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sagesolsticewrites · 2 years ago

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“i can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” | Austin!Elvis x fem!reader

12 years ago, Elvis chose his career over you. What happens when he shows up at your door asking for a second chance?

a/n: this is entirely based on a dialogue prompt I saw from @twelvegods: “I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” apparently it was a really good prompt because it inspired all 8,735 words of this lol. I I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it <3 Thank you all again so so so much for 500 followers!!

Word count: 8.7k

Warnings: a couple swear words, lots of angst in the first half, Y/N has trust issues oops, I think that's it? As always, please let me know if I missed anything!

Please like/rb if you enjoyed! 🤍

“I’m gonna marry you someday.”

That’s what Elvis Presley had said to you when he was just 20 years old and his career was starting to take off, thanks in large part (as Elvis said) to the Colonel. And you, being the young girl in love that you were, believed him.

What a fool you were.

You managed to stay together for another year before the Colonel, his claws digging into Elvis’s heart and soul to bleed all the green he could out of him, managed to convince him that appearing single would be what was best for his career— he had to let all those screaming girls believe they had a chance with him, after all.

“Baby please,” Elvis pleaded, “this is for my career. I promise it won’t be for long. We’ll get back together, you’ll see.”

You shook your head, “No, Elvis. I’m not gonna sit around waiting for you like some damsel in distress. If you want me, keep me. But otherwise…”

You paused, waiting for him to say something. Begging, pleading, praying he would say something, that you had managed to change his mind.

When he said nothing, you exploded.

You had screamed and cried, and he had screamed and cried, and you had taken your things that had made their way into his room in Graceland and stormed out of his life for good, only pausing to give him one final sincere “I love you” before you walked out the door.

The last image you had of him (that wasn’t on a tv screen or poster) was of him standing in the foyer in Graceland, tears streaming down his face, refusing to chase after you.

You hoped that time would eventually heal your wounded heart, but apparently whoever said time heals all wounds was a fucking idiot because it was now just over a decade later and you were still as in love with Elvis Presley as you had been when you were one of the only girls in the world who knew his name.

He, evidently, didn’t feel the same.

That much was clear, at least, based on the way he was still overly flirtatious with his audience in his shows, not to mention the rumors about relationships with his movie co-stars. In his shows, before he went off to Germany, he had taken to stepping down into the audience and kissing practically every woman in the room. That alone cleared any remaining doubts from your mind that he still thought about you in any capacity, despite that little voice in the back of your head that still held out some futile, desperate hope.

You’re about to curl up on the couch with some tea and your copy of Anne of Green Gables — exactly what you need on a rainy day like today — when someone knocks on your door.

“You expecting anyone, Y/N?” your friend Annie calls from the hall. You had been living with her for about 5 years down in Louisiana, after the memories in Memphis had become too much, and you loved it.

“Nope,” You call back, wondering who on earth would be knocking on doors in this weather. “If it’s one of those door-to-door salesmen, slam it in his face again.” You suggest with a laugh.

“Will do,” comes her reply, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

You turn you attention back to your book as the door opens, and nearly spill your tea all over yourself as you hear a sultry drawl you hadn’t heard in person in over a decade.

“Hi Annie… is Y/N here?”

There’s a moment of silence where you’re sure Annie is as stunned as you are, then:

“Maybe,” she replies curtly, “What do ya want?”

Annie knew the whole story of you and Elvis, and she had sworn that she’d never let you get hurt like that ever again.

“Please, Annie, I just wanna talk to her.”

“And why should I let you? You’ve got a lotta nerve comin’ here after what you did—“

You’re not sure what prompts you to set your book and mug down and sigh “Annie, just let him in,” but you’re just as surprised as Annie is that you did.

She reluctantly steps aside to let him in, eyeing him warily the entire time.

Your eyes drink him in; this is the first time you’re seeing him in person in over 12 years, and your mind automatically catalogs the differences since you last saw him. He’s tanned, with a few more freckles, a result of the California sun, no doubt, and tinted glasses hide his eyes. His burgundy suit is soaked, and his hair, which was no doubt carefully styled before, now flops onto his forehead, dripping into his eyes.

He takes off his sunglasses, revealing tired blue eyes. From the way his eyes track along your body, he was drinking you in the same way you had done him.

There’s a beat of silence, then his eyes finally meet yours.

“Hi,” he says softly.

You maintain a straight face, unwilling to be taken in so easily.

“What do you want?” you ask, your voice cold. You want nothing more than to rush into his arms, but you remind yourself: he chose his career over you, and never looked back.

“I fired the Colonel,” he blurts, after several moments of trying to figure out what to say.

“About time,” you snort, dropping your serious demeanor for a split second, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“I made a mistake, Y/N. A lotta mistakes, really, but letting you go was the biggest one I ever made in my life. I missed you so, so much, and I—“

You cut him off, “Elvis, cut the shit. You made it very clear you moved on from me.”

“Y/N, I never stopped thinkin’ about you, I promise.”

“Sure, and was that before or after you kissed every girl in the audience at the end of every damn show?”

“Y/N, I—“ he starts, frustrated, then takes a deep breath. He starts again, calmer, softer, “I know how that looks. But I… I can’t keep kissing strangers, pretending they’re you.” He looks earnestly into your eyes.

You feel your cracked heart melt just a little at his words, and yet…

“I don’t…” you sigh, “I don’t believe you. You put your career before me over a decade ago, and I tried to move on, but I couldn’t when I was seeing your face and hearing your voice everywhere, and it hurt like hell. And now you walk back in here, tell me you just made a mistake, and… what? Expect me to take you back just like that?”

“Please, Y/N,” he says, an echo of his plea back when he broke your heart for the first time, “I know I messed up bad, but… it’s you. It’s always been you, with those girls in the audience, even with Ann-Margret… I was always thinkin’ about you. And I’m willin’ to do whatever I have to to fix this. Anything. I mean it.”

And you can see the conviction in his eyes, like he’s that little boy again who believed he was Captain Marvel Jr. and could fly his family out of poverty to the Rock of Eternity. You know in your bones that he’d buy you the moon if it meant he could love you again.

But you’d made the mistake of believing his promises before.

“Elvis, I don’t know if I can trust you. How do I know you won’t drop me when your next manager thinks that’d be ‘what’s best for your career’?”

He winces as you throw the Colonel’s words from all those years ago back in his face. “I know I ruined any kind of trust you had in me that day, and I can’t tell you enough how goddamn sorry I am, Y/N. But I’m not askin’ for you to forgive me right now, I just want a chance to try and fix this. That’s all, I swear.”

He waits as you process his words, practically holding his breath as you think of how to reply.

“I’ll think about it,” you say softly.

He nods. “That’s all I’m askin’ for, sw— Y/N,” he fumbles to avoid using the old pet name for you.

“I think you should go now,” you say, your voice cold again to hide how the almost-pet name brought a storm of feelings rushing back..

“Right, um..” he fumbles around in his pocket, producing a scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled on it, “Gimme a call, if you want? I’ve gotta head back to Memphis in a couple days, that’ll probably be the easiest way to reach me if you, uh, decide anything.”

“Okay,” you nod, glancing at it quickly before stuffing it in your pocket. The number was for Graceland’s house phone; a number you’d never forgotten for a second, not that you’d be telling Elvis that.

“Well, um… bye Y/N, Annie,” he nods as he moves past your roommate towards the door. He pauses, hesitating for a moment before turning back to you. “You look good, Y/N,” he says softly before heading back out into the downpour.

The “you, too” you whisper in reply is lost in the sound of rain hitting the pavement outside.

The enormity of everything that had just transpired suddenly hits you and you fall back onto the couch, tears welling up in your eyes.

Annie rushes over, concerned. You look up as she fusses over you.

“Was that… did that actually just happen?”

Annie nods, “Yeah, it did, honey. I can scarcely believe it myself.”

“Did I do the right thing?” You wring your hands, suddenly second-guessing every decision you made during the interaction with Elvis.

“I know I’ve always said that I’d punch him in his smug face if he ever showed up here after what he did to you,” Annie says, “But I see the way you look at him when he shows up on the TV, and that ain’t the look of someone who’s just angry at an ex. You’re still in love with him, honey, I know it, and I feel like a fresh start is what both of you need. I don’t mean to overstep,” she drawls, “But if I can give you some advice: just start over as friends. Don’t jump back into a relationship right away. Try to make it organic. A clean slate.”

“A clean slate,” you echo, processing her words.

You mull over what to do for a few days, worst and best-case scenarios swirling around your brain, and eventually dial Graceland. Your foot taps anxiously as you lean against the wall by the phone, listening to it ring.

“Hullo?” A raspy voice comes over the receiver.

“Hi, Elvis,” you say, trying your best to sound casual, “It’s, uh, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh, hey,” he stammers, sounding less like the confident King of Rock and Roll superstar and more like the shy little kid you’d grown up with, “Uh, how are you?”

“I’m alright.” You reply, “Look, I did some thinking about what you said and, well… I’ve got a couple questions before I decide anything.”

“Sure, yeah, what is it?”

“Well, first of all… why now?”

“Huh?”

You sigh, “It’s been over 10 years, Elvis. What made you come back now? What made you fire the Colonel after all this time?”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I wasn’t very happy with the movies the Colonel was signing me up for. And then he planned this whole silly special for NBC…” he sighs, “I’ve been lost ever since I lost Mama— before that, even, when I lost—“ he cuts himself off with an awkward cough, “uh, anyway; he wasn’t helping. And I finally realized that he didn’t really care what I wanted to do. It was all about profit for him,” he says quietly. He goes on to explain hiring Binder and Bones to help with the special, to “find himself” again, and the realization he’d had that he hadn’t truly felt like himself since he’d left you.

“Hm,” is your only response at first, trying to shove down the warmth growing in your chest. “Well, um… thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome. I want you to know, Y/N… you can trust me. I know I ruined that back then, but I’d really like a chance to try and rebuild it with you if I can.”

“I think I’d like that, too.” You say after a moment of silence. “Look, Elvis, I… I don’t think it would be a good idea, if we’re gonna do this, to pick up right where we left off. We need a… a clean slate. So what if we started over as friends?” You fidget with the phone cord as you await his reply.

There are several moments of silence, and you're wondering if something happened with the call before his raspy drawl comes over the phone once more.

“I’d love to be your friend again, Y/N.”

A wave of relief floods your body, and you smile. You think for a moment before speaking again, saying hesitantly, “I’m coming up to visit for Mama’s birthday next weekend, and… maybe we could see each other then? That would be a ‘friend’ thing to do, right?”

“Yeah, I’d… I’d really like that.”

“Great, well,” you worry your bottom lip between your teeth, “I’ll just give you a call when I’m back home and we can figure everything out then?”

“Whatever works for you is fine with me,” he assures you, “I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

“Me, too,” you say softly, allowing a tiny bit of the warmth you felt earlier to creep back. “I’ll see you next weekend, then.”

“See you then,” he says and with a click, the phone is back to humming a dial tone.

You’re buzzing with anticipation for the next week, not only excited to see your family but also to see Elvis.

“Y/N!” Your mother rushes out as you pull into the driveway of your family’s Memphis home, “My baby’s home!”

“Happy birthday, Mama,” you smile as she rushes up to give you a hug, squeezing you tight.

“Thank you, darlin’. Come inside, honey, come in!” she insists, grabbing your suitcase from you despite your protests.

“Honey!” she calls to your father as she leads you into your childhood home, “Look who’s finally decided to come for a visit!”

“Mama, I was just here for Easter,” you remind her as you head to the living room to greet your father. “Hi Daddy,” you smile as he pulls you in for a hug.

“Good to see you, sweetheart,” he says, “Louisiana treatin’ you well?”

You nod, “Mhm. Everyone’s real nice, and Annie’s always lookin’ out for me.”

You fill your parents in on life in Louisiana, and in return they (your mother, mostly) regale you with all the Memphis gossip you’ve missed. Apparently the young couple next door had a baby recently, another young couple in town just got married, and oh yes, Elvis came back fr—

“Mary Ann, you know I don’t like talkin’ about that boy!” your father exclaims, cutting your mother off.

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to do, Walter,” your mother retorts, “It’s not as if we can pretend he doesn’t exist, not when he’s such a big part of this town…”

As you listen to your parents bicker, you decide that now might as well be as good a time as any to bring up your new friendship.

“Actually, Mama,” you interrupt their bickering, “I’m gonna try and meet up with Elvis while I’m in town this weekend…”

Your father’s expression flickers between confusion and anger at your words, while your mother’s morphs into one of delight.

“Oh honey, that’s wonderful!” She exclaims, “Though I admit, I thought you’d’ve at least called to tell us you got back together—“

“Mama!” You cut her off, heat flooding your face, “We’re not back together, I promise,” you add with a glance over to your father. “He showed up at our place last week, we had a talk, and we’re gonna try to be friends again.”

“Well I’m glad to see the two of you are startin’ over, honey,” your mother says with a smile

“I still don’t trust that boy,” your father grumbles. “Just… be careful, alright?”

You nod, “Of course, you know I always am, Daddy.”

”When were you two planning on meeting up?” your mother asks.

You shrug, “We haven’t figured out the details yet. I was gonna call him today to sort everything out.”

”Well you should invite him over for dinner while you’re in town.” your mother suggests, with just a hint of a mischievous sparkle in her eye, ignoring your father’s clear alarm at the suggestion.

You groan. “Mama, no, he really doesn’t need to come for dinner—“

”Y/N L/N, inviting a friend over for dinner is a polite thing to do,” your mother scolds, “and in this house we are always…?”

“Polite and respectful,” you mumble, repeating the words that had been drilled into you in childhood.

She nods, satisfied. ”It’s settled then. You two will have your little meetup and then he can come over for dinner that night, or the next if it suits him.”

”Yes, Mama,” you say, resigned. “I’ll go call him now.”

You make your way over to the kitchen, dialing the number you’ve had memorized for over 12 years.

“Hello?” The same raspy voice comes over the receiver.

”Hey, it’s um, it’s me. Y/N.”

”Oh, hey. Um, how are ya?”

”I’m alright. I’m back in town now, and Mama’s bein’… well, Mama, so you can imagine.” you say with a soft laugh.

”Oh, I can imagine,” he agrees, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “How was the drive up?”

