#....which follows up to 4. setting up a really weird implied romance between her n hordak | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

writethehousedown · 4 years

Text

When the Sun Sets on Us: Chapter 4 (Scyvie) — Phryne

A/N: Hey y'all! I’m back with the fourth chapter of When the Sun Sets on Us, a beach town romance between hopeless romantic Scarlet and cynical about romance Yvie.

Last Chapter: Yvie fought her feelings throughout the date, but kissed Scarlet in the end.

This chapter: Yvie’s back on her bullshit.

Enjoy!

“You’re full of shit, Yvangeline.”

This was at least the twentieth time Vanjie had said that to her. Sometimes she yelled it at her. Sometimes she whispered it in her ear as Yvie was waking up, first adjusting to the sunlight streaming through open curtains, then adjusting to Vanjie crouched down, inches from her face. Sometimes it was passive aggressive, yet implied, as it was when Yvie reached for her toothbrush and Vanjie smacked it off the counter like a disgruntled cat.

It would hurt less to hear if Vanjie were entirely wrong.

Yvie was in fact, full of shit when she walked back into the motel last night — finding all her friends still awake, snapping up to face her like a hoard of hungry lizards, all laid out over the beds, waiting for Yvie to shake some crickets into their tank — and told them she kissed Scarlet, but that it wasn’t a big deal and she probably wouldn’t see her again, so don’t ask.

They asked many questions, none of which Yvie answered. Instead, she went out to the motel balcony, locked the door behind her, leaned over the railing, and smoked a cigarette.

And Yvie knew she was full of shit too. She knew from the smile she held as she told them, the way her heart felt unbearably full when she said they kissed, the way she immediately thought of Scarlet dripping with pearly light when they parted, how Scarlet then pressed a chaste kiss to Yvie’s cheek and played with the hem of her shirt.

But Yvie simply chalked it up to the heat of the moment still spreading like a wildfire she hadn’t had the time to extinguish yet. Oh, how she tried.

And really, liking someone doesn’t mean anything more than liking them. She did like her, of course. Yvie couldn’t figure out a way to deny that, though she did try. But it was better to ignore her feelings. Nothing would ever come of them anyway, and she was sure Scarlet knew that as well. Yvie was nothing more than someone passing through Scarlet’s life, a person resigned to memory while still here, in the present.

“Yvie!” Vanjie yelled once more, standing in the doorway. “Earth to Yvie!”

Brooke poked her head through the doorway. “What the hell is she doing?”

“Probably thinking about Scarlet,” Vanjie replied, exasperated. “Like she been doing every fucking waking minute.”

“Is she coming to the beach?” Yvie heard Silky yell from down the hall, followed by Nina loudly shushing her.

Vanjie tilted her head. She jutted out her chin, waiting.

“What?” Yvie acted as though she hadn’t heard Silky. Really, she didn’t want to answer, because she didn’t want the chance of running into Scarlet and having to explain why she hadn’t texted her back this morning, or worse, see her and feel those same feelings from last night surging through her, sparking like a live wire, causing her to revisit the kiss: Scarlet’s head on her shoulder, Yvie’s arm around her shoulder, Scarlet nuzzling closer, Yvie’s thumb grazing Scarlet’s cheek, Scarlet’s plush lips moving so gracefully hers. All this, cloaked in the inky night spread around them.

“Come on,” Brooke took Vanjie’s hand, pulling her away from the door. “She’s not coming right now.”

“Bitch, you need to stop running away from love,” Vanjie called out before Brooke stepped in front of her.

Yvie sighed, her nostrils flaring. She needed Vanjie to stop insisting it was love so she wouldn’t have a good reason to think it was love herself.

Brooke cast her a sympathetic glance before closing the door. Yvie could still hear Vanjie yell that she was being stupid, and Brooke tell her she just needed time to figure it all out.

Yvie threw herself back onto the haphazardly made bed, covering her eyes with her forearm. She wished she didn’t have anything to figure out. Though she lost the ability to be thoughtless and carefree the moment she saw Scarlet clearing off that table, her heart lurching before a great fall.

Yvie groaned performatively and rolled over.

Her phone, still on the nightstand, neglected, dinged.

It was probably Scarlet again.

She had to figure this out.

***

Scarlet set her phone down and rounded the bar, leaning forward on her elbows and propping her face up. She let out a great sigh. She didn’t want to be clingy, of course, but she couldn’t understand why Yvie hadn’t texted her back. It was weird — and not in a good way.

“Kiki, when someone kisses you, do they usually text you back?” Scarlet asked, watching A’keria intricately fold the napkins.

“Always,” she replied easily. “It’s more like whether I respond or not, keep all this out of arm’s reach, you know,” A’keria ran her hands down her body.

“What if I don’t want to be out of arm’s reach though? What if I want to be in her arms? Like really bad?” Scarlet mused. “Ki, I want that so bad.”

A’keria gave a half-suppressed laugh. “You’re too needy.” She placed her freshly rolled napkin to the side, looking up at Scarlet. “And you need to start skewering that pineapple.”

“Oh right.” She picked up the skewer and sighed.

She unlocked her phone. No responses.

“Why won’t she text me back,” Scarlet whined, taking a pineapple chunk and skewering it.

“Maybe she knows how needy you are,” A’keria muttered, looking past Scarlet, probably watching the news on the tv behind her. “She can smell it on you.”

“Maybe she’s not answering because she didn’t like the date?” Another pineapple chunk. “But if she didn’t like the date then why would she kiss me? I mean, she was the one who initiated it, so she wanted to do it.”

“Uh huh.” A’keria continued rolling the napkin.

“Or maybe she wanted to keep the fish?” She set the pineapple skewer aside, beginning another. “We named him F Scott Fishgerald. Was that too dorky?”

A’keria took the fan and turned it entirely toward her. Scarlet barely missed the breeze staving off the heat.

“I thought it was very nice that we gave the fish to that kid. Also, Yvie didn’t look like she wanted to take care of a fish. They’re a lot of responsibility. You have to buy a bowl and feed it. That’s a lot. And F Scott Fishgerald seemed feisty,” Scarlet pondered, setting another completed skewer aside.

“Yeah, maybe,” A’keria replied aimlessly, readjusting herself on the barstool before grabbing another knife and fork.

“Or maybe she hates me,” Scarlet asked herself, finding her tone a shade darker. Her words were now running on uneven ground, tumbling out before she could remember to repress those thoughts. “I told her so much, Ki. I told her all about here and how being here sucked and how everyone leaves. Maybe she hates my sad sack of a life? She knows she’s going to leave too. She might just be saving me the trouble.” Scarlet sighed, feeling her vision glaze over as she stared at the pineapple chunk in her hand.

A’keria looked up. “Scar, I don’t know.”

Scarlet began skewering again. “I had a good time with her though. Really.” Scarlet looked up at the fluorescent panels, blinking rapidly. She didn’t want to cry. “I thought it was perfect.”

She reached for another pineapple chunk, now peering out of the restaurant, noticing a pigeon waddling away with a popsicle stick.

“I just felt understood. And she listened like everything I said made sense, like it had weight to her. And the kiss…” Scarlet ran through the scene in her mind, the way Yvie repeated her name like she didn’t know what to do with her besides kiss her, like Scarlet was the only word she knew, and she spoke it freely. God it made Scarlet feel wanted.

“I know, Scar.” A’keria gave a small smile. “I know.”

It made Scarlet feel like she was living out a fantasy, like she was the leading lady in a romance novel so well worn the spine had cracked and the cover image had started peeling. She finally felt like something beloved, cherished, precious. She thought of how Yvie held her hand, the gorgeous heat of their skin together, how their lips met gently — timidly at first, then sweet and slow as molasses — how when they parted, Scarlet’s lips had found their way to Yvie’s cheek instinctively, feeling Yvie’s dumbstruck smile in the fullness of her cheek, reciprocating with her own.

