#He’s Darcy watching Lizzy across the room! He just IS.

[flutishly]

LBD rewatch, part 1

I’ve already gotten through just around half (certainly the thematic half-point), so I won’t be able to get into all of my observations and thoughts, but I thought I should still write up something before I kick off the Darcy era. So... here are my thoughts, in bullet points, in no particular order, and likely completely incoherently:

Lizzie’s highly judgmental nature comes across a lot stronger than I remembered. The first time I watched the Lizzie Bennet Diaries (and I think the subsequent 2-3 times I rewatched it not long afterward), I obviously recognized Lizzie’s snark and judgmental tendencies. She’s meant to be prejudiced, after all! It’s part of her character. And yet upon rewatch, I can’t help but feel like Lizzie reminds me of so many people who go through life convinced that they’re the good guys, while actually being pretty awful. (I’m vaguely reminded of the line in Megan Whalen Turner’s Return of the Thief: “They were born beautiful and mistake being beautiful for being good”, but that might be a whole other conversation. In a nutshell, it’s as both Lydia and Charlotte observe, that Lizzie’s diaries will always be biased. Which is not a bad thing.) Lizzie is often mean. And needlessly so, it goes without saying. It’s an obviously important character beat, but I think that in 2012, I was more readily forgiving of people like that. But today? I see a Lizzie who is constantly talking down to Lydia (who very obviously worships her older sisters and is constantly seeking their approval/time), who is casually cruel about Mr. Collins, and is unrelentingly negative about Darcy (which... okay, yes, again, plot point! but it’s still really mean to put online!!).

That said, Lizzie’s love for Charlotte is the positive flipside that I also hadn’t remembered. Their mutual hurt in “Friends Forever” and Lizzie’s hollowness in “Missing Charlotte” is evident and it’s hard to fully fault either friend. Both say and behave in a way that’s unfair to the other. It’s brilliantly done and the resolution and reconciliation was great.

Mr. Collins is definitely not as annoying as I remembered. Sure, he’s definitely irritating, but Lizzie treats him way more unkindly than he deserves. Like other than the “barging into a room uninvited” thing (which is definitely not cool!), he’s just trying to share in his part of the passion! And the degree to which Lizzie’s impatience is somewhat out of step with modern norms is only emphasized by how clearly Charlotte is able to manage later on. I also didn’t remember just how much the show subtly teased the possibility of his proposal being romantic after all. Even knowing where things were going, I watched the episode with a distinct sense of discomfort, which is quite impressive. If I wasn’t intent on doing a full rewatch, I probably would have skipped these episodes because they’re “cringe-y”, but no, they were worth it! Unexpectedly.

Lydia, oh man, there are essays to write here. Lydia comes across as so much less put-together in retrospect in how she presents herself to the camera, and I think a huge part of that comes from knowing just how much of her we’ll end up seeing and just how much she needs her environment. If Lizzie is the Bookstagram star, Lydia is clearly a wannabe influencer on TikTok. Yes, Lydia seeks attention in “negative” ways, but she’s also constantly trying to get Lizzie’s attention and acceptance and it’s specifically about Lizzie’s attention and acceptance. She’s hugely loving and loyal to those around her. She is lonely. She’s a youngest daughter who likes to party, but also likes to party with her older sisters and with her older sisters’ friends (which is not trivial). She fiercely defends Mary and Lizzie in this first half of the story, which I think beautifully sets up her struggles in the second half. Lydia’s insecurities are bubbling below the surface, but they’re already there. I could absolutely write so much more here, but maybe that’ll end up in another post, who knows.

Fitz is a nice interlude, but I had a harder time believing he didn’t pick up on Lizzie’s massive NOPEing when he told her about Darcy’s intervention. I never thought of Fitz as a particularly important character, and indeed he isn’t. Definitely doesn’t hurt the story, but he doesn’t really add much either. I found myself wishing he could have offered more insights into Darcy, but... alas.

Like I said in my first post, it’s somewhat strange to discover that a lot of the parts that stretched credibility in 2012... don’t anymore. I don’t especially like that observation, but there it is. And like I mentioned above, there’s a feeling of dissonance between the different types of social media stars that the characters would be. Lizzie could still be a Youtuber, I suppose, but she strikes me more as the sort who would make short videos about “intellectual” topics - her research (?), culture, books, etc. And Lydia would obviously be the sort who is constantly trying to get perform.

I felt this at the time and still feel it: Caroline and Bing are somewhat unnecessary to include on camera. It would have been fine without them. Not, again, that it’s bad with them? But it just doesn’t feel quite as critical and there is the slight ick factor with how everyone just lies to Bing all the time about him being on camera. Nope.

Continuing with the things I didn’t like, the way everyone talks about Jane and Bing’s relationship in terms of purity is unpleasant. The story does this weird thing with Jane and Bing that sort of strips their relationship of depth by using “sweet” terms. And it’d be fine if the show came outright and said how this ties into this particular couple’s choices regarding their relationship (romantically, physically, etc.), but they don’t. Not a fan. Didn’t age well.

Jane’s anger in “Snickerdoodles” is so beyond justified, considering that at this point we’re talking about two modern adults who have been dating for months. Don’t forgive him, Jane. He’s not worth it.

The pacing is excellent. I thought it’d be a slog to rewatch, but not at all. It’s delightful.

No, not everything aged well. The casual sexism - while possibly intentional and tying into bullet point #1 - is irritating. Certain phrases that are obviously meant to emphasize character flaws still should not have been used; the same effect could have been conveyed differently.

As with my endless rewatches of Pride and Prejudice (1995), I continue to relate to and appreciate Mrs. Bennet more upon rewatch. Go figure!

Having Kitty Bennet be a cat who follows Lydia around is still one of the most genius adaptation decisions I have ever encountered in any media. Ever.

So those are some of my initial thoughts from this rewatch. It’s entirely likely that I’ll remember more when I pick it up again later this week, but I’ll obviously also be posting (hopefully shorter) analyses or thoughts about the next episodes as I progress. It’s definitely a positive experience so far and I’m so excited to keep watching not only LBD, but also the next shows on my list.

(And to everyone asking: I’m doing this rewatch independently of The Look-Back Diaries! I did watch a few episodes of those when they started, but somehow never ended up following consistently. And now I’d rather finish my own rewatch “naively” before I add the extra context. That’ll be the next stage!)

#lizzie bennet diaries #rewatching projects #The Great Webseries Rewatch #Longer thoughts #bullet point thoughts #pride and prejudice #webseries

[itspileofgoodthings]

every Bruce/Selina moment is just so perfectly sweet and calibrated. when she asks him who he is under there or if he’s just hideously scarred and you can feel him laugh and loosen up even though he barely responds audibly; when she’s stealing the passport and he holds her back so they both don’t get caught and it’s this struggle but it’s almost a dance between them and on his side almost this strong and gentle embrace? and she’s mad at him but also knows she can trust him??? you can tell she is not in the least physically afraid of him// It’s a Lot.; the almost kiss at the end and the way you can feel the magnetic longing between them, especially on his side; the actual kiss —her sweet impulsive daring almost interrupting his offer to help and stipulations on it, he said he would help and that’s enough for her, his quiet immediate instinctive response to it all the more poignant because he is not a man who responds quickly or to everyone; when he stops her from shooting falcone and it’s the most loving struggle you’ve ever seen and he’s using his body almost like a shield between her and her dad but he’s to the side and he’s giving her SPACE because it’s her choice and her struggle and he’s not going to let her do it but he’s also not going to treat her like a child, he’s just going to BE THERE next to her ready to fight for and protect her body and soul; when he calls her Selina in the kitchen the first time with his whole soul looking out of his eyes just quietly watching her—the immediate naming she has such a hard time with, the sudden, and in a man like Bruce, surprising way he has just let her into his heart; the way his face softens and saddens when she says “we need to talk where can we meet” because he’s been thinking about her SO. MUCH.; when she kisses him again and it’s like sleeping beauty levels of softness and then when he loses his mind when she’s attacked right after; when she says “run away with me” and you can feel her wanting him to say yes with her whole self while knowing he won’t because the reason she wants him to is the reason he has to stay, he is so solid and faithful and TRUE, he is the roots and the steadiness she’s never had and so him saying no hurts her but he wouldn’t be who she wanted if he said yes; when he says “take care of yourself” and means it knowing that she can and will but also saying “be gentle with yourself the way I would be with you;” his heartsick desperate fear when he thinks it’s her at the funeral; the way they ride their motorbikes in this perfect weaving dance until they have to split and go different ways; him watching her leave in the rearview mirror, a final reminder of what she means to him, literally every single Bruce and Selina moment

#the batman (2022) #batcat #the batman spoilers #actually this is a self-indulgent post just for me please don’t read #don’t read it if you haven’t seen the movie I am just ruining all the Good Romance Stuff but actually I’m obsessed #perfectly calibrated and delicate romances in superhero movies actually make me want to launch myself into the void #and actually the ones that make it into my heart on a deep level are rare because they have to do so many things at once #I’m obsessed with romance because it’s about the ordinary and the spiritual. the everyday and the great sweeping truth. It’s body and soul! #it has to strike so many notes but not overplay them. It’s about BALANCE and Bruce and Selina are everything to me #I think the ingredients are good actors with good chemistry #But also. A story that handles them with care. That gives them beautiful and clear moments of connections (their rooftop scenes??? GORGEOUS #but also intertwining and real arcs. they move through their stories together and they’re so aware of each other #especially Bruce because it’s his story. He’s #He’s Darcy watching Lizzy across the room! He just IS. #and yet it’s just peripheral enough to have even more of a hold on me #it illuminates and gives the main story meaning and heart and SOFTNESS but it is not itself the main story #because they have work to do #But it’s a side story that tells you everything you need to know about who they would be if they were married #and their life WAS the main story. and a simple domestic life is far from both of their thoughts but the truth of it affects them anyway #literally making myself cry here #okay I’m done please don’t read please ignore this is just me getting feelings out of my heart

[jenojaemssss]

nct dream as your boyfriend

nct dream x gn!reader

fluffy boyfriend!nct dream headcanons because it's 2 am and i'm all up in my head <3 also because i have no motivation to work on dont need it and am holding it off as much as i possibly can before finalizing it <3

lee mark

just the softest boy

we already know he really enjoys playing the guitar

so i feel like he’s the type to wake up at like 3 in the morning with a melody in mind

like he wakes up in cold sweat because he has such a good idea and he CANNOT forget it

he’d record a snippet of it and send it to you after he perfects it

but this is rare because he’d rather hear your reaction

mark isn’t the type to facetime; he’d rather just call you or just come over to see you in person

so a lot of the time you’d get an incoming phone call

at 3 in the morning

because he forgets the time when he’s immersed in his craft

and because it’s a phone call, he can’t see you squinting at your phone

but you’d try your best to not make it obvious that you were already asleep

and then he’d go on and on about how he was in the middle of writing something and thought about you

his voice literally just wakes you up because he’s so excited over his creation

“ready to hear it?”

and after playing it for you he’d have the widest, goofiest smile on his face

he’d be so proud of yourself after you give him a personal round of applause

but his grin doesn’t stay on for long because there’d be banging on his wall from his housemates telling him to shut up

this happened so often that they don’t even have to say anything, just forcefully tap their wall and he’d get the hint

usually then, he’d finally realize how late-or technically, early- it was getting

“ah shit, fuck were you sleeping when i called?”

and you’d just chuckle because he’s so damn cute

and then you’d remind him how much you love and enjoy his hobby

and how it makes you happy getting to listen to him play his guitar

“you do know you don’t have to pick up, right?”

but you’d just smile even wider and he could hear it over the phone and he’d smile too

your smile is so endearing to him

and when he was the reason you’re smiling, it sends him through the clouds

because how could HE be the cause of such a beautiful smile

“hey, baby?”

“yeah, mark?”

“i love you.”

and you’d giggle so hard because he still gives you butterflies

“i love you, too, mageolli.”

“bro, did hyuck teach you that?” he squeaks

another bang on his wall makes him jump and he ends up whispering to you for about another hour

huang renjun

this man loves to read, so whenever he’s reading a book he really likes, he’d annotate it with the intentions of giving it to you

sometimes he’d highlight funny things and write little notes like “this made me laugh and i thought you’d like it too”

so fucking endearing let me tell you

and when he comes across romantic lines, he’d highlight them in pink and write little notes on how it reminded him of you

when he’s done with the book and gives it to you, you’d find cute little highlighted portions with notes and messages directed for you

sometimes, he’d write you cute little messages on the inside cover, kind of like an introduction to his annotations

he’d also write a mini introduction to the content of the book, but in his own cute way

“i found this book really funny (those funny scenes are highlighted in yellow) and there were a lot of scenes where the interactions between the two main characters reminded me of you and i, so those are highlighted in purple”

and a bunch of other notes related to his annotations

the back cover has a mini summary and all his personal thoughts after finishing the book

“could they BE anymore stupid? he should have confessed to her when…” and many more angry-renjun reactions

there was one time he was reading pride and prejudice and came across this line

“in vain i have struggled. it will not do. my feelings will not be repressed. you must allow me to tell you how ardently i admire and love you.”

he was about to pull out his highlighter and smear the bright pink across it but pauses

and then he just slams the book closed because he remembers how much of an asshole mr. darcy was in this book

and how much he hated pride and prejudice

he was only reading it again because you asked him to read it with you

the two of you often picked out your favorite books and had the other one read it and discuss it with each other after you both finished

kind of like a personal book club

this time around you picked this wretched book and he was not having it

but then you pulled out the puppy eyes

he gagged in front of you and asked that if he’d read it with you, you wouldn’t pull that shit again

internally he loved it, he just doesn’t like showing it physically

anyways, after slamming the book shut he stood up from the couch but was so pissed off with the fucking book that he called you

“babe, why is lizzy so fucking idiotic?”

you’re just as confused as he is, but for a totally different reason

“i know we’re supposed to discuss when we’re finished but i just cannot read this book anymore.”

lee jeno

the type of boyfriend that has a really hard time expressing his feelings in words

so he’d show it in his actions instead

his love language is most likely physical touch

but at the same time he seems like the type to not enjoy too much physical affection in public

yet he still needs to be touching you: always

just small gestures to keep in physical contact with you

it reassures him that you’re still there

in public, he’d make an effort to hold pinkies

like he’d interlock them when you’re walking around the grocery store or just when you go on walks together

oh yeah, jeno really likes walks

like when the two of you are having a really rough day or when you’re both just not in the best mood, he’d ask to go on walks to clear your minds

it’s his way of telling you that he’s there for you

on the rough days, instead of holding your pinky, he’d intertwine your hands instead

and when you guys argue over things and he doesn’t know what to say, he’d leave the room for a bit so that you don’t say things you don’t really mean to each other

jeno is a good man, he was raised right

so he KNOWS when he’s at fault

and when he realizes what he’s done and takes all the things you say into consideration, you’d hear the sink running or the vacuum turn on

he’d clean your apartment for you as an apology

back to the physical touch aspect of him

rare *public* back hugs here and there but only around people he’s comfortable with

but when you’re alone??

he would literally CLING onto you, personal bubble does not exist to this man

wraps his arms around your waist when you cook or do the dishes, playing footsies when you eat, all of that

sometimes when you’re both on the couch doing work on separate laptops he’d make it a literal mission to be in physical contact with you

like even if it interferes with his work, he’s gotta be touching you

he’d have one leg thrown over your torso if your hands are too busy with something

it’s really endearing because if you moved at all, like even just a little and he wasn’t able to have a part of his body on yours, he’d start pouting

he’d reach his arms or legs out in a grabbing motion and not say anything

and then you’d have to reposition yourself so that the two of you would be able to work and he still be able to touch you

and his smiles, the fucking smiles when he gets to hold your hand after you guys finish working on whatever you needed to work on

his cuddles are top tier too, and he’d make sure you guys get at least 30 minutes of cuddles a day

lee donghyuck

the whiniest, most annoying (but adorable) boyfriend ever

like jeno, he needs to be in physical contact with you, but instead of quietly pouting or reaching for you, he’d YELL

“y/n! hold my hand!”

“but i’m typing-”

“babe, hold my hand!!!!” *intense pouting*

he normally drops it when he knows you’re actually busy, but when he knows you’re just watching a movie or something, he keeps pestering you until you hold his hand

and when you do, he takes the opportunity to POUNCE on you like he just deadass lays on top of you

and you let him because it’s actually really comforting having his weight on top of you

NOSE KISSES!!!!!! lots of those

and forehead pecks

it goes both ways, though, because he likes receiving those too!!!!! fairness!!!!!

he’s the type to play tricks on you, but never takes it too far because he doesn’t want to hurt you in any way

and he spoils you a lot

like not with materialistic things (though sometimes he does) but more with arguments and when it comes to picking what to do/eat for the day

he’s the type to always think before his actions, yet when he’s around you, all logic is thrown to the side

“you wanna go bungee jumping? bet!” (even though he’s afraid of heights)

he gets two of everything when he goes to the store; one for him and one for you

and when you first started dating, you got a bit shy because of this due to the fact that he’s spending extra on you

you felt bad he was spending extra money so whenever you were buying things, you followed his habit and do the same thing

and for the first couple months he’d say that it’s fine and everything but when you both got really comfortable around each other, he’d be really witty with his comebacks

“no, i don’t wanna share with you” or “pay me back then”

sometimes the casual, “no, you’re gonna eat all of it and leave me nothing”

soon enough, the two of you fell into the habit of buying two of everything wherever you went (besides the things that you both know the other person hates)

also, when you first started dating, a lot of it was just casually hanging out at a park or walking around a random neighborhood and getting food nearby

street food you can take on the go >>>> food from fancy restaurants

and also, when you first started getting snacks for each other and he didn’t know what you liked, he got one of everything

like for example, the first time you guys had a movie night at your place, he went to the store but didn’t know what brand of chips you preferred so he bought both kinds

(he learned that day what your favorite snacks and brands were and he remembered it forever)

na jaemin

HUGS!

jaemin is the king of hugs, like no one, absolutely NO ONE can beat him when it comes to hugs

they’re always so warm and he always knows whenever you need one

he’s kind of like a battery pack, so whenever you hug him, you feel recharged and energized

because all his hugs are full of love and you can literally feel it radiating off of him

“jaems, i need-”

you can’t even finish your sentence because he’s already engulfing you

“i know, baby”

sometimes you’d tease him and say things like, “i was gonna ask for some water” or some shit like that and he’d get all pouty

and when he’s about to let go, you just pull him into you more

so obviously, he’s another fan of physical affection

but unlike jeno and hyuck, he’s not quite the clingy type

he will give you your space and will not invade your personal bubble, but instead just show that he’s there by doing other things

whenever he sees that your water glass is half empty, he’d go refill it

would always ask if you wanted a snack

would feed you his food when you were busy working on your laptop

just little actions to show that he’s paying attention to you

you pick up on his habit and slowly become more tentative too

he’s also the type that shows the overprotective type of affection too

like, when it gets cold and he notices you shiver a little, he’d immediately take off his sweater/hoodie/jacket, whatever, and give it to you

or whenever your clothes seem to be bothering you, he’d offer you his shirt or pants or anything for you to feel more comfortable

he really enjoys cooking for you, so you’d have little cooking dates every once in a while where he teaches you a recipe or you teach him something

and it always either ends up in a disaster or a really appetizing success, no mediocre food in this household

the disasters are normally when you’re in charge of the cooking because you get distracted by jaemin’s crackheadery

he talks to the fucking vegetables and asks them how their day was before chopping them up, like what the fuck?

the normally tentative jaemin gets distracted because he’s making you laugh

he loves hearing you laugh, so he keeps doing what he’s doing to get to hear it more

so sometimes you forget you’re boiling something, you forget there’s something on the stove and shit starts spilling out

you’re both panicking and looking for the fire extinguisher

jaemin just ends up smacking it with whatever he’s holding and the flames go out and you both end up laughing and rolling around on the floor for the next 10 minutes

zhong chenle

can be the most evil or the most adoring boyfriend, there is no inbetween

like some days, he’d tease you to the point you ignore him while other days he’s all cuddly, snuggled up against you while hyping you up like you’re some sort of insta baddie

but a constant is that he will ALWAYS call you cute

you say something stupid? “cute.”

you CALL him stupid? “how cute!”

you drop your phone in the toilet? “cute.”

he has an obsession with that word, but it doesn’t really bother or annoy you because you really like hearing him say it

even when you guys play video games

you’re both beast at battle royale games, so you’re both constantly playing with one another

you guys normally don’t play when you see each other/ meet up because you spend that time doing other quality couple things

like bicker over what to order or where to get boba from for the day

so instead you guys normally play video games together at 3 in the morning after finishing up all your work for the day

whenever you’d knock down an enemy, you’d hear him from the other end of the phone shouting things like, “y/n that kill was so sexy!” (he picked that up from jaemin)

when you make noises after either missing or hitting your target, he’d chuckle to himself and mumble a little, “cute.”

soon enough you’re also picking up the habit and calling him cute all the damn time too

at first, he insisted that you stopped calling him cute because it was HIS line

“babe, i know i’m adorable, but stop calling me cute.”

“no.”

more bickering because he is so persistent

eventually got used to it and you two would have little squabbles over how the other is overusing it when you're BOTH doing it

not normally the type to be showing physical affection, but will cuddle when he’s sleepy

he feels safe when he’s holding you so he’s at peace and can fall asleep easily

he probably likes petting your hair when he’s the big spoon, and likes it when you pet his hair when he’s the little spoon

OMG WAIT he’s probably the type to have you lay on his lap (or vice versa) and just play with your hair (or have you play with his hair)!!!!!!!

like y’all are just chilling on the couch watching some basketball game and he just lays on your lap out of nowhere

“time for human contact!”

you’d just laugh and start combing your hand through his hair and he closes his eyes and ends up falling asleep

park jisung

the best friend type of boyfriend where the most couply thing you end up doing is going yo the zoo and feeding animals

he really likes when you guys go to the gift shop and play with the little toys they have

he’s super interested in the little things and is fascinated by everything big and small

you find that shit so cute and secretly take pictures of him staring at the miniature figures of lions

he catches on after seeing you changed your wallpaper to a picture of him holding a giraffe puppet and having it look at him

he holds your finger when you walk around so that you both don’t get lost

but his hands are really big compared to yours, so you switch to holding his finger instead and he physically melts because he thinks it looks so cute

i think your typical dates are the ones that involve a lot of walking around BECAUSE of the fact that you hold onto his finger

(jk, but like...he just thinks it’s really cute)

(so much so that it becomes a habit when you’re just hanging out)

(watching a movie? here, hold my finger. grocery shopping? here, hold it.)

you guys go to the amusement park often too

you hold onto each other’s fingers and wander around the park looking for rides that jisung can ride because he's scared of action

but you like roller coasters, and jisung always feels bad because you never ride them when you two go together

so one time, when there was one you really wanted to go on but you knew it would have scared jisung

so you decided to pass up on it because you didn’t want to leave him alone

but he was noticing how your eyes kept lingering on the coaster and he broke

“y/n, i’ll go on it with you”

and you’re shocked because you didn’t even say you wanted to go on it, like you just looked at it but he caught on

and you tried to brush it off and insisting that you could go on a ride you both liked

but he was so stern about it because he knew how much you wanted to go on it

i think he’s the type of boyfriend that normally gets over his fears when he is encouraged by his partner, and in this case, his form of encouragement was making you happy

he just likes seeing you happy in general

so internally, he’s hyping himself up while you’re cheering for him

and although he’s scared shitless, he goes through with it because he knows that this is a fear he needs to get over, so might as well get it over with while making you smile!

and so when it’s your turn to get on the ride, he gets cold feet, kinda, but you grab onto his hand, not his finger, and rub your thumb over it to reassure him that it’ll be fine

and it was honestly not that bad because he felt safe with you holding his hand the entire time

and when the ride finishes and he sees how happy you are, he thinks to himself that it was so worth it because you’re beaming

he makes a note

holding your hand > holding fingers

#nct #nct dream #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenarios #nct dream fluff scenario #nct fluff #mark lee #mark lee fluff #huang renjun #nct renjun #renjun fluff #nct mark #lee jeno #jeno fluff #nct jeno #haechan #lee haechan fluff #lee haechan #nct haechan #nct donghyuck #donghyuck fluff #nct jaemin #nct jaemin fluff #jaemin fluff #na jaemin #na jaemin fluff #zhong chenle #nct chenle #nct dream chenle #chenle fluff

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Open Me Carefully

summary: spencer reid and reader are best friends, but don’t realize that they both love each other. 

author’s note: crappy summary, but this one is loosely based on gold rush 

warnings: none

Open Me Carefully 

Maybe it’s the fact that I have a propensity to keep rereading historical romances, or maybe it’s the fact that I just listen to “Lover” way too much for a single person. Or maybe, I’m actually in love with him, my best friend and the only person in this world who I think truly knows me. 