The two of you make small talk for a bit, slowly easing back into being a part of each other’s lives, and eventually you remember the reason you called. “Oh, yeah, by the way; I was calling to see if there was a day or time that worked for you as far as meeting up this weekend?”

”Oh, yeah.” You can hear some rustling on his end, and you assume he’s checking his schedule. “I’m actually free this afternoon around 1 if that works? Or tomorrow?”

You weren’t prepared to see him quite so soon, but you suppose now is better than putting it off until tomorrow. “This afternoon is perfect. You still like that diner on Beale Street, right?”

He hums an affirmative, and you smile, “Great, I’ll meet you there at 1, then.”

”I’ll see you then,” and the line clicks back to a dial tone.

You head back to the living room, entering to see your parents doing a wonderfully poor job of pretending as though they weren’t listening to your conversation. You roll your eyes.

”I assume you already heard, but Elvis and I are meeting for lunch at 1, just as friends, Mama,” you say pointedly, noting the beam on your mother’s face. “I’ll ask him about dinner then.”

Your father harrumphs, but mainly keeps silent, a firm frown on his face.

”That’s wonderful, honey,” your mother beams, “You’ve gotta get goin’ pretty soon then, huh?”

“Huh?” You glance over at the clock on the mantle and sure enough, it’s already 15 past noon and you still haven’t changed out of the outfit you wore for the 6-hour drive up to Memphis. You grab your suitcase and race to make yourself presentable, managing to change into a dress that seems nice enough for a lunch outing (but not too fancy), fix your windswept hair, and reapply your makeup in a cool 30 minutes before racing out the door.

Before you can make it out to the porch, though, your father stops you, calling your name as you’re about to step out the door. You turn, “Yes, Daddy?”

He has a solemn look on his face. “Just… be careful, darlin’. You know me, I hold grudges like no one else, and I admit I still haven’t forgiven him for what he did to you all those years ago. If you let him in, and he hurts you again somehow I… I don’t know what I’d do.”

You step back into the room and envelop him in a hug. “Thank you for looking out for me, Daddy. I’ll be careful, I promise. I’m not the same girl I was when I met him.” You add with a sad smile.

He squeezes your hand comfortingly, “I know you’ll be smart. If he does anything, you come right to me and I’ll sort him out, alright?” You nod and, satisfied, he kindly shoos you out the door with a soft “Go on, have fun.”

You pull up to the diner to find that Elvis is already there, if the deep purple Cadillac parked nearby is any indication.

He waves from a booth near the back as you enter, his bodyguards seated at a table nearby. You slide into the seat across from him, pushing down the butterflies that threaten to stir. It might’ve been a bad idea to choose the place you went on your first date, you realize belatedly, but too late now.

“How are you?” he asks with a casual smile.

“Pretty good,” you reply, “My parents have been updating me on all the Memphis gossip I’ve missed since I was away, very exciting stuff,” you say sarcastically. “Mama says hi, by the way.”

“Tell her I say hi back,” he grins.

“Will do. Uh, how are you?” You say, trying to fall back into the rhythm of talking to him.

“I’m alright. There’s this big thing I’m gonna be workin’ on soon, I’m pretty excited for it.”

“Oh, big thing?” You ask, your interest piqued.

“It’s a…” he pauses, looking around, “no one really knows about it yet, so you gotta promise not to tell anyone, alright?”

You nod, and he continues, leaning in to whisper, “You remember that special I told you about, the one that Steve and Bones are helpin’ me with? It’s gonna be a TV special for NBC. A Christmas show, kinda.”

“Kinda?”

“Well, it’ll have a couple of Christmas songs, but I really want it to be about finding myself again. Gettin’ back to the real Elvis.”

“Sounds exciting,” you reply, a genuine smile coming across your face at how excited he seems.

A starstruck waitress comes to take your order, and the conversation continues.

“So,” Elvis says, “how are you doin’ in Louisiana?”

“I actually really like it there,” you reply, smiling. “Annie’s great, obviously, and I found a job at a bookstore that I really love, things are goin’ pretty well. I do have the occasional grumpy customer, but that’s just how it is.” You finish with a shrug.

“Grumpy customer? Sounds like you’ve got some stories to tell,” he says, sounding genuinely interested, and you can’t help but launch into the story of a man who was sure that Stranger in a Strange Land was in the nonfiction section no matter how many times you tried to lead him over to science fiction.

You finally fall back into a rhythm of friendly conversation, trading stories for over an hour before you finally bring up what your mother had asked.

“Oh by the way,” you say, sipping your milkshake, “Mama wanted me to invite you to dinner tomorrow night.”

Elvis nearly chokes on the fry he’s just taken a bite of. “Sorry, what?”

“I told my parents that we were meeting up and she was adamant that I at the very least invite you to come over for dinner tomorrow— you know how she is about politeness—“ you explain, “but I promise, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I completely understand, I’d be more than happy to make up an excuse for you.”

“And refuse an invitation from Mrs. L/N? It’s like you want her to kill me,” he jokes. “I’d be more than happy to come,” he says, in a more sincere tone. “Besides, friends come over for dinner right?”

“Of course,” you say, trying to reassure yourself as much as him, “and Mama’s very excited to see you, so be prepared for that.”

“I always am,” he replies with a smile.

You arrange for him to come over at 7 the next night, and the rest of lunch goes smoothly until the check arrives, which starts off a round of bickering between the two of you about who should pay.

“Please let me get this, I want this to be a start to making it up to you,” Elvis argues.

“I appreciate it but I’m perfectly capable of paying for lunch, thank you very much,” you retort, and this goes on for several minutes before the two of you eventually agree to split the check.

“It was good to see you, Y/N,” Elvis says as you exit the diner, his bodyguards dutifully on alert as they follow you out.

“You, too.” You say. “I…” I didn’t realize just how much I missed you, is what you want to say, but instead, you go with “I had a good time.”

His face lights up as if those 5 little words were all he needed to brighten his day. He steps towards the Cadillac, throwing a friendly wave to you as he calls “See you tomorrow!”

You wave back, and you don’t realize how happy you are until your cheeks start to ache from smiling on the drive home.

The next day, your mother is practically frantic, bustling around the house making sure everything is perfect for when Elvis gets here.

“Mama, it’s not like it’s the first time he’s ever been here! And we’re just friends, please try to remember that.”

“Alright, alright, I know, honey. I just think it’s nice that you two are spending time together again, that’s—“

The doorbell rings, and your mother jumps into action, plucking microscopic bits of lint from your dress before hurrying to the door and opening it with a polite smile.

Elvis stands on your porch, bearing a polite smile and a bouquet of lilacs. “Hello, Mrs. L/N.”

“Hello, Elvis!” Your mother beams, “It’s wonderful to see you again. And you brought Y/N flowers, how sweet!” She looks pointedly at you.

Elvis lets out a nervous laugh as he steps into the house, “Actually, Mrs. L/N, these are for you. A birthday gift.” He holds out the bouquet to her with a shy smile, looking remarkably like the shy boy he had been back in ‘51 when you first became friends.

“That’s very kind of you, thank you dear. Wasn’t that kind of him, Walter?”

“Very kind,” your father grumbles in a tone that makes it seem as though Elvis had brought a pile of mud as a gift. He nods a greeting, “Hello, Elvis. California’s treatin’ you well, I hear.”

“Uh, yes, sir, it is. Thank you.” he replies.

When your father doesn’t respond, Elvis turns his attention to you. “Hi, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you reply, resisting the urge to fuss with your dress.

The awkward silence that follows is broken as your mother ushers everyone to the dining room, arranged so she and your father are at the heads of the table while you and Elvis are sitting across from one another.

The meal begins, and the conversation that follows is strained but polite, with your mother eagerly asking questions about life in California and Hollywood and Elvis answering modestly then turning the conversation back to your family, remaining the picture of a Southern gentleman. The conversation remains polite apart from your father’s not-so-subtle grumbling about Elvis running off the California, and just when you think it can’t get any worse, he decides to bring up the rumors of Elvis’s womanizing.

“So, Elvis,” your father says casually, though his eyes remain calculating, “what’s all this I hear about you and… what’s that actress’s name, Ann-Margret? Or have you moved on to someone new by now?”

You feel your face flush, and you’re sure the mortification shows on your face as you hiss for your father to stop, please.

“Oh well sir, that’s really all just the tabloids tryin’ to get their stuff to sell, there’s no truth to that at all, I promise. Ann-Margret is a good friend of mine now, though.” Elvis answers politely, unfazed as your mother quietly scolds your father.

“Walter, quit it, you’re scarin’ the boy!”

“Well good, he should be scared after what he did to my little girl!”

“Dad!” you exclaim, mortified, “We talked about this! We’re friends now, you promised you’d be polite!”

“No, it’s alright, Y/N,” Elvis assures you, briefly breaking eye contact with your father to glance over at you, “He’s just lookin’ out for you like any father would, and I respect you for that, sir.”

Your father grunts a reply, and the conversation picks up again, still polite but even more strained than before.

Elvis remains as polite as ever, even offering to take care of the dishes — “Oh I can get those plates for ya, don’t you worry Mrs. L/N” — and despite your determination for a clean slate, your mind betrays you, reminding you of how shy and overly polite he was the first few times he was over for dinner, especially after the two of you first got together. Sure, he’s gotten a little more confident, which you’ll admit is kind of attractive, but�� NO.

You firmly cut off that train of thought, no matter how badly that little voice in the back of your head (the one that practically melted at the sight of him at your door with a bouquet, reminiscent of your first date) wants to keep on track. Just friends, clean slate, you remind yourself.

After the dishes are done, your mother prepares coffee for everyone and the four of you head to the living room. At one point, Elvis gets up to get a refill, and your father follows him.

Your father approaches Elvis once it’s clear that neither you nor your mother will be getting up, and corners him.

“Now Elvis, I’m gonna try to be polite, because my daughter’s told me you two are tryin’ to be friends and I respect her wishes, but I don’t trust you after what you did to her. And if I get even a hint that you’re playin’ with her feelings, well… I’m afraid that won’t end well for ya, son.”

Elvis nods quickly, “Sir I promise you, I have no intentions of playing with your daughter’s feelings. She’s very dear to me, and I swear I’d do anything to make sure she’s happy.” He says, conviction clear in his eyes.

Your father eyes Elvis for several long moments and, apparently satisfied, returns to the living room with more coffee for you and your mother.

Elvis takes a breath to compose himself — he’s forgotten how scary your father could be when he wanted to — and exits the kitchen, re-entering as you’re laughing at some comment your mother made.

You turn as he enters with a wide smile on your face, and he’s suddenly slammed back to a time where you looked at him like that every time he entered a room— when you looked at him as though he’d hung the moon and stars just for you.

Fighting the urge to rush over and kiss you senseless — that’s not something a friend would do, he reminds himself — he moves to sit in the armchair across from you, turning his attention to whatever neighbor your mother is gossiping about tonight.

The night eventually winds to a close and Elvis thanks your parents profusely for “a wonderful meal and even better company.”

Your mother waves off the compliment modestly, “Oh it was nothin’ darling. We’ll be glad to have you back anytime. Y/N, why don’t you walk our guest out while we take care of these last few things?” she says, gesturing to the coffee mugs still sitting out.

Elvis gives one last wave to your parents, wishing them well, before stepping out to the porch with you.

“Well, my parents loved you,” you tease as the two of you make your way to the pink Cadillac looking more than slightly out of place in your modest gravel driveway.

He lets out a shy laugh, “They haven’t changed a bit, that’s for sure. Your daddy’s still as protective as ever.” His tone softens as he continues, “It was nice seein’ them again. ‘Specially your mama. She’s always been better to me than I deserve.”

Acting on impulse, you lean over and squeeze his hand as you remember his own mama isn’t waiting for him at home anymore. “You’re welcome over anytime. I mean it.”

“Thank you,” he replies in a near whisper. Your hand stays clasped with his, the warmth of him tempting you closer, and his gaze drifts slowly down to your lips before the two of you snap back to yourselves and create a respectable two feet of distance between you.

“Uh, anyway,” you attempt to continue the conversation, refusing to acknowledge that moment of… whatever that was, “Are you gonna be here for a while longer?”

He shakes his head, “I’m actually gonna be leaving for California again tomorrow.” he says almost apologetically, adding with a nod to the house, “But I’ll still be able to call ya for a bit, right?”

A frown crosses your face as you remember: “I’m actually headin’ back to Louisiana tomorrow. But,” you brighten, “I can give you my number for down there if you want?”

“I’d love that,” Elvis smiles.

You rummage around in your pockets for anything you can scribble on, producing some long-forgotten shopping list and a small pen. You scrawl your phone number down and hand it to him, determinedly not noticing the sparks you feel as your fingers brush.

“I’ll call ya every night,” he says as he stuffs it in his pocket, “I’ll need ya to keep me updated on all the Louisiana gossip, hm?”

A sad smile crosses your face at the memory of the last time he’d made a promise like that. Despite all your talk of a clean slate, you can’t help but remind him, “Let’s not make promises you can’t keep, Elvis.”

You give him one last wave, wish him goodnight, and walk back inside, his pleas of “What? No, Y/N, this ain’t gonna be like that!” falling on deaf ears.

You put on a brave face for your parents the next day, joking about what a coincidence it was that both you and Elvis happened to be leaving town on the same day, but behind closed doors, you’re unable to block the memories of the last time he had promised he’d call you every night: when he went along with the Colonel on Hank Snow’s tour.

1955

“I’ll be back in time for prom, darlin’, I promise,” Elvis reassures you over the phone. “I’ll bring you a corsage, we’ll have a great time.”

“Okay,” you reply, “I’m sorry, I know I must sound silly, but I’m just really lookin’ forward to going with you.”

“That’s not silly,” he assures you with a soft laugh, “I’m lookin’ forward to it, t—“ he cuts off, and you can barely make out what sounds like a knock on the door on his end of the line. “That’ll be Scotty again, no doubt.” he groans good-naturedly. There’s some shuffling as he makes his way over, yanking the door open with a “Scotty, how many times do I have to tell ya—“

“Elvis?” you say, concerned at how he cuts off mid-sentence, “Is everything alright?”

There’s a moment of silence, after which he stammers out a response.

“I, uh… I gotta go, I’ll call ya back, darlin’, alright?”

