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tgarnsl · 3 years ago

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2, 28

2 x 28: Royal AU x Proposal Fic

This snippet spiralled out of control, hence why it's about two months late. It's a modern AU (or more like a parallel universe AU) in which Horatio is an English prince and Bush is his long suffering friend who Horatio met in the Navy and has been dragging into royal drama ever since, hence the snippet below.

Horatio was pacing before the long windows, his hands clasped behind his back, when Will was ushered into the reception room by one of the palace staff. He was wearing his full dress uniform, resplendent in naval blue and gold, and Will saw for a moment not his friend, but the man who would one day be king. It unsettled him as it always did, but he shook it off; he knew Horatio too well to be awed by his position.

“Lieutenant Commander Bush,” said Horatio, looking up, a tense smile on his face. Will bowed.

“Your Royal Highness,” said Will, returning the smile. He crossed the room to where Horatio stood. “You summoned me, sir.”

“Yes,” said Horatio. His fingers drummed a nervous pattern against his thighs as he looked Will over. “I take it that you weren’t too busy?”

Will laughed. “I expect I’ll receive a right royal bollocking from Calder when I get back to base, but that’s nothing I can’t handle, sir.”

Horatio’s face darkened. “You should sit,” he said, gesturing at one of the sofas. “I can ring for tea, if you like.”

“I’m quite comfortable standing, sir,” said Will.

Horatio met his eyes, but sensing that Will would not be moved, he sighed. “I expect you’re wondering why I asked you here,” he said, reaching for one of the many newspapers that covered the coffee table. “Here,” he said, shoving it at Will.

Will unfolded it gingerly: it was a cheap tabloid, precisely the type Will had long ago warned Horatio never to glance at if he wanted to preserve his sanity. Horatio’s face was splashed across the front page — a paparazzi shot, by the looks of it — and beneath it… Will exhaled unsteadily.

“Prince of Wales to Wed,” he read aloud. Scanning down to where the article started, he read, “Palace sources reveal that Prince Horatio has announced his intention to wed before his thirty-second birthday in July, as is traditional for a Prince of Wales. The archaic law, begun in the eighteenth century in the reign of… and so on.” He folded the paper and set it down. “Well,” he said, a little stiffly. “I suppose I should congratulate you, sir. Who is the lucky woman?” He caught himself before adding ‘or fellow’. He knew Horatio well, but there were some questions he had never fully found the courage to ask.

Horatio’s expression was troubled, and he glanced away from Will for a moment towards the windows. “That’s the trouble,” he said. “There isn’t anyone.”

Will could only stare at him, aware that he should be grasping on to something here but utterly failing to. “I don’t understand, sir,” he said.

A muscle in Horatio’s jaw twitched as he considered Will’s confused expression. “Sit,” he said, and Will obeyed, perching himself on the sofa and feeling not unlike a truant schoolboy being hauled before the headmaster. He watched as Horatio began to pace, never once looking back at Will, his head bowed and his hands fidgeting behind his back.

“The Royal Marriages Act of 1708 states that if a Prince of Wales should ascend the throne, he must take a bride by the age of thirty-two. If he does not, he will be stripped of his title and the throne will pass down the line of succession.” Horatio’s tone was dry and scholarly, but the unhappy set of his shoulders was indication enough of how he truly felt about it all. “It is how my family took the throne after all — Frederick William, Prince of Wales, would not marry, even when his father demanded it of him, and so the title passed on to an obscure cadet branch. If I am not married by July, the throne will end up in the hands of my second-cousin, a man who should not be given an ounce of responsibility.” He turned to William, anguish on his face. “Don’t you see?” he asked. “I have tried to get my father to change the law — I have begged him — but no use. He and all his Tory sycophants in Parliament would see me become no more than a painted figurehead. Well, I won’t do it.”

Bush knew the mad glint in Horatio’s eye too well to not understand what it signified. “You have a plan, sir,” he said, and Horatio nodded.

“I do,” he said. “But I’m sorry, William. I wish I didn’t have to drag you in to the mess. You’re the only man I can trust for this.”

William rose to his feet, straightened his uniform. “Tell me, sir.” Perhaps it spoke to the bond that had grown between them during their years of service together, but Will knew there was little he would not do for Horatio’s sake. Running headfirst into enemy fire, a burning building — he would not think twice if Horatio asked it of him.

Horatio, for his part, had suddenly grown shy. It was an odd thing to watch a man enrobed in pomp and circumstance turn pink around the ears and clear his throat like a boy, and Will frowned, concerned.

“Sir?” he asked.

Horatio’s eyes met his for a brief moment before darting away. “I believe there is a way to delay this, at least for a little while. Perhaps long enough for me to have the law changed.” He glanced up at Will again. “If you and I could — if we could pretend to be engaged, I believe it might be enough to buy me some time.”

The floor pitched suddenly beneath Will’s feet, but before he could stumble Horatio’s hand shot out and grasped him by the elbow.

“You should sit,” ordered Horatio, but Will shook his head.

“I’m fine, sir,” he promised. “Just my leg. You know how it is, sir.”

“I do,” said Horatio.

Will wasn’t listening. He shook his head again, trying to clear it of the lightness that had come over it. “Engaged, sir,” he said, stupidly. “What do you mean?”

“You and I will present ourselves as engaged. Such a thing is legal now, you know.” For a moment a troubled expression crossed his face but it was gone before Will could make sense of it. “I know you do not feel such things for me, but if I could ask this of you — I will be good to you, I promise. I will not ask you for any more than you are willing to give.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” said Will, and Horatio sighed, frustrated.

“Sit,” he ordered, and Will sat. Horatio perched himself on the arm of the sofa beside him.

“It will cause a scandal, sir,” said Will. “Do the papers even know you’re— I mean, sir, that it will mean everyone thinks that you’re—” He could not bring himself to ask such a personal question of the man who would one day become his king.

Horatio had no such compunctions. “Gay?” he asked. “Half the tabloids think so at any rate. I expect that I’ll just be confirming their suspicions.”

“But—” Will’s brain struggled to order itself. “You shouldn’t have to pretend at something you’re not, sir,” he said.

“It wouldn’t be pretending,” said Horatio, staring off into the middle distance. “Not entirely. You understand how it is.”

“I do, sir,” said Will, gently. “Is that why you asked me, sir? You need someone who can act the part?”

Horatio gave him a look. “I didn’t ask you solely because I know you’ve gone out with men in the past,” he said, clearly bristling at the question.

“I’ve done a good deal more than just go out with men in the past, sir,” said Will, and was pleased to see Horatio flush.

“Yes, well,” said Horatio, fingers twitching against his knee. “That’s not the reason I asked you.”

“What then, sir?” asked Will.

Horatio’s eyes met his. “I trust you,” he said. “More than anyone else. And you are the only person I could ask.”

“Maria Mason? Lady Barbara Wellesley? Would they not do, sir?”

Horatio glared at him. “They are members of my household staff. Can you imagine what would be said if I came forward and announced that I was engaged to my principle private secretary? My communications secretary? I will not allow that to happen. Besides,” he said, shaking his head. “The act stipulates that the Prince of Wales must take a bride. I should imagine that my engagement to a man throws a sufficiently sized wrench into the gears. It should buy me enough time to petition parliament to change the law.”

“I see, sir,” said Will.

“But I won’t do it unless you are certain. This won’t be an easy thing, Will.” As he spoke Will saw the fatigue etched into every line of Horatio’s face, a fatigue he had carried all his life. “The press will try to tear you and your family apart. I’ll do what I can to protect them, but…” He shrugged. “There is only so much even I am capable of.”

“How much can I tell them, sir?” Will’s mother would delight in the news that her son was engaged: to only break it off a few months later would break her heart.

Horatio considered it for a long moment. “As much as you wish,” he said. Then, a little awkwardly, he added: “Does your family know…?”

“That I like men as well as women, sir?” Will grinned. “I should think that one was difficult to hide after Mum caught me in bed with the brother of one of my sister’s friends when I was in Year Twelve.” His mother had hauled him over the coals for that — not for being with another boy, but for using her bed instead of his own. It had not been one of his better decisions.

Horatio tried to conceal his smile and failed. “Goodness,” he said, and Will’s grin widened.

“Hopefully that won’t come out in the papers, sir,” he said, and sobering up, added: “Will you need me to sign anything, sir? Non-disclosure agreements, that sort of thing?”

Horatio’s smile faded and he fidgeted awkwardly. “I won’t have you sign anything you don’t want to,” he said. “I’ve never made you sign anything before—”

“Your personal secretary might have other ideas about that, sir,” said Will. “I expect she’ll want Mum and the girls to sign one too.”

Horatio nodded, looking altogether miserable. “I’m sorry, Will,” he said. “I shouldn’t be asking this of you.”

“I know what you’re asking, sir,” said Will, but Horatio shook his head.

“You don’t,” he said. “Not really. You have no idea the pressure the press will put you under. I’ve seen the papers from when my parents announced their engagement. They hounded my mother even before the news broke that my father had proposed — she was starring in a production of The Barber of Seville at the time, and photographers would camp outside the stage door waiting for her. The papers loved her and my father together — the prince and the opera singer. It was a modern fairytale. But—” He rubbed his jaw, uncomfortable. “I don’t think they will spin such a pretty story for you.”

“Because I’m a man, you mean, sir,” offered Will.

There was a tortured look in Horatio’s eyes as he glanced at Will. “Yes,” he said. “I can handle it — the intrusive questions, the speculation, but you—”

“I can weather it, sir,” said Will.

“Can you?” asked Horatio. “Every man has a maggot in his past waiting to devour his future. Can you be so sure that they will not find yours?”

Will shrugged. “I have no secrets, sir.”

“There will people who will try to smear your name for a chance in the spotlight,” warned Horatio. “Exes, old friends, family members… there will always be someone.” He looked down at his hands, clasped in his lap. “I’m sorry. I ask for too much.”

Will shook his head. “You don’t, sir, not in the least. You wouldn’t have asked me if you had any other choice.”

“I do have a choice, don’t you see?” said Horatio, a miserable look on his face. “I could forfeit my inheritance. It’s what I want, after all.”

Will knew better than perhaps anyone that Horatio did not want the position life had thrust upon him. He did not want to be king — he had admitted this privately to Will once, many years ago, when they had both been rather drunk. But Will also knew that Horatio felt a keen sense of duty towards his position: to give it up would be to admit to failing his duty, something Will knew would break Horatio.

“Besides,” continued Horatio. “I could ask someone else.”

“Who, sir?” asked Will, a little incredulous. “Brown?”

Horatio glared at him. “Yes, Brown.”

Will frowned at the thought of that; Brown was a chief petty officer, and a good one, but a chief petty officer all the same. Both Will and Horatio may have counted Brown as a friend, but the division in their ranks was always present, and Brown was too good a non-commissioned officer to ever assume familiarity with his commanding officers. It was unthinkable that both Horatio and Brown would so easily flout their ranks: no one would ever believe it, and even if people did, Brown would never find acceptance amongst Horatio’s sort. He was a non-commissioned officer from a working class family from the wrong part of Essex, who had dropped out of state school at seventeen and had climbed through the ranks in the Navy through hard work and dedication. His story was not so different from Will’s, but people were more willing to overlook the circumstances of a man’s birth when he was a commissioned officer. Will might never be accepted amongst Horatio’s kind, but he would be more accepted than Brown. It was utterly impossible that Brown be the one Horatio announced his engagement to.

“You know that won’t work, sir,” said Will, shaking his head. “No one would believe it. They’ll have difficulty believing that the likes of you would ever fall for the likes of me, sir, let alone someone like Brown.” Horatio’s expression was closely guarded, and Will was aware that he was treading on dangerous ground. “It has to be me, sir. And I’ll do it, too — whatever it may take.”

Horatio only nodded. “It will be the most difficult thing you’ve ever done,” he warned. “The press is one thing, but the palace is another. Do you remember how it felt, those first weeks as a cadet, when your whole world was suddenly topsy-turvy, and you were no more capable or clever than a little child?”

“Of course,” said Will.

“Your first few weeks here in this palace will be worse than that. Everyone will be watching you, judging your every move. I don’t doubt you’ll do well, but it will be difficult, learning protocol and etiquette, and the thousand stupid little rules…” He trailed off, his tone betraying precisely how he felt about palace life. “I’ll do what I can, but I can only be at your side so many hours of the day. Being an officer should give you a certain amount of leeway when it comes to making mistakes — I would imagine that everyone will expect you to be rather bluff and no-nonsense — but even that can only carry you so far. I will have to find someone to instruct you in these things — Barbara perhaps…”

So this was to be it. His life was to forever be changed from this point, for better or worse. Will was suddenly aware that the path his life had taken up until this point had suddenly veered sharply in a direction he had never anticipated. From now until the day he died his name would be associated with Horatio’s. He knew that it should trouble him, and yet it didn’t; he would make whatever sacrifice was required of him. A thought occurred to him and he swallowed hard, a tight knot forming in his stomach.

“Will I be required to resign my commission, sir?” he asked.

“What?” asked Horatio, surprised. “God, no. We’ll see to it that you carry on your duties in a different capacity, as I did.” He took a long, hard look at Bush. “You’ll finally be promoted commander, you know.”

Will shook his head. “I don’t want that, sir,” he said. “I haven’t done anything to deserve it.”

Horatio was unmoved. “It’s overdue. More to the point, you are performing an invaluable service to the Crown,” he said, coldly. “I can think of no better reason for promotion than that. Besides,” he added, his tone more gentle, “It will put us on near-even footing. You won’t have to call me ‘sir.’”

Will laughed at that. “I may not know much about proper etiquette, sir,” he said, “But I do know that I still have to address you properly.”

“In private, then,” said Horatio. “You will have to call me by my name in front of others at times, if we are to appear natural. Overfamiliarity is expected: you cannot call me ‘sir’ all the time.”

Will nodded gravely. “Very well, sir,” he said. “Where do we go from here?”

Horatio rose from where he had perched himself on the arm of the settee and began to pace. “We’ll announce the engagement in about a fortnight,” he said. “You will move to an apartment here, in this palace, and you will spend the first few weeks getting acquainted with your new role. I will speak to someone about getting security for your mother and sisters — they will need it.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Will.

Horatio stopped in his pacing. “You should not be thanking me,” he said quietly. “I am all but throwing you to the wolves myself.”

Will stood and went over to him. “You wouldn’t ask me if it didn’t matter to you, sir,” he said.

Horatio bowed his head. “No,” he admitted. “But I will not have this drag on. Six months is all I ask — from now until October. After that, one way or another, this will be done. You can go back to your life, and I can go back to mine. And if you should ever feel that it is too much — it will be over. I won’t make you sign any agreement — if I don’t uphold my end of the bargain, you can go to the papers and tell them the whole thing.”

“I would never do that, sir,” said Will.

Horatio shrugged, the uncharacteristic gesture speaking deeply to his misery. “I don’t want you to feel powerless in this — this relationship. You needn’t worry about having to be close with me in public either. The palace will want us to project the cleanest and least offensive image possible, and I doubt that their prince kissing another man in public is the image they want. We’ll keep the story simple too: we became friends during our time together in the Service and after I left to return to my duties, two years ago, it became something more. All the times I met you for dinner, here or elsewhere, all those weekends camping or sailing… it would be the easiest thing in the world to fall in love that way, and the whole world will believe it. We can sort out the particulars of the relationship later, but for now…”

Will cocked an eyebrow at him. “For now, I think you have to ask me a question, sir,” he said.

Horatio nodded. “I haven’t got a ring,” he said, his hands twitching at his sides.

“I don’t need one, sir,” said Will.

“No, of course not,” said Horatio hurriedly. “How foolish of me.” His face was long and grave. “Very well,” he said. “Let’s get this over with.”

It was all pretend, Will forced himself to remember. None of this was real, not Horatio’s nervous expression, nor the way he kept glancing up at Will’s face when he thought Will’s attention was elsewhere with something almost wistful in his expression. It was not real, no matter how Will’s stomach fluttered as Horatio hitched up his trousers and slowly, painfully, lowered himself to one knee and clasped Will’s hand between his own.

“William,” said Horatio, his voice wavering. He cleared his throat and tried again. “William Bush, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” said Will, without thinking. “Yes, I will marry you.” He gripped Horatio's hand very tight in his and tried not to think on the strange and unexpected future that suddenly loomed before him. It would all work out in the end.

#my writing #fic meme #Hornblower #Hotspur husbands #this AU is utter trash and I love it

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theliterarywolf · 4 years ago

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How was the sequel to Tales from The Hood, a shitshow?

The original Tales from the Hood, while having some campy horror elements, still managed to present its stories and tone competently while still incorporating themes of struggles of black Americans in urban areas.

Examples:

A black politician who’s been trying to fight against police corruption gets beaten to death and injected with drugs post-mortem by said corrupt cops to slander his name. The politician returns from the dead to exact vengeance. Obviously this short tackles police brutality and corruption.

A little boy and his mother who are constantly beaten and abused by what he draws and identifies as a ‘monster’ who, it turns out, is the mother’s new boyfriend. The theme here is Domestic Violence and how often people try to brush it under the rug as just a way of life in the community.

A former klansman-turned senator buys a building called ‘The Dollhouse’ that is of high historical significance to the local black community, despite their wishes and complaints, to serve as the headquarters for his racist campaign to become governor. The house in of itself was where a confederate-supporter, after the loss of the Civil War, decided to murder all of his slaves rather than see them freed. Their restless souls haunted the place until a ‘voodoo woman’ managed to calm their souls and place them into dolls. You can pretty much guess where this is going and the themes.

The final entry centers around a gang-member who, after getting hunted and shot down by rival gang-members, is taken into police custody and is given one last chance for freedom by a doctor’s new, radical behavioral therapy program. Said therapy takes a note right out of A Clockwork Orange and bombards our main character with alternating images of brutal gang-violence and KKK lynchings. After which, he is berated with apparitions of all the people he’s shot and killed; including a little girl who was a victim during one of his drive-by shootings. Of course, this kind of therapy will only be successful if the subject shows some remorse...

And all of this is wrapped in a framing device of three gang-members trying to find some drugs at a funeral-home, even harassing the funeral-director, which turns out to be a portal into hell.

... *deep breath*

I have to do a ‘Read More’ because this post got long. But I implore you guys to read on to see the abyss of insanity and bad directions that were taken in regards to the sequel of this movie. Please.

The sequel decided to throw ALL NUANCE AND TACT out of the window and give us such wonderful stories as:

A white girl and a black girl are on a road-trip and decide to go to the... ugh... Museum of Negrosity where the owner chastises them on thinking that the uncomfortable racist memorabilia he owns (collections of minstrel show cartoons, golliwog and pickaninny dolls) are things of the past instead of acknowledging them as parts of America’s racist past. And, for some reason, the white girl is obsessed with buying one of the golliwog dolls because she had one when she was little. Anyway, they sneak back in later with the white girl’s brother who happens to be the black girl’s boyfriend, so they can steal one of the dolls. Through hijinks, the doll comes to life and grows to the size of a human being. The brother/boyfriend gets whipped to death, the black girl gets cut in half by a minstrel-colored guillotine, and the white girl... Fucks the giant golliwog doll, gets pregnant, and a few days later, has her stomach torn open as a bunch of baby versions of the doll go flying out everywhere.

Some gang-members track down a former pimp who’s changed his ways to try and shake him down for some owed money. He doesn’t comply, so they kill him but, golly-gee! How are they going to get the money now~? Oh, I know! Hold a scam medium hostage so he can perform a seance to talk to the pimp to find out about the money. But, oh no~ It looks like the medium’s powers decide to actually work this time~ Ooh~

Two douchebags hookup with two hot chicks and, after the world’s worst game of Cards Against Humanity, they decide to roofie the girls so they can record themselves raping them so they can post it to ‘le dark web’. ... Lo’ and behold, the girls turn out to be vampires who were playing 4D chess to rope the two douchebags in so they can use them for their own recording-something-brutal-to-post-online scheme.

And... The LAST one. Oh my God, the LAST ONE. *deep breath* Okay.

So we follow a black republican councilman who is married to a white woman and they’re expecting a baby after a long line of miscarriages. But the wife is having weird bouts of bad dreams and insomnia. What are the bad dreams about?

... I need you guys to understand. That I am not shitposting when I type the following words. *deep breath* Okay.

The wife is being haunted by the ghost of Emmett Till telling her that she doesn’t deserve to have her baby. You know? Emmett Till? The victim of one of the most brutal, horrific murders in America due to one of the most disgusting, vile acts of racism? THAT EMMETT TILL?!

So..! The black councilman is working for a white politician who... I’m just going to put a direct quote from the movie so you can get where they were coming from.

“That man wants to close down ten more voting locations, all of them in black districts!”

Anyway, after a house-call from a doctor who brushes off the dreams as hormones, the councilman hosts a party for the politician who’s running slogan is ‘Let’s take Mississippi back!’ Gee-golly-willickers! Can’t imagine where they were coming from with that one!!

So the party goes on, the politician even congratulating our councilman on his ‘white wife’, but said wife rushes downstairs after having another dream; ranting about ‘that boy from the field has decided to LIVE! And if he lives, our baby’s going to die!’ And she runs outside with a machete to try and kill the ghost of Emmett Till (who, again, very real person and victim of racist brutality).

So the councilman’s mother and the local voodoo expert drive up and the voodoo expert tells the councilman that Emmett Till is trying to talk to him about the nature of sacrifice. The next day, the wife is talking about how her stomach is getting smaller, but the councilman doesn’t want to hear any of it and calls the doctor again. And, guys..?! If shit hadn’t jumped the rails before?! The train just starts doing cartwheels from here.

The doctor is suspiciously short-tempered with the politician this time around and he does examine the wife to confirm that her stomach is indeed shrinking. However, when he’s told that the councilman is the father, he storms out and snaps “I don’t work for coloreds!”

Then the wife runs out of bed and tells the doctor that the councilman isn’t her husband and that he kidnapped and raped her. So both the wife and the doctor drive off and the councilman realizes that the world has somehow gone back to the era of Jim Crow.

... Oooh my gosh, typing this is making me want to commit toaster-bath but it gets so much worse..!

So, after the voodoo expert comes to chastise the councilman about not ‘respecting the sacrifices that have been gifted to you’, he is able to see the ghost of Emmett Till (who was a real person, why is this happening..?!) who is there to tell him that he’s decided that he wants to live. Which means that the world will never see the brutal images of his body at his funeral and that will cause a Butterfly Effect in history that will make it so that the Civil Rights Movement never happened.

You may be questioning the logistics of this, but don’t worry! The ghosts of the girls killed in the 1963 16th Street Baptist Church Bombing in Birmingham come to explain and further berate the councilman about ‘respecting the sacrifices that have been gifted to him’ and working for a racist politician.

But wait! There’s more! *whines* I keep crying out to God but he won’t answer...

They’re soon joined by the ghosts of the three Freedom Riders who were killed during the Mississippi Burning Murders, the ghost of Civil Rights Activist Medgar Evers, and DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING, JR.

Not to mention several other unnamed figures who walk up while everyone else starts chanting about ‘respecting the sacrifices that have been gifted to you’, who look like Rosa Parks and Frederick Douglass, just to name a few.

... I need a drink. I need a cold, stiff drink. ... Almost done.

So, in comes the Klan. You know, the white-robed bastards; I hear they have an outreach center a few cities away from me. Sure, fine, whatever. The wife is leading them along with the white politician who hits the councilman’s mother in the face with a baton and Emmett Till stops time just as reinforcements show up to tell the councilman that, in order for everything to go back to normal, he has to join the ranks of those who sacrificed.

“If what you want is worth us dying for, how come its not worth you dying for?!”

And, at first, the councilman disagrees; even being dragged away by Klansmen. However! It’s his wife angrily spitting in his face that makes him realize that this world isn’t the world he wants to live in. So he runs over to Emmett Till to tell him that he will join him... And then he’s beaten to death, becoming a sacrifice to get the world back to normal. And, once it is, his spirit joins Emmett Till’s and walks off into the great beyond.

So! Not only did this schlocky, B-movie horror movie sequel decide to use a REAL LIFE VICTIM of racism-driven brutality as a story-device, but it also wants to put forth the message that the people who lost their lives during the Civil Rights Movement? Yeah, they HAD to die! Otherwise the Civil Rights Movement would never have happened~!

You see why I hate the sequel to Tales from the Hood so much? Not even mentioning the terrible framing segments of a racial-profiling robot being told these stories so it knows what ‘criminals’ to go after, but this movie is just a temple of ‘WHY?! WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!?!?!’

#Anonymous #replies

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shireness-says · 5 years ago

Text

skating in circles (with no way to stop)

Summary: Anne Elliot likes her life just the way it is. The last thing she needs is her handsome, charming, professional hockey player ex... something to show up during lockdown and prove just how wrong she is about that. ~7.9K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: For @welllpthisishappening, who is going a little stir-crazy during the NHL break. Also because it is absolutely her fault I ever thought “What would a hockey-flavored Persuasion AU look like?”

Special thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta skills. Any mistakes, hockey-type or otherwise, are absolutely my own.