I mean, how could I not be completely in love with him. Spencer Reid is the closest thing to perfection. He is kind, brilliant, and unbelievably handsome. It almost hurts me how wonderful he is. But daydreaming about Spencer’s hair falling in his eyes, or his hands grazing across the map spread out on the table, or even his wide smile that slips out when he lets his guard down is not productive to solving crimes. 

Unsubs, Y/N. Unsubs. Stop thinking about his hands. And start focusing. 

“Y/N/L!” Calls Hotch from across the room. He’s assigned me to locate the birth mother of the potential unsub. He was given up for adoption as an infant, but bounced around from foster home to foster home, never finding a home, and now obsessed with finding his roots. 

“Yes, sir, here’s the name from Garcia. Susan Lee gave up her baby for adoption in 1981, she was a just 16 years old, so that would make her-”

“44 years old” Spencer injected. 

Hotch gave me a short nod of approval and I cocked my head towards Spencer’s direction, who tried to pull off an innocent look. 

“It’s math, Y/N. I can’t help myself,” he explains. 

“It’s fine, Spence. Math is like your religion,” I tell him, but what I’m really thinking is it’s you, Spence, and you can get away with anything with me. 

“Math, in its purest form, is a beauty known nowhere else” he remarks. 

“Who’s that Nietzsche?” I ask him as he beams down at me, twirling a blue permanent mark between his very distracting fingers. 

“No, Spencer Reid.” he says as he turns back to the map on the table before us.

Just as I give myself the smallest bit of a second to enjoy the playful banter that falls between us, JJ and Emily come walking in, leading a gruff looking detective with them. 

“We think we know where Jacob is hiding out,” JJ starts with a grim look on her face. Emily and the detective walk past her to where Hotch and Derek explain the profile to the SWAT team waiting by. 

“His old orphanage, right?” Spencer asks looking up from the map.

“Yeah, and we think he’s going to hold some of the other children hostage,” JJ tells us. 

“We need to get there, JJ. But isn't it his mother he wants, not the other children. You’d think that with the profile we came up with, it would make more sense for him to want to save the children, not hold them hostage?” I reason.

“You’re right, Y/N,” Spencer says, coming to a dark realization “he thinks that he’s saving them. He’s Angel of Death” he finishes grimly. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sitting quietly in the jet after the chaos of de-escalating a hostage situation is a calm like no other. We all have routines for the ride home. A quiet ritual that we take the time to be thankful that we’re all here, in one piece, having made the world slightly more safe. 

JJ, ever diligent, will work on paper with Hotch. Rossi will usually keep Hotch from overworking with a small, light conversation. 

Emily spreads out on the couch, and the rest of us pretend to not see JJ glance over at her as she looks at Emily with eyes that crave her attention.  

Derek will listen to music and I’ll close my eyes and strain my ears to make out the muffled tunes that escape his ears. I sit across from Derek and will share snacks that we grabbed from a dingy convenience store on the way to the tarmac. 

Spencer, who always sits next to me, will usually write his mother a letter. He writes her a letter on every plane ride after a case. I think back to the time that I asked him why he prefers letters to phone calls. He told me that he finds letters a forever way to say ‘I love you’. Taking your love and turning it into pen and paper makes it tangible, is what he told me. Until that day, I never really pegged Spencer to be a poet, but he continues to amaze me everyday. 

I think that he can feel me staring at him, because he suddenly stops writing and his eyes look up to meet mine. 

“She’s not doing so well, Y/N” Spencer says, his voice but a whisper above the hum of the jet and music spilling from Morgan’s headset. 

“Your mom?” I ask, my voice matching his. 

Spencer, for perhaps the first time I’ve known him, is quietly defeated.

“All I ever wanted to do was to save her, Y/N. Sometimes I feel like I’m not doing everything I should be. I thought that by the time I was 30 I would have cured schizophrenia. It’s just that sometimes I feel like maybe I settled” 

“Well, you know we really don’t hear about child genius when they are adults. And you have the same job and me, and I’m not where near as smart as you. So you feel like you’re letting the world down or even worse— yourself”

“You might not have the IQ points on a piece of paper, but you are nothing short of brilliant” Spencer says looking at me directly in my eyes. I hold his gaze for maybe a second and look down towards my lap in disbelief. 

“Spence,” I say. “You have to say that, otherwise I’d stop making you chocolate donuts.”

“I don’t need your donuts to convince me that you are an amazing agent. I mean,” He pauses and holds my stare again. 

“You’re so kind it hurts me sometimes. And watching you those kids today, you’d be a great mom, Y/N. You make everyone feel so comfortable just being around you, and I’d give up all the chocolate donuts and IQ points and bottomless coffee if it meant you’d stay in my life,” Spencer says looking at me. I rest my hand over his and we sit there in the silence and comfort of the other. 

Spencer Reid is a man of many hats. But I think his way with words just may be my favorite. I don’t dare to respond to him. I don’t trust myself not to kiss his pink lips as he looks at me like he loves me. I don’t trust myself to not tell him all the wonderful and sinful things I think about him. I don’t trust myself to not tell him how I was watching him play with those orphans back at the police station.

“What’s a best friend for, Spence?” I say to him. 

“Besides, ’d want nothing more than to be a mom one day,” I tell him.  We never really talked about our futures. Maybe it was the nature of our jobs. Having a lethal job means that the future is more of an arbitrary idea than a definite possibility.

“But,” I start. “I'm twenty-seven years old, I've no money and no prospects. I'm already a burden to my parents and I'm frightened” I quote with a smirk on my face that covers my trepidation at talking about love and children and the future with Spencer. 

“I’d never think that you’d be one to settle for a Mr. Collins, Y/N” Spencer tells me, a similar look on his face mirrors my own. “If anything, you’re a Lizzie and you deserve a Mr. Darcy” 

“You really think that Spence, because I’m not too sure.” 

“You never know, Y/N your Mr. Darcy can be anyone. Statistically speaking, you may have already met him or have mutual friends or he may even work in the Bureau. 

Sometimes I think that luck and fate are mocking me. Dangling Spencer in front of me; so real yet so far that I’m jumping to remain close to him. Touching his hand to mine feels like I’m teasing myself, just getting a taste of how his warm, strong hands fit into mine is enough to set my heart on fire. 

I let go of his hand and my palm is cold and lonely without his touching. My heart cools but there’s a yearning for him that’s so strong it’s like a magnetic field pulling me in. 

“I’m going to get a cup of coffee, would you like some?” He asks me as he scoots out of the seat.

“I’ll take a green tea, coffee this late makes me anxious” And sitting here holding your hand talking about children and my Mr Darcy makes me even more anxious. 

“Coming right up,” he says with a sad smile on his face that I try to convince myself is because of his mother’s illness and not because I dropped his hand.

Spencer returns to his spot beside me, sipping his coffee and making small notes in his letter. There’s a chill between us that can’t be quelled by even the hottest cup of tea. Spencer doesn’t talk to me again and even though it’s just a couple more hours, I miss his voice.

I have a routine for when I come home after cases, but that routine has been thrown out the window when I watched Spencer walk out of the bullpen without as much as a wave goodbye. We usually go to my apartment and make dinner together. My trip home is a lot more lonely without Spencer by my side. I try to stop my thoughts from going to him, but it’s impossible when he’s all I can think about. 

My apartment is dark and quiet when I walk in. It was left in shambles, with clothes and books strewn all over the couch, desk and floor. I can’t even bother myself to care about the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. I convince myself that those dishes are a tomorrow problem. 

I take out a small container of leftover fried rice and vegetables and pop into the microwave. Making my way into my bedroom I change out of my work clothes, that I’ve been in for nearly 30 hours. I don’t really think about what I’m putting on, as long as it does not smell it works with me at this point. 

My microwave dings, altering me that my mediocre meal is finished. But, before I can even reach the kitchen a small envelope slips through my door and falls on the floor. A sudden rush of fear courses through me. I flit my eyes to the corner safe where my gun rests. In my mind, I try to calculate the risk of punching the code or if I should just find out who is behind my door. I guess curiosity wins out, because I’m walking towards the door where the mysterious envelope sits. 

I reach down and instantly recognize the handwriting as Spencer’s. I can feel my heart pumping blood through my bodying as I think that some sadistic unsub is trying to toy with me by hurting Spencer.

I was not prepared for what I read. My fingers grazed over the messy penmanship. I don’t even let my mind wander as I pour over the words on the page, still fearing for the worse

Dear Y/N, 

Part of me can’t believe that I’m actually doing this. But something that you mentioned on the plane sparked something in me. You’re not a Charlotte, or a Lizzie or even a Jane, even though you are the kindest and most beautiful person I know. 

You are a Y/N. And I am wishing for anything to be your Mr. Darcy. Thinking about you, Y/N gets me thinking about love. How much I love when you look at me across from the table, or how your soft hands will brush against mine. It reminds me that I’m alive. Your gaze makes me blush and those small brushes make me forget to breathe. In your eyes I can see my future— our future. In your smile I can taste happiness. When I am with you the world moves in slow motion and time seems to move too fast. 

I hope that this does not ruin things, Y/N. I could not bear to lose you. I hope that you won’t hate me but even if you do, I’d rather you hate me and be in your life than not be in your life.

I think of love, and you, and my heart grows full and warm, and my breath stands still

Forever yours, 

Spencer

I read the letter silently. Not sure if I can believe it, but I so desperately want to. I throw all sense to the wind when I fling the door open, my eyes hunting for Spencer. He sits on the steps leading up to the next level, fiddling with his shoe laces. I run over to where he sits, not caring that my neighbors might be looking or caring that I look like I’m about to mug him. 

He makes me, cautious girl, a rebel. 

“Hey, you,” I say approaching him. Spencer moves to stand up and I reach out to hold his hands in mine. Like a puzzle piece they hit perfectly. His hands are not too warm or clammy or too cold and boney. They’re perfect. He hesitates and rubs his thumb against the back of my palm, like he does on the plane. 

“Hi, Y/N.” He starts nervously. “I guess you got the letter, and I just want to tell you-”

“What letter, Spence?” I say. I can’t help but to tease him. His face turns pale and green in the same breath. 

“Uh-um, you didn’t just get something in your mail a couple minutes ago?” He asks me so nervously that I almost feel bad at teasing him. Almost, he’s kind of cute when he’s stumbling over his words and I like to be one that makes him this fluttery. 

“I got your letter, Spencer,” I tell him. I think he half expects me to drop his hand and shatter his heart then and there. Maybe he came here and prepared himself for the worse. I think he’s done that his whole life, believing that he doesn’t deserve a chance at happiness. I’m kind of inclined to give him that happiness when it’s so intricately tied to mine. 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, who knew that you were quite the poet, Spencer.” I tell him as I brush his hair from his eyes. It’s gotten so long, but I like it. I’ve dreamt about threading my fingers threw it many times. It’s so soft and brown and frames his face. 

“You deserve a poet, Y/N. And I could only dream of being that person for you.” He says. Against even his own wishes he leans in closer to my touch. His cheek is warm in my palm and I feel his long eyelashes flutter against the ball of my thumb. 

“Luckily for you, Spence, I like scientists.” I say to him. 

“You--” 

“I love you back, Spencer.” I move to wipe the tears that flood down the bridge of his nose. 

“It was a really beautiful letter that you wrote, Spencer. All the right things in there, Emily Dickinson and Mr. Darcy,” I tell him pressing my cheek into his chest. 

“Well, I had to win you over, Y/N” 

“Ha!, Spencer you’ve had me since I’ve met you” 

He looks at me with a veil of disbelief. 

“Spencer Reid, in his purest form, is a beauty known nowhere else” 

“Is that what you think of me?” He asks me. 

“Why don’t you come inside and let me show you what I think of you Spencer?” I say leading him inside to my apartment, that was no longer so dark and lonely. 

#spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid deserved a happy ending #criminal minds fics #criminal minds fanfic

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

A Darcy Day Off

As promised, I present ~6,800 words of a sick, miserable Fitz/willi/am Dar/cy. I’ve been working on this on and off for an embarrassingly long time so I’m glad to finally clear it out of my WIP folder to make room for new things. But honestly, it was a pleasure to write, and I hope some of you take pleasure in reading it as well!

Definitely he first chapter, and honestly the first 2 chapters are mostly exposition, so if you want to skip straight to the sickfic goodness and reduce the word count, head to chapter 3. But I had fun writing (and worked hard on) the banter and conversation in the beginning, so I opted to keep it. 

( @chezsnez @empresskaze @groundcontrol21 you all asked so nicely, so I hope this is what you were looking for! )

1.

“Darcy, dear, what’s keeping you? I thought we were to meet in the library for tea,” Elizabeth called. She found him still in his study, hunched over the desk. She danced to his side, planting a kiss atop his head. He leaned against her briefly in greeting.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I had more business to attend to today than I’d realized. Just finishing up now.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly, then his nose, trying to be rid of a tickle that had been infuriating him all day.

“Always at your work. I wonder our estate isn’t the finest run in Britain. And here I used to think people of high class such as yourself worried for nothing but amusing themselves all day.” She gently rubbed his neck where she knew he always got an ache when he wrote. He kissed her hand fondly.

“You are of such a class, too, now, my love. And how do you know it isn’t the finest? I’d be willing to wager a year’s salary this estate could be measured against parliament’s own estates and be proven worthy, if I have anything to say about it.”

“You pour your very soul into all that goes on here, and it’s one of the many things I adore about you. I am proud every day to be the mistress of such an estate. Only I wish you wouldn’t work so hard and take more time to enjoy the fruits of your labor.”

“Are you accusing me of ignoring you, dearest? Only say the word and I would throw all my responsibilities to the winds and devote myself fully to your entertainment.” 

He kept his tone light and playful, teasing her, but looked at her closely even as he did. Had he been neglecting her too much of late? He had had several pressing business matters on his mind these last weeks, and he knew he had been at his desk more than usual. Lizzie had not complained of course, and had been nothing but supportive and helpful, but the last thing he would ever want to do is make her doubt where his priorities lay, namely that she was foremost in his mind and heart, and in all things.

“Not at all, for you well know I’m quite fond of my own company. However, I can't help but worry about you. You put too much responsibility on yourself; you are positively careworn these days. I only wish your more lighthearted side could see the light of day now and again, and not just when we’re alone.”

“I am my truest self when I’m with you.” He kissed her hand again, then rubbed his nose. “I will always struggle being lighthearted while working. The two have never gone hand in hand in my experience; gravity and soberness were expected whilst doing business in my growing years under my father, and others. All the more reason I have need of your influence.” 

She kissed his head again. “Very well, I accept the mantle of helping you find levity in your working hours. If only so that the strain you put on yourself will not affect your health. You put on a casual, careless demeanor in public, but I know better. You bear the weight of the world on those broad shoulders of yours, and that is a burden no man is meant to carry, even by his own choice. So come now, and join your wife for tea. The letters can wait another hour or so, surely.