He doesn’t bother to wait for an answer before hanging up, but in the split second before it goes to a dial tone you can just make out a woman’s sultry voice over the receiver.

1968 - Present Day

He had still called after that, but not as frequently; certainly not every day like he promised. And while you forgave what happened on tour, you had never quite forgotten what him being away for a stretch of time could mean.

Still. Clean slate. Maybe this time could be different, you reasoned, though you were barely convincing yourself at this point.

You head back to Louisiana, promising your parents you’ll visit again soon and that you’ll give them a call as soon as you get home. You stumble through the door of your little house, exhausted after the 6-hour drive. Annie rushes over to hug you.

“Hey honey! Good to have ya home,” she grins, taking your suitcase from you, “I’ve got lunch for ya, you go sit down. I’ll put this in your room. And then I wanna hear all about how that li’l meetup went,” she adds with a wink, gently shoving you towards the kitchen while she heads down the hall.

You smile as you enter the kitchen to see a little card with the words “Welcome Home” in Annie’s signature scrawl next to a plate on the counter. You take a bite of the sandwich waiting for you — grilled cheese, Annie’s specialty — and finally allow yourself to relax. At that moment, Annie slides in with a mischievous grin, plopping herself down on the stool next to you.

“So…” she leads, a sparkle in her eye. “How was it?”

“It was good,” you reply, purposefully misinterpreting her question, “We took Mama out for dinner and I made her a cake—”

Annie cuts you off with a playful swat to your arm, “Not that! Elvis,” she says, dragging out the ‘s’ longer than necessary.

You roll your eyes, “Fine! It was… fine. We met up for lunch at this old diner we used to go to, we talked… Mama had me invite him over for dinner, and he brought flowers for her” you say pointedly, noticing the gleam in her eyes. “It went well, all things considered. Daddy did have some things to say, he still hasn’t quite forgiven him for what he did, but Elvis was a real gentleman the whole time. He actually went back to California today, filming somethin’ for TV, but he said he wants to keep in touch.”

“That’s great, honey!” Annie squeals, “I’m glad y’all are doin’ well.”

You give a weak smile in return. “Yeah, he said he’s gonna call every day, but…”

“Oh…” Annie’s eyes soften in understanding, recalling what you had told her about your relationship before. “Y/N, I know it might be scary, but what if it’s different this time? What if he actually keeps his promise? He’s said he wants to work on trust with you again, right? This is the perfect opportunity for him to prove to you that he’s worth trusting. And if he doesn’t,” she adds in a lighter tone, “I’ll fly out to California and sock him right in his pretty face myself.”

“I know you will,” you laugh, “but you’re right, I’ll—“

You’re cut off as the phone rings, and you lock eyes with Annie. It can’t be him already, can it? No, it’s probably your parents calling to make sure you made it home safely, you reason as you move to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Y/N,” the heavy drawl surprises you, and you nearly miss what Elvis says next, “I’m glad I caught you, I was callin’ a bit ago and got quite a tellin’ off from Annie sayin’ that you weren’t there yet.”

At that you turn to glare at Annie, who only gives you a smug, mischievous smirk in return.

“Yeah, I just got in maybe twenty minutes ago,” you reply, the shock slowly fading into a kind of warmth as his voice washes over you.

“How was the drive?”

“Long,” you say with a laugh, “I’m glad to be home now. How’s California?”

“‘S alright,” he replies, “I just got back from finalizing some stuff with Steve for filming tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah,” you recall your conversation from a few days ago, “The Christmas special, right? Or,” you correct yourself, “the not-entirely-Christmas special.”

“Exactly,” he laughs, “I’m actually pretty excited about it.”

“That’s good,” you smile, “I hope everything goes well.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says sincerely. “But anyway, enough about me. How are you?”

“Well, Annie had one of her famous grilled cheeses waiting for me when I got here so I’d say we’re off to a pretty good start. Tomorrow’s an inventory day at work, though, not nearly as exciting as filming a special for NBC.”

He sucks in a breath in sympathy, “I remember you never liked those days. Good luck with that,” he says, “and I’ll tell ya what: I’ll make sure to tell you all about the boring parts of filming so ya don’t get too jealous, how ‘bout that?” he teases

“Sounds perfect,” you laugh.

You don’t even notice the time flying by as the conversation continues, the two of you talking about everything and nothing, and you fall into a rhythm of talking for hours every night. Slowly, the nagging fear you feel that today’s the day he won’t call starts to fade, and you look forward to your nightly chats where you fill him in on any interesting customers and he tells you about the goofs he made that day during filming.

“I’m not kiddin’, I legitimately forgot the words!” he laughs.

Your only reply is to laugh even harder at the image of him surrounded by cameras forgetting the words to Heartbreak Hotel.

“Alright, come on, it ain’t that funny,” he says in a mock-hurt tone.

“Oh, I promise it is,” you say, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye, “I might need you to send me a copy or whatever of these goofs, I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.”

“I’ll see if I can arrange that for ya…” he replies, his voice trailing off as he seemingly turns away from the receiver for some reason.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, just someone at the door,” he assures you, “Gimme one second.”

There’s some shuffling as he makes his way to the door, and your surprise at the thought of him carrying the phone with him across the room turns into a sinking feeling in your stomach as you hear the squeak of a door open and the muffled sounds of a woman’s voice. Your heart sinks as the memory of that day on his tour starts to play again in your mind, a cacophony of not again, I knew this would happen, I shouldn’t have trusted him filling your ears.

“-N? Y/N, you there?” You slowly blink back to reality as Elvis calls your name over the receiver, “Everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” you reply hesitantly as he dives into an explanation about some crazy fan sneaking past security to his room. He pauses, picking up on the uncertainty in your voice.

“Y/N… you can talk to me, you know that, right? What’s wrong?” he says softly, and he sounds so genuine you want to cry.

“It’s… it’s silly…” you reply, embarrassed at the thought of telling him that that memory from all this years ago still haunts you.

“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to know if I can help,” he replies patiently.

You sigh, and launch into an explanation of that night back in ‘55. “You just hung up on me, and the last thing I heard was some woman’s voice, and I didn’t realize how much that hurt me until I started worrying about who you were with whenever you were gone for a long time.” You explain softly, nervously fiddling with the phone cord.

“So just now, when you heard that girl at my door…” he sighs, realization dawning on him, “that brought all that back, didn’t it? I’m sorry, Y/N.” He says, and the sincerity of his words does bring tears to your eyes this time.

“I’m alright, I promise,” you reassure him, “surprised you turned her down,” you tease, wanting to move on.

“I don’t do that kinda thing anymore,” he laughs, picking up on your attempt to move to another topic, “besides, why would I stop to talk to some stranger who thinks they know everything about me when I could talk to you?”

Your heart flutters at the compliment, and you hope he can’t tell how much you’re blushing over the phone, “Aw, you’re sweet.”

There’s a moment of silence; not an awkward one, but comfortable, like the two of you don’t need to talk to enjoy each other’s company, even if it’s just on the phone. The moment is cut short, however, as Elvis speaks up again.

“I was thinkin’— and you’re free to say no, of course— well, Steve’s organizing this screening of the special before it airs. Right now it’s just Steve, Bones, Dad, Jerry, and me, but I’d like you to be there, too. Maybe get an opinion from someone who’s not family or paid to be nice to me.” He jokes.

“I’d love to,” you reply, “I’ll have to see if I can get off work, but if I can I’ll absolutely be there. And don’t worry, I’ll be brutally honest about the whole thing,” you add teasingly.

“I’m countin’ on it.” He laughs, “I’ll call once Steve has the day arranged and hopefully you can make it.”

The date Steve apparently figures out is November 19, two weeks before the special is actually set to air. Elvis relays to you that he’s arranged to do the screening at Graceland, and luckily you manage to convince your boss to give you both that day and the following day off for the long drive. Your parents are delighted to see you, of course, and you just barely miss the knowing smile on your mother’s face as you gush about how well your friendship with Elvis is going. Your father has warmed up to him the slightest bit, it seems, since your visit back in June, if the fact that he doesn’t scowl at every mention of Elvis’s name is any indication.

You take a deep breath as you pull up to Graceland. You force down the surfacing memories from the last time you were here, when Elvis officially put his career before you. Clean. Slate. you forcefully remind yourself as you step up to the front door.

The door swings open barely half a second after you ring the doorbell, and you find Elvis standing there, a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey.”

There’s a moment where the two of you simply stare at each other before he blinks, as if coming back to his senses, and steps aside to let you in. “Come on in, lemme introduce you to everybody,” he says, leading you to a room with not one, not two, but three TVs mounted into the wall, as one of his household staff comes to take your coat. 4 spaces on the immense couch taking up most of the space in the room are taken, one by his father and three others by people you don’t recognize. “This is Jerry, my manager,” Elvis says, gesturing to a man in a brown suit who looked to be in his late-20s with shaggy blondish hair, “and Steve and Bones, the masterminds behind this whole thing,” he introduces the two men sitting beside Jerry with a smile, one with neat brown hair and an ascot tied around his neck, the other with dark curly hair and round glasses. The three men give you various waves and smiles.

“And of course you know my dad,” Elvis finishes, gesturing to where he’s sitting next to Bones.

“Of course, hi Mr. Presley,” you say with a smile, coming over to shake his hand.

“Good to see you again, Y/N, how’ve ya been?” he asks as you take a seat next to him.

You’re hyperaware of Elvis sitting next to you as you make small talk with everyone, carefully leaning so that there’s a bit of distance between the two of you. As the screening begins, your attention is torn between the performance onscreen and real-life Elvis making jokes in your ear about “this is actually the take right after that goof I told you about—“ Your senses are full of him: the scent of his cologne, his arm brushing against yours, the feeling of his breath on your neck as he whispers to you, and it takes more and more of your energy to actually focus on the TVs in front of you.

About half an hour into the special, you excuse yourself and wander out to the hall, needing a break from the proximity. You don’t realize Elvis followed you out until his hand gently wraps around your wrist, making you jump.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure you were alright” he explains, releasing you.

“I’m fine,” you assure him, “just… needed a break.”

“It was that bad?” he jokes, “Damn, I’ll have to let Steve know.”

You shake your head, “No, no, it’s not that, it’s…” You hesitate, unsure if you should say what the real reason is. Your friendship is going so well, you’re not sure how he’ll react if you admit that your feelings for him were back in full force, that in truth they never really left.

“What is it?” he asks, concern in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, deciding it’s now or never.

“I’m in love with you. I never really stopped being in love with you, if I’m being honest. But being with you these past few months, being your friend again… I’ve loved it. I’ve loved talking with you on the phone for hours about everything and nothing, seeing you talk with my parents like nothing’s changed, and I… I wanna try again. For real this time.” You bite your lip, nervously gauging his reaction.

“You— you mean that?” Elvis asks softly, eyes wide.

“Yes,” you reply, “I mean it.”

“Y/N, I’d… I’d love that. I promise,” he says sincerely, “I’ll do it right this time. I’ll be the man you deserve.” He steps closer, his lips now just a breath away from yours. “Can I—“ his eyes flick from looking into yours down to your lips, “I really wanna kiss you right now.” he breathes.

You nod your consent, and he swoops down to capture your lips with his, one hand cupping your cheek while the other grips your waist, pulling you close. Your arms wind around his neck up into his hair, mussing the carefully styled locks as you savor the feeling of his lips velvet-soft against yours. He walks you backward until you’re pressed against the wall, his lips never leaving yours as his body presses against you. Eventually the need for air gets the better of you, and he reluctantly pulls away, keeping his forehead and nose pressed to yours as if he can’t bear to be any farther away. His blue eyes lock with yours as you catch your breath.

“I missed you so much,” he breathes, lips brushing against yours, and the amount of love clear in those 5 little words brings tears to your eyes.

“I missed you, too,” you reply softly, a smile spreading across your face.

The two of you stay like that for a while, pressed against the wall of the hallway, before Elvis mumbles “As much as I’d love to just stay here with you forever, we should probably get back before they notice we’re gone.”

“Oh, right,” you laugh sheepishly as you remember the reason you were there in the first place.

The two of you slip back into the TV room, your absence seemingly having gone unnoticed, and assume the spaces you had occupied before you left, with one small difference: your hand is intertwined with his throughout the rest of the screening.

Taglist: @queenslandlover-93 @anangelwhodidntfall @austin-butlers-gf @butlersluvbot @killerqueenfan @kittenlittle24 @beauvibaby @kingelviscreole @justjacesstuff @sweetheartlizzie07 @coldonexx @londonalozzy @kaycinema @annamarie16 @adoreyouusugar @djconde58 @mirandastuckinthe80s @luke-my-skywalker @tubble-wubble @apparently-sunshine @kisseskae @whotfatemywaffles @gyomei-tiddies @friedwangsss @shynovelist @sassy-ahsoka-tano @she-is-juniper

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin!elvis x reader #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler fanfiction #elvis (2022)#elvis 2022 #elvis biopic #elvis baz luhrmann #my writing #ickkspty #i can’t keep kissing strangers pretending they’re you

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ladyriot · 2 years ago

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Can I just say the writers did something so interesting in making Maura's favourite book Anne of Green Gables? And especially in bringing it up in this episode (5x12, yes I'm watching this show very fast; sue me, it's the weekend). The undercurrent it gives knowing that story while watching this one blows my mind.

So in this episode, Maura has to connect with her own childhood to access a connection with Jack's daughter and it so clearly digs up some things for her. She wants to impress her.

If you can't tell by my spelling alone, I'm a Canadian. And I studied English in university, so of course I've looked at this book in academic context before. Anne of Green Gables is something that gets analyzed as queer, as neurodivergent, and as trauma narrative. And oh my gosh is that interesting in the context of a character like Maura.

Maura who, like Anne, has a lonely childhood where she feels unwanted. Anne whose upbringing as an orphan is really tough with early guardians who only see her value in what she does for others and not who she is herself. Anne who combats that loneliness and darkness in part by trying to be unique, who loves flowers and beautiful things and wants nothing more than a specific cut of dress she's never had before and to be liked and wanted. Anne who creates this rich inner world and daydreams all the time to avoid the realities of her life (anyone remember Maura's wedding fantasies?). Anne who gets mocked and teased at school, but also has an imaginative side that draws in a whole host of friends too. I can see Maura wanting that part, seeing a beacon of hope in her because she's different but she's loved.