Tagging the potentially interested parties: @profdanglaisstuff, @thisonesatellite, @ohmightydevviepuu, @thejollyroger-writer, @snowbellewells.

Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Social distancing almost doesn’t seem so bad in weather like this, the snow outside Anne’s window falling in huge flakes more furiously each second. Weather like this is designed for staying inside, curled up in an armchair with a cup of tea and a soft knitted afghan. It’s almost enough to soothe the little voice in her head that chides her for not working; there’s genuinely little for Anne to do from home as a school nurse, beyond writing and filing the reports she usually puts off until the end of the year, but that doesn’t stop her from feeling guilty at not doing more. Even if she isn’t expected to. Even if she is actually supposed to bunker down.

It’s been odd, adjusting to a life of jigsaw puzzles and overly involved embroidery projects and all the books she swore she’d read two years ago and never did. Hell, she’s even taken up online archiving projects after an old friend from school sent her a link, just for something to do. Her social life hasn’t particularly suffered; she’s a transplant to this town, anyways, drawn back by the memories of one beautiful, peaceful year, only really meeting with folks from work or her old roommate, and infrequently at that. Every few days, she’ll go through the motions of calling her sister Mary just so the younger woman can chatter away about all her own complaints; truthfully, that’s all the socializing she can handle. Anne has always kept to herself, and usually even likes it; the only difference now is that it’s by governor’s decree, not by her own introverted preferences.

Way out here, it’s not surprising that the power eventually goes out; it’s not uncommon, when the snow gets too heavy on the power lines in heavy storms like this. This is exactly why she has a generator - it’s all but a necessity when you’re living here year-round. Sure enough, the generator roars to life a moment later - an auditory nuisance, for sure, but a necessary one when you like such things as central electric heating and wifi and refrigerated items not spoiling.

The crunch of snow under tires outside her little cottage is more surprising, however, especially under the circumstances. She hasn’t ordered takeout, or grocery delivery; there’s no reason anyone should be pulling up to her house, especially in this weather. Peeking out the window reveals the kind of SUV only people with money buy, and the last person in the world she ever expected to see climbing out of it; she’d almost think it a hallucination brought on by isolation, if she hadn’t already seen him from a distance at the grocery store, earlier in the week.

Anne barely has a chance to pull herself together before the knock at the door sounds, bouncing off the walls of her little house. Opening the door reveals Frederick Wentworth, the dream she put away nigh on nine years ago, standing on her stoop in a ridiculous hat and a peacoat that’s not remotely suited to the practicalities of winter in rural New Hampshire.

“Believe me, I hate this just as much, if not more, than you do,” he begins, plowing forward before Anne can even remember to reassure him that it’s not true, “but my power’s out, and I need your help.”

As it turns out, Frederick - her handsome, charming, professional hockey player ex… something - is all that’s required to upset any equilibrium the snow might have brought.

———

Frederick Wentworth hadn’t intended to return to Kellynch, New Hampshire. Then again, he hadn’t intended to be sitting out indefinitely with the rest of the league because of the current pandemic.

New York just feels odd like this, the tourists all gone, the streets practically empty. Fred has never credited himself as one of those maniacs who claim that New York is the only city in the world, and there’s nothing like it; he’d been happy in a small town, and he’ll be happy in a different city if the worst happens and he ends up traded. That’s the way these things work. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t formed opinions over the last years about how this city is supposed to feel, and it sure as hell ain’t this.

So he gets in his car, arranges for a rental house, and drives up to Kellynch. If nothing else, he hopes it will be easier to look outside in a place he’d expect to see barely a soul even under the best conditions. Nothing ever happens in Kellynch, after all; maybe that will include the virus too.

(Well, that’s a lie. Exactly two things have ever happened to Kellynch, and he’s one of them. The other… if they’re very, very lucky, they’ll never have to deal with egotistical directors and their ilk again. Even pretty, quiet brunettes aren’t worth that trouble; in fact, sometimes, they make things worse.)

The irony to all this is that usually, Frederick craves a little bit of solitude. He spends essentially his entire life around the same group of guys, at practice and in games and especially on the road, when he’s got to share a hotel room to boot. Hell, he even lived with them for years, sharing an apartment with Harville and Benwick. A man can be forgiven for wanting some time to himself.

And he’d gotten it, at least for a while. Harvey had met his now-wife and moved out, and now Benwick’s got a girlfriend who giggles and his own place to giggle with her in or whatever. Fred can finally come home and just collapse in the closest thing to silence one ever gets in New York, and truthfully, he’s been enjoying every moment of it.

There’s a difference, though, in solitude on your own terms and solitude on others’ terms, and Frederick can’t help but feel lonely as he remembers that in the middle of all this, his friends and teammates are cozied up with those they love, and he’s all by himself in the empty apartment he once yearned for. In Kellynch, at least, it’s a solitude of his own making; his parents are long gone, Sophie out in Virginia with her husband, and for the most part, he hasn’t talked to his old school friends in years. There won’t be this constant awareness of all the people he can’t see if there’s no one about that he’d want to.

Maybe he ought to try dating again, he thinks as he drives. Obviously, there’s nothing to be done in the moment, what with social distancing and impending stay-at-home orders, but maybe later. Maybe Harvey’s wife has friends he’d like - he’s always liked Amelia and her steady personality and good-natured humor, so unlike Benwick’s high-maintenance Louisa and her ear-piercing squeals. Her friends have got to be similar, and Amelia would probably even be kind enough not to make him sound completely desperate.

It’s not that he hasn’t found anyone interested in the past years; he’s got a decent face, after all, and a better paycheck. But the thing about that face and that paycheck is that it’s hard to trust that any woman is interested in him, him alone, the person he is without all that. It’s not a great way to live, but it’s hard to move past.

There’s also the matter of the pretty quiet brunette who came to Kellynch when he was 16, seized his heart, and never really gave it back. Walter Eliot may have been an asshole - every cliche of the self-absorbed Hollywood director, convinced that their town was “quaint” and “just what he needed” to spark inspiration while demanding kowtowing and wrecking havoc wherever he went - but his daughter, Anne, had been of a different mold altogether. He’d met her at the annual Fourth of July parade, of all places. It was obvious she hadn’t intended to be noticed; indeed, she’d blushed and done her best to fade into the background while her father and older sister had made some kind of scene that Frederick can’t honestly remember anymore. He’d been too intrigued - and later, enchanted - by Anne to pay much attention to the rest of the fiasco she’d called a family.

She’d probably felt then the same as he feels about people now - some strange boy coming up to her out of nowhere with mini-donuts, someone she’s never met but undoubtedly knows her and her family, stuck wondering if he was interested in her or all the rest of it. But it had always been her; she’d initially been fascinating just in the contrast, but as he’d talked to her Fred had gotten to see her sense of humor and her brilliant mind and caring heart, and been smitten with the whole package.

That was, until she’d ended things between them, insisting that they’d never work across such a long distance, that she didn’t want to try. Maybe they’d only had 8 months, but he’d been all in, with all the conviction of youth that this was it for them, in some kind star-crossed true love way. She was the first thing, besides his family, that he’d loved more than hockey; truthfully, he still hasn’t found anything or anyone else to match that. It’s hard to move on from that kind of heartbreak. Maybe it’s finally time he tried.

The house he’s rented proves to be up a winding, hilly road lined with pine trees stretching in every direction. The seclusion is its own kind of calming - exactly what he needs, when the rest of the world feels like it’s going to hell in a handbasket. There’s something about being alone amongst the trees that feels comforting in a way that being alone in the city can never touch - almost like a hug. Or something else less weird-sounding. English was never his thing. The house itself is just a little two-bedroom cottage, but that’s more than enough space for just him. What’s more important is that there’s a TV and WiFi and plenty of blankets to bunker down with for however long this lasts.

What he doesn’t expect is to see Anne Eliot - the same Anne Eliot who he thought had left Kellynch for good, who’d broken his heart - at the supermarket like any other local, presumably looking to stock up on supplies just like he is. He doesn’t think she spots him - Frederick ducks into another aisle as soon as he spots her - but just the briefest sight of her sets his heart beating faster in a way that he doesn’t really want to examine closer.

(It would be ridiculous to still have feelings for her after all this time, even if that’s sure what it seems like.)

He tells himself that it’s just a fluke; that they won’t run into each other again; that they can avoid each other without any problems, given the situation. He is wrong on all counts. The cottage sits at the top of a hill, and on days where the fog hasn’t settled around the tops of the trees, he can see just a peek of a few houses and driveways down below.

And just who should he happen to see wrestling with her trash bin one evening, but the woman herself?

(Some higher power really has it in for him, he’s certain of it.)

Still, they don’t call it social distancing for nothing. It’s easy to avoid the people you don’t want to see when you don’t even leave your house. He naps a lot and catches up on Netflix and even attempts a puzzle that he finds in the hall closet (though it just winds up abandoned on the dining table).

In eight years, though, he’d forgotten about the weather up here. It’s late March, technically spring; the worst of the snow should be over. Should be over isn’t the same as is over, though, and he’d forgotten about the late-March snowstorms that pop up more years than not. They’d had them in Minnesota, too; the locals there had always joked it was because of the college basketball tournament. Well, the NCAA tournament may have been cancelled, but the weather sure didn’t get that memo, as the flakes start falling huge, heavy, and fast just outside the windows, almost pretty in a way that’s only possible when you know you don’t have to go outside in the storm.

Fate has other ideas, though. At least, Frederick has to believe it’s fate, otherwise this is all a cruel, cruel trick, and he doesn’t like to think about what he might have done to deserve that. Where he’s going with this is that the power goes out, knocking out the heat and the lights, as well as all those systems he’d been so thankful for until now. There’s a fireplace, but he hadn’t planned for this, and there’s not enough logs and he doesn’t know where or how to chop more and as much of his life as he spends at an ice rink he is not prepared to spend the night in these kind of temperatures without heat and —

— and when he looks out his window, he can just see a hint of light from Anne’s house, just hear the hum of a generator.

And he really doesn’t have any option at all but to throw himself on the mercy of the last woman he wants to see.

———

Anne’s house is neat, from what Frederick can see - small, but cozy, with everything obviously in its very particular place. It reminds him of her, in a way, or at least the her he remembers - quietly comforting and well turned out. It’s exactly what he expected, somehow - just the kind of house he’d expect her to inhabit.

The woman herself, on the other hand, looks tired - vastly different than what he remembered. Anne is worn down, somehow, in a way that makes her look older than she is. Frederick supposes that’s what happens when she’s undoubtedly been carrying her family members in the way she always has; it would exhaust anyone, especially under pandemic circumstances.

“Nice place,” he comments as Anne leads him towards a promised spare bedroom once he’s retrieved his bag - more out of an effort to fill the empty space than anything. Anne was always quiet, but this is just unnerving in its discomfort. They’d always been able to talk, or at least exist contentedly in the quiet; this is the opposite of all that.

“Thanks,” she replies. “I like it.” Just the kind of response a person makes when they don’t know what the hell else to say.

And maybe that’s what makes Fred dive straight into topics they should politely ignore - the absolute blandness of everything else they could say.

“I didn’t expect to find you here,” he tells her foolishly.

“In my own home, during quarantine?” She says it with a slight smile and the tone of voice she’s always used to hide her sense of humor, and suddenly Frederick is hit with a powerful wave of nostalgia.

“No, here. Kellynch here.”

The amusement flits away just as quickly as it had appeared, the smile turning polite and wooden. Another look he vividly remembers. “I didn’t plan to come back, either,” she tells him softly, “but I like it here. I got out of school and there was a position open and… it was too good an opportunity to pass up. I’m a school nurse,” she clarifies. “Over at the elementary.”

And that… fits, in a way he should have realized. She’d talked about going into nursing way back when, back when they were still practically kids, but this makes a lot more sense than trying to imagine Anne in some busy hospital. More tender, more stable.

“I bet you’re great at that.”

“Thanks. I like it. You’re… good at your job, too,” she finishes awkwardly.

(Even if the words are halting, uncomfortable, they send a little thrill through Frederick’s veins. Does that mean she’s watched, sometime in these past couple of years? They’re decidedly out of Rangers country and New York broadcasting range, way up here, but there are ways around that and she’d said…

Had she watched? For him?)

“Just doing my best,” he replies, just as uncomfortably. What a pair they make now.

“I don’t know if you’ve eaten already, but I was about to make up some dinner,” Anne tells him - an abrupt, but welcome, change of subject. “I’d be happy to do up another serving if you like.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” He has no idea what kind of meal he’s committed to, but who the fuck cares; right now, it’s a way to get a moment to collect himself.

“I’ll see you in a little bit then.”

(If he’s not mistaken, Anne flees the room with just as much relief as he feels watching her go.)

(Kellynch was supposed to be his getaway, his haven - but right now, all it seems like is a terrible mistake as Frederick wonders what the fuck kind of situation he’s gotten himself into.)

———

Dinner isn’t exactly an illustrious start to this whole thing, to say the least. Anne stresses about every step of making spaghetti - spaghetti, for goodness sakes, jarred sauce and boxed noodles, nothing a normal person could possibly find a way to stress about - only to realize as soon as they sit down that this is what they really should have worried about: what in the world two people who have unwillingly been forced into the same space have to discuss.

(“How’s your family?” he asks at one point - probably a subtle dig, if he’s remembering the same uncomfortable dinner that she is, in which her father had done his best to treat Frederick like an utter idiot. Fred had always thought she’d let them walk all over her, anyways - an accusation that isn’t far off.

“Mary is fine. She just got engaged to a lawyer,” Anne relates as neutrally as she can. “I don’t much talk with Walter or Elizabeth anymore.” There’s a variety of reasons for that - especially their tendency to never listen to a single word she’s ever said in her life and making snide comments about how she’d rather live in some backwoods nowhere than in someplace with civilization like LA or New York - but the memory of the way they’d treated Frederick, and everyone else not like them had contributed too. “And your sister?” That’s a safer topic; Sophie and Anne had liked each other.

“She’s good. She lives down in Virginia now - her husband’s some big shot in the Navy.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”)

(And that had been the end of that feeble attempt at discussion.)

Anne thinks a lot that night about what she must have done to deserve this. Clearly, something terrible in some past life to have earned this particular variety of torment. Frederick is everything she remembered, only colder - not that she can blame him. After what she did, all those years ago, the way she broke them… she’s more than earned it.

Still. She can be strong, Anne tells herself. She can remain detached, and collected, and unaffected by his presence. She’s had years of practice, after all, pretending that she still isn’t carrying a torch.

(It was always a foolish idea to watch him play online - but then again, she’s always been a fool.)

It’s a little harder to keep up that calm facade, however, when Frederick is walking out of the bathroom in the morning with nothing more than sweatpants and wet hair. God, but he’s handsome, between that face and that wonderful smile and the fit frame he must be displaying just to taunt her, like a reminder of all she rejected. Naturally. It’s no more than she deserves. Her relief is near palpable when he emerges from the spare room in another bright blue t-shirt.

It gets easier as the hours pass and one day bleeds into another. It’s not Frederick’s fault that she’s so shaken by his very presence, and he really is trying to be a good houseguest. He picks up after himself and helps with the dishes and doesn’t argue with whatever she puts on TV. It could be worse.

Still, she can’t help but feel like everything from their past sits between them, unspoken, in every interaction. It’s the elephant in the room, the loudly unspoken words in every little mundane interaction they share. They can reach a point where they’re able to converse without the overt distrust and borderline hostility of where they started this, but comfort is too much to ask.

(Does he feel it too - the pressure of all the what-might-have-beens, pressing down upon them? Or is she the only one that’s haunted?)

She can do this - survive Frederick’s presence when every moment is a reminder of all she threw away. But that doesn’t mean it won’t just crush and kill her.

———

Frederick finds that he doesn’t mind being cooped up with Anne, likes it much more than he anticipated or planned. It’s not that they do much of anything - there’s limits in a small cottage like hers - but the companionship is nice. As it turns out, he was maybe lonelier than he’d wanted to admit. Even the stupid jigsaw puzzles go easier in her company; she’s got a system of sorting that Fred never would have had the patience to implement.

Really, Anne is better equipped, literally and emotionally, for this whole isolation situation. Frederick has always needed to be out and active and doing, little planning involved; Anne, on the other hand, has all the supplies she needs, and the temperament for these kinds of quiet, time-wasting tasks to boot. It’s so entirely in character; he should probably have guessed. Then again, he was trying very hard not to think of Anne until he was forced to show up at her door, practically begging for shelter.

Anne, of course, has plenty of firewood, unlike him, stacked neatly under a tarp at the side of her garage where it’s protected from the elements. She lives here year-round, after all; unlike his own dumb ass, she obviously remembers that it’s not uncommon to receive snow all the way through March and into April, and planned accordingly. Her central heating works fine, obviously, but there’s something about this weather that calls for a roaring fire. Plus, retrieving the firewood gives Frederick a chance to think away from Anne and all her distraction.

He’s not sure what he expected of her - tears? Begging? Apologies? The kind of aloofness the rest of her family has so perfected? None of that is Anne; she’s always been too accepting of her circumstances, even to her own detriment. Once upon a time, Frederick had viewed that tendency with a kind of fond exasperation, had wanted to help her understand that she deserved more than she had always settled for; now it just makes him sad, and angry. She should feel more than this, should be angry or distraught or anything now that he’s here.

He should be paying more attention to the task at hand than the woman in the other room, unfortunately, as the end of a twig clipped off a log slices the skin of his palm as he deposits his load by the hearth, causing Frederick to hiss in surprise at the mild pain. It’s not a deep cut, or hurt that badly - he plays a contact sport for a living, for fuck’s sake, this is nothing - but he can already see blood starting to bead. After making sure the logs are stacked as best as he can one handed, Fred quickly crosses to the kitchen sink to rinse it out. Anne finds him moments later as he examines his hand for splinters.

“Are you alright?” she asks, that soft voice filled with the kind of concern that sends a pang through his heart.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just scratched myself on one of the logs. No biggie.”

Still, Anne pulls his hand closer to examine the little cut herself - gently enough that he could easily pull away, but somehow, too tenderly for him to ever want to. This is her life now, Frederick realizes suddenly - scrapes and bruises and doubtless all other kinds of minor playground injuries that need more tenderness than true care. School nurse, after all.

“I’ll get you something for that.”

“Oh, you don’t have to —” but it’s too late; Anne is already walking down the hall with her determined pace, disappearing into the bathroom. Resistance is futile, or something. Faintly, he hears the squeal of a cabinet hinge before Anne pads back into sight in her stockinged feet, carrying something he can’t quite make out clutched in her hand.

“Just a bit of neosporin,” she explains, tugging his hand back towards her to apply the cream before peeling open the wrapper of a band-aid - the skin-toned butterfly kind.

He nods towards the little adhesive. “What, no fun prints? I’m appalled.”

“Left all my princesses and superheroes back in my office at school,” she smiles back. “You’ll just have to make do, I suppose.”

“I guess I’ll make it, somehow.”

(When she smiles, the ridiculous urge to ask her to kiss it better pops into his head with an ease that nearly frightens him. With a care that would impress even her, he shoves it back down.)

———

It gets easier to share the same space as the days drag on - to learn to expect another person in her space, to expect that other person to be him. It would be overstating the matter to say that she’s not affected by him anymore; indeed, Anne is almost painfully aware of his presence at every moment. But she can prepare to face it when she’s come to expect him, and that feels like a victory all its own. She is braced and ready, long since versed in ignoring and minimizing those feelings that still linger from so long ago. Frederick’s physical presence in her space is a complicating factor, but certainly one that she can overcome.

If she can ignore the way her heart aches, it’s almost kind of nice, having him around. They fall into a pattern of meals and Netflix and quietly finding their own distraction in between. It’s the kind of mundane existence she could almost dream of sharing with him if she was foolish enough to entertain those thoughts.

(She can’t afford to be such a fool - not when it’s only a matter of time until the snow stops and the roads clear and he leaves once again. She likes her life as it is, and that will have to be enough.)

It’s probably inevitable that, on the fourth night, when the snow has finally let up but the temperatures have turned bitter and icy, they find themselves huddled up next to the fireplace with a strong drink apiece. Frederick sips on a glass of the nice whiskey Anne keeps in the back of a cabinet for occasions that call for a little something stronger, barely kissed with enough soda to call it a mixed drink; Anne, at least, pours the same stuff into a whole cup of tea. She’s never been much for liquor, especially straight, but there are occasions that call for it, and being cooped up with a man she never expected to see again is certainly one of them.

“What are the fucking odds?” Frederick declares after his second glass. “I come out here, trying to get away, and I find you. What are the odds.”

“Well, the last couple of years, I’d say pretty good. Since I live here and all.” He’s kind of cute like this - drunk and verbose. It’s something she never had a chance to see, before.

“Oh. Yeah. That.” He takes another swig. “Still. What are the odds that I came back while you’re here?”

“It’s a mystery, I guess.” Maybe it’s the last few days; more likely, it’s the drink. Whatever the case, Anne finds herself telling Frederick something she should never admit. “I’m glad you’re here,” she tells him softly. “I… missed you.”

He tenses up at the words; not the reaction she expected, honestly. A feeling of dread starts to bloom in her stomach instead. “Really,” he comments, utterly flat.

“Well… yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

“A little bit,” he tells her bluntly. “Especially since you’re the one that wanted me gone in the first place.”

“It was for the best.” For him, that is; this was never about her, anyways.

“Was it now?” His laugh is bitter, utterly devoid of joy.

“Frederick…”

“I just want to know what the hell is going on here,” Frederick demands, a liquored slur rounding out his consonants. “Because I’ve been here for days, and I can’t get my feet underneath me where you’re concerned. You sit there with that sad smile and you say it’s for the best and yet you don’t seem happy. And I don’t fucking get it. You’re the one who wanted to break up, but you don’t seem happy that we did.”

“I wasn’t,” Anne admits softly. “I’m not.”

“Then why? Because I’ve been trying to figure it out for nearly nine years, and all I’ve ever figured out is that you must not have felt anything. And after a week spent here, I don’t know that that’s true. So tell me, why?”

“I did it for you!” Anne finally bursts out, more a plea that a shout. “And I know that sounds like a lie and an excuse, but that’s why. We were so young, but God, I loved you. And you loved me, so much that you were about to throw away your chance at everything, ready to find some lesser school near Kellynch rather than taking Minnesota’s offer just so we’d be closer to each other. And I wanted it too - God, Frederick, you don’t know how much I wanted it, how close I was to letting you do that, because I wanted that too. I wanted you close. I loved you.

“But then… it wasn’t even some big game, but you wanted me there, so I went. And you looked alive out there on the ice, throwing insults and elbows and grinning like a maniac. I realized… that’s who you were supposed to be. I couldn’t hold you back from that, just to keep you close to me. Minnesota was your path to the kind of career that would last. How could I ask you to throw away your future?”

“Why didn’t you just say that? We could have figured something out. Done the long distance thing, I don’t know.”

“And you would have been hopelessly distracted from the start. Your mind would have been halfway across the country when you needed to be focusing on hockey and classes and everything else.”

He doesn’t have any response to that, not that Anne expected one. Frederick has never been great at admitting to things he doesn’t like.

“It was never because I didn’t care enough, because I didn’t love you,” she finishes softly. “I did it because I could see everything you could be, and I love - I loved you too much to let you waste that.” God, Anne hopes he didn’t hear that slip of the tongue, even if it’s true. “We were seventeen, Frederick. Kids. There was so much still ahead for you. I couldn’t be the reason you hindered your own dream, or even let it slip away. And you made it, didn’t you? You’ve reached that dream. No matter what I wanted for myself… I had to. For you, so you could have this.”

“I wanted you more than any dream.” Frederick has practically collapsed in on himself in the armchair, the very same one Anne was occupying when he’d showed up and shattered her quiet little world. It seems almost fitting that he sit there while she does the same.

There’s no words for this; nothing that could make it better. Telling him I wanted that too won’t fix what’s already been done, even if she wishes that was the case, even if that’s true. “Frederick…” she finally whispers for lack of anything else to say.

It’s too late, though - though that’s not quite the right phrase, not when it was already too late before this conversation even started, before he even showed up at her door in the snow. Now is just when he pries himself out of her armchair, standing with a finality that’s impossible to miss. “I’m tired, Anne,” he tells her. Anne doesn’t think she imagines an extra level of meaning to his words. “Goodnight.”

There’s nothing left to say - and no use saying it to an empty room anyways as she hears the spare bedroom door click shut down the hall.

There’s no changing the past, but not enough words to explain it either.

———

The next morning, the roads are finally clear, and Frederick can go back up the road to his own cottage. Anne watches silently as Frederick emerges from the guest bedroom, his duffle bag in hand. The silence only becomes more tense as they stare at each other, the luggage a physical barrier between them, both blessed and cursed.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Frederick finally says, breaking the silence.

Anne shakes her head. “It was nothing. Basic kindness. You don’t need to thank me.”

(Can he see the way this pains her? Read the plea in her eyes - for forgiveness, for understanding?)

After another beat of silence, Frederick finally nods decisively, turning towards the door. “Take care, Anne.”

“You too, Frederick.” It feels final; it feels like a farewell, of a permanent kind.