“Indeed they can.” He stood and stretched stiffly. The chill winter wind howled outside and the sound made him shiver, glad for the roaring heat from the fire nearby, and in every room in the house as he moved to escort his wife to the library. 

~~~~~~~~~~

The couple spent a pleasant hour or two in their favorite room in the house, chatting warmly at times, and sitting in comfortable silence at others. The relentless wind made Darcy feel sleepy and lazy, and he wanted nothing more than to take his wife’s advice and take the rest of the day to relax. He would have been content to remain here for the rest of the evening with his favorite person and simply read and chat and perhaps nap. But he had two more letters that needed to make the post tomorrow, and if he did not finish them now, he never would. He stood quietly and brushed his lips across his wife’s cheek. She nuzzled back, then watched as he lingered before the library fire longer than necessary, warming his hands and rear.

“Are you all right, my dear?” she asked.

“Oh, yes. I’ve developed a slight headache is all, and it makes the task of my remaining letters all the more daunting.”

“I can imagine. I wish you would take a day off sometime soon, so that you may rest for longer than a few hours at a stretch. I believe it would do you wonders. Winter is generally a time for peaceful contemplation, but it’s been a frenzy of activity for you these past months. You are overdue for some leisure, my love.”

“You are right, as usual. Sometime very soon, dearest, I will take a week or two off and we will spend all the leisurely hours together you could wish. Perhaps we’ll even have a romp outside in the snow. Within the next month, once this mess is more or less cleaned up. Would that suit you?”

“It would suit me very fine indeed. While you could never be accused of neglecting me, I have been missing my husband of late, most especially his smile. That has been the most absent part of you.”

“For that I am sorry. I don’t like to bring my business affairs into our life together. My lovely, patient wife. You are too good to me.

“Well and I could say the same of you, so there. Enough of that. Come kiss me again, then go to your work before you fall asleep standing up.”

“As you command.” He was truly in danger of this, as he felt his lids growing heavier all the time, so he forced himself to move away from the pleasant heat, going to her side and kissing her fully this time, savoring her sweet lips before reluctantly pulling away. “Away I go. See you soon, darling.”

 Mr. Darcy could not rid himself of the clinging fatigue for the rest of the evening. His remaining letters took longer than usual, and he knew they were not as well done as they ought to be, but at least they were done. When they were finished, he tossed his pen aside eagerly and stretched his stiff neck. Perhaps he should take those leisure days sooner rather than later. He really hadn’t been feeling his best lately, and the wintery weather that had had them in its grasp for weeks certainly wasn’t helping. Also, he missed his wife, though he had just seen her. He missed spending time with her, and not just in stolen hours here and there. 

Right now all he wanted was to curl up beside her in bed, and talk of sweet nothings, and perhaps make sweet love. Hopefully that would help shake this irritating headache. Yes, they were long overdue for quality time spent together. He would make arrangements for some time away immediately, hopefully as early as a fortnight from now. The thought immediately made him calmer as he finished up a few small things, then hurried to find her and begin the more pleasant part of the evening.

2.

“Heh-KERRR-CHOOOOO! Heh- heh- KITSHHH’CHOOOO”

A bellowing sneeze startled Elizabeth from her book the next morning, and the even louder one that followed caused her to go investigate it’s source. To her surprise, following the sound of the miserable sniffles led to her husband’s study, where she found him ineffectually wiping his dripping nose with an already-damp handkerchief. 

“My dear Mr. Darcy, is that you making all that racket? My heavens, bless you! I don’t know as I’ve ever heard a sneeze so resounding in all my life. Were you holding it in all morning for it to grow to such a volume?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he sniffled sourly. “It was merely a sneeze.”

She quirked an eyebrow, amused. “I would beg to argue. You sneeze particularly violently, my dear. Likely because, as I noted, you hold them in until you can’t anymore.”

“Well, since you are evidently the expert,” he muttered as he pressed on with his work, coughing softly. 

She rarely saw this severe, prickly side of him these days, and this, more than anything else, concerned her and made her know he shouldn’t be teased at present. He really must be feeling poorly. She moved to his side and pressed against him as she had the day before, rubbing his shoulder. He did not respond, physically or otherwise.

“You are unwell, my love. You should go take some rest. You quite look as if you have gotten the wrong end of this cold of a sudden.”

“I am fine. Don’t worry yourself. I am only in need of some tea and I shall be quite well.”

“I’d be happy to fetch you tea, but I’d be happier to fetch it for you in bed, or at least in your chair in the library. I fear these large windows will do you no favors with the draft.”

“I have many things I need to see to today. I cannot take time to rest. And all my files are here in the study. I haven’t been ill since I was a boy. I’m certainly not going to be ill now.”

Lizzie sighed and shook her head at the foolishness of males. “Have it your way, then. I’ll see you get some tea. Was there anything else you’d like?”

“Just a scone or two. Thank you, dearest.” He finally turned his gaze to her, and she saw true gratitude there, despite the reddened, watery eyes and dripping nose. “And forgive my rudeness when you came in. You startled me, but I should not speak to you like that. Please forgive me.”

“Of course you’re forgiven, and I am sorry I startled you. You know I only worry about you because I love you.”

“As I love you, my Lizzie.” He coughed wetly into his handkerchief. “Now please, if you’d leave me. I really do have much to do, and you are ever my truest distraction. I will see you this evening. And please know, I am doing all this so that we can have our time together very soon.”

“Yes, my dear.” She sighed softly and made her way out, stopping one of the servants to request her husband’s tea and scones. She gave explicit instructions for the type of tea and what was to be in it, things to soothe an aching throat and ward off fever. If he wouldn’t have a care for his own body, she would be forced to do it for him. She only hoped he would see reason sooner than later and take himself off to bed before he caught his death in that drafty study.

~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, Darcy was endlessly studious and conscientious, not to mention stubborn, and so he stayed in his study, or was running around with different servants and community members all day. He did his best to conduct his business as excellently as ever, despite how very unwell he was beginning to feel.

When their paths would cross later in the day though, she could see he was flagging. His cough had become quite the nuisance, and his nose and lips were raw and chapped. Dark circles began to show under his eyes, vivid against sickly pallor. Every now and again, she heard a massive, wet sneeze disturb the air from wherever he was. She gave him sympathetic smiles and little encouragements whenever she could, but what she truly wanted was to see him to bed and tend to his every need there. The misery on his face made her ache for him. If only he wasn’t so proud. And yes, stubborn.

She was quite relieved when he joined her at their evening meal, wearily announcing he was done working for the day, and she told him such. He was quiet and withdrawn for the remainder of the evening, aside from his frequent sniffles and coughs, and the occasional explosive sneeze, which never failed to make her jump, even as they became more and more frequent. 

Taking his lead, she also said very little, reading exhaustion in every line of his frame, especially as his sneezes and coughs harshened. If she had been another woman, and he another man (indeed, her parents came to mind), she would have said again that she wished he would take the day off tomorrow. But it was not in her to nag, and if she had he would only have become angry, or withdrawn completely. She had said her part this morning, and she knew he had heard her and remembered. What he did from here was his choice alone. 

She watched him unobtrusively as he dozed by the fire that evening, feeling such love in her breast for her dedicated, hardworking husband, but no small amount of worry either. They had been married nearly three years, and she had never once seen him ill. She hoped it was truly only trifling, as he kept insisting it was whenever anyone asked. 

They went to bed earlier than usual, her feigning equal tiredness for his sake, so he wouldn’t feel he was being a burden. But indeed, all she wanted of the rest of this day was to lie beside him in bed, perhaps rub his back, and just be near him for whatever he needed. To her delight, that is exactly what happened. He said very little, and asked for nothing, stifling sneezes now and again even as his frequent, chesty coughing fits worsened, but merely lay beside her and let her rub away at his aches and chills as he fell asleep.

3.

Darcy and Eliza were both early risers, and both loved to greet the day while it was still fresh and full of promise. Being the man though, Mr. Darcy was always up and about before his wife, for it took him far less time to dress, and there were several things he liked to see to before breakfast, though he never neglected to kiss her goodbye as he left.

Imagine her surprise then, when the next morning found him still soundly asleep beside her when her maids came in to help her dress at their usual time. The sound of their arrival woke her, but her poor husband hardly stirred. She hurried out of bed, calming the poor, startled ladies in hushed tones, assuring them they had done no wrong. They helped her dress and fix her hair simply and comfortably before Elizabeth shooed them out again, saying she wasn’t sure what they should tell the other staff, as she had no idea what mind her husband would be in when he finally woke. 

Lizzie sighed as they left. Now it would be all over the house that he was sick abed, and who knew what other irrepressible rumors. He would hate that. However, at present it was the truth so he would just have to deal with it whenever he woke. In the meantime, she picked up her book and read in the chair by the fire, wanting to be close when he woke.

That turned out to be shortly thereafter. He first began to toss and turn a bit, then he started to cough, then he nearly made her jump out of her chair with one of his tremendous sneezes. 

“Heh -KER- CHUUUUHHF!” The noise was thick and miserable-sounding, more than hinting at painfully clogged sinuses and a raw, scratchy throat. While he was mopping the mess from his face with his handkerchief, his lungs decided to take their turn at clearing themselves as well, and he erupted into a series of wet, strenuous coughs. 

She made her way to his side during this sad display, gently stroking his tousled hair as he quieted. He groaned softly when he was able and pressed into her embrace, still holding the handkerchief to his nose, eliciting a cluck of sympathy from his wife at his sorry state.

“My poor dear,” she murmured. “Your health is much worse this morning.”

“Mby head is like a lead weight od the pillow,” he croaked. “Fatigue weighs dowd mby limbs dreadfully.”

“Then you will not work today?”

“Mby wise wife advised that I look after mby body more, and today mby body tells mbe I must rest, so rest I shall,” he murmured sleepily. “As long as you’ll keeb mbe company?”

“I would love nothing more. This is perhaps not the leisurely day we had hoped for, but I’ll accept it just the same." She tenderly caressed his cheek, frowning as she felt it. "You are terribly feverish, darling." Yet she hardly needed to feel, for just by looking at his flushed, sweaty face and seeing him shake with chills, the fever made its presence known.

"And yet I'mb chilled to the bone. I had forgotten how beastly udpleasant it is to catch cold," he rasped with a thick sniffle.

"Indeed, it makes one feel for your poor sister all the more. It seems she is laid up with a cold every other week. Now, how does tea appeal to you? And perhaps some food? You hardly touched supper last night."

"Tea would be lovely. Mby abbetite still eludes me however. But, if only to please you, I would try sumb toast and an egg."

Lizzie had servants running for his requests in short order while Darcy tended to his nose, blowing it over and over, soaking through more than one handkerchief. His tray was delivered in record time. Seeing it arrive, Darcy slowly levered himself to a sitting position, pressing a hand to his temple.

"Mby head is throbbi'g," he mumbled.

Elizabeth pressed the cup of tea into his hands, looking sympathetic. "Drink some. It may help your head."

He did as he was bid, drawing his knees to his chest like a boy as he drank while she rubbed his back. However, another tremendous sneeze almost made him spill the whole thing. 

“Ah- ah- KITCHSHOOOOO! Ugh…” He sought his handkerchief desperately, and when Elizabeth handed it to him, he pressed it harshly against his streaming nose to stem the flow, groaning as he did. Elizabeth hastily took the teacup from his again, for it seemed in danger of being upended at any moment.

"Bless you! My poor dear, what can I do for you? Besides keeping a stack of handkerchiefs here for your poor nose."

"I would ask you to help mbe dress in a few moments," he said, his voice muffled behind the fabric as he tried to rub away the headache between his eyes. "While I will be as quick as I cad, I must speak to mby steward and give hib sumb idstructions for mby absence."

"Can you not write him instead? I fear for you going out in the cold, lest this settles in your chest."

"Mby head aches too miserably to do a probber job with writing. I fear I would forget somethi'g crucial. Ndo, I'll quickly  go dowd and speak to hib, and thed I'll return. Ndo going outside for mbe today, never fear."

She sighed and nodded, knowing he would not be dissuaded. "At least finish your tea and try some egg before you go so you don't collapse on the stairs."

"I'mb far from collapse mby dear, I assure you." His general appearance said otherwise though, as he had been miserably coughing into his handkerchief throughout the whole conversation, and had yet to stop shivering. However, she held her tongue and served him breakfast instead. 

Lizzie saw he made an effort to eat as much as he could, and though it was only a few bites, she was slightly placated. She knew he would not relax until he had set what affairs he could in order. So, after his tea was gone, when he rose and began to dress, she assisted him, for she realized the sooner he left, the sooner he would return.

"I'd rather not ri'g for mby valet, as I'd be worried I would sdeeze on hib," muttered Darcy, looking embarrassed as she straightened his jacket while he futilely tried to blow his nose, which only served to make him cough yet again.

"It's no trouble at all, dear. Only please hurry back. I truly worry for that cough." 

"I'll be back under your watchful eye as quick as I cad, dearest," he murmured, grazing her ear with his lips as she slipped an extra handkerchief in his pocket. With that, he was gone, his boots thumping down the hall wearily.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time dragged as she waited for him. While she knew he could take care of himself and she didn't need to be here the moment he returned, she also knew he would want her to be. Her husband was a strong man, but at times like these, he depended on her, and she was not about to disappoint him. So, while there were plenty of things she could have seen to around the manor herself, she waited in his sitting room with her needlework, keeping the fire high. 

Finally she heard him in the hall. She rushed to open the door as he shuffled in, looking spent. 

 "Darcy dear! I expected you an hour ago!"  she said, helping him shed his coat. Suddenly she felt his shoulders hitch under her hands as his breath scissored:

"Ktt-tsshhEEW!" The wet spraying sneeze was his response, only partially stifled by the sodden handkerchief he held. She blessed him worriedly as he again mopped his face.

"I'mb sorry, dearest," he finally managed. "I was stobbed many tibes between mby study and here to answer questions. I cabe as quick as I could."

He fell wearily into the chair nearest the fire with a deep groan and a deeper cough. He bent to try and remove his boots, but his efforts were hampered, as his nose streamed dreadfully if he bent over. He had to keep a hand pressed to his face as he tried to undo the fastenings with the other. 

Elizabeth knelt in front of him and gently pushed his hands away, loosening and removing the boots herself as he leaned back in the chair, sniffling wetly. 

"Thagk you, mby love," he croaked. 

"Here, have some more tea, I've just had Mary bring some. There, now what suits you best? Shall we cover you warmly and sit here by the fire, or would you like me to fetch you some soup? I won't ask if you want to call for Dr. Bishop yet since I know what you'll say, though I have half a mind to."

"There's ndo need for the doctor," replied her husband. "Whad I most want right now is to lie dowd and sleeb sumb few hours yed. Mby mind is sluggish. I cad hardly grasp on a thought except how exhausted I amb."

"Then take my arm and let's get you to bed, poor man. I imagine some more sleep will do wonders for you."

"I don't need help walki'g mby dear, I'm not invalid, only full of cold." Even still, he took her proffered arm as he stood and rested a hand on her shoulder warmly as she led him to the bedroom.

"That may be, but I'll see you there myself just the same to make sure there's no distractions along the way." She kissed his hand and caressed it fondly as they made their way to the bed. She helped him remove all the clothes she had helped him don not long before and replace them with his nightshirt. While he clearly needed to sleep, he also seemed loath to let her out of his sight. He remained sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment with her pressed against his side. She scratched his back fondly. 

“You should lie down, dear. You’re more asleep than awake.”

Instead, he wrapped his arms around her unexpectedly, burying his face in her abdomen with a weary sigh. Elizabeth was slightly startled, but gladly reciprocated the embrace, burying her face in his hair. Her husband was an affectionate man, but not usually physically so. This gesture from him, while not at all unwelcome, was unexpected. 

“I feel terrible,” he groaned, barely audible, leaning most of his weight against her. “Mby body runs amok with mbe.”

“So it seems. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t wish this cold of yours on anyone.”  

She held him for a few peaceful moments. Just as she was about to again suggest he lie down, for it seemed he was in danger of falling asleep against her, his back twitched violently and he tried to pull away.

“heh-GIHH’CHOOOO! Hehht-kk’CHOOOOOF!” 

Neither had time to react as poor Mr. Darcy sneezed thickly, his face still pressed against his startled wife. She couldn't suppress a little gasp as he pulled away, stammering apologies and wiping his traitorous nose. 

She was silent a moment appraising the state of her dress, then an unladylike snort of laughter escaped her, sending her into a little fit of giggles even as she comforted her overwrought husband, pressing him gently back against the pillows. 

“It’s all right, my love. Such things happen. ‘Tis only a dress, and I have plenty more. It seems neither of us are coming away from this cold of yours unscathed. But there now, you’re completely spent. You can hardly keep your eyes open, red as they are. Take some more rest, my love.”

“You’re too good to mbe,” he croaked, fighting against his heavy eyelids but already nearly asleep, the handkerchief still in his limp hand on the bed.

She reached out, caressing his face and brushing hair from his brow. “No more of that. Close your eyes and sleep, for how else do you expect to get better?” She clucked her tongue softly again. “You really are painfully warm, poor man. It is most worrisome,” she said, more to herself than him.

“I’ll be alright,” he mumbled, the last word turning into a snore as he finally gave in to the needs of his body.

~~~~~~~~~~

4.

That was to be the last interaction Mr. Darcy would remember for quite some time. He fell into a deep sleep then, and everything that happened over the next few days would be blurred flashes in his mind at best, hazed by illness and fever.

Of course, the same could not be said for Elizabeth. After he fell asleep, she left him and tended to some of her duties around the manor (after changing her gown, naturally). She did not want to hover in the sickroom, both for her sake and his, so she forced herself to stay away for several hours, knowing he would ring if he needed something.

Still, in the late afternoon she returned, unable to stay away any longer. He was exactly as she had left him, snoring softly. He didn’t seem to have moved at all in his sleep, which was most unlike him. She again went to feel his forehead, sensing something amiss. He was much warmer than before. A knot of worry pulsing in her heart, she tried to shake him awake. He opened his eyes and seemed to look at her, but she could tell he wasn’t truly awake, and didn’t respond when she spoke to him, only grunted and coughed, trying to roll over and sleep again. 

Without further ado, she sent for Doctor Bishop, pacing the halls outside Darcy’s rooms until he arrived, wringing her hands in worry and opening the door to check on her husband every few minutes, to ensure he got no worse.  

The doctor arrived quickly, heading right into the sickroom. He did a thorough examination, listening to Mr. Darcy’s heart and lungs, checking his pulse and 100 other things. Darcy woke briefly a few times, but only managed answers of a word or less before he dozed off again. His large frame looked somehow both bigger and smaller than it should, curled up limply on the bed, with only his breathing as evidence of life. After he was through, the wise doctor scrutinized his patient, deep in thought. Elizabeth remained silent, waiting with baited breath. Finally the doctor turned to her. 

“You said he’s been overworking himself and run down lately, yes?”

“Yes, doctor. Business has been troubling him of late.”

“Hm. So it seems. Well, overall his vital signs are normal for a man with a cold. I see nothing overly alarming, excepting the high fever. That is a touch worrisome, but can at times be seen in such cases. No, I don’t fear any illness has befallen him except what you’ve said, a bad cold. I think he’s simply exhausted, and this cold has caught up with him and brought everything down at once. I’ll wager the fever will subside in a day or two, and the rest in the days after that as long as he gets the rest he sorely needs. I shan’t prescribe him anything except what he already has here with you, Mrs. Darcy. Let him sleep as much as he wants, keep him hydrated and don’t cover him too warmly, and I think this will run its course soon enough.”

It was as if great weight fell off her shoulders as he spoke. “Oh, thank you doctor! Indeed, I shall do just as you say, and make sure he does as well.”

“Please do. The stubbornness of the Darcys is well known to me, for my father and his father have been treating this family for generations. I’ll come round to see him every day until I’m satisfied he’s on the mend, if that suits you.”

“Oh, yes please, and thank you kindly. You have my deepest gratitude, sir.”

“My pleasure, madame. Until tomorrow.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

With a huge sigh of relief, Elizabeth collapsed on the chair at her husband’s bedside. After a moment, she found his hand under the quilt and held it, needing to feel his touch, even if in unconsciousness. After a moment, he unexpectedly squeezed it. She looked up to see his eyes were fluttering closed, but his face was angled toward her now. She took a moment to appreciate that fine face, though currently his nose, cheeks, and eyes were matching shades of red against the sickly pallor over the rest of him.

She sighed and softly kissed his hand. “Get well soon, my dear.”

He certainly took his time doing so, or so it seemed to Eliza. Either she or Georgiana were at his side at all times. He slept constantly, barely waking even to drink water. He spoke hardly at all and asked for nothing. He would intermittently shake with chills, or else sweat profusely. He sneezed in thick, messy fits, several at a time, but then would go hours between, until the sensation again overpowered and woke him. He coughed more often, since that it seemed he could do even as he slept. 

Yes, he slept, but he was overall restless. Noise in the room roused him. He stirred when he was touched. He stirred when he coughed. He woke when he sneezed. His sleep didn’t seem peaceful, which was perhaps why he never fully woke, because he wasn’t fully resting. 

The first night, Elizabeth slept in her own rarely-used bedroom (she much preferred sharing his), wanting him (and herself) to rest as much as possible. The second night though, she was achingly lonely, missing his touch, his voice, and his smile. So, she crawled into her usual place beside him in his bed, pressing herself against him. She found herself cold, as she had been since he was ill from the worry, so his warmth was more than pleasant. 

She herself relaxed immediately as soon as she was against him, but more surprisingly, so did he. He didn’t wake and hardly stirred when he felt her, but his breathing quickly deepened and he relaxed more fully as they rested against each other. Basking in the sensation of enjoying one another’s touch, they both slept the whole night that way. 

~~~~~~~~~~

More than 48 hours after he first fell asleep, Darcy finally woke up completely. Naturally, it was a sneeze that did it. 

“Heh’gihh’CHUUUHFF! AHHGK-CHOOOF! … ow….”

Something in the tone made Lizzie turn. She had been sitting facing the fire with her needlework, but glancing at the bed, she saw her husband sitting up, one hand to his temple, the other wiping his nose, and looking aware of his surroundings for the first time in 2 days. She dashed to his side, feeling his forehead at once.

“Bless you, dear. My, but it’s good to see you awake! Oh, and your fever is much decreased, how wonderful! How do you feel? Is your head hurting you? Here, drink some water, the doctor said you’re likely dehydrated…”

She wanted to prattle on, but she saw he was a bit overwhelmed, so she forced her tongue to be still. She gently grasped his hands, to calm him as well as herself, and kissed them fondly. She then handed him a glass of water, and he drank gratefully as she looked him over. He seemed a bit better, but he continued to look around in a dazed way.”

“Have I been asleeb long?” he finally rasped, his voice totally gone, and still stuffed tight with congestion.

“I would say so. It’s been two days darling.” She did her best to keep the worry and accusation out of her voice. He couldn’t help that he’d been ill.”

“Two days?! Good heavens.” He fell back against the pillows with a groan and a cough. “Ndo wonder I feel so sluggish.”

“Yes, but it seems you needed it. The doctor has been out every day, and he says you were suffering from exhaustion. Your body was taking the rest it sorely needed.”

“So it seebs.” He rubbed his eyes wearily.

“How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Sumb better, I thingk,” he said with a wet sniffle. “Less fevered. I am still weary, and will sleep another night soundly through, but I hope I’m on the mend now.”

“As do I.” She kissed his hand again, squeezing it tightly.

~~~~~~~~~~

5.

Mr. Darcy was indeed on the mend. He was moving about his rooms freely the next day, and 2 days after that, he was allowed by the doctor (and his wife, grudgingly) to resume his duties, though at a reduced basis, for his cough still lingered, along with some fatigue. Yet he was incredibly cheerful to be leaving his rooms, and everywhere he went, he had a spring in his step.

That same day he was freed found Elizabeth curled on the settee in her rarely-used personal sitting room, wrapped in a coverlet and trying to read. However, her dripping nose and throbbing headache prevented her from making much progress in the story. 

A barking cough burst out of her against her will, making her drop her book. With a feeble groan, she reached down to retrieve it, holding a handkerchief to her streaming nose. She had known she likely wouldn’t escape catching her husband’s cold, but that didn’t make it any less unpleasant. However, she was not about to spoil his first day of freedom with her own illness, so she was hiding here to avoid him as long as she could.

Just as she was thinking this, she heard his boots in the hall, and she suppressed another groan. He knocked softly, then peeked in the door, looking happy as well as confused when he saw her.

“Mary said I might find you here, but I thought she must be mistaken. Whatever are you doing? I was hoping to meet you for tea.”

She took a breath to answer, but instead the urge to sneeze snuck up on her. She shoved her elbow against her face, turning away from him to stifle the stubborn urge harshly:

“HXXT’GH! HNNKT! HXXTCH! Guh…” she mumbled at the end, which turned into a painful cough that she hardly had breath for.

Darcy was at her side in a moment, kneeling by her arm and feeling her forehead just as she had his so many times the past few days. Concern and regret crossed his face. “You have a fever, dearest. It seems I’ve shared my cold with you,” he said, stifling a little cough.

“You always were the gentleman, never failing to share with a lady,” she groused weakly.

His low chuckle was warm. “I’m truly sorry. Yet I heard you hardly left the bedchamber while I was ill, so I suppose it was inevitable.”

“Especially since you sneezed on me,” she mumbled, trying not to smile.

“Indeed,” he chuckled again. “I’m sorry for that as well. But now, enough talk. Rest your voice. Come up to bed and I’ll see you get some tea and toast.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to go to bed, did that occur to you? I’ve spent all week in that bedchamber and I’d prefer to not be forced to go back,” she muttered petulantly. 

“I can tell you’re feeling unwell, for you’re never so irritable. That more than anything tells me I must see you to bed immediately.” His tone indicated some teasing, but mostly seriousness. Without further ado, he scooped her up in one motion and stood, carrying her toward their bedchamber, a little smile playing around his lips. 

“Why you--! I’ve never been thus treated in my entire life. Put me down, you terrible man!” Yet she couldn’t keep from laughing, miserable though she was, which of course turned into a cough. She hadn’t felt so ill in a long time. In fact, the overwhelming urge to sneeze was coming over her again. She struggled weakly to free her arms from where he had them pinned, but it was too late: 

“Hhh’rrrrushh’eeeew! Herrr’CHEW! Hihhh’knn’CHOOF!” She sneezed explosively against his chest, covering them both in the spray. His steps paused as he looked down at her, open-mouthed, while she stared back, reddening in embarrassment, but slightly triumphant.

“...bless you, my Lizzie,” Darcy finally said, an odd smile on his face.

“Thank you. I’m terribly sorry!... But what choice did I have, when I can’t move my arms? Now we’re even, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he chuckled again as he resumed walking. “And I suppose if you must sneeze on someone, it’s best if it’s me, as I can’t very well catch this cold again. But all the more reason for me to see you to bed. You look a mess. In the loveliest possible way, of course.”

“How charming you are, Mr. Darcy. You have quite a way of flattering a woman.”

He chuckled again, but by this time they had reached his bedchamber. He deposited her on the bed with the utmost gentleness, and proceeded to assist her in changing into more comfortable clothes. She shivered miserably as she changed so that her teeth nearly chattered. Darcy tucked her in warmly and quickly rang for some tea, then began to remove his own boots and coat. She watched him curiously, though with heavy eyes, for she suddenly she found herself exhausted. With pleasure she realized he planned to join her in bed. 

He did just that a few moments later, pulling her close against himself and wrapping her in his big, warm arms. She nuzzled in gratefully with a sniffle and a cough. He buried his face in her hair as they settled, coughing as well. 

“What are you doing, Darcy dear? I thought you had many things to do today,” she mumbled, already nearing sleep. “You’ve had so many days off yourself. You needn’t take another for me, though it seems we’re quite a mess still.”

“This has become the most important thing I must do today,” he yawned. “You were a saint to look after me this whole week, so now I must return the favor. I’m not likely to let an opportunity pass to spend time with you after these past weeks, for I’ve learned my lesson.  And I too am already weary, for this cold hasn’t quite left me. A nap would suit me fine, especially if I can warm you in the process.” 

When a servant arrived with tea, no one greeted him, and when he opened the door with the tray, he found it best to simply leave it nearby and duck out again, for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were fast asleep. 

#sickfic #Sickness #sicknario #snzfic #snzblr #snzario #everyone is hotter with a fever #especially fitz/william dar/cy

[misterewrites]

Threads of Fate 2: Electric Boogaloo (Jason Todd X reader)

Hello everyone, E here with another story! this time it’s part 2 for the story i wrote for my good friend @hains-mae last year for her birthday! so naturally it’s her birthday again cuz that’s how they work! Red Hoodie X reader. I hope you all have an amazing week. I will be trying to write my original story and post it sometime this/next week but we’ll see what happens. Stay safe, take care of yourself, for the love of all that is holy stay inside! wear masks! PLEASE! GET THE FLIPPING VACCINE IF YOU CAN!

E out, byeeeeeee! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAE!

Here’s both parts conveniently in one place for you (cuz tumblr hates me and my tags)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29955270/chapters/73737858

“Romeo and Juliet? You’re so cliché that troupes are rolling their eyes at you.”

I shoot him a dirty glare “Says the guy that has Pride and Prejudice in his jacket pocket. Yeah yeah” I cut him off before he begins to throw out excuses “I know you say it’s thick enough to stop bullets but you’re not fooling me. You love some classic romance.”

“You’re no Lizzy Bennet” he grumbles behind his mask.

“And you no Mr. Darcy yet I tolerate you all the same.”

“It’s for my charming personality.”

“Certainly not for your face.” I playfully throw back “Smooth, featureless and red isn’t exactly my type.”

“I’m surprise you have a type given your lack of taste in books.”

I roll my eyes “Oh great now the former crime lord is giving me crap about my tastes in book.”

He rose his hands in surrender “Hey, that was my edgy phase.”

“Was? You’re still dressing like a goon from indie action film.”

“You kidding? Goons wish they looked this good.”

“I don’t think any respectable goon would shop at the thrift store.”

“Low blow. Low blow.”

I give the costumed vigilante a sideways smile as we settle into a comfortable silence.

It’s been about two years since Red Hood decided to intrude my quiet life (well as quiet as life could be in Gotham) and we have developed this strange friendship.

Every moment he wasn’t on patrol or at a briefing (coughfamilymeetingcough) he spent here. At first, I thought it was just him checking up on me like some overburdening mother worried their child couldn’t handle a minute in the backyard but I soon realized this became some sort of haven for him, a place for him to just exist. Not quite relax and let his guard down but just to be. No appearances of brutality to keep up, no disappointed glances from his estranged father figure. Just him picking on me because he’s a jerk.

But then again so am I.

I nervously glance at the red string tied snugly around my finger. It pulled off to the side though not too much further from me as its other end was wrapped around Red’s finger.

Strings of fate mom used to call it. My power to see the threads of destiny tying two people deeply together. At first I thought it was love or something junk like that but now I’m thinking maybe it just leads you to someone you need and someone that needs you back.

Or maybe it is love, what do I know? All I know about my power is it makes walking the streets harder than it needs to be. Ever see those old pictures of cities with powerlines just in every freaking direction? The strings are at least ten times worse than that! Luckily they’re not real? Well more an abstract concept that I see and not physical and you know what don’t worry about it.

“So” Red spoke up after a moment “Hungry?”

“After you insulting my taste in books?” I gave a fake pout “Starving. Oh shoot, I forgot to go to the store.”

Red chuckled “You didn’t forget, Penguin decided to try to extort it for protection money.”

“Oh” I blush in embarrassment “Right.”

“And you fell back asleep.”

I waved him off “Sometimes you just wake up, see the news and decide it’s not worth it.”

“I never get to sleep in.” Red rose to his feet “but honestly I’ve always had trouble sleeping.”

The nightmares. He mentioned it once in an off hand comment when he asked me why I toss and turn at loud noises. Gotham just does that too you. Eventually you learn to get ready to bolt at any loud noises over 190 decibels. Fun fact, that’s the noise level of a shotgun fired by your ear or a rocket taking off.

Or Joker laughing on the roof of your apartment building. Let me tell you, nothing’s louder than that madman. Thunder sounds like cats and dogs once you hear the Joker’s manic chuckle just a few feet away from you. One time years ago and I can still feel the chills run down my back whenever I think of it.

