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starsandhughes · 9 months

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Didn't Know What Love Was— Quinn Hughes

summary: you were somewhat of a cynic when it came to love. you didn't believe in it, and if it was real, you didn't want it. that is, until your best friend sets you up with a certain hockey player named quinn.

warnings: swearing, fade to black smut (like extremely fade to black), fluff

word count: 3.9k+

MASTERLIST

this is inspired by the song 'didn't know what love was' by kane brown!

You weren’t expecting to feel this way.

You didn’t think this feeling was real.

Love.

You’ve said it, you’ve been told it, but all of those instances weren’t real to you. You get to a certain point in a relationship and someone says it first and you think, yeah, I guess that’s what this is. It was nothing like how it was portrayed in the movies, because they were just movies. Movies are fake, so you thought love was, too. It always ended. It always included drama. And then you’d find someone new.

You’ve never been more wrong.

February 20, 2021

“Mack, have you ever thought of the fact that I’m just not meant for a relationship? It’s all bullshit anyways,” you grumbled. You were laying on your back horizontally on bed with your feet hanging off the edge, settled on the floor. Your best friend, Mackenzie, was once again setting you up on a date. “You’re single now! Find yourself a date!”

Mackenzie rolled her eyes and sat next to you, “I’m not ready to get back out there! It’s only been two weeks since Jason and I broke up and we dated for seven months. You, however, have been single for almost a year!”

“You’re only proving my point, Mack!” you said, sitting up. “Relationships end. They’re messy and leave us heartbroken. And maybe the magic blinds you for a while and you get married, but I’ve met more people with divorced parents than married ones. And I’ve seen so many loveless marriages that the couple only sticks together because they wouldn’t know what else to do. I’ve seen couples break up in restaurants. I’ve seen couples fight and scream at a public park. Love isn’t real. And if it is, I can live without it.”

Mackenzie looked at you with the most pity filled expression you’ve ever seen. She believes in love. She believes in the shitty romance novels and shitty movies. But you’ve picked up her pieces too many times to even contemplate believing in it.

“Love is real!” she exclaimed. “How else could people have written sonnets and movies and books and songs about it?”

“People write stuff about monsters, too, but you don’t see any people bursting into flames in the sunlight,” you said.

“In Twilight they sparkled!”

“I don’t give a shit what they did, they’re still made up,” you laughed. “It’s called fiction for a reason.”

“You can’t make up a feeling. You can’t make up being so enamored by someone that you miss them so bad it hurts when they’re not with you!”

“You’re just repeating things you’ve heard in movies about love!” you argued. “You haven’t even been in love. Not truly. You told me so when you broke up with Jason.”

“So go on this date, and if it all works out, you can tell me what love is. They even call oxytocin the love chemical! You believe in science! And I believe that this guy is the perfect match for you,” your best friend continued to beg. “Think of it as a science experiment.”

You ended up caving, more so to get Mackenzie to stop begging. It’s not like you were against dating, you’ve had plenty of relationships, but after so many failed ones you stop seeing the point. You could get your needs met without being tied down and risking becoming attached. That’s all that “love” really was. Attachment. Sure, it’s nice to have one person that’s somewhat of a best friend to spend your life with. But adding all of that “girlfriend and boyfriend” stuff to it is destined for failure. And you were done with it.

When you found him at the restaurant, you were taken back. You’d seen pictures of him so that you’d know who to look for, but he looked so much better in person. His hair looked unbelievably soft, and he somehow made the locks seemingly out of place look perfect. His soft eyes were to die for, and the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up made the veins in his arm visible. All you wanted to do was trace them.

“Y/N?” the boy asked when he noticed you staring. He stood up to greet you, helping you slip off your jacket to hang on the back of the chair as he pulled it out for you. He waited for you to sit down before taking a seat himself. “I’m Quinn.”

“So I’ve heard,” you chuckled. “I’ve been told that you’re the sweetest guy Mackenzie knows and are bound to change my mind about my stance on relationships.”

“I’ve heard you don’t believe in love,” Quinn countered.

Your eyes widened, and if you were taking a drink, you would’ve choked on it.

“Wow,” you said amused. “Mack jumped to the nitty gritty then? I take it this means that you do believe in love?”

“I do,” Quinn confirmed.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Not yet. But I’ve seen it. My parents have the purest love I’ve ever seen. They spread it to everyone they know and everyone my brothers and I know. They make it hard to not believe in it.”

You couldn’t help but feel soft at his statement. You’ve never heard anyone tell you that they believe in love because of their parents. Hell, you haven’t really had a guy firmly tell you that he believes in love. It was always your girl friends swearing up and down that “the one” is out there.

“Are you going to teach me how to love, Quinn Hughes?” you said flirtily, placing your hand under your chin.

Quinn reached across the table and grabbed your other hand, “I’m going to show you what a romantic date is supposed to be like. And if you like it, I’ll take you on another. And another. And if we get there, I’ll show you how a real man acts as a boyfriend. And hopefully, along the way, we’ll fall in love. And I won’t say it until I know it’s there.”

“How will you know it’s love?” you asked. He already had you melting at his advances.

“I’ll know when it’s a feeling I’ve never felt before. I’ll know when it’s a feeling that can’t be described as anything but love. Are you in?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Quinn was serious. He didn’t want a fling. He wasn’t here to get sex at the end of the night. He was here to see if he can find the real thing with you. He was here for a challenge.

“I’m in.”

Over dinner you two did the usual small chat about yourselves, but that quickly developed into telling full out stories. It wasn’t awkward with him like it had been on some other first dates. You were strangely very comfortable with him.

He told you about his summer at his lake house with his family and friends, you told him about your trip to London with your cousins. He told you about how he first met Mack when she was drunk off her ass at a party back when she was still dating Brock, the only ex she ended on good terms with and is still friends with, and you told him about how she was not her drunkest at that party, and that one time you two snuck out of a party to have a lightsaber fight but didn’t have lightsabers so you used traffic cones.

“You did not!” Quinn laughed.

“We did!” you shouted over your laughs. You were definitely getting stares, but you didn’t care. “I beat her ass, too.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, quirking his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah. I totally had the high ground.”

Quinn walked you to your car at the end of the night. You two shut down the restaurant, neither one of you desired to leave. You boldly grabbed his hand as you started walking and were relieved when he looped your fingers together in response.

“Did you have a good time?” Quinn asked you when you arrived at your car.

“I really did. I’m not sure I want it to end,” you admitted.

You wanted so badly to ask him to come over. But he told you that he wanted to give you a romantic date, not a pre-sex affair. He’s looking for something real. Something that isn’t just sex.

“Me either,” he smiled.

As you two looked at each other, your eyes started flickering from his to his lips. He noticed, but you knew that he was doing the same.

Your hunger ended when Quinn finally leaned in. His hands slid down your waist and settled on your hips, pulling you closer to him. Yours went up and around his neck, happily content feeling the ends of his hair.

Quinn kissed you in a way that you’ve never been kissed before. It was soft. Sensual. It had you aching for more. The feeling that people describe as “sparks flying?” You were pretty sure this was it.

The kiss wasn’t rough; it wasn’t filled with primal need.

It left you breathless. Lightheaded. Warm.

It was the type of kiss that told you there was more to him. And all you wanted to do was learn.

“That was—“

“Don’t describe it,” Quinn cut you off in a whisper. He reached his hand out to cup your face, “Just feel it.”

All you could do was nod your head. You felt your entire body quivering at his touch.

Quinn smiled and opened up your car door for you, “Tell me when you get home?”

“Y-yeah. I will,” you stammered. You couldn’t stop looking at him.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Drive safe!”

“Goodnight, Quinn,” you smiled.

You watched him walk away in your rear view mirror, smiling madly. Quinn left you feeling like a giddy little girl. It was something that no one else has ever done.