And then, with a last soft click of the door, he’s gone.

And Anne is left to herself again.

———

He should feel peace, now that he’s back in his own space, away from Anne and every memory that she’s dredged up.

He doesn’t.

Because now, back alone in the little house at the top of the hill, Frederick once again has to face the particular kind of loneliness that comes with knowing that it doesn’t have to be this way.

What it all circles back to is this: he should feel smug. After all, this is everything he’d wished for in his most bitter moments over the years: Anne, all alone, with no real support system, just living a quiet little life of little note and, to all appearances, little true happiness.

But it doesn’t feel good - not even remotely. How has he suffered? Sure, he hasn’t had her, but he got drafted, went to a top rate school, wound up playing hockey for a living in the NHL. By any measure, it’s a damn good life - all while Anne has been left to become the shell of herself he found four days ago.

And that shouldn’t be his problem. Technically, you could argue that she brought this upon herself; dug a hole of her own making. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel… sad, he supposes, to see what she’s resigned herself to. Maybe a little guilty, even.

And still, he can’t help but feel like there’s questions left unanswered. They’d talked plenty about the past, how they’d felt and why they’d acted the way they had, but that hadn’t touched on where they stand now. If there’s one thing he’s learned in these last few days, it’s that his own feelings aren’t nearly as dormant as he’s tried to convince himself all these years. If there’s any chance Anne might still feel the same… well, he owes it to them both to find out.

This chapter of their history doesn’t seem quite finished yet, and Frederick knows exactly what he has to do.

———

This time, she should have expected the knock on the door - social distancing be damned.

It’s been three days since the storm’s finally stopped - three days since snowplows had cleared everything out, three days since Frederick had left, back to his own little house up the road.

She’d been content by herself for so long - happy with her plants and her books and all the little hobbies that take up her time in the evenings and weekends. Anne had even found a new kind of solitary contentment in the pandemic, discovering tasks to give her days purpose and goals. Frederick was here for a matter of days, not even a week; it’s absurd to think he could change any of that.

And yet somehow, he has.

Because Anne had been… content by herself for so long - not happy, per se, but satisfied - but the house feels empty now without him. Even when they’d barely talked, or were in separate rooms, he’d been there, the energy of another person making the whole house feel full. She’d grown used to him, she supposes; allowed herself to remember, for once, all the reasons she had loved him, and all the dreams she once had had of what a life together could have been like .

She chose this life - here, in Kellynch, by herself. But for the first time in the only place that’s ever really been hers, she feels not just alone, but lonely. As much as she’s always claimed to like her life, just as it is, there’s no denying that the past days have illuminated all the ways that she’s been lying to herself. She tries to pass the time the same way she always has, but it’s just not the same; she even calls Mary at one point, hoping her sister’s dour moods might be an efficient distraction, but Mary is even more snippy than usual. It’s been days since Anne last called, and her sister feels an outsized outrage about the so-called abandonment; truthfully, Anne hadn’t even noticed it had been a week since her last call. Moreover, she finds that she doesn’t really care about Mary’s bad mood the way she always has, doesn’t feel the need to fix it or blame herself for the outburst. It’s easier just to hang up the phone.

(Maybe this is the first step in moving on: accepting that you deserve more than you’ve ever settled for. That doesn’t stop the yearning; moving on isn’t the work of a couple days, especially when the man himself has only just exited her life again, and is staying just up the road.)

As if she’s summoned him, tires crunch on the drive outside, heralding his reappearance. It isn’t right, the way her heart lurches with happiness and hope and excitement when she peeks out the window to once again see his SUV, once again see him climbing out in that ridiculous blue hat and shuffle to her front door without once slipping on her icy walk. There’s a sense of déjà vu as Anne draws a deep breath before she opens the door. There’s only so many times she can go through this, be subjected to such a blast from the past, before it will eventually break her. And yet, like a fool, she keeps opening the door.

“Can we talk?” Frederick asks. His hands are shoved deep in his pockets and his shoulders are hunched inwards, but there’s a look in his eyes that Anne is afraid to name.

(It almost looks tender - almost looks like hope - but it will hurt far worse to be proved wrong if she allows herself to believe that.)

“Of course,” Anne says softly, stepping aside just enough to let him in. It touches a special little bit of her heart to see the way that Frederick carefully knocks the snow off his boots at the threshold as he pulls his hat off his head, trying his best not to track anything in to her rug and floors. It’s such a simple little thing, but it’s care for her home - and, in a way, care for her. More than she ever expected again from Frederick Wentworth.

“Anne…” he begins, reaching out a hand for her, but she quickly takes a step back. Touch will be too much, too permanent a memory if this is the end.

“I think we ought to keep a bit of distance,” she explains at his odd look.

If anything, that only serves to confuse him further, his brow crinkling up in that endearing way she remembers. “We already spent days together. I think social distancing is kind of a lost cause, at least where we’re concerned.”

Anne shakes her head. “It’s not about the virus.”

She can see the moment it hits him, just exactly what she means by distance, as he physically flinches with the realization. She can also see the moment he decides to plow forwards anyways with whatever he came to say.

“I’ve been thinking, these last couple of days,” he tells her, “and I’ve had a lot of time to consider things. Everything you said and did, the other night and way back when. And I realized… I did a lot of talking about what I wanted, and what I felt. And in the middle of all that shouting, I never asked about what you wanted, or want, or how you felt. And you never told me, because that’s what you’re used to - people not caring enough to ask. That’s on me, and I’m sorry. But —” he swallows heavily, as if he’s forcing down the nerves he evidently feels — “but I’m asking now. I want to know what our break-up meant to you. Because the more I think about it, the harder it is for me to believe you did all this because you didn’t care.”

Anne fights the urge to turn away from Frederick; he deserves that much, after everything. Meeting his eyes is too much to ask, however, and she fixes her gaze instead just over his right shoulder, crossing her arms over her body protectively. “I loved you,” she tells him quietly. “I knew what I had to do, but I loved you. I hated every word that came out of my mouth.” Anne smiles sadly. “You weren’t the only one who wanted. You were the first person - the only person to look at me and see something wonderful and worthwhile, and it killed me to throw that away. I’ve had to live with that ever since.”

“And now?”

Anne turns pleading eyes upon him, sure that every emotion is now splashed across her face and too distraught to care. How dare he do this? How dare he make her speak this into existence if he’s only about to crush it all? “Don’t make me say it,” she begs.

“Please, Anne.” His voice is nearly as desperate - and that’s, ultimately, what breaks her, leaving the words to spill forth almost without her permission.

“And now… that doesn’t go away, you know. A love as big as that. You got to go be this success story, doubtless had all kinds of… distractions over the years, but when you have a quiet little life like mine, you don’t forget. It doesn’t go away. There’s a large part of my heart that is still yours - probably always will be - and I have to find a way to deal with that.”

“You still love me?”

Anne nods, whispering her response. “I do.”

She suddenly feels his hand trail down her arm, causing Anne to jerk abruptly to meet his eyes again. “Well that’s lucky,” he smiles down at her, achingly gentle, “because I haven’t forgotten either.”

Even as Anne’s heart lurches with hope, she shakes her head. “Don’t tease, Frederick. Don’t be that cruel.”

“I’m not,” he assures her, twining their fingers together. “Because you’re right, I’ve tried to distract myself, but… you have no idea just how unforgettable you are, Anne. How could anyone ever compare? And I tried so hard for so long to move on, to hate you, but I never could. You were a little spark in my heart that I could never quite stamp out. And now…” Frederick pauses as if to gather his breath, squeezing her hand as he does so. “And now, I hope I won’t have to.”

“You’d want that? You’d want to…” Even with new-found hope singing through her veins, Anne still hesitates to finish the sentence. This all feels like a wonderful dream; she’d hate to wake up and discover that’s all it was.

“To try again?” he finishes. “Yeah. Yeah, I want that. The real question is… do you?”

And she does, she wants that so terribly much, so badly that it aches, even as she hesitates. How could he want that, after everything she’s done? When their separation was her fault in the first place?

“I don’t deserve you,” Anne murmurs into the miniscule space between them, caving to the urge to brush his hair back from his face. It makes him smile, just a little bit, just a twitch of his lips, but that more than anything else sends a flood of peace rushing through her soul.

“I think we deserve each other,” Frederick tells her in return, his voice almost unbearably soft. “I believe that, and somehow, I’m going to make you believe that too. We deserve this, Annie.”

And he kisses her, like he wants to, like he’s thought about it just as much as she has. His lips are soft against hers - just like she remembers, all those years ago - but there’s a surety to his hands now that wasn’t there before, in the way he pulls at her waist to bring her closer and his fingers thread through her hair with purpose. There’d been a handful of ill-advised attempts at dating in the past eight years, but nothing ever came close to this joyful swooping sensation in her stomach or the feelings of safety and love and home. That’s something only he can manage; something that only exists between the two of them.

Her hands find their way to his chest as the kiss deepens, becomes more passionate, heads adjusting their position to allow tongues to tentatively begin to prod and search. Anne had known the difference 8 years had made on Frederick’s body, had seen with her own two eyes the way he’d filled out with more muscle, but feeling it is something else altogether, even through his shirt where his coat gaps open. It’s a reminder that they’re not the same - they’re older and more mature and have experienced different things than they had at 17. But that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes, change can be good; it’s brought them here, together, at what otherwise feels like the end of the world.

Even as they break apart - to get a breath of air, to process what just happened - Frederick continues to stroke his thumb across the round of her cheek, like he can’t bear to stop touching her. It warms her heart in a whole new way, like it’s proof that he meant every word he told her - as if she needs any more after that kiss. It would be easy to let herself get swept away on that little touch, perhaps into another wonderful kiss, but Anne forces herself to meet his eyes.

“Stay.” It’s more than a question, but less than a demand - a plea, the dearest wish of her heart that she’s never admitted, now given voice.

“For as long as you want me, Annie.” His voice is tender and husky as he smiles down at her. “Because I really don’t want to ever leave you again.”

And that’s awfully lucky, as Anne doesn’t ever intend to let him go again.

#Persuasion #Persuasion ff #Jane Austen ff #Anne Elliot x Frederick Wentworth #Modern AU #my writing #skating in circles (with no way to stop)

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w-ngs · 4 years ago

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all the light we cannot see ; anthony doerr

genre: historical fiction

it’s been a while since i’ve done one of these. but what can i say? i just have high standards.

lol jk i just haven’t been reading for shit. but here we go.

if i were to start anywhere, i’d have to begin with how i absolutely adored werner and marie-laure. they’re babies!!!! children!!!! adorable little ones who had their entire childhoods ripped out from under them because of nazi germany!!!! i saw this one quote, i don’t remember if it was from the book or not, but it went something like: the first country hitler invaded was germany itself. and honestly, facts. hitler really said: sexism, racism, ageism, classism, heterosexism, xenophobia—need i say more. it’s the way america is doing the exact same shit right now for me

the characters. i’m saying it now, and i’ll say it again. werner and marie-laure and marie-laure’s dad and jutta and frederick and volkheimer deserved better. especially, especially werner, with his curious and brilliant and constantly growing mind, who was always trying his hardest to be a better person, struggling against the the literally law-enforced status quo, who was kind enough to befriend a boy whose only friends were the birds, whose love and thirst for knowledge and music saved someone who might possibly have been the love of his life. and yet… i guess a happy ending for everyone isn’t possible. but you know what tore my heart apart more than werner’s grossly abrupt death? when volkheimer told jutta that while they were in saint malo on what would be their final mission, he thought werner had fallen in love. that. that. it stomped on me, ripped me apart, called me a worthless piece of shit—just absolutely destroyed me. because of all people i expected to hear that from, it wasn’t volkheimer. and of all things he could have said about werner’s feelings for marie-laure, that wasn’t one of them. but as soon as my eyes read those words, i knew in my heart he spoke the truth. although so painfully brief, what marie-laure and werner had was almost magical. they were connected by nothing more than a voice, but somehow, within the midst of death and destruction, they managed to find and save each other—in more ways than one.

a character i wished we got more of was daniel leblanc. he was such a sweet, dedicated father whose love for marie-laure exceeded anything and everything, more than death itself. even when he wasn’t there, i could feel the extent of his devotion towards his daughter. when he got arrested, i literally jumped out of my seat in protest. reading daniel’s letters hurt my heart. because as someone who’s grown past childhood and now knowledgable about how much parents sacrifice for their children, i knew exactly what he was trying to hide. as more and more time passed, it became obvious that he wasn’t coming back anytime soon. but if there was anyone else i wanted a happy ending for other than my baby werner, it would have been daniel leblanc. what an amazing man and father.

the characters, in my opinion, were what made the stories truly come to life. how we got to see inside multiple perspectives, even the ones that we were supposed to dislike. speaking of dislike, i definitely did not like major von rumpel. and i know why i didn’t like him—he was a greedy nazi who didn’t give a shit about the people he was stealing from. and i was pissed when he got cancer, when he described his daughters, because i knew it was all on purpose to make us sympathetic towards him. and i didn’t like myself for feeling bad for him, because he simultaneously did and didn’t deserve it. so when werner killed him i thought, at least one more terrible person has been put to rest.

let’s talk about the writing. holy shit. this writing: the prose, the vocabulary, the description—this entire book sums up the reason why i read. it is so goddamn beautiful. this is the type of writing i hope to be able to emulate one day, but really doubt if i ever will. i marveled at all the impossible details doerr included about werner’s life as a hitler youth; i wondered just how much research must have gone into studying radios and their inner workings and all the different marine life marie-laure was so enchanted with. every detail, no matter how small, fed my hunger for escapism, and who doesn’t love that. this book made me want to go to saint malo and explore all it has to offer. i looked it up—it’s a beautiful little town. seeing it now, no one would assume such a quaint little place would have such an immensely tragic past.

one writing technique i simultaneously loved and hated was the flip-flopping timeline. i hated it because i had to wait an excruciating number of chapters to see what would happen in the next moment, but i loved it because it literally kept me on the edge of my seat, consequently reading into the wee hours of the night (that’s how you know it’s a banger). i know many probably find issues with it, maybe because it’s a bit jarring, but in this case, i think it was very well-executed. if switching timelines hadn’t added anything to the book, i would have had an issue with it as well. but it increased the suspense multiple times over to the point where i really thought i was going to go into cardiac arrest over how anxious i was about the lives of our protagonists. i had to physically tear the book out of my own hands and force myself to actually do what i had to do for the day. and if a book makes me feel that way, i know that it has more than exceeded my expectations.

i loved reading all the light we cannot see. i think i want to read it again, maybe when i’m on break from school. i felt like i missed so much, even when i know i really took my time reading and absorbing it. and i don’t buy books often, but for a few moments after finishing it, i considered buying it because of how much i refused to let go of our little protagonists. it was also a good reminder that there’s always light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how dark or long the night may be.

#all the light we cannot see #anthony doerr #fiction #historical fiction #werner #marie-laure #world war 2 #ww2 #france #germany #saint malo #romance #book review #book #reading #love #reading this book was so painful but would i do it again? yes

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dominantdavis · 4 years ago

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i keep my lips shut tight, until you go → solo.

TAGGING — Cole Davis & Frederick, Carolyn, Freddy, Greg & Caleb Davis ( NPC’s ). LOCATION — Cole’s room, Hargrave House. DATE & TIME — February 17, 2021. NOTES — Cole sits in on a monthly family Skype call with the rest of the Davis family & tries to wiggle out of seeing them for family weekend. WORD COUNT & TRIGGERS — 1,445. Mentions of anxiety & loose descriptions of anxiety attacks.

It isn’t a new activity for them— family Skype calls have been a tradition in the Davis family for years-- initiated the moment Freddy was old enough to move away from the family home and thus lose regular contact with the rest of the Davis clan.

Still, the routine doesn’t make it any easier to stomach and Cole spends the early morning hours prior to the time scheduled for their call staring up at his ceiling with a growing tightness in his belly and a nausea that sends him to the bathroom on four separate occasions only to spend ten minutes at a time dry heaving and trying to quietly talk himself through his own anxiety. He won’t mention it to his family-- can’t, really-- can already hear Freddy and Greg and their derision and Caleb and his false sympathy. Only Mother ever expresses any concern and even her concern is thin and wavering in the presence of the other Davis men— their conversations have only ever been genuine when they are alone and Cole aches for even a fraction of unconditional love from his family that he’s aware he will likely never get. When he’s sitting in front of his laptop with Skype open awaiting the call he wants nothing more than to close his computer and pretend he’s forgotten-- that he’s stuck in an early morning class or something of the sort that allows him to slip away to Remi’s room to sleep further and forget about his family for as long as humanly possible.

The sharp ring of an incoming call scatters his thoughts and hopes of escape and he answers the call with a wide, forced smile-- not that any of them will notice, he thinks, it’s been quite some time since they’ve seemed to care enough to notice that his warmth is feigned in any way. He blinks to take in the faces of his family staring back at him in various states of happiness-- his brothers seem excited to be on call if only because he’s certain they’ll have some achievement or another to shove in his face and he’s exhausted already before any of them have even spoke. “There are my boys!” His father’s voice is warm and rolling and there seems to be, for once, genuine joy in his expression and Cole takes it in silently-- already wondering when it will fade in favor of the stern disappointment he’s so used to seeing in place of it.

There’s a rush of conversation from his brothers and Cole allows himself to space out as he focuses his attention at a point just above the edge of his laptop screen and hopes it will still appear as though he’s making eye contact with his family while they chatter. “— it going with you, professor?”

Cole blinks slowly to focus his attention on the question he knows is directed at him judging by the smirk on Caleb’s face and the snorts of laughter Freddy and Greg are already trying to stifle. Carolyn looks marginally displeased for a brief moment until her expression smooths over and Cole bites back a sigh, clenching his hand into a fist so tightly he distantly hears one of his knuckles crack as he smiles thinly. “It’s fine here,” He says after a moment, “Busy. I’m still working-- it’s not like I’m just sitting here with my thumb up my ass,” He replies drily, regretting the expression the moment it escapes him when his mother’s eyes narrow and his own gaze drifts towards his keyboard, abashed. “Sorry, Mother,” Cole mumbles, the tension in his shoulders tightening further as his brothers’ laughter rises up again and he wills himself not to react-- not to be bothered by the fact that they never take him seriously. That they never give anything he chooses to do with himself any credence-- as though he isn’t worth as much as they are simply because his chosen career path isn’t in law enforcement or politics.

“You’re actually getting work done?” Greg asks, a shit-eating grin on his face that Cole feels a sharp urge to rid him of but given the fact that he has no means of doing that he grits his teeth and waits for whatever irritating, rude quip his brother has prepared for him. “I figured you’d just be circle-jerking with all of the other half-ass Dominants you live with,” He drawls, and Cole’s eyes narrow for a moment as he inhales sharply and forces himself to focus on looking at his brothers rather that flinging his computer against the nearest wall. “Gregory,” His father drawls, in a dull monotone that does as much to mollify his brother as Cole imagines a wet paper towel would do to plug up a hole in a wall.

“When can we come and visit you, darling?” Cole’s face softens at the sound of his mother’s voice, the lilting and familiar ways her accent makes it so easy to focus on what she’s saying allowing him to tune out his brothers sudden bickering about something he doesn’t and like won’t care about even if he knows what it is. He waffles for a moment, tapping his fingers against his laptop idly before he shrugs, “I’m not sure. I think there’s an event in a couple of months?” It isn’t supposed to be a question and he tries not to cringe as his voice rises and makes it one regardless, certain that she’ll see right through the lie, soft though it is and call him on it outright. Instead she purses her lips and nods briefly, “Well,” She begins primly, “We all miss you very much and we would love to see you.”

He knows that must only be true for her— knows that his brothers only want to see him when they can rub their achievements in his face and make him feel inadequate in the ways they always do; knows that his father only pays attention when he’s publishing a new novel and Frederick can roll him out in some public setting or another when his name is in the papers and the family can be associated with success in any way they can get it. Cole hates it-- hates the ways his worth is dictated by the most arbitrary measures but what can he possibly do? It’s exhausting to deal with it but it would be more exhausting to try and fight it and the anxiety he’s feeling is already more than he can deal with.

“I have to go,” He says suddenly, interrupting a story Freddy is telling and earning a sharp glare from his oldest brother that he meets with a sheepish, abashed smile. His mother frowns and he feels guilty for a fraction of a second before he clears his throat hard, “I have a project I remembered I need to work on-- I can’t put it off. I love you-- have a good rest of your call.” He ends the call without waiting for good-byes and knows Mother will call him later to scold him but all he can focus on is the static buzzing at the base of his skull and the tightness in his chest and the fierce burn at the backs of his eyes that mean he’s about to cry, of all things and he feels ridiculous. Stupid. Childish. Every negative adjective he can drum up and apply to himself in this moment chokes him and he clenches his fists so hard he can feel the sting of his nails threatening to cut into his palms properly by the time he chokes on a cry and clears his throat harshly, pushing himself away from his desk and standing, staring blankly at his laptop for a long moment. He takes in a slow, shaking breath and presses his hands against his eyes to stall the tears he can feel building there-- he’s already embarrassed at the thought of crying even if no one can see him and when he inhales again he all but chokes on it, reaching blindly for his phone where it’s resting on his desk and finding a mug instead.

He doesn’t register moving again-- doesn’t register throwing the mug against the nearest wall until he hears the ceramic shattering and when he picks his phone up his hands are shaking so hard he can hardly type but he manages a message to his boyfriend-- staring at it for a long moment before he presses his face into his hands and tries to collect himself.

[ TEXT TO → remi ( my sun & stars ) ]: can i come over? i need you right now.

#「 cole — communication 」 » threads.#「 cole — communication 」 » solo threads.#「 cole — general 」 » cole davis.#「 cole — family 」 » never took your side never cursed your name.#lhqprompt

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queenmuzz · 5 years ago

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Deep Blue Sea; Chapter II: Steel Grey

A bit of a wordy chapter today. The full story is also available on Ao3 for easier reading

******

You attempted not to look too eager as you walked up the stairs to the stage as your name was called, to receive your diploma. Ten years of hard work, sleepless nights, typing up essays, studying, and research had finally paid off to reward you with your ultimate reward: a PhD in Marine Biology. Of course, you knew you had it easier than most, bankrolled by your wealthy father, you never needed to worry about going hungry and studying, or risking a fail mark in order to deliver pizzas or something.

But you couldn't help but feel proud, you'd finally done it! You'd been wanting to study Marine Biology since you were a little girl, especially when you found out that there were creatures that lived even in pitch darkness on the ocean floor. What amazing discoveries must be waiting for you down there! Of course, you were realistic in that you'd probably never be able be the crew member of ALVIN, or any of the other deep-sea-submersibles, but your assistance would be invaluable to understanding the farthest edges of earthly exploration.

You paused for a moment while the Dean handed you the parchment, and you stared out at the the crowd. The lights shining down on the stage made the audience completely invisible, but the flash of camera lights from a certain section was a good indication where your family and loved ones were. You posed and smiled for their cameras for a few moments, before getting off the stage, terrified you were going to trip on your long flowing robe. So you sat down and politely clapped as each of your fellow graduates had their moment in the spotlight.

After the ceremony, it didn't take long for you to find your guests sitting right where you guessed they were. Your parents, as per usual, were sitting as far as part as possible, but had remained civil to each other, so that was good. Between them sat Sarah, your best friend, and... Frederick, looking as dapper as always, yet nervous as hell. You'd met via your dad's business connections, he was the son of a wealthy fish processing company that your father did regular business with. You always sensed that both your and his parents were gently nudging you to be with each other. Fredrick (never Fred, always the full name) always seemed to be invited to gatherings that your mother or father arranged, and vice versa with his parents and you. So, eventually... you both started dating, much to the delight of everyone. He was pleasant enough, always a gentleman, but there was something missing...

“I'm so happy!” Your mother placed her hands on both of your cheeks and squeezed to an almost uncomfortable degree. “You've done it!”

“Now, now Carolyn, let the girl breathe, she's had a busy day today.” and your father pushed her aside (earning a slight scowl from his ex-wife) before enveloping you in a big hug. “You've made me a very proud father today. I know I can expect great things from you.” He pulled away and joked, “Now, you can work on that Bachelor's degree in Business.”

“Charles!”

“It was a joke, Carolyn”

“OHMYGAAWD! THIS IS AWESOME! Now you can tell people to address you as 'Doctor'!” Sarah screeched as she nearly bowled you over.

“Yes, because I spent a decade of my life just so I could get 'Dr.' on all my stationary,” you remarked dryly.

“Oh yeah, we better get on that. You could design a whole new template!” she replied, completely oblivious to your sarcasm. You loved her to bits, but sometimes... you wondered about her.

Fredrick pulled you away from her into a polite embrace and a chaste kiss. “I'm so happy for you, my dear. You've finally achieved your dream” his smile was sincere and you couldn't help yourself from pulling him closer to you. Having him near you made the rest of the bustle of the world dim slightly.

But of course, things like this could never last, as your father's voice intruded..