She set the finished skewer on the tray, the pineapple messy and unaligned.

“I just…” Scarlet sucked in her bottom lip, contemplating. “I don’t want to be saved the trouble.”

***

Yvie now found herself roaming aimlessly around the room like a caged animal. She had a few cigarettes, hoping they’d help calm her nerves, but she found herself contemplating the way Scarlet teased, how she stood up on her tippy-toes, just to whisper in a whiny, bratty tone that made the ground beneath her sway, until the cigarette burning down to the filter without even once raising it to her lips. Then she smoked the next with such urgency that the tobacco grew stale and tasteless.

She found distracting herself difficult.

So now she took to anxious pacing, her body now matching her restless brain. She paced and she thought about how she could simply respond to Scarlet and this would all be over. She could respond that she had a nice time but didn’t want to start anything serious. She could simply repeat some line about avoiding feelings to avoid heartbreak. She would be telling the truth as honestly as she knew how if she did that.

But she didn’t. Or rather, she couldn’t.

Not when she knew she would be hurting Scarlet by pulling away. But by not pulling away, she’d still be hurting Scarlet through the same means, only a couple days later.

Yvie eyed the floor. Then, pushing away a couple of discarded towels and throw pillows with her foot, she laid down, staring up at the ceiling fan whirling above her. It’s steadiness reassuring, affirming.

She wouldn’t have this problem, she decided, if the date hadn’t been too good. She’d tried to deny it ardently last night, as questions about her night were shouted at her from all directions, all while Yvie tore apart her duffle bag, searching for her oversized t-shirt, which was already on the floor. Every question about what Scarlet wore, what they did, what they talked about, how it felt to kiss her, if she was going to see Scarlet again, how such a moron could be the one to manage to find a girlfriend on their girls trip, if Scarlet was her girlfriend now. Yvie had denied it all, alternating between “it was fine” and “no” to answer their questions before turning off all the lights and stumbling to bed, passive aggressively sending the message that she would not answer any more questions.

Instead, she would lay in bed, a stupid grin struck across her face, and hold the image of Scarlet and all that neon light in her mind’s eye, play through the date once, twice, three more times, before falling asleep.

It was so good, in fact, that Yvie had to rethink her understanding of what constituted deep feelings, whether or not she had them, and to what extent she’d hurt when all she had was the memory of Scarlet and none of the warmth.

And now Yvie found herself here, laying on the matted carpet, saddened by excessive, elusive joy, thinking away her day when she should be having fun with her friends. Which was why she didn’t want to have deep feelings in the first place. There was nothing harmful about a crush on a waitress; the harm was in learning her name and reciting it over and over like a prayer.

***

Scarlet went to put her sloppily made pineapple skewers in the refrigerator, only to come back and find Yvie’s friends walking up to the counter.

She craned her head out the kitchen door, trying to see if Yvie was there with them, but coming up short.

Maybe something happened to her? It was weird that she wasn’t texting back and even weirder that she wasn’t here with her friends. Not talking to Scarlet was one thing, but the kiss wouldn’t have given Yvie any reason not to hang out with her friends.

Scarlet found herself growing concerned, her mind littered with thoughts of accidents Yvie could have fallen into, dreaming up scenarios that scared her senseless, made her heart race.

Maybe her friends would have an answer, Scarlet wondered, walking over to the counter.

“Scarlet,” A’keria warned. “Don’t bother those nice people.”

Scarlet stepped up to the counter, swiping her ID at the register, waiting for them to approach. Scarlet was prepared to bother those nice people.

“Where’s Yvie? Is something going on with her? I really hope she’s okay,” Scarlet blurted out the moment Yvie’s friends reached the counter, ambushing them with her anxious ramblings. “Oh, also hi, hello, what would you like to order?”

Brooke looked at Scarlet perplexed, yet disinterested.

“Uh, just two waters and two frozen margaritas, to go,” Brooke muttered, scanning the cards in her wallet before fishing one out.

Scarlet rang her up and took the credit card.

“So, is Yvie doing okay?” Scarlet tried again, swiping the card.

“She’s fine, she just didn’t feel like coming out today,” Nina replied, offering Scarlet a small smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

Scarlet found herself fidgeting as she tore off the receipt and dug around for a pen. Nothing to worry about sounded exactly like something she should worry about

Or it did to Scarlet, who already decided she was going to worry about Yvie for the following reasons: She wasn’t responding; She wasn’t with her friends; Scarlet missed her; Brooke didn’t respond to her question; Nina smiled at her like she was a child of divorce; She wanted to hold Yvie’s hand and was currently not doing so; and Silky and Vanjie, who seemed to be the loudest and most open of the bunch, were dead silent.

Brooke signed the receipt, sliding it back across the sticky counter to Scarlet, who took her time methodically folding it before sticking it under the cash box.

“Thanks.” Brooke threw her wallet back into her bag.

With that they turned away, surely headed to the beach. Vanjie looked back at Scarlet, inhaling deeply, contemplatively before turning back around.

“I’ll wait for the water bottles and bring them over,” she called back to her friends, though they were only inches away. “You guys go set up.”

Vanjie looked behind her and when satisfied, threw her bag on the counter, shoving her hand inside, searching urgently.

“Oh, we can bring them to you guys—”

“No, shut up,” Vanjie snapped up to look at Scarlet, who was confused by the sudden shift in tone. “Sorry, I mean be quieter.”

“Oh,” Scarlet breathed out. “What’s going—”

Vanjie threw her head back once more. “Don’t you hos go and get sand on my towel!” Vanjie finally pulled something out of her bag, what looked like a zip top baggie filled with cards and loose dollar bills.

Scarlet laughed to herself. “You know, it’s really telling that Brooke has a nice leather wallet and you keep your money in a bag.”

“Observant,” Vanjie noted while shuffling through her cards. “She also organizes her money by serial number, but don’t tell her I said that.”

“I won’t.” Scarlet giggled.

“You gonna get the waters?” Vanjie looked up before huffing, looking through her cards again.

“Oh right, sorry.” Scarlet pulled two waters out of the fridge, placing them next to Vanjie’s bag.

“Gotcha.” Vanjie pulled a card out and held it out to Scarlet.

Between the secrecy and the card, really this whole encounter, Scarlet was growing confused, which wasn’t sitting well on all the anxiety. “Brooke already paid.”

“It’s my room key.” Vanjie took Scarlet’s hand and placed the key in her palm, wrapping her fingers around it. “If I know Yvie, she’s probably still in our room, laying on the carpet or some shit like that, thinking herself to death. But she’d want to see you and talk to you and sort out her feelings for you.”

Feelings for you? So Yvie was okay, or at least she could assume Yvie was okay if Vanjie thought she was in their room. But what was she thinking about? And what did Vanjie mean by feelings? Scarlet almost hoped Yvie felt the same way about her as she did about Yvie before stopping herself, knowing that getting attached to someone else’s hypothetical feelings was a dangerous game.

“Wait, so what do you want me to do with this?”

Vanjie grabbed the waters and stuck them in her bag. “Go to her.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving Scarlet with the room key and a fragile sense of hope.

#rpdr fanfiction #scyvie #scarlet envy #yvie oddly #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #silky nutmeg ganache #nina west #when the sun sets on us #phryne #beach au #lesbian au #concrit welcome #summer lovin' 2020 #day 4: heat #submission

4 notes · View notes

possiblypeachy · 5 years

Text

tea & schemes. (9)

―; summary: Jacob introduces Florence to her soon-to-be favourite pub.

―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc

―; word count: 3.3k

―; warnings: light swearing.