March 16, 2021

You were going on your fifth date with Quinn tonight, and Mack was swearing up and down that Quinn was going to make things official.

“Y/N/N, trust me!” she said while dramatically shaking you by the shoulders.

“I want to!” you laughed, shoving her off of you. “I just don’t want to get any hopes up. We’re going out to have a good time and that’s it!”

“Hopes up you say?” Mack asked as she wiggled her eyebrows. “Does that mean you want Quinn to ask you? Do you, Y/N Y/L/N, WANT a boyfriend just mere weeks after saying you were done with dating forever?”

“I didn’t say forever!”

“Alright!” she surrendered. “I’m keeping my mouth shut because I don’t want to jinx anything, but just know that I am a very happy girl right now!”

You shook your head at your best friend’s nonsense. Okay, maybe you were hoping what she was saying will turn out to be true tonight, and maybe you were liking the goodnight calls and good morning texts and mid day updates. And maybe you relish in the smile Quinn gives you when you stand at the glass during warm ups at his games while you wear his jersey. And maybe you’ve never felt like this before, and it was making you the happiest you’ve ever been. But you weren’t sure if it was love. Love was still a weary and scary concept for you at this point. But maybe… maybe this is pre-love? Maybe this is the build up. Maybe this is the jump before the fall.

You weren’t scared of jumping.

Whatever it is, you’re pretty positive it’s too early for love. You’re just now open to the idea of love because of Quinn, so you certainly were skeptical at the notion of “love at first sight.” Although, it’s been a little too long to count as “first sight.” Love at fifth date? Love at hundredth facetime? Call it what you want, but it still felt way too soon.

You were still doing your makeup when there was a knock at the door, signaling that Quinn was here.

“Mack, could you—“

“I’m already on it!” she cut you off, rushing down the stairs to open the door.

You tried to finish up your mascara really quickly, but that only resulted in your dropping it and smearing some across your cheek.

“Shit!”

“Shit?” you heard Quinn ask. You gasped in surprise, and he just laughed as he approached you. He placed his hands on your cheeks and kissed the top of your head before taking a look at you, “Ahh. I see the source of the shit.”

“It’ll wipe off, it’s fine,” you shrugged. “I’ll just need five more minutes?”

Quinn smiled, “Take all the time you need to feel happy.”

If you were alone and that was a text, you’d probably be kicking your feet at Quinn’s comment. He didn’t say anything teasing that you take forever, he didn’t use the cliché “you look pretty without makeup” or whatever, he said that he wants you to feel happy with your appearance. You didn’t know why that felt more romantic than a compliment; it just did. He was focusing on your emotions and confidence. He was validating you. Validation and understanding feels a lot more intimate than a compliment about your appearance.

“I’m ready!” you sing-songed as you climbed down the stairs.

Quinn was standing at the bottom of the stairs with his hands behind his back and a soft smile on his face.

You jumped from the fourth step down to the second step. You reached out gently to tilt Quinn’s face towards yours and leaned down to crash your lips against his. You stepped down to the final step to become level with when he deepened the kiss. He released one of his hands to place it at the small of your back in order to draw you in, but the other remained.

“Whatcha hidin’, handsome?” you asked cheekily.

Quinn’s other hand quickly whipped around in front of his center and revealed a bouquet of daisies and lavender. You gasped and kissed him quick, taking the bouquet from him and inhaling its sweet scent with a smile after your lips parted.

“They’re beautiful,” you told him.

“They’re not the only thing,” he whispered.

“You flirt,” you blushed.

You both bid your goodbyes to Mackenzie and walked out the door. Quinn rushed slightly ahead of you to open up the passenger door for you before making his way to the driver's seat. It was a quick drive to the mini golf place, and it was filled with you two goofily singing along to the radio.

When you got there, you were surprised at how many people and families there were. It was a Saturday night, but still. You didn’t know this many people went mini golfing at any given moment.

You picked out a pink club, and Quinn grabbed a green one. He held out his hand for you to take, and for once, you didn’t feel weird holding somebody’s hand in public. It was a small act, but it was still a big deal for you. You used to do it with previous boyfriends, but that was because you felt like you had to in order to try and feel like you were in a normal relationship. You want to hold Quinn’s hand. You love the way your hand fits in his and how warm his hands are. You love how rough they feel compared to your soft ones. Just this simple action made you feel safe and less overwhelmed by the amount of people. It made you feel like it was just you and him.

“Ready to lose, Y/L/N?” Quinn taunted you.

“Don’t be so cocky,” you teased back. “I’m a pro at this.”

“You said you haven’t been mini golfing in years!” he pointed out with a laugh.

“I’m trying to speak me winning into the universe, Quintin!”

Needless to say, you were terrible, but Quinn gave you two extra puts each round to try and get you more points. It didn’t make much of a difference for how badly he was beating you, but it made you feel good.

“What ever happened to letting the girl win?” you groaned. “Some gentleman you are.”

Quinn softly smiled and walked over to you. Placing his hands on the small of your back, he kissed you gently, “I’m sorry, baby. I just can’t fake sucking.”

You dramatically threw your head back, groaned, then gave him a pout when you looked back at him. Quinn laughed and kissed you again, effectively wiping the pout off your face.

This was also something big for you– kissing in public. PDA. You’ve never done that. You always pulled away or forced the kiss to be a quick peck instead. You were worried about people staring and judging. But not with Quinn. You didn’t care who was around, you wanted them to know that you were happy.

Unsurprisingly, Quinn won. He cheered with his club in both hands being held above his head, sending you into a fit of giggles.

“Stop parading around like you just won the Stanley Cup!” you shouted.

Quinn whipped his head towards you in mock offense. He walked towards you and kissed you again, much more firmly this time, “I’m sorry you sucked.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled.

“I do believe me winning deserves a prize!”

“Oh yeah? And what did you have in mind?” you smirked.

You were expecting his answer to be something along the lines of another kiss or going out for ice cream, but what he said proved your best friend to be correct.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked you softly. He was confident in his question. He had the biggest smile on his face that was filled with so much hope and admiration.

“I’d love to,” you answered.

Now Quinn really looked like he won the Stanley Cup. His eyes lit up brighter than you’ve ever seen them, and his smile looked like it hurt. You should know, because your smile was so big that it did hurt. Quinn hugged you so tightly that your feet kicked off the ground and he spun you in a circle. When he put you back down, he kissed you passionately. It was different than every other kiss you two have shared, given that is a small number since this was only your fifth date. This one meant more. This one said more.

When he walked you to your door and kissed you goodbye, you reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him. He turned around slowly, and you knew that the look in your eyes said all that you wanted to say.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Positive.”

Mackenzie was already in her room for the night, much to your relief. You and Quinn kissed all the way up the stairs and into your bedroom. The second your bedroom door closed; clothes began to be thrown off. He threw you on your back onto your bed like it was nothing, then he climbed on top of you and began to pepper kissed up your stomach, through your neck, across your jaw, until he finally reached your lips again.

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he said low.

“Don’t stop,” you panted. “Please don’t stop.”

April 14, 2021

You were pretty sure you were feeling it. No, you knew you were feeling it.

Love.

You were feeling just like the movies and love songs and poems said– you were enamored by Quinn. You missed him so bad that it hurt when you weren’t with him, especially when he was on roadies during the season (you were selfishly glad that it’s over for the time being). You felt like the best version of yourself when he was around. But you were also learning that your definition of love was so much more than that.

“OH MY GOD! I KNEW IT WOULD HAPPEN! I KNEW IT!” Mackenzie screamed when you told her.

“Alright!” you giggled. “You knew it, you did it, congratulations! Now how do I tell him? Do I wait for him to tell me? What if it goes away and I don’t–”

“Are you sure it’s love?” she cut you off.