“As much as I'd like to stay here and celebrate, I've made reservations at Figaroni's in an hour. We should be able to beat the traffic and get there in time.” Semi-reluctantly, you separated from your boyfriend, and the five of you made your way out of the auditorium past the multitude of families of every shape and size, each celebrating the achievements of their loved ones.

*****

“Ever since I've known you, you've always been in love with with mermaids” Sarah said, standing up and regaling the table with an embarrassing tale disguised as a toast. This had to be her third drink, if the fact that the champagne sloshed a bit from side to side indicated anything. “Brittany was known as 'horse girl', Jessica was known as the 'Ballet girl',” and you,” she grinned, “you got the name of 'Mermaid girl' once Timothy got a hold of your note book, filled to the brim with mermaid drawings.”

She wasn't wrong, you'd had a lifelong fascination of anything mer-related since your childhood. Mermaid figurines, mermaid dolls, mermaid movies were things you were obsessed about Of course, everyone thought it was one of your endearing quirks. But no one knew the real cause of your fascination with them....and to be truthful, you weren't sure you were, either.

“That's not a bad thing!” she clarified “Because of that obsession, you've pushed yourself to greater, and greater heights, and now...” she dabbed her eyes with the linen napkin as she sniffled “I'm so happy I got to see your entire journey. A toast to your future, and I hope it will be 'fin-filling'!”

Polite 'Hear Hear's', and the clinking of glasses followed, and you took a tiny sip of the bubbly drink. In truth, you were ready to go home. Usually you preferred the solitude, only shared by close friends and family, and only for a limited amount of time. But this was an exception, and you would deal with it, just for tonight as you smiled politely at your guests. Your mother and father had been on their best behaviour, even if they were sitting on the opposite sides of the table, separated by Fredrick's parents. You weren't quite sure why they had been invited, but they had been polite guests, and provided the social lubricant to keep the friction down between your parents.

Fredrick's father slapped his son's back, “It's your turn, my boy.” he said with a sparkle in his eyes. Hesitatingly, Fredrick got up, and licked his lips “So, uh...I met you back at one of your mother's charity fundraising dinners, to be fair...I don't even remember what it was about. It really wasn't that important in hindsight it seems. But what I do remember was the moment I met you, and that gorgeous blue dress you wore. And how you were able to discuss topics about practically everything. When you said yes when I first asked you out, I thought I was the luckiest man in the world.... but..uh.. I think I was wrong...”

Your throat closed, and your eyes grew to the size of teacups as he got down on one knee. You could hear the sound of cell phone cameras being whipped out and pictures being snapped. Even the surrounding tables quieted down to observe you. You were beginning to understand why your father hadn't booked a private room, like he usually did for dinners out. He wanted the spectacle.

Fredrick pulled out a black velvet box and it opened it, revealing an obscenely large jewelled ring. You could barely see the gold underneath the beautiful assortment of light pink diamonds.

“Will you now...” he said, “make me the luckiest man in the world?”

You stared, your tongue caught in your throat. You felt the eyes of the table, the restaurant, the world on you...and you knew how you should should answer, but did you really commit to this man for the rest of your life?

The air was pressing down on you as you struggled to answer. Any longer and it would get intolerably uncomfortable

“I... yes... of course... I'd .. love to...!”

And with that, the entire place burst out into cheers, and Fredrick pulled you into a passionate kiss. This was supposed to be the happiest time of your life so far....

So why did it feel so wrong?

*****

By the end of the meal, you were frankly exhausted, and you were happy that your father offered to drive you home, alone After saying farewells to your mother, friend, fiance and future in-laws, you made your way to your dad's car.

You were less than pleased to see a well dressed, yet unsavoury looking individual standing by the car door. Your father seemed more than delighted to see the man.

“Ah, Doctor, apologies for making you wait so long, it's been quite an eventful day.”

“None needed,” he smiled, a bit too widely for your comfort. He turned “By the way, congratulations on your impending nuptials” Did everyone know about your engagement before you did?

You politely shook his hand, as your dad made the introductions. “Sweetheart, this is Dr. Griffon, a marine biologist I've been doing business with. He's been highly helpful with the surprise I've been planning for you.”

Your eyebrows raised questioningly, you had known your father had been renovating (with your permission) your house the past few months as an upcoming present for your graduation, but why did he need the help of someone such as this doctor?

“You'll see very soon, and I think you'll love it..” your father murmured as he held the door open for you.

You all got into the black Mercedes-Benz E-class (your father had just recently purchased yet another one... the man loved buying luxury cars like you love mermaid themed stuff), with you in the front passenger seat, and the Doctor sat in the back.

As you drove off, your guest attempted to make some small talk with you, “So, what are you specializing in, my dear?” “I'm planning to study deep sea life, there's so much we don't know about down there,” you responded politely.

His hands clapped together in glee, “Oh good, a fellow lover of the quest for the unknown! You'll have a banquet laid out for you”

“And you, Dr. Griffon, what's your area of focus?” you asked, truthfully intrigued. The Marine Biology community, even worldwide, was rather small, and it amazed you that you'd never heard of this man. Hopefully your father wasn't being swindled about a con artist.

“Ah, I'm in a rather niche area of study, focused mainly on what the general population terms as 'Cryptos'. For example, creatures such as the Loch Ness monster, although I prefer the ocean based versions, as opposed to freshwater.” He looked at your obviously doubtful face, and smiled. “Ah, I've seen that look a thousand times, but trust me, you'll understand soon.” You wanted to ask more questions, but you resigned yourself to relaxing into the leather seats.

“I'm so proud of you today, sweetheart” your father spoke after a few minutes of silence. “Well, I've been wanting to do graduate into this field for so long, it feels like the end of a journey, and the start of new one...”

“Oh yes, that.. of course, getting your degree is wonderful and all, but I was talking about your engagement. Fredrick's a good match for you, and together I know you'll be able take over the business when I retire. In fact,” he said as he pulled onto the private driveway that led to the family estate.” I was thinking you could spend the next year just relaxing, no pressure. All you would need to do is focus learning the ropes on how to run the business, and...of course, preparing for the wedding. That's going to take a lot of work on your own, even with your mother constantly butting in.” “Ah...I don't know, I was really hoping to start work, there's a lot of offers I have to sift through, and there's a research vessel of the coast of Puerto Rico I was hoping to join...”

“Sweetheart,” your father interrupted, as he pulled into your driveway. “I understand you're eager to put all your knowledge to good use, but you deserve a break, especially with all the upcoming excitement. Look, I'll pay for all your living expenses for the year, and after that,” he turned off the ignition, “You'll be able to focus on your profession, all refreshed”.

You sat there for a second, thinking of his offer, it was very generous, but... you had really wanted to start the journey about studying the newest discoveries on the sea floor... but your father's business, the thing he had carefully crafted to give to you...” “Alright,” acquiesced, and your father grinned as he ruffled your hair.

“Excellent, you've made your old man proud... now... for that surprise. I need you to close your eyes....”

You felt him lead you gently up the steps, heard him jangle the keys, and as you struggled to take off your high heels, (so thankful you didn't have to wear them for a while, your feet were killing you), he gripped your hands as he led you down the living room... “Alright, open your eyes.” and the sight that unfolded you took your breath away.

Replacing so much of your admittedly massive living room was an aquarium. No, an aquarium was an understatement. You'd have mistaken it for an Olympic sized swimming pool, if it weren't for the fact that there was glass panels allowing a full view of the water, as well as an assortment of fish, rocks, and coral. A miniature ocean habitat. You pressed yourself against the glass, your eyes darting this way and that.

“This...this is wonderful! Thank you so much, dad!” you embraced your father.

“Ah...” the Doctor butted in “All of this pales in contrast to the main attraction...although it doesn't seem to be friendly right now...” his eyes surveyed the scene, before his eyes lit up and he pointed to a craggy rock. “There it is... watching us from behind the rock.”

Your eyes followed his finger to the said mentioned rock, and your breath momentarily stopped. There, glaring at the three of you was a pair of piercing grey eyes... a human torso, connected to a dull grey fish tail....a real live merman.

“Is that...” you struggled to form a coherent sentence.

“It is indeed, one of the few ever documented, let alone captured alive, you are a very lucky woman” the Doctor crossed his arms, obviously proud of his achievement. “Your father's help in acquiring it will have my undying gratitude.”

“I'm just glad it's no longer a threat to my ships.” your father grumbled “nearly a dozen of the company's vessels damaged by it, and one sunk...” he paused and looked at the Doctor, very seriously. “You are certain it won't be a threat to my girl? It was extremely hostile to everyone so far”

“I assure you” Dr. Griffon smiled, “I've spent decades researching these creatures, I know how they can be controlled. It won't lay a finger on your daughter, if it knows what it's good for it.”

“Does he have a name?” you interjected, feeling uncomfortable at how this conversation was going.

“I've been calling it 'Angelo' as it is a rather ethereal creature... although in hindsight, Diablos would have been a better name. Until it was restrained, it was a fiendish creature...”

“He hasn't told you his name?” you asked, perplexed.

“My dear,” the Doctor said patronizingly, “It doesn't speak, they don't have the intelligence to, besides,” his hand tapped the thick glass. “Even if it could, you'd never be able to understand it. I do believe that they have some rudimentary form of communication, perhaps via colour change. When it was first captured, it's scales were a bright blue. Unfortunately, it seems to have gone a sickly off white, which I can't understand... his vitals are within normal range”

He can talk, I know he can! You wanted to scream back at them, but you bit your tongue, preferring to remain polite and silent.

It didn't take a Marine Biologist to see that he was in some sort of emotional distress. The defensive posture, the way he attempted to hide, and the hate in his eyes. The hatred blazed out at your father, the Doctor, and even you. It was obvious to you, but neither of elder men seemed to notice anything. They saw 'it' as merely yet another fish, albeit an extremely rare one, one without any emotions, just the will to survive. As your father discussed... something, you kept your eyes locked on him. Had he been a human, going by his torso, he'd probably push six feet, but with the long flowing tail, he almost reached seven and a half. And despite your disdain for the doctor, he was correct, he looked healthy, although the bags under his eyes might mean he'd been sleep deprived. Not that you could blame him. What emotional turmoil had he been going through, for ...how long? You'd heard rumours of an inordinate amount mechanical failures of the ships for the past few months, but you didn't recall when they stopped, so focused on putting the finishing touches on your thesis. To be treated like an animal for any length of time would be torture...this 'gift' seemed worse and worse the more you thought about it. And his eyes, they glared at you, but now they were tempered a little bit with... fear? The mere thought he might fear you made you sick to you stomach.

“Sweetheart, are you listening?” your father asked, oblivious to your emotions. “Dr. Griffon is giving you important information on how to take care of it.”

“Now now,” the slimy old man smiled “I can't say I blame her for being fascinated with it, she's the only person in the world to possess one. If I only had the resources.... but your father has assured me that I will be able to take examinations of it on it's monthly check-ups. For it's health, of course... we wouldn't want such a marvelous specimen to sicken and die. Now, if you both would be so kind and follow me, I've got a notebook full of information to help you take care of it, as well as when the filters need to be changed....”

******

You approached the aquarium glass again, alone at last. It was almost midnight, and both the men had finally left, leaving you with an enormous book of notes that reminded you of being a freshmen in university again.... You'd perused only the basics, feeding and water temperatures, you would focus on the specifics later on.

He hadn't moved an inch since you'd left him, still glaring at you. Although, you noticed the fear was gone... that was good, you'd rather him hate you than fear you.

“Hello,” you cautiously said, introducing your name, and his pale eyebrows moved minutely... so he could at least hear you, that was a good sign.

“I don't believe them at all, I know you're not stupid, you're able to understand what I'm saying, and even talk....” you paused, this was a delicate time, you couldn't push him too much, “I'm not going to ask you to talk if you don't want to...I'm not going to force you to do anything you don't want to. I just... I just want to make sure you're okay...like is the water too warm or too cold? Is it too salty, or not enough? Or food... what do you like to eat? I can try to get you whatever it is you want, and while it might not be as fresh as if you got it from your home...”

There was no response, but his glare had softened, just slightly. You were hopeful, that perhaps some dialogue could be established.... perhaps he had been more talkative prior to his captivity.

“I'm going to sleep right there,” you pointed to your living room couch, “If you need anything....don't hesitate to tap the glass, I'm a light sleeper.” you hesitated for a moment, “I don't want to be your jailer, I want what's best for you”

A swing and a miss, you realized as his gaze hardened...and you decided retreat was the best option now. There would always be tomorrow...and the next day... and the next day...as long, and as much as it takes for you to learn to trust me...

And as you drifted off to sleep on the plush couch, you could still feel his steel grey eyes watching you.

#Devil May Cry #Vergil x Reader #Vergil #Mer!Vergil #Deep Blue Sea

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years ago

Text

A Hero Among Us-Chapter 14

Previous Chapters on AO3 A special thanks to @statell for all your help

Chapter Fourteen

Notes:

Wikipedia has the following dollar equivalents from 1882 to 2018 $400,000.00 = 9.8 Million $ 50,000.00 = 1.2 Million $ 20,000.00 = $492,000.00 $ 3,000.00 = $ 73,854.00 $ 2,000.00 = $ 49,000.00

Chapter Text

Ben’s face was a stone mask as he watched Jacob Beringer play with a grape from the cluster he was given. He had yet to test the sugars. Smell it, or pop it in his mouth. Why was he stalling and where was Frederick on such an important day? Ben was through wasting his time.

“You boys let me know if you want any of the whites. I’ll check back sometime tomorrow.”

Jacob looked terribly conflicted, and with good reason, Ben decided. They would pay so much for the grapes this year it would be a struggle to keep the doors open, don’t buy the grapes and there was no reason to keep the doors open.

“If you’re feeling all hope is lost, it isn’t, you have me, and I have grapes. You and your brother are master vintners and you make the best table wine in America. That gift will roll fortunes out of this place year after year for generations.” Ben pointed at the cluster. “This grower has done everything right and he has over 300 acres of vines that are immune to the blight. He knows the cash value of his crop so when you go around me and offer twenty percent over last year he will respectfully decline and I will have sold everything to Mondavi, including first right of refusal on the Zin and deep reds. Anyway, I’ll stop by in a day or two. Have a good day Jacob.”

Ben left the befuddled vintner behind and claimed his horse from the stable hand. His feet were not even in stirrups before Jacob ran up to him and committed to purchasing the crop, the entire 300 acres of grapes. He wrote a hasty promissory note and handed it to Ben.

Ben wrote in the price per ton for each variety and an estimate of the number of tons. His heart rammed so hard in his chest he thought he would fall off his horse from a heart attack. He prayed it would wait until he had Jamie’s money secured.

“You can take possession of the whites when the money is transferred in the morning. See ya, Jacob.”

Ben hardly gave his horse time to warm up before he spurred him to the vineyard. He knew the Beringer family back in Germany had the resources to help the brothers financially so he pressed for the highest price and had the upper hand throughout. Jamie’s yield was down thirty percent he estimated, maybe more, so Ben set the price high and the Frasers were now very rich. Ben turned off the road and headed for the vineyard, the location for which was still unknown to the other growers and wineries. The irregular terrain was a pain to ride and he wondered about building a road, it would make life easier for them.

Jamie and Claire sat opposite Ben on the porch and tried to be calm waiting for Ben to share his news. Ben looked closely at the couple, thinking they looked better than he could ever remember seeing them. Farming must agree with them, he thought.

“Jamie, this is just an estimate but it looks like the yield is down about thirty percent, due to shock after the transplanting no doubt. That is unfortunate for a miracle year like this, the miracle being you are one of the few growers with grapes. So I pushed the Beringers for the highest price and they gave it. They bought it all.” Ben was smiling and could not understand the silence of the couple staring back at him. “Oh! Sorry. They paid four-hundred for the three hundred acres.” Silence. “Four-hundred thousand dollars.”

The blood drained out of Jamie’s face, “good Lord,” he mumbled, standing up and looking out at the vineyard. He sat down and leaned toward Ben. “Four-hundred thousand dollars Ben?” Jamie shot to his feet like there was a wasp under his butt. He took a step toward the vines and sat down again. “We havna picked them all yet.”

Ben went from smiling to laughing at the expression on Jamie’s face as he tried to wrap his brain around the fortune they just made. “Well, the Beringer brother’s just bought every grape on your vines so baring a tornado that uproots them all, or you oversleeping when the sugars rise, you are a very rich man, son.” Ben laughed and looked at Claire who was watching two butterflies and smiling. She was obviously not plugged into the conversation. “Claire, do you have any questions?” She turned her bright smiling face to Ben and shook her head no.

Claire’s mind was busy making tiny clothes and booties, painting the nursery and replacing the furniture, having dresses made for her expanding waistline. When Ben called her attention back to the meeting she felt she missed something important. Looking at Jamie it was confirmed, something big just happened and she could not tell if it was good or bad based on her husband’s weird face. She would find out when they were alone and went back to looking at the butterflies.

“Looks like your crew has things well in hand. I want to talk to you about getting a personal banker. Someone discreet that can handle your money transfers and help you invest. Have you seen that new bank in town? I think they are open, maybe we should take a ride over there and meet with the manager.”

Jamie stood up shaking his head yes and walked off the porch leaving Ben with the distracted Claire. A minute later Jamie ran back and pulled Claire to her feet asking Ben to give him a minute as he walked her inside. What Jamie needed was a quiet room in which to yell like a banshee and jump on furniture until he calmed down. Instead, he appealed to his wife to rest.

“Sassenach, I have to ask ye somethin…” he licked his lips nervously and looked at the floor. “I didna know ye were pregnant last night and I’m sorry for that. Did it hurt the baby, what I did to ye?”

Focusing on his tortured face she touched his cheek, “of course not Jamie. Please don’t worry about me or the baby. There will come a time when we will be…less energetic, but that is sometime in the future.” She kissed him.

“Please rest Sassenach, or I’ll get Fergus to watch ye and ye’ll force sleep so ye dinna have to listen to him anymore.” He wrapped her in his arms and hugged her. “I’ll be with Ben in town, tryin to find a bank big enough to hold all our money.” He chuckled and let his wife go.

As the door closed behind him Claire turned and asked, “what money?”

Lester Fordham sat behind his desk in the empty bank that he managed. He was the seventh male son to be born to Wilma and Charles Fordham and life had been challenging for the youngest son of six successful older brothers. His own mother would sometimes stare at him a full minute before remembering his name. Lester sailed for America to start a life without the shadow of his brothers and was hired by the bank because of his gift with numbers. When they gave him the new bank of St. Helena, they had not considered his absolute lack of personality or charm that would be required to entice new accounts. Try as he might, his nervous disposition and stuttering under pressure kept his bank empty. His stomach was in knots, and his nights were tortured with dreams of returning to England a failure. He saw men approaching the bank and took a deep breath.

“Welcome to Bank of St. Helena, gentlemen. How may I be of service today?”

The two men were conversing quietly and looked up as if startled they were being addressed. One man held a hand out to Lester and introduced them both.

“Good day to ye, sir. I am James Fraser and this is Ben Yountz. We are here to discuss moving my account.”

The men looked around at the empty bank thinking they would be first customers and accepted the seats that were offered. The pleasantries being rather stilted, Jamie explained the size of wire transfer that was coming the next day and asked Lester what ideas he had for investing.

“F…Fff…ffour…well now, that is a lot of money. The pitch of Lester’s voice climbed as he talked about the account types they offered and the benefits of each and he was clearly struggling through the conversation. Once he pulled out his personal notes on the different investments he followed his tone came down, his confidence soared, and he dazzled the men with his knowledge of the stock market, bonds, land investments, and industry. He talked and the men listened thinking they had judged the man harshly at first. The arrangements were made to pull Jamie’s accounts to the new bank and accept the transfer of four hundred thousand dollars in the morning. The men stood and shook hands. Lester walked around his desk and was jerked back when his suit coat pocket got caught on the handle of his desk drawer. He pushed his glasses back up on his nose and decided not to speak and ruin the momentum he had gained. His smile showed the large gap in his front teeth but he stuck out his hand and the men shook it.

Later, when Lester stopped shaking, he brought back the meeting with the men and ran through the empty lobby then clicked his heels. He just made his deposit quota for the next two years and Mister Fraser wanted investment ideas. Lester ran to his desk and turned his lamp up where he would bend over his figures until dawn.

Not far away, on a private vineyard, Jamie also burned the midnight oil bent over his figures. He had a good feel for numbers and appreciated their straight forward answers. He had always used them for budgeting, to save what little money he had. This experience was the opposite as he decided how much he wanted to give away. In his steady hand, he listed all the names of people he wanted to pay. Ned, Ben, Cho, Rupert and Angus and each of the Highlanders. He sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. It had been a long and physical day bringing the white grapes in and he was exhausted. He looked once more at his list; 43 Highlanders $2,000.00 Rupert $3,000.00 Angus $3,000.00 Cho $3,000.00 Ben $20,000.00 Ned $20,000.00 Fergus $1,000.00 trust, $.25 weekly Jenny-? Lamb-?

The pay would have to wait for another month to ensure the reds were brought in as promised but he felt good about how the money was divided. He heard Claire moving around in the next room and wanted to hold her more than take his next breath. He washed quietly and laid down, pulling her to him. She pressed her face into his neck and sighed contently making his heart hurt with all the love he had for her and his growing child.

Claire yawned and stretched like a contented cat and listened to the voices outside. Pulling her robe on she walked to Jamie’s desk where she heard him working late into the night. She looked at his list and smiled drawing a line through Lamb’s name and writing $50,000.00 next to Jenny’s. “That should do nicely,” she murmured before returning to her warm bed and husband.

Jamie was a nervous wreck waiting for Ben to bring his wagon and trusted team of horses. Moving large loads of grapes is what he did for many years and he put all his faith in his grape-horses. They were strong, and the rough terrain between the vineyard and the road would not be a problem. An empty wagon makes quite a racket so Jamie heard them coming and finally exhaled. The men made short work of transferring the grapes to the wagon and every eye watched the sky above for the signal. Jamie started pacing again while Ben laughed at him. Fergus sat on a barrel and stared at the sky in the direction of the bank.

“Milord, milord! Look! Fergus was ready to implode with excitement when he saw the colorful explosion above the bank. The signal the money was there. It drifted in the sky for almost a minute and the Highlanders threw a cheer in the air. Ben smiled knowingly at Jamie and nodded.

“Looks like it’s time to go fellas!” Ben urged the team forward and the horses pressed into the yokes with haunches bulging with muscle. “Put your backs into it boys!” Ben looked back at the wagon surrounded by Jamie’s men. They would help push when a wheel got stuck or the horses could not pull the wagon over the hills. It took Ben twenty minutes to drive the wagon into the vineyard and two hours to drive it out. They could see the road ahead and the men waiting for them. Six of the Highlanders were armed with pistols at their hip and they climbed aboard the wagon to ride the fruit to the Beringer winery. Jacobs men were also armed and rode alongside the fruit. Halfway there Ben laughed at nine armed men guarding a bunch of grapes. My how times have changed, he thought.

Misses Crook had a pig roasting over a fire along with a turkey and three pheasants. Fergus squatted next to them and licked his lips for the entire afternoon. Jamie pulled his sweet wife to their bed where she read for ten minutes before Jamie exclaimed the new book was fascinating and tossed it to the floor pulling his Sassenach into a cuddle position. She could not find comfort with her corset on and finally sat up causing Jamie’s eyes to slam open in a panic.

“Jamie, it’s not fair that you can sleep without a corset but I have to. It’s not possible!”

Jamie, trying not to smile, offered to assist the Sassenach and told her the story of Little Red Riding Hood as he unbuttoned her jacket and sleeves pulling it off of her. When he started on the laces the story was getting dark and creepy and his voice sent shivers up Claire’s spine. When the wolf was in the bed ready to eat the little girl he pulled the last of the laces slowly before letting the hateful garment fall to the ground. He pulled Claire back into the cuddle position and kissed her naked shoulder running his hand down her arm. He felt magic in the air as he touched her nipple with growing urgency in his groin.

“Well, how did she escape?”

“She didna, the wolf ate her.”

“Ah! That is a terrible story!”

Magic gone. Lesson learned.

It would be two more weeks for the Zinfandel grapes to ripen and a second perilous journey with the grape horses. Three times, the men had to push the wagon over the hills and Jamie was exhausted walking back to the vineyard. Ben had tried to convince him to build a road many times but Jamie placed too much value in their hidden location to risk it. Today, he overturned his decision and hoped something could be done before they had to move the reds, their biggest crop.

It was clear after a five-minute meeting, that between Jamie and the Highlanders not a soul knew anything about building a road. Fergus knew how to do it but no one would listen to him so he dragged the pitchfork out to the field and stabbed the ground repeatedly for as long as he could with the sun beating down on him. He laid in the tall, cool grass, and wiped the sweat from his face before an afternoon nap overcame him.

When Fergus next opened his eyes it was pitch dark and a cold breeze brought him fully awake. He shivered and tried to remember where he was and how to get back in the blackness of the moonless night. He started walking and the night grew colder. After an hour of stumbling around, he stopped and felt his tears falling. He spent many nights alone in the barn but always felt safe with the door bolted. Now he was out in the open and cried in earnest. He started walking again and thought he saw a light, far in the distance. It was swinging so someone was holding it. He shouted out and started running, tripping on the uneven terrain and panting for breath. He kept shouting but the light turned away from him and he felt his heart drop into his stomach. He ran in the direction of the light, as fast as he could.