―; A/N: they’re literally so baby together my heart cannot handle like?? i genuinely adore them and writing for them and sometimes i worry that i’m making this too long but then i remember that this makes me happy so ??? sucks to be someone who doesn’t like long fics i guess??

please coo with me about them!! i need to know i’m not weird for being so emotionally attached

―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

― ❊ ―

The pub that Jacob had taken her to-- The Maiden’s Crown-- was far too busy for it only being early afternoon. Though, Florence did have to admit, a smile came to her face when she heard the haggard and out-of-tune singing of the patrons. There was something almost endearing in watching a crowd of grown men sing at the top of their lungs along to near-operatic songs but, on the other spin of the coin, Florence could-- with confidence-- say that Duncan could yowl the lyrics better than that.

It was a nice enough place, if one were to disregard the obvious disrepair. Green accents painted the pub and there was a rather lovely painting of the Thames of the far wall behind the bar; if you squinted your eyes, you could barely see the stain on the canvas, which was good, she supposed. All things considered, while it wasn’t as high-end as the one in Westminster that she and her brother frequented, it wasn’t the worst place for Jacob to have taken her. At least it wasn’t in Whitechapel.

She’d never been a lover of beer or ale on the account of it tasting like piss so she could only hope that this pub served a particularly flavourful sherry or sloe gin. Even the putrid smell of ale made Florence’s nose crinkle as herself and Jacob weaved through the mass of drinkers; she’d never understood how Freddy could stomach it when they drank together.

“Why does it seem like everyone here knows you, Jacob?” She asked just as they got to the bar. He squeezed between a few men, one of whom he said a brief ‘hello’ to, before shuffling her in alongside him. The barman, obviously pleased to see a lady who had at least washed in the past week, promptly swept over to them, to which Florence muttered that she’d like a glass of sloe gin and he went away to prepare it before Jacob could even open his mouth to ask for anything.

Despite that little problem, Jacob, now leaning against the bar, still shot Florence a grin. “Pubs are the best place to recruit. Or, to soften someone up so they’re easier to get information out of.”

“Oh, conniving-- I like it.” Florence gave him a playful side-eye before nodding a thank you to the bartender and taking a small sip of her drink. Her face soured slightly at the strength of her drink but the sweet aftertaste made up for it, making for an altogether amusing expression, to which Jacob’s lips tugged upwards.

“You like me for my schemes but not my devilish good looks? Or, my superb sense of humour?” He raised a brow, a smirk gracing his expression. Briefly, he pointed to a bottle on the back shelf and the bartender set it down before him.

Florence took another sip of her gin, holding the glass just beside her mouth, then replied with a simple: “Why can I not like you for all three?”. Her smile was small and amused but her eyes told of perhaps a larger confession. Jacob’s expression softened, melting from a cocky grin to a glint in his eyes that declared fondness. Did she still want to kiss him? For a moment that Jacob barely had time to pick up on, her eyes flickered down to his lips. Yes, she most certainly did still want to kiss him. The stammering in her chest told her, if the romance novels she always read had taught her anything, that perhaps now was the moment to make up for her hesitation the other night.

Their gazes remained locked for a moment then Florence, heart pounding, went to move forward to grab his hands. However, in an unfortunate turn of events, a hand-- that wasn’t hers-- clapped to Jacob’s shoulder, making his bottle of beer slosh dangerously. There was a half-shout of “Jacob, my boy!” before he could even turn to look at the offending bloke. “The lads and I haven’t had a chat with you for too long, son. You have to come over--”

“I’m a bit--” Hazel eyes flickered to Florence, who was staring into her sloe gin and scratching her nose in an effort to not draw the attention of the hulking man beside Jacob, “--occupied at the moment--”

“Nonsense! Come on, son.” The grip on his shoulder tightened and Jacob was tugged from his spot. He shot her an apologetic look but, before he could actually open his mouth to say anything, the bigger man began to ramble about… something or another; truthfully, Jacob’s mind was elsewhere.

Florence watched after him for a few moments before focusing her attention on her drink again, swirling the reddish liquid about in its glass. She took a bigger gulp than perhaps was usual for a woman of her stature, hissed through her teeth at the taste, and turned herself slightly so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare endlessly at Jacob across the room.

Damn whatever God had decided to put a stop in the cogs of her plan. Well, it was hardly a fully-fledged plan but, nevertheless, it would’ve been nice to have seen its outcome. Or, would it have been? Anxiety bubbled up within her; there was always the chance that she’d read Jacob all wrong and he didn’t actually like her. Then, as if she was watching a puppet show in her mind, a little image of Lissie popped up and pulled a stern face at her. Florence laughed to herself, sipping at her drink again.

In fact, she continued to sip at her drink until a body squeezed in beside her. Expecting it to be Jacob again, Florence turned with a smile. The smile continued to hold out of pure discomfort when she realised it wasn’t Jacob and was actually a man whose breath smelt quite terribly of beer. He was grinning down at her-- no doubt trying to be charming-- but the only thing Florence took from that was that she’d need to ask Lissie to wash her dress later on.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Oh, God.

Florence sipped her drink, using it as a few moments to switch her mind into ‘presentable lady’ mode, then placed her glass on the bar beside her. Her smile was sweet but her eyes screamed of annoyance. “Good afternoon, sir.”

The man, in an attempt to get closer to her without her noticing, pointed over her shoulder toward a bottle on the shelf, ordering the bartender to throw it to him. He did so, to which Florence had to duck, lest a bottle smash against the side of her face. Then, he popped the cork out of it with his teeth and spat it elsewhere. She suppressed a sigh.

“What’s your name, love?” He took a swig of beer and leant on the bar. “Benjamin Treadway, myself. Lovely to make your acquaintance.” He held a palm out and she placed her hand it in. This Ben fellow then kissed her hand, trying to maintain a sultry eye contact but, as soon as she could, Florence was taking a sip from her drink again. She wondered if she could ask the bartender to make the gin any stronger.

“I’m Florence Abberline.” Her joy was dissipating by the minute and, by chance, when her gaze trailed to the table Jacob had been dragged to, their eyes met and she shot him a small frown that pleaded for help.

A certain recognition crossed Ben’s face. “Right! You’re the sister of that bobby-- what’s his name? Frank, is it? Francis--”

“Frederick. His name is Frederick.”

“Ah, yes, that’s the one! I’m surprised, is all; never expected shared genes with him would make for a pretty lady.”

Florence furrowed her brows, quite visibly displeased at this. What was he implying? That Freddy was ugly? It was a wonder, really, how he expected to woo a lady by insulting her brother first. “My brother is handsome enough, thank you. Nor is he here to defend himself.” She tried hard not to spit this and, to quell her frustration, she covered her mouth with her glass.

A crooked little smirk pulled his lips upwards. “Oh, she’s a feisty one. Don’t usually find those about.” He took a swig of beer and set it down on the bar beside him, beady little eyes inspecting her features. “What brings such a posh bird to these premises? Don’t your type like to stay at home and… sew or summin’?”

As Florence tried to muster up a half-sensible answer, she could feel someone watching her; with luck, it was Jacob. To assume this would be correct. He, over his bottle of beer, was carefully studying how close the bloke was stood to Florence, where his hands would inch as their conversation continued, how he kept glancing down to the gap between the top of her bodice and her collar. He had a distinct look in his eyes-- one that tipped the other men off around the table to his growing concern. The man that had dragged him over, Richard, followed his gaze upon realising how Jacob had leant back in his chair, slumped and rubbing the top of the bottle against his bottom lip.

“You alright, son?” He asked, the clap on his shoulder gentler now but still enough to draw Jacob’s attention away from Florence for a few moments. “That bloke bothering you?”

“No.” He took a swig of his drink and gestured loosely to the pair on the other side of the pub. “He’s bothering the lady.” Just as Jacob said this, Ben went to play with a tassel on her shawl and Florence slapped his hand away, clenching her jaw and turning to ask the bartender to fill her drink up again.