“I am. It’s new, and it’s freeing, and it’s–agh! It’s perfect. It has to be,” you said, covering your hands over your face so that she couldn’t see how wildly you were blushing and grinning.

Mack grabbed your wrists and yanked your hands off your face, “I don’t think that’s going away, babe! Now tell me! The deal was that you’d tell me what love is! Spill it! And don’t quote the movies!”

“I think love is different for everybody. I’m feeling the stuff that they say in the movies and the sonnets and the songs, but it’s so much more than that. Love is… wild. Love is like a never-ending joy ride with the windows down and your favorite songs blaring on the stereo. Love is like that feeling you get in your body when you hear a new song, and it absolutely consumes you to where you heat up and feel like you're vibrating. Love is feeling like you could do the impossible as long as your person is right there beside you. Love can feel like you’re flying.

“But love can also make you feel safe. Love is feeling at home with your person, no matter where you are. You could be in the backseat of a car, but if you were with your person? That could be home for the time being. Love is like that feeling of pride and relief when you deep clean your house for the first time in forever. Love is like sitting by the ocean and watching the waves crash against the sand, and none of the sand ends up in your shoes.

“Loving Quinn feels like a breath of fresh air. Loving Quinn makes me feel like I finally know who I am and who I could be. Loving Quinn makes me feel alive for the very first time. It’s everything.”

Mack looked like she could burst into tears then and there. You were about to hug her when an all too familiar voice ceased your movements.

“Did you mean that?”

You turned around so quickly that your head spun. There, standing at the edge of your living room, was Quinn.

“Yeah,” you whispered with a nod. “Every word.”

Quinn rushed towards you and cupped your face, slamming his lips onto yours. You heard Mack clap with glee, but you didn’t care. She was slipping away, and only you and Quinn existed in the world at this very moment.

“I love you,” you breathed when you two had to come up for air.

“I love you,” Quinn echoed. “You described it perfectly. I felt every word. I am helplessly, irrevocably, completely, and utterly in love with you. I’ll never stop saying it. Not now that I know what it means.”

“I didn’t believe in love before you. I didn’t know what love was. It’s you, Quinn. My love is yours, and only yours.”

The smile on Quinn’s face was contagious, but your face was already painted with one. You didn’t expect to fall in love, and you certainly didn’t expect to say it first. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was a god, maybe it was the stars aligning. You didn’t know why, but you did know that you were made to love Quinn Hughes alongside all of the other things you were made for.

Love was real. And you can’t live without it. And you’re so glad that you learned that.

———

reblogs appreciated! it helps spread the fic <3

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fic #vancouver canucks #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #quinn hughes reader insert #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes fanfiction

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georgescitadel · 17 days

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George R.R. Martin on the process of creating A Game Of Thrones

Part 1

It is all very well to talk of novels and novellas, sextets and trilogies, but when you come right down to it, those are only the boxes. The size and shape of the box does not matter nearly as much as what goes inside it; that is to say, the story. A story has a beginning, a middle, and an end (usually in that order). It must not be drawn out beyond its proper length, but neither should it be truncated so as to fit into a certain number of books or a certain number of pages, What is the “proper length” for a story, one might ask… but the answer changes with every story. It is not something that can be decided beforehand, or determined by some formula. It is something you learn along the way, during the writing, for it is only during the writing that a story truly comes alive.

A Game of Thrones certainly came alive for me, when I finally cleared away most of my remaining Hollywood commitments and sat down to work on the book in earnest in 1994. I had been away from the world and characters tor some time, but they had not grown cold on me. Far from it. No sooner did I plant my butt in front of my computer than I fell right through to Westeros. The world grew broader and deeper and more complex, the plots unrolled smoothly, the characters began to haunt me night and day. Sentences became paragraphs, paragraphs became scenes, scenes became chapters. I was not printing hardcopy, so there was no pile of finished pages growing beside my desk, but I could see the files multiplying on my hard drive. I had 300 pages, 400 pages, 500 pages, 600 pages… and I had a problem.

It was the spring of ’95 when it finally dawned on me. I was fast approaching the 800 pages that I had estimated as the length of the finished book, but most of my large cast of characters were nowhere near the places they were supposed to be. Oh, Dany was… I had always meant to hatch those dragon eggs at the climax of my first volume… but she was the only one. For the rest, the end was nowhere in sight. I did not see any way I could possibly wrap up everything else I’d planned in the pages remaining to me.

“Very well,” I told myself, “I’ll go a little over. This is not television. A few extra pages will not matter. Fantasy readers love big books, after all.” On I wrote, and on. I reached 800 pages, and passed by without slowing down. Page 900 came and went. As I approached 1000 pages I gulped, for that big round number had an awful weight, but I pushed past all the same. There had been other 1000 page books, after all. A Game of Thrones grew larger, and still larger. I had 1100 pages, 1200 pages, 1300 pages… and my problem had become a crisis. For even at that length, the end of the first book was still hundreds of pages away. I looked at what I’d written and thought about what I hadn’t written, and realized with a sense of mounting horror that I was headed toward a 2000 page manuscript.

- George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings Limited Edition Introduction (2002)

#Ned Stark #Catelyn Stark #Sansa Stark #Arya Stark #Bran Stark #Jon Snow #Tyrion Lannister #Daenerys Targaryen #The Outline #A Game Of Thrones #George R.R. Martin #ValyrianScrolls #ASOIAF

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newtthetranswriter · 10 months

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Hello dear, I've got an idea again!

Could you do a Aziraphale x Reader , where reader wrote their own book and the first person who should read it, is him?

While reading he notice that the story is about falling in love with someone 'angelic', and as he noticed that the story is a secret love confession for him, he's getting so emotional

Have a great day/evening and stay hydrated please <3

A/n: Welcome back, I had fun writing this, and I hope you like it. You also have a great day/evening and remember to eat something. Requests are still open so if you have any more fun ideas don’t be afraid to send them in.

Word count: 1322

Paring: Aziraphale x gn! reader

I truly enjoyed books, and so did my angel friend Aziraphale. That’s why I thought the best way to confess my love to the white haired angel would be to write him a book. Now I didn’t just write ‘I love you, Aziraphale’ in a book, that would be too easy and I wanted to have a little fun with it. I also have loved allegories for the longest time and thought it would be a great story telling tool to get my point across. So I wrote a book and made sure he would get the first copy, signed by me of course.

Walking into A.Z. Fell and Co. I couldn’t hide my smile as I called out for my favorite angel. “Aziraphale, where are you? I have something for you.” I was greeted by Aziraphale walking down the stairs setting down the book he had in his hands.

“Hello, Y/n. What have you brought?” He asked, voice laced with curiosity. He motioned me towards two chairs sitting close to his desk, offering me a seat.

I declined the offer with a simple shake of my head. “It’s okay. I just stopped by to give you this. You know I’ve been working on this book and it’s officially finished and so I thought I would hand over a signed first edition to my favorite book worm in person.” I said with a smile, passing the angel the book.

He inspected the cover, smiling at the title Love beyond Heaven followed by my name at the bottom. “It is truly spectacular, I can’t wait to read it. Thank you, for such a thoughtful gift.” He said, running his hand over the cover. I just nodded in response, wishing him farewell and asking that he calls to tell me what he thinks when he finishes it. I didn’t want to wait around, the nerves had set in realizing that I had actually just handed over my confession to one of my best friends.

P.o.V to Aziraphale reading the book

The angel watched as his friend left his shop in a hurry, while it was odd that they didn’t at least stay for a cup of tea he brushed it off as them having other things to do and had just stopped by to give him the book. He smiled to himself as took the book and sat at his desk ready to read the lovely words his friend had put together. Having been friends for a while, and knowing Y/n’s taste in books he wasn’t shocked to see that they had written a romance novel, and thought it was just that. A normal romance novel that has probably been written hundreds of times over with different characters and settings, but boy was he wrong.