Jamie stood still and looked into the ink-black night. “Where are ye Fergus?” He turned around to go back and check-in with the men. He had been walking with the lamp for hours and saying every prayer he knew but the kid was just gone. He racked his brain trying to think what might have happened and the image of the lake made him shiver with dread. Hours earlier he found the raft still tied to the shore and wondered if Fergus was playing on them and fell into the water. Thinking about him on the bottom of that cold lake filled him with such sorrow he yelled the boy's name into the night and started walking again. He turned toward home and into the lit sphere of his lamp ran Fergus, right into his legs where he now had a death grip. The boy was speaking French and crying and it broke Jamie’s heart to see him so scared. He picked him up with one arm and walked him back to the house.

“Yer alright mac gradhach, I’ve got ye.”

Claire heard the back door open and ran to Jamie pulling Fergus into her arms. She fussed over him and told him they were so worried. Misses Crook laid cold meat and bread on a plate and warmed the rest of their milk. Jamie fired a shot into the air outside to let those that were still searching know to come in. Fergus spoke rapid French about building his road and the hot sun making him sleepy. Jamie translated as best he could, wanting to pull the kid into his arms and hold him until he stopped shaking. He couldn’t do that, to himself, or Fergus, it wasn’t done and Fergus would have to rally his own strength to stop shaking.

Fergus consumed as much food as a full-grown Highlander and Misses Crook laughed when he wanted more. He watched Jamie with round pale blue eyes that were fearful of reprimand. Claire washed his face and hands but Fergus’s gaze was stuck on Jamie and he still could not speak English. Jamie sat down next to the boy and measured his words carefully.

“So, ye decided to build my road did ye? A very big job it is and I’m grateful ye tried. How much did ye get done then?”

The rapid French explanation made it clear the ground was too hard and he failed.

“Yer heart was in the right place Fergus and I canna fault ye for bein overcome by the heat. I appreciate what ye tried to do for me and I’m happy yer safe and back home. If ye promise to let me know when yer leavin in the future, I’ll be happy.”

Fergus gave his promise and hugged Jamie’s arm fiercely. Misses Crook led the boy to his room for a good night’s sleep. Jamie hugged his wife with a look of wonder on his face. Somehow that little thief had wormed his way deep into his heart and his affection for him made him feel like a father. He walked a bit taller as he climbed the stairs to bed.

Fergus took a fair amount of Highlander ‘welcome home’ the next morning. He ate three bowls of porridge and nodded at the jeering. When he could break away he spent time in his room, making his bed and straightening the curtains as Misses Crook did. His few possessions were put away into drawers and he sat on his bed, not wanting to leave the comfort of his room. The time spent with Jamie and Claire had erased his nightmares about France and trying to survive, but last night brought it all back and he felt afraid.

Jamie noticed his pint-sized assistant was absent this morning when he took the Brix ratings. He went on with his day pulling the dead white grapevines from the earth with the help of the Highlanders. It was a part of life, he told himself, the weak succumb and the strong survive. It still bothered him that once healthy plants were ripped out of the earth because a millionaire from London decided to take even more from other people. That thought led to Frank Randall, another taker, and soon Jamie had a good head of steam built up and needed to hit something. Once the vines had been inspected he decided a break was in order and found Rupert and Angus to row over to the other shore to inspect what was left after Randall senior vacated.

Jamie asked Misses Crook where Fergus was and she pointed up indicating his room. Jamie wasn’t expecting that and he kissed his lovely wife on his way upstairs. He knocked on the door and Fergus pulled it open looking up with a bright face.

“We’re goin to the other shore to check the property, c’mon.”

“I will wait here milord, in case I am needed.”

“The Highlanders are here and I’m takin only a few men, what happens if we need something on the other side?”

Fergus looked in his room, conflicted with a fun ride on the raft versus staying to protect his room. Jamie started to understand what was eating at the boy and searched his mind for a solution.

“Would ye come if I put her name on the door? I’ll be right back.” Jamie used a bit of putty to stick a note on the door that said “Fergus’s Room.” Shoes were grabbed and the door slammed behind him as Fergus ran to take his place on the raft.

Jamie walked through the old property a bundle of emotions and memories. Seeing it again made him feel lonely for some reason. He recalled standing outside, starved half to death and Claire coaxing him into the house to eat. It seemed like another lifetime. The loneliness just got worse when he walked through the house. Looking at their bedroom he remembered the night they wed. This house needed a family he decided and the vineyard needed healthy plants to support that family. That was the problem. The entire place seemed dead and that filled him with sadness.

“Milord! You must come and see I found all the chickens!” Jamie joined Fergus downstairs and was led to a side yard where Angus was trying to catch the chickens and drop them into a moving sack. They caught five more and left for the rafts. Fergus ran up behind them holding a large sack of chicken food.

“Ye have a good heart, Fergus.” Jamie took the sack from the boy and smiled at him.

Jamie spent thirty minutes telling Claire about the road and complaining there wasn’t a man among them with any knowledge on the subject. He worried they would not get the reds to the road without physically carrying them on their backs.

“Jamie darling, isn’t there someone who does that around here?”

Jamie stopped pacing and looked at the one he loved with confusion. “What?”

“Someone in these parts must do that kind of thing when people need to clear land, right?” She yawned deeply fighting her fatigue to discuss the matter with him. Jamie ran to her and apologized for keeping her up. He pulled her down on the bed and spooned her. “I forgot for a moment that ye were so smart. Thank ye Sassenach.”

Jamie found a man in the area that had an ox and would level his road right away. Luckily, the need for leveling land dropped off sharply after the growing season so they had all of his attention right away. Fergus would sit and watch the huge ox drag the ploughshare and harrow back and forth while the man walked behind holding the sharp blade straight as it cut into the earth. After twelve days there was a smooth and level surface from the vineyard to the road.

As the last of the harvest approached, Jamie was tortured by fear of missing the Brix number for any number of reasons that might lay waste to the grapes and his promise to the brothers. He slept less and less making Claire worry for him. She tried seduction, late-night snacks, and rubbing his feet, but nothing worked. He would close his eyes for an hour or so, then he was up for the night. He became short-tempered and uncharacteristically emotional when she talked about the baby. Fergus was the only one brave enough to jump into it with Jamie, whatever “it” was. On every trip to town, for supplies, banking, or the post, Jamie would purchase another hydrometer, just in case. Fergus would take it to the supply barn and add it to the growing collection.

Fergus got behind Jamie and pushed him toward the hills at daybreak to test the red grapes, earning himself a growl and a stern look. Undaunted he continued to poke Jamie to keep him awake. Finally, Jamie gave a shout and dropped the hydrometer smashing it to pieces. “Christ! Fergus run back and get another, hurry!” Another hydrometer was pressed into Jamie’s hand. “I have two pockets, milord.” They ran through the hills testing grapes until Jamie was sure.

“Go lad, ring the bell with all yer might. Tell the men to start in the front and work back. Go Fergus!”

Jamie tried to think of what was next. His mind was so befuddled with fatigue he couldn’t remember. He saw the men running toward him with their hook tools and was overcome with a need to find Claire. He walked out of the vineyard like a sleepwalker, into the house, and laid down, holding his wife. Claire felt Jaime around her and heard the yelling outside. She had been so worried about Jamie who was now sleeping soundly behind her. She pushed the quilt away and got up quietly, pulling her riding clothes on and slipping out the door. She walked outside just as men were running back to dump their bags. They bunched up looking for Jamie to bring the containers and Claire knew precious time was wasting. She ordered the men to dump their grapes on the ground, in a common pile and sent them back. She held her position and watched the pile grow and another start next to it. She knew only that Jamie had to stay asleep and the men had to dump their bags and get right back to the vines.

Ben rode in and put his horse up quickly, he followed Fergus to the equipment barn to start grabbing containers. Fergus ran into the vineyard with empty containers and they were filled immediately. He ran back for another, and another, and another, all day long.

Misses Crook let Claire know she did not approve of her working the harvest like a man and with her nose in the air reminded her charge she was a lady who should get out of the sun. Claire barely heard her but answered she would take shelter when the work was done. It was very hot and the men were dripping wet when they came to dump their bags. Claire pumped water into buckets and kept them full, encouraging the men to drink. When Misses Crook rang the bell for the mid-day meal the men came running, exhausted, starving, and thirsty.

Fergus held the doorknob to milord’s room willing himself to knock loud enough to wake him. He had been there thirty minutes, at war with his instincts to wake him and milady telling him not to. He started kicking the door, hard enough to be heard on the inside. After five kicks he ran for the banister and slid down it to safety just as the door was opening. Fergus ran as fast as he could, deep into the vineyard and crouched under a vine with his hook. He watched the house for milord to exit and was happy to see him walking toward milady.

Jamie shook the cobwebs from his brain and walked quickly toward Claire. In the distance, he could see the bottleneck starting from full containers blocking passage for the empty ones and realized it would all come to a halt soon. He started running for them and Fergus exhaled in relief.

Jamie pulled four men from the vines and together they pulled the loaded containers to the front to be loaded onto Ben’s wagon. It was a hot day and the work had all the man covered in sweat. When the cool winds blew through the vineyard, they all felt it and looked up at the gathering black clouds in the distance. Jamie looked around for Ben and ran to him asking about what the rain would do to their efforts.

“Well, if no one minds getting wet, it will be a blessing. Take the sun away and the plants take a rest, stabilize the Brix. It’s a good thing.” he said laughing.

Jamie was happy to hear the Brix would rest but his concern was for the road and getting their heavy load safely away. Jamie told the men to double their speed and pulled two more men to help clear the full containers. With full belly’s and the cool breeze, the men had to dig down for the reserve energy to give Jamie what he called for. The dark clouds hung low with their load of rain and Jamie prayed it would hold off just a little longer.

Ben and his men loaded the wagon and hitched the grape horses to it. Jamie told him to go and ordered the six men with pistols to go with him. The road was a pleasure, mostly to the horses who easily pulled the wagon to the road and then to the winery.

Claire felt the tension in the men and saw Jamie’s frenetic pace. She felt as able as anyone to help and pushed her sleeves up. When Jamie saw her lifting cluster bundles into the empty wagon he almost fainted. “Jesus, Sassenach, no.”

He ran for her, twenty acres away his legs burned and he kept running, bursting out of the vineyard right in front of her. He was panting for breath when he took the load from her and walked her to the house.

“Jamie, I can help. It seems the rain is threatening and I will do my part,” she walked off the porch and felt her feet leave the earth when Jamie pulled her inside and up the stairs.

“Sassenach, I nearly had a heart attack seeing you lift the berries into the wagon. If yer intention is to kill the husband who loves ye dearly then by all means, keep doin it.” He was pacing in front of her running a hand through his hair.

Claire stopped his pacing and smiled up at him. “I understand, and I love you more for wanting to protect me. Even though I am strong enough to help, I promise not to lift another thing. I hear men whistling frantically. I gave you my promise, now go, they need you.”

Jamie ran out of the house and stopped dead when he felt the rain. It was coming down like a spring shower so he could still see the vineyard. Like in slow motion he watched the ten containers being dragged in, filled with grapes. Ben was at the wagon heaving massive piles of grapes from the incoming containers. Grapes were transferred and the rain continued. Jamie jumped into the box seat with Ben and the Highlanders walked with the wagon. The rain decided to show the power of mother nature and shook the earth with powerful thunder and lightning. Ben encouraged the horses to walk faster, watching the sides of the new road fall away into puddles below.

The Highlanders gathered behind the wagon and pushed, lending support to the horses. The rain was too heavy to see very far ahead and Jamie prayed they were close. It was another thirty minutes of holding his breath and praying before Ben shouted the road was ahead. The six pistol bearing Highlanders jumped into the wagon and Jamie shook his head no at Ben, he wasn’t getting off. Ben snapped his whip in the air and the exhausted grape horses pushed into their yokes.

When the wagon pulled into the winery Jamie was completely done in. Ben pulled him into the winery where he was immediately brought back by the smell. Tangy, sweet, a delight to his nose. His eyes opened and he looked around at the facility in awe. Jacob looked at him and decided a tip of Merlot is what he needed. Jacob poured and instructed Jamie on the correct hand placement around the glass, swirl the wine with a bit of energy so it would splash against the glass, “only with the reds because the wine needs oxygen”, Jamie rolled the wine in his mouth as instructed, and swallowed. When he opened his eyes, he was a changed man. He ran to the grapes being carried in and put one in his mouth. He was astonished the grape he ate would make the wine he just drank.

Ben looked at Jamie’s face, “uh oh, I need to get this man back to his farm before he begs ya to move in.”

Jacob was very pleased in the farmer’s reaction and bid them farewell. If he was going to lose his fortune to a grower, he was happy it was him.

Jamie insisted Ben keep going to his own home when the road turned into the vineyard. The Highlanders jumped out and started walking back. Jamie was happy for the rain in that moment because he could not stop the tears of relief and gratitude when he shook Ben’s hand and waved. It was over. They did it. As the rain came down in sheets and lightning crackled above him, he endeavored to put one foot in front of the other. He felt his energy drain from him and his muscles shook with effort. The weeks of sleepless nights and the physical brutality of the day was winning. Jamie wanted to feel Claire’s touch so badly but his feet would not move, he was stuck heaving for air. A small hand grabbed his and started pulling. Jamie pulled his hand away at the intrusion of his nap and the thing got behind him and pushed.

Fergus alternated between pulling and pushing while he dodged Jamie’s attempts to swat him away. All the way home Fergus drove his hero forward until they could hear Claire’s voice calling to Jamie.

“Go milord!”

Jamie looked up and saw the house, heard her voice, and felt so happy inside. He walked faster until he stumbled onto the porch and into her arms.

Jamie was washed and put to bed with a clean shirt. Misses Crook brought trays with soup and meat on the regular for the two days that Jamie slept and recuperated. Claire was his nurse and guard when the whistles came from outside. She dispatched the Highlanders to fix the problem like a general and not one man questioned her authority.

When Jamie emerged, he was fed and rested. Mostly he was happy deep down in his soul. Today was payday and time to say thank you to the crew of Highlanders who stayed with him this entire year, and two harvests. He could not wait. He rode into town and collected the forty-eight envelopes from Lester, giving him a heads up there may be a line of Scot’s to open new accounts later today.

The men lined up and Jamie passed out the envelopes saying thank you, my brothers, thank you. Eyes went wide as the bank draft was read and men threw their cheers into the soggy air. One man told Jamie he would return to his family in Scotland. His wife and three bairns were without a da for two years. Jamie handed the man cash for his passage and wished him well. It was a time of celebration and Jamie was never so happy as he was that day.

Jamie requested Angus and Rupert to hang back for their pay. He found them arguing at the lake trying to catch crayfish.

“Gentlemen, yer pay, and I hope ye put it in the bank before some pretty saloon lass talks ye out of it. And I hope ye’ll be staying on here for another year. We lost eleven men today, goin home to be with their families again. I need ye Highlanders.” He left them alone to see the bank drafts and realize with certainty how important they were to him. Jamie removed his boots outside and was intercepted by Claire before he made it to the kitchen.

“Oh no you don’t, you will not sneak up to our room to pass out. I have a special treat for you, Jamie.”

Claire pulled him into the bathroom off the kitchen where a tub was filled with hot water, his soap and cloth were perched on the side. He looked at her like he wasn’t sure what to do.

“Remove your clothes and get into the water while it’s hot. Don’t look at me that way. People do it every day and it won’t hurt, I promise.”

She pulled his clothes off and pressed him into the tub with shockingly hot water. She pushed him down into the water and used the rag to wet his back and shoulders, neck and face. She went over the areas again when the cloth was full of soap. She pulled one arm out for washing and then the other. Pushing him back into the bath she almost laughed at the look on his face.

“Not since I was a weean in a bucket have I taken a bath Sassenach. He looked at her sitting near the tub. “It would be far better if ye took her jacket off.”

Claire looked down and released the buttons on her sleeves and front, pulling the jacket off. Her breasts sat up on the top of her corset hidden by her sheer shift.

Jamie smiled and let his body sink underwater. Claire came to the tub and soaped his hair while his hands were reaching behind her for the laces.

Through giggles, “Jamie, stop that and rinse your hair.” The corset had fallen to the floor before she pushed him underwater. He came up and latched onto her nipple causing more giggles and a stern admonishment. His deft hands pulled her skirt ties and she felt the heavy skirts moving away from her body. He was completely through with asking permission and pulled his wife into the bath pulling her sopping shift over her head and holding her close.

“This is the best surprise ever mo chridhe,” he whispered into her shivering neck. Several deep kisses and Jamie encouraging her heat and the bath was suddenly quite serious as they chased and drifted and kissed. When the water was getting cold Jamie bravely jumped out and wrapped a towel around his waist and came back with many towels and Claire’s special robe. In their room, he pulled the pins from her hair and told her a Scottish tale about a maiden’s love for an ogre in the woods who turned into a handsome prince when she kissed him. His hands through her hair and the shedding of her robe had pulled her into a love coma and they slept in their embrace.

Jamie woke in the early evening and slipped from their bed, dressing quickly. He had someone important to pay and thank. He searched the house for Fergus and found him at the lake with a pole in the water. The boy’s face beamed when he saw Jamie.

“I have somethin to say Fergus, about your behavior today.” Jamie waited to choose his words carefully. “I must thank ye for kickin my door this morning and gettin me up. He grabbed the boy before he could bolt. “I said thank ye. I know it was you and what ye did might have saved the harvest. Yes, it’s true. We just barely got the grapes out before the road fell apart. Ye saved at least an hour gettin me up when ye did. I canna hail ye a hero because the lady was in control at the time, I hope ye understand that. Second, pullin me home when I wanted to stay in the rain and sleep. It took courage to do what ye did and I’m grateful to ye.” He took an envelope from his pocket and gave it to the boy. “I will put this money in a trust account for ye every year ye work the harvest. I will also give ye twenty-five cents a week to spend in town however ye want.”

Jamie dropped the coins into Fergus’s hand and laughed at the expression on his face. The coins meaning so much more than the draft for one thousand dollars. I’m goin to town tomorrow so ye come with me and buy what ye want. There should be a book to read among yer treasures to make the lady happy. When Fergus ran to his room Jamie picked up the envelope that had been left where he sat.

Cho was found digging trenches in his growing garden to release the pooling water. He looked at the bank draft and bowed his thanks. Misses Crook looked at hers for one thousand dollars and nearly swooned. Each of the men received two thousand dollars for a year of hard work and loyalty. Angus and Rupert each received three thousand. Jamie would arrange to transfer twenty thousand to Ned and fifty thousand for Jenny. Jamie smiled at his thoughts of adding some splash to her receiving the news.

One month later, Jenny pushed the hair out of her face and went back to her canning. She saw some color out the corner of her eye and looked up at a line of people filing into her front yard. She wiped her hands and ran to the door. Outside, a new wagon, loaded with feed and lumbar was being pulled into the yard. A cow was tied to a post and thirty chickens were set loose. Two goats on leashes were tied up and more people came with gifts for her and the family, like a box full of wool socks for small feet with scarves and mittens for all. Jenny saw Ned and ran to him protesting this invasion.

Ned felt like the most fortunate man alive as he handed Jenny a picture of her brother, healthy and happy with his bride. Jenny’s knees buckled so she sat on the ground and stared at Jamie’s face. Ned helped her up as more people were coming in with gifts and whisky. Two men asked when they could come and build her new barn and she gaped at them like they were from Mars. Ned told them as soon as possible because Jamie supplied everything with Ned’s help.

Ian came running from the fields as did the housemaid and three barns that held onto their mother’s legs as they shook. Ned had been busy purchasing the animals and chickens from neighboring farms and the best was yet to come. When the family was seated around the dining room table Ned handed Jenny one hundred dollars in cash and saw her tears gush with relief. When he thought she could stand more good news he told her she had fifty thousand dollars in the Edinburgh bank whenever she needed more.

“A gift from the greatest man alive, your brother.” Ned struggled with his emotions remembering the night he said goodbye to Jamie. He looked around the room and saw Jamie as a boy always tagging after him and Brian.

Jenny clung to Ned and thanked him for letting her know he was alive. Ned thought with all the treasures she now owned the most important thing was that Jamie was alive. He would ride to Edinburgh and check on the twenty thousand dollars Jamie sent him. He shook his head and smiled.

#outlander fanfiction outlander fanfic jamie and claire

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notafightr · 5 years ago

Note

i dont have any specific questions but id really love to hear any thoughts on It that youd like to share!!!

okay so i have a big note in my phone of all the things i thought to point out or write down from the most recent time I read the book (the past month or so) because the time I read it before this one I annotated the whole thing and I was just gonna chillax with this time but I realized I was still finding new things that I even didn't find when I annotated it and I wanted to remember them so yeah a lot of it isn't coherent bc I figured I'd be the only one to ever see it and I'm not gonna transcribe it so enjoy what makes sense

I think the first chapter is told by Georgie. at the very beginning of the chapter, the pronoun "I" is used for the first time, "so far as I know" and then again at the end of the chapter, for the LAST time in the book, "I do not know where [the boat] finally fetched up", where the rest of the book doesn't once use this first person kind of syntax. the entire book as I've analyzed before uses third person POV, in which it is third person but not limited to one character, following the emotions/thoughts/etc of several different characters at different points. the first chapter is the first, last, the ONLY chapter that takes the third person point of view of Georgie, as he dies so we do not see from him again. since this chapter is the only one we see as Georgie's point of view, and it's the only chapter that uses I as a pronoun, making it first person, it's not really third person, but more of Georgie's first chronological look back on the beginning of the story, starting with his first experience of the events of It. it's even further proven to be less of an omniscient narrator than that of an unknowing one, such as Georgie, when the story begins saying "The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years—if it ever did end—began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain.". This quote contradicts everything we know and come to find out through the course of the story, which is that It has been an ever present being in Derry since the beginning of time. It did not begin in 1957, like this narrator believes, which makes it clear that this is not the same narrator we read from for the rest of the book. So all in all I think this is some spiritual version of Georgie, any amount of years after the story, perhaps 27 years, perhaps a hundred, telling what he knows to us, the reader.

WHAT IF ITS MATURIN MORE ON THAT LATER

"Arms can be symbols of strength and power. We use our arms to carry and lift and move things, but we also use them to protect ourselves and others. “Arms” may also be used to refer to weapons that attack, or as “armour” to defend."

eddie lost his arm protecting the others

some sort of parallel with Stephen and Adrian.. both writers, s straight a gay, s ditches things that take longer than a few months to write, a 12 years on one book

PENNYWISE REFERS TO ADRIAN AS DONS FRIEND—

richie49 251 Richardsalley485

mike67

eddiec 251 901

I just realized no kid was killed in their home I think? no Frederick Cowan was

IGMMS on nightmare on elm Street in chapter one

possible reshoots: one from book one from not

Audra bike ride

mummy

photo album

eddie corcoran

the bird

dead boys

photo album dos

fridge

final flood

I'm caught

literally refers to Eddie as queerboy

a phantom appeared in the form of an old man.

Stan "looked like the world's tiniest adult" Stan was said to have the soul of an old man. tragic when you think about his fate. phantom in the form of an old man could refer to stan

427 ocd

14 430 parallel

584 Richie adhd

all losers only child

maybe in the end it's the voice that tells the stories more than the stories themselves that matter

Bowers HELPED them defeat it by bringing them all together

"'The victim was a gay and rather childlike man name Adrian Mellon. He had a bad case of asthma.'

Eddie's hand stole out and touched the side of his aspirator." (see page 507)

I need not cite anywhere that Eddie is asthmatic, this is common knowledge. But if we go back a few pages, specifically page 493;

"[Eddie's] face was prematurely lined (although in his movements he seemed somehow younger than either Richie or Ben),"

What do these descriptions of Adrian and Eddie have in common? Descriptive of how they are childlike, compared to those around them, and that they are both asthmatic. Not shown above but also common knowledge to anyone who's read the book, they both have other parallels including their death (killed by pennwise/It in which one of their arms is torn off) as well as the fact that the only use of the phrase "my love" is from Don to Adrian and Richie to Eddie.