Richard pursed his lips. “You fancy her?”

“You could say that.”

The boys around the table shared a laugh and Richard shook Jacob’s arm, amused. “Well,” His other hand pointed to Florence and Benjamin, “what’re you doing letting that scumbag chat her up?”

Jacob sighed, eyes flickering between the man at his side and the pair at the bar, trying to muster up an answer. “She’s not the type to want to be saved; I don’t want her to think that I think she’s incapable.”

They both looked back toward Florence, who necked half of her gin and raised her eyebrows at whatever the bloke was saying. He let out one of those idiotic fake laughs and placed a hand on her arm, to which her lips twisted into an uncomfortable smile and she threw her gaze in the direction of Jacob, silently asking him to hurry the fuck up with his business.

“That’s the look of a woman who’ll start scrapping in a minute if you don’t help her.” The boys chuckled, murmuring their agreement. “I don’t think she needs to be saved-- more so… distracted.” Richard gave Jacob a push and the younger of the pair set his bottle down on the table and stood up. A little nod gave thanks to Richard and the men sat around the table gave a quiet cheer, causing Jacob to huff out a laugh on his way toward Florence.

There were a few mutters of “excuse me” and “sorry” before she noticed Jacob behind Ben. A light tap came to the lankier’s shoulder. “Hello, mate. Sorry to be a bother but you appear to be stood in the only available spot next to my wife.” Jacob glanced down to Florence’s fingers-- her rings-- and she rather nimbly moved one to her wedding finger.

This would be fun.

Ben glanced back to her, down to her hands, then up to her face. His eyes narrowed. “Haven’t heard of the bobby’s sister getting married.”

“Small ceremony.” Florence mentioned, taking a sip of her gin to hide her growing smile. Jacob had to refrain from laughing but the way he exhaled sounded dangerously close to it. “We wedded in spring; it was just with my family and his. Beautiful occasion, really.”

“Indeed.” Jacob mentioned, pushing the bloke aside with a hand to stand just in front of Florence. To conserve space-- or perhaps to keep their act up-- he snuck an arm around her back, making sure that his hand was seen at the curve of her waist. “Lovely affair. Her bouquet had tulips in it; they contrasted quite nicely against her dress.”

Florence couldn’t hold back a grin so she used it to look up at Jacob and act like she was in love. However, when he mirrored her gaze, huffing out a quiet laugh, she wasn’t quite sure if it was entirely acting. Would now be okay to kiss him? It would simply be a part of the act if all went wrong. Oh, goodness--

“How lovely.” Ben’s voice was mocking, eyes narrowed and mouth pulled into a tight line. He gave her another look up and down. “Why’s her name still Abberline then?” He pointed loosely to her. It was almost like he was grasping at straws to try to win her back as if she was some kind of prize to be had.

She felt Jacob squeeze her side briefly, as if to tell her that he’d handle it. “I’m a Frye-- Jacob Frye.” Hazel eyes had a certain darkness to them and his smile held a challenge. Ben’s focus seemed to have finally pulled away from her, now staring quite dumbly at Jacob. His gaze flickered from the scars Jacob had to the gun that peeked out from behind his coat and he visibly shrunk back into himself. “It’s dangerous to have a name like mine in London these days so we decided that she’d keep to ‘Abberline’.” Jacob tilted his head briefly, narrowing his eyes and smiling, “For her own safety.”

Florence had never realised how much influence he had on others, though she supposed she’d never given him reason to be anything but kind to her-- mostly. By the way that his broadness all of a sudden seemed imposing and how the hand that wasn’t holding her curled into a fist, Florence could tell that Jacob was more than experienced at this. God, how she wished she had the same effect on people that she didn’t like.

“Now, mate,” Jacob hissed through his teeth, pointing a finger at a now very small-looking Ben, “I suggest you leave my wife alone. We don’t want any blood on her lovely dress, do we?”

Ben gave a little nod and, much like the rat he was, scurried away. Florence watched him with a pleased grin, nose upturned slightly and a happy hum beginning in her chest. The dimple was there again, which brought great joy to Jacob when he tore his gaze from the back of Ben’s head and finally looked at her.

“Good work, dear husband.” She was still smiling when she turned to him. He chuckled lightly, the sound pushed out by an exhale, and raised a brow. Florence, however, continued before he could say anything. “I hadn’t realised you could add any poison to your words; you’re always so… soft for me.”

Jacob rolled his eyes, though there was a little smile painted across his features that told her that she’d figured him out, and spun so that he was facing her. He replied with a simple “What? You want me to be hard for you?” and, when they locked eyes and he muttered a “wait--”, Florence began that dreadful laugh of hers.

“Certainly not in public, Jacob.” She, through a dirty little smirk, took a sip of her gin, though was having quite some trouble keeping it in her mouth.

Unfortunately for her, when Jacob began to chuckle-- a bottom-of-the-stomach laugh that made his head loll backwards, she had to cover her mouth lest the deep red of her gin spray all over him. Finally, she swallowed and took a deep inhale, trying to calm down her terrible giggling. Both her hands came to Jacob’s arms to keep herself steady and he could feel the remnants of her laugh shaking through her body. When Florence was able to straighten herself again, cheeks hurting from grinning, honey melded with hazel as their eyes met and both their smiles softened, her grip on his arms becoming gentler. Her gaze flickered across his face and a certain, sudden sense of worry sparked within her.

“Jacob, can I kiss you?”

His eyes searched hers, struck speechless for a few moments. Florence looked like she’d just taken a leap from the tallest building in the world and was bracing for the inevitable, messy impact. Was she even breathing? She wasn’t sure she could.

“What?” was the only word he could muster, though it was mostly because his brain was racing to catch up with the real world again. Jacob stumbled over his own thoughts, distracted by the growing redness to her face and the mere idea that she might even like him.

Florence cursed herself and the world. She’d fucked it. She took a shaky breath and let go of his arms. “I simply asked if you’d perhaps like to kiss me but I--”

Lips stopped her, calloused hands on either cheek. The sudden journey from shock to happiness happened so quickly that Florence worried that she might start crying. That feeling that began to bloom in her chest was something that no romance novel could have prepared her for. It felt like the rest of the world had suddenly ceased to exist and it was only him and his lips and his hands and his smell and--

Fingers weaved into Jacob’s dark hair in a selfish attempt to prolong the kiss, though he seemed to have no qualms with appeasing her. She could feel her heartbeat in her chest, in her ears, in her thumbs and neck. The fall was not so terrible; he had caught her just before she hit the cold, hard ground.

It was her who pulled away first-- the singing and chatter about the pub returning to her ears. Jacob could hardly complain when he saw the light of her smile and saw her shoulders shaking with the beginnings of a breathless laugh. The hands on her cheeks squeezed a little bit, squishing her grin back in on itself, so that Jacob could make sure that it was real and not a tormenting daydream. Fingers wrapped around his wrists, giggling only getting louder, to ask what he was doing without words. He mirrored her smile, pulling her forward so that their foreheads might touch, and muttered a “You have no idea how often I’ve thought about that.”

Perhaps her ego had danced a little at those words-- how long had he liked her for?-- but, even so, she felt this little worried, shaking part of her being click into its place for the first time in years. “I’d never realised.”

“You must be blind then.”

Florence moved forward to kiss him again, smiling against his lips. It was shorter than the other-- he barely had time to rest his hands on the curve of her skirts-- but it was so achingly sweet and normal that he didn’t mind that it ended when it did. Then, her fingers came to play with the collar of his shirt, straightening it and pursing her lips. There was such a distinct sense of contentment that he would be happy to watch her do that for the rest of his days. Her eyes seemed golden, melting under the pressure of her newfound feelings, when she looked up to him.

“Well, I’m not blind anymore.”