“So are you going to order pizza or what?” I asked quizzically “Since you’re aware I don’t have any in the fridge.”

I could practically hear the sarcasm dripping in every word out of his mouth as he held a bag of groceries aloft “I was trained by Batman. I’m always prepared.”  

Batman. Whatever his relationship with the dark knight currently is, he always spoke of him with a soft, gentle voice. A quiet pride that out of everyone in the world, the Bat chose him. But with that pride was a hint of shame. Everyone knew Red Hood hadn’t exactly made it easy on the old bat and while Hoodie was changing his ways, there was still some friction between them.

I didn’t say anything though. No point. He knew where he stood with his father figure and bringing it up would just make him sully. Besides I was way too curious to know how good of a cook he was.

I marveled in an awe silence as he expertly placed the various ingredients across my messy counter. He chuckled to himself as he cleared it to make space for dinner. I could feel my cheeks burn.

Watching him was oddly mesmerizing: His movements were precise yet graceful for someone with his build. He glided across the floor effortlessly, smoothly dicing whatever he brought one moment then by the time I blinked, he was warming up the frying pan by the stove.  

Soon an incredible smell filled the air while the sizzling of meat practically had me drooling.

“Your chin.” Red motioned to my lip with a spatula. I brought up my hand and flinched at how moist it was. Okay so it was drool. Sue me! You’d be drooling too if you had to deal with waiting for whatever heavenly meal he was cooking, okay?

Desperate to change the subject, I piped up “Should be I concern how well you handle that knife?”

He gave a casual wave with said instrument  “I hold the power of destruction and creation in my hand.”

I raised an eyebrow at him.

Red coughed loudly “I’ve trained with various weapons knives included. You’d be surprised how much overlap happens between cooking and weapons handling.”

“Right. Sure. That’s a totally normal statement.”

“What about me” He gestured to himself “Is normal?”

“Fair point.” I conceded.

-----

“Am I forgiven?”

I grumbled a half answer as I tried not to let on how delicious this meal was. I don’t make the best money and let me tell you before this the fanciest thing I ever ate was some overpriced pasta from some restaurant chain.  This easily beat anything I have ever tasted except mom’s cooking but I hadn’t had that in years.

Red snorted, his voice smooth and melodic not filtered through some robotic alternation. I didn’t really had a dining room or a dinner table so we sat comfortably on my couch, tv playing some nonsense in the background as we both took in the sight of the city beyond my modest window. The lower part of his mask retracted backwards via some kind of high tech witchcraft and allowed him to eat his food without needing to show the rest of his handsome face.

I mean I think it was handsome. I assumed it was handsome given I accidentally figured out who was under the whole persona he set up for himself. I never told him that I knew though I suspect he knew that I figured it out. He was smart even if he acted like an idiot and it really was for the best. Plausible deniability. If I never asked, he never needed to answer.

“You know if you want me to cook again, you need to forgive me. Otherwise I’m not gonna waste my time anymore.” Red threatened with a tease.

I let out an exasperated groan “Fine, fine! It’s good. It’s the best food I’ve ever had! Is that what you want to hear?”

“Naturally. Though I could never compete with Alfred. He has no equal in the kitchen. Better than my brothers though. They can’t cook to save their lives. Tim practically lives on fast food.”

I stopped shoving food into my maw as an icy chill ran through my body. The comfy silence that filled my humble apartment turned tense.

One of those names I could pretend away: Tim? Alfred? Every day common names. But together? Tim AND Alfred. Everyone knew every member of the Wayne family because they were the only rich family in Gotham who didn’t want to screw everyone else over. And he brought up his brothers. That was the final nail in the coffin.

I put down my fork slowly. I could feel myself breath heavily but I refused to see him. I refused to meet his mask with nothing but my own shocked reflection to look back at me.

“I know you know who I am.” He said simply.

I could feel the syrupy urge to look at him ebbing at my resolve.

I swallowed uneasily “What now? What happens to me?”

‘Us’ I left unasked.

Silence.

“I don’t know”

I tried to calm my breathing but I could feel panic grip at me: Does this mean he’s not going to come anymore? Does this mean I have to go into witness protection? Is Batman going to scold me?!

“But I want to.”

I couldn’t help myself. I turned to him and for one of the few times in my life I was left speechless.

I was not staring at Red Hood. I found myself not looking at the smooth, featureless mask I had grown accustom to these last two years but Jason Todd.

Out of all of Bruce Wayne’s children, Jason was the one who seemed to just fall off the face of the Earth. There was a rumor he had died a few years back but those were debunked when he appeared without warning, just walking the streets of Gotham like he went on an extended vacation.

There wasn’t too many pictures of the enigmatic Mister Todd but that quick glance I had gotten forever ago did not do him justice: He was my age. His eyes were a piercing blue that I did not know could be that shade. I know it’s cliché but I felt like he was staring directly into my soul. His face was rugged, rough but still handsome. His hair was a messy jet black but there was few streaks of white that looked too natural to be dyed.

“I….didn’t see anything?” I offered helpfully, giving him a chance to put the mask on and pretend this none of this ever happened.

His nose wrinkled as he gave me a playful scoff. I could feel my heartbeat roaring in my ears.

“I’m not that ugly. Better looking than Dick.” he joked playfully.

“I dunno. Dick’s got the better ass.” I mumbled out, still too caught guard from the whole reveal.

“But I got the muscles.”

“Yes you do.” I eyed his body carefully then flushed a bright pink.

That knocked me out of my stupor.

“Are you sure you want me to know?” I whispered, unable to keep the fear out of my voice “I mean I didn’t mind pretending I didn’t know.”

“I do.”

His face soften and for a moment he didn’t look like Jason Todd, wayward son of Bruce Wayne or the Red Hood, moral gray compress of the batfam.

He just look like a regular guy who needed someone.

Evidently me it seemed.

I took a calming breath and offered my hand. He stared at me like I’m crazy but I kept it outstretched.

He took it gingerly and shook carefully, still unsure what was going on.

“Hello Jason Todd.” I beamed cheerfully “It’s nice to meet you!”

He said nothing, instead opting to smile softly.

“Nice to meet you too.”

I stared at the metaphysical string that tied us so neatly together.

I have never seen it that red before. And has it always been that thick?

I wonder what that means.

Eh, it’s probably nothing. I had other things to worry about.

#My story #Red Hood #Reader #Red Hood x Reader #Birthday!

[vanillann]

cupid’s aim (sirius black x f.reader)

word count: 1.5k

cupid’s aim masterlist

i. aphrodite; goddess of love and beauty

"Sirius!"

I watched all four members of the Marauders turn at the call of one of their names, each member smiling at me as I ran to them.

Amira walked behind me, her nose stuffed in a book while I held her wrist and led her to the Ravenclaw tower.

"My partner in crime," Sirius smiled at me as I slipped into the space beside Peter and him.

"Boys, It's wonderful to see you," I nodded to each member quickly.

"We've seen you everyday for the past seven years Bennett."

"I literally spoke to you before dinner."

I waved them off with my empty hand, looking back to Sirius. I watched Peter wave to Amira but she was way too into the book she was currently reading, Pride and Prejudice.

"I have the best idea ever."

"Shoot."

We wander down random halls, taking the long way to our respected towers, conversation flowing easily.

"What if we started a matchmaking service here and Hogwarts?"

I watched Remus turn around, his eyebrows drawn together as he stopped in the middle of the hall. The rest of the group stop as well which made me stop. Mi ran into my back and she finally looked up from the pages of her book.

"You could give everyone the love like Lizzy and Mr. Darcy," Mi spoke nonsense but Remus seemed to easily understand the statement.

"I mean you might be on to something, we do work well together."

Sirius shrugged and looked around the small group that looked between us both with bewildered eyes.

"Exactly, we can take that empty classroom and make it like headquarters or something. It's our last year at Hogwarts so let's leave something behind."

Sirius smiled at me lightly, withdrawing his hand from his pocket and waiting for a high five, which I returned like I always did.

"I hope you know how crazy this sounds, I mean you barely have any details laid out," Peter spoke form beside me.

"I don't care about the details, just make Lily love me," James jumped in front of us, grabbing our shoulders and looking us over.

"Well Cherry also said we could use her, also we can't just do our friends."

I looked over at James pleading eyes and over my shoulder Mi would finally decide to close the book and join the conversation.

"Why don't you set up a suggest a box, that way everyone can join?" Mi questioned.

I smiled and kissed her cheek, whispering a thank you while I looked at Sirius. I watched his scan my face before smiling at me and nodding his head.

"Perfect, I already have a name."

I let My wrist drop and did small jazz hands while I spoke in an exciting laugh.

"Cupid's Aim Matchmaking Service."

James started laughing while Remus punched his shoulder and told him about manners.

"Before you lot laugh I got the idea from Cherry so if you don't like it-"

"I love it, I'll marry it. I love it so much," Sirius spoke while twirling a small piece of hair around his finger with a nervous laugh.

It is wonderful having a friend everyone is scared of at times.

"Perfect, we will meet tomorrow to work out the finer details."

I grabbed My wrist and took off down the hall to the Ravenclaw tower, loud goodnights echoed down the hallway as I ran.

"Cherry didn't suggest that."

"I know."

*

"Meet me after class."

I laughed at the note Sirius passed me in class, the horrible drawings of what I believe was cupid and hearts covering the page is messy handwriting.

"I will be paring you up for the research, groups of 4."

I looked up at Professor Slughorn while he stood at the front of the board, coughing as he read off the paper before him.

"Pettigrew, Lupin, Day, McKinnon."

Mi nodded and smiled from beside me, writing the name of her group at the top of her page before looking back at her journal jotting down other little things.

"Evans, Potter, Black, Bennett."

I watched Mi jump from beside me and write faster, ripping the page from her journal and starting writing again. I looked around her large curls, smiling at Sirius. His eyes were already looking for me and smirking, nodding his head before he looked to the front of the class.

Slughorn read off the different names with ease, some groups groaned while others sounded pleased with the members of their group.

"Each member will receive a potion they must do intense research on and present the potion to me with the research."

I nodded and wrote the last bit of notes that Mi had missed on her page before paying attention to the front again.

"Evans group, Amortentia."

Slughorn wicked at Lily before carrying on with the class. I felt Mi pull my robe looking at me with questioning brows.

"Me too."

The bull echoed in the room, students flying from their seats and filtering out the room.

I grabbed the few books I had out and stuffed them into my bag when I felt a hand lay on my shoulder.

"I've started working on our first client," Sirius whispered not in my ear as Lily walked past us both with Marlene at her side.

"I thought we were doing it at random?"

"Eh, he deserves a break."

I turned and faced him finally, his smile wicked as he rocked back and front on his high tops.

"What did you do?"

I crossed my arms over my chest and his eyes trailed across the ceiling before looking at me again.

"I might have sent Slughorn a letter from Lily that she would like to work with Potter and us and would prefer if she did Amortentia."

Sirius and I trialed from the class, the members of the group and Mi stood against the wall across from us.

"You didn't."

"I just told you I did."

I felt a body collide with mine, James arms wrapped around my middle while he danced side to side giggling, actually giggling.

"Thank you thank you (Y/N), you must have done this."

I opened my mouth to correct him but Sirius coughed and looked at me from the corner of his eyes.

"Yeah, she's the brain of the service."

I titled my head to him before I heard Cherry yelling from down the hall.

"Trying to steal my friend Potter?"

James jumped off my and moved to Sirius' side, both taking one step farther away from me as Cherry moved closer to my side.

"What I thought," Cherry moved to stand beside me while making a grabby hand at Mi. Mi approached and joined us, Cherry throwing an around our shoulders.

"What was the conversation of the day?"

"Sirius and (Y/N) matchmaking service," Remus answered while pointing between Sirius and I.

"You got him to agree."

I nodded my head once and placed a hand on my hip and I looked up at her proudly.

"The name too."

"I hate that name."

Sirius gasped beside me, nudging my calf with his shoe.

"You lied to me, I made a box for you and everything."

I turned in Cherry arm, watching as Sirius searched in his bag before pulling out a box the size of a bug. He lightly tapped his wand on his before she grew, an average size box now sat in his hand.

It had "Cupid's Aim Matchmaking Service sketched on the front, painted pink with red bubble letters, really bad bubble letters. The top had a small whole it the top, just enough to tell nothing was in it but nothing enough to really tell even if something was. The badly drawn cupid was in the corner of the box.

"You made this?"

"If he bought it I would tell him to get a refund," Cherry laughed at the messy box.

"He stayed up all night making it, made us help," Remus spoke, a loud ow echoed off the hall and Sirius threw his wand at him.

"I'm confiscating this now," Remus shoved the wand in his pocket, Sirius was distracted enough for me to lift the small box from his palm. I looked all around the sides, the ugly drawings of hearts and other objects of love cover it head to toe. I caught sight of something on the bottom, titling the box to his Black and Bennett carved into the bottom.

I smiled to myself while Sirius jumped on Remus' back, Cherry cheering them on while Mi tried to hush Cherry loud "Kill him" cheers.

"You know, he really worked hard on this box."

Peter stood in front of me, handing me a Polaroid from his robe pocket. The sight itself was a masterpiece.

Sirius Black laid on his dorm floor, feet in the air while the shot caught the glitter falling to the floor. Glitter dramatically floated in mid air, Sirius faced reasonably calm from the events most likely soon to unfold.

"Keep it, it can be our little secret."

hp tag list:

@siriusmaraudeers @marauder-exe @haphazardhufflepuff

sirius black tag list:

@coldlilheart @inkhearthes

#harry potter x reader #james potter #remus lupin #sirius black #fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #draco malfoy #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x you #sirius black x reader

[consultingskeletondetective]

Geraskier college roommates au, or ‘Buttercups’

Geraskier prompt fill for @merthurlocked @witchofmorena

Warnings: bad language and fluff. I don’t know anything about american college so if anything’s wrong I’m really sorry

According to the painfully bright light of Jaskier’s phone screen, it was 2am when his roommate stumbled loudly into their dorm room – crashing into everything on the way – and falling so heavily to the floor that it shook Jaskier’s bedframe.

He wasn’t especially surprised. Geralt Rivia, the six-foot slab of muscle that had stomped into his room on the first day of term, wasn’t exactly known for being light-footed. Jaskier had quickly learned that his heavy-handedness and towering presence made up for a distinct lack of words. He didn’t think they’d exchanged more than a few verbal conversations since they’d met. Geralt communicated in expressions more than anything else. Except when he was yelling at Jaskier to shut the fuck up when he got inspired at 6am with an idea for a new melody and started strumming it out on his guitar.

Jaskier groaned as he shoved his tired head back into his threadbare pillow. It was too thin and worn to really be comfortable, but he didn’t have the money to buy a new one. Never would, according to his parents. He could practically hear them scoffing that his study of musical theory would lead him to be nothing more than a poor street artist. The idea was romantic in the comfort of his family home but in the middle of sleepless nights on bad linen it wasn’t so endearing. Jaskier knew he’d never ask them for money, it felt like too much a precursor for their assumption of his future as a failing musician. That, coupled with the fact his roommate seemed to have an aneurism every time he picked up his guitar, hadn’t done heaps for his confidence.

He envied Geralt’s more ordinary interests, really. The brooding loner was majoring in chemistry and training in mixed martial arts, kick-boxing, advanced fencing and probably a million other fighting styles Jaskier couldn’t remember. But he had gone along to a few of his tournaments. Geralt didn’t have too many friends and Jaskier had been bored, and watching Geralt’s rippling muscles as he’d slammed some poor guy into the mat had the twin effects of ensuring Jaskier never crossed him and had awakened a primal desire within him that stirred in his gut for his roommate ever since.

Jaskier would never tell Geralt, but he liked him, he was one of the few who did. Maybe it was something about sharing the intimate parts of their lives in this dorm room, or perhaps it was because Jaskier was a bit of an outsider himself, he didn’t know. But something about knowing, after a hard day, that he was coming back to the familiar presence of Geralt working out or studying, with his long hair haphazardly tied back and worrying a pen between his lips, was comforting.

Except for right now, of course, when he wished the bloody maniac had stayed out all night.

“Geralt.” He groaned, voice muffled by the pillow. “It’s 2 in the fucking morning.”

“M’sorry.” Came the tell-tale drunken slur of any college kid breaking the door down in the middle of the night and lying face first on the floor. “Sorry, Jask…trying to find my bed…”

Jaskier heard him get unsteadily to his feet – wincing when he heard something crash as he did so – and then his bed was creaking and dipping as Geralt’s hulking weight collapsed down next to him.

“You’ve got the wrong one.” He mumbled.

“Mmm.” Geralt hummed comfortably.

Jaskier could feel the heat and weight of another body beside him on his narrow bed. He did his best to ignore it for as long as possible until it became apparent Geralt wasn’t planning on moving.

He turned over and was surprised to find them practically face to face. Geralt was still fully dressed in his customary black jeans, simple tee shirt and leather biker books. His arms were crossed under his head, his cheek resting in the crease of his elbow and his eyes were closed. His long hair was out of its ever-present tie and lying across his face. The urge to brush it out of his eyes was really quite hard to ignore, Jaskier found.

Jaskier swallowed as he stared at Geralt in the gloom of the dark room. It made it easy to convince himself this wasn’t really happening and Geralt wasn’t really there, being all quiet and soft and vulnerable like Jaskier had never seen him before.

“I thought you were staying out at Yennefer’s?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

“Hmm.” Geralt huffed without opening his eyes, or his mouth, too much. Still, the space between them was so small in the narrow bed that Jaskier still felt his warm breath ghosting over his face. “Dumped me.”

Jaskier tried to quell the pleased jump in his stomach. He didn’t like Yennefer all that much. She was older and snarky and had an annoying habit of insulting him in everyday conversation before kicking him out of his own dorm room to shag Geralt. She acted like everyone on campus existed to do things for her, including Geralt, and Jaskier knew the silent chem student was fit enough and smart enough to do better.

Still, getting dumped sucked and it explained why Geralt was drunk and alone. Jaskier didn’t like the idea of him stumbling back from her dorm in the middle of the night, no matter how big and scary he was. He wondered if she’d had the decency to walk him back. Probably not.

“You okay?” He asked with pursed lips.

“Hmm.” But Geralt’s breathing was already evening out, and it occurred to Jaskier that maybe he hadn’t gotten in the wrong bed by accident. Maybe he was upset. Maybe he needed a friend. He looked at his stoic roommate, watching as the ever-present frown on his forehead evened out as sleep took him. You big softie, he thought.

Feeling bold from a mixture of the intimacy of the dark room and Geralt being drunk and probably forgetful in the morning, he lent forward and pressed a chaste, dry kiss to his forehead. Stole it, really, because it was more for him. Warmth and adrenaline surged through him as soon as he’d done it, and it was hard to keep his voice steady when he quietly said: “you’re gonna be okay.”

Geralt mumbled again and shifted, turning more onto his side and releasing his arms from under his head. He inched a hand over the bed and let his fingers crawl over Jaskier’s clavicle until his arm came to a warm rest over Jaskier’s chest. He didn’t move again.

It took Jaskier a long while to sleep after that, afraid of moving and disturbing his depressed bedmate, but when he finally drifted off, his cheek rested against the warm back of Geralt’s hand and – he knew he shouldn’t have – but he felt content.

Geralt wasn’t there when Jaskier woke up and a wave of nervous worry washed over him. Obviously Geralt had woken up hungover and realised that he was cuddled up to his roommate and absconded from the room as quickly as possible. He was probably mad at Jaskier for not stopping him.

Shit, shit, shit, Jaskier began to panic before he forced himself to rationalise that it was probably fine. Geralt wouldn’t remember the kiss. He was probably just embarrassed he’d climbed in Jaskier’s bed or out making up with Yennefer. He hoped it wasn’t the latter.

Jaskier intentionally busied himself that morning. He called his mother, went to the library, checked out some books for his paper on twentieth century music and its influence on post-war youth rebellion, hauled everything onto his bed with papers spread out around him and was halfway through highlighting important sections from the editors introduction when the door opened.

His heart jumped in his throat when he heard the door handle twisting but he forced himself not to look up. He heard the door close quietly but Geralt just stood in the room and didn’t move to his bed or desk.

“Hey.” He finally said.

“What’s up?” Jaskier asked casually, looking up. “How’s your head?”

Geralt was dressed in loose-fitting tracksuit bottoms with a grey vest almost obscenely stretched over his pectoral muscles. His biceps bulged where he held his arms awkwardly by his side. His hair was pulled off his face in a messy bun and he had a weary, tired look in his eyes. So he’d been to the gym, then.

“Fine, thanks.” He replied stiffly. “Sorry about last night.”

Jaskier affected a half-smile. “It’s fine.” He said. “Just don’t give me shit next time I’m playing in the middle of the night.”

Geralt’s face pulled into a tight smile and Jaskier returned his gaze to his papers. Things were going to be alright, then. It was a relief.

“Listen, I saw a flyer for an open mic night at Posada in central tonight, I thought you might like to go?”

Jaskier’s highlighter paused on the paper. The glaring yellow bled through the paper until it softened and scored a hole through criticism of punk music being linked to heightened anti-social behaviour. Jaskier disagreed with such discourse, but not enough to ignore what Geralt had just said. Had he ever invited him to do anything since they’d met?

He looked up at the man still stood awkwardly on the other side of the room. That was another odd thing. Geralt was incredibly sure of himself. It kind of came with the territory of being a beast of a man. He was threatening, but in a calm and collected way, like a bodyguard. He rarely looked as unsure or nervous as he did now.

“What, like a date?” Jaskier joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yes, a date.” Geralt said seriously, his face evening out as part of his customary confidence returned. That sent shivers up Jaskier’s spine as much as the actual proposition did.

He was so dumbstruck that he agreed, feeling like Lizzie Bennett being asked to dance by Fitzwilliam Darcy. And just like Darcy, Geralt was out of the room with a swift nod not a moment later.

Jaskier just stared down at his textbook in surprise. “What was that?” He asked, as if expecting it to reply.

…

Geralt was dressed normally when they left the campus that night, in his usual black jeans and boots, but he’d changed his usual tee for a black button up shirt and he was wearing a fitted leather jacket. His hair was combed and neatly tied back. He looked kind of – smart, for Geralt at least.

Jaskier hadn’t really made too much effort with his appearance beyond jeans and a tee shirt. He was too surprised that he was apparently going on a date – or some equivalent – with Geralt goddamn Rivia the day after he’d broken up with his girlfriend. He didn’t know what was going on, but he was curious enough to be swept along with it.

Posada bar was a short enough distance away that they walked there, which Jaskier was glad for. He didn’t think he could cope with riding on the back of Geralt’s bike and having to snake his arms around his torso and press into his back.

They didn’t walk hand in hand or anything like that, but they stood close enough to each other that their knuckles occasionally grazed as their hands swung in time with their steps.

Jaskier moaned about his paper and Geralt listened dutifully, smiling occasionally when the conversation demanded it. Jaskier asked him about his training and Geralt replied but it wasn’t what Jaskier wanted to ask him. He wanted to ask why Yennefer had dumped him, but he didn’t dare.

Posada was pretty empty by the time they got there, from a mixture of being a Thursday night and being an open mic night. no one wanted to come and have a drink while a bunch of hipsters crooned out self-penned slam poetry and badly-tuned metal covers. But Geralt knew Jaskier was musical, he probably thought it was romantic.

Geralt ordered himself a bud and Jaskier opted for his preference of spiced rum and coke. Geralt made a joke about asking for a cocktail umbrella. Jaskier bit back good-naturedly with something about being classy. Geralt laughed. It was good banter, as dates went.

They stayed for a while, sat at a small table near the back, chatting easily and half-listening to the musicians playing on stage. Some of them weren’t that bad and Jaskier found himself listening intently and resting his hand on his arm as he relaxed into it. Geralt didn’t watch the band, he watched him.

After a while, a bartender got on stage and asked if anyone wanted to go up and have a go.