I know we all know their deaths and the fact that they're asthmatic sets up parallels between them, but I really wanted to acknowledge the fact that within just 14 pages of each other, Eddie and Adrian are BOTH labeled as childlike (in Eddie's case, at least in comparison to those around him) which I think is VERY purposeful. This makes Adrian's only significant trait not explicitly mentioned about Eddie, that he's GAY. Therefore, heavily implying Eddie is as well.

jesus christ

so you're telling me. when Eddie goes down the street Greta and the Tracker Brothers both live on when the seven split up after the chinese food meet up, that he reminisces both on Belch and Greta, two people who bullied him, looking back on when they would play a sport (Greta croquet in her backyard, and Belch baseball in the tracker Brothers field), and then sees Belch as the leper offer him a blowjob? like the original leper? and so you're telling me, a little after that he sees It taunt him again as Greta but in a non sexual way? so basically you're telling me, Eddie sees It as Belch and Greta back to back, who both serve essentially the same character type, paralleling themselves in Eddie's point of view, only difference being their gender, and you're telling me, It chooses to taunt him as the leper offering a blowjob in BELCH'S form? not Greta's? you're telling me all that? that It sexually taunted him as a boy instead of a girl? so basically you're telling me Eddie is gay and It knows it

singer/reddie parallel Richard Penniman Eddie Cochran

"the two up cards were both the ace of spades"

"most spiritual card in the deck"

"SEVENS SEEM TO SURROUND THIS ACE"

BRUH STAN

preconditions 526 619

624 foreshadows Eddie's death when It taunts Henry as the losers but not Stan or Eddie

bruh eddies sexuality is so repressed he don't even know it but Richie he knows something. he knows he likes Eddie. that world of it book says paul Bunyan represents the masculinity Richie is attracted to... literally though... like Richie doesn't tell anyone about it ONCE not even once he never tells ANYONE he only tells his first experience as the one with bill!!! wtf!

check page 959 of annotated copy

ok i think the fact that henry deliberately chose Eddie first to kill is absolutely foreshadowing his being the next death of the losers club, he could have gone to the closest one being Richie on floor two but he for some reason chose the one furthest up? ok worm

973 did kaspbrak have a wife? maybe that was a stupid thing to say.

huh I wonder why Henry would have any doubt that Eddie has a wife

THEN HE CALLS HIM A SKINNY LITTLE CREEP

WHATS THE NUMBER ONE REASON A HATEFUL MAN WOULD CALL ANOTHER HARMLESS MAN A CREEP

982 Henry literally calls Eddie a fag i

all the slurs henry uses are specifically geared toward a fact based trait of each loser

rocks symbolise strength and stability

very repeated through the book since the apocalyptic rock fight

I kinda don't like that Eddie's ability to navigate was so lately introduced seemingly as a plot device

thank god for small favors... he slapped eddies can....... z z. xxnejsm

ONE OF EDDIE CORCORANS ARMS WAS GONE IN ITS WEB!!!!! THE FORESHADOWING DOESNT STOP

spiders symbolize fear turtle symbolizes creator, persistence, endurance, longevity

1098 Eddie goes to Bev first because he's the most "frightened" he goes to her as he would go to a mother. he does this sexual act with a GIRL in a maternal context

send more questions and headcanons to my inbox!

#it #stephen king #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie #losers club #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #stanley uris #mike hanlon #beverly marsh

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

Text

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 8

<- Chapter 7 | Chapter 9 ->

Summary: Snapshots of life with a fussy brat over the three-year time jump. Including: a few holiday specials.

3,949 words

With the lease up on your apartment, Frederick invited you to move in with him. It seemed like the next logical step in your relationship, especially considering how frequently you slept there anyway—though he had to justify the choice by saying he “could not stand seeing you live in squalor.” The house was certainly big enough for two people (or several less-wealthy families).

It was nice living with him, because you lived very different lives. Rather than finding it stifling to be trapped in the same house, it was freeing that you could spend so much of the day apart—or weeks, as it often was, traveling for cases or book promotion tours—and yet always be connected by the home you would return to at the end of it all.

You were planets of the solar system orbiting the same sun.

The stability of that was comforting. So much had changed—Will Graham left and cut ties with the FBI, Hannibal Lecter was imprisoned at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane where Alana Bloom now held Chilton’s old job, and you were considering following Will’s lead and pursuing new career options. It made you glad to have someone familiar to keep you company, and always be there when you needed him.

For all the good, living with Frederick Chilton was not always easy. He was a shameless snob who did not believe in laundry chairs, and panicked when his state-of-the-art kitchen was filled with sugary cereals with cartoon characters on the box. There were many clashes of egos early on, some of which never fully disappeared. Now that his star was rising, he insisted you dress a certain way when you were to be seen in public together—particularly at any sort of publicity event or psychiatric conference, but anywhere really that he might be recognized. He was yours, and that meant you reflected upon him. He updated your entire wardrobe like you were starring in an episode of Queer Eye, and had your hair professionally styled.

You couldn’t even be annoyed at the controlling implications of it—you were never great at dressing professionally, and it was exciting to see yourself looking so sharp in the mirror. You could surrender that to him. He enjoyed sophisticated things, like the opera and restaurants where celebrities eat, and now you didn’t feel so out of place when you joined him.

“You actually look quite elegant,” he nodded in surprised approval at your new attire.

You stuck out your tongue.

“Do not tempt me with that,” he said with a feline wiggle of his shoulders. “We have engagements to get to, and I do not want to re-do my face.” He wrapped the hand not gripping a cane around your hip and kissed you, coaxing your naughty tongue into his mouth with a lustful growl.

Any time he was too fussy and judgmental to the point of being unkind, you were quite practiced at flicking him back down to earth. He rarely apologized, of course, but would look up and purse his lips in thought before admitting, “You may be right.”

He was a sassy bitch, but you knew that. It’s why you loved him.

You loved him.

You did. It was strange to realize how much you loved someone you used to hate, whose traits you would normally find incompatible with your own. He was a miserable little rich boy with a self-satisfied sneer, a flare for drama, and perpetually questionable ethics, yet you would do anything to keep him safe. You wanted to stay by his side forever.

And there was something to be said about his difficult personality when you were not on the receiving end of it.

Being on his side was fun—his hand at your back as he verbally destroyed someone with a catty insinuation that left their eyes glowering with indignation. That used to be me, you thought. Now you were up on his throne with him, and the view was much better.

You wanted to stay through all the medications, physical therapy, and regular hospital visits to tweak his prosthetics and make sure his remaining organs were all still functioning properly. You wanted to stay even as you questioned how much of your affection for him was pity in disguise, as he had suggested the first time you slept with him in a fit of explosive passion—that you liked wounded birds.

If it was pity, and being pity meant you would have to leave, then you resolved to stuff your fingers in your ears and ignore it. No psychoanalysis would make you give him up. You wanted to keep orbiting the sun together.

*****

Calliope music paraded through the air with aggressively cheerful pneumatic whistles that grabbed your eardrums and pulled them screaming into the 1920s. Shrieks, laughter, bells, and shouts rushed by.

Frederick Chilton stuck close beside you and mistrustfully held a greasy paper plate like it was a venomous snake.

It seemed only fair that in return for dressing up, you made him dress down and do normal-person things, like go to the county fair and eat deliciously greasy fried foods. It was like a cultural exchange program.

“Every moment I am not writing my next book is another moment the world goes without a groundbreaking revelation on the human psyche,” he had snipped when you first suggested the outing. He barely looked up from his computer, where he sat typing in a suave leather office chair.

“Oh come on, you owe me,” you persisted. “I am sick and tired of fancy museums and fancy restaurants and fancy psychiatric conventions. Next time we’re in a hotel, there should be Star Trek costumes involved!” He straightened like you’d shoved a rod up his spine, and you chuckled inwardly at his petty aversion to being seen at that type of convention. “Come on, it’s just the fair,” you rubbed his shoulders and he groaned with annoyance. “Nobody important will be there. You’ll be totally incognito. Be a commoner with me.”

“I suppose it is the least I can do,” he caved in at last, leaning his head back to rest on your chest, glancing up at you through his eyebrows. “Since it is so important to you, I shall partake of your proletariat festivities.”

“Don’t say proletariat when we’re at the fair, you bougie dork.”

He wore a plain black t-shirt, and his hair wasn’t quite as primly styled as usual, letting a few strands fly free. The less he stood out from the crowd, the less likely a professional acquaintance or fan would recognize him.

Even living with Chilton, it was rare to see him dressed so casually, and you had expected it to be disconcerting. Instead, you found yourself drooling. He was sexy in a suit, but so was everybody with the correct fit. The unstructured t-shirt hugged his broad chest and revealed those alarmingly muscular arms that were usually a secret hidden under sleeves.

It was odd seeing your private Chilton—reserved for nights and mornings—out in the world, and a reminder of how lucky you were.

He managed to look dapper even with powdered sugar on his shirt.

“Funnel cake?” he cringed, as if the word itself was in poor taste. “Are we certain this is food?”

“You are ridiculously hoity-toity.”

“I do enjoy the finer things in life,” he boasted in a smooth, self-congratulatory hum.

You were about to sass him when you realized his admiring eyes were fixed on you, and he wore an expectant smirk on his lips. Your scowl cracked open into a tender laugh, and you linked your arm with his, giving him a playful hip bump.

His eyes widened at you in mock horror. “You would attack a man with a cane?” He awaited your answer with that same peevish smirk, but you didn’t have anything clever on your tongue, so you pulled him into a kiss instead. He melted against your lips, having gotten what he wanted.

Frederick refused to go on any rides, citing safety concerns and his delicate viscera, but you perused a hundred breeds of chickens, pet the World’s Tallest Clydesdale, watched pigs racing, browsed local artwork, and sampled craft beers which he had to admit were pretty good. You paid far too much money to shoot water guns at a spinning target faster than other carnival-goers so you could win an oversize plush of a corgi, which turned out to be filled with disappointing foam stuffing.

After finally placing a piece of sugary fried dough in his mouth, his eyes closed, and when they opened again, he declared it “not terrible.” Then inhaled it and spent the rest of the fair surreptitiously looking for another funnel cake stand.

When you got home, he confessed, with his most stern and dignified demeanor, that he may have, perhaps had fun, juvenile as it was. Then he quietly suggested that he would make an excellent Spock.

*****

“I am never going to be perfect enough for you, am I?” you cried after another petty argument over another petty thing like stacking the cups in the cupboard in precisely the correct order. “How do you live with me? It must drive you crazy.”

Months of feeling inadequate bubbled to the surface all at once. Everything he did was so controlled, so exact, you really did wonder why he would ever be with someone like you.

“No,” he frowned, and as he gently took your shoulders his heart was crumbling in his eyes. There was a sorry on the tip of his tongue, but this was not the lottery-winning occasion he would say the word itself. He didn’t need to. He would say it in other ways.

His warm lips pressed your forehead as he rubbed loving circles on your arms with his thumbs. “Do you know who was perfect? Hannibal. I would rather live with a hot mess than a cold-blooded monster. One of us should be warm, anyway,” he gave a self-deprecating smile. “I must do better to remember the beauty of imperfection, because you are perfect to me.”

*****

The front door opened well after the sun had disappeared and the stars had begun to come out. Frederick came home drained and exhausted from being on his feet all day trying to dominate professional rivals who were all, in turn, out to get him.

Conferences were invigorating, an exciting place to strut one’s superiority, make connections, and scope out the competition… until they were not, and they became whichever circle of Hell it is that makes one have to continually defend oneself to people for whom one will never be good enough.

You looked up from the book you were reading. You didn’t get up from the couch cushion’s gravitational embrace, but smiled with stars in your eyes, and called, “Frederick!”

Home.

He crawled onto the couch next to you, and laid his head in your lap. You set the book aside and ran your fingers through his hair, listening to the sweet, sleepy noises of pleasure the action evoked. Fantasies of this moment had kept him alive all day. You caressed his neck and the prickly stubble along the side of his jaw, and he turned his face into your palm and kissed it. He adored the way you touched him with your gentle, caring hands. Yawning, you reclined into the deep, plush cushions, and he shifted so you were both laying next to each other, content in each other’s embrace. He cuddled into your chest, face buried in your shirt.

“You smell like tacos.”

It was unclear how peevishly he intended the observation, so you simply replied, “I made tacos for dinner.”

“The cheap American kind that are nothing but ground beef, shredded cheese, and an insult to Mexican culture,” he said, voice muffled by the fabric.

“Mm-hmm,” you said.

“They are not real food.”

“Do you want some?”

“God, yes.”

*****

With physical therapy, Chilton was finally able to walk comfortably without assistance again.

Technically, he had been able to for a long time. The cane was a crutch—in the figurative, not the literal, sense. In the literal sense it was very much not a crutch, or even a cane. At best, it was an expensive, silver-topped walking stick. He clung to it like a security blanket, or as a prop to garner pity, or simply because it was a dramatic accessory. The threat of physical therapy simply convinced him to let go of the pretense.

Like the spiral staircases of his home, some things about Dr. Chilton were fussy and theatrical for no reason.

It was almost a shame, you thought. That thing was the epitome of his dapper style (he might as well put on tap shoes, a top hat, and put on the Ritz with Fred Astaire), and it brought to mind such kinky images.

It was not one of those lightweight BDSM canes, and therefore was far too heavy to do any spanking with, assuming you wanted to be able to sit down any time in the next month. However, you recalled with some excitement his tapping it on the inside of your heels to get you to spread your legs open, using the pommel to gently tip your chin up to him, or running it slowly along the inside of your thighs.

You would miss that cane.

You still argued sometimes—but not as often. You were accustomed to his haughtiness and felt less need to try and change it, and he knew you well enough to relax when the two of you were alone. He took your advice that life was not a competition... but only when it came to you, not to his career and public reputation.

He was still obsessed with proving his superiority to the world. Still obsessed with seeing Hannibal Lecter grow old and feeble inside a cell. Those edges were so integrally a part of him you could never smooth them out.

*****

You were good for his book tour.

Though he never raised his voice or threw insults around, Chilton still had the journalist sitting in your living room on edge. She gripped the recording device harder, nails turning white. Flanked by imposing towers of leather-bound books, he stared her down like a shark, bragging about his psychiatric achievements and describing grizzly details of the Lecter case with a heartless detachment—he smirked when the more graphic parts made her squeamish.

Dr. Chilton was (contrary to his own opinion) not the best mind in the psychiatric field, but there was one thing he was the preeminent expert in, and that was leaving people with the impression that he was a callous douchebag who thought he was better than everyone else. Which was more or less accurate.

When you entered the room, his whole demeanor softened.

“Hey honey,” you poked your head in with a plate of cookies. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had that interview today. Should I come back later?”

“Nonsense, darling, come in.”

The haughty stare he’d been giving the journalist broke and turned to a warm gaze and a kind smile as he crossed the room to escort you in, his hand on the small of your back. You sat down on the sofa next to him, and set the plate of good-will-bribery cookies down on the coffee table between you and the journalist. She politely refused, at least until the recording was over, but instantly seemed more relaxed, loosing her death-vice on the recorder. You quietly leaned your head on Frederick’s shoulder and discreetly clasped his hand on the cushion between you through the rest of the interview, which he spent blushing and unable to maintain the coldness of his stare.

You brought out a side of him few were able to see. Whenever you made an appearance during his book promotions, the article published was always just a bit more favorable.

*****

“Gotta go!” you called across the house, slinging a pack over your shoulders. Dawn was barely cresting the purple sky, and Frederick was barely awake. He didn’t even have his prosthetic maxilla in yet; he was only up to say goodbye. “I’m going to be in the field for ten hours straight today!” You thought about that for a moment, and groaned with anticipated exhaustion.

“You have water?”

“Yes, mom.”

“You cannot blame me for worrying,” he smiled with some pride at his gallant adventurer. You were wild in ways he would never understand, and it terrified as much as thrilled him. He smoothed a few wrinkles out of your shirt—a rugged garment for outdoor wear—and said you looked presentable enough for what you were doing. You kissed him, and wished him luck with the book signing he was attending that day.

He wandered into the kitchen to search for breakfast, when an idea occurred to him.

“Take some of my meal-replacement bars,” he offered, opening the pantry. He had the organic superfood detox variety that he was able to digest.

“I already did, thanks!”

He sighed with annoyance. “I noticed. It looks like an animal went through the packaging.”

“You love me,” you grinned cheekily in the doorway.

He prowled up to you, eyes narrow, trapping you against the door. He growled. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissing you and sucking a small bruise just under your collar. Yeah, he loved you. You purred, arching your back so you were pressed more firmly against him, and breathed in his scent. If only you didn’t have to leave.

“Come home safe.”

*****

Halloween was your favorite holiday. Perhaps it was gauche for one involved in investigating real murders, and real dead people, but then, that might have been what made it so appealing—on Halloween, all the blood was corn syrup, the skeletons danced to 80’s rock, and the serial killers wore their identities on their sleeves and carried plastic weapons. It had been your favorite holiday as a kid, and it still was.

“No.”

“Please?” you begged, drawing out the E. “It would be so awesome!”

“No.”

“But—”

“I am a bestselling author. An esteemed expert in my field. I will not be subjected to such an undignified, childish display.”

“But you would have the best costume and nobody would know!”

He wasn’t sure how you talked him into it. It must have those adorable pleading eyes he could never resist, or the enticing appeal to his ego that it would be an extraordinary costume, certain to leave everyone guessing how the effect was done. Somehow, he was walking into a Halloween party as a zombie. Without his contact lens or prosthetic jaw.

He frowned. It was humiliating.

You were dressed as an apocalypse survivor with an infected bite, and were hamming it up, telling the other guests you were fine, totally fine, with a shaky panic-edged voice and a tremor in your limbs. You had done an impressive job on the makeup, too, giving your complexion a sallow haze and reddened eyes. The bite itself was a gory masterpiece constructed from latex and tissue paper, with dark veins spider-webbing up your arm.

He didn’t have to ham it up. He only needed to walk in the room and Shrek and Fiona, Pennywise the clown, and a sexy velociraptor all gasped in horror at his face. How was that meant to make him feel?

“So cool!” someone said before he could turn on his heel and walk out of there. Words like, “There isn’t a contest, is there? I should have put in more effort,” and “did you hire a movie SFX artist? No fair,” started to get tossed around—including toward costume elements that you had designed and had nothing to do with his natural grotesqueness. Then they offered him a drink and moved on to the next impressive costumes and regular party chatter.

You were right. Nobody knew it was real, and while it stung to be stared at and called grisly—you would later apologize profusely for being too gung-ho and not thinking through what would happen—he had never imaged being able to have a normal conversation in public with his real face exposed. There was something daringly vulnerable about it. He had never imagined not being ashamed, but at least in this niche context, his old injury made him the leading man of the evening.

By the end of the night he got so into it, he was chasing you around snarling for your brains, and getting a kick out of scaring trick-or-treaters.

*****

He took you to Paris for Valentine’s day. Last time it was Italy, and you strangely suspected he was touring the shadow of Hannibal Lecter as much as he was trying to impress you. You had suspected, that is, until you asked, and he rather bluntly admitted to it. He hadn’t expected you not to notice by the time you got to Florence, although Venice had been purely about romance (he loved all those touristy gondola rides that he swore he hated and were just for your benefit).

Now that he finally had the chance to lavish his considerable means upon someone, he was throwing himself heart and soul into the holiday, and would not stop until he had spoiled you senseless. When he was single and accustomed to spending the day alone, he used to loathe February 14th—Valentine’s had seemed a cruel joke directed specifically at him. He couldn’t even spitefully ignore it by staying late at work, because the more perceptive inmates always took notice.

“You do not know hell,” he told you, “until a man convicted of raping his mother’s severed head taunts you about your lack of sex life.”

This year, he treated you to everything Paris had to offer: the Louvre, Notre Dame, an opera at Palais Garnier, a morning stroll through the gardens of Versailles, delicious bakeries, cafes, chocolate, and macrons. You insisted upon seeing the Catacombs, of course.

When you went to the Eiffel Tower and he showed up with roses and dinner reservations for sunset in its refined first-floor restaurant, your gut clenched. You were terrified he was going to propose. Of course he would make a grand gesture! You carefully inspected every champagne glass for hidden engagement rings, but found only bubbles. After dinner, when you ascended to the top of the tower to watch Paris light up at night, you knew that was when the proposal was coming.

But it didn’t. And you found yourself disappointed.

You had never talked about it, so there was no reason to assume it was something he wanted. It seemed far too soon to you, too, until it was snatched away and you realized that after three years together, you still couldn’t imagine wanting a life without him in it.

Arriving home at last, you breathed a sigh of relief into the still air. Paris was exciting and rich with history, but you were glad to be home in the peaceful familiarity of that snobbishly oversized house with its ridiculously spiraling staircases and its somewhat-less-fastidiously-pristine rooms, which now accommodated both of your things. All of the picture frames that once held impersonal stock photos displayed real snapshots of your lives together.

You weren’t even going to shower. You were so tired, you just wanted to rip all your clothes off and drop into bed. Frederick pulled his tie off. Hair frumpy from the long plane and taxi rides, his fingers worked to undo the top buttons of his shirt as he lumbered to the bath. He stopped at the door and turned back. You were taking a sip of water before leaving the cup on your nightstand.

“Marry me?” he said.

#Frederick Chilton x reader #frederick chilton #Hannibal #Raúl Esparza #my writing

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fefiction · 6 years ago

Note

Oh man, I love your crush scenarios? Can I get my boy Chrom with a crush on reader? I love that boy almost as much as your blog ❤

Chrom with a crush on the reader:

Chrom just couldn’t help himself. Every time he looked at you, he felt a warm blush rise to his cheeks. Your beauty was stunning, and your laugh made his heart melt. Every fiber of his being longed for you, though he was sure you would want nothing to do with him. But nonetheless, he fell for you, and he fell hard.

He couldn’t get you out of his mind. Anytime you were mentioned, his heartbeat quickened its pace and he felt that familiar blush rising to his cheeks. Every time he saw you, you stole his attention away from what he was doing, and that was bad news when he was sparring with Frederick.

He was completely and utterly enamored with you and he would do anything he could to try and get you to reciprocate his feelings.

Unfortunately for him, however, he was terrible at being smooth. In fact, when he found himself crushing on someone, he typically made a fool of himself and that was something he’d never hear the end of if Lissa had a say in it. But nonetheless, he wanted to impress you.

It was when you were just about to live the dining hall that he came up to you, a nervous smile on his face. It wasn’t like Chrom to be that nervous, while he could be a bit of a dork at times you would never go so far as to call him a nervous man. Yet there he stood, the crown prince of Ylisse, fidgeting slightly and not quite meeting your eyes. It worried you.

“Chrom?” you asked, a hand reaching out to him. He flinched slightly, but a warm flush took over his cheeks and you wondered if the man had come down with something. Frederick would be a mess.

Just as you were about to question him once more, Chrom reached out and lightly patted your shoulder. You looked at him, confusion clouding your thoughts.

The blue haired man took a breath, then all but screamed “I love you more than I love oranges!”, and then ran away.

Thirsty Note: I’M SORRY I COULDN’T NOT WRITE THAT IT JUST WOULDN’T LEAVE ME ALONE. I hope you all don’t hate me for that garbage. The real one is written below this one

Thirsty Note 2.0: So, this is the first reader fic I will ever have written so please bear with me while I work through becoming more familiar with it. I’ve looked up some examples because I’m so unfamiliar with these types of fics, and so I’m trying to base this off the style I saw! This is a little bit of an exploration idea for me right now, I will get better at writing these scenarios I promise ;A;

There was a secret that Chrom was keeping, one that he feared to let out. Every time he thought of it, his heart raced, and he felt as though he might fly away if he were not careful. Every time he saw a glimpse of you he was reminded of this secret.

He didn’t know when these feelings began. Whether it was the long nights the two of you spent talking about the day, the supply runs you made together, or the sparring where every brush of skin sent flames across his body.

No, he couldn’t pinpoint when these feelings began, but he knew in his heart that they were here to stay. These feelings had developed for a reason, and it wasn’t difficult to see why.

You are smart, beautiful, kind and compassionate. Every time you smile, the room lights up, every word you say is like a soft melody to his ears. To Chrom, every inch of you is perfect, right down to your imperfections.

You felt a pair of eyes on you as you were sitting underneath the shade of a tall tree. It was an extremely hot day, so warm that you had no choice but to shed your outer layers and walk in only a thin shirt and the lightest pants you owned.

You looked up, scanning the area around you until you caught blue eyes looking in your direction.

You smile, wave and watch with a laugh as Chrom’s face turns a shade of red that was too dark to chalk up to being from the heat. He laughs it off as he walks over to you, but as he is walking you notice that his steps aren’t quite as confident as they usually are.

“Chrom?” You ask as the prince finally makes his way into the shade the tree provides. He gives you a small, shy smile, shaking his head as he looks down at you.

“You know, there are better places to sit than on the ground,” he says with a teasing lilt to his voice. You roll your eyes and reach out to pull him down to join you.

He stumbles a bit as you grasp at his leg but settles comfortably beside you, sighing as a soft breeze blew and cooled your dripping skin for a second of pure bliss.

“This is nice,” he says, and you look over to find him now relaxed against the tree, eyes closed and blue hair mussed from the wind.

One of his eyes opens and catches yours, and this time it’s your cheeks that feel warmer than they were a few seconds ago.

“Being here with you is nice.” Chrom says, and you nod. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but it instead brings a sense of calm that you haven’t felt in some time.

In time, you fall asleep and wake up to find yourself resting your head on the prince’s shoulder. He laughs and says its no big deal.

But what you don’t know is that the prince held you tight as you dozed and whispered his soft affections into the wind to carry them away and the blissful silence take hold once more.

And for now, he found he was quite fine with that.