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed syndicate #ac: syndicate #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye x oc #florence abberline #writing #it finally happened im--#theyre so babie #pls come and uwu with me about them #wow im like a proud mum

35 notes · View notes

isakwon · 6 years

Text

Coffee Bean (Extinct) Part 4

Pairing: Park Chanyeol x Reader

Genre: Romance & Angst

Word Count: 4.2k

Coffee Bean Masterlist

Summary: It’s believed the Red String of Fate can tangle and make annoying knots, but it can never break. But can it become untied from one person on either end?

“What?” Chanyeol lifts himself up off the ground. “What is he babbling about?” He reads the text again puzzling and puzzling what this evening suddenly bringing.

Messages

[From] Lay: Actually you’re going on a blind date.

He closes the shoe box of letters and placed them back into their hiding place then exiting the storage closet. Chanyeol drags his feet down the hall tickling the hairs at the back of his neck. His face gets lit up even brighter by the bright screen the more furrowed he kept his eyebrows rereading the text banner just making sure he is reading correctly. Expecting for another banner to pop up beneath about the message sent as an error meant for another person.

The text box words were as clear as the sky showing off through the windows, as well as the questioning punctuation that followed afterwards. Yixing knows about his marriage, hell he had been sent an invitation. Chanyeol stopped his tracks as he reached the master doorframe peeping into the room sort of leaning forward to the opposite side. His wife slept facing the framed photos occupying her side, the sheets covering half her silky covered body.

...

“What did you send him?” Yixing parts his lips with his widened eyes getting the phone back from Sehun but the phone keeps getting gestured from him.

“I think Chanyeol should see Y/N. So he sees the person Y/N became after leaving her first. They’ve been apart long enough.” Yixing quirks his brow upwards. Three weeks since moving to South Korea Sehun shut the door in front of Chanyeol multiple times and his one sided anger lasted long enough for believing Sehun completely lost respect.

“This whole time I thought you hated Chanyeol. When Y/N boarded the plane, you nagged over him because he didn’t come to stop her.” Yixing says, killing a growing smirk. The phone makes a high dinging sound grabbing their chins down.

Messages

[From] Chanyeol: Yixing, where are you and please wait about an hour. I’ll come get you.

Sehun rolls his eyes while forcing down amused snickers thinking about suspected number of times Chanyeol must’ve received drunk texts. It made sense for the assumption about suggesting dates to a married person being drunk texting except for one you and the boys didn’t order drinks and two; Sehun’s idea comes out with pure sobeirity.

[Sent] Yixing: I’m not drunk, thanks for asking. -_- Can you make time in the afternoon to meet? Just dressed casually.

“There’s always been mixed emotions towards him.” Sehun said. “Even way before romance was building with Y/N, Chan had always been my closest friend.”

[From] Chanyeol: Hyung, I most definitely don’t need any dates, Somil will be shocked. You know, Somil, my wife. You remember I’m married don’t you?

On the wedding day, Yixing attended the surprise reception during the daytime. He wore a dark gray blazer hanging open dangling beside his waist with the white crew collar unbuttoned. He had his hand in his pocket while holding a glass with the other staying in his seat until the newlyweds arrived.

[Sent] Yixing: Not exactly a blind date. It’s more likely an eat out. she finds you charming and wants to start off developing friendship.

“Sehun, with Y/N it’s easy for her to hang out,” Yixing says. “Especially now, but Chanyeol’s been working nonstop. And the holidays are the busiest times for him he doesn’t have the time. That company has become something he lives and breathes now.”

“Baekhyun knows Chanyeol still stops by Cafe Cicero. Y/N wouldn’t have been there that long unless there’s still an ounce-” The phone rings again.

[Sent] P. Chanyeol: Sounds more like she’s interested in a special bonus that never exist.

The boys knew that that morning you waited while sitting and waited sitting down until you left disappointed about letting hopes high of meeting Chanyeol again. They didn’t ask that you saw Chanyeol since they assumed you’d rather not talk about nothing happening. They knew you payed a visit there, but they were still pretty shocked how long you said the wait lasted but they didn’t see bother you hid. You arrived arms full with plastic bags filled with Christmas paper and bows along with favorite snacks for self satisfaction.

[Sent] Yixing: That’s why I referred you. If she impresses you, like she wants then she’ll be on the roadway to her journey already. So it’s more of a business blind date.

[From] P. Chanyeol: Xing, since this person wants to be a superstar model, she can start off scheduling an appointment professionally. Besides scouting off the street isn’t my department, just tell her Impresa is not the love connection where the ‘charming’ boss falls for the outcast trainee out of dozens. It’s not that kind of movie.

Sehun quirks his brow. “He indifferences reality with fictions towards us yet he’s used Japanese myths upon Y/N with him so neither would have to worry about losing their happily ever after despite there being no chance.”

Yixing sucks on his lips and stays silent. He didn’t necessarily see a response to argue with towards that comment.

[From] Lay: Yeol, honestly the models already working there never tried, they’d fall too far within heels trying to catch your eye.

The read text message turns lips further down the chin. Admittedly, that wasn’t much an insult more less a joke.

[Sent] Chanyeol: Stay where you are, I’m heading downstairs, getting in the car, coming to get you. I’m calling Junmyeon see if he’s still awake.

Heat rushes Sehun to his head.

[Sent] Yixing: God damn it Chan honestly you’re not-just- look can’t you just see the girl?

Now he was fully convinced Yixing isn’t drunk and literally suggests him going behind backs over for blind dating. Why was he even texting this when he went to the wedding reception? Not only Lay, his friends knew the attitude Chanyeol’s Father-in-law can get just by hearing ‘rumors’ including his normal facial expressions.

[Sent] Chanyeol: Lay, it may have been long since we last seen each other but you haven’t woken up from a coma. I gotten married since you don’t seem to remember, so tell this girl exactly what I said before.

“Hyung, there’s not much we can do for making Chanyeol come see us now. Even with Y/N here...it’s time for both of them to move on with their lives like they should’ve long ago. Chanyeol has to accept settling down with his wife and Y/N should wait for someone she will really fall deeply in the end.”

“Their strings…”

“Once myths lose their place in reality, they lose their place in the future. Once Chanyeol and Y/N lost their vow, that dispersed when he became sidetracked.”

Yixing sinks his teeth on his bottom lip as silence replaces the dispute between them, feeling the soft shoulder rubs from Sehun’s hand. It’s most likely Chanyeol isn’t going to see you during your short visit at all. The men stood above the family sized table just in time to eat food served on hot plates. Your lips form a perfect half moon smile over you as you lift your head to both Yixing and Sehun which they return automatic grins. He nudges on Baekhyun’s elbow sitting himself down on the bench.

“Oh Sehun, Baekhyun and I are going to see this new movie coming out and we were wondering if you wanted to come?” You asked.

“Sure, what movie is it?”

“Murder On The Orient Express’.”

The nineteen seventy-four film remake based off the novel starring another broadway fellow of yours seemed intriguing and their soundtrack has mixed reactions using modern music over classical yet the song was fitting enough for your taste. Surprisingly, Jongin saw the trailer before showing Baekhyun and you made plans for watching the movie. “Why did you take so long?”

Sehun rose his brows towards Jongin asking him the question. All Sehun could say came out stuttering until Jongin suggested something that threw Sehun, Yixing and the rest of the table off. They shake their heads vigorously, “Stop it. Don’t try to bring out your extra freaky side.” You muffled your laughter seeing Jongin get punched in the rib.

....