Upon opening the book he was surprised to see that unlike most books this one lacked a dedication page, and the promised signature was not on the first couple pages. Brushing it off as maybe Y/n had actually forgotten to sign the book in their excitement to give it to him, so he decided to keep reading and asking them to sign it later when they spoke next.

He started reading, the book seemed straight forward, the main character falling for their best friend. He got through the first few chapters before he noticed one detail that he had previously brushed aside. The best friend was described as ‘angelic’ and having a fascination with the way the world around them works. What brought this to his attention was it was just revealed the angelic best friend owned a gaming store that featured the first edition of many video games and board games from throughout history. He couldn’t help but notice some similarities between himself and the main character, but again thought it must just be coincidence.

As the angel read on he began noticing more and more similarities between the book and real life. For example, main character had gotten sick and pushed themself to far eventually passing out in front of their best friend who then spent days nursing them back to health in the apartment above the game shop, much like he had done for Y/n shortly after the pandemic hit and they had denied for days that they didn’t have covid. Another shared experience with the characters of the book was spending weekends enjoying eachothers company with tea and a good book, only in the story it was calm video games instead of a large novel.

It kept going, Aziraphale kept piecing together that this book was based on real life, and apparently an allegory of his friendship with the shy human. The only thing that confused him was as far as he knew Y/n didn’t feel that way about him. Sure he loved everything about them, like how they are truly fascinated by his massive book collection, and how they enjoy bugging Crowley just to see the demon upset. The angel wasn’t ready to admit it but he was deeply in love with Y/n and he hoped that the implications of the book were correct. That the sweet playful human Loved him back.

When he reached the last page of the final chapter he was truly astonished to see that it had ended with the main character admitting their feelings with a custom video game. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Y/n wrote this book to end in such a way, and then give the first copy to him. He flipped the page one last time to find the missing dedication page and the handwritten note from Y/n on the last page of the book.

The dedication read ‘This book is dedicated to my best friend, Aziraphale. Without him I would have never had the courage to write this book.’ The angel couldn’t hold back a smile as he read that. One of his best friends wrote a book and dedicated it to him. He then looked down at the handwritten note that took up half the page.

‘Dear Aziraphale, I can’t begin to explain how much you mean to me. Spending rainy days reading and drinking tea with you are some of my favorite days. I don’t know what I would do without you, you mean everything to me. I hope by the time you reach this point of the book you’ve already figured it out. But I guess I’ll say it anyway. I love you, Aziraphale. I love how you collect so many books because you truly love to see the inner workings of the human mind. I love that you enjoy food even if you don’t need it, I love that you don’t fault me for being human. You bring me so much joy and I hope you understand that. I mean this with every fiber of my being you are the best thing to ever happen to me, Again I Love You, Aziraphale.’ - Love Y/n

The angel smiled to himself. He was amazed at how thoughtful you had been. You wrote an entire book just to tell him how you feel. He would treasure this forever. It is now his most prized possession, no other book will ever compare. Without putting much thought into what time of day it was or what Y/n might be up to he immediately dialed the number he had memorized since it was given to him.

P.o.V back to Y/n

I was awoken to the sound of my phone ringing on my nightstand. I looked briefly at the clock, seeing that it was nearly 3 in the morning, before answering, ready to yell at whoever woke me up. But I didn’t get the chance, before I could open my mouth to start yelling I heard the four words I had dreamt of hearing for so long.

“I love you too.”

#good omens x reader #good omens 2 #aziraphale x reader #aziraphale #go aziraphale #good omens

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writtenfangirl · 1 year

Text

The Light: Epilogue

I wanted to see if it was possible for me to write the sweetest, most tooth-rotting fic I could ever write and I did.

Also, can I just say, I genuinely love reading people’s comments and reblogs on my fics. I write my fics as a hobby and it honestly astounds me that there are people out there who enjoy reading the things I write. It’s a privilege, seriously.

Part 1

“It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a large fortune, must be in want of a wife. However—“

“That is how you truly know this novel is fiction,” Benedict remarked, interrupting Y/N as she read from the book. She was laying on his lap, her back against the grass as the tree they leaned against shielded her eyes from the harsh rays of the sun. It was a beautiful day in the countryside, the breeze cool despite the heat of summer. Aubrey Hall sat below them, a towering figure despite their place on the crest of a hill. She could almost see the other Bridgertons out in the lawn, lazing about and spending the day together. Benedict had strictly forbade them from approaching them today and though she loved the other Bridgertons, the quiet was a welcome respite.

They’d taken a day together, just the two of them, after Y/N’s mother had written to her about her father’s current temperament. He still refuses to acknowledge Y/N’s existence after she refused to marry the Duke of Albany and chose to marry Benedict instead and Y/N’s father had told her mother that any child borne of their marriage will not be his grandchild. The letter had brought Y/N great pain and Benedict, in an effort to make Y/N feel better, had prepared a picnic for them and a whole day without responsibilities or talks of grandchildren and babies.

Because children was something at the forefront of every person’s mind when they came upon a childless wedded couple and Y/N’s and Benedict’s lack of a child had begun to worry Violet, especially as they had been married for a year. Despite repeatedly telling Violet not to worry too much about it as they were both very young and wanted to spend the early days of their marriage child-free, she did worry.

Y/N loved the Bridgertons like they were her own family but she missed the time she spent alone with her husband. Hence, Benedict’s idea of a picnic, just the two of them.

“And why is that?” She asked as she brought the book down and quirked a brow.

“I have met a great many men who have large fortunes, most of whom do not wish to marry.”

“What an astute observation, my love.“

“Do you mean to treat me with sarcasm, Mrs. Bridgerton?” Benedict’s brow was raised high but there was no denying the amused grin pulling at his lips.

“I treat you only with the best of my affections.” But her teasing smirk betrayed her true intentions. “Now, am I allowed to continue my reading or do you intend to interrupt me once again?”

Benedict leaned his head back, before tapping a finger against his chin. “Hmm. As much as I enjoy the sound of your voice, I do believe there are other activities better suited to it than reading. Although, if I were to interrupt you again, what, perhaps, would be the consequences of such an action?”

“Separate bedrooms.” Y/N’s grin could only be called devilish. She knew how much Benedict detested sleeping in separate rooms. They tried it the first two nights of their marriage before he declared that such an action was more akin to torture than rest. Ever since then, they occupied a single bedroom and it will remain that way until one of them perishes.

“What a grave consequence to such a small infraction. Very well then, my love. Continue your reading. I’d hate to have to learn to tolerate separate bedrooms.” Benedict’s face scrunched up in distaste.

“If we manage to read through the first three chapters, I will sit for you for an hour.”

Benedict’s face lightened, an almost giddy expression on his face. “Really?”

Y/N nodded, a smile gracing her lips. He’d been begging her for the past three days to once again sit for a painting as he thought the backdrop of Aubrey Hall would be beautiful, and though Y/N loved Benedict, sitting for a painting was always painful for her back. It took almost all of her concentration to sit still for the hours necessary to complete the painting and by the end of it, Y/N needed a very long and warm bath.

“Why you always choose me to be your subject is beyond me,” she said with a sniffle, “especially since my face now stands in the National Art Museum because of you. Is one painting of me not enough?”

“You have a very beautiful face. It should be shared with all of England.”

“You know how I hate myself in paintings.”

“How unfortunate for you to have married an artist enraptured by your looks.” This time, it was Benedict who’d let sarcasm run his tone, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips.

“I adore art and so a painter for a husband was the natural choice. I simply do not like myself in paintings. I love your landscapes and your portraits of others but not of me.”

