “Okay. Now.”

Y/N opened her eyes.

Dick wished he had a camera to remember her face by.

Always the one to appreciate the little things, the details, every bit of effort. That night, it was no different.

The first thing she turned to was the quaint little picnic he’d set up, with a red and white plaid at laid out on the grassy floor, two cushions for them to sit on, and a basket full of their food, some of which he’d already placed in plates around the mat.

In front of that mat was the trunk of the car, on top of which he’d placed a white sheet over to cover the back, making it a flat surface where the projector, that he’d placed over behind the mat, would shine on. It played the first scene of the movie 10 Things I Hate About You.

And the final piece he hadn’t thought about until the last minute, were fairy lights in two separate strings, running from the back of the car over to the tree that stood right by the picnic mat, where it would shine for all of that night.

Dick wished it were daylight, just so he could see her a bit clearer, but he was thankful for the string lights he placed, or he wouldn’t see just how much her face lit up and her eyes widen beyond what he’d often remember.

“Dick-“

“Not like what I usually give you on Valentine’s?”

Y/N’s smile softened, and she just looked at him disbelievingly.

“I’m kidding. Come on. Food’s getting cold.”

His hands were shaking but thankfully they didn’t show. And he held it out for her to take one of the cushions. She sat down, but her neck was going to hurt soon at the way she was craning it up, mesmerized over everythin he’d set up.

“This is amazing.”

“Wait ‘till you see the movie. Again, that is. For the fifth time.”

“You know exactly how to please me.”

He does.

In every way, if only he could, he would. He’d give her everything she wants, even if it were a flower on top of a cliff.

And if only there weren’t anyone else out there who loved her just as much as he did, then the only thing that would stop him was if he’d die trying to bend the world over for her. Because then he wouldn’t be there to make sure she doesn’t prick her finger on a needle when she’ll be too old to clearly see, or that she doesn’t slip on the floor when her bones grow too weak, or when she needed someone to pick out the grey in her hair when she no longer could with her shaking hands. When they grow old, and he won't be there to make sure she’ll be okay, it’ll be the only thing that stops him.

But that wasn’t the case. There was someone out there who loved her just as much as he did. Two, in fact.

Which meant that nothing, not even his death, is going to stop him from doing whatever it took to give her what she wanted and needed. Because, even then, he was sure she’ll be okay if he was gone.

He wished he didn’t trust those two enough for it to be true, but he did.

The movie went on. Heath Ledger. Julia Stiles. The dialogue over the two’s arguments that he’s learned to memorize over the many times he’s watched it with her. He didn’t even pay much attention, not when the light from the projected screen lit up her curving lips. She didn’t even look tired.

They bit into their sandwiches and he inched himself closer to her.

“What do you like most about this movie?”

Slowly, she turned her head over to him, still with her eyes on the screen like she didn’t even want to miss a minute of it.

“I like how you’d first think it’d be centered on Bianca and the two guys, but then you’d realize the story is really about Patrick and Kat. And the fact that it’s accidental, which ends up being the better romance out of everyone else.”

He finished his sandwich, and he didn’t even pick out another. He listened as if she spoke music. Nothing felt better than that moment right then.

Except, maybe, when she leaned on his shoulder, and he realized he'd never actually felt like he’s sunken so deep into a place he could never think about escaping from, a place he dreaded himself for even thinking about escaping at all, never mind how much more pain it yields and the risks to be taken.

She shifted and he could feel her hair rub itself into a tangled mess onto his shirt. And his selfishness overtook him when he leaned his head on top of hers as well and closed his eyes.

It was a shame, truly, that movies had to end at all. If he’d known, he would have played The Ten Commandments or Cleopatra or any other movie there was that lasted five hours. He would if he had to if it meant she’d stay longer that way.

It was so magical that when he’d tidied up the place and they both got back into the car, he almost forgot his actual gift for the night.

Something he wasn’t so sure about at first. Though, if it worked, it would undoubtedly mean everything.

He shut the car door, and Y/N didn’t know that when Dick looked up the windshield, up at the cloudless sky, that he was actually checking for any signs of heavy rain. Which there was, but thankfully won't be for a few hours.

“So,” she cheerfully exclaimed. It was almost midnight, and still, she didn’t seem the least bit tired. “Are you taking me home?”

“Not yet…”

It will be worth it if it works.

Just do it.

“Y/N…” he said. “Remember that time you told me you wanted to fly again?”

Y/N, as she’d expectedly reacted, looked out her window. “Yeah?”

“I have… something planned for you. But if it makes you uncomfortable, I completely understand-“

When she turned to catch his eyes reassuring him that everything he was mumbling about could only make her smile, immediately he calmed. “What are you saying?”

“It’s in the back. Hold on-“

He moved in less than five seconds, heading over to the back seat, fumbling through his bags, then he sat back down on the driver’s.

“Here.”

He handed a bag to her, and she looked at it confused. She won't be for long.

And that theory was proven true when she unzipped the bag and saw, what was most probably facing up inside the bag, her Falcon domino mask.

Two years ago, she lost her left leg.

And with that, her wings.

She couldn’t fly for a lot of reasons. One, with her being the Falcon, nightly crime-fighting wouldn’t do her any good. The nerve endings on the one leg she had left had been burnt off, and the bionic one couldn’t even move much without it straining and pulling just about every muscle she had. It broke her heart, as if it hadn’t already broken so much of her, that she couldn’t even walk the same way as before.

The other reasons were a lot more complicated, but all the more understandable. The nightmares, traumas, everything else, it would have driven her mad if she hadn’t stopped.

She couldn’t fly anymore. At least, not by herself.

He could help her fly again.

Y/N pulled out her suit, turned, and saw Dick putting on his Nightwing gear.

“We have the whole night,” he said. “If you let me.”’

It was a risk. A dangerous one.

Which made it even more rewarding when he earned a smile from her so wide that it brought tears down her outstretched cheeks.

Yeah.

This was the right choice.

A bag of art supplies would have been plan B. Thank god, he didn’t go through with that again.

Her real Falcon suit was put on display back over at her apartment, behind a hidden door in her closet she hadn’t touched for years. This one was just a black slip-on that covered most of her skin, a hood over her head, and her domino mask. Dick took her up Queen Industries, a tower that soared up the skies rivaled only by the likes of Wayne Enterprises. She picked that tower as if none of this scared her at the very least. Even when it should. Hell, it even scared him.

This won't nearly be as freeing as her wings when she’d soar through the skies and clouds without the confines of a grappling rope tying her down to the realities of human capacity, when she truly could feel like a falcon, the one thing she loved so much about her days as a vigilante.

She was nervous, he could tell. She hadn’t jumped off a building in so long, even when she loved risking her life just about every night just for the feel of it.

But this was a scene he’d longed to see, to have her in his arms on the rooftops of skyscrapers and have her to hold on to, to hear her screams of joyous bliss not just from a safe distance away, and to only have her to himself. No one else.

This was what Tim had back then that he never did, and never will have. Perhaps, except now. It wasn’t the same. But it was all the more beautiful.

She was beautiful, up the starless sky so near to the clouds where the air was thin, the bustling noise nothing more than a distant blur, and her face lit up by the many specks of light littered about this wondrous city.

He saw her clench her fists the way she did when she was excited. Dick took it as a chance to hold it. And she welcomed him like it wasn’t at all out of the ordinary.

“Ready?”

From thin air, he could make out the smoke she blew out of her chapped lips, which curved up a smile as she glanced up to his eyes, then back down on the streets that awaited them below.

“Yes…”

He didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he held it tighter.

“Jump…”

Like she didn’t even wait for his mark.

Dick has soared off buildings more times than any bird has leaped off their nests, more times than a cat has jumped off a rooftop’s ledge. Every night since he was given his first grappling gun, the rushing wind that pushes onto his face would be the most addicting experience not everyone would know about. He knew what it was like, how close it was to flying.

But he never could call it flying, never truly felt like he had wings on his own. More like barring what the winds allowed him and glide like some limp piece of paper floating about to the wind’s direction. He always thought flying was defying those rules, defying how the earth pulls them down to where humans truly belonged. On the ground.

But flying was so much more than that. And he only realized that now, now that he was with her.

He might as well be in a bubble floating across space because never has he once experienced this kind of high in his life. and it wasn’t the wind or the heights or the risks it bore. It was her.

She made him fly.

The Falcon was never known to be a great fighter. At least, within the family, everyone knew combat wasn’t her forte.

But she did love to save people.

That was what made their dynamic with Tim so perfect. Tim handled the bad guys, roughed them up, used his brute strength to take them down, all the while distracting them from Y/N saving the hostages, from a small child kidnapped to the commissioner himself.

She was an alright gymnast, and most of the time she used it to her advantage. But she wasn’t the best.

She was never the best gymnast, never the best fighter. Everyone knew that before, and only fully realized that when it was too late.

But she was, as everyone in Gotham could plead, the best savior.

She’d save everyone in the scene and wouldn’t miss so much as a cat from a burning building, make sure everyone makes it out alive from a hostage situation, and every kidnapping in Gotham could be tracked from her computer network at home. The people were her priority. And with the loss of the Falcon, the loss of her wings, with it came the loss of a savior.

At least, it should have meant the loss of a savior.

But who was to say she hadn’t stopped saving lives? Doing what she did best? Making sure every life was accounted for and saved, even for just a little girl in a burn unit?

This was flying, and it could only be with her. She saved him. And she’ll continue to save him no matter what she chooses to do, or who she chooses to have.

He heard her delightful cries, and he could thank himself later for having it in him to take a glance, take in how she looked right then, and remember it for every time he needs more saving. Her arms were up, flailing about with the air’s upward push. She could only look everywhere else but at the ground. And with the kind of beam she had on, it was apparent she hadn’t smiled like that in so long.

Yards above the floor, he took her by the waist.

Then he shot his grapple up to the building across, and she held on with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Don’t let go. Don’t ever let go. Forever.

She didn’t.

They shot up to the next building but he didn’t allow them to land on the roof just yet.

With an arm around her waist, the other holding both their weights as if it were nothing at all, it wasn’t him who was carrying her, holding her up to fly. It was none but the other way around.

Dick shot his grappling hook even more times, each time just before they were about to reach up a ledge. Y/N didn’t have her eyes closed for a second. He could feel her. He could feel her take in the air and the rush and everything she’s longed to miss. Everything there ever could be that used to mean so much.

It was the same music that played at the back of his ears from when they kissed up on that hill. This soft, serene piano playing without a tune he could point out but couldn’t get out of his head, that same melody so beautiful that as soft as it was, blocked out everything else within a mile’s reach.

He allowed them to reach a dome-shaped roof, and he reached down to carry her legs as well so she wouldn’t have to run or suffer the impact. Like she was made of glass, he carried her, ran across the rooftop.

She pressed her forehead tight against his cheek, and on his jaw, Dick could feel her smile. It urged him on. He leaped off that rooftop and shot up his grapple again.

Her laughter could have been heard from everyone below, and her eyes couldn’t leave the wonders that surrounded them, at the concrete jungles, the choppers in place of the birds, the beautiful noises it made from people and everything else.

Close to where they started, Dick carried her like he would if she were his bride, cradled her in his arms as he landed on a rooftop, and finally stopped. Her nerves were buzzing. It was all he could feel. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were so wide. Her hands were in tremors uncontrollable.

But she laughed so hard and never has he heard that kind of laughter out of her from anyone else. The kind of laughter he’d grown so addicted to, that he couldn’t stop but draw it out of her every chance he got.

Then she hugged him so tight, so quickly did his own nerves calm. She was so warm, he couldn’t help but feel grounded.

This.

This was what it was like to see her up close.

Years of watching, to see her soar and not be there to hold her hand as he flies with her, to see her kiss another’s lips while they stood at the literal top of the world, at a skyscraper so tall with the world under their feet, on the most gorgeous city there was, with the bustling streets and the nosy citizens and the lights that continued endlessly.

To see her this close, to be with her, and actually be with her. To have their two souls put together and have that kind of high that couldn’t possibly be gotten from another.

If Y/N chooses him, he’ll make her fly every day. He’ll never let her forget being the flying guardian angel of Gotham. He’ll never let that image of the city taken from up above the cloudy mists be rid from her mind.

And if she doesn’t choose him, he’ll make sure that whoever it was that was going to be her eternal happiness, knows all those things and more, knows how much flying meant to her. He’ll make sure they’ll take his word to heart, so he never has to doubt her contentment again.

Y/N held him in an embrace so close, the smell of her lemony scalp and her arms so perfectly warm, he held her back immediately and shut his eyes so he’d only know the feeling.

“Thank you for giving me my wings back.”

It wasn’t even about her choosing him anymore. It wouldn’t change a thing.

Whatever happens, he’ll be there making sure she’ll go on to fly, that she never forgets the rush of the wind or the mist of the clouds.

Already, he was used to that feeling, of watching her from such distance, that it won’t be such a change if it happens again. She’ll find her happiness. She’ll choose her happiness. And all the while, he’ll be there to make sure she’ll have that and more.

No longer does he hope that she chooses him, as he selfishly longed for after so many years.

He was happy. He was content. Whatever comes out of this, it’ll be for her happiness.

And that’s all there is to it.

-----

Jason:

God Almighty, this was stupid.

And he should have known that hours ago. Three hours up on that fire exit, not once did he think this through enough to escape, as he hadn’t thought since the start of the day and he just happened to pass by the many flower shops suddenly rising out of nowhere down the street where he lived.

It was three am and still, she hadn’t come home. And all those hours, instead of finally knowing the risks of all this and back up before it was too late, he impatiently waited for her, booted soles tapping onto the ground, thinking ‘where the hell is she?’ as if he had no idea at all. He did have an idea. He just didn’t think to dwell on it.

Seeing Dick’s car pull up in front of her door, he only had such a window. Everything in him shattered. His head so light. Everything so hopelessly weak. To just flee and never come back, it would all have been so easy.

But as he selfishly allowed himself that kind of hope, as no one in their right mind should if they were anywhere near his place, he stayed. Because even in the middle of such darkness from whence he’d come from, from whence he was born into this disaster of a life, he let himself, albeit unconsciously, hold onto the fact that she still hadn’t chosen either of his brothers and with that, she might choose him, like he had such a speck of a chance, one too much than what he should have.

And it was because of that selfishness, that grandeur delusion of hope proven to be such a luxury for someone from the likes of him, that brought him to this exact place on this exact night.

And seeing that she’d just spent this hell of a day with his brothers, each one with a present for her grander than the last, what he’d done was some sorry excuse of a joke even he wanted to laugh at. This was ridiculous. And humiliating.

But it was far too late, with him standing so frozen with his hood up and the rainfall stronger, he let his clothes be drenched, didn’t care for the cold, not when all he could see was her stepping into her studio and taking off her coat. She had on a smile like no other.

A year ago, he was in that very room, and did the most selfish thing he ever could do to his brothers that he yearned to be forgiven for but still did not fully regret, not when it sparked a love for what was the brightest little star in this hellish earth, not when it was a time so wonderful that none of it left his head even after such a year.

He had that time. He had his time. Which was why he shouldn’t have this kind of hope for himself, not when it was the only time he ever had, which makes all this all the more impossible to go his way. Or at least, the way he dreamed for it to be.

All that thought changed, however, when she came into her room, stopped over her desk, and saw what he’d left for her.

It was a dangerous game, breaking into her house. And if it had gone on just a bit longer, he’d have thought all this was a messy screw up no U-turn was going to fix. Maybe he’d finally did it this time, destroyed everything with these overwhelming feelings he had no idea how to control. He didn’t know how to play this game if it was even a game at all. He’s never loved before. He doesn’t know how to love. He doesn’t know what to do after he falls in love.

She was confused. Jason could tell with the way her eyebrows bunched up at the center. Then she looked out the windows. Thankfully, he was hidden too far into the dark for her to see.

But she held that rose as if it were so much more than that, and when she let her fingers draw on the edges of the petals once so fresh, everything in him ceased. He couldn’t stop watching.

It was all there is really. A white rose.

The first Valentine’s day gift he’s ever given.

He knew his brothers would go all out, give her the world, give her the whole of Gotham, show her the heights of their immense love so undeniable. It was what she deserved.

But he couldn’t let this day pass without at least giving her something.

He still loved her, after all. Even if it wouldn’t lead to anything.

Y/N’s smile made him feel like the dorky kid at school in love with a girl he’s never talked to, leaving a flower in her locker without letting her know who it was from. And he was just that, in fact. There are no inaccuracies.

And he knew, without a doubt, that she’d get his message.

As she always does, with them having this bond, this connection like no other. Jason was, after all, the one who understood her best.

He understood how the most horrific thing that could happen to someone could end up being the one thing that takes over the rest of their identity. He died, and that’s what people ended up knowing him for. The Robin who died. And Y/N, no matter how much she works or achieves, will be the girl who lost her leg. But she was so much more than that. In every way.

A white rose was what she was. This beautiful, untainted slate, fresh without a single flaw no matter how much those flaws seem to be so obvious, and she does what she makes of her identity no one will be able to dictate. She wasn’t her trauma. She wasn’t her past. She was her.

Maybe he did look into it too deep, but he couldn’t help with seeing the way she smiled and took the rose to bed, laying it beside her as she changed and got under the sheets.

Maybe he should have done more.

But not even he could help grinning his cheeks off when he finally left that place, so swiftly no one would have seen even if they tried.

It was enough. At least, for him.

More so when he felt his phone in his pocket.

Y/N: ‘Thank you for the rose. Happy Valentine’s day, Jason.’

He snorted and audibly laughed, staring at his phone reading the message five times in a few seconds. He didn’t even leave so much as a note. How was she so sure it was from him?

Because she understood him, too. More than anyone. It went both ways.

It will hurt like a bitch when she ultimately chooses another. Because as much as he hates to admit it, not to others and especially not to himself, he needed her a lot more than she needed him. Even when they only had so much time, it was that time he realized he wanted that for the rest of his life.

But he’ll get through it. Somehow. Like he always does.

-----

For so much of this love that came from the purest hearts, it never calls for what was easy.

And it wasn’t at the least.

But with difficulties and trials, the triumph will be the reward that brings all else to its place. A place of peace. Contentment.