The cell phone stopped vibrating with popup message banners, implying the weird conversation was over so Chanyeol sets his phone on the glass table with a click. He sat still, sinking his teeth down his bottom lip before falling on his back and his rolling eyes, throwing his arms above his head the lamps dangling from the ceiling providing the most light in the room. The condo is quiet with exception of overly repeated Christmas music playing at low volume and sheets ruffling heard from the master room. He relaxes on the couch letting his muscles stretch enjoying the momentary peace for the first time the entire month. Nobody under the model agencies knew Chanyeol until the betrothal was announced then beaming eyes adorned upon the young couple and the bride’s Father. For every special occasion; anniversaries, birthdays, New Year parties, Chanyeol received many gifts from strangers familiar and employed with his Father-in-law. Suddenly he had golden diamond watches, diamond wristlets, real leather skinned wallets. He stored the fancy crafted accessories hanging with his brand new clothes of seasonal line neatly on a clear jewelry rack rarely ever used.

His father-in-law once gifted Chanyeol and his daughter the newest model cell phones that hadn’t been released for Chuseok. She kept her same number yet Chanyeol number did change and they were on family plan. He was shaded with his Father in Law’s glare one day when he received a quite lengthy phone bill appearing in his email, surprised with long distance calls sided next to Chanyeol’s new number. He was only mad because accordingly there’s no reason for communication with the other side of the world and his mother was Chanyeol’s only family. That was when the secret video calling was put to an end instead they began exchanging letters to each other.

He was kinda old-fashioned with it and she can send Chanyeol her sketches she did for her spare time. She never mailed them anywhere else but his old address. The paragraphs grew longer lengthening his poems into Cathedrals, sometimes he taped flower petals atop separate index postal cards, for “lightening” up his letters.

Every single memory are kept all in the back of his mind, cherished more as years ran with time that never healed. He wondered if you still love like he does the same way when large knots stayed off your past relationship. A love like that lacks chance with distance and forced marriage keeping pairs apart. Some reminiscing the failed attempted all-nighters which resulted sleeping anywhere in the house.

.....

He had found you laying your head on scattered papers with Korean Hangul on top the kitchen counter. He remembers how the sleeves on your sweater covered your palms like the messy hair web you used for a pillow he patted with his fingers and lowered his head closer.

“There you go drooling pools again.” As if you had heard him in your sleep, you backhanded his forehead. Once you woke up you panic over the accidental smack asking a hysterical laughing Chanyeol three times if he was okay holding his bangs down. So many events spent together were inked down the letters also he grew rose buds on his cheeks whenever he read a flirty paragraph filled with passion. Your letters were worth waiting until evening reading them until finding himself staring the dark blue sky. Some nights spent the same routine different scriptions writing nightly over unknown months that only felt timeless until one day your letters responses suddenly stopped arriving.

He remembers standing alone the room, straightening his tuxedo vest then scanning over his physique.

....

His reflection his deep brown eyes he lifted the framed photo under the lamp on his bedside table. The photo was of you, him, and, his mother standing on top a bridge when a frisk misty weather seemed liked the perfect day for hiking. In the photo Chanyeol smiled like a beacon from cheek to cheek whereas showed the fat in his eye bags that you always loved. You too smiled widely from cheek to cheek while Chanyeol wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you closer while resting his chin on his Mom’s shoulder. Like any committed pair, the hope was for life and the relationship meant a whole lot and Chanyeol knew that whenever you were together all he could think about was you.

Part of him thanked how you weren’t there to see him holding hands with someone who wasn’t you while another part thinking how cursed he felt having his new life with his new marriage entirely unplanned. The picture had also been taken during the time before his mother began feeling weak. He lifted his wet index finger off the glass before raising them to the bridge of his nose smudged smiles.

The minute the wedding march began playing, guests rose from their seats for the bride to make her appearance. She looked as beautiful as she is always, even with no traditional wedding dress and all natural makeup. She stunned those of the same social class within seconds once again even Chanyeol was stunned. His fiancé held Chanyeol’s hand while signing the license and she felt warm like she was using her touch to thaw his, however his heart continued to feel frostbitten. He didn’t know if she was looking at him or if she could see the expression through his eyes, no one figured all that was happening was excessively hard for Chanyeol. He was learning well fighting his feelings keeping them hidden.

Hours grew long once the reception officially ended, driving the SUV into the darkest evening as he never turned away from the tinted SUV windows, though his brain clouded over the only person living in his heart. The one who wrote him beautiful castillo letters and rested her head above his shoulder for resting eyes. The one he now had to call past lover. He never tore himself away from thinking about you the entire limousine ride.

“That’s it that’s final.” He whispers aloud to himself rubbing his eyes. “Everything needs to stop, this time for good....you probably fell out of love with me Y/N.”

....

Baekhyun finally puts the phone down and grips the ignition watching the red light hovered over you. You were driving to the movie theaters looking out the window at mystic wet weather. His cell phone kept ringing and he was doing his best to pay no mind at all. Anything as little as texting normally doesn’t bother you, but in South Korea texting and driving is certainly illegal and at the moment slightly more dangerous since morning news reported possible ice on the road, it got you worried. His phone chimed again and the conversation had been paused again to allow his thumbs continue skipping over the screen, luckily the car was stopped at a red light.

You look out the window the clouds are bunched up, not a single speck of sun poking through, it was dull and moist from pre rainfall and the sky had three shades of gray above your heads. From dark gray, steel gray, and gainsboro gray. To you, this is a beautiful day since this sort of weather is your most favorite.

“Sorry Y/N, this friend of mine needed advice on winning his blind date’s heart. I swear, texting isn’t in my daily driving routine but he won’t quit begging.”

“That friend should shop for some shreds of patience for himself this Holiday season. Your life is too precious to waste in fatal car accidents.” Baekhyun chuckles, he missed your little concerns whenever the boys did something that doesn’t seem right especially when they consume too much energy drinks before work.

The rain kept coming and going since twilight, for the moment the rain stopped, the pavements are moist where pedestrians carried umbrellas around, some with children wearing brightly colored raincoats. He was still ears hungry about your rapid stardom success how the acting came off Broadway transitioning through the screen onto dramas and guest appearances on reality shows meeting stars through classes and mutuals. It’s like they’ll never get tired anytime soon even though you shared nearly everything your career worked on.

The crosswalks you cruised around seemed familiar, just as much as the domain building turned your chin sideways when Baekhyun pulled into the parking spot. “Baek, what are we doing here? Aren’t we meeting the guys at the movies?”

He leaves the driving gear beside the ‘P’ label then the shaking stops in the passenger seat as Baekhyun tugs the keys out the ignition. He’s already waiting for you beside the entrance running his hands up and down his shivering arms soon after you quickly follow him in the cafe lobby, opening the bell ringing door. “We are, I just wanted something warm on the way. Also I need to use the restroom you go ahead and order whatever you want.”

The line was short with only three people excluding the both of you, the place had more decorations with shiny garlands hung over the menu with ornaments on either ends and imitation snow fogging the windows from the inside. Few guests occupied the place and none of them seemed like they were rushing home. As the time was slowly fading into evening and the insane breezes made temperature drop lower minute by minute you were still rubbing your knees together to run out remaining chills shivering through your legs.

Back over in Korea, the area still has quilts of heavy snow and revering winds, not as heavy as New York breezes though. You really enjoyed winter when it comes around as long you didn’t stay outside for too long. After ordering drinks and bags of chips you took a seat at the same table from last time beside the wall length windows. Aside from you and the few employees, across the room someone dressed in a seemingly cozy blazer stood at the other side of the room dressed neatly, tapping and fingers drawing over a tablet. He stood next to a table with book bag and a the cell phone model laid across.

As you rose up the chair to get your hot chocolate, your string looked brighter around your finger as did the small metallic beads below the knot. You began to wonder again, how would Chanyeol react seeing you wearing something he made himself with such meaning. Resembling fate and the love you had for each other, the tied knot that strengthened the promise of staying together.