And, oh, could I go on. Anne whose trauma and neurodivergent traits have her constantly assuming her new guardians don't want her every time she makes a mistake or makes a mess of things, who constantly sees herself as bad, who can so easily see herself as trouble, as someone who only gets to ruin things and doesn't get to have things (some possible rejection sensitive dysphoria in that). Uh, big Maura vibes. I talk just a little about Maura being similar in this post here, but I could go on with that too.

Maura is still insecure. She still immediately assumes people won't like her, that Jack's daughter won't like her. That nobody wants her for real or for very long or when she can't give them something. She talks about being a weird kid in this episode. She tells Allie this:

I've seen literary analysis suggesting Anne might have possible ADHD, possible autism or cptsd. Maura, are you sitting over there and relating? Anne socializes differently. Anne gets caught up in all sorts of trouble because she thinks and acts differently, interacting with the world in a way unlike she's always expected to by others. Anne goes on long winded asides, giving stories to nature and ordinary things to the annoyance and/or affection of the people around her. She's constantly seeking out "kindred spirits" who get her even though she's different... like Maura does, like Maura probably wanted very much when she was young and reading this. Like Maura probably still does as she goes on her 'joy of science' asides.

And, Anne's often read as queer due to her almost overly dedicated friendship with Diana. For instance, Anne goes into this melodramatic tirade when Diana's parents don't want them spending time together after an accident with alcohol, with an over-the-top apology and very very mushy goodbye. They refer to each other as "bosom friends" and hold their friendship above all their others in a way that often reads queer. Now come on, this is Rizzoli and Isles, Jane and Maura. If you don't want me to read Maura as queer, Anne of Green Gables is the worst story to say is her favourite. And the worst story to bring up in this episode.

This is such an interesting choice for the storytelling to take. I just can't let it go as coincidence. I just take it as confirmation that Maura saw herself in all these aspects of Anne's character. Which, all in all, makes the end of this episode even more cutting. This is Maura watching her bosom friend, her kindred spirit, her Diana jump off a bridge and leave her alone.

And oh my god is that compelling.

#rizzoli and isles #maura isles #a little character study and a little #rizzles #this rewatch is emotionally wrecking me btw if you can't tell lol #this will be one of the episodes i watch like fourteen times

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shepherds-of-haven · 3 years ago

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What would be each character’s favorite classic book if they had to choose? As a bonus, what are your favorite classic books Lena?

This question came to me because I just finished Great Expectations and I am forever ruined🥲Looking for some recommendations!

Hi there, thank you for your interesting questions! I'll start with some of my favorite classics in the hopes that some of them might strike your fancy, and then move on to the characters!

Note: I should put a disclaimer that, as is the case for many classics, some of these examples are quite dark or may contain disturbing themes or content matter, so just letting you know that you may have to look up content warnings for some of these titles if you feel the need to!

Also, the ones with an asterisk (*) are ones I think you might particularly enjoy if you liked Great Expectations!

Some of my favorite classics:

East of Eden by John Steinbeck - my absolute favorite "classic" novel and a brilliant masterpiece in my opinion! Can't emphasize strongly enough how great the prose, narrative themes, emotions, and characters are, and it's definitely Steinbeck's best novel!

Germinal by Emile Zola * - an incredible work and magnum opus by Zola, this details the harsh conditions of a coal miners' strike in Northern France and is similar in its gritty depiction of poverty to Great Expectations. Warning: it is uncompromisingly brutal and was praised at the time for its shocking realism, so be aware that it has quite a darkness to it!

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky * - I love Crime and Punishment as a pairing to East of Eden, and I also think it's the best of Dostoevsky's novels (a bone of contention between me and my partner, who insists it's actually The Brothers Karamazov) and an incredible character study; I think if you like the characters in Great Expectations, you might feel similarly while reading Crime and Punishment, though it also covers dark subject matter!

Dracula by Bram Stoker

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley - both Dracula and Frankenstein are absolutely wonderful stories on their own, but also incredibly important lenses into the Victorian era and its culture and beliefs! Also, the beginnings of monster fiction! How could you say no to that?

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys - If you read Jane Eyre, you absolutely must read Wide Sargasso Sea, which is a postcolonial and feminist rebuttal to Jane Eyre told from the perspective of Mr. Rochester's "insane wife" in the attic!

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens * - Actually my favorite of Dickens' novels (even moreso than Great Expectations) and a must-read if you haven't already read it!

Greek classics - My favorites include The Oresteia, The Iliad (I particularly enjoy Caroline Alexander's translation), and The Aeneid.

Japanese classics - There are a few of these, but the one that's stuck the most with me was The Tale of Genji by Murasaki Shikibu. Although it provides a fascinating look at the court life of Japanese nobles at the time (and is thought to be the world's first true novel, or at least the world's earliest classic novel), it is notoriously wily when it comes to its descriptions, complex language and grammar, and difficulties with translations, so something to be aware of!

Shakespeare - My favorites include Hamlet, Othello, Much Ado About Nothing, As You Like It, and Coriolanus.

Finally, let's move on to what classics would be the characters' favorites!

Blade: The Iliad, Romance of the Three Kingdoms, The Count of Monte Cristo

Trouble: The Three Musketeers, War of the Worlds, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Dracula

Tallys: Tess of the D'Ubervilles, The Scarlet Letter

Shery: Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Little Women

Riel: Crime and Punishment, Divine Comedy, Paradise Lost

Chase: The Great Gatsby, Candide

Red: Gulliver's Travels, Through the Looking-Glass, The Island of Dr. Moreau

Ayla: Pygmalion, A Doll's House

Briony: Anne of Green Gables, The Once and Future King, Le Morte d'Arthur

Lavinet: Madame Bovary, Gone with the Wind

Halek: A Farewell to Arms, Ask the Dust, The Big Sleep

#Shepherds of Haven #classics #classic literature #classic novels #long #long post #all characters #books #favorite books

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hugemultifandomblog · 3 years ago

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ALCOHOL AND TIES - PART 05

I was snuggled in my old armchair, surrounded by cozy pillows and with my beloved true soul mate, my kitten Misha. I was reading the third book in the Anne series, tormented in every way that I could never live in Green Gables, when my phone vibrated twice on the coffee table. As an interested reader, I ignored it. The phone vibrated once more, and my curiosity won.

It was Benedict, asking me if it was ok if Richard picked me up in 30 minutes to drop me at the hotel. He said he had something that should be with me in a long time now, and he wanted me to have sooner as possible. One more time my curiosity won, and I accepted. I dropped my book and left Green Gables for later and went for a shower. I putted this adorable sundress, and while I was putting my perfume Richard arrived.

When I arrived at the hotel, the receptionist told me Benedict had just left. Now, mixed with my curiosity, I was also suspicious. A few minutes passed as I saw Tom heading out of the elevator and coming my way.

- Good morning darling! – He greeted me with a smile in his face and a glow in his eyes. – Would you come up with me? I have something to deliver to you.

- Hi Tom! - I was intoxicated with his scent. – Yes sure. Hmm, but I thought Benedict…

- Yes, I know darling, but he had to leave, some urgency in the studio. He asked me to give it to you - he said as he guided me, with his hand on my shoulder, to the elevator.

Once we got at the elevator, seemed like the air between us was made of roses and sun light. Occasionally, he looked at me and smiled. His presence made me fluctuate, like in a dream.

The elevator doors opened, and he guided me to his room. Unlike Benedict's room, Tom's room seemed to be filled with a light air, a smell of new books and his perfume spread and found when least expected. It looked like a larger room, with an anteroom separating us from the bedroom. He offered me a place to sit next to a large reading chair, stuffed with books beside him. My heart beat faster.

He went to the table under the window and picked up a small package. It was wrapped in paper that looked like book pages. It looked like a small box. Thomas was looking a little lost or uncertain. Apparently, the situation was not the most pleasant for him. I started to wonder what could be going on or what I could have done. In addition to asking what could be inside that box. A piece of lego? A cell phone chip? A keychain? I couldn't imagine what Benedict had to give me that he didn't want to do in person, until it hit me.

- Hum… Tom, are these pages from “Pride and Prejudice”? – I asked him while I saw the names Elizabeth and Darcy, my favorite book, and the reason I was named Elizabeth.

- Are they? I didn’t notice. – Lied him. – I am just the delivery boy. - He smiled and winked at me, fixating on my reaction on the pages.

It was clear to me Thomas did that, he was the only person I know that loved books as much as me. After I removed the pages from the book and placed them carefully beside me, I saw what they packed, I was more and more sure of what was inside. It was a small black leather box. I looked at Tom before opening it, he seemed just as tense as I was, and when I opened it, I realized that as much as I suspected of its content, nothing would prepare me for that situation.

- Since you too are now engaged. – Tom said while looking out the window. And then I understood why Benedict didn’t want to give it to me in person, it was an engagement ring. A fine, shiny, big, engagement ring. I put it on my finger, and it was a perfect fit, then I took it off and put away in my purse.

- Won't you use? - asked Tom in a urgent voice. “I´m” – I replied, “just not now”. – I wasn’t completely happy about it, the engagement lie was way too much to me, especially now that I was realizing the feelings I was developing for Tom.

- Well, I must go now. – I said while getting up and getting my purse.

- Why don’t you stay a little more? Hmmm, we can go grab some dinner or stay in and talk, it has been a while since it was just us. - My face felt warm, and I knew I was blushing as I shrugged my bag off my shoulder and nodded yes.

- Tom, before we completely change the subject, thank you for the wrapping, it was a very nice touch. He pretended he didn't hear, as he too blushed.

- So, what do you want to do? Would you like to go out or would you like to order pizza and watch The Big Bang Theory while you tell me about your favorite books? - He asked me while smiling. - I don't know if it would be a good idea for us to go out without Benedict, - he replied to himself and the continued - and I'm not just saying that because I'm completely addicted to this show.

I laughed way too hard, for me too was in no desire to go out. Especially knowing I would have to put this incredibly big engagement ring to do so. Had he suspected this? Was that the reason he made that suggestion? Sometimes it was so hard to read him. Tom asked me to sit on the couch while he took the TV remote and his cell phone to order the pizza. Soon he sat down next to me, perusing the ordering app, and placed a hand on my leg. At the same moment I felt a heat and a tremor go up my leg, he didn't seem to notice, because he leaned over to turn to me and ask what flavor of pizza I would like. When I replied that I was a vegetarian, his brows arched and he gave me the sweetest look in the world, squeezing my leg lightly, he then removed his hand and completed the pizza request, as he put the show on TV.

Obviously, we don't watch much. We talked for hours, he told me about his life, his family, and the cats he had. He talked so humbly how he felt about his career, and that the downside was being away from his family. He asked me about my life, my career, my family and my likes and dislikes.

- Really Lizzie? You are an architect? You are full of surprises indeed! That is amazing! I want to know everything about it. – Tom was more charming than ever, as the hours passed, we got off the couch and sat on the floor, he had served a delicious Chilean wine. That man seemed to know all my details.

- For as much as it is amazing and interesting the life of an architect, I think I'll leave you in suspense for our next conversation, it's already quite late and I have to call a taxi to go home.

- Oh darling, but the night is only beginning. – He said as he got up. He took out his cell phone and put some music on, soon I recognized "My Valentine" by Paul McCartney, he held out his hand for me to get up, once I was standing, he pulled me close to him and started to swing calmly, as if nothing else existed.

His body heat emanated and hit me in waves, my face pressed to his chest as we were dancing close together. His big, soft hands were on my back, one on my waist, firm as if he didn't want me to leave, the other light, drawing little circles on my skin. Oh, and his perfume, not the kind that you buy in a store, but his natural scent, a mixture of lavender with a hint of coffee.

He brushed his beard through my hair, as he turned his face to see mine, his gaze was intense and unusually bright. The circles he was making on my back stopped and with both hands he gently pressed me against his body. When his lips meet mine, I felt the blood pumping in my ears, I couldn't properly feel my cold hands and my legs threatened to give up, but then I started to react to his warm kiss. His tongue entered my mouth, exploring every receptive part.

I could feel all the textures, the tastes, the sensations. The texture of his tongue in my mouth, his tongue in mine, the taste of his mouth, the sensations that passed through my body like electrical terminations, the touch of his body against mine and the volume I felt growing bigger and bigger. against my leg. This whole moment was superlative. As our lips parted, our foreheads remained connected. We both were catching our breaths as he smiled and gently came closer and bit me in the lower lip. - Now, if you want, I can drive you home. - He looked like a kid who has just win the biggest prize in the fair.

- Oh honey, you can come back here, now you won't get away so easily. – I said with a grin in my face while grabbing his shirt and pulling him close to me. We intertwined in another kiss. this time calmer and slower, with several small kisses, exploring each other more and more, with gentle lip-sucking and nibbling. We stayed that way for what seemed one minute and one hour. Until we heard a knock on the door, and Benedict calling for Tom.

PART 4 / PART 6

#benedict cumberbatch #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston #hot hiddleston #benedict cumberbatch fanfic #fanfiction #fangirl #text #bbc sherlock #loki #tom hiddleston au #benedict cumberbatch au

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sourstiless · 4 years ago

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i just have to laugh at the people who say anne with an e is “too politically correct”. minority groups have always existed in society. having the entire cast be only straight white is unrealistic. nothing about showing prejudices towards those people is unrealistic because it happened. it was real. it’s not forced. and the diversity added would go on to gather a new audience of people who couldn’t previously get into the series because they couldn’t relate or never saw themselves in it. i admit that the reason i was able to relate was because i was adopted. i probably wouldn’t have gotten as into the series the way i did otherwise.

it also really bothers be when old anne of green gables fans are like “it’s too different” or “it’s too dark” or “it wasn’t like the books at all”. for one, different isn’t always bad. i get that you have nostalgia, but it’s a weak argument against the show to just say that it’s too different. anne with an e is a retelling. it’s like movies that say “based on a true story”. it takes the general and necessary points of anne’s original story, but adds certain originality to it. seeing the same thing done on screen is boring, anne with an e was a refreshing breath of fresh air. (that’s not to say that other version were bad because it’s the same story, i love the 1985 mini series and hold it very dear to my heart.)

the “too dark” argument just makes me annoyed, because the system anne went through was anything but ideal. she was taken advantage of, abused, which was simply glossed over in other versions of her story. anne with an e is much more realistic in how she would have turned out. anne’s imagination is a coping mechanism for and an escape from her trauma, it always has been, and anne with an e finally put that into perspective. she has ptsd, as anyone who endured what she had would. her life as an orphan was never pretty, in any versions. awae was just the first to actually develop that part of her instead of making it seem like she was just a delusional orphan with a wild imagination and impossible dreams.

like i said before, anne with an e is a retelling of anne of green gables, not a remake. its adapted from the novels, but it makes sense that it’s not exactly the same. something that i really like about it was that it gave depth to other characters other than anne, while still making it clear that it was anne’s story. gilbert was adapted into a well rounded character instead of just a love interest. diana was more than a naive girl waiting to meet everyone’s expectations. even josie pye, while still a “mean girl” was explored more. but this development never took away from anne’s story.

i don’t think it’s a coincidence that it’s dubbed “anne with an e” and not “anne of green gables” like it’s predecessors. right from the beginning it’s explicity set apart from its previous adaptations. because while it pulls from the same source material, it was never going to be just like the others. it was always going to be something new and original. i’ve read the books and watched other adaptations, the 1985 version being one of my favorites, and i really love anne with an e. it was nice, seeing it through a different lens. i thoroughly enjoyed it, and while we didn’t get a few iconic scenes, the series holds up very well on its own. nostalgia is not a valid criticism.