“You should go up.” Geralt said, no hint of irony in his voice.

Jaskier snorted. “I thought I was a terrible singer.”

“You’re only terrible at 6am.” Geralt said with a raised eyebrow. Jaskier laughed.

“Go on, go up.” Geralt repeated. “I’d like to hear it. You’ve seen me perform.”

Jaskier felt himself blushing. “I don’t have my guitar.”

“I’m sure they have one.”

Geralt was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in a way that suggested he wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and heaved himself to his feet. A few people applauded disinterestedly as he snaked a guitar from the side of the stage. The instrument felt unfamiliar in his hands and he couldn’t help quickly checking it was tuned as he sat on the stool in front of the microphone.

“I, err, was bullied to come up here.” He said into the mic. The crowd laughed. Geralt smiled. It seemed worth it for that.

He played a soft melody he’d been working on and sang a few lines of lyrics he’d scribbled down in his notepads. It was a song about love and longing, as were most of his songs, and when his voice caught breathlessly around a feminine rhyme, the small crowd applauded and cheered and Jaskier finally looked up.

Geralt’s eyes were on him, slack and warm, and Jaskier suddenly felt like he was playing to Geralt alone, and like the song was about him, even though he hadn’t written it that way.

He finished with a blush to applause and awkwardly made his way back to his table as another act went up and started playing. He sat next to Geralt again and fiddled with a beermat on the table.

“You’re wonderful.” He rumbled.

“Yeah, but how’s my singing?” He asked cheekily, charm and bravado disguising shy embarrassment.

“Maybe one day you’ll learn how to take a compliment.” Geralt said into his bottle.

“I’m not used to compliments from you.” Jaskier pointed out, immediately regretting the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

Geralt’s mouth merely stretched into a grin and that same self-assured confidence settled over his features. “I compliment you all the time, you just don’t hear me.”

On the face of it, it was a dumb thing to say, but it made butterflies flutter in Jaskier’s stomach.

Jaskier had a lecture first thing the next morning so they left soon after. It was nearing midnight and it was dark outside, but it was a student city, alive with life and takeaways and lights, welcoming and safe. They took a detour through a park, streetlights illuminating the grass, and Jaskier didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the dark, but he snaked a hand out silently and took Geralt’s. Geralt didn’t say anything, but he didn’t let go, either.

“I had fun tonight.” Jaskier said to the darkness.

“Hmm.” Geralt replied, but it sounded warm.

They walked slowly, both knowing they’d be in trouble for being back late to the dorm at this time but not quite caring.

Geralt ducked down and plucked a buttercup from the side of the grassy pathway and hauled Jaskier closer to him with their still connected hands before holding the small yellow flower under his chin.

“Do you like butter?” He asked.

“I think that only works when the sun’s out.”

Geralt shrugged and continued holding the buttercup out until Jaskier realised what he meant. He disentangled their hands and plucked the small flower from Geralt’s fingers.

“You’re picking me flowers?” He asked with a laugh.

“That’s what you do on dates, right?” Geralt quipped.

Jaskier’s free hand curled around the lapel of Geralt’s leather jacket and pulled the larger man towards him. A sound escaped him before their lips found each other. It was a soft, lingering kiss – a first kiss – and after a moment, Geralt’s hands came to rest gently on Jaskier’s hips as if he’d had to psyche himself up to do it. When Jaskier pulled away, he was bright red but his dizzy, embarrassed smile was dazzling.

He held the buttercup up to his nose and fake-sniffed it before slipping the stem behind his ear. Bizarrely, it suited him.

“Why did she ever dump you?” He asked sarcastically, smile still firmly in place, not chasing an answer, before his gaze dipped embarrassedly and he walked forward a few paces. He was humming to himself.

Geralt watched him with a sad little smile and an erratic heartbeat and replied, so quietly Jaskier wouldn’t be able to hear: “because I told her I’d fallen in love with my roommate.”

 The end

#geraskier #fanfiction #prompt fill #college roommates au #oh my god they were roommates

[fromtheashesofvalyria]

They were both too young to know how to love.

Of course leave it to Harry Potter to be what drags me back into writing fan fiction. Apologies to people who follow me already since this is pretty different from posts I’ve done in the past, so feel free to ignore. 

I just wanted to try and get some thoughts out about a fanfiction I’m currently writing, specifically the relationship between Harry and Daphne. Or the lack of one right now anyway. ;)

The basic background is that this is a soulmate AU with soulmate marks and empathy/semi-telepathy (I’m not sure what to call it honestly). The three main ships are Dramione, Ransy, and Pottgrass, and it’s a slowburn enemies to lovers starting from Goblet of Fire on. Emphasis on slowburn and enemies considering two of the involved are Draco and Pansy.

Before I started writing again, the only ones of those three I shippped/read fanfiction of were Draco/Hermione and Pansy/Ron. I originally picked Daphne because I’d read fics that had her as a character and liked her in them; after that I read two fanfics that made me really ship them, because the amount of ships I have due to fanart/fanfic is huge. (Previously I was, and actually still am, a Nottgrass shipper because I am a multi-shipper a lot of the time.)

I’m going to put the rest of my rambling under the cut.

So there are a couple different things going on here. The most superficial was that, when I had started writing, I’d been re-watching the Lizzie Bennet Diaries so I was a bit influenced by Pride and Prejudice when writing Daphne at first. Specifically the inspiration was Matthew Macfaden’s Darcy from the 2005 movie and Daniel Vincent Gordh’s William Darcy from LBD. (And as an aside Astoria was slightly based on Georgianna from the 2005 movie and Gigi Darcy from LBD.)

The inspiration became less strong the more I wrote, but her being standoffish/cold/rude to non-Slytherins (except Astoria) and the scene where Daphne tries to make a deal with Harry was inspired by Darcy's first, horrible proposal to Elizabeth. But that’s the shallower reason, let’s get into the meat of it, which is background vs appearance. 

Harry Potter was orphaned at the age of one years old, was raised in an abusive family who didn’t even give him a room for ten years, had no friends until he got to Hogwarts, and was lied to by the Dursleys’ about what his parents were actually like. There were no pictures of his parents, he wasn’t told they were a witch and wizard, and he didn’t even know they were murdered. When he is told about his parents, he is given the romanticized view of James and Lily and their relationship. He thinks they were the perfect picture of soulmates, as he hasn’t been told that James was once a jerk that Lily really disliked. His first real experience of familial love was with the Weasleys and thinks of them as the best family in the world. Daphne knows nothing of this aside from the fact that he was raised by muggles; I don’t think she thought much about Harry at all outside of times parts of his adventures were found out by the school. Like the flying car incident. As she said in the fanfic, Harry just sort of existed to Daphne. 

Harry is only fourteen years old at the start of the fic, and has only had a crush on Cho at this point, but he does know that he wants to have the real love and respect his parents had. He wants to have a family of his own that would actually be loving. He doesn’t want his potential future children to grow up without love. And, most importantly, he doesn’t think Daphne is capable of that. 

What Harry knows about Daphne’s background is that she’s part of an old, wealthy pureblood family a la the Malfoys or the Parkinsons. (He wouldn’t know the term Sacred Twenty-Eight.) That’s pretty much it and would be about the amount of knowledge all the students from the other houses would know (except for Astoria, the Ravenclaw little sister, who is just as uncomfortable as Daphne when asked to talk about their parents). Harry is also generally dismissive of Slytherin house as a whole thanks to Draco and his gang; he thought they looked like a “pale and unpleasant lot'' at the Welcome Feast in first year. 

Here’s how Daphne comes across to the kids outside of Slytherin: standoffish; doesn’t seem to talk much outside of class participation, and is often sarcastic when she does; doesn’t seem to have friends outside of Slytherin and the only non-Slytherin she is consistently genuinely affection towards is her little sister, and not everyone sees that; while not a member of Pansy’s gang is still known to be a good friend of Pansy’s, and is also close to Blaise who is seen as equally snobby. 

(Speaking of Blaise, Daphne still wants to know why she’s the only one to get an insulting nickname like Ice Queen when Blaise and Theo are often just as anti-social towards the other houses as she is. In Theo’s case, more so. XD) 

Of course, it’s easy to sympathize with Daphne when you know what her background is really like. Her parents, despite being soulmates, have an absolutely toxic relationship that their daughters had to witness: “Daphne Greengrass hadn’t been a fan of the soulmate concept for years now. She could even pinpoint the exact moment her disillusionment started: the night before her sixth birthday when her father finally told her mother that, soulmates or not, he had never loved her and had only married her out of both obligation to the bond and to the alliance with her family. This had then turned into a screaming match in her father’s study accompanied by the sound of glass being thrown at a wall.” This is just one incident. 

Daphne was so used to her parents arguing (and to be really clear, I’m not talking about normal arguments couples have; I’m talking about full-blown trying to verbally/emotionally hurt the other as possible or just arguing to try and win against the other person) that she was already making it her job to comfort Astoria, who “was still a baby, and upset by it”. Daphne has grown up with a very dim view of romance and romantic love. 

Now, Daphne does know that people can be genuinely in love. For all their many, many faults, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy are devoted to each other. Pansy’s parents aren’t on the same level, but are loving/affectionate enough with each other. However, she doesn’t think love and happiness are guaranteed so it’s better to have something more solid like respect or trust. However, that is hard to get across to Harry because she’s grown up to think being emotional is bad/a weakness and it’s hard for her to open up to people she doesn’t know well. (Pansy was her first friend at five years old and is still her best friend up until this point; it’s also the reason her other friends are the Slytherins she’s known for years at this point. People she’s used to.)

She could have approached Harry differently, flirted, or suggested dating, or tried to be romantic but she would have thought of that as dishonest/manipulative. Because Daphne knows love isn’t guaranteed for soulmates. Because Daphne knows she’s not the most likeable person. Because Daphne isn’t sure she could love Harry and doesn’t want to lie about it. Yes, Slytherins are all about cunning and clever ways to get what they want, but this is one of the areas Daphne would not even consider something like that. For all her issues, Daphne does have some standards. 

Self-control and (just control in general) is something Daphne clings to because her parents were often unpredictable and she had to create a sense of being in control of her life. Her father is not a warm or empathetic person and he looks down on people being too emotional. (Yes, this is supposed to be hypocritical considering he’d get into screaming matches with his wife.) He would be out of the house a lot for both work and to get away from his wife. Her mother was emotionally and mentally in a bad place for a long time and withdrew from her children a bit. She improved by the time Daphne was at school, but her favorite is clearly Astoria for reasons that will be expanded on later. Daphne tells herself she gets it because Astoria is her favorite family member too. (Also I just want to make this clear, Daphne and Astoria are close siblings who genuinely love and care about each other. Daphne is also Astoria’s favorite family member. Their relationship, as I like to see/write it could be another post though so moving on.) 

This need for self-control also was because of the stutter she had growing up. She was already self-conscious about it and she was very aware that her parents (her father in particular) saw it as a problem, which stressed her out more and made her stutter worse. The more emotional she’d get, the more likely she’d stutter. Whereas the more comfortable she was, the less often it happened. Pansy already mentioned in one of her POV’s that she barely heard Daphne stutter around her after a while; not a huge spoiler or surprise, but it was the same with Astoria. One of Daphne’s pre-Hogwarts tutors was essentially a wizard speech therapist, so she had it under control by first year but it was still recent enough at the time that she was pretty afraid of slipping up at school. Also consider the fact that some students (not just Slytherins either, but from all houses) made fun of Quirrell's stutter, and he was a teacher. (Yes he was evil, and only pretending to have one, but they didn’t know that then.) How much worse would the teasing be for a first year student? So as her father told her, sometimes it’s better not to talk at all. 

Harry doesn’t know any of this. 

Before things really started in the fanfic, Harry’s one interaction with Daphne that really stood out to him was that time she was sarcastic to him in first year after his first Quidditch game: “You know my family made the snitches used at Hogwarts. Please try not to choke on another of them next time.” When fourth year started, she ignored him completely in the Great Hall, and didn’t help her friend in a way he didn’t recognize/understand. 

The next day, Daphne sends him a note ordering him to meet her during lunch, after not acknowledging him in public. (As Harry says, she didn’t even write please. It also didn’t ask him for a date and time to talk, just told him to meet her in a specific location.) When he asked if she was proposing to date him, she “made a truly exasperated sounding noise” which definitely hurt his pride a little. She also tried to approach a relationship (not necessarily even a romantic relationship, just in general) with him, someone she has barely spoken to,  like a business deal, which he thinks is a cold way to look at it and he loses his temper. However, it should be noted that she asked him why when he rejected her out of hand and well, don’t ask a question you wouldn’t want an answer to. 

Later on he sees her picking on a second year for seemingly no reason. In reality, this is a girl who did something to her sister and Daphne doesn’t let things like that slide when it comes to people she cares about. 

Now afterwards things get murkier because Daphne is wanting to freeze him out/ignore him, but he is the one to poke at her. The soulmate bond is like an outside force that pushes down on two people to try and force them together, which can be downright unbearable if you really don’t like the other person. Harry finds the pressure it puts on them very hard and is stunned when she acts like she’s not affected at all. (He’d feel better if he knew she was feeling it just as much as him. Sort of like how Hermione and Ron both take comfort in the fact that Draco and Pansy are having as bad a time with the bond as they are.) He’s already under stress from the situation with his scar hurting and Sirius leaving his hideout to come back to England because of it, now add on to that the stress of an outside magical force trying to bond him to a girl he doesn't like and who doesn’t like him. No, he’s not handling it in a great way, but he’s young. 

And Daphne could always try and talk to him about things good (sending him a song through the bond to help him sleep when worry for Sirius was keeping him up) and bad (the incident with the second year), but she doesn’t try. Partly it’s out of pride, but largely it’s because she’s developed unhealthy coping skills that she doesn’t realize are unhealthy.

#self indulgent #fanfiction #pottgrass #dramione #ransy #lions among the snakes #i think getting my thoughts down like this helped my muse #might ramble about my fanfiction again sometime #can you tell I’m an over thinker

[eskalations]

Could a retired sniper even become a loving mother after all she had seen and done?

FFN Link

(Day 3 "Old Wounds" - Royai Week 2020)

A/N: Here's my entry for Day 3 of Royai Week for the prompt "Old Wounds". I didn't really know where this was all going until it suddenly became a comprehensive retelling of everything that happened post-canon. I know the fandom likes to headcanon that Roy and Riza have a little boy named Maes, but I really wanted to give them a child who had her own name and identity. Plus, Roy Mustang with a little girl is an absolute weakness of mine.

I also have him calling her Lizzie because I’m a sucker for Pride and Prejudice and can just imagine how sweetly he would say it (much like Darcy says ‘dearest, loveliest Elizabeth) *swoon* 

I hope you enjoy! 

~

"Mommy?"

Riza was awoken from her slumber by a small voice and a tugging hand. She blinked her eyes several times, trying to regain her bearings in the near darkness of the room. Glancing at the window over the form of her sleeping husband, she noticed that the moon was still high in the sky.

'It couldn't be more than midnight,' she thought to herself, rubbing a weary hand over her eyes in an attempt to clear her vision.

"Mommy?" It was then that she remembered the reason for her sudden wakefulness. The tiny voice that she knew and loved so well was trembling with an escalating fear, the tugging hand at the back of her nightgown pulling a bit more roughly than before. Sensing the desperation in her plea, Riza turned around to face the small child.

"Elizabeth?" She asked, her voice coarse with sleep. A pair of dark, swollen eyes peered up at her from over the edge of the bed. "What are you doing up?"

"Nightmare."

Riza could tell that her daughter's sleep had been less peaceful than normal, just by the way her wild, dark hair was pulling out of her braid – evidence of the tossing and turning she had done before running to her parent's room. In the dim light of the moon, she could also see the fresh tear marks that marred her daughter's cheeks. The sight broke Riza's heart.

"Come here," Her mother quietly beckoned, reaching her arms out towards the three-year-old. Elizabeth stood on her tip toes as warm hands were placed under her arms. Once the young girl was settled between both her parents, Riza wrapped her up in a warm embrace and nuzzled her face into her shoulder.

Elizabeth was not the type of child to seek out her parents' comfort in the middle of the night, so this type of behavior was incredibly unusual for her. Whatever she had dreamt about must have really frightened her to have her traversing the dark halls of their home in the middle of the night.

"Lizzie?"

Riza cringed at the sound of her husband's sleepy voice, knowing that he needed to be up early in the morning for a meeting with his generals. But a tiny pair of cold feet had made their way to the exposed expanse of his back, waking him from his deep slumber and alerting him to his sweet daughter's presence.

The woman watched as her husband turned over – eyes heavy with sleep but concern evident in their dark depths. At the sound of her father's voice, Elizabeth buried her face even deeper into her mother's neck, fighting back the tears that forced themselves forward at his gentle tone. Riza glanced over their daughter's head, meeting his questioning gaze with a concerned one of her own.

If you had told them ten years ago that they would be sequestered together in a lovely home, married, and snuggled up with their daughter – they would have laughed at the sheer idea of it. Two killers, as horrible as them, could never repent enough to ever deserve the happiness that most human beings sought. It just wouldn't be fair after how many lives they had taken that they would get the chance to be together.

But life was full of surprises.

The first surprise was the pardoning of them for their crimes in relation to Ishval. Though they argued with Grumman over his decision to sign the papers to forever have them excused for their actions on the frontline, they couldn't find it in themselves to argue with the Ishvalan Elders. The Elders had asked that they, and whoever else had taken part in the efforts to rebuild Ishval, be pardoned on the grounds that, they would continue to commit their time and energy to ensuring something like the Ishvalan Extermination campaign never happened again.

While both Riza and Roy did not believe they deserved to walk free after all they had done, they swore that for as long as they were in a place of power, the Ishvalans would not be persecuted again. Roy took it one step further and even began lobbying for laws against hate crimes that would bring an ample amount of punishment to anyone who participated in them. They still had not forgiven themselves for their actions – however, they were adamant in their resolve to provide Ishval with whatever help they needed. If they wanted them alive and working, then that's what they were going to do.

The second surprise was Grumman's dissolvent of the Anti-Fraternization Laws. After having sat in the Fuhrer's chair for nearly three years, the old coot had decided that he had had quite enough of the laws that dictated a soldier's personal life, and chose to abolish those along with a few others. The moment those laws had been dissolved, the entire military seemed to turn their eyes towards Mustang and Hawkeye – but the two of them had far too much to do than worry about dating and marriage. Besides, they quite liked the secret nature of their relationship.

The third surprise was Roy Mustang's decision to not run for Prime Minister after power had been shifted to Parliament. The general public was shocked that the young upstart, who at the time was still a fresh-faced thirty-five, had decided not to move along with the power. Even Riza could hardly believe his decision to pass up the opportunity – that was, until he explained it to her.

'I'd rather become Fuhrer and be able to control the military than become a politician,' Roy had shared with her one night over supper. 'I know I would be decent at it, but I would rather focus on ensuring that the military never fall back into corruption than sit in on meetings where all they talk about are laws. I need to be doing something. I need to be in the Fuhrer's chair to make sure that the military will never be used to cause so much destruction ever again.'

The fourth surprise was Grumman's campaign for Prime Minister and his ultimate winning of the title. It was the first democratic election that Amestris had held in over two hundred years, the voters all agreeing that if they had liked the old General as a Fuhrer, they would most likely like him as a Prime Minister. Roy couldn't have been happier with the turn of events, now knowing that someone he trusted would be in control of Parliament.

That only left one thing to be decided. Who was to be Fuhrer?

Having jumped the ranks easily after his participation in 'The Promised Day', it came as no surprise to anyone that the newly minted General Mustang would not hold on to that title for long. Upon his 'promotion' to Prime Minister, Grumman had announced Mustang as his desired predecessor. There were few naysayers who remarked that the title truly belonged to Olivier Armstrong – however, the majority of the military found no reason to argue with the decision to give Mustang the chair. Besides, Armstrong preferred her title of "Queen of the North" to Fuhrer and wouldn't have it any other way. Briggs was her's; Mustang could have Central.

It was only after Roy Mustang had officially become Fuhrer that the idea of marriage finally became a possibility. With Roy's climb to the top done, he saw no reason for Riza to continue to stand behind him, and voiced his desire to have her stand beside him instead. The First Lady of Amestris would have many responsibilities of her own and he couldn't imagine any other woman filling that role but her. It took a while for Riza to agree to their union – still having lingering doubts after all she had done in Ishval – however, eventually Roy was able to wear her down.

Their wedding had been a spectacle, much to both their displeasure. They would have been happy with just a small ceremony and a few friends – but given Mustang's position as Fuhrer, they had no other choice. The whole of the military was there along with Fullmetal and his rambunctious brood of children. Though Roy was too proud to say anything, Riza knew that he greatly appreciated Ed setting aside his business in Resembool and making the time to attend the ceremony. Even Al, in his Xingese inspired get up, was able to make it as well.

After the wedding was done – the real work begun.

Roy settled in nicely to his new position, taking to his fuhrership like a duck took to water. Riza also had an easy time falling into her new role upon her retirement from the military. She enjoyed the opportunity to participate in projects that would assist the lower income families across Amestris and found that she had a real passion for projects that involved children.

Speaking of children…

At the age of thirty-five, Riza had begun to assume that her and Roy would never be blessed with a child. Naturally, she was disappointed – but she couldn't really say she didn't understand the reasoning behind fate's cruel decision.

That was when – a month after her thirty-sixth birthday – the sickness began.

To say she was terrified was an understatement. She had spent so long assuming that her and Roy would never have a child, that she hadn't even begun to think about what to do if they did have one. Could a retired sniper even become a loving mother after all she had seen and done?

There was one thing she knew for sure though – and that was that Roy Mustang would make an excellent father.

From the moment he knew of their child, he immediately accepted the "dad" role. There was not a single doctor's appointment that Riza went to alone. Not one morning did she spend her time on the cold tile floor of their bathroom alone, Roy always there holding her hair and whispering loving words of comfort. He was so gentle, so concerned, and so excited – fully accepting the good fortune they had been given and thanking whoever may have resided above for the blessing.

As time went on, and Riza grew bigger, her anxiety developed into her own sort of excitement. She was still scared – oh was she scared – but after having felt the baby kick for the first time, she could no longer question whether she would be able love this child enough. With that one little movement, she had realized that she already loved this baby more than anything – and no past of her's was ever going to negatively affect the future of her child.

Mustang's men, still loyal to the man as ever, had placed bets on what the gender of the baby would be, despite Riza's annoyance in regards to the whole affair. Being the total men they were, they all bet that the child would be a boy.

'Powerful men like the Fuhrer have boys,' Breda had told her once, positive in his assumption. 'Your little kicker is going to be a boy – I'm sure of it."

The only person who dared bet against the 'boy theory' was Prime Minister Grumman himself. He said that he had no inclination one way or the other, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to bet against the majority.

'I like to take my chances.' He had commented when asked about the rationale behind his bet.

Little did the man know that he would be walking away from Central Regional Hospital about thirty-thousand cens richer the day that Riza went into labor.

It was a girl.

Though her and Roy had never spoken about what they believed their baby would be, they had been convinced by their men that this child just had to be a boy. But man, were they wrong.

Elizabeth Mustang entered the world as pink as the blanket they used to swaddle her. With a small nose and heart-shaped lips, she was definitely her mother's daughter – however, she took more after her father. Even at birth, she possessed a head full of thick black hair and eyes as dark as the night sky. She was beautiful. She was perfect.

The men had been disappointed at first, but once they saw the newborn's face, their hearts were no longer theirs's. Elizabeth was going to be one spoiled little girl.

It wasn't until everyone had cleared out, and Riza and Roy were left alone with their daughter, that a thought occurred to the very tired, new mother. As she watched her husband cradle Elizabeth in his arms, his body naturally swaying in an attempt to comfort her – she realized why men like Mustang and Hughes were blessed with daughters rather than sons.

It was because they needed them.