Seven days after, the story comes to an end.

An end too long-awaited but has taken the time for it to be right.

Seven days after,

She makes her choice.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST

-----

A/N: WHO’S READY FOR THE PRE-FINALE AND THE FINALE!!! I’M SO EXCITED AHHHHHHH

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spuffybot · 4 years ago

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Walk Me to the Graveyard

Summary: Buffy walks through the graveyard alone at night, contemplating the past few months following the fall of Sunnydale. She reflects on her relationship with Spike, her friendships, and her future before receiving a shocking phone call.

Characters: Buffy, Willow, Dawn, Spike (mentions of Giles, Xander, Andrew, Kennedy, Faith, Wood, Angel, and Fred)

Warnings: Some adult language

Word Count: 4515

Author’s notes: If you read this, thank you. I’ve been chipping away at it for the past few weeks and I’m just glad I was able to finish something I started. “Ghostface” is a reference to the Scream movies, which Sarah Michelle Gellar had a cameo in. The high tea spot with the egg shaped bathrooms is Sketch, a place I didn’t get to visit this year due to the pandemic. I hope you all have a safe holiday season and new year. Hopefully I’ll finish the second part of this story in 2021.

Walk Me to the Graveyard (part 1)

Buffy’s joints creaked as she stood up from her crouched position. She’d been staking out this grave (no pun intended) for hours and dawn was slowly approaching. In the last few minutes the air had started to change, and she could hear the telltale rustling of birds in the trees. If this vampire was going to rise, it wouldn’t be tonight.

Stretching her arms up over her head, she rolled out her stiff shoulders, feeling strangely relieved by the lack of action.

Buffy had been coming to this cemetery every couple of nights for weeks, sniffing out even the barest hint of vampire activity. Technically she could have assigned graveyard duty to any of the Potentials, but she craved the silence and the normalcy of the activity.

She chuckled to herself. How far she’d come that she could relish a few hours of graveyard haunting and call it normal. If only her sixteen-year-old self could see her now.

The truth was she was tired. After the fall of Sunnydale, she’d been fueled by an insatiable need to just keep moving. Giles had suggested they hole up in LA and take refuge with Angel Investigations, but Buffy refused. She wanted to get started on rebuilding as soon as possible. They couldn’t afford to waste time in LA, on Angel’s turf, killing time as his sidekicks while thousands of girls woke up with powers they couldn’t explain. So instead the Scoobies had moved to London, taking on the role of de-facto Watchers Council. They’d rounded up the few surviving members of the former Council and had started reaching out to as many activated Potentials as possible.

They recruited the ones they could and provided support (emotional and financial) to the ones they couldn’t. It was rewarding and it kept her mind off things.

Things like telling a man she loved him only to have him choose death over a future with her.

Buffy kicked a crumbling headstone, cursing when she stubbed her toe.

She knew that wasn’t fair. Spike died saving the world. It was a sacrifice she’d made more than once, and she knew how much she resented the people she left behind for not understanding the weight of that choice. She didn’t want to sully the memory of his heroics with her bitterness. She just couldn’t help it. Besides, focusing on missing Spike was easier than accepting she didn’t know how to function now that she wasn’t the “one girl in all the world.” The irony of having an identity crisis over getting the one thing she’d always thought she wanted was not lost on her. She should be grateful that she wasn’t the only Slayer. Grateful that her future was finally hers to shape. Instead she just felt lost.

It didn’t help that everyone around her was adjusting to this new life and mission like they were born to it. Dawn was training to be a Watcher, and frankly, they needed as many as they could get. The Slayer to Watcher ratio had been drastically tipped and it was only a matter of time before things got out of control.

Faith and Wood had stayed behind in America, taking up shop at the Hellmouth in Cleveland. It was weird to think of Faith as the reigning defender of the Hellmouth, but it felt right. With Wood by her side she would stay grounded and on track. He understood the mission better than most.

Giles was in his glory. He’d vetted the surviving Watchers, firing some gleefully and taking others under his wing. Between them they’d established a kind of Watchers Hogwarts, training Watchers by day and guiding Potential Slayers on field missions by night. He was happy, which was something she’d never really seen him be before. Their relationship had taken a hit in the last few years and while she wasn’t ready to forgive him for everything, she didn’t begrudge him his success. Her Watcher had floundered ever since he was fired, unable to find purpose while she and her friends had grown up around him. Seeing as she suddenly found herself in a similar position it was hard not to understand how he’d gone off track. Besides, she’d lost enough people to know she wasn’t going to lose anymore. She’d fix things with Giles, eventually. For now, she’d just settle for on the same continent and on polite speaking terms.

Xander and Andrew led the Potential Identification and Retrieval Taskforce. They came up with the name. Obviously. They spent their days traveling the world, chasing down leads and giving their best “join team save the world” sales pitch to scared and angry girls.

Buffy smiled thinking about them. The last time they’d video chatted, Xander had looked better than she’d seen him in years. He’d lost the chip on his shoulder that he’d been carrying since they graduated high school. For the first time in his life he was the best person for the job, and he knew it. Trustworthiness and warmth radiated from him and his knowledge of tactics and the cost of the fight lent him an authenticity the girls were drawn to. He never bullshitted or misled them, but he did inspire them. Like he’d inspired all of the Scoobies over the years to keep on fighting.

The sun was starting to peak over the horizon, and a misty fog enveloped the graveyard. She knew she was dawdling but she couldn’t bring herself to rush home. The alarms would be ringing any second now, Potentials and Watchers scrambling to the mess hall for breakfast before a day of study and training.

Technically she didn’t have any classes to teach until the afternoon, but Giles liked the staff to be present in the morning. He said it communicated solidarity and responsibility. Personally, she thought Dawn had just made him watch the Harry Potter movies one too many times.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she let it go to voicemail. It was either Willow calling to say she had another hit on the Potential alert locator spell or Giles calling to ask where she was.

Either way it could wait.

She just wanted to be in the quiet for a little bit longer.

That’s what she missed the most about Spike. Having someone she could be in the quiet with. He had always seemed to know what she needed, anticipating her every mood and desire.

She’d never met anyone she could just be alone with before him. He never expected anything of her other than to just be. In this chaotic mess of a life she now led she craved his company and his silence. Since she couldn’t have that she came to the cemetery. The dead kept her company in a way the living never could. The occasional scuffle with a vampire didn’t hurt either. The familiar comfort of a stake in her pocket, grave dust on her shoes, her breath quickening for the thrill of the kill, reminding her that even though everything had changed, some things never would.

Her phone buzzed again.

She frowned, wondering why she couldn’t even get a few hours of peace before the sun was fully risen.

Flipping it open she saw two missed calls from a number she didn’t recognize. No voicemail.

It was probably someone trying to sell her something.

Technically her phone was spelled against telemarketers, but magic was fickle. If someone really needed to reach her, they would call the office and leave a message with her secretary.

God. How had she ended up here?

When they’d first arrived in London she’d panicked. Back in California it had seemed so clear. Get to London, find the Watchers, find the Potentials, save the world. Simple.

Except once they arrived there had been bureaucracy and red tape to get through. The surviving Watchers had needed convincing and playing nice with morons wasn’t Buffy’s strong suit. After one particularly eventful meeting that ended with some snide British dude’s head slamming into a wall Giles and Willow had pushed her to take a back seat on the negotiations. Much to everyone’s shock, she listened.

As soon as she stopped leading she felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. Without meetings and planning sessions to fill her days she’d found herself wandering the streets of London with Dawn, playing tourist.

They were having high tea at this ridiculous spot with baby pink furniture and weird egg-shaped toilets when it hit her. She could walk away. The Hellmouth was gone, and there were more than enough Slayers to pick up the slack. Her friends would be disappointed but eventually they would understand. As she sat there watching Dawn sample pastries, no fear of imminent death getting in the way of her fun, Buffy couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like. This could be their every day.

They could finish out the summer backpacking through Europe then head home to America to finish school and settle down. She was pretty sure she’d heard somewhere that there were hardly any vampires in New Jersey.

She was so wrapped up in the fantasy that she almost missed what Dawn said as they were walking home to their flat.

“Sorry, what with the what now?”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “I said, it’s crazy how there’s this whole world out here and no one was helping keep it safe before.”

“Ummm excuse me, Slayer here, has saved the world, a lot. Even got a nice shiny headstone for my troubles.”

“Obviously but...you were always in Sunnydale. And sure, most of the big bad world endy guys ended up there too but...what about all the other regular level baddies hurting everyday people? I mean, look at them all.”

Dawn stopped and looked around, forcing Buffy to take it all in. The couples strolling along, groups of friends, kids in strollers. The street was flooded with people going about their day. As soon as that sun went down, they’d be joined by all the things that went bump in the night.

“I just think it’s kind of amazing what we’re about to do. For the first time we’ll be able to protect people all over the world. These people will have a chance like they’ve never had before. Like everyone in Sunnydale got because you were around. We can give that to them. I’m just...glad.”

Buffy’s heart warmed even as dreams of running away slipped from her grasp. Dawn was right. This was her calling. She’d find a way to live with it. Normalcy would never be available to her and the sooner she embraced that, the sooner she could start working towards happiness.

At least that’s what Willow was always saying.

Willow who saw a therapist three times a week and a substance abuse counselor twice a week.

After the battle she and Kennedy had parted ways. Their relationship had run its course and Kennedy wasn’t interested in staying on Team Scooby. Instead she took her slaying act on the road, traveling town to town looking for monsters to hunt and people to save. Occasionally she’d run into a Potential and send a heads up their way. She seemed happy. Everyone seemed happy. Buffy just couldn’t seem to find her groove.

Ironically, Willow was the only one to notice how out of sorts Buffy was. Maybe it was all the therapy or maybe it was just that she was more herself than she’d been in a long time, but Willow had become Buffy’s sole confidant these past few months. If she thought about it too much she knew she’d cry. It hadn’t occurred to her how much she’d missed her best friend until she got her back.

At first when Willow tried to reach out, Buffy had been cold and distant. Willow understood, even writing Buffy a letter to explain that she respected her need for distance after the way she had torched their friendship and Buffy’s trust. The letter had melted something in Buffy’s heart. It was the first time Willow had really acknowledged the fact that their sisterhood had been a casualty of Willow’s addiction.

The first time they sat down for coffee together felt like coming home. Willow seemed lighter, more like the girl Buffy had met her sophomore year of high school than the all-powerful Wicca she had come to know lately. She seemed shy, hesitant to take too much from Buffy, a reticence that allowed her to give more than she had intended to when she agreed to meet.

By their third coffee date it was clear that they were going to push through this. When a third turned into a fourth and fifth they decided to just make it a standing girl’s night. Every Tuesday for the rest of their lives.

Last Tuesday they’d finally broached the subject of Spike. Buffy had been dreading this, afraid to pick at the scab only to be met with judgment and condemnation. She wasn’t sure their renewed friendship could handle it. As much as she loved having Will back, Spike was a sensitive spot and she was afraid of how she’d react if Willow said something she didn’t like.

“Buffy, I tried to end the world. What’s a little bumpin of the uglies between former enemies compared to that? I am judgement free Willow of the no judgies zone.”

Willows face scrunched up like it did sometimes when she was trying to find the right words, her nose crinkling and her eyes rolling skyward.

“I just want you to be ok. And if that means loads of tasty mochas and squishy details about Spike sex, I am all ears. I’ve even got marshmallows.”

Buffy saw the sincerity on her friends face and felt something crack deep inside her. She’d been prepared for judgment at worst and stoic acceptance at best. Being met with such openness and warmth took her by surprise and she found she couldn’t hold back anymore. Her eyes welled up and before she could reign it in and full body sobs shook her.

As she cried, Willow rubbed her back and let her get it all out, careful to avoid pushing her to talk. It was exactly what she’d needed to be able to open up.

And open up she did. It was like the levies broke and all the confusion and hurt came pouring out. She told Willow about what happened in the Hellmouth. About her last days with Spike, how he supported her and strengthened her when no one else could, or would. This last part she said without any venom, all her anger and resentment at Willow long gone.

She even spoke about their last night together. How they’d made love in the basement, on that shitty cot. The first and only time they’d ever been truly intimate, Buffy’s walls fully down, her heart totally exposed.

“I know having sex with someone isn’t like, a big deal or anything. Especially when you’ve had sex as many times as we did.”

Buffy cringed as the words left her mouth. The familiar guilt over her physical affair with Spike flaring up.

“No!” Willow exclaimed.

“Buffy no. It is a big deal. It’s like, the biggest of deals. You and sex haven’t exactly had the most copacetic relationship, no offense.”

She smiled apologetically, eliciting a soft laugh from Buffy despite the anxiety that was clenching her gut.

“If you let yourself feel something good with Spike, even just that one time, it’s important. Special. You shouldn’t downplay that. He loved you and you let him show it to you. It’s romantic.”

At that Buffy really laughed.

“God Will. Spike. Romantic.”

Willow laughed too.

“You know...it’s not that weird. Remember when he kidnapped me and Xander? He wanted me to do a love spell for Drusilla. I think he’s always had a romantic streak. In a weird, murdery, vampire kinda way”

Buffy shook her head in amusement.

“Did I ever tell you Spike was a poet when he was human?”

Willows eye widened, and her hands flew to cover her cackling laugh.

“A poet? Oh my gosh. That’s...that’s too good.”

Buffy took a sip of her mocha, relishing the warm caffeinated goodness before adding, “he would kill me for telling you this but, the best part is the whole “William the Bloody” thing? That’s because he had a reputation for being such a terrible poet.”

At that Willow dissolved into full on giggles, hands clutching her stomach

“Ugggggh ok ok, I’m done laughing. Promise. Also why is that so cute? That’s so cute. Little Spike the poet.”

Buffy sighed. “The thing is Spike has this immense capacity for love. Even as a violent serial killer he was still driven by love. It scared me. That he was so willing to throw himself headfirst into love without a shadow of doubt. I’ve never...I’ve never been like that.”

She looked up at Willow, trying to read her reaction. The witch just nodded encouragingly for her to go on.

“I just...I told Giles once that I didn’t know if I could love. I was worried I was broken, like all the slaying made me cold and loveless or something.”

“Buffy, no,” Willow cut in, but Buffy held up a hand to stop her.

“I know it’s not true. I died to save Dawn, to save all of you, weeks after I said that.” Buffy’s eyes filled up again but this time she swallowed it down and wiped them clean.

“He really loved me Will. And I don’t know that I was in love with him but that last night we spent together...I kind of thought that I could be, someday. You know? I wanted him to know that. To know that there was a chance for us. I figured we’d have all the time in the world after...”

Buffy trailed off, suddenly tired. She didn’t need to explain the rest. How Spike had died, believing she’d never love him. How all the time she thought she’d have to figure out if she could evaporated in a burst of fire and ash.

—————————

She’d reached the cemetery gates just as the sun broke through the horizon. Her car was covered in dew, glistening in the hazy morning light.

She still couldn’t believe she had learned how to drive. And on the wrong side of the road! Her mom would die of shock if she were still around.

The thought of Joyce made her wistful. If only her mom could see her now. In her heart Buffy new her mom would be proud of the choices she’d made. She’d encourage her to let go of the past and focus on the future. She’d be overjoyed to know that Buffy had a future now. Sure, it still involved a massive amount of slayage but for the first time in a long time, the fate of the world didn’t rest solely on her shoulders. Her mom would tell her to embrace that and to live this new life to the fullest.

I’m trying mom.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time Buffy yanked it out in annoyance and flipped it open.

“What do you want?”

The silence on the other end only ticked her off more. If it was so important for someone to call her three times before she’d even had a cup of tea they could freaking respond when she finally picked up.

“Hello? I’m hanging up in three seconds if you don’t get all un-ghostface on me and just tell me what you want.”

She heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. Her annoyance bled to curiosity and she willed herself to be patient.

Infusing her voice with a level of calm she didn’t feel, she asked “Do you need help or something? I don’t know how you got this line if you’re not part of Scooby Central but…you got me.”

The silence eked on for seconds that felt like minutes before the caller sighed. Buffy’s pulse shot up, anticipation making her antsy. She shuffled from foot to foot, fighting her instinct to hang up. If this was a Potential calling for help she needed to wait it out.

Finally, a voice broke through the silence.

“Slayer?”

Buffy dropped the phone on the ground, her fingers losing the ability to function along with her brain, which had gone fuzzy and staticky at the sound of the all too familiar voice on the other end of the line.

She stared down at her phone, the call still connected, wondering if she had fallen asleep somehow.

A muffled “bloody hell” came out of the fallen phone, causing Buffy to gasp and jump back. She crouched down low, getting as close to the phone as she could without actually picking it back up.

“Shit. SHIT. Spike?”

The muttering and cursing stopped.

“Slayer…yea. It’s a long story. But yea.”

Buffy felt her limbs turn to jelly and she sat down on the cold gravel, her head falling into her hands. A sob bubbled up from her chest, turning into a laugh that she couldn’t control. She giggled for a solid minute before gingerly picking her phone up and pressing it to her ear.

“How? You better explain yourself right now.” Her voice was edged with steel, anxiety and adrenaline giving way to nervous anger. If this was someone’s idea of a sick joke she was going to get murdery.

She could almost hear Spike roll his eyes.

“Good god woman, can’t I come back to life without brassing you off?”

She bit her lip to stop a smile, not willing to let hope overrule a protective layer of skepticism.

Rocking back on her heels Buffy gulped down the crisp morning air, willing her body to calm down so she could take stock of the situation. Her dead ex sort of boyfriend was calling her…she looked at the phone number quickly…from LA. Ok. She could handle this. She was the Slayer, queen of things that go bump in the night and let’s face it, this wasn’t her first ex to come back from the great beyond. If Angel could do it…Angel.

“Spike, why are you calling me from LA?”

He sighed again and she could picture him rubbing the back of his neck, a grimace on his face as he debated the best way to tell her what was going on.

Despite the rush of anger, her heart warmed at the thought.

“Eh look, I said it was complicated. I just thought it was right. Telling you I was alive. Thought you should know is all.”