#anyway that’s my rant #anne with an e #anne shirley cuthbert #gilbert blythe #diana barry

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years ago

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Déjà Vu (Or are we losing our minds?) XIV -Modern!Shirbert

A/N: I haven’t written the epilogue yet, so it might not come out next week, I do hope I get the time to do it though, hang in there! -Danny

Words: 1,178

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Epilogue

'I hope that if alternate universes exist, it will still be you and me in the end. I hope that there will always be an us.

In every world, in every story' — Tina Tran

New Year's passed without any strange occurrences as well, Anne had made up her mind and decided that those dreams had been the result of a very shitty week in which she'd had to deal with her ex's engagement, but now she was fine!

If fine meant being unable to not daydream about the handsome stranger with the pretty eyes.

Either way, her trip back to Toronto had gone well, next day they would attend the Orchard's party (Diana had told her she'd contacted Gilbert and he'd reserved a whole table for them) and she couldn't wait to get rid of this false illusion, she decided that the only way she'd be able to get over this man would be by meeting him. Usually, that's all it takes to stop liking a man.

"Anne?" Diana peered through the door. "It's almost three in the morning, you should go to bed..."

"I'm sorry Di, did I wake you?"

"Yeah, what are you doing anyway? School hasn't started, you can't be doing homework?"

"Oh, no," Anne smiled. "I started a new project. It's... It's a romance."

"Oh?" Diana's brow raised. "Are we back to being hopeless romantics, then?"

"I don't know," She looked back at her laptop. "I haven't decided yet. Which is perfect for the book, you know? I think I can give an interesting perspective, don't you think? More objective?"

"What's the main plot?"

"I don't know yet," Anne laughed. "It's about this boy, he's met a girl once in his life and only talked to her for like, five seconds, but it's enough for him to fall in love completely. After that, he starts to compare every woman to the stranger even though all is mere speculation— I haven't decided whether if it should have a happy ending or a realistic one."

"Happy endings can be realistic too, you know?"

"Well, you know what I mean," She shrugged. "It's just a concept, and it could suck— I could end up abandoning the story if it doesn't feel right, but it's the first time I feel inspired enough to do something longer than three pages and I thought I should try it."

"I think you should," Diana walked up to her and kissed the top of her head. "I know it's hard to go to bed when you're inspired and all, but do try to sleep? I don't want you leaving the party early..."

Anne's stomach twisted in anticipation, she doesn't know if she'll want to stay after meeting Gilbert, but she can't say that to her friend.

"Of course," She smiles. "Don't worry."

———————————————

It wasn't a fact, but the possibility of Anne coming to the party caused Gilbert to pour all his energy into making sure everything was perfect.

Gilbert had always been a bit of a control freak, but this was the last opportunity to actually meet the real Anne, and he didn't want to waste it.

He looked at the decorations around him feeling satisfied, Gilbert checked the time and realized it was almost 3 am, he swore under his breath and quickly made his way out, making sure everything was in place and safely secured.

He didn't know why, but something about the next day felt final, it was a now or never kind of situation.

***

The train's incessant rumbling woke him up. He realized he'd fallen asleep while reading the newspaper, Gilbert carefully folded it and fixed his posture as well as his clothes. He realized he was wearing some kind of old-fashioned suit, which he didn't consider strange at all, it felt right, actually, he felt more at home than ever.

Someone sat down in front of him, a dark-haired girl with intense brown eyes and flushed cheeks, he knew who it was immediately.

"Diana," He smiled. "To what do I owe the ple—"

"What is wrong with you?" She interrupted. "First you make us all believe you're marrying an older lady, then you show up at the last minute and announce to my father that you're no longer marrying and you're moving to Toronto instead?"

"I— What?" Gilbert blinked. "Marrying?"

"Yes!" Diana leaned forward. "You told my father you were planning to propose to Winnifred Rose and that you were moving out to Paris, then you change your plans completely! You have no idea how's Anne suffered because of you!"

The name immediately stirred something in him, Gilbert smiled.

"This is a dream, isn't it?" He asked. "She's here—"

"So you simply never bothered to speak to Anne about any of this?" She demanded, clearly not listening to him.

Gilbert's mind came up with a reply on its own, much like any regular dream, it was as if he knew there was a script he had to follow for the story to continue its course.

"Had I had the opportunity to I would have, in fact, I went over—"

"You had every opportunity, for years! Admit it— You've been smitten with Anne ever since she first came to Avonlea and smashed that slate over your head!"

The sentence brought back clear memories: Anne looking extremely pissed, holding a small slate and then hitting him with it. Him being so drunk he'd insulted her without really meaning to.

'Oh... crap', He thought.

"I need to talk to her," Gilbert stood up abruptly.

Part of him knew this wasn't real and talking to Anne here would do nothing to fix the reality that he'd screwed up the first impression already. But his dream-self had no sense of logic, so he ran to the nearest exit just when the train was reaching the station.

He rushed past the crowd and quickly found himself in the middle of a town with no idea of where he was going. The streets looked familiar, but where was Anne?

He ran across alleys, wide streets and unknown houses until he saw a big, greenish building ahead, and his heart jolted in excitement, he knew this was it, he sped forward, he was reaching the entrance—

***

The loud beeping of his alarm woke him up abruptly. Gilbert's eyes opened at once and he looked for the device frantically.

"No no no," He said anxiously. "I was so close!"

But it was all a dream, even if he'd found Anne, it wouldn't change the fact that he'd already ruined his chances with her since the start, and maybe his dreams were all a constant reminder of how it didn't matter how many times he could rewrite the story in his dreams, what's done it's done.

Gilbert fell back on the mattress with a groan. He'd been planning this party for weeks and now it all felt useless, now all he could do was wait for the party and hope Anne didn't remember him.

———————————————

Anne stood gracefully in the corner of the room, looking around at the attendants of that evening's ball without much interest, she was looking for those familiar dark-brown curls, but there was no sign of them yet.

"Oh, Anne!" Phil approached her. "Isn't this dance beautiful? Although it saddens me that the only reason why we get to enjoy it it's because we've finished our studies for good! I shall miss the classroom very much, won't you miss me?"

"Yes, I believe my heart will feel like a part of it has been stolen as soon as you part from my side," Anne replied, only the tiniest hint of teasing in her voice.

"Oh, you're lying!" Phil sniffed dramatically. "I know I won't be you most missed old chum, that's a place Gilbert Blythe has occupied ever since you rejected his proposal."

"Phil!" Anne exclaimed. "Don't speak like that! It wouldn't be proper of me to miss a man while courting another and you know it!"

"Oh, but the heart is such a funny thing," Phil sighed. "And I know you love him, therefore I should deliver the news before it's too late. Gilbert is expected to be engaged very soon."

Anne felt like her heart was getting squeezed and shattered, but she managed to control her voice.

"Oh?"

"Yes," Phil continued calmly. "I thought you ought to know, even if you insist you don't love him. I tell you so you don't do anything foolish... you should tell him the truth."

"What truth?"

"That you and Roy won't get married, of course!"

"Dear me, Phil, where did you get that from?" Anne gasped. "He hasn't even proposed!"

"It doesn't matter, I know you regret deeply the way you treated Gilbert that dreadful day, I know you would answer differently now, wouldn't you?"

What dreadful day?

Rejected his proposal? What proposal?

A muffled voice echoed in her mind, one she knew too well already.

'You would have sex with me?'

Anne shook her head in incredulity. Well, of course she was going to reject him! That offer had been positively scandalous!

And what had she done? She had... she had...

The memory came to her fresh in a flash. She had seized the slate and slapped him with it.

"Oh my..." Anne's hand covered her lips in horror. "Well, I did what I had to, Phil, he was incredibly rude!"

"Rude? He was just asking a question!" Phil blinked in confusion. "How's that rude?"

"Because he... he..." Anne blinked several times, then her gaze gained a bit of clarity. "He called me carrots! Yes, he did!"

"Oh, Anne, that was so long ago!" Phil laughed. "Haven't you gone through enough together to know he didn't mean to offend you?"

Anne was growing anxious. She fixed her skirt even though it didn't need any fixing, and stood up.

"It's getting late, I think I'll go now."

Without waiting for a reply she left, in the blink of an eye, she found herself inside the Green Gables' kitchen, Marilla was seated in front of her, and she had a very pitiful expression.

"I understand if you don't want to visit him, Anne, but I think you should, this may be the last chance you get to speak to him."

"I... Visit him?" Anne blinked. "Last chance?"

"I don't want to scare you, dear, but his mother told me his condition is quite grave," Marilla sighed. "Gilbert might not be with us next week."

"Gilbert?" Anne's voice trembled. "He's sick?"

"I understand your shock, but please do consider going to pay him a visit, whatever he did to offend you... it's better if you let him go with a clean conscience, he was such a good man..."

Marilla was talking of him as if he were already dead! He couldn't be! Anne had seen him in the picture—

But how long had it been since that? How long since she'd stopped dreaming about him? What if this was the reason?

Anne stood up and ran upstairs, she got to her room and locked herself away so she could be miserable in peace.

It was true that he had disrespected her, and she'd defended her honour with that slate... but he was really sweet and generous... or was he?

Ugh, she was so confused! How could she know what was real and what had been her imaginings entirely?

***

"Good morning, Princess Cordelia!" Cole stormed into the room and let himself fall on top of her. Anne groaned and pushed him away. "Are you ready for tonight? I'm planning to get you so drunk you start talking about shifting realities!"

"No!" She whined.

"What?" Cole looked at her.

"I'm not ready to—" She caught herself before she could say 'meet him', "...to get drunk! I think I should take a break from parties..."

She knew that meeting him would help her get over her infatuation, and maybe even stop her dreams... but she didn't want them to stop; it was so nice to have someone treating her the way Gilbert would in her imagination... what if he was just as awful as Roy? She wasn't ready to have her heart broken again...

"Anne, but you've only gone to one party since the holidays started," Cole visibly deflated, "please don't tell me this is about your ex? Diana told me you were writing again, I thought you were making progress..."

Anne shook her head. "I'm not feeling well, Cole."

Cole stood up, Anne pulled the blankets over her head.

———————————————

When the first group of people arrived, Gilbert's anxiety skyrocketed. He was expecting to see Diana's face any moment now, and that would end up confirming whether he would be reuniting with Anne that night or not.

Thirty minutes... an hour...

"Gilbert!" The young woman and her group of friends (including Cole) made a beeline towards him. "Oh my goodness, you're so tall!"

He smiled, for a moment his thoughts focused on his old friends, and how different yet similar they all look from their younger versions. Then he realized Anne wasn't there, and his hopes and expectations both crashed.

Of course she wasn't going to come! Even if she did live here, Diana had probably told her it was a reunion for old friends only, and she didn't know him, not the real him, and if he was really honest, he didn't know her either.

———————————————

If she were to stay and miss the party, she'd end up frustrated. If she did meet him and didn't like him, she would move on faster— a bit hurt, but knowing she was making the right choice.

However, if she were to attend the party, meet him, and realize he was all she'd been expecting him to be and more... well, she could only hope for him to be single.

Anne had been pacing up and down her apartment pretending to be cleaning when in reality she was only making a bigger mess. Her phone buzzed and Diana's name appeared on the screen. She picked it up with shaky hands and unlocked it.

'We miss u :c'

Under the text, there was a selfie of Diana, over her shoulder was Cole, and he was talking animatedly with... Dear God, he was taller than expected.

She stared at Cole and some strange resentment filled her.

"That should be me," She stated, and somehow she knew she was right. It should be Anne talking to Gilbert, taking a risk for the first time in years. She'd only dated one guy, for heaven's sake! She had to let herself live!

"FINE!" Anne groaned. "I'm going!"

***

Gilbert hadn't announced he was leaving, he knew they would all ask him to stay but he couldn't, he was disappointed, all he wanted was to stay home watching shitty romcoms and crying his eyes out.

It was all his fault, Anne had nothing to do with this, he had let his mind run wild and these were the consequences he was forced to face.

Unknown to him, Anne was in her apartment frantically changing her clothes and brushing her hair. She grabbed a bag and hastily put all her stuff in it. She'd already wasted two hours, she had to leave the house NOW.

Gilbert searched his pockets for change, he was planning to buy a few beers and get slightly tipsy so he could be sad properly. He found a dollar but the wind snatched it out of his hand abruptly. The young man let out a short groan as he ran after it. A door opened across the street and a woman's voice reached him.

"C'mon!" Anne closed the door roughly, she lifted her gaze and...

Gilbert didn't breathe, he didn't move. In front of him Anne stopped as well, her arms fell to her sides and she stood there wondering if she was dreaming.

"Hi."

That was his voice! His voice!

She shook her head lightly and walked down the few steps that separated her from the sidewalk. Gilbert's feet moved on their own until he was standing right in front of her.

Anne's hand reached blindly and pinched her arm, she hissed. He looked down at her wrist and frowned.

"I-I just had to check," She laughed nervously. "I have... a very good imagination— so... I just had to be sure this... is real."

Gilbert spoke in the softest of voices.