Already, Riza could sense a change in Roy. His eyes held a sparkle in them that she had only seen a few times in her life, and she knew exactly what it meant. He had a new purpose. He was going to be the best man he could be for this little girl and protect her from all the evils that lurked in the world. Roy was a man that needed purpose in his life – he was too driven to live without it – and in Elizabeth he found a lifelong purpose that he was only happy to fulfill.

The goofy grin that appeared on his face as Elizabeth gurgled and twitched, had tears forming in Riza's eyes. In that moment, he looked more like Hughes than he ever had before.

The look he gave his daughter on the day of her birth was the same one he was giving her now. It was a promise, a promise to protect her from any harm she could possibly imagine. Riza was brought back from her reverie by her husband's sweet voice, beckoning their daughter again.

"Lizzie, what's wrong?" He asked the girl gently, placing a hand on her small shoulder in a show of support. Riza could feel the child's tears against her neck, the small puffs of air escaping the girl's mouth in her panic causing her mother's heart to ache. She had never seen Elizabeth this worked up.

"Elizabeth?" Riza asked, pulling the girl back from her neck so that she could see her face. The small girl tried her hardest to latch on to her mother, not wanting to be moved from her spot, but she was fighting a losing battle. "Elizabeth, what has gotten into you?"

"Scary," The little girl mumbled, her bottom lip trembling. She gazed up at her mother with puffy, dark eyes. "Too scary. I couldn't – I couldn't – find you. Fire."

The child's words were near incoherent with her breathing as rapid as it was, but both Roy and Riza were able to decipher the last word she had mumbled. Fire?

"Lizzie," Roy stroked the messy black braid that lay haphazardly down his daughter's back. Both his touch and tone were gentle. "It was just a dream. There's no fire."

"Daddy hurt."

Roy's brow furrowed in confusion. His hand went back to its previous place on her shoulder and he turned her over to face him. Reluctantly, the girl disengaged from around her mother's neck and laid flat on her back.

"I'm not hurt." The man insisted, gently pushing a few unruly strands of hair back from her face. He even gave her a soft kiss on the forehead for good measure. Usually these soft ministrations would be enough to calm his daughter down – but tonight, it just set off another round of tears.

"Burn."

"Burn?" Roy asked, taken aback by the fresh set of tears rolling down her cheeks. "What burn?"

At this point, Riza turned on her stomach to reach for the bedside lamp. With neither her husband or her sleeping, there was no point in leaving the room shrouded in darkness.

With the light now on, Roy had to squint to see the face of his small daughter. Although he had regained his sight many years ago, his eyes were still sensitive to light. Once he was able to blink away the pain from the unwanted intrusion, he focused back on the girl. Though the light seemed to calm her slightly, she was still pale as a ghost and crying.

"Burn." The young girl finally answered, lip wobbling as she attempted to speak clearly. "You're burn, Daddy. It hurts."

Ah, that explained it.

When Roy had put her to bed that night, he had foregone his shirt in favor of a light robe. It was summer and their home stayed warm in the evenings due to its position in relation to the sun. Though Elizabeth had seen him multiple times without a shirt, it was the first time she had taken notice of the large burn on his side.

Roy had thought nothing of it – just telling Elizabeth that it was a burn he had received in his earlier years with the military. Being the Flame Alchemist's daughter, Elizabeth knew about fire and what happens if you touch it. Knowing this, Roy had simply brushed off the situation, kissing her on the head and tucking her in for the night.

He never even thought to reassure Elizabeth that it no longer hurt (well, it still ached – but not bad).

"Lizzie," He murmured, moving closer to the toddler. "Daddy's burn doesn't hurt anymore. Everything's fine."

At these words, his daughter stopped mid-hiccup. With small fisted fingers, she rubbed at her eyes, before looking up at him in confirmation.

"No hurt?"

"Nope!" Roy told her, smiling widely before turning over on to his back, the sheet sliding down to his waist and exposing the old wound. "See? I can even touch it!"

Elizabeth watched as the man took two fingers and prodded the puckered skin of his side. She watched his face for any sign of pain, but there was none. From her side of the bed, Riza breathed a sigh of relief, believing this was confirmation enough to soothe the child after whatever nightmare her mind had managed to conjure up.

"Mommy's?"

Roy's brows furrowed in confusion at the question, his fingers pausing over his skin. "Mommy's what?"

"Burn. Mommy has burn."

So much for not allowing her past to affect her daughter's future.

Riza was normally so careful with her back, only ever exposing it on hot, summer nights when she opted to wear a nightdress instead of one of Roy's old shirts to bed. Elizabeth had never had reason to see it, her mother's blonde hair reaching just past her shoulders once again and covering up the small sliver of tattoo that resided at the base of her neck.

However, when the young girl had crept into their room that night, she must have seen the burn that lay on her mother's shoulder blade, and recognized it as the same wound she saw earlier on her father. Whatever nightmare she had – doused in fire, surely – must have only been made worse once she chose to seek comfort from her mother, only to be met with a back full of scars.

"My burns don't hurt, Elizabeth." Riza assured her – one hand coming up to gently play with the sweaty locks that lay on her forehead. Oh, how she loved this child. "Daddy and I are all better now."

"Really?" The toddler asked in a sweet voice, her tone hushed. The hopeful look in her eyes was enough to almost make Riza cry. Such a big heart, for such a small girl. How did two killers create this?

"Yes, really." Riza leaned in to kiss her cheek, taking her thumb and wiping away the last remnants of tears that lay on her pale skin. "Mommy and Daddy will never let the same thing happen to you. You're safe with us."

Roy regarded his daughter with a tired smile, nodding at his wife's words. "You have nothing to worry about, Lizzie. Old wounds are old wounds."

Though her toddler brain couldn't comprehend what he was saying in the last part – the young girl nodded, accepting her parents' reassurances. This had Riza breathing a sigh of relief, hopeful that they might be able to go back to sleep.

At that exact moment, Elizabeth's mouth opened in a yawn – the excitement of the night finally catching up to her. The sleepy expression on her face was too adorable for her parents to ignore, both looking at her fondly as she snuggled down into the pillow between them.

Riza had already turned over on to her stomach, arm reaching out to flick the switch of the lamp off – when she felt a tiny pair of warm, chapped lips graze over her back. Tilting her head back, she watched as Elizabeth repeated the gesture by placing a small kiss right over the burn mark on her father's belly.

As if she didn't realize how much of an affect her actions had on her parents, the small girl snuggled down in the blankets once more and was out like a light before her mother could even turn the lamp off.

Roy looked over at her, shock written across his features. She imagined she looked much the same.

Once they had gotten over their initial surprise, both settled back into bed, praying that sleep would come easy with the busy day they had ahead. After she turned the light off, Riza lay facing away from her husband and daughter. She didn't want either of them to see the silent tears that now streamed down her face.

If she had turned around, she would have noticed a slight telltale shake in Roy's shoulders, as well. It wasn't the first time she had thought about it that night, but she found herself asking the same question again.

How did two killers create this?

#royaiweek20 #royai #roy mustang #riza mustang #fma #fullmetal alchemist #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai fanfiction #fma fic #fma fanfiction #fma fanfic #royai child #royai week

[felicebellcarousel]

Allow Me to Introduce  ‘A Lady of Independent Means’

Now before we dive into this little Pride and Prejudice variation I’d to take this opportunity to state that although this work (A Lady of Independent Means) is inspired by the timeless Jane Austen classic, the rights to this specific work are reserved to the author, and that any unauthorised reproduction or publishing of any part of content is prohibited.

Chapter 1

Dear Miss Bingley,

 I write to express my deep regrets that myself and my family find ourselves unable to attend the Ball, to which you most graciously extended us an invitation.

Do not be alarmed, my friend. I am well, but sadly the same cannot be said of my Uncle Gardiner.  

 As you may recall my mother has a widowed Brother residing in London, we have received news that his health in is a most precarious state; grave in fact. So instead of spending the day preparing for your ball – which I am sure will be the pinnacle of the Hertfordshire social calendar –I find myself packing to journey to town within the hour.

 Thither shall also go Elizabeth, the both of us escorted by Papa.  Oh my dear friend, although Lizzy declares it foolish of me, I cannot help but entertain the hope that the accounts of my relations danger have been greatly exaggerated, and this trip may yet have a positive outcome.  

 The discouraging news has laid Mama exceedingly low and unfit fit for travel –or to attend amusements.  Moreover we take the family carriage leaving Mary, Kitty and Lydia without transportation or parental escort to this evening’s festivities.

 Enclosed I have included our direction in town, I know not how long we will be gone from the neighbourhood and dearly hope you will write me. Time grows short, with much yet to prepare. I will close by saying: I am exceedingly sorry for any disruption our absence may cause, please convey my sincere regrets to your brother and Mrs. Hurst.  