Benedict frowned, a serious tone creeping on his voice. “You, my love, are a thing of beauty. The paintings I make of you will always be my favorite. When I one day perish, it is my fervent hope that my paintings of you will be the ones that live on. That it is my paintings of you that the art students of tomorrow will study, that they may learn how passion and love can heighten the beauty of one’s art. Anyone can paint a sunset or draw a landscape but no one else can paint my wife but me.”

She will never ever be used to Benedict’s sudden declarations of love. She had married an artist, that much was true but sometimes, she imagined Benedict could be a poet with the way he articulated his love for her.

“You are incorrigible, Benedict Bridgerton.” But her words couldn’t hide the rising blush of her cheeks nor could it hide the bashful smile creeping at her lips.

“For you, my love? Always.” Benedict said with that crooked grin before bending down and placing a soft kiss on her forehead. “Now make haste and finish your chapters before the sun disappears on us. When I paint you, I want it captured by the light. Such beauty should never be kept in the dark.”

She didn’t pretend to act irate anymore. Instead she kept reading until she ended at chapter three. And when she was done, the sun was still high in the sky yet her husband’s face had turned contemplative.

“I have finished. Shell we go inside that you may now paint?”

But Benedict only frowned, his dark brows meeting together at the center of his face, his bottom lip pushed into a pout.

“Whatever is the matter, my love? The sun is still high in the sky and you still have time to paint. And as I don’t expect you to finish your painting all too soon, you can expect me to sit for you tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that one as well until your painting is complete.”

He smiled at her, the little grin she loved so much. “Sorry, my love, my mind wandered but not towards the painting.”

Now it was her turn to frown. “Speak of what ails you, Mr. Bridgerton, that I may find its remedy.”

“I was only thinking—“

“Oh, did it hurt terribly? There, there, my love. Let me kiss your head to make it better,” Y/N teased as she reached for Benedict’s forehead in an attempt to soothe it. If there was one way to ease the mind of any Bridgerton, it was through humor.

Benedict rolled his eyes but he still had that smile on his face. “Stop it. I am being serious.” But he bowed nonetheless, pressing a kiss on his wife’s hands.

“Alright then, go on. What were you thinking of?”

“In all the years humans have existed, there have been hundreds upon thousands of ways we have told each other how much we love one another. Shakespeare measured his love with sonnets while Bach composed music and Da Vinci made art.”

Y/N frowned once again. “Where are you going with this?”

“I make my art as a form of telling you how much I love you but I realize now that, it is not enough.”

“Darling—“

“Art is not a good enough medium nor is poetry or music. There are not enough words or notes or paint in this world that could show, truly, how much I love you. I do not think I love any differently than Shakespeare or Bach or Da Vinci but I do think you make all the difference in the world. If they loved you too, they would have struggled just as much as I do.”

Y/N was at a loss for words. Her heart soared, giddiness spreading all across her body.

She and Benedict had only been married for a year. A full year of bliss and happiness. She’d heard it said by other ladies that marriages normally went stale after six months and she herself had seen how little regard her parents had for each other. In fact, her own mother refused to speak to her father when he refused to come to Y/N’s wedding with Benedict after Y/N refused to be wed to the Duke of Albany. And even now, after a year, he refused to speak to her.

She knew she was lucky. She married the man she loved, a man who loved her just as much as she loved him. It was a fate most women of the ton could only dream of yet to her, it was reality.

“Benedict, I don’t even know what to say,” Y/N said, her voice filled with the same amount of love as her husband’s declaration.

“Say nothing. I can read your eyes clearly enough,” Benedict said with a smile before he leaned down and planted another kiss, this time on her lips.

His lips were soft like butter and tasted like summer, like the sweetness of the cool breeze and the light of the sun. He tasted like home.

There were still many things wrong in Y/N’s world.

Her father had still disowned her and they hadn’t spoken since she last saw him that fateful day in the drawing room at Aubrey Hall. There was still the manner of Violet Bridgerton probing for a grandchild. But she knew one thing and that thing brought her peace like no other. Everything could go wrong in this world but so long as Benedict Bridgerton was at her side, then everything would be all right.

#bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton oneshot #benedict bridgerton fluff

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wenclairly · 23 days

Note

I will probably just write this myself someday but

A fic where the Stalker is revealed to be Yoko. Much like Rowan, she has convinced herself that Wednesday is dangerous, and wants to keep her bestie Enid from getting hurt again. Unlike Rowan, she was radicalized by MorningSong, whose "therapy" app actually exaggerates fear and doubt to dangerous extremes.

letters, knives, and second chances | wenclair

wednesday addams x enid sinclair

description: wednesday and enid receive a note from wendesday's stalker, leading to revelations that they never could have expected.

tags/warnings: stalker, stalking, post-canon.

wc: 3.5k

a/n: thank you kbb306 for this amazing request, and our first one no less :) we apologize for a tiny delay! we've been trying to balance our own writing with this blog too. and we're very excited to share our first co-written req!! we do have another requested one shot in the works, and feel free to request more guys we LOVE when you do! enjoy this lil one ;) - jes & aly

The metallic clang of the cafeteria doors echoed behind Wednesday as she emerged, the lingering taste of lukewarm gruel a bitter reminder of Nevermore’s culinary shortcomings. The midday sun was casting its usual shadows across the cobblestone courtyard; yet something felt amiss. The distorted patches of darkness seemed to cause an unease in Wednesday, one that had long taken root since her return to school.

Two months had passed since the harrowing events that had nearly torn Nevermore apart, and the scars were still visible. The manicured lawns bore the scorch marks of battle, the stone gargoyles seemed to leer with a newfound malevolence, and the whispers of students now carried an undercurrent of fear that hadn’t been there before.

Wednesday tugged her blazer tighter around her, a futile attempt to ward off the growing chill. Even her usually vibrant roommate had subdued, her infectious laughter now punctuated by moments of quiet introspection. It was as if the darkness that had threatened to consume them all had left a permanent stain.

As Wednesday made her way back to the dorm, her mind drifted to Enid’s therapy session. The new therapist, a chipper woman with a penchant for pastel sweaters and motivational posters, had arrived in the wake of the chaos, a self-proclaimed expert in trauma recovery. Enid had embraced the sessions with her usual enthusiasm, but Wednesday remained skeptical. Could a few platitudes and breathing exercises truly mend the wounds inflicted by a centuries-old monster?

Lost in her thoughts, Wednesday rounded the corner. Only to be jolted back to reality by an unexpected sight. Their door, usually firmly shut, stood slightly ajar. A frown tugged at her lips as she approached, her pace quickening with each step. Had Enid forgotten to close it before leaving? Or had someone else ventured into their shared space, disturbing the delicate balance they had carefully constructed?

The air hung heavy with an unfamiliar scent, a subtle blend of cedarwood and something floral, decidedly not Enid’s usual werewolf musk. A chill slithered down Wednesday’s spine. With a soft push, the door creaked open.

The room appeared undisturbed at first glance. Enid’s collection of stuffed animals were still perched on her bed, their wide eyes watching Wednesday with an unnerving intensity. And her overflowing bookshelf of romance novels and werewolf folklore remained untouched. Even Wednesday’s typewriter sat calmly on her desk, a half-finished poem visible in its carriage.

But as her eyes adjusted, a discordant detail pierced the illusion of normalcy. A crisp white envelope laying on the inky blackness of her bedspread. It was intrusion, a violation of her personal space that set her teeth on edge.

With a measured step, Wednesday approached the bed. Her eyes fixed on the envelope as she reached out to brush her fingers against the smooth paper. It was unsealed, an invitation to delve into its contents.