Whatever ice had melted in her heart immediately froze back up. No way was Spike going to call her from beyond the grave and then immediately get shady and secretive.

“So, is that your weird dodgy British way of saying you’re not going to tell me why you’re calling me from LA? Where Angel lives? Are you with Angel?”

She heard Spike mutter something to himself that sounded an awful lot like “bloody bint”. She rolled her eyes and stood up, pacing the lot in an attempt to keep her temper in check.

“Yea. Alright yea.”

His voice had changed, his accent becoming sharper, and she knew he was starting to get worked up.

“I’m in LA and I’m with Angel. If you want to talk to him you can damn well call him yourself. I don’t know what I was thinking. Bloke comes back as a sodding ghost, gets himself corporealized by a nice scientist bird and calls his girl up and she wants to know about Angel. Figures.”

Buffy rolled her eyes, not even bothering to interrupt his tirade. She knew he’d run out of steam eventually.

“Are you finished?”

Spike sighed again and Buffy felt the fight go out of her. She sat down on the hood of her car, overwhelmed by the emotions swirling within.

“Yea Slayer. I’m finished.”

Buffy’s shoulders slumped and she laid back, gazing up at the sky. It was going to be a cloudy day.

“How?”

“That’s the million-dollar question love. Seems no one can answer it.”

“Wait.” Buffy sat up; brow furrowed in concentration as she started to put together the various odd things Spike had said so far.

“You were a ghost?”

She tried to picture that. Spike all floaty and haunty. The image made her chuckle, which she quickly tried to suppress.

“Yea, yea, yea, laugh it up. I don’t know if I was a ghost. I was a something. Couldn’t touch, couldn’t feel. Just trapped at bloody Wolfram & Hart with your beloved Prince of Brooding.”

“Wolf ram and what now?”

“It doesn’t matter. Done what I set to do. You know. Guess I’ll let you get back to it then.”

Buffy felt white hot anger burning in her chest. Did he really think he was going to call her up, say hey, and then leave? Maybe forever? Who did he think he was?

“Fine,” she spat out.

“Fine,” came Spike’s huffy reply.

They’d reached a stalemate and Buffy did the only thing she could think of doing.

She hung up.

She stuffed the phone in her pocket, unlocking the car door and sliding into the front seat. She stared out the frosted windshield for a moment before screaming at the top of her lungs. When that didn’t calm the storm she felt brewing inside she slammed her hands repeatedly into the steering wheel. The metal and leather began to crunch and warp under the weight of her blows but she didn’t care. She felt like someone had set her insides on fire. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry, couldn’t do anything but scream and rage into the void.

Eventually she ran out of steam. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed but her throat was raw. Rubbing her face she switched into Slayer mode. Something was up and she was going to get to the bottom of it. Cagey Spike and his caginess be damned.

She forwarded the number he’d called her from to Willow and Andrew. Between the two of them they’d be able to trace it and dig up some dirt on where Spike was. As for how he got there, she was going to need boots on the ground. Luckily Kennedy had last checked in from Arizona a couple of days ago. She couldn’t be far from there and she owed Buffy more than one favor. She might not be Spike’s biggest fan, but she would do some recon and get Buffy the answers she needed. Once she knew what was going on, she could show up in LA and punch Spike and Angel in the face herself.

Buffy felt calmer. She had a plan. It wasn’t perfect but it was a start.

She’d let Spike get away once before. This time would be different. She didn’t know why or how but it seemed the Powers That Be had given her a second chance.

She wouldn’t waste it.

—end—

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cowperviolet · 4 years ago

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A Guide to Medieval Childhood

Our popular imaginings and depictions of medieval childhood tend to be somehow both scarce and bleak. It’s often supposed that childhood as a category didn’t really exist until the twentieth century, and that even the highborn children before that blessed time were regarded as basically inconvenient mini-adults until they were old enough to fight or marry, respectively.

The sources we have tend to favour the royal families and the high aristocracy with some wealthy merchants thrown in the mix, so, unfortunately, the information below would mostly be concerned with these groups - although I’m going to do my best to include some facts about the lives of children from lower social strata, too.

Infantia, or infancy

As Maria von Trapp used to sing in technicolor meadows, let’s start at the very beginning - it is, after all, a very good place to start.

A mother rarely gave birth unattended - and I’m not talking about medical professionals; more often than not, these would be represented by a sole midwife. However, having a close friend or a relative with you as you are waiting for the baby to arrive was a practice well-established by the early fourteenth century even among royal women, whose births, marriages and deaths alike were always ruled by strict ceremony.

In their case, as in the case of all great families of the land, the practice also had a purely pragmatic side - additional companions mean additional witnesses who would be able to swear, should a scandal arise, that the little heir really arrived in the lawful way and had not been, say, smuggled into the bedroom in a pan. (In the case of the British royal family this precaution eventually led to the Home Secretary being obliged to attend all royal births, and was only done away with in 1930, when the late Princess Margaret was born).

Of course, for all the companionable support, the birth was not without its risks - for the child even more so than for the mother. It was for that reason that, uniquely, the Church allowed the midwives to baptize newborn - or unborn - babies in case they don’t survive by the time the sacrament in question could be performed properly by a priest.

If everything went well, it was the time to prepare the child for an ‘official’ baptism in the local church, which was going to not only save his soul for the world to come, but to help his standing in this one - after all, being baptized in a particular church meant being integrated into the larger community of the parish. The mother could rest - she was not required to attend the christening (or, rather, she couldn’t, as she would only be able to enter a place of worship again after being purified via a brief ‘churching’ ceremony on the fortieth day after giving birth). The child’s godparents would have been there to stand in her stead.

In fact, many contemporaries considered that a woman needs at least a month to properly recover after birth. Nor was it supposed to be a time of solitude - receiving female visitors was both allowed and encouraged.

Meanwhile, the child would be transferred into the care of a wet-nurse. Breastfeeding your baby yourself usually signified that you simply cannot afford wet-nurse of good character. The good character part of the job description concerned itself both with the purely physical characteristics - the wet-nurse had to be a little below thirty, to have white teeth, sweet breath, and a child of her own not above eight months of age, otherwise her milk could be considered stale - and the moral ones. It was believed that virtues and vices both could be transmitted through milk, and thus it was imperative to choose a wet-nurse both sensible and respectable.

Once hired, she rarely left the baby’s side - contemporary writers acknowledged that leaving an infant to cry is harmful for the child’s health, both mental and physical, and therefore a nurse should always be at hand with either her breast or a lullaby. In the highest households of the land, such as that of the royal children of Henry VII and Elizabeth of York, one or two women were also employed as specifically the child’s rockers, tasked with, well, rocking their little charge to sleep - though not too quickly or too harshly, ‘for fear of making the milk float in [her] stomach’.

Every medieval baby, regardless of his family’s income, was swaddled from birth and until he was about eight or nine months of age: not only would he be kept warm, the parents judged, but it’s also going to help his limbs grow straight. A ‘breechcloth’ – essentially, a premodern nappy - was a piece of easily-washable linen, doubled over and then fastened into place with pins. Then a linen shirt would be gently placed over the infant’s body, after which the swaddling bands proper – sometimes three yards long – would come out. They were long, narrow pieces of – you guessed it - linen.

This swaddling part was universal for everyone; however, even here, before the child could partake in any fashion proper, the class divides came out to play. Babies from wealthier families could sport crimson mantles and bands decorated with gold embroidery (sometimes coordinated with that on their mothers’ outfits, like on the famous Cholmondeley Ladies painting at the top of this post).

Another – perhaps, more familiar to us – sphere of baby-related conspicuous consumption was the cradle. When, in 1494, the son of Beatrice d’Este and Ludovico Sforza was born in Milan, the proud father presented his guests a four-poster cradle covered in white satin, where the little heir now lay. When Lucrezia Borgia gave the d’Este family an heir, she splashed out on the cradle for the little Ercole even more. According to contemporary witnesses, the cradle was located under tent-like Moorish-style silk draperies done in the Este colors. It was on a platform encased in a great carved and gilded canopy, six feet long and five feet wide. The cradle proper was curtained in white satin, with the sleeping baby covered with cloth-of-gold.

The weaning tended to come, by our standards, rather late: some contemporary arguments recommended three years for boys and two years for girls (the former, after all, were expected to lead more active lives, and thus needed their mother’s nutritious milk more). Even then, hard food was to be introduced gradually – starting, for instance, with a chicken leg the child could chew on.

Once out of swaddling, the boys were dressed in smocks, and the girls in gowns – not that there was much visual difference between the two, mind. Regardless of their parents’ social standing, they all also wore tight linen caps that bore the charmingly hobbit-y name of biggins.

Naturally, the higher one stood upon the social scale, the more ornamental these gowns and smocks tended to be. The toddler Princess Elizabeth, who was the daughter of Henry VII and thus the aunt of her much more famous namesake, was dressed on separate occasions in a green velvet gown edged with purple tinsel and lined with black buckram, a dress of black velvet edged with crimson, or a kirtle of tawny damask and black satin. Admittedly, these were mostly for ceremonial occasions, and in the privacy of her yellow ochre-coloured chambers even the princess probably tended to wear something more comfortable. In winter, she was kept warm with furred robes fastened with silver buttons and caps trimmed with peacock feathers, and, regardless of the time of the year, indulged with sweets made from sugars flavoured with rose and violet, as well as with fruits from sunnier climes like pomegranates, quinces, and almonds.

Royal families were never noted for modesty of consumption in any era, but even the middling merchants of Florence were often criticized for spoiling their children with fine clothes. Fra Dominici wrote scathingly about parents who dress their children in ‘fancy garments, stamped shoes, short waist-coats, tight and fine-knit hose’. Neither did he approve of toys like “little wooden horses, attractive cymbals, imitation birds, [and] gilded drums,” recommending instead more virtuous playthings like “a little altar or two, … little vestments … little candles … [and] little bells,”, so that the children could pretend they were acolytes or priests. Three guesses no prizes as to which category ended up being the more popular one.

Some types of toys would have been surprisingly familiar to us – for example, doll furniture. In Germany one could find whole doll kitchens with dishes, meat plates, cutlery and furniture since the 1550s at the latest. Wealthier girls were also bought so-called fashion dolls that showcased, you guessed it, the latest fashions in the land.

Of course, poorer children had to make do with dolls stuffed with straw, and play with such props as animal knucklebones or wooden wheels. However, it doesn’t mean that their lives were completely devoid of fun. Contemporary paintings, such as Peter Brueghel’ Children’s Games (1560), show children playing blind man’s bluff, ‘paper, scissors, stone’, roll hoops and rock barrels.

Pueritia, or childhood

A child’s education started with learning his (or, rarer, her) letters. A rather charming contemporary advice recommends the parents to do it by carving each letter on a piece of fruit, and reward the child with the fruit in question if the letter is correctly identified. These kinds of basics could be learned at home (though, if you decided to choose the method above, better do it specifically in the kitchen) – however, once the rudimentary parts were done with, the paths of learning could branch wildly.

The wealthiest families hired tutors for their children, and these posts, prestigious and coveted as they were, could sometimes become subjects of competition. For example, when the future Elizabeth I grew old enough for her first lessons, it was assumed that these are going to be provided by her aunt and godmother, Lady Troy. However, the less highborn, but more ambitious Katherine Champernowne had other ideas; Henry VIII ended up being impressed by reports of her as a woman of good education, and appointed her to be his daughter’s governess in 1536. She held that post until 1544, when her precocious charge overgrew the standard highborn lady’s curriculum that consisted of reading, embroidery, music, riding, falconry, and chess. After that, the scholar William Grindal became the princess’ tutor, introducing her to classical authors such as Plato.

Latin and, to a lesser extent, Greek literature was not exclusively the preserve of the upper-class education. The cathedral school of St. Paul’s, for instance, taught children from middling walks of life - such as one Geoffrey Chaucer, the son of a wine merchant - and placed a great emphasis on the learning of Latin. The recitation of the Latin alphabet started with the sign of the cross and ended with ‘Amen’: quite a sign of respect, coming from a religious institution. The school’s library was full of books on logic, law and medicine, as well as such still-popular classical hits as Aesop’s Fables.

The boys (unlike in the more flexible world of private education, school pupils were invariably male) also owned some books of their own: contrary to a common misconception, even before the invention of printing press books were not necessarily objects of luxury. For example, when in 1337 John Cobbledick left twenty-nine books to Oriel College, each of them was priced at about 6 shillings. Two centuries later, when William Chatsworth sent his beloved wife Bess of Hardwick gifts during his sojourn in London, he included some learning materials for their children: three French grammars, a copy of Cosmografie de Levant, and psalms in French.

Charitable institutions could sometimes take care of the education of poorer children: for instance, in 1542, the Alderman William Dauntsey of London directed in his will that his executors should build a charity school of eight chambers (one of them for the schoolmaster) in West Lavington, Wiltshire.

Boys who could boast some musical talent had an unusual route for both education and promotion: chapel choirs. Many noblemen - and noblewomen such as Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry VII - engaged in cultural patronage, supporting at times dozens of choristers. Margaret herself had hired a composer, Robert Cooper, who was entrusted with finding gifted boys for her chapel from ‘London, Wynesore and in the west country'. She also made sure that, apart from musical education, the boys in her choir received tuition in Latin: in January 1506 the same Cooper was responsible for purchasing five 'gramer bokes ... for the chyldryn of the chapell', costing 4s 3d. Their education ensured that, after growing out of their roles in the choir, the boys would be able to continue academic studies. One Thomas Freston left Margaret’s chapel at the age of 13 to attend Winchester College, while the 1460 statute of Tattershall College specified provision for ‘four poor boys’ who were 'teachable in song and reading, to help the choristers, each of whom is to have commons and clothing and all else that the choristers do'.

Girls could be educated in convent schools; some, though by no means all, later chose to enter these nunneries as actual novices (they couldn’t legally make such a decision until the age of twelve, however, just as they couldn’t legally consent to marriage). Within the convent walls, as outside them, their comforts depended a lot on their parents’ standing - if their entry fee was generous enough, the girls, whether they came as pupils or little novices, could count on having a bedroom to themselves, a generous provision of wood to burn in their fireplace, and rare foodstuffs for their tables. When Edward I’s daughter Mary entered the convent of Amesbury as a novice in 1285, at unusual (and frankly illegal) age of seven, her lifelong allowance included an annual provision of twenty tuns of wine from the Bordeaux claret merchants and forty oaks as kindling for her fireplace.

Convents were supposed to foster the life of prayer and quiet contemplation, which was even harder to get used to for her teenage novices than it were for the secular boarders, who weren’t, after all, handled as strictly. However, even in a nunnery, there was a certain softening of the rules when it came to young girls. For example, at the Feast of St Nicholas, the patron saint of children, the youngest novice was named the Girl Abbess and allowed to lead the community in dancing and revelry.

Adolescentia, or adolescence

This stage of life was thought to start at about fourteen and end in one’s early twenties. Highborn children of both sexes were usually sent to foster at the homes of friends or relatives of equal standing, both to finish their education and to establish useful connections. When the teenage Jan of Brabant was sent for foster at the English court, he devoted his years there to perfecting the arts of jousting and hunting with falcons, as well as the less official, but nonetheless useful skills of party planning, people-charming, and careful gambling. His future bride Margaret of England, meanwhile, was improving on her feminine arts of weaving and embroidery, often spending substantial sums on gold thread and silks of different colours.

The machinery of altar diplomacy was already in full swing by the time they reached that age, even though marriage proper - with the consummation implied - was usually still a few years in the future. The fate of Margaret Beaufort, who gave birth to her first husband’s son at age thirteen, was considered grotesque and frankly unsafe; after all, it’s no coincidence that she could have no children after. For instance, Thomas Aquinas cautioned in his Mirror for Princes that consummation should be delayed until the woman had reached the age of eighteen, and the man twenty-one.

The complicated diplomatic and legal negotiation process behind such agreements was left to the heads of the families and their respective employees, without the involvement of the betrothed ones themselves. After all, it included such charming tasks as drawing a complete summary of all villages, farms, rents, forests, and windmills belonging to the future groom’s family which would be able to provide the income for the bride’s dower, or widow portion, in case she outlives him - a pretty significant possibility, considering.

Lower down the social scale, marriage arrangements were not so pressing a concern - urban artisans, male or female, often married only in their mid-twenties. When their children reached adolescence, they usually worried about arranging an apprenticeship for them rather than a betrothal.

A child could be apprenticed to a master who practiced one of the trades regulated by the guilds of the town. These included mercers, grocers, fishmongers, drapers, tailors and even artists. The training usually took seven years, during which the master in question was obliged not only to educate the apprentice, but also to feed and clothe them and generally treat them like a member of their family (which usually also meant having them help around the house). This way, the future artisans spent their adolescence in a situation of indenture and completed their training in their early twenties. The ultimate dream after that was becoming a master in their own right and acquiring one’s own workshop; but, like people in their early twenties everywhere, most were too broke for that, and ended up working as journeymen in their master’s workshop for some more years - or sometimes for the rest of their lives.

Although the most prestigious trades, such as those of mercers or goldsmiths, only admitted men, others - the tailors, the bakers, the printers, the bakers, sometimes the painters - were open to apprentices of both sexes. Female artisans often ended up marrying their colleagues from the same guilds, and then keeping workshop together, but sometimes they kept their trade and conducted their business separately.

At this point, gaining the trappings of trade and marriage, they progressed into the adulthood, and thus beyond the scope of this post.

Sources:

Devices and Desires: Bess of Hardwick and the Building of Elizabethan England by Kate Hubbard

Daughters of Chivalry by Katie Wilson-Lee

The Lives of Tudor Women by Elizabeth Norton

Chaucer: A European Life by Marion Turner

Kisby, Fiona. “A Mirror of Monarchy: Music and Musicians in the Household Chapel of the Lady Margaret Beaufort, Mother of Henry VII.” Early Music History, vol. 16, 1997, pp. 203–234

The Early Modern Italian Domestic Interior, 1400–1700: Objects, Spaces, Domesticities by Erin J. Campbell et al.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing ref #writer #writeblr #writer's problems #fantasy guide #writing resources #writers resources #writers reference #middle ages #medieval #history #medieval history #historical guide #writing community #writeblr community

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shijiujun · 5 years ago

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WHY YOU SHOULD WATCH 浪漫输给你 - Lost Romance

Okay guys I honestly have not yet finished my book edits but I need a break from biblio and paragraphing so here’s a drama rec!! I don’t usually recommend like het dramas but I really love this one so far!!!