 Yours Sincerely,

J. Bennet

 ~~~~%~~^0^~~%~~~~

 “The rudeness! To drop an engagement on the very same day they were to be expected.  Country manners for you,” decried Miss Bingley, seconded by a nod and murmur from Mrs Hurst.

 For once Fitzwilliam Darcy could not tune out Miss Bingley’s sycophantic babble. Her harsh words lanced his very heart, filling him with an acute sense of loss and regret.

 Very deliberately and slowly he placed his half empty coffee cup onto the crisp linen tablecloth, keeping his face diverted from his company until he could be certain of its expression.

 So this is how their story would end? He owned dejectedly that it could never have been the epic romance his heart had craved. No, his head was attached to firmly to his head to allow such a passionate fancy to determine his future life and family legacy.  As hard as his heart had tugged, it could not lead him to make a woman, so far beneath him - no matter how delightful – a permanent fixture to in his life.  

 If he could not spend the sum of his days waking up curled around the beautiful Elizabeth Darcy he had at least hoped to share a dance with the unspoiled Elizabeth Bennet. Hold her dainty little hand in his, or perhaps even for a span of moments, feel her delightful form rest on his arm, if he were able to secure a set featuring such a movement.  But it seemed he was to be cruelly denied this infinitesimal consolation along with the chance to say goodbye.

 He would return to his life in London, again mingle only within his own confining set of privileged acquaintance, probably take some insipid society miss to wife in a year or so, and one day forget the little wood nymph that had made his soul sing.  

 A glance to the far end of the dining table showed Bingley to be similarly effected by the news, but less able to conceal his disappointment.  He’d pushed his plate, laden with greasy delicacies away to stare out the window. The twitching of his lips showed him to be deep in thought, but gave few clues to the finer nuances of the musings.  Gazing down at his own plate, barely touched, Darcy was struck with the thought that things had progressed to a very dangerous point, perhaps more than he had reckoned…  

 Was he so love sick that he could not stomach a few mouthfuls breakfast? He forced a forkful of eggs past his lips, but the food, savoury and pleasant just minutes ago, now tasted like ashes and disappointment.  

 Laying down his fork with the same care with which he had deposited the coffee mug, Darcy raised his eyes only to encounter Miss Bingely’s smirking countenance across the table. Likely she was the only one in her discernment privy to his shameful and overwhelming pain, but it was still one witness too many and a witness entirely too gleeful.

 Miss Bingley looked directly into his eyes, her own green orbs bright with enjoyment. Her fish like lips were parted in a disgusting parody of arousal, but it was not desire that fuelled her expression. Rather vindictive enjoyment of his pain and her own elation at having a rival so neatly struck from the field of battle.

 In that moment he hated her, perhaps he even reviled her more than that blackguard Wickham. They were like two faces of the same coin Caroline Bingley and George Wickham; both selfish to the very core, their only concept of morals being a dispassionate assessment of how much they could get away with before inciting censure, rather than any true affinity with right and wrong.  

 Fortunately in Miss Bingley’s circumstances, she was locked in the mischief she could cause. Under the charge of Charles Bingley, she was forced to exercise maidenly restraint in pursuing her aims. Her Brother, while malleable up to a point, could be as stubborn as a badger if he felt the principles of fairness or justice to be in peril.

 It was not just the power he held over her finances, Charles’s naturally gregarious personality had opened doors rarely accessible to an entire family whose fortune was still polluted by the miasma of trade, Darcy’s society included.    

 “I am sure they would have delayed if they could, perhaps we should call upon them in London. See if there is any assistance in our power to offer or merely let them know we harbour no hard feelings.  You did mention an enclosed direction did you not…. Caroline?” Bingley called his sisters name loudly at the last, clearly impatient to hear her response.

 Darcy watched Miss Bingley’s eyes widen in panic, she sharply took in a horrified breath. The only thing worse than Mr Bingley dangling after Miss Jane Bennet in Hertfordshire would be for her brother to be seen publicly dangling after the girl in the view of their London acquaintance.  

 Darcy could readily determine the direction of Caroline’s thoughts, because in route they mirrored his own although their concerns regarding the match proceeded from different quarters:  Darcy wanted to see if his friend well established in society for Bingley’s personal happiness, while Caroline saw her brothers marriage and societal aspirations only in terms of how they helped—or hindered—her own ambitions.

 Bingley’s attentions to Miss Bennet thus, had been so pointed that if he continued in this vein a proposal must be forthcoming or censure and derision would be cast upon him for his inconsistency and the blameless girl for disappointed hopes.  The Bingley family’s position in society remained tenuous and was based almost entirely on Bingley’s gentlemanly deportment; should he be seen to act the cad, even only to a country squires daughter, the family would find it nigh in impossible to secure the type of match with the potential to elevate his standing, despite Bingley’s stable wealth.  

 The other possibility, that Bingley could succeed in wooing Miss Bennet, did not bear thinking of, yet demanded to be examined.  Jane Bennet - while undeniable beautiful - could bring nothing of value to such a match.  

 Through pointed questioning around the neighbourhood Caroline Bingley had determined that the Bennet girls had portions were so tiny as to be non-existent:  A mere £50 per year during their father’s life and an equal share of £5000 upon their mother’s demise (if the vulgar woman had not the opportunity to squander it before).  

 Pointed questioning of the girl herself had uncovered her limited and unsavoury connections.  

 “An Uncle, actively engaged in trade!” Caroline had cried in relish, at this very same table, the morning after Miss Bennet had taken ill.  Bingley distressingly loyal to the woman he had known for such a brief span, had leapt to her defence, saying she would not value her a jot less if she had a battalion complete of Uncles in trade.  Miss Bingley had produced an unmistakably snide smile before attempting to coax her brother over to her way of thinking.  “Yes I suppose a tradesman, quite well to grass, within the family would not be such a great shame, but Jane told me he keeps a house in Cheapside! Cheapside! If one must be in trade, one ought to be good at it, rather than drag the rest of the family down with ineffectual business pursuits. But I suppose we can expect little more of a blood relation of women of Mrs Bennet’s and Mrs Phillip’s ilk.”

 Though reluctant to support any notion originating from Miss Bingley, Darcy could not help but agree that Jane Bennet was an unsuitable marriage prospect for his good friend, and had said as much.   Darcy had pointed out the evils of attaching oneself to a family who had shown so little comportment to date, arguing this to be a far greater concern than the social standing and wealth the Bennet family lacked.

Before they had been able to importune the beleaguered lover any further Miss Elizabeth Bennet had been announced.  The dark eyed beauty had driven every thought of Bingley’s romantic woes clean out of Darcy’s head.  Her hair was blowsy, her skirt muddy, her complexion very flushed and yet her person was the most breathtakingly beautiful thing Darcy had ever beheld.

 She had surveyed the room boldly, daring anyone to comment on her appearance before asking after her sister.  Darcy had quickly dredged up every objection against girl, real or imagined, to prevent him from following her up the stairs.  

 That she had barely spared him a glance did nothing to cool his ardour, neither those weeks ago nor now.  If he didn’t remain strong Elizabeth would make him her slave.  Could his resolve continue to hold in the face of the many intimate meetings that must follow a closer connection between Jane Bennet and Charles Bingley?  And if he did manage to avoid the allure of his friends new sister, there could not help but be a greater price of misery to be payable.  

So? What do you think?

More of ‘A Lady of Independent Means’ will be posted on my Patreon page. https://www.patreon.com/FeliceBell

But to answer what you really want to know. Yes, a new chapter of Reluctantly Mrs Darcy is nearly ready to go! Nearly!

Thanks for reading,

F

#aladyofindependentmeans reluctantlymrsdarcyfeliceb

[igottoomuchwriting]

For Forever Chapter 2

Series: First Part/Previous Chapter/Next Part

Connor Murphy: i stg if this mom doesnt chill tf out i will find where she lives and fight her

It has been a month since Connor and Evan started talking. At first, it was awkward, but slowly they broke the barrier through text messages and small conversations during English. Slowly they were learning more and more about each other.

Connor loved to read. Any book that they read as a class, Connor loved, even if it was an older one that everyone else thought was boring. One day in English, Connor had overheard a kid talking about how much they hated Pride and Prejudice and Connor started whispering to Evan about how the kid didn’t no good literature, how Lizzy was a feminist icon of the time, Darcy was the best boy and the romance was correctly written and “he was just pissy because he is a fucking white boy that doesn’t understand the hardships that women of those days have had to go through!”

He also loved TLC shows, especially Say Yes To The Dress. That was a shock to Evan, but Connor was talking about different dress one day and Evan was curious on how he knew. Connor was nervous to share, but he knew that he could trust Evan.

That’s what he was texting Evan about now. Hulu had put out new episodes and Connor was watching them while live texting Evan about everything that is going on.

Connor Murphy: SHES CRYING NOW AND THE MOM STILL WONT BUDGE

Connor Murphy: thats it

Connor Murphy: im flying to georiga. Ill see you later evan

Evan Hansen: I know you have that ability so please dont

Connor Murphy: like my parents would let me

Evan Hansen: Find something nice in Georgia that your mom would love to see. I’m sure that will get her going

Connor Murphy: well which is it hansen

Connor Murphy: should i go punch this lady in the face or no

Evan Hansen: Definite no

Evan never really was interested in those shows, but he did watch one episode to see what he loved so much about it. It was a good show, and he really did love Randy and most of the brides that came through the shop. His mom had walked in when he had it on the TV, which sparked a conversation of how they were and who Evan liked.

“You know this is a safe place, honey!” Heidi had cooed.

“I know,” Evan mumbled, looking down at the ground awkwardly.

Since then, he’s been trying to pointedly show that he likes girls, and only girls.

Connor Murphy: oh good the bride won

Evan Hansen: With Randy on her side, how could she not

Connor Murphy: true

Connor Murphy: shit

Connor Murphy: my mom is home

Connor Murphy: i have to go to my bed and pretend to get some sleep

Connor Murphy: night

Evan Hansen: Goodnight

Evan decided that he should probably go to bed too. He had a test tomorrow, and he needed to sleep so he wouldn’t freak out as much when the time came.

He quickly turned off the TV and headed back up to his room.

---

Evan did not get any sleep. Right as he was about to fall asleep, his mom came home. Since he was still delirious, he thought it was a burglar. Suddenly he was awake and on alert, ready to do what he needed to.

Without getting out of bed and drawing attention to himself, of course.

He stumbled off of the bus, shoulders slouched over and tired look in his eyes. His classmates shoved past him in a hurry to get to the cafeteria for breakfast, but Evan just slowly made his way to his locker.

“Acorn!” he heard Jared call. Evan turned around to see Jared walking towards him, same amount of confidence in his walk as he always had. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, so Evan assumed that his first period teacher is either late or has a sub who is late.

“Please don’t call me that,” Evan mumbled.

“Aw, come on! It’s a term of endearment. All fun and games, ya know?” He threw his arm over Evan’s shoulder and they continued the walk to their locker. “It’s a playful jab at a silly mistake you made.”

Evan’s hand shot to his cast, holding onto it gently.

Yeah. A silly mistake.

“I’m gonna come over today after school. My mom’s been wondering why we haven’t been hanging out lately.”

“Oh. Uh, okay.”

“You still got Mario Kart, right?” Evan nodded his head. It was the last gift his dad had gotten him before he left, and even though Evan is not fond of his dad, he still tries to hang on to when life was good.

“Cool! Then we can play that today!” Evan just nodded his head again and opened up his locker. Jared continued to talk about a girl--or the same girl that he met over the summer, he doesn’t know anymore--and Evan turned his head to the side to see Connor at his locker. He was slouched over and seemed to be angrily putting stuff into his backpack.

“Sorry, uh,” Evan spoke, interrupting Jared’s sentence, “I’m gonna go talk to Connor.”

“Really?” Jared turned to look at Connor as threw a book into his locker. He flinched. “I don’t think you wanna talk to that dude right now. He seems like he is in a bad mood.”

“That’s why I wanna, um, talk to him.” He started playing with the bottom of his t-shirt. “I want to see if he’s okay.”

“Your funeral, man,” he said with a shrug. He gave Evan one last violent pat on his shoulder before walking away.

Evan closed his locker and took a deep breath. Connor hasn’t been in a super bad mood since they started talking, so Evan was worried if Connor would even want to talk to him or not.

“Hey Connor,” he mumbled. Connor whipped his head around and shot a glare at Evan.

“What?” he snapped. Evan took a step back and looked down at the ground.

“Well you seem like you’re in a bad mood so I wanted to come over and see if you’re okay but you barely know me so I don’t know why you would even want to talk to me about it. I’m sorry I should’ve have even come over, I’ll leave, I’m sorry,” Evan stuttered out. All his words started blending together and he was stumbling over his words.

Connor sighed and hit his head against the top of the locker.

“No, I didn’t mean to snap at you. You did nothing wrong.” Evan glanced up at him before looking back down.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” he mumbled. Connor was silent for a moment. Evan was just about to turn around and leave him alone when he started talking.

“My parents took my fucking phone last night because they didn’t believe that I was texting someone other than a fucking drug dealer. I told them that no goddamn drug dealer would be answering fucking calls at that hour because they were trying to act like normal fucking people but they took my phone anyway!” He slammed his locker closed and Evan jumped. “They don’t believe a fucking thing I say and it pisses me off because I was actually telling the truth this time!”

Evan looked around the hallway and saw people giving Connor both confused and dirty looks. He didn't know what to do. Jared never came to him for emotional things, and since Jared has been his only friend growing up, he never had anyone else come to him for anything. The closest that he has come to comforting someone was when he walked in on his mom having a breakdown, but even then she turned it around and made sure that he was okay.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “That’s--That, um, sucks.”

“Understatement of the fucking century,” Connor grumbled.

The first bell rang, signaling that students have five minutes to get to class. Connor turned towards the doors at the end of the hallway.

“Wait, where are you going?” Evan anxiously called.

“Anywhere but fucking here.” With that, he was gone.

Evan watched Connor’s dark figure disappear around the corner outside, wondering if he should tell someone. What was Connor going to do? Would he hurt someone?

Would he hurt himself?

“Get to class, Mr. Hansen!” Evan heard a teacher call. Evan looked behind him to see Ms. Asher--the English teacher that no one liked--raising an eyebrow at him. Saying nothing, Evan moved on to his first class.

---

Evan hasn’t seen Connor all day. It was lunch time now and the boy still wasn’t here. Since they started talking more, he and Connor started sitting together at lunch. Connor never ate anything, and Evan did try, but sometimes his anxiety became too much and he just couldn’t stomach what the school was giving him. During those days, Connor tried his best to calm Evan down enough to where he would get Evan to each at least some bland tater tots.

That wasn’t the case today. He sat alone in the corner of the cafeteria, untouched food in front of him.

It’s not like he wasn’t used to this. Jared would never sit by him, always opting to work on programming by himself and not be seen with Evan, and since he had no other friends, he was pushed to the corner of the room.

Evan was deep in thought when he heard a voice.

“Evan Hansen?” Evan snapped his head up, only to freeze when he saw Zoe Murphy standing there, kind smile on her face.

“Oh, uh, yeah. That’s me,” he stuttered out. How long has she been standing there? Was she just waiting for Evan to notice her?

“Sorry to bother you, but can I ask you a question?” Oh okay, straight to the point. Evan wiped his palms on his jeans.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course.”

“Are you and my brother friends?” That’s not what he was expecting.

Are they friends? He doesn’t know if Connor considers Evan a friend, but does Evan?

“Uh, yeah,” he drew out. “Yeah, I guess.”

Zoe raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She looked around the lunch room before sitting down across from Evan.

Oh God.

“Do you guys text?”

“Yeah, why?” Did something happen? Why would she need to know if they texted?

“Were you guys texting last night?”

“Yes?” Evan was about to have an anxiety attack. Did Connor tell her? Did Connor spill everything that Evan told him? Is Zoe making sure that this is the Evan Hansen that he is talking to so that she can go around and tell everyone?

“Okay,” she mumbled. She sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry for asking these questions, but Connor got his phone taken away yesterday and my parents wanted to see if who he was texting went to our school.”

“Oh.” Great, so Connor’s parents read their text messages? There was private stuff in there. He hasn’t even met these people and they already know his fears? Did Connor delete the texts he sent when he was having a mental breakdown?

“I haven’t seen the messages!” she quickly added. “My parents only asked if I knew the name ‘Evan Hansen’ and so I wanted to make sure it was you.”

“Okay,” he mumbled. They sat in a silence for a moment, neither knowing what to say.

Zoe broke the silence.

“When did you two start talking?” The questions continue.

“About a month ago?”

“Why?” Well that’s not going to be shared. How would Evan even say that? Yeah, you’re brother stole something of mine and flipped out on me but I was able to calm him down and get it back and now we are basically becoming best buds!

No.

“He, uh, wanted to apologize for getting mad at me in the hallway on the first day of school.” That was kind of the truth.

“And you guys kept talking because…?”

“He was nice.” Zoe immediately rolled her eyes. Oh no. Did he say something wrong?

“He’s not nice, Evan.”

“Wh-What?”

“He’s a druggie who will turn on you when you make one little mistake.” Evan stared at Zoe in disbelief. Here is Connor’s sister, who is known for being happy and helping others, staring at Evan with an angry look in her eye. She’s spending her time, giving Evan a warning.

“He--I don’t think--would he really?”

“He’s done it to me countless times.” Before Evan could say anything else, she stood up. “I’m not telling you what you should do. I’m just warning you that my brother is a loose canon.” With that, she left.

Evan stared at the spot she had just occupied. Zoe has obviously been with Connor her whole life and she knows more than Evan. If she is giving him a warning, he should listen.

Shouldn’t he?

---

When it was sixth period, Evan didn’t know what to do. Surprisingly, he didn’t have any homework to do for that day. He didn’t want to write a letter to his therapist either, as the only thing that happened today was talking to Zoe.

He decided to walk home. It was the last period of the day, and no one was going to be waiting for him. He also wanted to make sure his house was clean before Jared came over.

Evan didn’t get far off of campus before a truck pulled up next to him. With his headphones in, he didn’t hear the driver call out to him. He did hear the car horn, however.

He whipped his head to see Connor sitting in the truck, looking at him threw the passenger window. He quickly pulled out his headphones.

“Connor?” he asked.

“Get in, Hansen.” Evan didn’t question, he just walked across the grass dividing the street and the sidewalk and into Connor’s car.

Connor pulled out into the road before Evan could buckle his seatbelt fully.

It was silent between the two. Evan wanted to know where Connor went in the beginning of the day, if he was doing better, if he was okay in general.

“I didn’t mean to flip out on you earlier,” Connor stated.

“I know,” Evan mumbled. It was silent again. You would think after talking for a month, they would be a little better at talking to each other.

Evan watched all the trees go by. The radio was playing in the background, and the sky was blue with only a few clouds. Always a little strange for October weather.

“Have you ever been to the orchard?” Connor asked. Evan shot him a confused look.

“What orchard?”

“So I’ll take that as a no.”

“Where is it?” Evan asked.

“Well, it’s closed now, but it was almost like a forest reserve for people to go to. You could have picnics, there was a creek, all that fun stuff.” Evan hummed.

The rest of the car ride was filled with small talk. At some point, they had gotten onto the topic of bands they liked, and it blew up from there.

“You’ve never heard of Hollywood Undead?” Connor laughed. “How the fuck have you not?”

“They’re not a very popular band, obviously,” Evan shot back. Connor turned to him with a look as if he had personally attacked Connor’s work himself.

“They are popular!”

“Sure, Connor.”

“You shut the fuck up, Mr. ‘Taylor Swift is a better country singer than pop’.”

“Well, she is--”

“You have no taste.”

It wasn’t long before they reached where Connor was taking them. Evan looked around as Connor turned off the car and saw trees everywhere, as well as a gate with a sign that said “NO TRESPASSING”.

“Uh, what are we, uh, doing here?” Evan asked.

“We’re gonna walk around.”

“W-Wait, what?”

“Come on, Hansen,” Connor called, ignoring the panic rising in the boy. He hopped out of the car and Evan quickly followed, leaving his backpack in the car.

“We can’t go in!” he called out. Connor rolled his eyes.

“Trust me, it’s fine.”

“What if someone finds us? What if they see your car and come searching and then we get in trouble? What if we get arrested? I can’t have my mom bail me out of jail, and your parents won’t--”

“Evan!” Connor yelled. Evan immediately stopped talking. “It’s fine. I come here all the time. I was just here earlier, and no one found me. No one even thinks about this place anymore.”

Evan nodded his head in understanding and looked down at the ground. He heard Connor take a deep breath.

“Just… Come on. You can trust me.”

Evan followed Connor to the fence. Right under the trespassing sign was a cut part of the fence that looked like it was able to be pushed back. Connor pushed the fence piece back and held it open, motioning for Evan to make his way through.

Evan made it on the other side, careful with his cast, and Connor followed suit. Evan looked around in amazement. How come this place was abandoned?

“This place got closed down after they opened up the park as a national park,” Connor answered his unasked question. “Apparently people feel like going to a national park would be more fun than an orchard, even though it’s the same fucking thing.”

Connor stared walking into the trees and Evan was quick to follow.

It was gorgeous. It was a surprise that he has never seen this place. His mom and dad would always love to take them out and show him the nature, the flowers, the birds. It was a big part of his life, and a big reason why he loved trees. Participating in the Junior Ranger program was a way for him to try and go back to those times.

Happier times.

“So homecoming’s coming up,” Connor stated. “You going?”

“Well, uh, probably not?” Those kind of things were never Evan’s thing.

“Even if a cute girl asked you out?” Connor laughed as Evan blushed. The only girl Evan would even want to ask him out is Zoe, but after their conversation, he has been questioning his relationship with her.

“If someone asked me out, that’d be a shock in itself.”

Connor laughed. “Fair enough.”

“What about you?” Evan asked. “You going?”

“No. No way.”

“Not even if a girl asks you?”

“There’s no girl that could make me go to any dance.” Evan hummed.

“What if your crush asked you? There is a girl you like, right?” Connor gave him a side look and coughed.

“Yeah. A girl…” He didn’t say anything after, and Evan didn’t want to push it, so they fell back into silence.

“We’re here.” Evan gave him a confused look.

“Wait, where?”

“Look.” Evan looked anxiously at the space past the trees Connor motioned to before walking forward.

Past the trees was a big open grass field, surrounded by trees. The wind was blowing the long grass gently and the sun was peeking out from behind the threes, just getting ready to set for the night.

Evan was in shock. This place was gorgeous.

“I assume you like it?” he heard Connor call.

Evan shook his head. “Connor, this--this is amazing! How did you find it?”

“I was just walking around one day and stumbled upon it.”

Evan stared at the whole place. Connor watched him with a smile.

“You said you like to climb trees, right?” Connor asked. Evan stiffened up.

“Um, yeah,” he stuttered out.

“Come on. There’s a tree with really low branches.” Connor started walking away towards a tree that Evan saw stuck out from the rest. It was slightly out of the circle of trees, and Evan understood why Connor chose that one. The branches are definitely lower than the others, and easier for the boys to reach.

“I--I don’t think I can climb right now,” Evan called towards him. Connor turned and gave him a confused look.

“Why not?” Evan just held up his cast. Connor looked at for a second before realization hit. “Fuck, that’s right. I’m a fucking moron.”

“Sorry,” Evan shrugged.

“Why are you sorry?”

“You wanted to climb the tree, and I can’t.” Connor sighed and shook his head.

“That’s not your fault, man.” Evan nodded his head and decided not to say anything else.

His phones started buzzing in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out to see who is was.

It was Jared.

“Shit,” he mumbled under his breath. Connor was next to him now, looking down at his phone.

“Kleinman? What does that fucker want?” Evan opted to not comment on Connor’s obvious hatred of Jared.

“I forgot I was supposed to hang out with him today.” He hit answer and turned away.

“Evan! Where are you?”

“I’m sorry, I was walking home but Connor wanted to hang out--”

“Connor? Connor Murphy? You’re with him right now?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I am headed back right now--”

“Did he kidnap you or something, dude? You guys never hang out outside of school. I never even thought the guy was stable enough to do something.”

Evan anxiously shot a look at Connor, but he was picking at his nail polish, so Evan was sure he didn’t hear Jared.

“He can. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I’m heading back now. Just go inside, I’ll be home soon, ignore the mess.”

“Whatever you say dude. Bye.”

With that, Jared hung up. Evan turned back to Connor, fiddling with his phone.

“I’m sorry Connor, can we--”

“Yeah, we can go back.” Connor clipped. Evan flinched. He looked down at the ground anxiously.

“Sorry, this was fun, but--”

“I know,” Connor forced a smile across his face. “You and Jared had plans. Nothing wrong with that.”

Connor started walking away, and Evan couldn’t help but get the feeling that Connor was truly upset.

He quickly followed Connor back to his car and tired to calm down his anxiety.

“Thank you for taking me here,” Evan said when they got back into Connor’s truck.

“Yeah. We can come back.” Evan looked down to hide a smile.

Connor actually wanted to hang out with him again. Hang out, in public, for no reason other than to hang out with Evan.

Is this was real friendship is like?

#dear evan hansen #evan hansen #connor murphy #zoe murphy #jared kleinman #evan hansen x connor murphy #tree bros #writing #sun writing

[fiercyy]

Words, Chivalry Seldom Needs [1/?]

Summary: "Then I must ask you Madam, am I the last man in the world you could ever be prevailed upon to marry… or the next to last?" When Mr. Bennet dies unexpectedly, Darcy is pushed into action.

.

.

It was a gray morning in Hertfordshire when the fate of the Bennet family changed forever.

Elizabeth Bennet sat on a stump atop Oakam Mount, escaping Longbourn for a spell—escaping England, across the ocean, through the portal a book presents. It had long been her habit to walk out before breakfast, but her sister's illness and their stay at Netherfield had prevented it for several days hence. Her solace in the snake pit of the Netherfield drawing room had been reading. It felt wonderful now, to read without the feeling of eyes upon her, the judgement of her audience, rudely undisguised.

Miss Bingley and Mr. Darcy can now titter away in peace, thought Elizabeth with satisfaction, without a country hoyden to scandalize their fashionable sensibilities.

Her concentration shattered at the sound of hoof beats. It seemed to her that the sound shook the morning dew from the grass. She knew it to be an ill omen, but knew not why.

It was strange to see Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley come up over the crest of the hill.

Darcy reached her first, having galloped at an alarming speed. He circled her in an attempt to slow. The expression on his face did not make her easy.

"Good morning Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley," for him, she called out, so he may hear her from where he lagged behind. "To what do I owe the pleasure of running into you this fine morning?" Her false obsequiousness could not usually fail to make an audience laugh, but they continued to appear very solemn. Even Mr. Bingley, whose general air was of a pleasant and jovial nature, looked pale.

"We have just been to Longbourn and were charged with fetching you. You must return with us immediately," Bingley told her, pity in his eyes.

"What has happened?" Elizabeth demanded, "You must tell me, please."

He could not. Bingley stumbled on his words, stammering and correcting himself before more anything could be properly understood. It was Mr. Darcy who dismounted and bravely faced her to deliver the news, hat in hand.

"Is it Jane? Mama?" He hesitated here, the wool felt of his hat crumpling in his grip. "Please," she implored again, "Tell me now, I cannot stand it."

"It is your father-"

"Dear god, no…"

"I am so very sorry Miss Elizabeth, he was a good man. It was very sudden."

"But he wasn't even ill!" she cried.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Mr. Bingley did not appear to know what to do either. "Sometimes it happens that way," they exchanged a glance. "Please allow us to escort you home." Here, Mr. Darcy did something very forward; he took her hand in his and pressed it.

Elizabeth shivered. She had removed her gloves to better turn the pages of her book. Though he was wearing riding gloves, her palms were bare. They remained so for a moment.

"If there is anything that may be done for your family, I implore you to consider your friends."

Elizabeth could not help it, a panicked laugh escaped through her tears. "Are we friends Mr. Darcy?"

He hesitated again, "If we are not, it is my fond wish that we become so." He offered his arm, so they may begin the trek down the mount, his steed trailing behind. It would be improper for her to share his saddle.

Despite the pain in her heart, the chambers collapsing in on themselves, she found herself enjoying the ridiculousness of the situation. Her father would have liked this story, had she the opportunity to tell it to him. "Thank you Mr. Darcy," she said, tears of mirth and mourning, mingling "For as you know, I dearly love to laugh."

.

.

Elizabeth and her two escorts arrived at Longbourn to find it in a most unsettling state; quiet and still. Tom took her cloak and bonnet, in addition to the gentlemen's coats and hats, a sincere expression of condolence on his face.

She ran to the drawing room, where she was sure her family gathered. Inside, were three of her sisters. Mary sat beside Kitty on the chaise. They stared straight ahead but their hands were linked on the cushion between them. Jane, who sat in a chair across from them, jumped to her feet. Elizabeth rushed to her embrace, already overflowing with questions. "What happened? Where are Mama and Lydia?"

"Oh Lizzy," said Jane, "I'm so glad you're here. Lydia is upstairs with Mama, she is beside herself. It was terrible! Papa did not come downstairs at his usual hour, so Mama sent Tom to his room-" as she spoke, she grew more and more hysterical.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Bingley interceded, "Perhaps you should take a seat."

Elizabeth had quite forgotten he was there.

He pressed a handkerchief into Jane's hands. She smiled gratefully but declined his offer to sit. "I cannot be still, I know not what to do with myself. Thank God, Papa felt no pain. It happened in his sleep. Dr. Howard is with him now."

"In his sleep…" Elizabeth whispered. She suddenly couldn't feel her legs. She wanted to cry out, to warn that she was about to fall, but found that she couldn't. Her back hit something warm, bare hands caught her shoulders.

Mr. Darcy had appeared behind her, just in time. "Bingley, fetch Miss Elizabeth something to drink," he ordered, a note of alarm in his voice. "Are you quite alright madam? Please, sit."

"I… I cannot. I must see him. Please, I need to see him right now."

"Lizzy please!" Jane pleaded, "See reason."

"What reason is there in this? How can this be? He was healthy! And young yet."

"These things happen."

"But why?"

In that moment, she realized that Darcy still held her, this time she could feel the roughness of his bare fingertips against her arms. She took a step away and his arms dropped to his sides. He cleared his throat and looked to the fire in the grate.

A quiet voice from the chaise permeated Elizabeth's grief. "What will become of us?" asked Kitty.

Mary squeezed her hand tighter. "We must seek guidance from the Lord and pray for Papa's safe passage to his side."

"…Thank you Mary." In her own way, Elizabeth supposed, she was trying to be comforting. "Has someone written to Uncle Gardiner? Shall I walk to Meryton to fetch Aunt Phillips for Mama?" She had little idea what was to be done in the event of a death in the family.

"I had not yet thought to," Jane admitted.

"I shall write and go to town to send them an express at once. All will be well Jane."

"Mama was shouting before," Jane glanced momentarily at the gentlemen, "About the entail and what we shall do. She fears we will all be thrown to the hedgerows."

"We will worry about that when the time comes. For now, we must keep our heads."

"Oh Lizzy, how brave you are."

"No Jane, only foolish. Too foolish to worry yet, too panicked to feel despair." This was said quietly, for her sister's ears alone.

Bingley, who had been anxiously rocking on his feet, felt compelled to be of use. "Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth, please allow me to go to town to send your express."

Jane blushed prettily, "We are in your debt Mr. Bingley, you have been so kind."

"It is no less than your due."

What can he mean? Elizabeth thought to herself, as a private joke. It was easier to turn to humor than to face the insurmountable wave of grief that was coming for her, pulling like the tides, ready to sweep her out into an ocean she'd never seen.

.

.

Darcy watched Elizabeth as she wrote her letter. She was so composed, so resilient. He knew very well, the grief she must be feeling, for it was not long since the death of his own father. He knew them to be close.