She swiftly slid her finger beneath the flap and tore it open. A single sheet of paper, thick and heavy, fell into her hand. The handwriting was an attempt at elegance, but held an obvious note of sloppiness. Yet it wasn’t how the letters were penned that unnerved her, but the words themselves.

“Dearest Wednesday,” the letter began, “Your darkness casts a long shadow, a blight on the innocence of Nevermore. I see the danger you pose, the poison you spread with your twisted words and morbid obsessions. Enid, my dear sweet Enid, deserves better than to be ensnared by your darkness.”

A cold fury ignited in Wednesday’s chest. But she read on, each word twisting the knot in her stomach tighter.

“I will not allow you to corrupt her any more than you have, to drag her further down your abyss. You will leave Nevermore, or I will ensure that Enid pays the price. Consider this a warning, a taste of a different darkness that awaits you, should you refuse to heed my words.”

The letter ended abruptly, the final sentence hanging venomously in the air. Wednesday’s grip tightened on the paper, her knuckles turning white as she fought to contain her rage. This was not a prank, not a childish attempt at intimidation. This was a declaration of war, a threat against the person she held most dear.

* * *

When Enid returned from therapy, she entered the dorm to see Wednesday furiously typing away, the familiar sound of the typewriter clacking aggressively. Enid’s eyebrow raised, though she didn’t question Wednesday’s anger. It could range from something serious to a minor inconvenience that had ruined her day. As logical as Wednesday was, Enid had to admit that sometimes she was quite brash.

It wasn’t the aggressive typing that worried Enid. Instead, it was the way Wednesday stood up and pulled the paper from the typewriter, crumpling it and flattening it down onto her desk. Thing was waiting there and kicked it into the waiting wastebasket. After that, the clacking sounds stopped. Wednesday sat at her desk and huffed a loud sigh.

“Everything okay?” Enid asked hesitantly. She’d beelined for her bed, laying down with her laptop resting on her legs. She had an essay due within the next few days, and she was terrible at getting them done on time. She had considered asking for help, but Wednesday’s apparent bad mood was enough to prevent her from doing so.

“I’m fine.” Wednesday answered briskly, not even bothering to turn around to face Enid. Instead she stared at her typewriter as if trying to burn a hole into it.

Enid hummed thoughtfully, then slid her laptop off her legs and onto the bed beside her. “You don’t seem fine.” Enid pointed out, much to Wednesday’s chagrin. The girl’s shoulders tensed and she turned, her permanent glare boring into Enid. “Yikes. Okay.” Enid immediately turned her attention back to her laptop, turning so her back was facing Wednesday.

Things were quiet for a moment, before she heard another long sigh. “I’m sorry. I’m simply frustrated. It seems my ability to write has conveniently decided to disappear.” There was a slight tremor in Wednesday’s voice. It was definitely more than that.

“Writer’s block?” Enid suggested, her gaze moving back to Wednesday. The raven was resting a hand on her temple, her elbow propped up on the desk.

“Absolutely not. I have never once been afflicted with writer’s block and I certainly will not begin to be now.” Wednesday drummed her fingers on her desk.

Enid’s sensitive hearing picked up on the drumming. Her eyebrow rose in a skeptical expression. “Maybe something else is bothering you?”

Wednesday froze at the remark. Enid tilted her head. That was an indication of her being correct. It seemed clear enough to her that something else was going on inside of Wednesday’s head. Something that was bothering her. “What’s wrong?”

Enid watched as her roommate looked at her, then averted her gaze, then looked at her again. She was unsure, nervous, even. “I received another message from my stalker.”

Enid perked up, sitting up straight in her bed upon hearing the news. “Really? What was it?”

“A threat.” Wednesday said ominously, opening the drawer at the side of her desk and pulling a letter out of it. Enid got on her feet, swiftly crossing the line between their two halves and taking the letter from Wednesday once it was offered to her. Her eyes scanned the piece of paper, and with each line she felt more nauseated.

“‘My dear sweet Enid’?” Enid quoted the letter, frowning. “Whoever wrote this clearly has no idea who you are.” She felt anger of her own festering in her chest, building up. Who did this person think they were? Insulting Wednesday and their friendship. As if Enid was too weak to be friends with someone like Wednesday.

Enid was tired of being seen as weak.

“I have a relatively good idea of who it might be.” Wednesday’s burning glare returned back to the paper loaded in her typewriter. “Who else would refer to you that way? It must be Ajax.” There was a sort of bitterness in her voice. It wasn’t aggressive enough to be anger, but it wasn’t placid enough to be just a simple dislike. It was deeper than that. Enid wondered if she was overthinking it, but if she didn’t know any better, she’d think Wednesday was jealous.

“That’s true.” Enid’s eyebrows furrowed. “But he’s never called me ‘dear’ or ‘sweet’.”

“A failure of a partner, if you ask me.” Wednesday grumbled under her breath.

Enid blinked. “That’s a little harsh.”

“Not harsh enough. I should have nailed his heart to a wall before you two reached whatever you define it to be now.” Wednesday looked up at Enid, who was staring down at her with a confused expression.

Enid sighed softly. “It’s complicated.” She quickly muttered, not particularly in the mood to detail how the best word she could use to describe what she and Ajax had was “situationship”.

“That’s what they all say.” Wednesday bit back, turning her gaze back to the blank piece of paper in front of her.

“Okay, well-” Enid started to argue, then paused and took a deep breath. “That’s besides the point. What are we supposed to do about this stalker?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Wednesday’s lips. “I could always build another makeshift guillotine.”

“Wednesday, no.” Enid huffed. “Something that doesn’t involve killing my…” She hesitated, “...him.” She finished, unsure once again how to describe Ajax.

Wednesday scoffed. “You’d be better off without him.”

Enid waved her off. “That’s besides the point.” She rubbed her temple with two fingers, starting to get a headache from Wednesday’s one-sided hatred of Ajax. “Why don’t we just talk to him?”

“I suppose. But I’m bringing a knife with me.”

Enid already knew that Wednesday wasn’t going to budge on that point, so she didn’t bother trying to fight it. “Fine.” She said lowly. Wednesday was already standing up and moving to her bed, kneeling down and reaching underneath it. “Wait, you mean right now?”

“Yes, right now. We need to get to the bottom of this immediately. These letters are unacceptable.” Wednesday pulled a small box out from under her bed, opening it to reveal an intricate dagger.

“You don’t-” Enid rolled her eyes. “Okay. Fine.” She agreed begrudgingly once again. “Let’s just get this over with, yeah?”

“Alright.” Wednesday stood up, hiding the dagger in her sleeve, and began walking towards the door, Enid in tow as usual. The two of them exited the dorm, bent on ending this “stalker” business right then and there.

The quad at Nevermore was a microcosm of the school’s social hierarchy. Flocks of sirens gossiped near the fountains, their scales shimmering in the afternoon light. A group of gorgons, their stony gazes fixed on chessboards, hurled under the shade of the outside trees. And nestled in the corner, at a small stony table, was Ajax Petropolus sitting beside Bianca Barclay.

Wednesday and Enid approached the pair. Enid’s usually bouncy gait was tempered by a hint of apprehension as she trailed behind Wednesday’s, whose stride remained as purposeful as ever. Her eyes were fixed on their target with the intensity of a predator stalking its prey.

Ajax, oblivious to their approach, was mid-sentence. Bianca, her eyes half-closed against the sun, seemed to be humoring him with a polite smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Petropolus,” Wednesday’s voice cut through the air like a knife.

Ajax’s head snapped up, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the sight of Wednesday and Enid standing before him. A nervous smile flickered across his face before it was quickly replaced by a look of feigned nonchalance.

“Yo, Wednesday, Enid,” he greeted them with a casual nod of his head. “What’s up?”