Plot: Zheng Xiao En is an editor working on some book plot - Chinese romance novels, which are usually centred on an arrogant, rich guy who’s also typically a rich CEO of a company. Anyway she finds herself transported into this very book and plot after fainting one day and she meets the guy of her dreams (in real life) in the novel, who’s also a successful, rich CEO in real life called He Tian XIng.

In the book however, his name is Si Tu Ao Ran, and she thinks she’s playing the main female lead character but she was transported in as the evil side bitch who’s out to break up Ao Ran and the female lead, named Chu Chu. Cue some rom-com shenanigans, a whole lot of GOOD angst where Xiao En realizes halfway that no matter what she does, she can’t change her fate to become the main love interest for Ao Ran ;-; It’s hilarious AF because she’s watching a standard like Asian love drama where two men are trying to chase after the same female lead - all the terrible tropes man ALL OF EM - and she’s like damn it what the hell is this plot XD

Side-plots: He Tian Xing, who’s the real-life version of Ao Ran, is also in a coma after his older half sister or something tried to wrestle control and power over the company (after their dad goes into a coma) - They haven’t actually gone in depth into this yet, except for showing how the sister is plotting and scheming and being evil. If Tian Xing was transported into the book for real, I don’t yet see like him being cognizant of it!

Reasons why I love this:

IT’S HILARIOUS. Like Xiao En judging every single time the female lead falls down and Ao Ran catches her in some gorgeous and beautiful scene, Ao Ran having some tragic backstory, the other guy who likes the female lead who’s Ao Ran’s secretary/best friend

OMG THE UNREQUITED BUT REQUITED LOVE TROPE IS DELICIOUS. DELICIOUS OKAY!!!

She’s basically like the audience that’s jaded with dumbass weak-damsel-in-distress plots and she’s watching it unfold before her and going like wtf people actually write it like this (and as literally the EDITOR of this story she’s in, it’s even more hilarious)

MARCUS CHANG AS SI TU AO RAN/HE TIAN XING. Gosh he’s so damn handsome!!!

Have I already mentioned that I am a sucker for the unrequited but requited love thing?!!!

Assuming that Tian Xing remembers his love for Xiao En from in the novel later when he wakes up in the real world, I wonder how everything is going to pan out because he seems to have a mild love interest (a different girl) there as well.

Where to watch: Kissasian for now if you need subs! Not sure if Viki and the other places has it yet. Currently airing episode 8.

Characters!!!

Zheng Xiao En: She’s every one of us. We all want to be in that story where we get noticed by the rich other person and then have a series of coincidental but fated meetings with the person. Her celebrity crush is He Tian Xing, who’s this celebrity businessman (and then also all that inheritance problems I mentioned above with the older sister) because of what he says in interviews (you know that, when all seems hopeless, there is still a reason to keep going, that kinda shit) and because she was in a tough place, she was like YES MY IDOL YOU BROUGHT ME OUT OF A DARK PLACE. So when she gets dumped into her own novel, she feels a (misplaced?!!) affinity with Ao Ran who looks exactly like him (and was probably written in the image of him).

After lying her way into becoming Ao Ran’s housekeeper, spending time with him, arguing with him, trying to break up the romantic atmosphere between the two at the dinner table (below) etc. she realizes after that she can’t change the fact that she’s the side bitch in the novel and stops trying to break them up (not that she was trying very hard or you know being evil in the first place).

And she tries to make sure Chu Chu (who’s of course always bullied and isolated at the office) gets along better with everyone else, and being her friend. But Ao Ran is very sure that Xiao En is trying to harm Chu Chu, hence the angst and unrequited/requited thing going on. She & Chu Chu do get a kiss scene tho XD

I really like her character because she knows what’s going on and like I said she’s cringing along with the rest of us as the audience at the ‘typical het romance plot devices’ present in most romance shows! She’s the epitome of “I tried” and “damn it who the fuck wrote this in” and I’m all here for it!!

He Tian Xing/Si Tu Ao Ran: As Tian Xing, he’s in a coma right now while his sister does dumb and evil shit outside. Within the novel, Ao Ran has a phobia of the dark because tragic story - he was locked up in the storage basement in the dark for as long as a day whenever he misbehaved by his father, and so he sleeps with all the lights on etc.

He meets Chu Chu in the novel when she “TRIES TO CLIMB A TREE TO HELP A BIRD” and he catches her when she falls and says “YOU’RE SO KIND” and BOOM they fall in love like all male and female leads of shows/plots do while Xiao En (who was there because she wanted to BE THE FEMALE LEAD AND KNEW SHE NEEDED TO FALL FROM A TREE AT THIS PLACE) watched on and realized for the first time that FARK. SHE’S THAT CHARACTER. Anyway, as Ao Ran he obviously falls for Chu Chu, but he finds his mind all occupied by Xiao En because she literally keeps putting herself in front of him, but he thinks that she’s trying to harm Chu Chu all the time!!!

It’s episode like 8 next airing tonight though and you can see how Ao Ran now realizes how much he thinks of Xiao En, just when she’s totally given up on him XD

Chu Chu: The typical cute, beautiful, small damsel in distress who comes from a poor family and had to work her way up but is also bullied by the people around her. She KEEPS FALLING. AO RAN KEEPS CATCHING HER. my god, it’s amazing. She’s not a terrible character (cuz we know as the audience that she was written like this as a caricature in a sense, as a character from this novel) and she really is the White Lotus flower type

She keeps dropping stuff too where Ao Ran can see them and that’s how their relationship is supposed to progress XD

Of course, he’s supposed to end up with Xiao En IN and OUT of the novel, I presume, but there aren’t much hints that I’ve seen so far on how they’re gonna explain the novel world + real world between them both!!! Either way I’m loving the angst right now.

Qing Feng: AHAH! The fated non-requited love male character, who initially likes Chu Chu as well and teams up with Xiao En to try to break Ao Ran and Chu Chu up, but (spoilers, he ends up still a non-requited second male lead because he falls for Xiao En later)!! And he ends up being real sweet and supportive for Xiao En gosh I CRY.

#lost romance #浪漫輸給你 #marcus chang #vivian sung #simon lian #taiwanese drama #romance #het romance #i'm enjoying the hell out of this

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willcwthewisp · 4 years ago

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false god complex | ben & willow

LOCATION: university of maine, white crest. PARTIES: @professorbcampbell and @willcwthewisp. SUMMARY: ben is more than happy to lend willow a helping hand. CONTAINS: elements of grooming.

Willow’s knuckles were white as she gripped the steering wheel of her car in a near death-grip, already dreading what was to come. Why had the telemarketing company thought she was a good person to deliver toner? She’d done her best to avoid getting too close to anyone in the office, constantly afraid that she’d end up throwing someone through the flimsy walls that made up their miniscule cubicles. But somehow they’d settled on her to make a delivery that required a signature. She couldn’t even find peace in the knowledge that she’d be able drop the package and run. No- the telemarketer would have to come face to face with an actual person. This was the exact opposite of what she’d signed up for when taking a job that was about being away from people.

Pulling into the university, she struggled for a moment with the box of printing supplies, finally managing to balance it on her hip as she locked her car. One slow and deep breath later, she was steeling herself as she walked towards the closest building. Just find a person. Have them sign. And get out. That’s all she had to do. At least it was later in the day, getting closer to a time of the evening when less students were on campus. Throwing a college student into the quad fountain was also on her list of scenarios to desperately avoid. And it was a rather long list. Why were there so many people in the world? Turning the corner into a hallway, she scanned for any nearby lifeforms, finally spotting the back of a man’s head down the way as he walked away from her. “Um- excuse me!” she called out, her free hand waving with uncertainty above her head as she made an awkward shuffle towards him. “Excuse me! Sir? Sorry- I just- well I’m dropping off this toner, and it needs a signature. Do you think- well would you mind signing for it?”

Thumbing through his mail, Ben scanned the various letters. Hardly anyone sent him physical mail anymore, but he made a point of checking his mailbox once a week. It was good practice to walk through the halls, make a show of being polite and friendly to all of the cubicle dwelling student workers and pitiful staff members who didn’t have access to offices of their own. His office was on the third floor of the building, and while he didn’t have a corner office just yet, he had it on good authority that the next vacancy would be his. Tossing a few pieces of junk mail into the recycling bin, he headed out of the mailroom back to his office. He would finish up some emails and then take home his remaining essays to grade. Perhaps stop by the coffee shop, see if he could arrange a serendipitous meeting with a student--

As he walked down the hall, Ben was caught off guard by the sudden flash of movement and a woman’s voice calling out to him. Toner? What, did she take him as a secretary? It wasn’t his job to make sure the printer room was stocked. But, he offered an easy smile instead and hurried towards her. “Here, let me take that.” He said, taking the heavy package of toner from her easily. “You’re a ways off from the printing room. I can carry this and sign once we get there?” He said with a nod.

“Oh- oh no, you don’t have to-” Willow began, but he’d already taken the package from her hip in a movement so smooth she almost forgot to be nervous about the proximity of him. Almost. Realizing how close she’d come to potentially grazing against the man, and therefore possibly tossing him into next week, the medium took a healthy step back. “Sorry- it’s been so long since I went here, and I swear they moved everything around,” she breathed with half an attempted chuckle, trying to set herself at ease after the close call. “You really don’t have to, though,” she started once more, hating to be any sort of inconvenience. “I mean- I didn’t mind carrying it! And it’s not your job, you know?” As she said the words she finally did a cursory one over of the man in front of her, blinking a few times in quick succession as she began to fully understand just how handsome he was. Oh god- now she was nervous again. “And I mean- you could just sign here, if you wanted! Then I could just take it to the printing room or wherever and set it and leave it there since you...signed for it. And it’s just toner! I don’t think anyone wants to take toner or anything, right? I mean, have you ever heard of anyone ever stealing toner before?” Willow ended on an semi-awkward chuckle, practically begging herself to stop talking before she said anything else that sounded equally, or god forbid, more idiotic.

Hefting the box in his arms, Ben made his expression one the model of politeness and patience. It was irritating to have to maintain his role as the good-nature professor for someone who so clearly wasn’t worth his time. Well. She was cute, in an out-of-sorts kind of way. Which was typically how most women acted around him. “No, it’s quite alright. It’s a heavy box and it’s easiest for me to just carry it while I have it now.” He said with an easy smile and tilted his head. “The printer room is on my way back to my office, so it’s no skin off my back. Two birds with one stone, hm?” He said as she rambled on and on. Incredible. She just kept speaking without providing anything of substance. “No need to worry. And no, I can’t begin to imagine why someone would steal toner of all things. Unless they’ve got a massive printer at home, I can’t see why they’d do that.” He laughed. “Ah,” Just shut up, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable by just taking the box from you. You just looked as though you were struggling and I wanted to offer a hand. Or two.” Ben gestured to the box resting in his hands.

“Oh- well...thank you, then.” Willow wasn’t about to argue with a man who was being so perfectly polite about helping her, especially when he looked as handsome as this one did. After all, who didn’t enjoy it when a good-looking man helped you of his own accord without seeming threatening or overbearing? Feminism be damned. “Sure,” she agreed, feeling like she’d be doing that more often as the conversation went on. His words and actions were so confident that they nearly even set her at ease, which was no small feat. “Thank you, again.” She should make conversation, shouldn’t she? It was only polite after he’d helped her. “So you’re...a professor here?” That much was obvious given his mention of an office. “”What do you teach?” For a moment she laughed with him, still somewhat amazed that she’d been able to do so in the first place despite being at risk of telekinetically throwing someone in a public setting. “I guess so. Unless there’s some toner black market that I’m completely unaware of.” It was her own attempt at a joke. “No, no-” she began, not wanting him to think she was upset. “It was nice of you- really. I just wasn’t entirely expecting it and-” She didn’t like people getting close to her. Not when she was a ticking time bomb. “-and I appreciate the two hands.”

“You’re quite welcome.” Ben said with a kind smile he didn’t mean in the slightest. This woman looked familiar, and he couldn’t quite place his finger on why. She looked to be around the same age as him, perhaps a few years younger. Blonde, brown eyed, classical bone structure, but why did she look familiar to him? Perhaps he’d be able to worm the information out of her. “Please, it’s really not a problem. And yes, I am. I teach the classics. Greek and Roman history, culture, and philosophy for the most part, but I dabble in most ancient Western civilizations.” As he always did for the more nervous types-- and this woman struck him as quite nervous-- Ben offered a self conscious grimace. “But, it’s hardly the most interesting field.” He said as he led them through the halls at a leisurely pace. A toner black market. Knowing some of the creatures who roamed this town, there very well might be. “Well, my apologies for startling you. It wasn’t my intention at all. Do people generally let you,” Flounder “Struggle without offering to help? That’s hardly the sort of behavior I’d expect of people here.”

He seemed like a very nice man. Or a well-meaning one at the very least. The more he spoke, the more Willow settled into the situation she’d been handed, figuring there was little she could do at this point if he was going to be so insistent about helping. She just had to keep her distance, and everything would be alright...right? “Oh- well that’s all very impressive sounding,” she replied with a tentative smile, as if she were testing the waters when it came to the expression on her face. “The closest I ever got to the classics or anything like that when I was here were the art and visual culture classes for the eras.” While Ben carefully practiced humility, Willow was already shaking her head in denial of his words. “Oh no- if it’s interesting to you, that’s what matters, right? And I’m sure there’s plenty of people who find it really stimulating.” As she walked along with him, her eyes scanned the hallways, curious to see how her alma mater had changed in the years since she’d roamed it. “No, really- you don’t need to apologize at all. I mean- you were just being thoughtful. And there’s nothing wrong with that at all! Pretty much the opposite, actually. As for other people...I guess I wouldn’t know- I’m not really a ‘delivery’ sort of person, but the usual person was out today.”

Walking alongside the woman, Ben continued to appraise her. She seemed to have calmed down a bit which had resulted in, thankfully, less rambling. Some people rambled in productive ways, providing little insights into their lives, their minds. This woman? Not exactly. She spoke as though she had to fill the air with sound or else there would be dire consequences. “Ah, thank you, though it’s hardly impressive.” Ben said with a shrug. Oh, he was very impressive. Department co-chair, associate professor, and well established within the college at his age? No, he was impressive and he knew it. “Art and visual culture? Are you an artist?” He asked with interest, though internally he couldn’t care less. “Indeed! That’s how I find it as well.” Ben nodded as they continued down the hall. Rounding the corner into the printer room, he set the heavy box on the counter. “Ah, in that case, I’m quite glad I was there to help. It’s never pleasant when you have to take on the responsibilities of others.” He said with a sympathetic smile. He leaned against the copier, waiting for her next move, curious to see how she’d fill this new gap in conversation.

“Don’t say that,” Willow insisted, apparently gaining confidence where Ben carefully lost it. If there was one thing she was confident about it was boosting the spirit of others. “You know something that plenty of people couldn’t even begin to really grasp. Isn’t that impressive?” A friendly nod had her head bobbing up in down as he asked about her, blonde hair bouncing along with the motion. “I majored in Fine Arts when I was here, and then opened a gallery a few years out of school.” A smile grew more comfortable on her lips while he continued to be perfectly amenable. “Well then I’m glad you agree,” she finished with a small chuckle, finding herself more at ease with every moment. “Oh- well I was definitely lucky that you were there to help. And that you’re obviously more than happy to lend a helping hand.” A shrug tugged at her shoulders. “It’s alright- I don’t mind helping.” At least that was usually true when it didn’t put her in public situations that might result in someone getting broken in half. “But um- if I could get that signature from you now, that would be great?” She offered him the little electronic device they’d given her at the office, a pen attached to it. Holding it by the very ends, she desperately tried to ensure that no contact would be made when he took it.

“I suppose it is.” Ben said and offered a sheepish, apologetic smile as the woman admonished him. So she was one of those types. An optimist, someone who tried to lift others up. Naive. Interesting, very interesting. He couldn’t help but weigh and measure her, even if he had no real desire to lure her towards the way of his Lord. But who knew. She might be able to be of use to him, one day. It never hurt to cultivate “friendships.” Just as he thought, an artist, one of those creative types. “Now that, that sounds quite impressive.” As she held out the little device, she watched the way she kept him at arms length. As though she was scared of him? No, not quite. He wasn’t entirely sure why she was so frightened. “Of course.” Ben signed off on the machine with a smile before handing it back to her. “Ben Campbell. A pleasure to meet you..?”

Willow’s grin widened as the man agreed, happy to see that he wasn’t planning on minimizing his accomplishments anymore for the time being. Why shouldn’t he be proud? She was fairly certain everyone had something to be proud of in their lives, and if they couldn’t see that then she was more than happy to help show them. “Oh no- I mean- it’s not that big of a deal.” Willow fell naturally into the persona that Ben had cultivated for himself over their conversation, a slight blush creeping over her cheeks at his praise. “But thank you, nonetheless.” Relief flooded her as he didn’t offer a hand to shake along with his introduction, knowing she would have only made the conversation terribly awkward as she refused to take it. “I’m Willow- Willow Finch. And thank you for the signature, Ben,” she said warmly, already taking a step back as she reminded herself that she was testing the limits of her telekinesis simply by talking to him. “I hope you have a good day, Professor Campbell.” Then she was starting to head off, wishing she could have counted the man as a new friend, but knowing it wasn’t possible with her current situation. But it had been nice to pretend for the length of the walk down the hallway.

#// what a nice chatzy between two new friends <3 #ch:Ben #wickedswriting #chatzy #grooming tw

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s-creations · 4 years ago

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Return the Flames - Chapter 6

All at Dead Bird Studios knew of Amos' (The Conductor's) ability. How the owl could suddenly erupt into flames if angered enough. When the studio first opened, Dominic (DJ Grooves) was told that Amos had his ability under control. Nothing to worry about. No possible loss of anything from an open flame.

A few years later however, and that control seems to have lessened to a dangerous degree.