I hope you enjoyed the real thing and I’m sorry for my stupidity dfajklfjal

#drabble #chrom #fire emblem #fire emblem awakening #chrom x reader #reader fic #IM SORRY #Anonymous

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stunudo · 6 years ago

Text

BAU Prep School AU: Class of 18

Welcome to the Frederick Buchanan Institute located in scenic Quantico, Virginia, a senior high academy that shapes the best and brightest minds. Its motto is “Behavior, Analysis, Unity,” the mascot the Submariners, colloquially “the Unsubs”. The small school supports the most accomplished faculty from across the country. (image link) 2016-2017 school year Class of 18

A/N: This title is a little misleading, but some scenes apply and will apply later. xoxo Stu

PUBLIC LIES

November 17, 2017 5:40pm

“Meg! Maya is here!” Chris called from the kitchen, he was answered by the thundering of footsteps down the stairs.

“Mai-ma!” Kit threw his hands up, hoping to greet their guest at the door.

“Not yet, buddy, you’ve got another bite or two before you can be released.”

“Mai-ma has dinner. Me want Mai-ma.” Meg led Maya into the kitchen, a bag of fast food in her arms.

“Hey Kitt-o. I have some fries here, but you gotta eat your green beans first. Deal?” Maya’s bright smile had the toddler’s attention.

“Nom-nom, Daddy!” Kit shoved a handful of beans and scraps of chicken into his mouth without so much of a glance at his fork.

“Well, there’s one way to get it down. Hi Maya, how’s it going?” Mr. Callahan stood up and brushed the crumbs from his pants.

“Great, Mr. C. How’s it going with you?”

“Same old, same old. You guys gonna be alright with three babies tonight?”

“Chris, come on. We’re going to be fine.” Meg rolled her eyes, sneaking one of Maya’s fries.

“Big boy! No baby.” Kit argued.

“Okay, are you guys going to be alright with this big guy and two babies? Better?” Kit grinned up at his dad with a mouth full of food, sending Meg and Maya into fits of repulsed laughter.

6:12pm

“Okay, what happens if there is a fire?” JJ looked down her nose at Meg and Maya sitting on the couch, piercing the babysitters’ very souls.

“I will get the kids outside while Maya calls 9-1-1.” Meg answered.

“How are you going to carry three children?” JJ countered. Meg rolled her eyes and stood up, she grabbed Jack by his overall straps, hugging Kit around his waist and picked up Henry’s carrier in her free hand.

“Like that, Ms. Jareau, seriously, we got this.” Maya tried not to laugh out right.

“Jayge? It’s going to be okay, they have our numbers if anything comes up.” Emily tried to soothe JJ’s worried face.

“Meg and Maya have both watched Jack, Jennifer. They are very responsible.” Haley reassured the new mother as she slipped her coat back on.

“It’s nothing personal, I swear, its just the first time we’ve been out.” JJ explained.

“It’s going to be fine. We’ll have fun, you’ll have fun. Go, get some adult time.” Meg tried to escort the six adults out of the house.

“Yeah, we should get going if we want to make the reservation.” Hotch glanced at his watch. JJ kissed Henry one last time as he lay sleeping in his car seat bucket. Emily gave the sitters one last wilted smile as she led her girlfriend back outside. Kate and Chris were the last ones to slide into their car behind Hotch’s large SUV.

“Was I ever that clingy?” Kate asked amused.

“Worse.” Chris answered, glancing in his mirrors. That earned him a swat to his meaty upper arm.

Nov. 22 6:26am

Derek always seemed to keep the heat at the coldest possible setting overnight, which sent Penelope cringing as she made an early morning bathroom stop. She snuggled back into her silk robe as she shuffled toward his kitchen to start the coffee pot. He had yesterday’s mail out on the counter and she may have started sifting through it as she waited for the gentle hiss of heating water and gurgle of brewing coffee. Ads from a gym and a car detailer were ignored, her man was perfect, thank you very much.

There was an open letter from some pretentious sounding company and she really couldn’t keep her fingers from releasing it from the confines of its envelope.

Final Notice:

Mr. Derek Morgan,

This is the last time we will be contacting you. Your lease is concluded as of November 30, 2017 and the property has since been sold. Please ensure you have made appropriate arrangements to have your property removed from the building by no later than Friday December 1, 2017.

Regards,

Matthew Hausenweir, landlord

Solutions Quartered, Inc.

“Baby Girl?” Derek called as he pulled on a pair of sweatpants from the bottom drawer of his dresser. Penelope squeaked as she shoved the letter back into its trifolded form, earning herself a papercut in the process of trying to hide her snooping. Derek found her sheepishly sucking on her ring finger. “What’d you do now?” He slipped his arms around her waist, pulling her in to inspect her wound.

“Nothing, I’m fine. Did I wake you?” Penelope nuzzled against Derek’s neck.

“Penelope? I know you don’t think I left my mail covered in blood.”

“Blood? Weird, I must have brushed it and gotten a papercut.”

“Brushed a letter that was stacked on the other side of the counter? Girl I know you.” Derek grinned, leaving teasing kisses on either side of her neck. She stomped her feet and huffed.

“Fine! I was reading your mail. Whatever. You! You should be packing. You need to be out by next week.”

“Is that so?” Derek gave her a blasé glance. “And what if I have nowhere to move to?”

“Uh, my place, duh. Derek Morgan, I don’t know how you teach kids when you don’t see the obvious in front of your face. We can finally stop having overnight bags and just live together!”

“Are you sure? I was going to ask you with flowers and things.”

“Oh, still do that. All the flowers and things. But my answer will be yes, because then I can finally not freeze to death at night.”

Derek barked a laugh, “Well, I hope there’s more to moving in together than just control of the thermostat.”

“It’s one of the many perks.” Penelope grinned up at him, pointing to her cheek so he would kiss her again. She stood on her tip toes in his kitchen and reveled in the fact that every morning would be like this. Waking up with her love and making coffee.

What more could a girl ask for?

Nov. 27 7:02am

Luke had started worrying about another slight against F.B.I since their defeat of New Canaan in the football play offs. The week-long break over Thanksgiving would have been a perfect opportunity for another form of vandalism or theft. He pulled into his usual spot in the staff parking lot and began surveying the grounds for any signs of misdoings. His breath puffed in front of him as his dress shoes crunched against the frost lined sidewalk.

Matt Simmons was sitting in his car a few spots down, listening to NPR and finishing his first cup of coffee for the day. Luke looked like he was looking for something which caused Matt to hurry up his morning routine.

“Everything okay?” Matt called out as he grabbed his briefcase and messenger bag from the back seat of his two-door coupe.

“Yeah, so far.” Luke answered, nodding with his jaw set in concern.

“Thinking something went down over break?” Matt added his eyes to the patrol, his long legs quickly caught up to the soccer coach.

“Call it a hunch,” Luke sighed, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis. “You ever wonder why this rivalry started?”

Matt tilted his head noticing a distinct shift in Luke’s posture and phrasing. “I figured it was one of those long running old boys club things, a ‘your dad beat my dad at polo and now you’re in for it’ type of thing.”

Luke grinned at the example, damn it was easy talking to Simmons. “Maybe, at some point, but the egging, the theft of the Submarine, that’s only been going on this year.”

“No shit. Why now?” Matt asked, knowing Luke was building up to something.

Luke didn’t say anything, he just stopped in front of the main doors. He worried his jaw before he finally came clean. “Because I took the job here.”

“What? You used to work there?” Matt didn’t remember hearing anything about Luke’s previous schools, in particular. He had a memory for details and now wondered if he missed something about his fellow new teacher.

“Phil Brooks, the football coach? He’s my, uh, ex,” Luke cleared his throat, holding the door for Matt to get out of the cold.

“This is all the case of a jilted lover?!” Matt’s mouth puckered ruefully for Luke. “Tough break man. You dump him for the job?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but I think that’s what he took away from me moving.” Luke explained, heading towards the kitchen and Rossi’s famous espresso. “Look, I’m not exactly out here, but with everything that the school has had to face, because of me—”

“Look, you did not ask for any of this. I won’t say anything, this was strictly off the record.”

“Hey, thanks, I’m just trying to figure out how to hash it all out with Hotch.”

“Good luck, but hopefully they’ll come to their senses and stop playing dirty.” Matt suggested, he adjusted his bag on his shoulder before heading toward the stairwell. “See you later, Luke.”

Luke nodded, his thoughts swarming inside his head as he went to grab a latte from the Chef.

Nov. 30 9:38am

Jordan made her way to the office to check her mailbox during her prep period. She had done well this year and kept her opinions to herself, after the mess last year she had been holding her breath constantly. Ashley was leaning over her desk purposely making small talk with Grant as he vacuumed. Jordan shook her head, that woman knew full well he didn’t want to talk and couldn’t hear her anyway.

“Morning Ashley,” Jordan gave her a look before walking to the wall of trays.

“Jordan, hi! Hey, did you know that Luke Alvez helped Grant, here, clean up after the egging fiasco?” The blonde smirked as the poor custodian blushed with the women gossiping.

“Well its good to see there still some good old fashioned hard work and kindness out there.” Jordan admitted.

“And he’s so handsome too. Can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t want to snatch him up.”

“Oh no, Ashley, no. Leave the poor boy be.” Jordan warned, thinking she meant for herself.

“What? Please.” Ashley sat back, settling into her well-worn seat. “I’m not quite his type, I’ll have you know.” She made eyes at Grant who was trying desperately to finish his tasks and escape this uncomfortable scenario for good. He had his head down, but the vacuum was off, so he certainly could hear their continuing conversation. Jordan was now on the same page.

“He has got a lot of free time now that soccer season is over with.” Jordan admitted after an awkward pause. “And that’s all I am going to say. If a certain single guy wanted to ask him out, he would probably have a nice time.”

Ashley and Jordan watched Grant wheel the vacuum out of the office and let the beveled glass door slowly close behind him.

“Do you think he is going to do it?” Ashley gushed while twirling a pen into her cheek.

“He’s going to be adamant about not doing it for a good few weeks. That’s why we need to hope Mr. Alvez does it for him.” Jordan smirked.

Dec. 5 12:43pm

Michel didn’t want to walk to the other side of the school to use the staff bathroom, like they had been doing for the past three and a half years. The lunch hour had just begun, so they figured if they ducked into the guys’ bathroom they wouldn’t be intruding on anyone. Michel hadn’t counted on someone who wasn’t paying attention to the class schedule at all. He was in the back of the room, sat on the floor opposite the stalls, vaping.

“Whoa, sorry, uh, do you mind if I—?” Michel asked.

“Piss? Be my guest.” Jake shrugged, he was dazed and staring at the ancient ceiling tiles. Michel made their way to a stall and took care of business, trying not to over think the situation. Washing their hands, they finally caught a whiff from whatever Jake was smoking, it definitely wasn’t jasmine.

“I can’t believe you right now.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t expecting you here either.” Jake muttered, standing and tucking his pipe back in his pants’ pocket.

“Don’t you have Mr. Alvez this hour?” Michel spun, challenging Jake, despite the height difference and all that had passed between them.

“Yeah, I do. Sorry, Mom but I skipped Spanish today. Don’t think she would really care, since I have been speaking it longer than English.” Jake dusted his pants off as Michel gaped at him.

“Why are you being like this?” Michel’s voice was so soft it wasn’t meant to be heard. Jake’s inhale and flaming eyes caught Michel in the mirror before they could turn away.

“Just making everything easier.” Jake spat.

“For who?”

“I don’t know, everyone? You don’t want me like I want you, Michel. Might as well keep the lines clear from here on out.” He was hurt, it was oozing through his tough guy exterior. Michel turned and finally took in the state of the boy in front of them. How much they had affected Jake since breaking off his kiss backstage all those weeks ago.

“You know I hate distinctions like that. Nothing is ever one or the other.” Michel countered, leaning against the wall, refusing to let Jake out of the conversation now.

“Yeah, well, maybe this isn’t about making you comfortable. Maybe this is about trying not to break down while I watch you flirt with Iggy next hour or help Cissy with her Bio homework.”

Michel eyes pinched, finally taking in how much Jake saw them in every situation. The actor in them craved the spotlight, but the focused attention of someone was jarring. Especially when it wasn’t unwanted. They shook their head trying to find the words for what they wanted to say.

“I don’t want you in pain, Jake, you have to know that.”

“Doesn’t exactly feel like it, Michel.” He was still stoned, but he swung his arms to do something besides just stand there.

“Kissing me-- you caught me off guard, I had no idea you liked me. Not like that. Well, especially since I’m not exactly a guy.”

“You’re beautiful Michel, no matter how you dress or if you wear makeup or not. Look I am as gay as I ever was, but I’m not blind. We’ve been friends too long for you to think I want you to be something you’re not.” Jake had somehow started comforting Michel, why was this so confusing? Michel walked closer, glancing at the door as the noise from the cafeteria increased.

“You scared me.” Michel whispered, tucked within an embarrassed laugh. “I have spent so many years declaring my identity that I hadn’t really accepted my sexuality. I guess, with my father, parents, I just hadn’t brought it up. You know? I’m enough of a burden.”

Jake ran his hand through his hair, his heart breaking again, knowing the pain of being yourself and having no way of satisfactorily expressing it. “You’re not a burden, Michel. If you’re not ready to date or not sure if you like guys—why didn’t you just say something?”

“Because, its you. I never wanted to lose you. You’ve been one of the few people who I can just click with, you know?” Michel’s eyes were glistening now, Jake gave them a half smirk.

“Kind of backfired, don’t ya think?” Jake held out his hand and intertwined his knuckles with Michel’s, arms lengths apart, connecting and calming each other. “Is this okay? Are we going to be able to figure this out?”

Michel sniffled, “Are you going to stop smoking in the boys’ room?” They both laughed at the reference, Jake drew Michel to his chest. They stood there holding each other in the middle of the school day in the entry way of the restroom for a heartbeat. Jake kissed his friend’s head, breathing in their scent before letting go.

“You should get some lunch, I’ll call you later.”

“You coming to English?” Michel asked assertively. Jake nodded, a satisfied yet cocky look on his face.

Dec. 7 4:18pm

Spencer Reid was appreciating the end of fall as the bare trees billowed in an afternoon breeze. The skeletal forms were reminders of change and not a depressing sight to the science teacher. He had driven this route for the majority of his time teaching at the Institute and was still glad he had found the scenic drive in the first place. He didn’t need to rush home, but he could if he needed to. It was nearly dark, and he had a long night ahead of him between his usual Thursday night NA meeting and grading labs.

He couldn’t help but smile as he pulled into the driveway, he could see the cat watching him from the window, fuzzing up the back of the couch. He leaned down and grabbed his satchel and his stack of folders from the passenger’s seat. Someone was burning leaves in the distance, the scent locked into his mind as a Virginia phenomenon as he hadn’t experienced as a desert native. Rationally, he knew it was a common practice wherever deciduous trees were abundant. Spencer slammed the car door shut and double checked the lock before strolling to the front door, it was robin’s egg blue with gold accents.

Voices rolled from the living room, laughter and the television melding together.

“Spencer’s home! How was your day, honey?” Diana cackled from her recliner in the living room.

“Good!” Spencer wiggled his nose before kicking off his Chuck Taylor’s on the mat. “How are my girls doing today?” he called back.

“You get your card skills from your mother, don’t you?!” Elle accused from the couch.

“Uh-oh, what happened?” Spencer’s brow pinched as he ducked his head around the half-wall where his mother and his girlfriend were watching a telenovela.

“She cheats, just like you!” Elle pointed at both the Reids before shaking her head.

“Mom?” Spencer raised his eyes at Diana, she bit her lip and shrugged. “Mom!”

“Oh don’t give me that look, Spencer. I had to cheat to beat you as a kid and now it’s the only way I know how to play.”

“What were you playing?” Spencer plopped down next to Elle and put his arm around her on the back of the couch.

“Bridge.”

“Well, I hope the stakes were high enough to warrant such dubiousness.” Spencer’s jaw pitched forward as Elle gave him an unamused look.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“What? I’m not!” He feigned shock. She pinched his side, doubling him over.

“Hey, you two, old lady here. Leave room for the Holy Spirit.” Diana teased, turning up the sound on the television.

“Mom, you can’t use piety as an excuse as an atheist.”

“And why can’t I? I’m your mother, I’ll do as I please.” Diana huffed, hiding a half smirk. “And I am going to go finish dinner, so you kids can be off to your meetings.” She not so subtly left the couple alone for a few welcoming kisses. Spencer hummed into Elle’s mouth.

“Was she really that bad?”

“I don’t even think she knows the rules, Spencer, I swear.” Elle giggled as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “What?”

“Just happy to see you.” Spencer’s brown eyes turned puppy dog and his hand sneaked up her thigh.

“Still not very smooth there, Dr. Reid,” Elle rolled her eyes before straightening his tie. “How much grading do you have tonight?”

Spencer sighed, “Not so much.” Elle knew by the tone of his voice that he was flubbing his answer.

“Go get started, can’t have you up until midnight again,” Elle pointed to his desk in the office across the house.

“Just one more?” Spencer leaned down sheepishly. Elle groaned, letting him kiss her neck before pushing him on to the floor.

“Homework, go!”

Next Chapter: Private Lives

@mentallydatingspencerreid @dontshootmespence @ultrarebelheart @lyrasilverroseelizabethamanti @cynbx @rikersgirl22 @pllfrommars @wheresthewater @darknesstoglowing @adropintheocean1234567 @tleighstone12 @unitchiefwives @sam-carter-in-training @prettyboysjello @ddreammcatcher @thegirlinflames @night–hawk @t25luver @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @thismiss02 @literallyprentissstwin @usercorgis @natalie-fangirl @holding-on-to-francis @nikkipea @alisonxnguyen @nsanchez1992

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theboykingofhell · 6 years ago

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5, 6, 8, 12, 27 !

yall rly blessing my life with these questions thank you so much omfg,,,

ANYWAY THESE ANSWERS GOT REAL FUCKED UP REAL FAST SO

5) An OC I love

ayameko ayameko ayameko i’m going to keep talking about my trash baby because i love her so much

when i was making adcl i was wondering what gender the villain should be especially because it IS, for all intents and purposes, a fic i wanted to write around my otp, so it’s not like my oc mattered but, like, that would affect it. and it’s no secret that i am Sick and Tired of Men rn. i don’t wanna say her existence in the story is in response to this love trauma i’ve been feeling lately but, i mean, it kind of is!!!

there’s been a few times in my life where rly bad things have happened to me because people claimed they loved me Oh So Much. and while that sucks, for this story i rly liked the idea of using love as a motivator for evil, which is why i decided ayameko was a girl rather than a boy. had enough of demonized homosexuality in media.

so imma demonize the hets lmfao. it’s such a weird situation of, like… someone doing something for you, sacrificing something for you, and you don’t? want? them to??? you didn’t ASK them to???? this isn’t nearly as dramatic but i have a lot of things that guys have given me in an attempt to look good in my eyes and leave an impression. and i hate that. i hate that level of manipulation, whether it’s on purpose or not, because it just feels???? so wrong wtf

and i’ve had guys, like… threaten death to make an impression. they weren’t theatening me, they were threatening themselves. i’ve had people think, well, i’m going to make myself miserable for your sake and you should love me for that. or i’ve had people think, well, maybe i’ll kill myself and that way you’ll always be thinking of me.

and i thought a lot about sacrifice and how… it makes the person who survives feel? and maybe it’s just a warped sense of survivior’s guilt in ayameko that is really at the root of it. the only thing in her backstory that really stands out is that she was briefly used as a hostage at some point and a guy she knew that was in love with her pushed her out of the way and got shot himself and died for it and she hated that because it’s like he got the last word. because that’s really what that phenomenon is.

and now that i have all that typed up i do really how warped of a way of thinking that is. to dare and tell someone that you’d die for their sake is fucked up??? and to actually die is more so. i can’t imagine what that would’ve been like if those guys in my life actually followed through ._. anyway after that ayameko decided to start killing people and she’s valid for that

6) An OC I love to hate

i have a love/hate relationship with nisha’s parents…!

i mean, let’s be real, i don’t know how to write healthy loving parents for shit and i don’t intend to.

also, in being real, i gotta say. and this is, again, a result of my love trauma, but a well-meaning person who ends up doing cruel things to the people to the people they love… shit gets at me and not in a horny way

like i’ve said, because i love writing about trauma, i have a lot of characters who exist to cause that trauma. some aren’t developed enough to make them really fun in my eyes, and frederick and meredith are some examples of them.

fun to write, but more fun to hate on. like, it’s just.. that.. they’re so strict, and i’ve seen first-hand how much that kind of strict parenting can ruin someone’s development. but they’re strict in a softer way than my parents are, they barely ever raise a hand against nisha and do more to criticize her and her siblings’ lives in a way that drive them off the deep end. and that’s just… how they are. they’re just bad parents. and i love them for that but, as people, i wanna shove them off some cliffs haha

8) Two or more OCs who are connected (and how)

I TALK ABOUT THIS EVERY TIME CUZ IT’S MY FAVORITE DYNAMIC JHFKGS

rachel and caleb and amara entertain me endlessly. i love their conflict SO much.

rachel hates amara because amara killed her father.

amara holds no ill will towards rachel because she barely remembers doing it, and HAD been doing it for self-defense in the first place, and really only wants her son back. like, violently wants him back.

caleb is rachel’s adopted brother. he is also amara’s son. the two of them are technically aliens and rachel’s father had died in a raid in an attempt to capture the two of them. caleb was captured (as a child) and taken in, while amara had escaped, so caleb was raised with humans and never really met his mother, who is considered a monster and an enemy to humanity, but he desperately wants to know her and have some sense of a place in the world

rachel also hates caleb, to a lesser extent, because he belongs to this race of aliens that she has sworn vengeance against, but they were also raised together, so she has this possessiveness about him and she truly does love him like a family, but she can’t let go of the fact that his family had torn apart hers.

SO IT’S JUST A FUN MESS WITH A LOT TO PLAY WITH

12) An OC based off part of someone I met

my bestie and love of my life @fury-of-mars has like ten ocs based on her INCLUDING nisha and cassandra. so! there’s that :3

27) Someone else’s OC that I really admire

tell @hogsteeth to talk about his dang ocs more i love them. ira my boyfriend…

#w #THANK YOU GJFKGSH I FEEL SO BLESSED I GOT TO TALK SO MUCH WROW #Anonymous #ask tag

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theraputicwritings · 7 years ago

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Electric Pulse-Chapter Six

Chapter Six: All Roads Lead to Home

Summary: Breanna is just your typical young adult attending her parents’ funeral when she is attacked and kidnapped by HYDRA. What will happen after none other than the Avengers save her?

Word Count: 2,286

A/N: Hey guys, sorry it took me soooo long to finish this chapter. I’ve had a rough week with losing my job and family being over. But that’s beside the point. This chapter is a little shorter than usual, but I think you’ll still enjoy it. I’m excited for the next chapter though!

Chapter Five

Two Weeks Later

Jab, block, jab, block. I grunted as Bucky and I sparred. He was taking it easy on me, but not by much. He’d been teaching me how to fight for about a week now when I was cleared by the doctor. My stitches were all taken out and I felt almost 100% better.“Hey, do you think I should maybe train with some of the other guys too?” I asked as I threw a punch towards Bucky. He easily blocked it with his metal arm and jabbed at my stomach. “Why?” he asked as I jumped out of reach, “Are you getting bored of me?” I shook my head and ducked under his arm as he threw another punch.

“No, not at all. I just think it might be helpful because then I’d learn how to fight against other styles. Not everyone is going to fight like you do. I could learn different patterns and weaknesses.” I jumped up and attempted to round house kick him in the chest.

He grabbed my foot and pulled me so I flipped over and landed hard on my back. “Hmm, maybe you should get a little better with just fighting in general before you learn different fighting techniques,” Bucky suggested, a smug grin on his face.

He held his hand out for me, and I took it reluctantly. “Hey! I thought I was getting better!” I argued, a pout on my face. Bucky pulled me onto my feet. “You’re definitely better than when you started, but Rome wasn’t built in a day.” “Actually, the Roman legionnaires were efficient enough to build and tear down an entire fort within a day. That way they could travel more effectively,” I retorted, walking over to the bench to grab my water bottle.

“I stand corrected then. But it’s still might be a few more training sessions before we’re ready to have you fight one of the others. I know for a fact that Nat could crush you,” Bucky stated, following me. “Yeah, but Cap would probably take it easy on me.” Bucky grinned and shrugged, “That he probably would do.”

We became quiet as we each took drinks from our water bottle. Then Bucky spoke up, “So, question. Do you think you’re ready to get your things from Maryland?” I bit my lip at the idea. “I don’t know. What if they’re watching?” I replied. “They’re not going to be able to get close to you, Breanna. I won’t let them,” Bucky promised.

I sighed and sat on the bench, knowing that inevitably that I’d need to do this eventually. “Yeah, I guess I’m ready. When do you want to go?” “I was thinking we could fly out tonight and be back by tomorrow morning. That way we can get whatever you need,” Bucky explained.

“I guess we can do that. Do we need to talk to Tony or Steve first?” I questioned. “No, but we can go tell them now.” Bucky held out his hand and I took it, allowing him to pull me up. “Let me get showered and changed first. I’m pretty stinky,” I suggested.