Wednesday’s lips curled in disgust. “Don’t,” she snapped, the word dripping with venom. “We have a matter of grave importance to discuss with you.”

Enid, sensing the rising tension, stepped forward in an attempt to be a calming counterpoint to Wednesday’s iciness. “Ajax, we need to talk about the letters,” she said, her eyes searching his face.

Ajax blinked, a puzzled frown creasing his brow. “Letters?” he echoed, his voice tinged with genuine confusion. “What letters?”

Bianca tilted her head, even her expression betrayed a hint of bewilderment. “You mean fan mail, Enid?” she quipped, a playful lilt to her voice. “Saving Nevermore isn’t taken lightly. You’ve got quite the following now I see.”

Enid’s patience, already stretched thin, snapped. “Not fan mail, Bianca,” she retorted, her voice rising an octave. “Threatening letters. From Wednesday’s stalker.”

The word hung in the air. Ajax’s expression shifted from confusion to concern, while Bianca’s demeanor was replaced by a mask of guarded curiosity.

“A stalker?” Ajax repeated, his voice barely a whisper. “But who would…?”

Wednesday cut him off with a chillingly calm voice, her eyes narrowing to slits. “You tell us, Petropolus,” she hissed, her words dripping with accusation. “You seem awfully confused, perhaps suspiciously so.”

Ajax recoiled under Wednesday’s piercing gaze. “Woah, Wednesday,” he stammered slightly, raising his hands in a gesture of defense. “I don’t know anything about any stalker. What even makes you think that?”

That’s when Bianca stepped in, her voice sharp and defensive. “Back off, Wednesday,” she snapped. “Ajax is the last person who would do something like this. He’s been nothing but kind and supportive to Enid—”

Wednesday was quick to interrupt with a scoff. “Kind and supportive?” she echoed, a venomous edge to her voice. “Or perhaps he’s simply following a well-trodden path of deception, lulling us into a false sense of security while harboring sinister intentions.”

Ajax flinched as if struck, his face paling under the intensity of her accusation. Bianca bristled, her lips forming a thin line of displeasure.

Enid, however, had reached her limit. She stepped forward, her voice a low growl. “Enough, Wednesday,” she hissed. “You’re being unfair now. Ajax… isn’t him.”

A tense silence descended upon them. Wednesday was momentarily taken aback by the outburst, remaining silent as the implications seeped into her. It stung. But there was a creeping sense that perhaps Enid was right.

After a beat, Ajax finally spoke, his voice a hesitant plea. “Enid, I don’t get it,” he said, his brow furrowing in confusion. “What did the letter even say? What kind of threats are we talking about?”

Enid’s breath hitched, the words of the letter had been a sour taste on her tongue. “It said,” she began, lowering her voice, “something about Wednesday being a ‘danger’... a ‘blight on the innocence of Nevermore’. It says that I… I deserve better than to be ‘ensnared by her darkness’.” She paused for a moment, tracing her mind back to what else the letter had said. A knot formed in her stomach as she remembered the rest, the threat to her own safety. Enid couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “Such theatrics,” she muttered, a hint of disgust lacing her tone. “One would think we were dealing with a Shakespearean villain, not some cowardly stalker hiding behind vague threats and flowery language.”

Bianca dismissively waved her hand. “Sounds like the kind of fear-mongering nonsense MorningSong’s ‘wellness app’ is always peddling,” she scoffed, the disdain evident. “All that talk of darkness and danger, it’s enough to make one paranoid.”

“MorningSong?” Wednesday echoed, deceptively calm. “Who here subscribes to that drivel?”

Ajax shifted uncomfortably on the bench, his eyes darting nervously towards Bianca. “Yoko,” he blurted out, the name a low mumble.

Enid’s eyes widened. “Yoko has that app?” Her voice was filled with incredulity.

“I told her not to get it.” Bianca hummed pensively, shaking her head. “But she said it was just a joke, that she wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I didn’t think she’d take it seriously.”

Wednesday’s expression darkened. “Well. I suppose we know who our stalker is. Good thing I brought a knife.”

“You brought a what?” Ajax blinked, watching closely as Wednesday gestured towards her sleeve.

“It’s Wednesday. What were you expecting?” Bianca grumbled sarcastically.

Enid waved them off. “Does it really matter? Let’s just go find Yoko and talk to her. I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding. She knows what we’ve been through. It’s gotta be that stupid app.”

“Good luck.” Bianca called as they walked away, settling back down next to Ajax, who looked as confused as always.

“When I find that vampire, I’m going to shove a stake through her heart.” Wednesday hissed under her breath. The two of them made their way to Yoko’s dorm, Wednesday fuming and Enid feeling more unsure with each step.

When they finally arrived, Enid went to knock on the door, but Wednesday simply shoved it open with no regard of who might be on the other side or what they might be doing.

“Tanaka.” Wednesday practically growled, entering the room like an ominous storm cloud.

Yoko was sitting at her desk, her laptop open in front of her. She jolted, her shoulders tensing. She whipped around in her chair, staring directly at both Wednesday and Enid, a nervous smile flickering over her face. “Uh… Hey, Enid. Wednesday.” She greeted, her voice shaking slightly.

“Care to explain your pathetic letters?” Wednesday stormed over to Yoko, slamming her hand onto the desk and leaning over the vampire.

“Wednesday-” Enid started. She was promptly cut off by Yoko, who stood up. Given Wednesday’s small stature, Yoko stood a few inches taller than her, looking down at her with a glare. “I’ll explain it alright. Enid wouldn’t have been hurt by the Hyde if it wasn’t for you. She wouldn’t have come crying to my dorm if it wasn’t for you. All you do is hurt her, Wednesday. You’re dangerous and reckless.”

Wednesday was clearly ready to fight, but Enid crossed the room and put space between the two of them, holding her arm out in front of Wednesday. “Yoko, where is this all coming from? You were there the night we fought the Hyde. You were there the night she saved the school. You know what happened.”

Yoko hesitated, shoving her hands into her pockets. “This app I downloaded. It was telling me that something dark and foreboding was coming. I kept getting stuff like that, and the only thing I could think of… given she was the reason everything happened in the first place…”

“That app spews nonsense in exchange for popularity. You are a fool for taking anything it tells you to heart.” Wednesday snapped, barely able to hold back her anger. “You should have known better.”

Yoko seemed unsure of herself now, her shoulders slumping. “I… I just wanted what was best for Enid.”

Enid sighed softly. There wasn’t any anger in her expression, and her tone was gentle. “You don’t get to decide that for me, Yoko. I know you care, but Wednesday and I care about each other. And we’ve worked out our issues.” She looked back at Wednesday, whose demeanor had softened. “She would fight for me in a heartbeat. Even if she refuses to admit it.”

Wednesday grumbled something under her breath. Enid didn’t hear it, though she was sure that it was yet another empty threat.

“Come on, Yoko. You know better than this.” Enid chided quietly. “Delete the app, and all is forgiven.”

“Who says all is forgiven?” Wednesday asked, straightening her posture. Until Enid glared at her and she relented. “Fine.”

Yoko took her phone out of her pocket, scrolling through it and deleting MorningSong from it. “It’s gone.” She flipped her phone around, showing both Wednesday and Enid that it was completely gone. “I only got it as a joke, I wasn’t expecting it to be so effective.”

“It’s all about psychology. If you had any sense of logic, you would realize that.” Wednesday relaxed now that the threat was gone, her tone less abrasive.

“Now that that’s over with…” Enid started, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “I think you two should have some bonding time! It’ll be great. My two besties, getting along!”

“Absolutely not-” Wednesday tried to object, but was immediately cut off by Enid.