It should have just been a simple, week long drive to fix the problem. It really should have been.

Dominic should have asked a lot more questions and should have been prepared for a twist ending.

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Fandom: A Hat in Time Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: The ConductorXDJ Grooves Warnings: Eventual depictions of violence, slow burn relationship, named characters, attempt of an accent, being hunted down, a race against time (sort of).

Another dinner, this one with a more pastel color scheme. For some reason. Dominic and Amos claimed a booth tucked away in the back, away from everyone, in hopes they could talk without being overheard.

Amos was absolutely exhausted. Wanting nothing more than to lay his head down and pass out. It was a bit ironic that for being dangerously hot for so long, he was now freezing. And it was painful. Like pins and needles sticking him in different areas. Probably feeling like this while his body attempted to recover from their crash. He really wished the flame would return. That he could just curl into the closest corner and escape this nightmare for just a little while.

“Amos...we need a plan.”

Except Dominic kept pulling him back to the problem at hand. Which was needed. Amos just didn’t want to. “We need ta figure out how those peck necks knew about…”

The penguin sighed softly. “I think all we need to worry about for that is knowing that they know. And they’re hunting us down now because of this. Do you think they knew where we’re going?”

“If they knew about the Phoenix flame, I wouldn’t put it past them. They found us really fast after that first dinner.”

“So, our original, direct path is no longer an option. We’ll probably have to make a new, longer path to get to the mountains. Anything to keep them away from us. We’ll just need to make sure you’re alright to stay away for that much longer. Ah, there’s also the issue of provisions and transportations. Thank goodness our wallets survived with us. I would say bus for traveling. But that would take way too long and we’d be trapped if they find us again. So, a rental car would be our best bet. We’ll also need to contact the studio. Let them know we’re going to be gone for a lot longer than originally expected…”

Amos just stared as Dominic kept pulling up the major points they had to worry about. As the list kept growing, the owl felt his resolve break down further. As if he was suddenly realizing how much danger they were in. At the moment they weren’t being chased, they were patched up and food was on the way. Now, with the adrenaline not pumping as much as it was before, Amos’ mind was free to panic over their current situation.

Someone was hunting him down. Because of what he was. And he put Dominic directly in the line of danger because of this. All because of him. He alerted the authorities because he wasn’t able to control himself. Because he was a danger to everyone he gets near.

“Amos?”

The owl jumped, attention going from Dominic’s worried face down to his clenched hands lying on the table. “What.”

“You’re shaking.”

Was he?

“Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong- are ya really gonna ask me that after our plunge off the side of a cliff?”

“I don’t think we were up that high.”

“We almost died Dominic! Because I’ve been marked as enemy-number-one of some peck necks. With you as the unwilling accomplice.”

“Unwilling?”

“Ya didn’t know it would lead ta this when you agreed ta take me. Ya shouldn’t be involved.”

“You didn’t know this would happen either. I became involved when I plowed those crows over with my car. We’re in this together.”

“But ya shouldn’t be! I should have found a way around this that didn’t involve anyone else. This is my problem. I should be fixin’ this on my own.”

Just with everything else in his life. It was how he’s always operated. He learned how to fight, dealt with his ex leaving, his mother passing away, maintained his train, paid for his film equipment, raised Amelia, put her through college, started saving up for the grandchildren to get them through college as well.

Everything. Everything he did alone.

So why did he suddenly feel as if he needed help with this? He should have been able to figure out a solution on his own.

Amos stilled when Dominic reached over and gently grabbed the owl’s balled up hands. So stunned, he allowed the penguin’s hands to properly slip into his.

“I’m happy I’m here to help you.”

“How...can ya possibly say that?”

“Because I would be tearing my hair out with worry if I wasn’t with you. Over what could have been happening to you.”

“People are tryin’ ta kill us.”

“Then I’m even further relieved to be here and helping.”

Amos wasn’t sure what to say to that. Attention returning to their clasped hands, the owl felt his heart starting to pick up its pace. The familiar warmth returning to become a comforting presence. Dominic didn’t seem to be letting go soon, did Amos want him to? He realized he didn’t. Dominic’s feathers were smooth to the touch, like silk. And seemed to be a cooler temperature than Amos’ unnatural heat.

“Um, sirs? Your meals?”

Amos quickly pulled away as the server made their presence known. His feather fluffed up in embarrassment while Dominic gave an easy smile. “Thank you, Darling.”

“O-Oh, of course. No problem.” The server was now flustered. Giving their own smile back as they placed the plates down, departing shortly after.

“Should we make our new plan.” Amos grumbled as they were left alone again.

“Right, well, transportation first. We need to rent a car.”

“You mentioned something about a bus?”

“Yes, but I don’t think that would be best. We need to control our speed and our direction at will. A bus leaves too many variables that we can’t control. Which worries me. So, I think the car is, again, our best option.”

“Alright… You also made mention of changin’ our route?”

“To try and throw them off. It took them two days to find us. And that was when they had a guess as to how far we were into our journey. That tells me they’re aware of where we’re going. If we change our path, hopefully we can throw them off and sneak by them when we finally reach the mountains.”

“If we can sneak in.”

“We’ll figure it out. If we’re moving our route, we need to inform everyone that we’re going to be gone longer than expected.”

“We also need provisions. We kind of...lost all our stuff.”

“We have enough paper money to pay for what we need at the moment. Lucky us.” Dominic laughed softly.

“Yeah...lucky…”

“Is everything alright gentlemen?” The server returned, their attention on the untouched plates. Amos didn’t verbally respond, instead picking up his fork and digging in.

“Sorry, we’ve just been so engrossed in our conversation. Would you actually be able to help us out with something Darling?”

“Oh, sure!” Amos rolled his eyes at how eager the server sounded.

“We’re in need of a rental car and a possible clothing store.”

“There are more, larger stores and a rental place further into town. You should be able to get what you need there.”

“Thank you, you’ve been extremely helpful.”

Amos grumbled as he put his full focus on the food in front of him. Attempting to block out the sickening ‘flirting’ before him. It made his stomach roll uncomfortably.

He couldn’t tell if it was because he hated seeing such a blatant display in public. Of it he was upset because Dominic wasn’t looking at him anymore.

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“How much longer are you going to be gone?”

Amos really didn’t like how uneasy Amelia sounded. “Just a few extra days, nothin’ more.”

“Are you sure that’s a smart idea? Do you...will you have enough time?”

“I’ll be fine, don’t you worry. This was Dominic’s idea actually. Says I need ta ‘relax’ or somethin’ crazy like that.”

“Well, if it’s coming from Grooves, it sounds reasonable.”

“Watch yerself young lady.”

Amelia laughed softly. “Please just take it easy dad.”

“I will. I am. How’s it goin’ on your end?”

“Oh, good…”

“...Did...Did ya have another episode?”

“Yeah. But it wasn’t that bad. I’m fine, really. Just tired.”

Amos gripped the phone receiver a little harder. “Are ya goin’ ta see Dr. Fula?”

“Dad-”

“If ya had an episode, she needs ta be aware.”

“And she was, we called her.”

“Does she want ta see ya?”

“No, in fact, she said I was improving!”

“How? Yer still havin’ them!”

“But this was not as serve as my previous ones. And I recovered faster, and on my own.”

“But ya still had one.”

“Dad, you need to unclench your jaw and release whatever's in your other hand.”

With a huff with some smoke unfurling from his mouth, Amos pulled his hand away from the side of the phone booth. Wincing from the newly created dent in the metal. “Amelia…”

“No, listen to me. I am fine. I’m home, safe and happy with the kids. Grace is staying with me. And a legion of medical professionals are on speed dial. Now I need you to just focus on getting yourself better, okay?”

“...Okay.”

“I know you’ll hate me for saying this, but listen to Grooves. He’s there to help you.”

“But-”

“Swallow your pride and let him help. Please.”

“...Alright.”

“Get better and I’ll see you soon dad. The kids miss you! Can’t wait to see pawpaw again.”

“Tell them I miss them too.”

“Be safe dad. I love you.”

“Love ya too, Amelia.” Amos hung up, letting out a sigh as he leaned against the pay phone. He looked over to Dominic, who was using the furthest phone in the line.

The penguin was calling the secretary to let him know they were going to be gone longer. Which Dominic was really leaning into the fact the message needed to be pasted along to all the workers. How they both would be coming back.

Bu̱t͙ tha̦ṱ’̨s͙ no̱t tr̥ue͙,̝ i͜s̙ it̼?͕ Yo̳uͅ’̨re n̺ot ex̖p̱e̻cting̖ t͉o c̝ome̖ back͍ fṛo̭m t̻h̘i̬s̟.

Amos swallowed weakly. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he moved away from the phones and turned towards the street.

A̟lwa̻ys̨ t̺h͔e̞ sa̞m̤e̠ fo͈r͉ y̦ou. Eͅx̱p̼e̞ct̝ th̺e͓ worͅsṱ. Be͜c̘ause th̤aṱ’̮s͚ a͍ḽl͎ t͢ha̝t͢ is to b̢e̖ e̦xp̗ect͔ed of̹ y̳ou. Th͟e͇ a̗bs͜olu̱te̹ w͓o͢r̖st̝.

Sitting on the curb, Amos crossed his arms over his knees, chin resting on top of them. His ears were pressed against the top of his head, remaining focused on the pavement of the road.

J͈us̬t a̯d̻mi̡t̤ it̯:̺ you’r̢e d̩yiͅn̢g. Yo̯u’ve k͈nown t͇his fo͜r̗ a w̤h̨i͉ḷe. Y̙et̳ yo̟u̼ ke̥ep̙ g̗i͙vi̯n͇g th̰i͕s se̘ns͇e̘ o̖f͟ hop͖e͇ to yo͈u̱r daug͙h̳ter th͜a͜t̡ y̢ou’ll͖ c̦o͜m͟e̩ b̖a̢ck.̟ How͢ seͅl͔fis̩h of̢ ỵo̮ṷ. N̗ot̫ eve̝n g͎i̞vi̲n͍g͔ ḫe͚r͔ a cha̢nc̘e to̭ h̩a̩ve͢ p̩ro̭p͍e͙r c͚l͕os̝ur̠e̥.

“Amos.” Dominic’s voice broke through, a hand resting gently on the owl’s shoulder.

“Finally pass the message?”

The penguin nodded as he sat down. “I’m hoping it’s actually passes along.”

“We really need ta replace him.”

“We do…”

“...But we aren’t.”

“Probably not.”

Amos huffed, a smile being pulled onto his face. “As long as we have that cleared up.”

“Mmm… Were you able to talk to Amelia?”

“Aye…”

“Does...Does she know what this could lead to?”

“No. She doesn’t need to know.”

“Amos-”

“She has enough on her plate ta deal with. This is my problem.”

“But if your-”

“We need to go. If we want ta keep ahead o’ those government peck necks, we’ll need that car” Amos stood, heading towards where their server had pointed them. Dominic gave a look of disapproval to the retreating back. But couldn’t really disagree as he knew time was not on their side.

So, even though the penguin wanted to reprimand Amos for leaving his daughter in the dark, Dominic remained quiet. One problem at a time. And they had agents to avoid.

#A Hat In Time #discotrain #the conductor #dj grooves #s-creations #fanfiction #ahit conductor #ahit dj grooves #Multi-Chapter

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remedialpotions · 5 years ago

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Tomorrow

ffn | ao3

He remembers their first kiss, that chaotic clash of lips and noses and bodies and adrenaline flooding through him. And the second, of course, a softer and sweeter one, in the quiet of an empty Gryffindor common room. In the very beginning, he couldn’t help but quantify it, seeking tangible evidence of what he wanted desperately to believe: that she wanted him, continued to want him, chose him to be hers. Other firsts, too, are burned permanently into his brain: her hands sneaking into his trousers; her knickers on the orange carpeting of his bedroom; her back arching with unbridled delight. But at some point in those weeks after the war, he lost track, and now when he looks back, it’s all blurred together into a rush of happiness that most of the time seems too good to be true.

At times he worries that it is, that somehow she’ll slip through his fingers and he’ll wake up one morning to find that he never really had her at all - or worse, that the world will find a way to wrench this away from them. It always feels like he’s on borrowed time.

So they’ve snuck away from Sunday lunch at the Burrow to hide in the apple orchard. Even though it’s one of those cool, foggy days for which England is famous, he’s content to lend her his jumper and let goosebumps rise along his skin, because it means he’s with her, and that’s all that matters.

All is calm between them. They’ve found their favorite little spot at the edge of the orchard, lounging against the trunk of a tree. Hermione’s head rests on his shoulder, her denim-clad legs slung casually over his lap. Her hand slips into his, and as he interlocks their fingers together, he notices ink stains on her fingertips.

A pang of melancholy shoots through him.

“Have you been revising already?” he asks, causing her head to lift up from his shoulder.

“I supposed I should get started on things,” she replies, only a little bit defensive, “I took a whole year off, I can only imagine how behind I am-“

“Mhmm,” Ron interrupts with a barely-suppressed grin. “You’re so behind that McGonagall’s made you Head Girl. That’s definitely it.”

Her eyes narrow at him. “I just think I ought to be prepared. Now that it’s NEWT year, there’s so much more reading, and I’ve had to start on the schedules for prefect duties too. There’s just a lot to do.”

“And what about ‘spew’?” This only deepens her scowl, but he delights in it. “You starting that up again?”

“You mean S-P-E-W?” she says, tone haughty, before heaving a sigh. “I’m not sure, honestly. My two most active members won’t be there with me.”

“Your most active members?” chuckles Ron. “We only joined under duress.”

She scoffs. “You were hardly under duress-“

“We were!” he exclaims. “You came marching in with your badges, told us we were joining and demanded two Sickles from us. Didn’t have much of a choice, did we?” He laughs again at the recollection. “You even gave us jobs - I was treasurer, wasn’t I?”

“According to the governing documentation, yes, you were,” she confirms with a nod. “Harry was secretary, but he was awful at it. He never took minutes at any of the meetings.”

She joins him in laughter, then, and leans into him, and for a second everything is perfect.

“Like I said,” Ron grins, dropping her hand to wind his arm around her shoulders. Idly, his fingers trace random shapes into the fabric of the jumper. “We were under duress.”

Hermione purses her lips as she looks up at him. “So you’ve changed your tune again, then, from a couple months ago?”

“What do you mean?”

Her eyes are shining now, alight with mirth. “I seem to recall a certain someone being very concerned about the welfare of the Hogwarts elves.”

The memory crashes over him like it’s done countless times since it happened: the Room of Requirement, the castle shaking around them, and the never-ending queue of students escaping to the Hog’s Head.

“I just wanted them safe, that’s all,” he says simply. “It’s not like I was standing round trying to think of ways to impress you.“ He sets a hand on her knee, squeezing lightly. “Though, it looks like it worked.”

Ron smiles at her, but his amusement fades when she doesn’t return it, instead puzzling up at him. “That’s not why I kissed you.” As his stomach twists, she adds, “not really, anyway. It didn’t have anything to do with S-P-E-W.”

His fingers stop moving across her shoulder. It had seemed so simple, months ago, when his mind was spinning to process the turn of events: he’d finally done the right thing. Finally proven himself worthy. Had put the last missing piece into place, right in the nick of time, just as everything else was falling apart.

“It is that I looked so dashing about to charge into battle, then? Was that it?”

His attempt at humor falls flat. She’s still contemplative, her eyes fixed on a point somewhere in the middle distance. As Ron watches, her teeth scrape over her lower lip.

“I thought we were going to die.”

The words hang there between them as something tightens painfully in Ron’s chest. Everything about this thing with Hermione has been so marvelously unexpected, right down to the fact that it’s happening at all, but he still didn’t think he would hear that.

He’s not sure what he even thought she would say. Something perhaps about how she can’t live without him, or maybe something remarkably Hermione-ish about how he had finally ticked all the boxes of her boyfriend criteria and was now deemed suitable. Just not imminent demise.

Not as the main reason, anyway.

“So did you,” she says gently when he remains quiet. “You said ‘it’s now or never’.”

“I know.” Thoughts swirl through his anxious mind, slowly formulating themselves into something worth speaking. “I just thought it was about more than ‘we’re about to die, so I may as well’.”

She recoils, clearly stung, and pulls her legs roughly off his lap; his arm drops off of her shoulder. “That’s not what I was thinking at all, actually-“

“Well, then - what if it never happened?” he presses on, even as he can see, as though he’s watching himself from above, that he’s on the verge of ruining the best thing he’s ever had. “What if that battle never happened, or I hadn’t said what I did? Would…” The words stick momentarily in his throat. “Would we even be here right now?”

“If that battle hadn’t happened, we’d probably still be starving in the woods somewhere with Harry,” she says, fingers toying with the lush grass between them. “But I don’t really know, because it did happen, and it changed everything.”

“Yeah, it did,” he agrees. “But is it - are you saying that everything changed but you want to… go back to how it was?”

“No,” she says, with such force that he recoils. “No, of course not-” She shakes her head, baffled. “Ron, we’ve - we’ve been having sex, we’ve said ‘I love you’ to each other-”

He holds his hands up, at a loss. “People get caught up in things-”

She goggles at him. “I have no idea how you can think for even a second-”

“Because you just said you thought we were going to die-“

“So did you-“

“But then we didn’t.” The words fall heavy between them. “Now we’ve got our whole lives ahead of us, and I’m…”

He hesitates, because baring his soul isn’t something he’s ever been remotely comfortable doing, but then he figures that there’s no harm in honesty. If he’s going to lose her, he at least wants to know that nothing’s been left unsaid.

“I’m scared.” He can feel her eyes on her, though he can’t bear to look. “I’m scared that now it’s not ‘I’m going to kiss him because we’ll be dead within the hour’, it’s this thing that you’ve done that has consequences now-“

“Consequences?!”

“Yeah, consequences. You kissed me ‘cause didn’t think you’d ever have to deal with it afterward, and I…” He exhales heavily through his nose. He can feel himself shaking. “And I’m scared you got more than you bargained for.”

There’s not a sound to be heard, save the occasional chirping of birds and the trickling of the nearby stream. Beside him, Hermione shifts onto her knees and sits back on her heels. Her hands land on his thigh, warm and grounding despite the damp chill in the air.