How many more memories are going to replay through your mind? All you have left are memories you shared with Chanyeol. The sky was no longer bright grey, now the foreground was dark enough to being nearly black. Heavy rainfall with occasional thunderstorms were looking scary standing outside getting soaked watching him fight with an umbrella.

....

“Oh my gosh, babe, can you hurry up? It’s cold.”

“Don’t you see me going as fast as I can to get this damn button loose while my nads freezing themselves?” You did the most not allowing his attitude towards you bother too much that day cause you were reaching your point of being outside any longer. You liked cold weather but that doesn’t mean it’s okay to freeze to death. He wanted to walk through Central Park for the first beautiful spring weeks but maybe that day one of you should’ve checked the weather. Chanyeol determine to get the umbrella unstuck.

His sleeves already drenched and water droplets hanging on his ears. A drop sped down his neck from his little baby hairs that then disappear under his sewn in hoodie. His hoodie that he probably forgot he had since he wasn’t raising over his head. You could feel your pants sticking against your thighs, your shoes started to feel flooded as the soles were squeaking.

“Know what I’m walking inside the next nearest store. You sure you don’t want me to try?” He stops your hand reaching insisting him to try on his own. Just then black and gray swirls shot open with a pop to widen four eyes by surprise. The umbrella was open now. Chanyeol self cheers for fixing his umbrella without breaking it miraculously. Most hair on your heads curled and crunched up getting wetter by the minute. “There’s still three minutes for the bus jagiya, hold-shit!”

The umbrella caused more problems when the shade turned inside out as wind started blowing. You released a high pitched yelp as the edges almost slapped you. Chanyeol holds the handle firmly so the umbrella would stay in them and he tries fixing another problem. “God damn it Y/N, that’s it! No more umbrellas from now on I’m using raincoats.”

He tries fixing the umbrella again despite already getting more annoyed especially by simply standing outside during heavy rainfall getting more than soaking wet. The spokes screeched as they bumped against smooth polyester fingers pinching it as Chanyeol pressed knees held the stem. You wanted to help your boyfriend more than going inside shelter then.

“See?” Left hands at the base then lo and behold, the umbrella unfolds itself.

“Ah! Thanks love, but we’re not shopping together anymore.” His cocky smirk felt like the ends of your hair tickling your chin when your head turn side to side. More water sprinkles upwards from the umbrella being flashed with top row of teeth before you Chanyeol bringing the smile closer.

“Really? That’s what you learned?”

Still wet, the rain stopped over the spot and you couldn’t help the returning smile. One thing you learned that day was Park Chanyeol has had you feeling helpless with love and the skys the limit.

....

You shake the memories out of your head and turn to the clock checking the time. You gaze towards the hall down to the restroom, thinking what was taking him so long to use the restroom? Glancing over towards the corridor that lead the restroom while combing a curtain of your hair back.

....

His palms molded onto yours warm against creases and prints on each other you squeeze his hand intertwined with your fingers. One second before either of you knew it, you’re walking slowly backwards, indulging on the deepening kiss, bringing locked hands close to the chest. Chanyeol held you against the wall he knew you would miss the softness of him though with him leaning into your hand like leaving longning traces of his skin. He knew you’d miss him caressing half-circles over your temples, escaping mewls leaving him blush red, his eyes burning out trails that were cut short by your thumb brushing them away. He only once slightly lifts his eyelids before fluttering them shut, using his fingers to sooth the curve on the back of your head before tangling messily in your hair. You pull away and let him lean his forehead against yours breathing for air.

Chanyeol’s eyebrows knitted together acknowledging how much you would miss any more from him now that all of Chanyeol would no longer be yours.

“I’m sorry.” He ghosts your lips. “I really am sorry.”

You laid on top of your bed, listening to the similar rhythmic thumping sound while resting against Chanyeol’s chest both hugging each other’s middle tight steaming skin under the fabric of your thermal blanket.

An unbearable pain forms in the back of your throat and right down the middle of your chest looking out the raindrops on the window. Everything around you was still, vehicles honking were inaudible through the glass windows with some tires burning. Darker shades above the sky seemed like rain would start falling soon, admiring the scene outside, trying to block the flashbacks out, holding the chairs’ back.You picked up the pace from the table to the restroom urgently. Where was your mind when the emotions in your heart are taking all control?

....

He was messing with a lock of your hair closing and opening his eyes, there was nothing good enough to calm him down besides the position at the moment. Sleep skipped your apartment at the time, instead the moon hovered in front of a dark blue sky shining through the window. Both you thanked heavens no one else knew any of your whereabouts even with how wrong it was.

“Why won’t you say it?” He murmurs onto your forehead and you say in shortcut breaths. “I want to Yeolie…”

“Are you okay?” Could everything be one hundred percent sure, despite standing centimeters away from you right after accidentally bumping into his side and leaving him soaked. Your feet are rooted down onto the spot holding you still.

His mouth opens and closes like there was something he had been wanting to say. He was reflecting the same image you’re portraying wide eyed, forgetting the spill. Something wanting to come out when there are really no words. The light illuminated over his entire figure towering over you, re-enacting how high you lifted your chin to look at him. The gloss in his eyes made him seem like he was on the brink of tears and so were you.

You inhale deeply, “Chanyeol.”

“Do I know you?”

....

But you’re not mine anymore.

69 notes · View notes

theraistlinmajere · 6 years

Text

THE “”GOTHIC”” REC LIST

Edited for my own use.

LET’S START WITH THE GATEWAY DRUG BOOK

1. Flowers in the Attic (VC Andrews): Published in 1979 and technically considered contemporary Gothic. The style closely resembles a lot of “original” Gothic fiction I’ve read, but the themes, story arc and style are distinctly contemporary and very psychological. Gets a bad rap because it’s over the top insane and averagely written (which most Gothic is, tbh). Flowers is light reading, and I think it’s a good gateway drug into heavier Gothic. Has several sequels but stands alone as well. I wish I could call this Victorian-inspired Gothic but honestly it’s just knockoff Victorian in a contemporary setting. If you don’t enjoy this book, it probably means you don’t like the over the top insanity and average writing. Skip it if you like!

1.5. But if you do like it, I hear My Sweet Audrina is pretty good. All of VC Andrews and her ghostwriters are like a hellhole people sometimes don’t escape tbh it’s a raging aesthetic disaster down there.

Note: I have a strong suspicion that “contemporary” Gothic published between 1965 and 1989 will eventually have its own movement name; you will see a decent amount of it on this list.

THE VICTORIAN GOTHIC PART OF THE LIST Most of these are available for free online due to copyright law being born late or whatever. 2. Carmilla (Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu): Considered the first English vampire story (Germans invented the European vampire allegedly), and published in 187…9? 1871? Something like that. A novella. Arguably a same-sex romance (VERY arguably), but can also be read as a close friendship. The writing is good, but not the absolute greatest I’ve ever read. The real strong point here is the imagery and the dawn of the English vampire. Great Halloween read; I read it almost every autumn. 3. “The Trifecta,” according to Gothic fans: Dracula (Bram Stoker), Frankenstein (Shelley), and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (Swift & Stevenson): First mainstream vampire, original English monster movie fuel, and the dawn of psychological fiction. Shelley’s the best writer out of all of them but she’s a Romantic and I’m sort of biased against Romantics. She’s a precursor to true Victorian Gothic. Dracula is still one of the creepiest books I’ve ever read and it’s the only one in the trifecta I really really love (and finished).

Note: If, by any chance, you find yourself seriously obsessed with vampires at any point in time, please consult me for an extended list of vampire fiction because I have a shit-ton of it in my reading history and left most of it out so vampires wouldn’t clutter this list lmao.

4. Edgar Allan Poe, Completed Works. The Cask of Amontillado, The Masque of the Red Death, The Pit and the Pendulum, and The Tell-Tale Heart are all notable. His poetry is lovely–Annabelle Lee and The Raven are most culturally significant. Just solid and wonderful work that I like a lot but haven’t explored in a lot of detail. Will appeal to your interest in darkness imagery.