He also had it from Caroline Bingley (and confirmed by Jane Bennet's whispered worries) that the estate was entailed away from the female line. The Bennets were facing homelessness and a loss in status, in addition to the very dear loss of a most beloved parent. He felt for them and was moved.

He envied Bingley, so able to express himself and his condolences—so ready to be at their service.

Nothing was expected of him, but he wanted to be of use to her. It mattered not how well she was faring now. The first rush would end, denial would fade and she would be made to feel her pain. Darcy desperately wanted to comfort her, but his fears of giving rise to expectations held him back.

What's worse, she was too good to expect anything. Elizabeth Bennet was singular in that she had no pretentions or aspirations towards joining the beau monde. She knew the vast difference in their stations and had avoided encouraging an attachment she knew could never come to fruition. Looking at her, the strong sureness of her hand as she wrote her letter, her unbowed shoulders in the face of adversity, her fine eyes narrowed in determination and focus; he could not quite remember why that was.

Elizabeth Bennet was a pillar of strength for her family. She loved with unparalleled fierceness and loyalty. So strong was her love, that a loss as great as this could not break her. However, he did pity her. For who did she have to lean on, as her sisters and mother looked to her?

Soon, her letter was finished and Bingley clasped it to his chest, promising her with a greatness of feeling that he would ensure it was sent with haste.

"We will leave you now," said Darcy, for he could see that Bingley was dallying, looking not at Elizabeth, but Miss Jane Bennet. "Good day to you all. Our condolences in this difficult time."

"Thank you Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth replied, with a curtsy. Her sisters stood and in a soft chorus, repeated the sentiment.

Something swelled in his breast, so large he felt like he would burst, or like he could run a mile. He nodded and fled, for he was starting to realize that it was not mere admiration he felt for Elizabeth Bennet. It was the beginning of something more that could never be.

.

.

The next several days at Longbourn were a trial for everyone. Mrs. Bennet's faint turned to panic, which rattled the windows in its hysterical loudness. Mrs. Hill tried to tend to her as much as she could. The sisters took turns sitting by her bedside, until eventually she wanted a change of scenery and turned to having her fits in the drawing room.

She wished to hold court with the neighborhood women, which Jane and Elizabeth vehemently argued against. They were thankfully able to convince her of the impropriety of such an action. Meanwhile, Lydia and Kitty complained bitterly at being kept indoors and away from the officers. Mary took to loudly and badly playing dirges. There was no escape and Elizabeth felt sure that she would soon lose her senses.

Luckily, the Gardiners arrived quickly.

On the morning of their arrival, their Aunt inquired after Elizabeth's state of mind. "You are handling this remarkably well my dear."

"I suppose," Elizabeth allowed. The truth was, that she felt nothing, not since she heard the news. Her heart was a tightly closed fist. It would not loosen for anything. She knew the pain would come, she hoped not soon. She hoped not ever, while at once wishing desperately that she could feel it now. It felt wrong to be unable to mourn her father properly. It did not yet feel real. A heart seizure had taken her father from them while he slept, these were the facts, but Elizabeth could not face it. He did not feel gone to her, only missing.

#pride and prejudice #p&p #elizabeth bennet #fitzwilliam darcy #mr darcy #fanfiction

[eternalsterekrecs]

hi! hope you're having a great day! do you guys gave any youtuber!stiles recs? i'd love anything you can finds! please and thank you!

We actually have an ONLINE CELEBRITIES rec list but we’re not sure if there’s any work with Youtuber Stiles so here, have some recs!

YOUTUBER STILES

Really, Derek Hale? by relenafanel

Derek loves his sisters, so when Allison expresses the need to visit her family home in Beacon Hills years after the death of her parents, Derek agrees. It’s the perfect setting for him to work on the storyboard for Lycaon Production’s newest horror movie. It also happens to be the hometown of one of the most popular horror movie vloggers.

Stiles’ Horror Picture Blog just might be the inspiration he needs to put Lycaon back on the big screen. He doesn’t expect Stiles himself to become his inspiration.

And he certainly doesn’t expect Stiles’ antagonistic treatment of him in return, even if he understands how it happened. Derek has never been very good at people, and he has no idea how to make it right when everything he tries just makes Stiles’ opinion of him worse.

–

A Pride and Prejudice / Lizzie Bennet Diaries fusion fic from the Darcy character’s POV.

Of Green Beans and Youtube by nerdfightingwhovian

Stiles has a YouTube show that is essentially Hannah Hart’s “My Drunk Kitchen” where he cooks food drunk but actually pretty well. Derek is a serious chef on YouTube. He has cookbooks that you can buy in actual stores and stuff. He’s the real deal. Stiles’ video-block is fixed when he stumbles across Derek guest-starring on a Food Network show. In a rush of inspiration he starts a new series where he cooks Derek’s recipes drunk. Derek finds out about the show and instead of being angry, he’s intrigued by the guy cooking and throwing things around his kitchen while drinking too much alcohol.

The Curly Fries Show with Stiles Stilinski by howl-to-the-wind

“Curly fries are only for the brave, so is love.”

–

Five times Stiles interviewed celebrities for his popular YouTube show, ‘The Curly Fries Show with Stiles Stilinski’, and one time he was the one interviewed.

Or

Five times Stiles hung out with his attractive, adorable, bashful, architect building-mate Derek Hale and one time he hung out with his attractive, adorable, bashful, architect building-mate, boyfriend Derek Hale.

Daddy Do’s by apocryphal

“Hi Mr. Stilinski!” Lydia said pertly. “My name’s Lydia, and this is my daddy. His name is Derek Andrew Hale and he watches all of your videos on YouTube a lot, but he still can’t braid.”

[Stiles is a celebrity YouTube hairstylist. Derek may or may not have a crush. Lydia just wants a French braid for school picture day.]

The Curve of Your Clavicle by WhoNatural

Derek isn’t an uptight person - seriously, for an alpha, he’s downright laid-back - but something about Stilinski makes him want to bare his teeth and grasp him by the scruff and bite.

No, not bite. That would be incredibly inappropriate, of course - and Derek plus the legal department are aware of that. Anyway, the point is, Stilinski needs to be kept in line.

Or, wherein Derek’s office rival might be the same person keeping him sane at night when the loneliness hits.

Truth or Dare by officerstilinskihale

“So, I thought I’d do this, and just to keep to the same theme…” he trailed off, before nodding once, as if to steel himself to what he was about to do. “Derek Hale, I dare you to go out with me.”

Derek stared blankly at the screen, watching as Stiles ducked his head, blushing.

“That sounded a lot cooler in my head to be perfectly honest,” he admitted, and Derek’s mouth twitched.

I’ll Be Your Robin by mikkimouse

“You’re sitting in my background!” Stiles waved behind him. “Can’t you just scoot to the left by, like, two feet? Or go to the library until I’m done?”

Derek scowled, and really, that angry look shouldn’t turn Stiles on as much as it pisses him off. “I don’t have room to scoot two feet to the left. And the last time I left the room while you were recording, I ended up getting stuck outside until midnight.”

“I had to do multiple takes!”

Derek’s scowl didn’t lift. “You yelled at me when I came in here to go to bed.”

The One Where Stiles Wears Makeup by mikkimouse

Stiles does makeup tutorials on YouTube. Derek finds out.

#sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #fic rec #youtuber!stiles #celebrity!stiles #asks #snazziestevie

[andrethegiant3001]

You Owe Me a Fifty

Summary:  Will Darcy knows that one day his thing with Elizabeth Bennet is going to get him in trouble. He’s also not nearly strong enough to stop it. Modern AU in which Lizzie has to plan Jane’s wedding and Darcy just wants a dance (and maybe something more).

The first thing that Will Darcy notices about Elizabeth Bennet is that she seems remarkably skilled at convincing others to make horrible decisions.

Within the first hour of their acquaintance, she manages to convince Charlie, Will’s self-proclaimed best friend and Elizabeth’s sister’s new boyfriend, to order all his food while doing his best Sean Connery impression, challenges their waiter – who is a guy around their age and clearly unopposed to obliging a pretty girl’s silly requests – to make her one collective drink out of every non-alcoholic beverage on the menu, and tricks Darcy into believing that his drink was spiked by the same waiter she was flirting with moments earlier.

He doesn’t really care if she was flirting with him or not. He just thinks it’s relevant to the context of the story. That’s all, okay?

He calls her impulsive and irresponsible. She returns the favour by quite bluntly telling him that he’s prick with a stick up his arse. They argue throughout most of the evening, attracting the attention of just about every other person in the restaurant. The entire affair makes Jane and Charlie very uncomfortable. To say things get off to a rocky start would be a huge understatement.

And then, somewhere between the second and third hour of their insanely tense ‘get to know your best mate’s/sister’s significant other’ dinner, Elizabeth makes a quip about Darcy being a craptastic wanker, and instead of insulting her back like she expects him to, Darcy laughs because he doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more ridiculous insult. And then Elizabeth laughs. And suddenly, the atmosphere shifts and everything is entirely too friendly and not nearly as hostile as moments ago.

They spend the rest of the night talking to each other and basically ignoring Charlie and Jane, who stopped listening by the second hour of arguing anyway. Lizzie contests basically all his opinions, but it’s not because she dislikes him, it’s because she genuinely has reasons to disagree. He can barely think about how intriguing she’s become to him over the euphoria of having an actual conversation.

He’s pretty sure that he’s been severely deprived of them because of the amount of time he’s had to spend with Charlie’s sisters.

By the end of the night, Darcy and Lizzie are acting like they’ve known each other for years. They part ways after the meal and Darcy doesn’t know when he’ll see her again. He expects it to fade away, just like all the other acquaintanceships he’s made over the years.

And that’s probably what would have happened…if Lizzie was just about any other girl on the planet.

But she’s the Elizabeth Bennet, so things between them inevitably escalate.

It all starts with a snapchat he gets about a week later.

He hates Snapchat and told her as much during dinner, but she refused to listen and downloaded it on to his phone. He doesn’t know why he won’t just delete it.

(It’s not like he’s keeping it just in case Lizzie snapchats him. Cause that would be ridiculous.)

She asks him if he wants to come over because she’s had a bad day and Jane can’t hang out. Even though he has a pile of work the size of the Eiffel Tower, he says yes, because all of a sudden, he’s incapable of saying no to women he’s only spent five hours with.

He suspects that it’s not women in general, as much as it’s Lizzie Bennet that he is unable to say no to.

After that, it becomes a thing. Whenever one of them has a bad day, they call up the other. They cook and argue and watch dumb movies they find on Netflix (most of them with one-star ratings). They spend their free time together and Will will admit that spending time with her is always the highlight of his day.

Then all of a sudden, there’s a shift. Lizzie invites Darcy to a wedding as a date. Well, it’s kind of a date. They never call it a date, but that’s what it feels like. Lizzie makes a joke of it. She says that she needs him around at horrible events like these because he’s the only one that will make very loud, snarky comments with her. He goes along with it because she’s right. They’re both much too judgmental for their own good and it feels weirdly appropriate to do this with each other. So then that becomes a thing to; inviting each other to painful social events to stay entertained.

It never develops into something explicitly. They’re not acquaintances or friends. They’re just Lizzie and Darcy. Like Batman and Robin. Or Scully and Mulder if things between them hadn’t gotten so sexual.

He still thinks they should have stayed platonic, but he’s also a sap for a good love story. His feelings for ‘The X Files’ are pretty inconsistent.

(His feelings for Lizzie are pretty inconsistent too…)

He also quickly finds out that he was one hundred percent right when he observed that Lizzie was good at convincing people to make bad decisions.

He loses track of the number of mistakes he makes during the course of their strange thing, from the time when she dares him to make a sexual innuendo out of every sentence he says at a rather boring dinner party with Charlie’s sisters, to the time when she gets him well and truly smashed while on a lunch date at a fancy restaurant with his cousin, his cousin’s fiancé and his surly aunt. All his worst ideas seem to be planted into his mind by her.

Like that inception shit! She was the inceptor!

… He really shouldn’t reference movies he hasn’t seen.

And the bad decisions only intensify in number and degree when they start sleeping together. Will honestly isn’t sure how it starts.

Except he kind of (completely) knows how it starts and it’s kind of (completely) his fault.

They’re watching Die Hard on the day before Christmas Eve, when he starts complaining about the unrealistic qualities of the movie. Lizzie cuts him off with a rant about ‘movie superiority complex’ and how he should try shutting his brain off for two hours to enjoy at least one part of his fucking miserable life.

Okay, so he’ll come clean. Sometimes he complains about things just to get her to argue with him. He likes watching her as her voice takes on that passionate tone, her posture straightens, and her cheeks flush a little because she gets so worked up. But the best part is at the end, when she smirks at him because she thinks she’s won.

When she looks that sexy he’s pretty sure that he’s the only one winning.

She keeps going, oblivious to the fact that he isn’t really listening to her, but instead intently staring at her lips as she continues to spit rapid fire word vomit at him at a hundred miles per hour.

And then he does the thing. The stupid thing that is definitely going to get him in trouble somehow. The stupid thing that he’s spent such a long time convincing himself not to do. The stupid thing that will most likely destroy him and the small amount of willpower that he still possesses regarding Elizabeth Bennet.

He leans in and kisses her. Catches her completely unaware as he cuts off what he’s sure was a winning speech on the positive qualities of Die Hard.

It’s probably the worst decision he’s ever made, and Lizzie didn’t even make him do it.

But when she responds eagerly to his lips on hers and pulls him down with her when she falls back onto the couch, allowing him to settle himself between her legs and explore every curve and groove of her body, he can no longer remember why this is such a horrible idea when it feels so fucking good.

He pushes her shirt up, letting his mouth move lazily across the skin of her stomach and grins against her skin when she gasps unceremoniously as he gets closer and closer to the edge of her underwear.

Yup, this definitely means trouble.

That leads to a whole new category of inappropriate things she can convince him to do at the most inappropriate times.

And honestly, who is he to refuse her when she pushes him into the closet at Charlie’s house – or anywhere else she pleases– and kisses him until his head is spinning, before proceeding to do some other very inappropriate things to him and then slipping back out, acting as though nothing happened.

A year and six months after Jane and Charlie start dating, he asks her to marry him and she enthusiastically agrees, to Lizzie’s absolute horror. From what Darcy understands of the situation – which is very little – Lizzie now has to plan Jane’s wedding. He’s fairly certain that it has something to do with a bet or a deal they made when they were younger, but he honestly hasn’t the energy to comprehend such things.

He doesn’t have a clue why Lizzie would ever make any kind of deal involving weddings. She hated them with a passion.

After rigorous planning on Lizzie’s part, the big day finally arrives.

Darcy doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lizzie more stressed than in the hours leading up to the wedding. She’s practically pulling her hair out as she phones everyone in the city, confirming arrangements with everyone from the florist to the magician that’s coming in to entertain the children at the reception. He doesn’t really know what he should do, so he does what he does whenever he doubts his course of action. Nothing. He figures that it’s best to stay out of Lizzie’s way until she comes to find him.

And she does just that around an hour before the ceremony. He’s (reluctantly) making polite conversation with Caroline Bingley when she comes up to them, pulling him away with some unconvincing excuse of having to verify the meal plans that he’s sure she’s personally verified more than enough. Then, once they’re out of everyone’s sight, she pushes him into an empty room.

As soon as they’re in the room, she slots her lips to his and kisses him intensely, barely giving him any time to respond. He finally wraps his arms around her waist and opens his mouth when she runs her tongue over his bottom lip, deepening the kiss. His hands slide down her body and she grins against his lips when they grab her ass. She breaks the kiss, quickly moving to down to work on his jaw and neck.

“Lizzie?” He says in a strained voice.

“Yeah?” She says as she kisses her way down his body slowly, sucking whenever he moans quietly and slowly undoing the buttons of his dress shirt.

“Remember how we talked about finding appropriate times for this?” He barely makes the words come out as he feels her hot lips travelling down his chest and to the area right above his belt buckle.

“No, I don’t seem to recall,” she smiles up at him, and it takes all his strength not to just give in right then and there. Her pupils are blown wide, her lips are slightly red from when they were on his and her makeup is done to perfection. She looks absolutely stunning.

Goddamn, she is actually going to be the death of him. He is so screwed.

(Pun fully intended.)

“Well, Charlie and Jane’s wedding is definitely an inappropri-” he cuts off with a groan as she undoes his belt buckle and he feels her hot breath just above his briefs.

Instead of going down any farther (like he kind of wants her too) she stands up slowly, pushing him against the wall and bringing their lips as close as possible without touching.

“You were saying?” She whispers, then lets her gaze fall to his lips once again.

He’s the one to close the distance, bringing their lips together in a kiss that wakes up every part of his body and makes her moan into his mouth just a little too loudly.  

He convinces himself that this is her doing, her fault that he does irresponsible things. But he knows that’s wrong. He just can’t help himself.

The wedding is beautiful and all of Lizzie’s hard work as the maid of honour/wedding planner extraordinaire pays off. Her mother cries, her sisters shoot Jane jealous looks and her father lets a tear slip as he gives away his oldest daughter. Even the cold, unfeeling cockroach that is Caroline Bingley seems touched by the ceremony.

She’d probably feel differently if she knew who had organized it.

Everything looks perfect, down to the last flower petal, just how Jane likes things. The only downside is that Darcy can’t stop staring at Lizzie the whole fucking time.

She just looks so goddamn beautiful and she’s not even the one getting married.   

That thought just causes a whole series of completely inappropriate images to flash through his mind, all of them involving Lizzie wearing a wedding dress.  

He’s not sure how this happened. He knows that it all started as a casual fuck. They had been good friends, but not dependent on each other. They had both been opposed to a relationship, so everything had been good to go. Zero feelings involved.

Except, somewhere in between being her friend and her fuck buddy, Will realized what it meant for them to be both at the same time. It meant something more.

And it’s become something more. At least it has for him. Now, he wants to stay the night whenever they sleep together and then make her tea in the morning. He wants to be able to greet her with a hug in public that lasts just a little longer than it should and catch the smiles she sends him that are only for him.

That may be a problem. Elizabeth Bennet is not his type. Well, not in a relationship at least. He’s used to professionals, which sounds weird because a relationship is as personal as it gets, but the girls he usually dates are rigid, uptight and neatly reserved. They serve his public life. He is a corporate lawyer after all. He needs someone he can take to a professional event that won’t try to expose that he’s ticklish or something.

Elizabeth Bennet is a lot of things, but professional is not one of them. He’s not sure he could convince her to be boring for even one evening. He also doesn’t think he would want to. Lizzie is bright, mysterious and funny. The very opposite of boring.

And he honestly doesn’t think he could watch her turn into anything else, even for the sake of his career.

Despite these sane, rational reasons as to why he shouldn’t turn their current relationship into something more, he finds himself wanting to anyways. Sure, he has  fancies outside of his type before, but usually it’s purely physical. A quick shag once or twice and the feeling is gone, and he can move on to his next ‘professional girlfriend’. But he’s already with Lizzie in a purely physical sense and it’s still not enough.

Regarding Lizzie’s feeling for him, her emotions were always a mystery. He doesn’t know if she’s interested in something more, but he does know that he’s not willing to bruise his ego for a girlfriend.      

Or a fiancé. Or a wife…      

HOLD YOUR HORSES, DARCY! THAT’S GOING A LITTLE FAR!   

No, he’s fine with being her fuck buddy who’s in love with her on the side.      

Wait to make it sound pathetic.

His table at the reception is the strangest grouping of people he thinks he’s ever seen. Calling Jane and Charlie’s families incompatible would be an understatement. The Bennet sisters spend the entire time gossiping about high school drama, while Caroline looks downright scandalised to have so many low-level people sitting near her. Mrs. Bennet can’t seem to shut up, going on and on about how proud she is of Jane and how beautiful she looks and how handsome Charlie looks. Charlie’s parents, who have to listen to all of this, look ready to jump off a bridge. Mr. Bennet stays silent for most of the night, but Darcy occasionally catches him shooting smiles at Lizzie, his favourite daughter.

He can’t blame Mr. Bennet for picking favourites because she’s Darcy’s favourite Bennet sister too.

Despite the noise and chaos, he’s happy. Lizzie grips his hand under the table whenever her mom says anything particularly embarrassing and he runs the pad of his thumb over her knuckles in a fashion that he hopes is comforting. She spends the entire dinner whispering stupid jokes in his ear and daring him to do ridiculous things she knows he won’t follow through on. It’s a little exciting, knowing that they’re the only ones that know about them.

You know what would be even more exciting?

If everyone knew.

He spends the entire reception trying to spend some time with Lizzie. He can’t help it, he really just wants to pull her into his arms and drag her out on the dance floor. He hates dancing. He’s good at it because his mum put him through so many dancing classes when he was younger. He used to complain constantly about how it was a useless skill, but his mum would always respond with a secretive smile, claiming that she was sure it would come in handy someday.

And now at the age of twenty-six, he finally understands what she meant. He’s happy that he can bring a girl out on the dance floor and know exactly what he’s doing. He can’t imagine how mortifying it would be if he didn’t know how to dance at all. Unfortunately, this realization is quite useless when Lizzie is literally running around the entire place trying to make everything run smoothly.

He tries to catch her, but each time, without fail, she manages to smirk, say something flirty and then run away. He’s starting to wonder if he did something wrong and she’s doing it on purpose.

In the end he does get his dance though. It’s not until Jane and Charlie have left for their honeymoon.

Charlie and Jane were enchanted by the evening. Their words not his, although if he’s being honest, he’s pretty enchanted by it all too. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to be in Charlie’s position.

Or what it would be like to have Lizzie in Jane’s position.

Man, he really needs to just shoot himself at this point.

Once most of the party has cleared out, he finds himself cleaning up the reception room which is one of the ballrooms of a very nice hotel. He knows he doesn’t have to because the hotel workers who are actually getting paid will do it, but his mum always taught him to clean up after himself and he’s never quite been able to let that go.

He feels someone’s (Lizzie’s) hands encircle his waist and spins around to bring his lips to hers, lifting her up as she kisses him back. He can feel her smile widen against his lips.

This. This feeling is what he wants to feel all the fucking time.

He lowers her to the ground and and looks into her eyes which suddenly brighten.

“I have an idea,” she whispers excitedly.

“You do?” He teases, and she moves away from him and turns around, sticking her tongue out at him over her shoulder.

She moves over to the mixing table and plugs her phone into the aux cord. Her eyes skim over her phones as she looks for a song, then turns around as the first couple chords come out of the speakers and shoots him a dramatic look.

“Blue jean baby, L.A. lady, seamstress for the band,” she sings loudly and clearly, closing her eyes and throwing her head back.

He laughs and she opens her eyes and smiles at him. She keeps singing and walking towards him as though she’s serenading him.

He loves it when she’s like this. At times like this, she manages to make him someone he’s not. Someone that doesn’t care what others think. He becomes interesting around her. Every moment with her is an adventure. She’s getting into the role and trying to pull him in too, and heaven knows he can’t refuse her. He starts singing every other line, like they’re having a conversation that was written by Elton John.

They keep singing the lines of the song back and forth as she gets closer and closer to him and when she’s finally close enough, he grabs her waist and pulls her into his chest, singing lowly as the music continues on.

He leads her around the room, using the skills he developed over the ten years he thought had been a waste, and enjoying the feeling of dancing for the first time in his life.

“This is a fantastic song to dance to Liz.”

“Really? It was either this or U Can’t Touch This,” she hums and he laughs softly.

“Must have been a pretty tough competition,” he kisses her collarbone, delighting in the way she reacts to his touch.

“It was, it took me all night to decide.”

“Oh, so that’s why you’ve been putting off this dance with me,” he tries to keep the relief out of his voice, but he’s pretty sure he fails.

“Yup,” she pops the p, “well that and the fact that if I danced with you, Lydia, Kitty and my mum would start planning another wedding before this one could even finish,” she rolls her eyes.

“And that would be bad,” he says it like a statement but he’s pretty sure he means it as a question.

Something flashes across Lizzie’s face. It’s a hint of fear or vulnerability. The same emotion that comes across anyone’s face when they’re questioning a relationship they don’t know how to define.

But then it’s gone and she’s smiling again.

“Trust me, you don’t want my mum or my sisters on our case,” Lizzie sighs and nestles her head against his chest, casting her eyes away from his as they rock back and forth lightly. It effectively shuts off the conversation and as much as he’d like to enjoy the feeling of Lizzie in his arms, he finds himself thinking about the flash in her eyes. That moment in which both of them could have dared to ask the question.

Would it really be so bad if people found out about them?

The song is about to end and for some reason, he knows he’s going to ask. He knows he’s going to ask the question because now it’s floating around between them. He’s not sure if the thing he feels right now is entirely new, so maybe it’s been hovering over them for a while now. The new part is that now they’ve acknowledged it.

As the last note fades out, Darcy squeezes her hip lightly so she’ll look up at him, “Lizzie, I think we should-” his voice catches in his throat because she’s staring at his lips. Her hands, which were previously hanging lightly around his neck, are now moving down his back, sending shivers down his spine.

She smirks, “You were saying?”

“I think we should-” he cuts off with a groan when she shifts one of her legs in between his and kisses her way up his jaw, nipping and licking whenever she feels like it.

“Lizzie,” he warns. He knows that it’ll just make her want to tease him more. She likes him like this, fighting hard to win against her, but not being able to.

He decides to take a different route, “I have to clean,” he’s a little embarrassed at how breathless he sounds.

She scoffs at his lame excuse, “How about you do that right after you take me up to your hotel room?”

He groans dramatically letting his head fall down on to her shoulder.

“Oh no, I’m Will Darcy and a sexy, intelligent, stable woman wants to have sex with me! What a tragedy!” Lizzie imitates, her voice going an octave lower in a hilarious attempt to sound more like him.

“Sexy and intelligent I can agree with,” he whispers into her ear, “but stable? Have you met yourself Lizzie?”

“Many times, and I can confirm that I am an absolute delight-” he cuts her off with a kiss which she quickly returns, taking it deeper before he can even realize that he initiated it.

“So your room?” She giggles between kisses.

“Yeah, okay.”

Goddamnit Darcy, when did you become such a pansy?

They keep it together in the lobby and down the halls of the first floor before finally breaking in the elevator when she melts into him and kisses him squarely on the mouth, swiping her tongue against his bottom lip. He grabs her arse so he can lift her up and press her against the wall of the small compartment.

He’s too busy snogging her senseless and feeling every inch of exposed skin he can to hear the elevator ding way earlier than it should. Or the elevator doors sliding open as him and Lizzie continue to make out, completely unaware of anyone watching.

He becomes very aware the second he hears a high pitched shriek. Lizzie pushes him away, looking absolutely mortified as she stares out the elevator doors. Darcy reluctantly turns around, only to be met by the incredulous looks of two identical sixteen year old girls.

Yes, Lydia and Kitty had caught them making out. And for the record, it was all Lizzie’s fault. If she hadn’t kissed him in the elevator, then none of this would have happened. He should’ve known that her mischievous ways would get them caught sooner than later

“I don’t know what you two think you just saw,” Lizzie starts, walking out of the elevator towards them, her eyes absolutely menacing, “but it was nothing. Got it?”

Ouch…

(Yes, he knows that she doesn’t mean that and just wants to get rid of them, but still… ouch.)

Darcy settles for standing in the door of the elevator to keep it open. He really doesn’t want to get involved.

One of them sniggers – he thinks it’s Kitty – and says, “That didn’t look like nothing. I’m proud of you Lizzie. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you had it in you.”.

Lizzie just stares at her, astonished. Will is sure that Lizzie’s about to tear them both down, but before she can say anything, Lydia steps in, “I believed in you Liz. Which reminds me,” she turns on Kitty, “you owe me a fifty.”

Kitty sighs while Lydia continues to grin wolfishly, apparently extremely proud of herself.

“I take it back, I’m not proud of you. I thought you had self control. Dignity. You were the sister that wasn’t supposed to throw herself at every hot guy that walked by,” Kitty shakes her head, but then she turns her head to Darcy and looks him up and down, “but I guess he isn’t just any hot guy,” she smirks at Lizzie.

“Did I just get checked out by a fucking sixteen year old?” It just slips out and Darcy realizes that he literally has no more control over any of his actions.

“Eighteen,” Kitty and Lydia snap at the same time.

“What a huge difference,” Lizzie says sarcastically, rolling her eyes at them.

“It is actually,” Lydia says matter-of-factly.

“We’re legal now,” Kitty throws in.

“Oh my god, that’s disgusting,” Lizzie groans.

Darcy can’t help it, he lets out a laugh. All three Bennet sisters turn to him.

“Do you find my pain funny?” Lizzie asks.

“No,” he says cautiously, “but you have to admit this is all pretty funny.” She doesn’t look amused so he keeps going, “I mean, we’re caught snogging by your sisters. Turns out they’ve been betting on us all along and, to top it all off, they start hitting on me. I mean, it’s kind of bloody hilarious.”

And then both Kitty and Lydia let out a laugh and suddenly he’s laughing along with them and now Lizzie’s the only one that looks put out by the situation. He lets go of the elevator door and walks over to her, taking her hand in his and pulling her towards him.

“Hey, it’ll be okay. Let’s just get rid of them and then we’ll talk,” he says to her. She sighs, but then nods her head reluctantly.

“Okay whatever,” she turns to her sisters, “I’ll cut you a deal. You keep your mouths shut about what you saw, and in exchange, I’ll pretend that I didn’t see you guys sneaking out of your room to get drunk and flirt with guys at the hotel bar,” Lizzie says casually.

Lydia and Kitty scowl at her, but then nod their heads.

“Okay deal,” both Lydia and Kitty stick their hands out and Lizzie shakes them. It all feels much too formal and drug deal-esque for a family agreement, but Will can’t really judge considering his own family.

Lizzie and Darcy stick around while Lydia and Kitty wait for the elevator. The doors are about to close when Lydia says, “A piece of advice, you guys should just go public already. Everyone’s waiting for it. Also, I have a lot of bets on you guys so the sooner it happens, the sooner I get my money,” and that’s when the doors close and all that’s left behind is Lizzie, Darcy and tension.

His three favourite things.

Neither of them know what to say. He feels her pain. He can’t even imagine the mortification and endless teasing that would be warranted if his sister had caught them, and he actually liked Georgie.

“So… your sisters know,” he says carefully.

“They’re not my sisters. They’re little devils,” she says bitterly and he laughs lightly.

“Hey,” he says, putting his finger under her chin and lifting her head up so he can meet her eyes, “We can just explain that we’re not serious. Or we can go back to being friends. Crisis averted.”

He hopes that he doesn’t sound as pathetic as he feels because he really does not want to go back to being friends. On the other hand, if that’s the only way he can be with Lizzie, he’s okay with that.

“Okay… so let’s call that plan B,” she says slowly, taking a deep breath, “but I think that plan A should be telling people about… us.”

“Us?” He asks blankly.

“Yeah,” she continues nervously, “and maybe instead of pretending that this is some casual thing, we could actually go on a date and be a real thing.”

“A real thing?”

“Yeah,” she smirks, “and maybe you could actually say something to reassure me. I’m really going out on a limb here Will.”

And in response to that, he just kisses her. He’s never been very good with his words, but he’s really good at other things. Lizzie slides her hands into his hair, playing with it and pulling him even closer as she lets his tongue search her mouth.

She pulls away and catches her breath, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

In response, he just pulls her in for another kiss.

So yeah, maybe Will makes bad decisions when he’s with Lizzie. But at least they’re making them together.

#pride and prejudice #pride and prejudice fanfiction #lizzie bennet #will darcy #william darcy #elizabeth bennet