“Ron.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. “When you said ‘it’s now or never’... what did you mean by that?”

He forces himself to meet her gaze and finds only concern there, only affection.

Maybe it’s not completely bungled after all.

“I just didn’t want to die having never kissed you.” Of their own accord, his hands slip around hers. “My life can be complete without a lot of things, but it wouldn’t have been complete without that.”

Hermione swallows, head bobbing in a shaky nod. And yet, beneath the nerves, there’s a glimmer of happiness.

“I felt the same way - feel the same way. I still do. When you said what you said, about the elves, and Dobby...” The corners of her lips twitch into a faint semblance of a smile. “It didn’t really have anything to do with them specifically. It just reminded me of how wonderful you are, and - and why I love you. I just couldn’t see the point in waiting anymore.”

He picks up her hand, kisses the back of her knuckles. “I love you too.”

Using her hand to tug her close, he leans in to kiss her, but just as their lips meet, she starts laughing against his mouth.

“Do you really think that I just start kissing people for the sake of it whenever I’m in mortal danger?” Even as she’s teasing him, the smile she gives him is downright adoring. He’s not sure what made him question this for even a second, because the proof is right there in front of him. “Is that really what you thought happened?”

“No, of course not,” he laughs along with her. “I just reckoned…” He pauses as the right words slowly come to him. “I guess I just never thought we’d actually have this.”

Her smile fades. “Ever?”

He shrugs. “Somewhere along the way, I just stopped letting myself picture any kind of future, especially a good one, and this - I just reckoned this would be another thing that went wrong. And I wouldn’t get to have everything I want with you.”

Hermione looks at him, eyes dark and intense, and then swings a knee over him to straddle his lap. With hands half-covered in maroon wool, she cups his face and presses her lips firmly to his. He sinks into it, tension seeping out of him at her touch: it really is going to be okay. It’s the first time he’s actually let himself believe it, even with the war firmly behind them. It finally feels safe to let that hope rise above all of the uncertainty and the anxiety that’s had a hold on him for so long. The future doesn’t just consist of stolen minutes and hours and days anymore. It’s weeks and months and years, and she’s in every single one of them.

“I think you’ve actually gone a bit mad,” says Hermione fondly as her hands slide down to the sides of his neck.

“Yeah, well.” Ron tugs lightly on the sides of her jumper. “Whose fault is that?”

“Just for the record,” she goes on, taking that lofty tone that should drive him mad but that he actually loves, “I kissed you because I want all of that-”

“I know, I know.” He steals a quick kiss, smiling when she leans in for more. “Reckon I already did, it’s just hard to believe sometimes.”

“For me, too,” she admits. Her fingertips graze along his shoulders, down to the scarred skin of his forearms, and she tilts her head in alarm at him. “Ron!”

“What?”

“You’re freezing!”

Another shrug. “A bit, maybe-”

“And here I am hogging your jumper, we really ought to go inside-”

“But I don’t really care,” he tells her plainly. “I just wanted to spend as much time with you as I could.”

“We’ve got time.” Her voice is soft, reassuring, soothing the last edges of his self-doubt. “We’ve got plenty of it now.”

He considers this. They’re eighteen years old, and life stretches out ahead of them with no end in sight. Perhaps he doesn’t actually have to grasp desperately at every second anymore.

“Right.” He pats the sides of her legs. “Get up, then. It’s about to be time for lunch, anyway.”

She clambers off of him, and they rise to their feet, brushing stray blades of grass from their jeans as they walk toward the house. He does feel a bit less frantic now. Hogwarts still looms in the future, but there’s still so much more to come.

As they traipse through the garden, Hermione’s hand worms into his, her other one wrapping around his upper arm. He looks down to see her beaming at him.

“I was just thinking,” she says, “that just because I’ll be away, it doesn’t mean you can’t still be involved in S-P-E-W. Maybe you can even head up the London chapter-“

Ron holds up a hand to stop her. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

#romione #rhr #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione fanfic #my writing #battle of hogwarts #inspired by a post on tumblr that led to a post on reddit that made me think about how great their first kiss really is #all I know how to write lately for these two is summer-after-the-war stuff #I just like them in a new relationship figuring it out and all blissed out on each other

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clementineesotsm · 4 years ago

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THE KING: ETERNAL MONARCH EP 13, My Appreciation and How It Made Me Feel

This scene kind of hurting me. Luna going around Korea living JTE live which is a total opposite of hers. Her curiosity led her to kiss KSJ, left the boy in riddle. But they are from the same “dimension” so its kind of giving us a glimpse of their possible romance if they will be there in their own world

Then poor boy has to see real JTE immeditely and looking a bit startled but still manage to keep his mind working. I love KKN acting here, he is good to keep control of the mood. Also again KGE, i definitely can differ which Luna which JTE just by looking. Luna said she is after JTE not the people around her, makes Luna a villain with an interesting character. Seems like she plays her own role and not following LR.

Move on to Corea, Gon knows how to act reckless to stop PM. I like how the story progress is fast here, he expected danger, he overcome it. This secretary of KU is scary, he knew how to make a deal. I kind of wish this drama was super popular so that they can make spin off of Corea versus KU later 🥺 but not in this timeline, no.

PM is now broken and exposed. I really feel bad for PM Koo, as a character she is interesting, and there is so much more the writer can explore. But it is what it is, im quite satistfied but for a selfish reason i wish to see more to her character. I love how she took the shoes only and go pretty much still with confidence. Im hoping she will be more evil because now we know where she will walk with that shoes. Buttt, again, nobody wants to explore her character more 😭

I love JES reuniom with his family and friend. He is so precious. His been trough a lot and has play important part in Corea, it think much better that JY while in Korea 😅 And i love JES for saying “all the reason for not trading places with him are here” while looking at his people 🥺

We saw Luna in pain, i love this scene because it added well to Luna character. Makes us understand better about her choices of action later on. Also both JTE and Luna have Gemini constelation attached on the wall but them being in a different circumstances still breaks me. I love KES that makes them a Gemini. It was deep.

Some draggy thing but kind of sweet lays in this scene, i mean i know getting to your gf parents is important, but me as a viewer wants to know the tragedy soon. Just a selfish wish. If this happens later i will be extremely swoon over this, but put it here, kind of wasting time. Anyhow, i love the script. Natural. Seeing JTE act direct but shy at the same time and showing her biggest smile is another satisfaction. Best part was when his father asking Gon identity and JTE answer that he is a decent guy 🥺🥺 im soft

Gon is the man with his words, he really not going when JTE ask him not too. And i love both love birds acting here, because Gon being all soft tilting his head after JTE say “if i stop you will you stay?” and Gon say “are you sincere?” and JTE happy he stays another night. I can feel them. JTE buys him a black jacket. BLACK JACKET.

JTE and KSJ coming to investigate PM doppelganger, and coming to know that she is dead and her body found at the Yangsun Care Center and KSJ also going inside 1 room, misterious one.

Gon is alone after JY go to buy Soju, he wish to inform Gon about her mom doppelganger. Also probably he will ask Gon to go back and forget JTE instead of going on with this weird realtionship. But damn all black outfit must have remind the audience (who pays attention to detail) of his savior. Then bell rings, we saw JTE at the door.

This night is a big revelation. Gon realized that the one coming is not JTE but Luna. I love how his eyes cannot leave Luna face, because its has a look of anxiety. And yes we can see the difference. Also i love how they play with mirror here. The writer is so Consistent with Alice in Wonderland reference but in this scene its more to alice through the looking glass. You see yourself in a mirror, showing your trueself giving you revelation you are always been looking for. From Luna to Gon. And here Gon finally see himself as his own savior while revolving around mirror and actually all of this are set to happen as 25 years ago. I would say im amazed. Many people probably predicted who is the savior but how the revelation occurs i think is satisfying. But for me, who guessing that the savior is either KSJ or JY, was even more blown away by this. And got me thinking logically and yes its all make sense

LR also realizing Gon is the savior. I love their scene, they are not in 1 same place but them finishing each other sentences was satisfying. Also the fast pace and the music was great!

And after that we can see Gon in pain ! Apparently Luna put poison on the beer can ! Amazing scene, starting from Gon’s tears fell down and him feel down, parallel to what happen 25 years ago, they paused the music a bit and after we met Gon’s eyes, the music start ! 💯💯

Also the ending credit where we saw clocks going backwards on the King’s title kind of makes sense now!!!! Amazing

How it made me feel:

This episode makes you feel the calm before the storm. Because everything is so scary but still pretty much calm and seems like everything is in control. But the the big revelation shows up at the end. Amazing.

Satisfying emotion arc from the beginning until the end. I love how some issues have been solved some new issues occurs. I love now we got a glimpse of TIME TRAVEL will happen, and cannot wait maube another minute to know how could he can travel back to the past? Still so much riddle and a lot of fun guessing with my friends that day. The tragedy is happening and i really cannot wait to know which theory are true and how can they solve this catastrophe?! Many people complain their ability to communicate, because knowing Luna is here they should have told each other that thing first. But having to know many things happen while JTE gone, i kind of understand the misscomm. Everything might be happen in 1/2 days only and they have some things to do in mind they forgot the important thing. Very unfortunate. And also JTE will think that JY always stays with Gon, what bad could happen 😅

Anyway Kudos to all the actors, writers, but especially the production team. They can deliver all amazing act and emotion with their well thought expensive techniques!

#the king eternal monarch #tkem #lee min ho #kim go eun #woo do hwan #kim kyung nam #jung eun chae #lee jung jin #kim eun sook #kdrama

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zankivich · 5 years ago

Text

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 8

a/n: I hope you didn’t think I’d make it quite so easy. A little pull and tug is worth it sometimes ya know? idk how much longer I’ll be around. Most people don’t engage with the fics anymore and Shawn isn’t really the Shawn I fell in love with anymore. Life just kind of sucks at the moment. But I’ve got this chapter already written so I thought I’d post it. If you liked it and actually want it to continue? I might recommend letting me know tbh. Bye.

Shawn’s point of view

The problem with taking a woman to Rome on the first date is that anything after that just seems silly. What exactly was he to do now? Invite her over to his apartment for sushi? Even he would walk out on that date! It didn’t help that the second they got back to New York, after a very long winded kiss goodbye, that she’d jumped right into preparation for the VMAs. That essentially meant he wasn’t going to see her for days, maybe weeks. VMA season sparked award season in general for the music industry. It might not exactly give an indication of Grammys, but with the award show always arriving right as the ellibility period for the more prestigious honor was ending, it meant that the VMAS was the beginning of the long haul to get your artist at the top of the charts and fucking keep them there. Which also meant that just like she was busy, so was he. The difference was she actually liked her job. And he had...oh how he hated his.

He’s sitting in a marketing meeting for Sarah Leone. Sarah Leone is his dad’s bid for best new artist of the year. Forget the fact that y/n had her secret weapon of Normani and Khalid on one management team, and that he sort of had a feeling she was going to do a solo album release directly before the grammy consideration deadline just to keep the industry on its toes, his dad was thoroughly convinced Sarah was his ticket. And in a lot of ways she was. Small town girl turned mega popstar in a little over a year, her debut album was set to make beautiful numbers. Unfortunately that wasn’t enough. His dad had a very direct line of vision and that vision was complete and total domination. So it wasn’t enough to have your music sell, he wanted his artists to be inescapable from the public eye. Enter this season’s publicity stunt: The MC.

His dad thought it was a clever way to reference Miley Cyrus. Back in the day he’d orchestrated Miley’s dating of a 20 year old when she was 16 to address her rebellious teen phase. What most people saw as a kid going off the rails, was actually a perfectly manipulated moment in pop history. Except the dick cake that lost her the walmart branding deal, that was all her unfortunately.

Sarah was supposed to be seen out and about with mysterious new “it” british singer, Ty Summers. He was 21. She turned 18 just months prior. The two had begun with a close knit friendship, and were now being guided through the early stage of good, whole-hearted, perfectly constructed, “love”. He peers down at one of the new stills for her headline of V magazine, and simply can’t believe she’s 18. The cover makes him uncomfortable, makes him feel icky. No one at the table notices. And his dad isn’t even there, because this is too low level for the kind of work he does anymore.

“Next, I want her in London for the UK press tour. We’ll have her position at Summers’ hotel for half of her stay. I want pap shots at dinner every night out of the week, and I want a prompt at the BBC interview to hint at their connection. We’ll take it from there.” Jaret, one of the senior managers rattled off. “Any questions?”

He twirled boredly in his chair far from interested in the inner workings of career management if none of it meant jack shit about what the artist actually wanted for their career. It felt like such a waste of his time.

“Quick question?” He sighed popping his pen slightly into the air.

“Yes, Mendes?”

“When does she sing?” He shrugged.

The room goes still. It’s a well known fact that Jaret runs the room. He runs the meetings, runs the decisions. He’s top dog on this particular client, and Shawn is merely there under his father’s orders as an informant and nothing more. He was there to make sure things ran smoothly, but he certainly wasn’t there to offer critique. Woops.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Jaret challenged.

Shawn simply shrugged. “Just seems like if we have a musical artist who we signed on the basis of her being able to sing, that we might at some point want that to be the focal point of her career. But you know, I could be wrong.”

“There’s just one thing wrong here Shawn...we did not sign anyone. I did. We don’t make decisions on the intricacies of her career. I do. You are simply a glorified intern. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you’re father wasn’t afraid you’d run off every two seconds I wouldn’t have to babysit your ass right now. So, why don’t you let the professionals determine next steps and play on the computer daddy bought you, or whatever it is you do?”

Ouch.

The room shifted from Jaret back to Shawn. No one went against Jaret. And yet Shawn was perhaps the most unpredictable thing about his father’s company at that point. Needless to say unpredictably was a hell of a thing.

“It must really upset you that I get paid more than you do doesn’t it?” He hummed.

Jaret’s face began to redden, his nerves tighter than his balls that Shawn had such a precarious grip on at the moment.

“Or does it upset you more that I could do your job better than you right now, today, without even the ability to hear the tonedeaf artists you sign that are just pretty enough and just old enough not to get your ass arrested?” He tilted his head in contemplation. “Perhaps it’s even that one time at the company Christmas party where your wife caught you screwing your secretary in your office and stopped crying long enough for me to make her cum before signing the divorce papers? But you’re right Jaret, I simply should just get back to daddy’s computer. My bad.”

“You little son of--”

“Big.” Shawn interrupted sliding smoothly from his chair and packing his shit up from the horrible meeting he’d had no interest in attending in the first place. “I’m big son of a bitch, Jaret. Just ask Sarah.”

Sarah of course being his wife. Ex wife of course. Ex wife number three if we’re being specific.

The door shuts close behind him to Jaret screaming and lurching across the table towards his empty chair. He’d probably hear about it from his dad later. But honestly who cared. Jaret was a creepy asshole, and he was always gonna be a creepy asshole. Sorry not sorry.

***

He’d be a little embarrassed at how aggressively he yanked at the door were it not for the hopeful look in her big brown eyes when he sees her for the first time. He can tell she’s had a long day because her hair is down out of its bun already, tiny spirals falling all around her face and cheeks. But, the way she falls into his arms is enough to make his whole entire day. Because it means that after all the shit she’d been through that day, she wanted to be with him. And that’s the only thing he cared about in the whole world.

“I missed you.” He sighed already capturing her lips in a kiss.

She hummed softly against him, fingers squeezing at his shoulders.

“Missed you too.”

He pushed the door shut with his foot, arms keeping her tucked tightly against him. He’s sure he’s smiling like a complete and total idiot but he can’t help it. It’s this new exciting thing where he no longer has to be afraid of how close he is to her, no longer has to hope he doesn’t stare too long. She knows. And not only does she know, but somehow she feels the same way. It felt like a dream.

He tugged her back towards his kitchen and helped her into a seat before he pulled out the leftovers from his own dinner where he “accidently” ordered for two.

“Tiana said you didn’t eat dinner.” He shrugged at her questioning gaze. “And this little italian place up the block always gives me more than I need.”

She bit her lip and peered from the container of chicken parm to him and back to the parm. He thought for a second she just might fight him on it. And then he remembered how much she liked to eat.

“You and Tiana conspiring against me must stop!” She snorted grabbing the fork clean from his hand to dig in.

He leaned against the granite counter with his chin propped on his hand. She was wonderful. And silly. And a little ridiculous. He kind of loved it.

“Yes, because making sure you consume more than coffee in a twelve hour period is definitely a conspiracy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe so.”

“Maybe so.” He mimicked. “I missed the way you argue with me about everything. Feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Her eyes got wide and bright and she turned a grin towards him that he practically ached to lick off. She was gorgeous.

“You missed me huh? The Shawn Mendes has fallen head first into a little monogamy moment has he?”

Sometimes he liked to think that her favorite past time was taking the piss out of him. It sure seemed that way.

He rolled his eyes back at her and butted his head softly into her neck.

“And what if I have?” He whispered softly. “You have too. Right?”

His nose skimmed along her neck and she shivered. He smiled against her skin. She’d fallen just as hard alright.

“Yea I guess so.” She mumbled.

He pulled back and pressed a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass to refill with water.

“You should eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”

“Excuse me?”

He refilled her glass from the refrigerator and placed in front of her before leaning against the countertop again.

“Oh. I just meant that I plan to fuck you until the birds sing. I don’t want you getting tired on me before I’m done with you.”

His favorite past time was saying the wildest things he could come up with to her in the simplest voice possible and then watching the way it made her eyes bulge in her sockets. God he loved it.

This time she simply stuffed a breadstick in her mouth and hopped out of her seat to start taking her jacket off. It seemed she might be just as needy as he was.

“Yep! Okay. You can come get it now!”

“I’m comin’, baby.” He grinned lifting her up into his arms.

“Goddammit. Carbs and dick. It’s like my birthday or something!”

His bedroom is way too far away. They’ve gotta figure out a way to get there quicker. But he chuckles into her cleavage as he knocks them against walls to stop and kiss her. Her thighs mold to his waist, ass full in his hands. He’s stuck on her completely. And the worst part is that she knows it.