5. The Legend of Sleepy Hollow and Other Stories (Washington Irving): QUINTESSENTIAL HALLOWEEN READING. SPOOPY. WONDERFUL. I truly love this anthology. Will also appeal to your interest in darkness as a concept and a physical thing. 6. Nightmare Abbey (Thomas Love Peacock): an 1818 novel that makes fun of the Victorian Gothic movement. Hilarious, contains all the typical Victorian Gothic tropes and has the added benefit of actually falling into the Victorian Gothic movement ironically. Usually comes packaged with another novel called Crotchet Castle which is similar. 7. If, somehow, you haven’t had it with Victorian Gothic yet (and I got to this point, it happens, Victorian Gothic is a slippery slope)… Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (Susanna Clarke): A really bizarre story behind how this was published, at least it is to me. Published in 2004, Over 10 years in the making and is written in the Victorian Gothic style but with a quirky and modern twist. The writer takes a page out of contemporary social commentary and includes pages-long footnotes, heads up (they’re funny and entertaining though). HUGE. You could kill a man with this volume. Excellent writing; I’m halfway through. I hear there’s time travel (?) and there are about ten thousand characters. Neil Gaiman is a fan. 8. The Phantom of the Opera (Gaston Leroux) is not technically Victorian (Technically Edwardian? Also French; I’m not familiar with French literary eras) but of course it has a huge following. I’ve read a little so far; I like the style and I think it’s culturally significant. You might want to read this because it’s heavily inspired by a French opera house, the Palais Garnier in Paris. Amber tells me she read literature in French to help sharpen her skills in the language; you may consider picking up an un-translated version of this? A BRIEF INTERLUDE FOR MORE CONTEMPORARY 9. Interview with the Vampire (Anne Rice): One of my favorite books of all time! Possibly the dawn of the romanticized vampire. Falls into that 70s contemporary Gothic bracket and is pretty amazingly written, but markedly more angst-ridden than anything else on the list (save for maybe Flowers). Lots of “what is evil?” and “what does immortality imply?” type speculation. Also gets a bad rap because Anne Rice made it big and haters are rife tbh it’s a very solidly built book in my opinion (BUT SUPER EMOTIONAL VAMPIRES). If you like this, continue with The Vampire Chronicles (The Vampire Lestat, Queen of the Damned, Prince Lestat, and about 8 others in between that concern minor characters). Lestat is one of my favorite fictional characters of all time. 10. Coraline (Neil Gaiman): Quick, cute, I found myself actually afraid for a little while despite the audience being middle grade readers?? I enjoyed it. The only Neil Gaiman on the list because his other work doesn’t impress me very much. 11. The Spiderwick Chronicles (Holly Black and Tony Diterlizzi): More middle-grade creepy aesthetic stuff. Cute modern fantasy stories, five volumes. I can read these books at twenty years old and still enjoy them (like Coraline)! The only good thing Holly Black has ever produced, in my opinion, though many people like her and her ~aesthetic.

11.5. Should you find yourself in the mood for more quick middle-grade aesthetic-y stuff, Pure Dead Magic (Debi Gliori) is really an adorable book with two sequels. Victorian Gothic tropes such as the creepy mansion, creatures in the dungeon, family drama, and Weird Newcomers are all present, but it’s set in modern times. One of the main characters is a hacker. Addams family-esque.

THE SURREAL-ISH FICTION PART OF THE LIST

Not true surreal fiction; these are contemporary surreal-inspired works. 12. The Bloody Chamber (Angela Carter): An anthology of short stories which retell fairy tales. Falls into the contemporary surrealism movement and is not traditionally considered Gothic, but this is definitely your aesthetic. Very quick read, very vivid imagery, lots of second-wave feminism and some brief eating disorder symbolism. Carter was a phenomenal writer! My favorite story is “The Lady of the House of Love"

12.5 (Just as a reminder since I’ve mentioned these) See also: Nights at the Circus (Carter) and Mechanique: A tale of the Circus Tresaulti (Valentine) for your interest in circus books!

13. The Palace of Curiosities (Rosie Garland), which I also rec’d before. Similar style to Chamber, similar themes. Both beautiful books. 14. Deathless (Catherynne Valente): Oh, Deathless. Technically contemporary lit, but hails to Russian Gothic (one of the earlier Gothic movements which I haven’t read much of). Retelling of about a million Russian folk tales. I could go on about this book for a thousand years. Stylistically similar to The Bloody Chamber as well, but far more poetic. (Very) structurally inferior to every other book on this list, but so heart-wrenchingly romantic you won’t notice or care on the first read. Visually breathtaking, absolutely the closest thing to death and the maiden imagery I’ve found in fiction. I’m fairly confident you’ll appreciate this one! Might as well read it to test my theory!! There’s controversy surrounding the fact that the writer is not Russian–something to be aware of. 15. The Enchanted (Rene Denfeld): TREAD WITH CAUTION. This is contemporary literary fiction (not Gothic) written from the pov of a death row inmate. Nominated for approximately a billion awards in 2014 (and won a few); high caliber of writing. Incredibly visceral, horrific, psychological imagery that was too much for me, though I still liked it. Short but dense–I had to take a two-day break to ward off the anxiety it caused. But you are darker~ than I so you might like it more!

THE SOUTHERN GOTHIC PART OF THE LIST 16. Beloved (Toni Morrison): Contemporary Southern Gothic. Incredibly creepy imagery, explores the connection between women’s issues and racial issues. Uses abortion and slavery as metaphors for each other. Gracefully written, but Southern Gothic (even contemporary) tends to be textually dense so it’s something to really think about as you read. 17. As I Lay Dying (Faulkner): “True” Southern Gothic. DENSE AS HELL but I think Beloved is a good precursor to Faulkner. A lot of almost comedic family drama, similar to Flowers in that sense, but very srs bsns nonetheless.

17.5. Basically all of Faulkner is considered Southern Gothic. He’s the father of Southern Gothic. If you enjoy this, you might also like Absalom! Absalom! and other such works. I loved As I Lay Dying but it’s possibly his easiest read, and while I love a good challenge I haven’t stepped up to this one yet.

Note: I use reading guides for all my classical works and Shakespeare, and I think there are good ones for Faulkner too, so that might be something to look into if you wanna vanish into this hell lol.

AN ADDENDUM: OTHER WRITERS

HP Lovecraft: Father of horror or whatever. Awful writer–anyone will agree. The guy had no command of language, but he’s known for over-the-top horror imagery that people really enjoy. Honestly I hate his writing so I haven’t bothered with much of it.

Oscar Wilde: If, by this point, you still want more Victorian-era writing, Wilde is here for you. Lots of social commentary, wrote basically one piece in the Gothic style (Chapter 16 of The Picture of Dorian Gray, my favorite novel), snarky as hell, incredibly gifted writer.

Neil Gaiman: Modern surreal in my opinion, sometimes called modern Gothic, well-loved and writes creepy things. I think he’s average because I’ve read too much Murakami (who does “modern surreal” way, way better) but many people really love him.

THE BLACKLIST Knockoff Gothic/Gothic themed things to avoid. I apologize if you like any of these okay ._.

The Grisha Trilogy (Leigh Bardugo): Contemporary YA, tries to be Russian Gothic and fails. Stick to Deathless. This book makes a mockery of Russian culture whereas at least Valente exhaustively researched her novel. Also doesn’t do romance very well.

The Night Circus (Morgenstern): What the hell is this book, tbh. 400 pages of obtuse and cliched imagery which you don’t have time for in your life. No plot. Two-dimensional characters, bad writing.

Those Across The River (Christopher Buehlman): Terrible. Just terrible.

11 notes · View notes