"Anne? With an E?"

"H-How..?"

"I'm Gilbert," He continued. "I don't know if you remember but... I think... I think we've met before?"

"My god— You won't believe this, but I've been having the strangest—"

"Dreams?" He finished for her. "Me too."

She laughed again, her hands were shaking.

"There... there was a coffee shop—"

"And a cat—"

"You were dying—"

"You were a pirate!"

They looked at each other in disbelief, their smiles growing.

"I... was it real?" She questioned.

Gilbert's brow furrowed as he spoke. "Which part?"

"I don't know... everything... us?"

"Anne," He repeated, this time a bit more urgently. "I have to know... does this mean... you know who I am?"

She beamed, then stretched out her hand.

"Gilbert Blythe, I'm Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. I broke a slate on your head the first time we spoke, and I've been sorry ever since, I just didn't remember it."

He let out an incredulous laugh and held her hand eagerly.

"Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, I think we're going to be the best of friends," He gazed down at her adoringly. "We're meant to be. You've thwarted destiny long enough."

"It was you who moved out before we could meet!"

"You left the bathroom before I could apologize!"

There was a moment of silence before Anne spoke again.

"You know what this means?"

"Yeah, we have around ten years of conversations we need to catch up to," He joked.

"Ten years and a month," She realized he hadn't let go of her hand, but she wasn't going to move any time soon. "But I'd say the night's still young. I was on my way to your party..."

"Can I walk you there?" He asked expectantly.

"Lead the way."

***

"Anne! You came!" Diana froze and stared at Gilbert. "Oh, hi. Did you guys know each other?"

Anne and Gilbert exchanged a look and smiled.

"I ran into him a moment ago," She explained. "He's nice."

"Thanks," He chuckled. "Anne was telling me she's been your best friend ever since she moved to Avonlea— is it true that she's the Cuthbert's daughter?"

"Yes!" Diana beamed. "Isn't she great?"

"Is it true you got drunk on accident when you were thirteen?"

Diana laughed.

"You're already sharing stories? Hang on, I have a great one of that one time she dyed her hair green—"

"Diana, don't you dare!"

***

"You lucky bastard," Bash slapped the back of his head as Gilbert walked into the kitchen.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"You've been whining about your dream girl for weeks and just when you tell me you gave up, this breathtaking redhead steps into the diner and wastes the whole night flirting with you!" Bash said in disbelief. "How did you do that? What the hell did you sell your soul to?"

Gilbert laughed lightheartedly.

"Honestly, Bash, I have no clue... Was she really flirting with me, though? Do you think she likes me?"

Bash rolled his eyes.

"I swear, Blythe, if you don't ask her on a date I'll kill you."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Gilbert grinned.

***

"So, Gilbert," Cole nudged her arm as soon as the boy went into the kitchen. "You know he has a crush on you, right? It's so obvious, I'd be shocked if he doesn't get in one knee by the end of the night and asks you to marry him—"

"Don't scare her, Cole!" Josie slapped his arm lightly. "But Gilbert definitely likes you. He hasn't seen any of us in years and yet he's acting as if we were the strangers!"

Anne squirmed in her place giddily.

"I like him."

"That's our girl!" Jane exclaimed, finishing her drink in one large gulp. "I swear to god, Anne, if you don't take him home I'll run you over with my car..."

"Wow, that's a bit too drastic, don't you think?" Diana said. "They just met, and Anne's just recovering from her breakup with Roy!"

"Fuck Roy, honestly," Anne replied carelessly. "Gilbert's gorgeous..."

"Thanks," a voice said behind her.

Anne winced, the table fell silent and she covered her face with both hands.

"Oh my god... please tell me this isn't happening..."

The group burst out laughing, Gilbert sat down practically glowing with joy.

"Just so you know, I was about to ask you on a date, but I understand if you need time—"

"She'd be delighted!" Cole interrupted. "Please, help us, our friend desperately needs to get laid—"

"Are you talking about Gilbert?" Moody sat down next to Ruby and placed a drink in front of her. "Because the others told him that already and—"

"Okay!" Gilbert replied loudly. "Can we please not talk about sex?"

"Oh, pity, I was about to offer you a hand..." Anne teased.

Gilbert choked on his beer.

"W-What?"

"Smooth, doctor," Josie mumbled.

"Wait, is this actually happening?" Ruby asked with excitement. "Are you two going on a date for real?"

Gilbert stared at Anne with his mouth half-open, unable to get the words out. Anne simply smiled at him and nodded.

"Yes Gil, I'd love to."

The table went wild afterwards. Cole, Diana and Josie rambled about how they should've introduced them sooner, the rest simply were in for the teasing, but no one in the place apart from Anne and Gilbert knew exactly how long both had been waiting for this moment. No one was more relieved than them.

No one was happier than Gilbert as he reached for her hand and held it in front of everyone. No one felt giddier and excited than Anne when he asked for her phone number.

Life had turned into their best dream.

Taglist.

@ninizkd @http-itsrebecca @fuckthisshitimoutyall @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @little-boats-on-a-lake @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @skarlygonzalez

#twoidiots writing #anne with an e fanfic #anne with an e #anne shirley cuthbert #anne shirley x gilbert blythe #Gilbert Blythe #awae #DV fic #shirbert

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leahoftheforests · 3 years ago

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PART 2: GROWING UP

How would you describe your childhood in general?

“I was safe, healthy, well-cared-for. I suppose those are the most important things. I had my siblings, so there was always someone to play with. I loved school. I was allowed to read books all day if I wished. Nothing to complain about.”

What is your earliest memory?

“I believe... I believe it’s of Zachariah. He must have been just 6, perhaps 7, but he was trying to conduct a facsimile of a checkup on Benny, who was just screaming and screaming.”

How much schooling have you had?

“Not nearly enough, but I suppose more than many others. I benefited from my brothers, as it was simpler for the governess to teach me mathematics and the sciences alongside them.”

Did you enjoy school?

“I never had much of an aptitude for figures- at least there was some imagination in the sciences. But the days where we’d read Shakespeare and Chaucer were some of the best of my life. School was a place where the things I was good at made me stand out- I didn’t have to be the loudest, the funniest, the most popular. I could just use my mind, and I was praised for it. I also liked working towards a goal. I think I’d go to school for the rest of my life, if I could.”

Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?

“From books. Or from my siblings.”

While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.

“Once again, I found them in books. Jo March, Anne of Green Gables, Jane Eyre.”

While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?

“I truly don’t believe I’ve ever had a fight with any of my siblings, which I choose to believe is a testament to our closeness and not of my conflict avoidance. I wouldn’t say I have much of a relationship with my parents- they are merely authority figures at arm’s length. There wasn’t much of an opportunity to get along or not.”

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

“This is silly- no one will hear this, yes? But in truth, I had this fantasy as a child where I was... a pirate. It sounds so silly to say out loud, but I used to have dreams of sailing the seas like Captain Hook with a merry band of outlaws searching for treas- can we move on? I must sound deranged.”

As a child, what were your favorite activities?

“Obviously, I loved to read. I also loved to play pretend- I used to drag Benny out to the yard to pretend to be wood sprites spying on the servants.”

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?

“I was well-mannered and polite by all counts. Never made much of a fuss, never threw tantrums, always did as told.”

As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?

“Absolutely not. If I did not have my brothers I suspect I would have had very few friends, if anyone at all. I did have one close friend from town when I was roughly eight, and it’s the funniest thing- I can’t even remember her name now, but we stopped being friends very suddenly and very quickly. It’s not something I’d like to discuss.

Other than that, I didn’t have any close friends outside my family until I met Dinah.”

When and with whom was your first kiss?

“Uh- goodness. I’m an unmarried woman, and I haven’t seen much of the world. There’s much I haven’t experienced. I’ll leave it like that.”

Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?

“You cannot honestly expect me to acknowledge that question?”

#stmdevelopment #CAPTAIN LEAH #queue #if ur seeing this it’s my last queued post see u all when i get back xoxo

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forever--rain · 4 years ago

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hi :) for the ask game: 5 (i've been meaning to ask you this independently of ask games but i keep forgetting so yay!), 21, 28, 29, and 33?

Hi, Blue! Hope you’re doing well today! 💜💜

5. If you had to choose a favourite out of all of your multi chaptered stories, which would it be and why?

If I’m sticking with completed multi chapter fics that I’ve written, it’s gotta be A Delicate Balance. I loved writing from Zuko and Katara’s points of view. It really allowed the tension to build and it was fun to see how much emotion and backstory I could fit into a story that takes place in a 24-hour time period. Suffice it to say, I have a soft spot for the old friends falling for one another trope that has next to nothing to do with my personal life 😜.

21. Tell me about another writer(s) who you admire? What is it about them that you admire?

I have absolutely fallen in love with what halfhoursonearth is doing with I Asked You First. The characters have been aged up (which I LOVE because mastering an element seems to take remarkably little time and the world of ATLA seems suspiciously small. They’ve got some serious GOT travel timelines going on in canon that really bug me), the story has turned into SO much more than I was expecting based on the premise, and it’s just a really lovely, well-written book 3 AU. The characterization is excellent, there’s some great female friend bonding as well as male friend bonding, the emotions come through with such sharp clarity, and the plot involving Zuko’s family has me ON THE EDGE OF MY FRICKIN SEAT. The balance between showing and telling is superb—something I struggle with myself and has allowed me to learn more about the skill! It’s a beautiful fic and I highly recommend it!

(You can also find a delightful drabble halfhoursonearth wrote for ZKDD here. It’s STUNNING.)

28. What is something you wished you’d known before you started posting fanfiction?

How much of my time it was going to take up! I’m having to relearn healthy boundaries with it—which may or may not mean I’m retooling and paring down my Zutara month submissions and trying to nail down some concrete goals for finishing my other WIPs. I’ve got a lot of creative energy going in a lot of different directions right now and it’s a bit overwhelming. This is a hobby I love and I don’t want to lose that!

29. Do you have a story that you feel doesn’t get as much love as you’d like?

Wind-Songs in the Pines is my baby, my love, my absolute delight. It’s rated G and is inspired by Anne of Green Gables. I think that G-rated fics often don’t get the attention they deserve. But I also think people see that it’s inspired by AOGG and that they might need to know about the books—but they don’t! At all! Wind-Songs is basically just the rivals to friends to lovers trope with TONS of pining. And it takes place over the course of about ten years in the 1890s/early 1900s. It’s so fun and it’s so sweet and I love it with all my heart. It’s like my comfort writing project!

33. What’s the biggest compliment you’ve gotten?

Any time someone tells me that they come back to reread one of my fics over and over again, they steal a little slice of my heart and turn me into an emotional puddle of goo. 🥺🥰

Thanks for asking, dearest!! 💜💜

Come ask me things about writing fic!

#zutara #zuko #katara #atla #evergreen writes #ask evergreen #evergreen answers #thebluesunflower44 #ask games

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royalcordelia · 5 years ago

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In the Blue Haze (1/1)

Summary: In which Anne loves Gilbert, Gilbert loves Anne, and Bash is caught hoping they'll come to their senses. (A post 3x08 story).

Bash didn’t think there was anything particularly offensive about his front door, but Anne gaped at it like it was about to open into the fiery depths of the earth. From his spot in the garden, surrounded by Mary’s forget-me-nots and chrysanthemum, Bash had watched Anne Shirley march up to his door a total of two times.

Ah wait, he thought amused, that makes three. Each time she spun on her heel, she’d only made it a few steps away before turning back to the door, hand raised and ready to knock. On the third time, though, she hurried down the porch steps and froze on the last one, catching Bash’s eye. Her shoulders rose up to her ears in surprise, and if Bash didn’t know any better, he’d say she’d been crying.

“Family don’t have to knock, Anne-girl. Besides, nothing in that house is going to bite you, not even the teething baby,” he called out. Anne’s shoulders relaxed, but her face was still guarded. “I called out to you when you first walked by, but you didn’t hear me.”

“I’m sorry,” Anne apologized. Bash couldn’t help but think that she looked like a chestnut colored doe, frightened to be caught and unsure where to escape to. “Is Gilbert home?”

Understanding flooded through Bash, and he stabbed his rake into the ground. He shifted on his feet, peering down at his toes to avoid stepping on the flowers. Delivering unpleasant news was never truly his forte. Anne’s distress only spread across the yard as he hesitated, so he heaved a disappointed sigh.

“Gilbert left for Charlottetown this morning. He wasn’t sure when he’d be home.”

“To see Winifred?”

Bash frowned. He loved this skinny little redheaded queen of Avonlea, and to see her disintegrating away crumpled his heart like paper. All he could say was, “I’m so sorry, Anne.”

She paled into a ghost right on the porch steps, nodding numbly. Her lips parted as if she might say something, but no sound followed. Swallowing, Anne climbed down the rest of the stairs. She shuffled across the dirt path with her battered heart bleeding on her sleeve.

“Anne?” Bash called out. She paused, looking over her shoulder with rosy eyes. “Why don’t you go in and say hello to the baby. I bet she’d be happy to see you. Take your mind off of things. ”

“That’s okay, Bash. I’ll just go home.”

“I just thought you might like a free moment to yourself, is all,” Bash explained. “But if you’d rather go back to Green Gables, I won’t blame you.”

Anne swiped a hand across her cheek and nodded. She considered heading back down the road, but eventually decided on the company of one tiny little girl. She moved into the house as if she were marching in her own funeral, a mere soul of a girl wandering around with unfinished business. Bash’s eyes lingered on her as she quietly entered the house and let out a quiet sob.

“Damn it, Blythe,” Bash spat angrily, throwing his rake into the soil. He leaned his face into the sun, drinking in all of its warm light. “Oh, I wish he would’ve listened to you, Mary.”

Bash’s work in the garden had turned the humble plot of land into a creation fitting to honor his wife, but Anne had still not come from the house. She might’ve slid out of the back door, escaping into the solace of her beloved forests. But when Bash swung up the kitchen door, he found a quiet girl rocking his baby back and forth, smooth and steady like waves on a ship. Anne clung to Delphine, pressing her face in the baby girl’s hair and sniffled. When he called her name, she lifted her head and managed a smile.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked gently. Anne shook her head, shaking Delphine on her knee. Across the table, he could see that her eyes were dry, but still red around the corner. Shiny streaks dried against her cheeks, but she’d stopped weeping some time ago. Bash searched for something to say, but Anne filled the silence by getting up to pour him a glass of water. She snuck a glance out the window before handing him the cup.