He lets her legs back down to the floor only to press her against the wall of his bedroom, lips, teeth, and tongue beginning a trail along her neck.

“You make me never wanna go back to go work ever again.” She whined, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’d happily quit if we could stay in bed for the rest of forever.” He murmured.

“Don’t tempt me!”

Maybe he would.

“Mmmm speaking of work, how hard you gonna make my job for me this fall?” He hummed biting down on her lip to solicit a yelp that drove him crazy.

“What do you mean?” She asked, fingers already tugging at his belt.

“I’m supposed to believe Normani’s not releasing an album before awards season?”

Her fingers came to a stuttering stop, and he recognized that her kisses weren’t really kisses anymore. His eyes opened to meet hers and instead of the lust from just moments prior, there was...anger?

“What the fuck, Shawn?”

“W--What? What?” He mumbled reaching for her as she quickly stepped out of his arms.

“Why would you ask me that? Since when the hell do you care when my artists release music?”

He’s a little flustered and his dick is hard and her yelling at him when his dick is hard is only just adding to the complex array of emotions that his brain would surely need more blood to process.

“I--I don’t know! I thought that’s what couples did right? Like they--they ask each other about work and shit. What did I do?”

“Couples?” She paused, all of the steam leaving her like a deflated balloon. “Are we--we’re a couple?”

At this point he’s pretty sure she’s gonna give him a heart attack.

“I….Aren’t we?”

“I--I don’t know. I don’t know, we’ve only been on one fucking date, Shawn. And just because it was wonderful and beautiful and romantic doesn’t mean that you get to ask me questions like that. I just… Shit. I need space.”

“Space?”

His heart leapt a little in his chest. He’d said that word before. “Space”. When people said they needed space it always meant permanent. It meant separation. It meant losing her. And the effect that her words have on him is a little surprising, even though he’s not processing nearly fast enough to catch on. All he can hear, feel, think, breathe is her not wanting him. And in this moment of fragility for him he’s not quite sure how to cope.

“Wait. Just wait a second. I don’t even know what’s happening right now!” He cried his hands held up in surrender. “Let’s just talk. Let’s just talk for a second okay? Tell me what I did wrong and I’ll fix it.”

“No. I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m going home. I--I’lll call you later.”

She sweeps right past him, her fingers re-buttoning the same buttons she had giggled when he’d undone just seconds ago. He’s so floored by what’s taking place and he’s got no idea how to fix it. How to make her happy. He just wants to make her happy. And he doesn’t want her to go.

“Y/n. Y/n, please? Alright, just talk to me.”

Her fingers slip through his when he reaches for her and just like that she’s gone. And it hurts. It hurts far more than he knows what to do with. What the fuck?

***

*Three days later*

*y/n’s point of view*

A foul mood did not begin to describe what you were in. Everyone had been steering completely clear of you and rightfully so. Anyone who dare breathe wrong in your direction would get an earful. It wasn’t your fault. You hadn’t exactly been sleeping well. Your stomach was in knots. You were stressed as hell. But, none of that was allowed to matter. You had work to do. So, everything else got placed on the backburner.

You’re in your office taking a twenty minute “get your shit together bitch” break when a knock sounds itself on your door. Tiana had been the only one with balls to knock on the door in days, so you had no doubt who it could be.

“Come in, Ti.” You sighed still leaning pathetically across your desk.

The door slides open and unless Tiana grew several feet and turned into a white man over night, it was certainly not your assistant standing there.

“Hi.” Shawn mumbled waving awkwardly in your direction.

He was in a suit again. But not one of the ones from the red carpet that would make your thighs tremble. This must be one of his work ones. It looks too restrictive on his body. He’s wearing a tie, and your fingers itch to remove it, to dishevel him back into the man that you knew. The worst part is that even in discomfort he doesn’t look real. He looks like an ad standing there at your doorway. An absolute vision to behold. You had to remind yourself that you were angry at him.

“How did you--What are you doing here? Shawn?”

He quickly closed the door and strode over to you, at least having the good grace to keep his distance to the chair in front of your desk.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls. Which is fine I guess. I get that maybe you need space but...I really hate what’s going on between us right now.” He mumbled.

His knee is bouncing. You only recognize this because it shakes your desk in a gentle hum. His fingers twist and turn anxiously on your desk as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch your hand. His lips are stress bitten and his hair looks like it’s been the victim of an attack as well.

“Really?” You asked, leaning back slighting your chair in confusion.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, really. What did you think I was just out living my best life since you stormed out of my apartment at one am without a word and ignored me for three days?”

“No, I just...I just didn’t realize it would have this great of an effect on you. I guess I--I didn’t know you cared that much.”

“You didn’t know that I care that much? What the hell, y/n?” He groaned. “Why are you doing this right now?”

“Doing what?! What am I doing?”

“You’re pulling away. We sat there in Rome and you asked me to promise you that I was all in. And I am. And now you’re scared, is that it? You don’t know what it might look like for us to be together in the real world, so you’re pulling away from me.”

Well that was certainly a read. You were flustered. Your lips opened and shut around nothing but air as you sat there at a loss for words. It wasn’t conscious, or maybe on some level it was, but Shawn scared the hell out of you. Rome was a beautiful, beautiful bubble, but a bubble nonetheless. The second you got back to New York you couldn’t help but wonder if it would actually work a tall. You were still so different. And much as you liked him, and shit you really fucking liked him, it was terrifying to place yourself into new charted territory. You were scared of him. Of the two of you together. Of what it could mean. And he never even needed you to say it, he just knew it about you instantly.

“Look,” He sighed. “I still don’t really know what I did wrong. I know I probably sound like I’m being a little bitch right now but...shit y/n I just got you and I feel like I’m losing you already. Like you’re not even gonna give me a chance to try to make you happy. Is that how it’s gonna be? Cause if it is just tell me okay? Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t...I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know.” You mumbled

The look that he gives you tells you that this hurts him. That you not being a hundred percent in is painful. Everything was just moving so incredibly fast. One second you couldn’t fathom the idea that Shawn would even want to do more than fuck you, let alone be leading the charge your relationship. It was fast. All of it. And you? You were scared.

“Okay. Well I guess just call me when you figure it out.”

He got out of his seat and headed for the door only throwing you further off your game. You didn’t know much about what you wanted. You just knew that you didn’t want him mad at you, and you didn’t want him to leave. It didn’t help that a part of you felt like you should be leading this matter. You were older, you were the woman. Never had anyone cornered you in the manner that Shawn was in this moment. It was completely different than anything you’d ever experienced.

“Wait--shit. Shawn don’t leave.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You’re not ready, and I was. Just…Call when you figure things out. Maybe I’ll talk to you later.”

And just like that he’s gone. Fuck.

***

It’s another long night. You’re tired. You’re heart is heavy. Your ponytail is too tight. And you wanna go to bed. But you have no interest in sleeping alone, and therefore are stuck at your desk again. There’s three different contracts waiting your signature on your desk, but the words have begun to blur. You tell yourself it’s not because you’re crying because you definitely aren’t. It’s just cause you’re tired. Yes.

“Hey, it’s late I’m gonna---oh lord. I haven’t seen you cry since Michelle Obama smiled at you on a red carpet.” Tianna gasped.

You sniffled. “Bitch I am not crying. Go home.”

She rolled her eyes. “Denial or delusion. Your favorite pastimes. Come tell Titi what’s wrong while I’m still awake.”

She plopped herself in the chair opposite your desk and reached for the tissues on your desk to hand to you. You take one begrudgingly.

“You haven’t let me call you Titi since college.”

“Of course I haven’t, “She giggled. “What kind of grown ass woman walks around goin’ by Titi. Now stop deflecting.”

Best friends are no good. They know you too well. It makes it way too hard to hide.

“I….I think I fucked things up.”

“With Shawn you mean?”

You nod slowly.

“Yea, I saw him come out of your office lookin’ like a kicked puppy. I couldn't even get him to laugh for me before he left. You never really said what happened though.” She nudged gently.

A sigh passes through your lips that feels bone deep. Your fingers twitch anxiously against the desk. There’s nowhere to hide here. You just have to be truthful. It’s the worst.

“We...We decided to give it a go. And he took me to Rome, as your meddling ass knows, and it was the most amazing thing I could experience. It was everything I ever thought it would be but...he made it more. And I kept thinking that he was going to stop at some point. I don’t know I thought surely it was gonna work, because how could it you know?”

“No, not quite sis. I don’t know. Maybe you can explain it to me.”

You bite your lip and twitch anxiously.

“I asked him in Rome one of our last nights there if he was gonna be all in. We talked about race and white supremacy and I told him that I needed someone who could stand with me in all of it, not just when it is convenient.”

“And he said…?”

“Well the fucker said yes.” You huffed. “He promised it even.”

“Shit.” Tiana mumbled taking a pause herself. “I would’ve never called Shawn Mendes to be a social justice warrior.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s far from it, now. He’s still a white boy. But he wanted to try. He was willing to try for me.”

“So you can see how maybe I’m missing the part where you fucked up. This sounds a little like a black girl’s love story come true.”

“I went over to his place and he offered me breadsticks and dick, in that order. But then when we were getting to it, he asked me about Normani, Ti. He asked if I was going to ‘make his job harder for him’ by having her release her album before award season.”

“Oh lord, that poor bastard didn’t even know what hit him.” She sighed.

“I’m serious Ti!” You groaned. “I’ve been here before. I’ve had the music exec who wanted to get into my pants just to know what we were doing in this building. I--I can’t go back there. You and I both know that there’s nothing Manny Mendes would love to see more than one his little white girls on top and my people failing on the bottom of the totem pole. We work too goddamn hard for me to lose it.”

Tiana paused for a minute and stared at you. Her eyes were soul searching, the way they tended to be. She was as lovely and amazing as she was terrifying. She knew you better than you knew yourself, and she never hesitated to call you on your bullshit. Even if you didn’t know it was bullshit. Especially when you didn’t know it was bullshit.

“Girl, I love you more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life, but you are truly exhausting.” She sighed and held her hand up as a means to silence you before you even spoke. “Now if you’re not ready for someone to potentially love and take care of you that’s one thing. But if you are intentionally sabotaging yourself because you’re scared you gotta knock it the fuck off.”

“But Ti--”

“No, ma’am. If that boy wanted to know when Normani’s album was dropping he did not need to take your ass to Rome to do it. You have been scorned by this industry more than most will ever recognize, and I know that, and I validate that. But you ain’t in a relationship with Manny Mendes. You’re not in a relationship with the industry. It’s Shawn. And that man hates his dad and his dad’s company more than you do. I love you, but you’re being a bit ridiculous.”

“...Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.” She hummed. “You keep doing this. You keep letting outside factors affect everything, and that’s not sustainable. You have to trust him. He has to trust you. That’s the only way it works.”

You peered at her with tired eyes. The kind of eyes that a woman who’d been scorned one time too many might have.

“But what if he hurts me?”

“Than we pick up the pieces. We work at it until your healed. But you don’t get the love without faith. You’ve got to put yourself out there, babe.”

And that is of course how you end up at his place at midnight on Friday nonetheless. Ti had practically ushered you off, offering to close up shop for the night if it meant you would finally leave the office. You’re still in your work jumpsuit with the too tight ponytail and the makeup that you couldn’t wait to take off. The code lets you easily without having to let him know that you’re there. Perhaps that’s why you finally get to hear him this time.

The doors of his fancy apparently are surely made of thicker wood, so he must be sitting right inside the living room. Regardless you hear it in this soft, muted kind of way. It’s an acoustic guitar, the plucking of his fingers just as rounded and full. It’s beautiful and rhythmic and it makes you pause, your fingers still resting on the door knob because then the mother fucker starts to sing.

Maybe I had too many drinks, but that's just what I needed

I hope that you don't think that what I'm saying sounds conceited

When I look across the room and you're staring right back at me

Like somebody told a joke and we're the only ones laughin'

You’re fingers grip tight at the door knob, you’re mind both seemingly filled with a million thoughts and yet too overwhelmed to process any of it. His door is unlocked though and when you stumble inside the vision in your head comes to life. He’s sat on his floor by the fireplace with a guitar you’ve never seen upon his lap. He’s wearing a white tanktop and black sweats. The rosary against his neck nestles against what looks like perfectly tamed chest hair. He is as unreal as ever. And yet somehow, somehow that is not the most astonishing part of everything around you in this moment.

He pops his head up towards you. His fingers don’t still on the guitar at all as he seems to pluck out the melody he’d sung just moments prior.

“Took you long enough. Almost like you were outside eavesdropping or something.” He hummed.

“I...How did you even know I was outside?” You stuttered.

“I get an alert every time someone enters my code. I don’t just wait around for you all the time ya know.”

Rude.

“You...You sing.”

He peered at you, fingers still moving, his head tilted just slightly to the side as if you were as confusing to him as he was to you.

“I sing.” He affirmed. “Is that okay?”

“How come--I mean you never said anything.” You frowned. “That--That song. You wrote that?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve been given a bit of inspiration lately. Is that what you came here for? To bust me in my hobby?”

This changes things. And surely it wouldn’t have mattered because Ti’ had already convinced you to suck it the fuck up and come over, but the fact that he’s got music in him and never said anything matters. Because there’s a lot he could have asked for. A lot he could have tried to get from you, and he hadn’t. It really didn’t matter to him at all. You were just a fucking asshole.

It occurred to you that you were still standing in the middle of his doorway, so you closed the door and moved slowly near him. He set his guitar off to the side as you plopped one of his decorative pillows in the spot beside him and sat down. Without his guitar, Shawn was a lot more fidgety. He took to playing with his rings on his fingers again, eyes soft and vulnerable pointed in your direction.

“So...Is this it? You come here to end it?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “No. I came here to apologize.”

His eyes flickered up to your face, a hint of hesitance to them.

“I’ve never heard you apologize in my life.”

You rolled your eyes and punched playfully at his arm, the chiseled muscle probably hurting you more than it hurt him. He wasn’t wrong.

“The truth is...When you asked me about Normani’s release I didn’t think of it as you wanting to know about my day. I didn’t think about it as you wanting to be kind to me at all. I sort of, maybe thought you were snooping trying to figure out a way that you could hurt me.” You admitted softly. “Because--well because that’s what I’ve experienced in the past. And that’s not an excuse but it just is...it’s what I was feeling.”

He squinted his nose up and it would’ve been cute had you not been so flustered.

“Wait, you thought I was gonna hurt you? How?” He asked turning more in your direction.

You winced. “Like...by maybe taking it to your dad. Knowing whether or not Normani’s gonna release would be really beneficial to him.”

There’s a range of emotions that cover his face. First confusion. Then acceptance. And then anger.

“Why would I ever do that to you? What have I ever said or done to make you think that I would choose allegiance to my dad of all people over you. I hate my job, y/n. I hate that company. You know that better than just about anyone.”

“I know! I know that. I just--fuck. You scare me okay!” You whined. “I haven’t been in a healthy relationship in years. I’ve been fucked over in my job, in my relationships, in life constantly. And I didn’t exactly walking into our arrangement expecting to find a relationship. I don’t know how to do this, Shawn. I don’t--I’m not sure I truly deserve it.”

You glanced down at the floor in worry and fear. You wanted it. God, you really wanted it. But, shit if you weren’t terrified to try.

When he crawls into your lap, you’re a little taken aback. For how tall that fucker is, he certainly could use an extra meal or two. But, there’s something about the reversal of his thighs bracketing your hips the way that yours would usually do to his. There’s something about the way his thumb soothes at your pulse point as his fingers rest on either side of your neck. There’s something about the way that he looks at you with tenderness and kindness. It’s a little unlike anything you’d ever quite felt before. And it makes you soften beneath him with ease, all the fire running out of you at once.

“You are...the most hard headed woman I’ve ever met.” He mumbled softly.

You smiled sheepishly. “That’s what my momma’s been telling me since I was born.”

“Well she’s right. But I’m kind of crazy about you. And I don’t like fighting with you. And I don’t like being mad at you, or you being mad at me. I just want to make you happy. This is the first time in my life where I feel like I can make some good out of anything. You feel...right. I like you, and I want to take care of you, and I’d like to have something where we can both give each other that. I’m just as scared as you are, okay? I don’t fucking know what I’m doing either. But I wanna try. Do you?”

Was it really that simple? Could it be that simple?

“I do. I really do.” You whispered.

“Good. That’s all I needed to hear. C’mere.”

For him, it could be.

His fingers knot in your ponytail and he tugs your lips to his with zero hesitation. After a shitty week of back and forth it feels good to not have to think for a while, to let his lips work over yours. He’s dominant even here with his tongue and his hands and his hips. He could’ve made it soft and gentle, but that’s not really what the two of you were about. Or was it?

“I’ve got leftovers in my fridge.” He murmured running his thumb along your bottom lip. “Did you eat dinner?”

You shake your head softly and he quickly climbs off your lap to tug you towards the kitchen. It doesn’t go unnoticed to you that his guitar stays behind in the living room.

“Are we ever gonna talk about the singing thing?”

“Maybe let’s do one heavy thing at a time, aye? I’ll tell you sometime. I promise. For now, do you want egg drop soup or pasta?”

You climbed into your seat at his kitchen counter and quickly tugged at your jacket and ponytail holder.

“Pasta. And one of these days I’m gonna teach your pasty ass how to cook.”

“Sure thing, babe.” He snorted. “I look forward to it.”

***

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laniidae-passerine · 5 years ago

Text

See, the big problem with Hitch is that he talks a lot about himself, but it’s near impossible to tell if he’s lying or not.

So, I’m going to collect information about him from the books that I think is either most definitely true or could possibly be true. Any other information I’ll discount as a lie or impossible to tell if it’s true, and I won’t write it down. Reminder that I don’t own books 2 or 3 and there are spoilers! below. Let’s begin!

Look Into My Eyes

He’s first described as basically a knockout stunner who walked out of almost everyone’s dreams. And so was I just not supposed to love him? Unrealistic.

“But when Ruby answered the door she was surprised to see a remarkably handsome, rather tall, formally dressed man. He was neither particularly young nor would he ever be considered in any way old - in fact it was impossible to really put any accurate age on him.” [page 46]

He’s apparently a man of culture, because he instantly knows what designer Sabina is talking about in regards to her jacket.