Bucky scrunched up his nose. “Yeah, I was wondering if that was you,” he teased. I scoffed and punched him lightly in the arm. “Hey! You said it not me!” “Yeah, but you’re not supposed to agree with me! Come on! Steve told me you were lady’s man back in the day!”

We both laughed as we walked out of the gym and back to our respective rooms. “I’ll meet you out here in about fifteen-twenty minutes, okay?” I promised, opening my door. Bucky nodded, “Sounds good.”

I stepped in and took a shower. I probably stayed under there for longer than I should, but hey, it felt good to have the hot pulsing jets knead into my back. Once out, I dried off and changed into a pair of shorts and t shirt. I figured I would leave in that outfit later that night, so I wanted to be comfortable.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I wondered if I truly was ready to go back. Even if just for a day to get my things. I felt like I’d changed so much in the two weeks since Hydra took me. I wondered if anyone would recognize me. Probably not, but I still wondered.

Realizing I was late, I grabbed a hoodie and walked out of my apartment. Bucky was leaning against the wall outside, looking at his phone. “Sorry, Bucky, I didn’t mean to take so long,” I apologized, pulling on the hoodie.

Bucky shrugged, pushing himself off of the wall. “No problem, Breanna. Ready?” he asked. I nodded and with that, we headed towards Tony’s office. I’d only been there about twice since I’d been at the compound, but it was really nice.

It had floor to ceiling windows that showed off the mountains in the distance. There was a large desk in a corner as well as two couches and several tv monitors.

“You think you’re ready for this kiddo?” Tony asked, leaning against his desk. “Yeah, I think so. And even if I’m not fully ready, I’d like to get some of my stuff here,” I answered, sitting on one of the chairs. Bucky stood behind the chair, his hands clasped behind his back. Tony looked up at Bucky.

“I want you to take Falcon with you. That way he can fly the jet and be an extra set of hands to help wherever he’s needed,” he instructed, “Also, don’t stay too long. Breanna was found in a Hydra base close to the area, and I slightly suspect they’re based out of Fort Detrick as well. Just get what you need and get out. No going on tours of the area.”

My breath hitched in my throat. “Hydra is in Frederick? And you’re just now telling me this?” I asked, balling my fists. “Fort Detrick has the capabilities to create biochemical weapons. That’s so close to DC. Why hasn’t anyone done anything about it?”

“Because, Breanna, it’s just a hunch. We can’t react without being certain. Especially if we’re wrong,” Tony explained, crossing his arms in front of him. I huffed, even though a part of me understood. “I still would have appreciated being told.” “Well, I’m telling you now. Now go get ready for your trip. Think of it as your first mission,” Tony stated, smirking slightly.

I stalked out of the room with Bucky close behind me. He grabbed my shoulder. “Breanna..” I whirled around, anger surging up. “Did you know? Did you know that Hydra was in my hometown?” “I did. I couldn’t tell you because I wasn’t allowed to. You’re not cleared for that type of disclosure,” he responded, his voice cautious. “It’s my home, Bucky! What if it had been Brooklyn? Wouldn’t you want to protect your home?” “Even if you had known, what could you have done, Breanna? You wouldn’t have been able to leave the compound. You can’t fight Hydra yet. There’s nothing we can do. Not yet anyway.”

I sighed, knowing that he was right. “Can we go soon? I want to make sure that everything’s okay. I know it is okay, but I need to see and make sure that my town hasn’t been taken over by Hydra.” Bucky nodded, “We can leave as soon as you’re ready. We’re still going to stay over night, so you might want to pack a small bag.”

Together, we made our way back to our rooms and once inside I began thinking about the trip. I wondered how much had changed. Probably not. I’d only been gone three weeks and the only person who had changed was me. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a t shirt, rolling them tightly to be able to pack. But that’s when I realized I didn’t really have a bag to put my clothes in. I asked Friday if there was one I could use and she readily supplied one for me. Smiling, I added my toothbrush and tooth paste, figuring any other hygiene products I needed I could find at my house.

As I was finishing I walked into the kitchen to grab some water bottles from the fridge. Bucky and Sam walked in the room both with bags in tow. “Ready to go, Sparky?” Sam asked, a smirk on his face. “Sparky?” I returned, one of my eyebrows raised. “I don’t know if you’re one to give silly nick names, Chickadee.” Sam placed a hand over his heart. “I’m offended by that!” I laughed a little, before grabbing my bag. “Yeah, I’m ready to go.”

Bucky walked over and grabbed my bag. “I got it,” I argued, “It’s not like it’s that heavy.” “I know, but I want to be a gentleman,” he counter-argued, shouldering my bag. “You’re not being a gentleman enough by coming with me?” Bucky shrugged, “Maybe, but I was assigned to do that. This is a true act of a gentleman.”

Behind us, I heard Sam scoff and it was one of those moments where you could hear someone roll their eyes. “If you two lovebirds are finished, we probably should get going soon.” I looked up at Bucky and noticed we both were blushing. I bite the inside of my cheek, before turning to walk towards the air strip.

I could still feel the heat on my cheeks, even as we stepped out and the cool mountain air hit my face. I waited for the boys to catch up, taking in the number of jets in front of me. “You ready?” Bucky asked, standing behind me. I nodded. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“C’mon. We’re taking Delilah with us today,” Sam decided, walking towards one of the smaller jets. “You name the planes?” I asked, though honestly, I wasn’t that surprised. “They’re my babies,” he explained. I giggled as he opened the jet and helped me in. I found myself a seat near the cockpit and watched as Bucky and Sam got to work on the pre-flight checks.

I was nervous, considering it was the first flight I’d ever been on where I was conscious, but I tried to keep myself calm. A plane was not a good place to start generating electricity. I took out the fidget spinner that Bruce had given me and twirled it between my fingers. He thought that maybe fidgeting would help me control my powers when I was nervous, and even though I felt silly at first, it certainly helped.

After a few minutes, Bucky settled into the seat next to me and the jet started going down the runway. “You don’t want to sit up front with Sam?” I questioned. Bucky shrugged, “Eh. He’ll just bug me.” “That doesn’t sound anything like Sam,” I teased, a smile on my face. It quickly dropped, though, when the plane took off into the air and my stomach lurched.

I clutched onto the armrests of the seat I was in, closing my eyes. I felt cold metal on my hand, and I opened my eyes to see Bucky holding it. “It’s okay. It’ll only last a few seconds,” he reminded me. I nodded, knowing he was right, but I couldn’t shake the uneasiness from my stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better, planes are much better now than they were in the forties. They don’t nearly shake and rattle as much.” I smiled a little bit, thinking of the thought. “I always find it amazing how much technology has changed, just in the past few years. Would you ever think that people like you, me, Steve, or Wanda could exist when you were a kid?” Bucky quickly shook his head. “No way. Those weren’t even things I could fantasize of back then.”

I realized as we continued talking about the differences in technology and the past versus the presence that Bucky was probably only having this conversation to distract me from the flight. It did work, and I was grateful for it. The flight was short, only about an hour and a half, so once we touched down in Baltimore, my nerves were all but gone.

“Are we driving the rest of the way to Frederick?” I asked, actually feeling a little excited to be home. “Yeah,” Sam answered, shutting off the jet. “Tony made sure a car would be ready for us as soon as we landed.” We got off and sure enough, there was an SUV with tinted windows waiting outside. Bucky took mine and his bags and placed them in the trunk and I climbed into the back seat, fully expecting the boys to want to sit in the front.

The drive wasn’t much longer than the flight, and I kept quiet as I looked out the window, feeling touches of nostalgia. It hit me that there was no one to go home to. Just things. I took a deep breath as I tried not to automatically miss my parents and the life that had been ripped out from under me.

It didn’t work though as Sam pulled into the driveway of a large, white, farm house with a red shed in the back and a white picket fence. This I was expecting. What I wasn’t expecting though was the old, worn down, blue Jeep Wrangler parked in the front. And I definitely wasn’t expecting the man who leaned against it, a slight smirk on his face.

“Who is that?” Bucky asked, turning to face me. I tried to take the grimace off my face but failed miserably. I clenched my teeth together and tightened my hands into fists. “Philip.”

Chapter 7 (Incomplete)

A/N: Oooh, cliffhanger! Let me know what y’all think so far! I love feedback!

#bucky x reader #electric pulse #theraputic writings #marvel fanfiction #marvel imagines #avengers imagine #sam wilson #winter soldier #hydra #sebastian stan #tony stark

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ericasbookblog-blog · 6 years ago

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Picture Books

Image

Salmieri, D. (2012). Dragons love tacos. New York, NY: Penguin Random House, LLC.

Dragons Love Tacos by Adam Rubin, Illustrated by Daniel Salmieri

If you thought you loved tacos, wait until you read about these dragons! In the book Dragons Love Tacos by Adam Rubin, illustrated by Daniel Salmieri, we meet a young boy excited to invite some dragons over for a party, however, he must remember the golden rule of giving tacos to dragons- NO SPICY SALSA!

Evaluation of Book

In the book Dragons Love Tacos by Adam Rubin, illustrated by Daniel Salmieri, the illustration does a great job of showing various traits, however one of the strongest is depicting action. Throughout the entire story, you see the main character (a “kid”) getting ready for a taco party. Throughout all the scenes in the book, you can see the action that is taking place, from reading of the salsa recipe, to when the actual party is taking place, and even towards the end when someone gives dragons spicy salsa which makes the biggest explosion ever! This specific trait is able to guide the reader and feel more involved with the story. Perhaps one of my favorite scenes that depicts action in the story is towards the end when the dragons are helping the child rebuild his home. You can see various dragons helping with the construction, and other dragons eating tacos- per usual.

Another trait that is portrayed within this book is interesting asides. The illustrations provide various little tidbits of information that are able to engage the reader even more. For example, on page 5, you see the child preparing salsa, however the first line in the page reads “But wait!” (Rubin, 2012) as it reminds the child that dragons hate spicy salsa. However, all the ingredients that are surrounding the child are extremely spicy ingredients! There are jalapeño peppers, salsa’s that read “way too hot” or “Orla’s spicy salsa” (Rubin, 2012). This engages a conversation with the audience to ask if the child is choosing the right ingredients, perhaps he needs to change the ingredients he is using and then this begins the question of what those ingredients look like. The interesting asides that are provided allow the reader the ability to make more of a connection, and if this is a read aloud book, allow the audience more of a chance to participate.

In regards to the text, one of the traits that is portrayed the most is understatement. This is seen specifically in a scene where there is dragon standing tall and proud walking out of “Taco Cave.” The text reads:

“Either way, if you want to make friends with dragons, tacos are key. Hey dragon, why do you guys love tacos so much?” (Rubin, 2012)

That is the extent of the text. The text does not go on to have the dragon respond. Rather, it allows the reader to make their own inferences as to why dragons do love tacos so much. When I read this book aloud once, I had a child tell me during this scene that dragons love tacos because they are in a cave. Throughout the entire book, the reader never really gets an exact answer as to why dragons love tacos. The reader is allowed to make that conclusion on their own and it might be that the reason dragons love tacos is because of the same reason the reader might love tacos.

Response

One of the biggest connections I found to this book is when you have a love for something, and you just do not have the words to explain why. As stated in the previous paragraph, throughout the book, the reader never gets an exact answer as to why dragons love tacos, instead the reader is allowed to make their own guesses as to what the reason might be. I have my own personal opinion about tacos, but I can tell you exactly why I love them. However, there are sometimes things that we enjoy and things that we like in our lives that if someone was to ask us, why do you like that, you might answer, “I just do.” Without having to go too in depth, you just know you like that thing, maybe it makes you happy, maybe you are not sure, and that is okay. This is definitely a message that can be shared with children because sometimes they might not be too confident about the things they like or enjoy because they are afraid of what their classmates will say or think. Reading a book like this can reiterate the message that it is okay to love or like something for your own specific reason.

I think while reading this book, there were not any topics that clash with my specific view of the world. This book is a great book for children and it does not go into too many topics in depth. The topics that are touched upon with the book are very simple and do not push any type of deeper discussion. For example, when I read this book at an elementary school, this book started up a conversation of food. It allowed the students the ability to share what food they liked or disliked and why. Some of the students shared specific food that was near and dear to their heart based on their backgrounds. However, at the end of the day, the conversation started with food, not with anything too deep. I do think one of the great messages of this book is towards the end, when the dragons are helping the child rebuild his home. It does show that everyone can come together and help one another to get something done.

As a whole, I think this book is more for entertainment, rather than a book to have a long discussion afterwards. It does tell a wonderful story about dragons and tacos and what to do and not to do, while providing great illustrations, but overall it is more of a funny story. There is a specific dialogue before the dragons eat the spicy salsa between the narrator and the child and it goes as follows:

“It’s a good thing you got rid of all that spicy… Wait a second-- what are those little green things in the salsa? You didn’t read the fine print?!” (Rubin, 2012).

The illustrations that are provided on the page are entertaining for the reader because they show the child shocked at what is about to happen. This type of text and illustration allows the audience the ability to be able to react and feel more in the moment of what is about to happen. In many instances, if this is read aloud, the children are able to conclude what is about to happen.

Conclusion

Overall, Dragons Love Tacos by Adam Rubin, illustrated by Daniel Salmieri is a wonderful book to read aloud to children. In addition to having very humorous text, the illustrations allow the audience the ability to participate, and the ability to have a conversation after the book is done. I would give this book four out of five stars.

Citation

Salmieri, D. (2012). Dragons love tacos. New York, NY: Penguin Random House, LLC.

Rubin, A. (2012). Dragons love tacos. New York, NY: Penguin Random House, LLC.

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Robinson, C. (2016). School’s First Day of School. New York, NY: Roaring Books Press

School’s First Day of School by Adam Rex, illustrated by Christian Robinson

Do you remember your very first day of school? The smell of new crayons and freshly sharpened pencils? How do you think your school felt? I bet you have never thought about that. In Adam Rex’s School’s First Day of School, a very excited school goes through the first day of class, and shares their excitement.

Evaluation of Book

Throughout the book School’s First Day of School the illustrations demonstrate a lot of different aspects of the story. One of the things the illustration does best is establish setting. From the very first pages, the reader is able to identify where the school is exactly and what specific rooms of the school are being visited. There is a specific illustration that shows the kindergarten class learning about shapes. The illustrations depict a Kindergarten class as you would imagine it: ABC’s on the wall, a chalkboard, books, a bulletin board, a circle rug, and some children paying attention to their teacher! The way the illustration is set throughout the entire book does aid the reader in being able to piece together more about what this school really looks like and the different places inside of it.

In addition to the previous trait, the illustrations also reinforce the text. Much of the text that is written is very straightforward and easy to keep up with. The illustrations allow the reader the ability to be able to match both the text and the illustrations cohesively. There is a scene in the beginning that reads:

“A sign above the door reads, FREDERICK DOUGLASS ELEMENTARY. “That’s a good name for me,” thought the school.” (Rex, 2016).

The illustrations that are provided show a school, however the windows on the doors of the school look like eyes, and the door handles look like a nose, and at the bottom of the door a black line looks like a smile. Since the school seems to be talking in this page, it is appropriate that the school also have these characteristics as it makes the school look more human like.

A trait that is displayed wonderfully in the book is the dialogue that the book has with one of the characters, the Janitor. Through various scenes in the book, School seems to be doing actions and talking, however no one is noticing, it is not until the Janitor is there after everyone is gone that someone talks to the school. However, although no one seems to hear what the school is saying, he hears everything they are saying, and sometimes he does not particularly like or agree with some of the statements. At the end of the book, the Janitor comes back to clean up school for the next day, that is when School talks about his experience. Perhaps my favorite part from the entire dialogue is when School asks the Janitor if he could invite everyone back tomorrow, and the Janitor states, “I’ll see what I can do” (Rex, 2016). That type of attitude reminds me of a child when they had such a great day and they ask “can we come back again!” Since this was School’s first day of school, he has no idea that he will definitely have more than one day.

Response

One of the biggest things School’s First Day of School by Adam Rex did for me, is it reminded me of my first day of school. I have always enjoyed school, ever since I was a child, so to be reminded of that feeling of a first day of school was very nostalgic. I think a lot of the time when kids think about going back to school, they do not think about the school itself, rather what school means. For some kids, school might mean homework, and teachers, and friends, but it never means “big building with rooms and supplies.” I think this means a lot because we really do impact children’s views on school or their perception of what school means. If they are assigned work that is uninteresting or not fun, they can associate school (or that subject) with boredom or just dislike. Knowing that power, it is in our better interest to really make learning interesting and engaging for kids so they are able to associate school or learning with positive experiences.

In addition, this specific book demonstrates the different viewpoints that other children might have about school. While school might be a positive experience for some, that does not mean that it will be a positive experience for all. There is one specific child that School keeps mentioning, the little girl with freckles. She does not want to go to school so her mom has to carry her inside. School’s response is “I must be awful” (Rex, 2016). As the day progresses, she has a hard time opening up, but slowly she manages to get comfortable around the idea of school and her classmates. This specific viewpoint is something to share with children. Some children dread thinking about the first day of school for many reasons. It is important to show to children that it is okay to be scared, and that they are not the only ones that have ever felt this way.

Overall I have to say I enjoyed reading School’s First Day of School, however, I do associate part of that reasoning to the fact that I have always enjoyed school, and I have had positive experiences with school. If someone who does not like school or who has had negative experiences in school were to read this book, they might have a different opinion. I do think the way that the school was portrayed was wonderful, he was portrayed as a living breathing being with feelings and emotions. This is definitely something different from everything that I have read in the past. Also, I did particularly enjoyed how School went from thinking that he was probably not a cool place, to realizing he was way cooler than he thought.

Conclusion

As a whole, I enjoyed reading School’s First Day of School by Adam Rex. The content itself was written in a way that was easy to follow and very relatable for the reader. Also, it was wonderful that the school was made to almost seem as a living breathing being. The illustrations also played a role in making sure the story was well told. I would give this book four out of five stars.

Citation

Robinson, C. (2016). School’s First Day of School. New York, NY: Roaring Books Press

Rex, A. (2016). School’s First Day of School. New York, NY: Roaring Books Press

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Novak, B.J. (2014) The Book With No Pictures. New York, NY: Penguin Random House

The Book With No Pictures by B.J. Novak

In The Book With No Pictures B.J. Novak, the reader is able to engage in a story that does not have pictures, but also does not need them. Through funky sounds and colorful words, the audience is able to have a good time listening to this silly story.

Evaluation of Book

In the book The Book With No Pictures by B.J. Novak, there are absolutely no illustrations, however, there is color in the text of some words. The color does make the sounds from the page “pop” so when the reader reads them, it gives the reader the opportunity to really say things in a different manner. For example, there is a page that has nothing but sounds, and there are varying colors on the page, such as red, blue, orange gray, yellow, and so forth. Since most of the text throughout the page is in black and white, the contrast in the color is refreshing and it is able to contrast what the reader is meaning to read, versus the silly things the author wants you to read.

Another trait within the book is overstatement rather than understatement. Since this is a short book, there is not much room for understatement. Also, since there are no pictures, it is very hard for the reader to try and get an understatement from the text that is provided. However, there is a lot of overstatement, tons of noises and it is necessary for the book since it is so short and there are no illustrations. In this situation, overstatement is extremely important and necessary for the story as it makes the story interesting and engaging for the reader.

In addition to overstatement, the dialogue in the text is essential to making the story so engaging. The way the book is written is perfect for a read aloud book. Also because it is meant to be a read aloud book the dialogue that occurs within the book is between the reader and the audience. There are various parts within the book where the reader is talking to the audience and even mentions that the child listening to the book is “The Best Kid Ever” (Novak, 2014). Also, the fact that the way the book is written is in dialogue allows the reader the opportunity to give the narrator whatever personality they would like.

Response

I enjoyed reading this book a lot because I connected with the style of the writing. When I tend to read a picture book, I tend to be very animated, and I like for the kids to know what the intention was when the author wrote the book. The fact that there are no pictures is not a bad thing for this book, rather it really makes the audience appreciate the writing and the imagination behind it. Also, the fact that there are so many colors allow the reader to add a different twist to the words and sounds that are on the page.

The one thing this book did is kind of break that stereotype of picture books. This is a picture book, but it has no pictures. When you think picture books, you think a story with illustrations to match the text. Now a days, we even have picture books with no words, which allow the reader to make their own conclusions of what the book means. However, this book had nothing but words, and no pictures. Personally, I thought the book was great, and if it would have had pictures, it would have distracted the audience from the exact words that were being read. The lack of pictures is what makes the book so interesting and engaging.

Overall, I enjoyed reading this book. I think this is a wonderful book to read aloud to a classroom as it will allow the kids to be silly and to enjoy the story. Also, I think it is a fun read for the reader. There is no concrete content within the book, but the overall point of the book is just to be silly which is enjoyable for the younger kids. I do think the book serves a purpose, not so much to imagine what is happening, but rather just be silly and listen to the content of the story.

Conclusion

As a whole, I would say this book is one I would recommend especially in a classroom setting. I think the book itself is enjoyable for both the reader and the audience. Also there are various aspects that make the reader realize that you do not need pictures to make this a picture book. Overall, I would give this book four out of five stars.

Citation

Novak, B.J. (2014) The Book With No Pictures. New York, NY: Penguin Random House

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Roberts, D. (2016). Ada Twist, Scientist. China: Abrams Books.

Ada Twist, Scientist

In the book, Ada Twist, Scientist by Andrea Beaty, illustrated by David Roberts, the author introduces us to Ada, a child that is full of questions and curiosity and is always asking “Why?” In addition, the young scientist is eager to make her first scientific discover. Through questions and hypothesis, maybe she will be able to find out why there are such stinky smells.

Evaluation of Book

Through reading Ada Twist, Scientist, there were various traits that were evident, but perhaps the most evident was the illustration’s ability to provide a different viewpoint. The entire book, in my opinion is a depiction of a differing viewpoint. Ada’s parents are trying to figure out why she does not talk or why she is always questioning things, but in reality, Ada just sees things differently than she does. An example of this is in the illustrations where everyone in her family is holding up illustrations of planets, and she has an illustration herself and its of a planet named “Haumea” her question then is “why?” (Beaty, 2016). The entire book, the illustrations depict the differences that her and her parents have in thinking, she has an approach where she questions everything, and her parents do not always have an answer.

Another trait that is evident within the book is define and develop characters. The illustrations within the book are able to show us what kind of dynamic takes place within the household Ada lives in. Also, it gives us a sense of who Ada’s parents and brother are. From the illustration, the reader can see that Ada’s parents are supportive and her brother plays tennis. Also, the reader can see that Ada’s class really does like her (they are always smiling and cheering when she does science experiments). Overall, the illustration is able to really help and see more of who Ada is and what is going on in her mind.

Perhaps the biggest thing with the text in the book is figurative language. The text within the book is written in a way that it rhymes. This makes the text easy to read and it flows very nicely. In addition, the words that are written are witty and they match the illustrations that are shown within the page. An example of the writing is:

“Her parents calmed down, and they came back to talk, they looked at the hallway and just had to gawk. No patch of bare paint could be seen on the wall, the thinking chair now was the great thinking wall” (Beaty, 2016).

In this scene, the reader sees the parents come back to check up on Ada, but what they see is a wall of thing written on the wall. This gives the reader and even her parents, an insight as to what is going on in Ada’s mind.

Response

Personally, I was able to relate to Ada Twist, Scientist especially to the fact that no one could understand what was going on through her mind. Sometimes I have felt like I have a really good idea, or I want to express something I am thinking, but I just do not have the words to do so. In the story, Ada just wants answers, and no one is able to understand that all she wants is to know why. I think this might be something that happens with many children. They might have a lot of questions about things or they might not know how to express themselves so I think it is important to be patient and give them opportunities to thrive.

This specific book did bring up one issue that I think is going on in our society. Sometimes, children just want the answer to questions because they are trying to figure out the world themselves, but parents might be too consumed in their own things (their phones, work, etc.). The easy thing to do is to just tell a child “because that’s how things are” but is that really encouraging kids discovery? I think it is important to encourage kids and to make time for kids to ask questions. If the adult does not know the answer to something, maybe that will spark up a conversation to try and figure out the answer.

Overall, I think this was a great book and it serves multiple purposes. I think it served as a wonderful book to read for entertainment, but it can also serve as an informational book to encourage children that it is okay to be curious about the world. Also, I think that the illustrations that are provided encourage different discussions about curiosity. Perhaps if reading this book aloud, the reader could encourage a discussion as to what items Ada is testing and what they think will happen when she does science experiments. This can also start a discussion about what science experiments are fun.

Conclusion

As a result, I think Ada Twist, Scientist by Andrea Beaty, illustrated by David Roberts is a wonderful book for kids at any age. I think it is a great read aloud book that has a lot of different characteristics that make it engaging for the audience and also is able to enable a lively discussion. I would give this book five out of five stars.

Citation

Beaty, A. (2016). Ada Twist Scientist. China: Abrams Books.

Roberts, D. (2016). Ada Twist Scientist. China: Abrams Books.

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