“The garden looks positively enchanting,” she complimented quietly.

“Thank you very much. I took your advice about those little blue flowers. They’re very sweet.” He paused, tapping onto his glass. “Anne, what happened with you and Gilbert?”

Anne’s eyes turned burst with panic.

“Forget I asked!” Bash rushed. “I just wondered...Sometimes he barely tells me anything straight out.”

At the counter, Anne turned her back to Bash and began stirring some of Delphine’s porridge over the stove.

“There’s not much to tell. He came to me to tell me that Winifred’s parents were going to help him fulfill his dreams and he was considering proposing. Then he left.”

Bash took a swig of his water, nearly slamming it back down on the table.

“He said he asked you…” he trailed off. Maybe he shouldn’t be spreading around his brother’s business like this.

“Asked me what?” Anne yelped, spinning around. Delphine let out a disapproving grunt. “He didn’t ask me anything.”

“He didn’t?” Bash exclaimed.

“I was admittedly a bit...inebriated, but of all the things he said to me, he never asked me anything,” Anne ranted. “He just said there was just one thing that was holding him back from going off with Winifred. And I...I didn’t know what to say! I rambled incoherently trying to gather my thoughts and then he left .” Anne finished with a bitterness in her tone that Bash hadn’t heard from her before. She sat at the table with a half-angry, half-heartbroken thud. “So no, he didn’t ask me anything.”

Bash didn’t know what to say. How could he stand behind Gilbert, explain his behavior, when this force-of-nature of a girl struggled not to cry in their kitchen. He fought off the urge to drop his head into his hands, but for Anne’s sake, he bit the inside of his cheek.

“I don’t know why I thought he’d ever…” Anne swallowed, blinking furiously, determined not to cry. “I don’t have anything to offer him.”

“That’s not true. Anne, everything that you are is more than that poor boy could ever deserve,” Bash argued immediately. He reached across the table, taking his fingers in hers. The freckles on the back of her hand looked like stars, and he gave a comforting squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I really, really wanted to be able to officially call you family. But no matter what happens, know this Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. On paper or no, you’re our family.”

Anne’s blinked surprised, but her face crumbled seconds later. She bit her lip against the next onslaught of tears, chuckling with sobbing shudders as a few droplets dripped onto Dellie’s head. The peace of the moment was almost enough to soothe Anne’s aching heart, but the silence was interrupted by Bash’s mother calling from outside.

“Mr. Blythe! We didn’t expect you home so soon! Come inside, come inside. Poor man must be tired!”

Anne shot Bash a panicked expression, and snatched her hand back to wipe away her tears. When Gilbert’s silhouette formed behind the kitchen door’s curtains, Anne shot to her feet and hid around the corner, just out of sight. She looked over, wondering if she could slip out one of the windows without making any noise. It was only when Delphine yanked at one of her loose tresses that Anne realized she had brought the baby with her. Tossing Delphine a desperate, over-exaggerated grin, she willed Delphine to stay quiet. Looked like she was staying put, at least until Gilbert went up to his room.

It was hard to tell what was happening.

“You’re back early,” Bash commented, only slightly choking at the knowledge that Anne was hiding just out of sight. Gilbert didn’t answer, but Anne heard the clinking of something small and metal dropping onto the table. A ring ?

There was a pause, then Bash said slowly, “She said no?”

“ I said no,” Gilbert replied. A gasp almost escaped Anne’s lips, but she bit her tongue at the last second. “Why didn’t you wrap a chain around my ankle to keep me from going? I made such an ass of myself.”

“You’re a grown man, Blythe. You can make your decisions without any influence from your brother. Besides, you asked me for my advice and you didn’t take it,” Bash teased, though the truth in his words was unmistakable. Gilbert only groaned in response. “Tell me about what happened.”

There was a scraping off a chair as Gilbert sat down.

“I took one look at Winifred and instead of saying Will you marry me like I planned, I said, I’m so sorry, I can’t keep courting you. If she hates me, I won’t be able to blame her. She wanted to know why.”

“What’d you say?”

“I told her why.”

Anne wished she could peek around the corner and just get a glimpse of him. Maybe he was leaning back in his chair, curly hair unruly and throat exposed. An ache shot through her chest when she remembered that she had no right to be thinking about how handsome he was. Yet, she couldn’t help but wonder, was he disappointed the proposal hadn’t gone well? If she could just catch a glimpse of his face, she’d be able to tell right away.

Silence settled on the room so thickly that Anne was surprised they both were still sitting there. But Gilbert needed time to process, and Bash was prepared to let him - even if it meant keeping Anne hiding behind the corner. Finally, Gilbert broke the silence.

“Sebastian, you were right,” he admitted lowly.

“About what?”

“It’s always, always been Anne,” he admitted. Anne felt her heart plummet into her stomach, sending a million butterflies erupting from thin air. Was he saying what she thought he was.

“I’m the biggest fool I know,” Gilbert lamented.

“You’re the biggest fool I know, too,” Bash quipped light-heartedly. Anne imagined Gilbert glaring across the table, but his chair scraped as if he had jumped to his feet.

“This is serious!” Gilbert scolded. “You know, there was this moment the other night when I went to see her. She was dancing up on this old dory pretending to be a pirate, and everyone was cheering. But you know what I saw?”

“What, Blythe?”

“Anne - with her hair down, the fire behind her, looking like the exact sight that nearly knocked me to my knees.” He paused, and Anne suddenly felt moisture on her face. Delphine reached out her tiny fingers and touched the dampness.

“I’m such an idiot. I didn’t even let her talk, I didn’t say what I wanted to say.”

“What did you want to say?”

“That I’m in love with her!” Gilbert burst. Anne nearly fell to her knees, with the shock of it. “Everything you said love is, everything you said it would feel like, it’s all there. I’ve known it since the day I met her. What have I been doing all this time?”

Anne pressed her back against the wall, and leaned her head back. She couldn’t breathe . Gilbert Blythe was in his kitchen, confessing to his brother that he was in love with her and she wasn’t dreaming. Delphine gave another tug on her hair just to remind her.

“It’s not about what you’ve been doing, Gilbert. It’s about what you choose to do now. ”

“I haven’t had a chance to think that far yet,” Gilbert admitted.

“Haven’t you?” Bash challenged. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about it for a long time.”

Gilbert scoffed.

“I can’t expect her to listen to me. Not after everything I’ve put her through.”

Bash let out an amused burst of laughter.

“There’s the Gilbert Blythe I know. Congratulations on pulling your head out of your behind.” Gilbert swatted Bash. “Tell you the truth, I don’t think you have much to worry about.”

“What makes you say-”

It was at this precise moment that Delphine Lacroix let out an unexpected fit of giggles. Anne nearly jumped out of her skin, snapping back out of her thoughts to check and make sure Delphine hadn’t gotten into anything dangerous. But she was laughing as babies do, making Anne realize that Gilbert had stopped talking. With a deep breath, she rounded the corner and revealed herself.

Gilbert’s face turned the same shade as Marilla’s rosebush and Anne wasn’t sure if he was embarrassed or angry or both. Shame blanketed her under the soundless gazes of the Blythe-Lacroix men. She shouldn’t have listened so long, especially something so private. Lightning fast, Anne rambled out the first explanation she could think of.

“I didn’t mean to listen. I meant to leave when you came up the drive, but then I looked down and…” she bounced Delphine on her hip. Handing Bash his daughter, she wiped her sweaty palms on the skirts of her dress. “I’ll leave.”

“Don’t,” Gilbert choked. Anne’s brows shot up, and she wondered if she’d ever remember how to breathe.

“Alright,” she murmured.

Bash looked back and forth between them, then rose from the table.

“I better let you two talk,” he said, heading out of the room.

But Anne and Gilbert didn’t talk. They gazed at each other, minds dancing around the words they needed to say, but never actually coming to any worthwhile conclusions. Anne wasn’t accustomed to being left without her words, but the longer she said nothing, the more desperate and sad Gilbert’s hazel eyes grew. He’d said all he could. It was her turn now.

Dizzy with her own affection and anxious that one wrong move could send them flying apart, Anne crept forward. Gilbert watched her eagerly. When she gently took his hands, a breathy sigh escaped his lips and blew against her hair. Her presence was a balm to him, and whatever had been weighing on his shoulders began to lift away. Lifting their joined fingers, Anne leaned her face onto the back of his hand, pressing a kiss to his soft skin. Gilbert swallowed, his eyes nearly misty in the sunlight.

“I wanted to tell you everything,” he whispered. “When I was feeling more like myself.”

Anne shook her head, smiling. She didn’t need a storybook confession. She’d renounce all of her childlike ideals if it meant he loved her - and he did. Everything she needed to know, she could see peering up at him with teary, lovestruck eyes.

“You really love me?” she murmured hopefully. Gilbert’s face split into a grin, and he tugged Anne into him. Her arms fell perfectly around his shoulders, her head resting on his shoulder as if it had always meant to lay there. He buried his face into her hair and tightened his hold.

“I do,” he promised into her ear. “I do.”

A shocked sound escaped her lips - halfway between a laugh and a sob. She murmured something incoherent into the fabric of his shirt, so he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her back.

“What did you say?” he chuckled. Anne bit her lip and forced herself to tear her gaze off of the wooden floor.

“I love you too,” she said. The words shot through Gilbert, and he brought his palm up to her face. “It’s so new to me, but it’s so clear. Everything you said, Gilbert, it’s all that way for me too.”

“Really?” he choked.

“Really. I just spent so much time thinking that I didn’t fit in your life, when really, you’re the only one who could ever fit in mine.”

Her eyes the color of the sea right when the moon disappears into sleep. It made Gilbert want to run down to the shoreline with her and shout into the whistling wind cries of victory. Instead, he took a deep breath to calm his beating heart, but no amount of controlled breathing or caresses of her hand would ever be enough to quiet his joyful heart. He was so far lost in his thoughts, dizzy with bliss, that he didn’t notice the glint in Anne’s eyes change. One minute she was smiling bashfully at their entwined hands, the next she was just breaths away, bumping his nose with her own. He had leaned down like a magnet pulled to her, meeting her halfway.

It was the closest they’d been together - so close that Anne could count the shades of blue hiding amongst the greens and browns of his eyes. Bringing her gentle touch to the sides of his face, she rose to her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Gilbert dissolved under her touch, holding onto her waist for purchase. He grinned into her kiss, too happy to hold it in, smiling even wider when her lips beneath his beamed just as much.

From the doorway, Bash peeked his head in and felt his heart rise up into his throat. Suddenly all the things that he’d wished his brother could have didn’t seem so far out of reach. Gilbert would go to school, he’d learn and his compassion for healing others would grow, but he’d do it all with Anne at his side. No one would love him as strongly, support him so fiercely, or keep him level-headed throughout the inevitable trials of life.

Bash’s eyes fell to the emerald ring sitting on the table. Green had always been Anne’s color. Given time, he knew he’d see the day the ring was put to good use, adorning a hand of freckled constellations.

#anne with an e #anne of green gables #shirbert #shirbert fic #shirbert ff #awae spoilers #catch this on ao3 too!#this is another fic where i feel so much calmer after writing it #ilu guys i hope you like it! ♥#tessa writes

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funkymbtifiction · 4 years ago

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Sorry for bothering, but I was wondering what the differences would be between a 6 and a 4? (Sorry in advance for this being long)

For a while now I’ve been having trouble with finding out my enneagram type. About a year ago I would constantly take tests and over-analyze everything I did to the point where I was be too afraid to do anything because it would be more like one type than another. For a good chunk of the year it’d be on my mind, I was constantly reevaluating myself because I was afraid of being the wrong type, I wanted to know myself better but was afraid that everything I had known had been wrong all along.

I only recently found out that enneagram tests aren’t that reliable, but for a while I would get 4, 6, and 9. In real life I have really bad anxiety I take medicine for, so I always dismissed 6 being a possibility since I thought it didn’t mean literal anxiety. I wasn’t 100% on being a 4, I always felt out of place growing up but I never had the strong need for wanting to find my identity (until my big identity crisis about a year ago). I really only considered being a 6 after reading a post not that long ago. It talking about the healthy/unhealthy versions of the head triad. Reading the unhealthy 6 description felt like a punch to the gut, I realized that year long period of me being anxious sounded a lot similar to a unhealthy 6. But after reading about the healthy 6, I wasn’t sure if I related as much as before. A lot of stuff I find makes it sound like 6s are rigid think of nothing but security and are always panicking, which didn’t feel quite right. The doubt grew more when I’d read infp 6 descriptions, I’d find parts I could identify with but would feel unsure about.

In one of the infp 6 descriptions, it said that they often have rigid morals that they are very strict about. There are a things I do care extremely care about, but a lot of the time I find myself questioning the things around me. One day I might feeling strongly about something only to find myself hesitant and unconfident the next. Sometimes my family will think something is/isn’t safe/a good idea, only for me to butt in and say why it might not be. My family calls me a real downer and will get onto me for not having fun, even though I’m just saying that something might not be a good idea or that something isn’t a big of a deal everyone is making it out to be. Which I feel like could be a 6 thing, but there are times where I will overlook things or dismiss something because I don’t see it as a real threat…

——————————-

You are a sp/so 6w7 (694? sounds like the rabbit hole of self-doubt, re-analyzing, and swirling around the bowl second-guessing decisions of the 694). Over-analyzing, approaching figuring out your type from a “head” space (thinking, rethinking, analyzing, doubting, distrusting), being inconsistent in your views and changing, waking up and seeing the other side the next day, etc, are all correlated with the “busy brain” of the 6w7, which experiences self-doubt at trusting its own instincts and is looking for a truth to hold onto.

sp/so 6w5 SJ 6s think a lot about security, but an NFP 6w7 would not, since there’s always that element of “it might go wrong…” from 6 followed by Ne + 7 “eh, it’ll be fine, I’ll worry about that later” distracted-ness (poor Si planning skills means leaving dealing with stuff you don’t want to think about, especially boring stuff like insurance or buying enough noodles to last through the zombie apocalypse, for later).