“‘Well it is an Oscar Birdet, maybe they felt a little out their depth?’” [page 51]

While he’s obviously very good at his job, he’s not so humble as to not be pleased with himself. He knows he’s good at what he does.

“Ruby looked up to see the amused face of Hitch. He looked kind of pleased with himself, which irritated her.” [page 55]

He’s surprised by just how observant Ruby is, clearly underestimating her right out of the gate.

“‘I’m surprised you noticed (my arm injury).’ And he was surprised too; he thought he had concealed his arm injury well.” [page 56]

Even a man of taste can’t help showing off, and it seems like every guy with enough money lining his pockets likes a nice car, as indicated by his colour choice in convertible.

“‘Well that might explain the flashy car - he’s got this silver convertible.’” [page 62]

He knows a stylist?

“Hope you approve. Had my stylist friend Billie pick these things out for you - she’s good at that kind of thing. Hitch.” [page 81]

He doesn’t have a peanut allergy, lucky him.

“He looked up, startled, and immediately began to spread it with peanut butter. ‘Toast?’ he said.” [page 81]

I am physically aching with how much Lauren Child loves to remind us how hot Hitch is - give us a break, or else I might cry with how good looking he is. But just in case you forgot, let’s remind ourselves about how Hitch is the most attractive man alive! Also, he’s got brown or hazel eyes, Mrs Bexenheath hasn’t decided yet.

“Mrs Bexenheath, the school secretary, looked up to see at what first glance she imagined to be some Hollywood film star. It was as if he had accidentally strayed off the ‘walk of fame’ and wandered unwittingly into the shabby halls of Twinford Junior High - so entirely out of place was he. However, this handsome man struck up and easy conversation with her and before a minute had passed Mrs Bexenheath had found herself agreeing to excuse Ruby Redfort from all lessons for the foreseeable future. She had concentrated carefully, all the while staring into his Hollywood eyes, wondering if they were brown or were they hazel.” [pages 105 and 106]

He knows he’s so attractive that he can just make stuff up and like Ruby, he’s one hell of a liar.

“‘Well, it seems that your grandmother had contracted a rare but not infectious virus while bird watching in the Australian Alps - condition, serious,’ Hitch said, turning the key in the ignition. ‘There are no Australian Alps,’ said Ruby. ‘Well someone should have told your grandmother that because now look at her.’” [page 106]

Hitch doesn’t know shit about children or teenagers until he meets Ruby, and that’s a goddamn fact.

“‘Buzz, give the kid a little tour of the gadget room,’ said Hitch. ‘That’ll keep her out of trouble.’ He was wrong about that.” [page 110]

Now for the moment that made me think he was cute when I reread the books as a teen - he’s not above messing with people and enjoys a good joke now and then.

“‘OK,’ said Hitch, holding his finger to his temple as if he was channelling the information. ‘I’m guessing... chocolate raspberry, strawberry frosting, rainbow sprinkles - am I right?’ Elliot, speechless, handed over the donut.” [page 148 and 149]

And the moment that made me realise I adored him. God yes he’s very handsome and yes he’s got money and yes he’s a secret agent but I’d trade all of that, just for a guy who admits when he’s been stupid. And somehow he can do that while also having and being all of the above.

“When he (Hitch) came in he said, ‘Look kid, maybe part of this is my fault, I accept that, I’ve been kinda ribbing you and talking down to you - so maybe you and I need to start over?’” [page 171]

He likes some of the finer things in life.

“Back at Cedarwood Drive, Ruby went downstairs to find Hitch, who was sitting in his small but comfortable apartment, listening to music and reading some papers.” [page 178]

He’s a charmer, obviously.

“It occurred to Ruby that Consuela was rather over dressed for this task, the stiletto heels and painted fingernails seeming to be more of a hindrance than a help. She was also laughing rather too much [at Hitch’s jokes], that sort of random giggling that certain girls at Ruby’s school broke into whenever Richie Dare walked past.” [page 181]

I don’t actually think he’s assigned to Spectrum 8 - he’s apparently not a Twinfordite or based in California as he implies when he’s about to leave the Redfort house,

“‘What is it? I got a plane to catch in less than,” Hitch looked at his watch, ‘seventeen minutes.’” [page 294]

He’s got a temper on him, and can get angry rather quickly if someone’s done something stupid.

“As he drove, Hitch thought about Ruby. He was about as angry as he had ever been. What on earth had gotten into the kid?” [page 297]

He doesn’t like Froghorn a the beginning of the books and also he’s the sick in the stomach guilt kinda guy.

“Hitch was feeling horrible - the kind of guilt that causes nausea. Why hadn’t he listened, he never should have let LB assign that numbskull.” [page 328]

He owns a gun and I’d assume it’s Spectrum issued.

“You tell him kid, hissed Hitch, his hand reaching for his revolver.” [page 378]

I can’t say for sure, but I have this feeling that he and Nine Lives were kinda close in the way that you must be if you’re continually trying to kill one another. (I’ve always thought of her as being smart enough to be a Spectrum agent but always refusing Hitch’s offers to join when they were younger, and he finally gave up when she started recreationally killing but that’s just my personal head-canon!) Anyway, her death has him feeling some kinda way.

“(Valerie) looked up at Hitch. ‘You killed me?’ she said as she slid to the floor. In her left hand the diamond revolver glittered, a pool of crimson forming where she lay. For just a second the three figures were frozen. Hitch had so many times fought Nine Lives only to watch her somehow leap to her escape - wounded but always alive. Could it really be over?” [page 381]

Feel the Fear

What does Hitch fear? LB? Death? Bears? No. He fears the most dangerous thing of all - meter-maids.

“Ruby looked up to see a tall, well-groomed man in a well-cut suit standing in the room. He appeared moderately anxious. ‘Am I making you nervous?’ asked Ruby. ‘The only person making me nervous is the meter maid on 3rd Avenue where I’m double-parked.’” [page 26]

He’s a trustworthy guy, so not just all stunningly good looks then.

“That was the thing about Hitch: he kept his mouth shut. He had to: 𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘊𝘛𝘙𝘜𝘔 𝘙𝘜𝘓𝘌 1: 𝘒𝘌𝘌𝘗 𝘐𝘛 𝘡𝘐𝘗𝘗𝘌𝘋. as one of the highest-ranking agents at Spectrum 8, he was trusted with heavily classified information. He didn’t squeal for anything or anybody.” [pages 28 and 29]

He loves Ruby, most definitely, like some kinda surrogate agent dad but by god how did he end up here?

“So how had a top-notch spy wound up working undercover as a bodyguard to a thirteen year old kid? Hitch, for one, asked himself this question practically every day.” [page 29]

It’s implied he’s never worked an actual real job in his life - obviously or else he’d have the worn down look of everyone who’s ever had to take a job in retail.

“‘No Redfort, not really, at least I doubt it, but they might fire me.’ ‘That would suck,’ she said. Hitch nodded. ‘Yes it would. I’d have to go and get a real job.’ He shuddered. ‘I’m sure my parents would keep you on.’ ‘Yes,’ said Hitch. ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.’” [page 50]

He never sleeps. He never looks sleepy. All a man born in 1930 knows is coffee, play his clarinet, not sleep, be bisexual, work as an agent and lie.

“Didn’t matter what time of day or night, Ruby had never caught Hitch unprepared, asleep or even on the brink of dozing off.” [page 131]

He has the dad act down to the “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” voice.

“At that exact moment Hitch’s voice was the best sound Ruby had ever heard, even though it in fact sounded sort of furious. He wasn’t shouting, which made it worse, his voice heavy with disappointment, his expression telling her that at that very moment he wasn’t exactly pleased to see her breathing but was relieved that he hadn’t had to pick up the Ruby-shaped pieces.” [page 176]

He is apparently knowledgeable about French Antique furniture, specifically that of the 1700’s.

“Clancy led Hitch to his mother��s dressing room and Hitch surveyed the damage. He winced, ran his fingers over the wood. ‘Pear and walnut, made in the French provinces.’ He opened the drawers and examined their construction. ‘Circa 1727, very typical.’ He looked underneath the table top; found what he was looking for. ‘Surprising.’ Then he took a magnifier from his bag, held it over the damaged wood of the table. ‘A quality piece.’” [pages 210 and 211]

Listen, when I said he had money, I wasn’t joking. To misquote somebody, I don’t love him cause he’s rich, but it sure doesn’t hurt.

“Hitch took a fat wodge of twenty dollar bills from his wallet, peeled off a large number and handed them to the guy in charge, shook them all by the hand and watched them leave.” [page 211]

Hitch implies he’s attracted to women, but that’s not news to us because he’s obviously bi, duh.

“‘I think someone just tried to kill me.’ ‘You’re looking at the next guy in line - I just happened to be having dinner two blocks away with a very charming meter maid.’” [page 322]

He’s got a vaguely recognisable aesthetic.

“Ruby knew the Charles Burger, and upmarket burger grill place, with green leather banquette seating and polished wood tables. It was very Hitch somehow.” [page 366]

He can do parkour. It’s amazing.

“‘Let me explain.’ Without warning, Hitch ran. He was across the parking lot in the blink of any eye and headed straight towards a high brick wall - but he didn’t stop, he didn’t slow his pace, he ran at the wall and then up the wall, and when he got to the top... (insert long description of very cool parkour antics)” [page 372]

I literally do not understand how this handsome superman type of guy is single. How?! HE CAN JUMP BETWEEN WHOLE BUILDINGS!

“The crowd gasped as the woman flailed in the sky, and then they gasped again to see a figure in all black fly across the spotlight’s beam to snatch her from the dark.” [pages 478 and 479]

Pick Your Poison

Nobody knows an actual fact about Hitch and it’s very painful.

“‘When it comes to Hitch, I think it’s hard to know what’s true. You think you know him but, look at it this way, what do I really have as hard evidence? Do I know anything?’ ‘You know he likes coffee,’ suggested Clancy. ‘What I know Clance,’ corrected Ruby, ‘is that Hitch drinks coffee and a lot of it, but does he drink it because he likes the taste of it or because she need to keep from falling asleep? Well, it’s anybody’s guess.’” [page 31]

In case you forgot, because it really doesn’t get said often, Hitch is very attractive.

“She didn’t immediately spot Hitch. He was browsing chickpeas: a tall, good-looking man, wearing an elegant raincoat over a dark suit.” [page 60]

Dad jokes!

“‘Isn’t this a bit inconvenient?’ said Ruby. ‘I mean, having to walk through a store every time you want to reach Spectrum?’ ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘It’s a convenience store.’” [page 60]

This isn’t really a fact about him, but this part always makes me laugh so here we go.

“Hitch, who was standing behind Ruby, was trying silently mouth something to SJ and making a sort of cutting motion with his hand as if to say ‘stop talking’, but SJ wasn’t reading this and instead was making it abundantly clear that she was marking this incident up as attempted murder.” [page 228]

The amount of sass contained within one man... legendary.

“‘Kid, don’t you worry about your mother, I got that covered. I have someone watching her, just a precaution.’ ‘I hadn’t noticed,’ said Ruby. Hitch looked heavenwards. ‘He’s a professional, you’re not meant to notice.’” [page 228]

This quote is pretty self explanatory.

“‘So who’s the Aikido master?’ ‘That would be me,’ said Hitch.” [page 250]

He does in fact like coffee!

“‘Same place,’ said Hitch. ‘I only told you Lucello’s because the coffee’s good.’” [page 348]

We get a rare moment of Hitch actually chilling out and eating food!

“Hitch was there, eating a Digby club sandwich (a Mrs Digby special) and he raised a hand in greeting when she walked in.” [page 393]

Even secret agents want their downtime, and are prone to laziness.

“‘You couldn’t fix it yourself?’ ‘Sure I could,’ said Hitch. ‘It’s a simple case of replacing the valve, which if I’m looking at it correctly is a 3/4 inch ceramic. But I’ve got bigger fish to fry.’ [page 394]

He’s capable of getting shouty when he’s being told he can’t do his job properly.

“‘You didn’t have any traffic,’ said Ruby, angrily, ‘you came by helicopter, and by the way I radioed for assistance more than forty minutes back.’ ‘Well, that seems unlikely since we got no call.’ They were almost shouting at each other now.” [page 476]

Just like I mentioned with Blacker, it seems Hitch contributes to some of the dark humour at Spectrum 8.

“Hitch: ‘You don’t have to convince me, you should see the state she left Baby Face in - or rather I should say, states.’ Delaware: ‘How do you mean? Where is he now?’ Hitch: ‘Well, he left his heart in San Francisco.’ Blacker: “His head was found in Monterrey.’ Hitch: ‘And his legs have yet to show.’ LB: ‘Excuse me?’ Blacker: ‘He’s a goner.” [page 503]

Blink and You Die

Both Clancy and Ruby trust their agent dad.Also, I feel like Hitch is actually the closest thing to a dad that Clancy has, because his actual dad sucks, and that just gets me.

“‘So you’re going to have to talk to Hitch. You trust him, don’t you?’ ‘A hundred per cent,’ said Ruby.” [page 96]

He’s notable for his on-time nature.

“She sat down. All the seats around her were unoccupied and there was no sign of Hitch. Mr Punctuality appeared to be late.” [page 103]

Although I think he might be lying, it seems like Hitch enjoys stargazing.

“‘I like that place,’ said Hitch. ‘The planetarium?’ ‘Yeah, like I said, I find it soothing.’” [page 108]

He’s sincere enough to convince LB to do things she doesn’t really want to and he’s got Ruby’s back to the end.

“‘Hitch has persuaded HQ that it would wise to keep up the survival skills. He seems to think you need all the protection you can get, and though you are no longer a functioning field agent or coding agent, after much consideration, I am persuaded he is right.’” [page 113]

He’s got non-verbal cues that indicate when he’s pissed off - they’re minor but they’re there.

“They talked together got a few minutes, all perfectly fine until Hitch appeared to notice something - perhaps it was to do with Froghorn’s attire, it was hard to say from this distance but Ruby recognised the subtle change in body language and knew that he was not happy, not happy at all.” [page 180]

He’s been seriously injured before in his life, and why was nobody paying attention to these goddamn children, holy hell Spectrum dropped the ball on this one.

“While this drama was unfolding, so another was taking place - the screams of a boy who had apparently fallen into the shallows, but managed somehow to scrabble onto one of the rafts. He had incurred a life-threatening from a fifteen-foot crocodile, but he was lucky - his cries had alerted rescue and he was dragged from the river before he could be taken by the reptile. The boy suffered severe shock and could not be questioned about the incident.” [page 235]

I think that his name suits him well, but jeez, imagine looking at your baby and giving him this name.

“The second, the boy who was almost swallowed by the crocodile, was named as Art Hitchen Zachery.” [page 236]

He is not immune to the upset looks of Sabina Redfort.

“‘I’m afraid I’m expected elsewhere,’ said Hitch, glancing anxiously at his watch. ‘Oh no, really?’ exclaimed ‘Sabina. She looked so forlorn that Hitch found himself saying, ‘You know what, how about I stay for the starter - it really looks too good to miss.’” [page 260]

His birthdate was 1930!

“‘Just how old do you think I am?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said Ruby, ‘fifty-five... fifty-seven.’ ‘Kid, I’m forty-two.’ He shook his head. ‘Boy, never ask a kid to guess your age; they’ll always have you pegged at just shy of decrepit.’” [page 290]

I don’t even know what to caption this, except that he’s able to burst into hysterics. Also, he went with other Spectrum agents to Disneyland, which is adorable.

“‘Are you kidding?’ He began to laugh, really laugh. In fact, he laughed so hard that he didn’t look like he was ever going to stop. ‘What?’ she asked, annoyed that she wasn’t in on the joke. ‘That picture was taken at Disneyland,’ he wheezed. ‘He was made of rubber. Kid, you might to get a new pair of spectacles.’” [page 291]

More dad jokes!

“‘I’d love to, kid, but I’ve got places to be.’ As the doors closed shut, he called, ‘See you later alligator!’ ‘Funny,’ muttered Ruby, ‘real funny.’” [page 291]

While the revelation of Bradley being alive is a huge thing, Hitch still has time for sass.

“Ruby: ‘I’ve only seen two picture of Baker and in neither one did he have this whole wild man of the woods deal going on.’ Hitch: ‘You mean the facial hair?’ Baker: ‘It’s just a beard for crying out loud.’ [page 336]

He can play poker!

“By the time Ruby decided to turn in for bed, Sabina, Hitch, Bradley, Brant and Mrs Digby were settled in for a long night of poker.” [page 348]

The title of butler doesn’t sit great with him.

“‘He’s some butler,’ remarked Brant. ‘Honey, Hitch is a house manager,’ corrected Sabina. ‘He doesn’t like to be called butler, he’s very particular about that.’” [page 350]

He’s this close to dying and he’s still throwing out the snappy comebacks, what a guy.

“The Australian: ‘Of course. But try to refrain from doing anything stupid.’ Hitch: ‘What would add up to stupid?’ The Australian: ‘Any sudden movements; that wouldn’t be smart sweetie.’ Hitch: ‘I’ll try keep my nervous twitch under control.’ The Australian: ‘I’m impressed by your common sense.’ Hitch: ‘I’m impressed by your gun.'” [page 388]

He’s a real personality - the kind you miss badly when he’s not around.

“Thing moved like clockwork in the Redfort home, every household issue was attended to, and though no one was aware of it, their security was monitored and every safety procedure followed. But life seemed dull without Hitch.” [page 429]

He has a permanent scar from the crocodile incident.

“‘Wanna see the bite? It’s ugly, took an awful lot of stitches to put me back together.’” [page 509]

And those are all the facts I’ve found that we didn’t already know/ are relevant about one Art Hitchen Zachary! I omitted the other 700 paragraphs where we get reminded yet again that he’s very handsome, and still he is the most amazing man!

#rr #ruby redfort #art hitchen zachary #hitch #me reading all of this is just *heart eyes*#im loveeee #if ya man isn't like this do you even want a man at all?#anyway #agent blacker #lb #bradley baker #byd spoilers #blink and you die spoilers #blacker #miles froghorn #clancy crew

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