As a core 6w7, I can confirm that your uncertain thought process is pure 6 – I deal with this sort of thing (being super sure, then doubting it and thinking up alternatives due to the 7 influence/lack of a self-anchor) on a daily basis … and the reason I suggest 9 fixed is because there’s no sense of 1ish “gut instinct of what’s right” to calm any of that down, you are just … swaying in the breeze and not sure where to turn. And I know too well that uncertainty and angst tied to possibly being the wrong type, misrepresenting yourself, being wrong about yourself, and not being able to tackle “who I am” from a place of instinct.

6s are not balls of anxiety all the time, just cautious, inconsistent, contrarian, argumentative, have a trust/distrust push and pull with anxiety, and security-seeking. Most of the time, I’m good-natured and of the “eh, who cares? it’ll be fine” mindset. I bounce back and forth between irrational idealistic optimism (Ne + wing 7/9 fix) and pessimistic predictions.

In a nutshell, a core 4 isn’t over-analyzing. At all. It’s all about reacting to the world on an emotional/identity level and screaming to the rooftops that whatever the world is selling, or you are trying to bring to them, is “not me” – so the problem the core 4 falls into is rejecting everything outside it, and trying to construct an image for other people to respect based on the broken pieces of themselves. They broadcast an aesthetic of brokenness and being misunderstood and envy for the beautiful life others have, that they cannot seem to find, due to their chronic dissatisfaction with life and their refusal to allow themselves to accept simple joys. Think Anne Shirley, who cannot quite find total happiness at Green Gables because she sees herself as “ugly and freckled” and she has red hair, which she hates. She has love and a home and a family, but dammit, her life is still ruined because of her red hair. She is doing that 4ish envy of wanting what others have (dark hair, beauty) and allowing that to define her, while at the same time being arrogant about her intelligence, and escalating into loud emotional displays tied to her identity. The 4 copes with their sense of feeling like an alien born to the wrong family (therefore a burden to everyone) by trying to transform it into an image of elitism, to make themselves feel better (”I may not be wanted or understood or needed, but at least I don’t have plebeian interests like the rest of you!”).

4 fixes, as I have witnessed them so far, can either fall into stubborn displays of “that is not me, and I will not conform to what you want, and you are not more broken and therefore unique than I am” (with a reactive core), or softer, quieter sense of internal brokenness that cannot be fixed, which makes them someone no one can love (with a quieter core – 9w1 for instance, or a higher 9w1 fix). But they will always manifest as some sort of turning to others and showing them your brokenness, that piece of yourself that you are sure nobody can love, and half-expecting rejection for it. It can also fall into criticism of the people you love for no real reason other than “disdain” and the 4ish tendency to long for things you cannot/do not have (and if you got them, you might not want them and/or find them tarnished in some way).

The good thing about being a 6 is now you KNOW what you are doing (over-analyzing needlessly) you can start catching yourself doing it, and remind yourself that you think too much and should just “act” more. You can learn to breathe and center yourself in your body and ask yourself what YOU think and feel and want about a situation rather than seeking external input. You have to work at stopping the cycle of over-think and don’t have to face the unenviable 4 task of realizing you do not have to construct an identity out of an un-fixable sense of brokenness and chronic dissatisfaction.

#question #enneagram #enneagram 6 #submission

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p-and-p-admin · 4 years ago

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Interview given to The Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group.

https://www.facebook.com/groups/199718373383293/

Hello CorvusDraconis and welcome to Behind the Quill, thank-you so much for sitting down with us to chat.

You’re a well known and beloved figure in the SS/HG community for your many stories - including a personal favourite of mine, A chance for happiness.

Okay, let’s jump right in. What's the story behind your pen name?

I have always had a fascination for the shiny things and the Northwest Coast depictions of Raven the Trickster/Creator, and, I tend to hoard (and get super protective) of my art supplies. Corvids have always been a positive sign in my life. They tend to show up when I’m feeling down and engage in funny antics in the yard. As for dragons, I’ve always had a love for them and think the Western depiction of them as dangerous beasts with no mind but for hoarding treasure and killing people only to be slain by a knight quite despicable.

Which Harry Potter character do you identify with the most?

Severus, actually. I see a lot of my life in his. Hardships, challenges, bullying— trying to be something better and later wondering about unwise decisions. I have a very similar dislike for dunderheads, but I do not share his inclination to denude rosebushes of their petals. Do you have a favourite genre to read? (not in fic, just in general) I have always preferred fantasy and sci-fi.

Do you have a favourite "classic" novel?

I am not sure if you would call it a classic novel, but grew up on all things Tolkien (and even puzzled through the Silmarillion at the grand age of seven), and have a special place in my heart for Watership Down. While I’ve read pieces like War and Peace, Iliad, Ulysses, Pride and Prejudice, Grapes of Wrath, Moby Dick, Great Gatsby, Little Women, Catcher in the Rye, Tom Sawyer/Huckleberry Finn, Scarlet Letter, Don Quixote, To Kill a Mockingbird, Animal Farm, Jane Eyre, Lord of the Flies, Tale of Two Cities, Heart of Darkness, Robinson Crusoe, Alice in Wonderland, Great Expectations, Odyssey, Frankenstein, Dracula, Crime and Punishment, Heart of Darkness, Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, The Secret Garden, Treasure Island, Anne of Green Gables, Les Misérables, Peter Pan, Gulliver’s Travels, all things Jack London, 20000 Leagues, etc.— they never captured me as aptly as Anne McCaffery’s Dragonriders of Pern or Mercedes Lackley’s the Last Herald Mage. Though, if I were to pick classic stories I read more than once (litmus test for things I like) it would be things such as The Secret Garden, Call of the Wild, Wild Fang, The Hobbit, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and The Last Unicorn. At what age did you start writing? The moment I could pick up pencil and paper, I was writing. I had notepads full of stories I wrote as a kid. Alas, my dad found them one day when I was off to college, made fun of them, and I came home and burned every single one in mortification.

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

The moment TV shows did “stupid things” to their characters. I used to write things about Beauty and the Beast (the old CBS show) when they killed off the main character, Knight Rider, Robocop, Transformers— there are probably far more that I just don’t remember now. I was writing it long before there was a fanfiction dot net or a term to even call it. What's the best theme you've ever come across in a fic? Is it a theme represented in your own works? I am a shameless romantic for the beauty within and sometimes the quite literal love for a monster (not just some person who acts like a monster and changes into a better person.) The misunderstood monster is perhaps my most favourite theme, and it shows up in my stories often if not always. What fandoms are you involved in other than Harry Potter? I ship SessKag from Inuyasha, Lucard/Sophie from Dracula: The Series, and Loki/Hermione when I’m feeling crossover-y. If you could make one change to canon, what would it be? Do you have a favourite piece of fanon? Other than my favourite fanon that Severus lives/survives/finds a better life free of two masters and his guilt, I would say I would want Harry to wise the heck up and realise his father was a swine, his godfather was an almost successful murderer that used his own best mate to try and kill off another student, and his mother wasn’t all that hot either. I would want him to find value in himself without having to make stuff up about his “perfect” parents. Then again, I would want Vernon/Petunia to be arrested for child abuse and put in gaol, but— then the story would have been very different XD Do you listen to music when you write or do you prefer quiet? Sometimes quiet, sometimes music. But usually, I am best mates with Spotify.

What are your favourite fanfictions of all time?

In the HP universe: I honestly don’t read many of them because I’m always writing my own stuff XD, but when I really feel like I need a good Ron bashing SSHG HEA, I read just about anything by IShouldBeWritingSomethingElse. However, that being said, I often return to “The Sun is Often Out” by Hannah-1888 for just the right amount of angst and HEA to make me happy.

In the Inuyasha universe: A Trick of Fate by PristinelyUngifted

In the Marvel universe: Mutual Respect Sends His Regrets by moor

In the Star Trek universe: Gratified By Your Company by starfleetdream

Are you a plotter or a pantser? How does that affect your writing process?

I go by the seat of my feathered rump, to be honest. Inspiration is a fickle, unpredictable beast, and I usually don’t know what is going to happen until it does.

What is your writing genre of choice?

Fantasy

Which of your stories are you most proud of? Why?

Chance of Happiness because it was my very first publication. It may not have been my best, but it was my first, and it very well could have been my last yet somehow wasn’t.

Looks Can Be Deceiving and One Step Forward, Two Decades Back are two epic tales that seemed to demand being written. The fact I finished them was something I think deserves a little pride.

Did it unfold as you imagined it or did you find the unexpected cropped up as you wrote? What did you learn from writing it?

Looks started off with me attempted to write Dramione just once. It failed. Draco demanded to be her brother of the heart, Viktor came in and said “nope she’s mine,” and no one was more surprised at the outcome of that story than me. The characters did what THEY wanted.

I learned that trying to plan a story from start to finish is useless when the characters decide what they want. The story demanded more, and I was just a conduit that typed it down. For me, at least, attempting to outline and plan is utterly useless

How personal is the story to you, and do you think that made it harder or easier to write?

I think every story I write is personal in some way. The inspiration comes from somewhere inside, and I often have no idea what it is until I go back and read it later. I think the story wrote itself in a lot of ways, which made it easier in a way, but there are a lot of things I can’t say were from personal experience because as a high fantasy of talking gryphons and such I can only imagine it. There is no basis in real life on how any of that would go down. There is a freedom in that but also many challenges in making it real enough to identify with despite how alien and fantastic the idea is.

What books or authors have influenced you? How do you think that shows in your writing?

Dragonriders of Pern introduced sentient dragons and the idea that despite a vast difference in species there could be teamwork and love between the two as they teamed up against a greater threat.

The herald-mage books by Mercedes Lackley were also important staples in my childhood because it impressed the values of responsibility despite having powers others did not, and that people were fallible despite greatness and potential.

Gandalara Cycle by Randall Garrett and Vicki Ann Heydron: I cannot tell you how often I read this story. I had dog ears on these novels because there was so much I loved about them. It was a search for humanity when displaced in a seemingly alien world, societal clashes, and the great sha’um (the giant rideable cats) that were the main characters’ partners for life.

The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C Wrede: A princess rebels against her arranged marriage by running away to be a dragon princess.

All of these books had creatures in it that chose to partner with a human and be with them for life, not as lovers that you find in the more modern supernatural romance blender out there, but the ultimate friend for life— the family you choose.

Do people in your everyday life know you write fanfiction?

Oh heck no. Hah. They have their secrets, and I have mine. Personally, I think mine are more healthy than theirs.

How true for you is the notion of "writing for yourself"?

Very.

I write for myself. Sometimes I’ll write a story for one of my betas or a sshg friend, but for the most part, I write for my own entertainment because nothing like what I write is out there. There is a lot of SSHG out there, but mine is almost always a creature feature story. I blame X-Files growing up. It tickles me that others enjoy my stories, but in the end I write to get things down and out of my head. They just so happen to entertain others as they do me.

How important is it for you to interact with your audience? How do you engage with them? Just at the point of publishing? Through social media?

I will often engage in A/N talk at the end of chapters, but I really don’t engage in the fandom. I loathe social media. That being said, I read every review, and while I don’t reply to everything because FF dot net is a horrible platform for messaging anymore (or ever was really)-- I appreciate every single one. Sometimes it helps to know people are enjoying the story for the story’s sake.

What is the best advice you've received about writing?

Get a beta, even if you are pretty good at writing. Get one because a second pair of eyes will catch things you don’t. Read your own stuff out loud. If you trip over it, your audience will too. If you stumble, so will they.

Get a beta who isn’t afraid to tell you that your shite stinks in places and you make no sense. You may want a cheerleader, but what you need is a beta. If you are super lucky, you can have both at once.

What do you do when you hit writer's block?

I play computer games and sew things. I’ve sewn a lot of things lately. Scrub caps and masks for work—

There has been a lot of writer’s block lately due to the times, and I will not write when I’m uninspired. I will not force inspiration. That’s not fair to me or those unfortunate enough to share in the reading. I want to be able to go back on a story I wrote and enjoy it and not curse at myself. XD

Has anything in real life trickled down into your writing?

Sometimes certain catch phrases and things from real life friends have trickled in as a sort of Easter egg (unbeknownst to them since I don’t tell them I write fanfic). Sometimes random news stories or whatnot find their way in. Lessons of the day. Random events. Things that are too odd not to stick in my brain somehow. I can’t say I always do it on purpose, though.

Do you have any stories in the works? Can you give us a teaser?

No, I have a goal this year to finish off the unfinished stories. This is made harder because Dragon and the Rose keeps adding more and more bunnies into the idea bin, and my brain wants to run with them, but I’m like NO DANGIT, I HAVE STUFF TO FINISH STILL! It’s a hard thing trying to finish what you start when so much interesting stuff pops up and waves at you like “heeeeeyyyyy I’m cool too!”

Any words of encouragement to other writers?

Keep writing but remember you can always be better. You can always improve. Writing isn’t a popularity contest. It isn’t about how many reviews you get or how many fans you may or may not have. Write because you want to write. Write what you like not what other people like. Write for you because in the end, you are the one who goes back to read it and say “I wrote this story, and I still love it” instead of forcing yourself to write something just because the topic is “popular” and gets a lot of visitors. Write something you’ll be proud to go back and read and enjoy. You’ll find when you write something genuinely, readers will come. And if only one person leaves you a paragraph review on how much your story meant to them out of someone else’s hundreds of “great!” (with nothing else)-- think of what you value more.

If my story helped someone through a dark time.

Just one person—

Then it was a good effort.

Maybe that person didn’t have the bravery to leave a message. Maybe they are ashamed. Maybe they send you a PM instead of a review.

That is, to me, the ultimate reason why I realised that despite writing stories for myself that there are people out there that needed to hear my story at just the right time in their life. If my story can bring a little joy to someone else, then it doesn’t matter how many reviews I have. It doesn’t matter that I don’t have thousands of reviews like “that other author.” What matters is that I told my story; someone out there read it and it spoke to them.

I love hearing from people and what they liked about my stories, but I also am glad that there are some people out there who secretly like my stories but do not feel safe enough to review.

So, I would say to the aspiring author: write for yourself but share it. You never know whose day you will make with your story. They may never tell you. They may tell you years later (happened to me!). There is a good chance that someone out there needs your story as much as you need to write it. That being said, find yourself a beta to share your journey with you. You may find a few friend in the process.

Thanks so much for giving us your time.

You are quite welcome.

#fanfiction #fanfic #ss/hg #snamione #writing

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