“We should go get coffee at the Weathervane to celebrate! And Yoko, you should definitely bring Divina. We’ll become a gang, the four of us!” She raised her hands to her chest, balling them into fists. Excitement was radiating off of her. Excitement so genuine, that not even Wednesday could deny her wishes. “Alright, stop your incessant jabbering.” Wednesday turned to exit the dorm, glancing back at Yoko. “Meet us in the quad in fifteen minutes sharp, Tanaka.” She put an emphasis on the word “sharp”, wanting to be completely clear.

Yoko, who was stunned by the quick forgiveness, could only stand and nod as the two girls exited her dorm, Enid talking Wednesday’s ear off and Wednesday only able to listen grumpily as they walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder.

#wenclair #wednesday #fanfic #writing #wednesday addams #enid sinclair #wednesday netflix #wenclair fanfic #ao3 #fanfiction

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powerofelvis · 1 year

Text

Peach Tea in Tennessee | One

Pairing: Elvis Presley x black!reader

Word Count: 6K

Summary: Love is wasted on the young, or so they say. This isn’t the case for Elvis. He never dreamed of it happening to him, but a girl with the nude brown sunhat who sits in the park near Lauderdale Courts with the romance novel in her hand would change a lot of his thoughts about what true love truly means. This is a love story for the young and old, this is the love story that deserves to be told.

Warnings: teenaged!elvis, black bookworm!reader, smut (in later chapters), fluff, angst (lots of it), twists and turns, slow burn, a classic love story, written in the segregation/civil rights era, mention of racial slurs, happy ending???

A/N: Hey there babies, welcome to the beginning of Peach Tea in Tennessee. I wasn’t for sure if this would be a series or not, but because of my darlings, it has become a series! I’ve gotten some ideas from some of my babies and decided that this shouldn’t only be a one-shot so this is what it has come down to. This was a request from a wonderful anon who blew my mind with what she asked for. I don’t wanna keep you guys but I’m truly excited to see how this series will turn out. I hope everyone sticks around and enjoys the love story of Elvis and his little peach. 💗

masterlist.

Summers in Memphis were unusually scorching. The neighborhood kids would find themselves spending their breaks away from school by the lake or playing in the streets near a busted fire hydrant.

Elvis was no different.

Although he wasn’t necessarily popular with his peers at Humes, he still had a small circle of people he would like to think were his friends. One blistering summer day, Elvis was heading to the lake to meet with his friend, Red West. He had to beg his mother to allow him to take the car, but he knew that she would worry that something would happen to him during the route.

He started the journey there, his trusty guitar thrown over his shoulder and a song in his head. It would take him longer on foot than if he would have gotten the keys to his 1941 Lincoln, but he felt that he needed the exercise. He cursed under his breath as the blistering sun beamed down on his skin, eyes hooded as he tried to keep himself composed.

As he rounded the corner, he could make out a few of the neighborhood kids from his school who would in their spare time make jokes about his lanky form or his fashion. They would call him ‘squirrel’ or ‘mama’s boy’, but it didn’t bother him much. While he kept his eyes forward in hopes that they didn’t notice him, his eyes cut to the local park that all of the poor families of the neighborhood would frequent.

His family lived in Lauderdale Courts, the first of many housing projects that were owned by the government. The local park was a place where he and his family would often spend their time when they needed a place that was less stuffy than the two bedroom apartment that they lived in. He continued forward, his eyes lingering over the people who were out and about with their children or with their significant others.

However, there was one woman who stood out the most to him. You sat on a knitted quilt, the patterns catching his eyes with little birds and sunflowers on each piece of fabric. You had a nude brown sunhat on your head, but he could count the amount of curls on your head as your face was pushed into a book. Your cocoa brown complexion shone under the heated sun, the sundress that you wore was almost cream but it made your complexion stand out.

Although he couldn’t see your face, he knew that you were beautiful. Elvis was almost starstruck with how content you seemed, book in hand, surrounded by little eatables that he figured that you liked. While he was caught in wonder at the beautiful girl who sat in the entrance of the park, he bumped into something or someone. He didn’t want to turn away from her and from the looks of the person who stood in the way of his dream girl, he wished that he hadn’t.

“Hey Squirrel, where are you headed?” The voice caught him by surprise.

He sucked in a breath, feeling the presence of two more people behind him. It was Richard Dundy and his goons, the football stars at Humes who often were at the forefront of his teasing. His electric blues glared at the boy, sidestepping him as he only wanted to keep walking until he made it to the lake. His eyes turned back to where you were sitting only to find that you had placed the book aside as the commotion distracted you. Your eyes burned into the boy who stood in front of him, daggers in your eyes as your lips sat in a tight line.

“Why don’t you leave him alone?” His eyes widened like saucers at the sound of your voice.

He didn’t think that you would sound as beautiful as you looked; your bronze eyes watching their every move, but hadn’t once looked in his direction. Then your eyes turned to look at him and he could have sworn that his heart jumped out of his chest. He didn’t want you to get involved, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if you had gotten in trouble by defending him. Especially because you were on the different spectrum when it came to race. However, race didn’t matter to him. You were incredibly breathtaking and he would come to your rescue if he needed to.

“Nobody was talkin’ to you, little lady.” Richard spat, the hatred filling his eyes as they raked over your body.

Elvis could see red, reaching forward to grip the boy’s collar before leaning into his ear. “You don’t talk to a woman that way, I don’t care who she is.”

Richard smirked, his eyes moving from you before turning back to the boy in front of him. By the look of his wild eyes, Elvis knew that he brought unnecessary trouble to you. But, as troubles would often come and go in his life, he knew that he didn’t like the way they looked at you. He found himself wanting to protect you, even if it was from himself.

“Oh, so little mama’s boy has a darkie as a girlfriend? You never fail to disgust me every time I see you.”

That did it.

Elvis didn’t hold himself back as he reared his fist back before connecting it to Richard’s smug face. He heard you gasp, but all he could see was red. As he tussled with Richard on the ground, he could feel his goons struggling to pick him up from where he sat, fists connecting with every part of his face that he could reach. At that moment, he was pushed off but his eyes never left yours as he watched you covering your mouth at the commotion in front of you.

He was so embarrassed that he made a fool of himself in front of you. Once the situation died down, he looked in your direction once more, almost falling back down on the concrete from your beautiful smile. He couldn’t be in your presence looking the way that he did, so he gave a small smile to you before continuing on his way.

You were shocked that a guy like him would have issues with others. In your mind, you figured that he was popular, but due to the situation that happened before you, you felt pity for the boy. You could only hope that you would have the chance to express to him how grateful you were that he stood up for you.

Days went by without the sighting of the lanky, blue eyed boy who pummeled the rascal that spoke to you in such a hateful manner. You shouldn’t be surprised though, you lived in such a time where people would spit in your general direction. Not him, you hoped. However, as time went on, you would begin to believe that the situation days prior was only a fluke. When he didn’t show up in the days following the incident, you were beginning to think that it was the last time that you would see him.

What you didn’t know was that he would walk that same path past the park once you were gone, his heart hopeful to catch a glance of the beautiful girl with the bronze complexion that shimmered under the sun. He was beginning to lose hope as well when he didn’t see the beautiful quilt or the nude sunhat that sat on the crown on your head. How he wished that he wasn’t a coward, that he didn’t even know your name. He couldn’t face you after you witnessed him struggling to seem macho.

He didn’t want to approach you, with the fear that you would view him as a boy who couldn’t hold his own. That he couldn’t protect you from the dangers that you dealt with on a day-to-day basis. Elvis was conflicted; he wanted to hide himself away from you, viewing you as a goddess that deserved to be treated with the utmost respect but he also wanted to get to know you. He wanted to know what you liked and disliked, he wanted to be the man who made you smile like you always did when you were neck deep in those books of yours.

One summer afternoon, Elvis walked that same path with his guitar strapped to his back. His cerulean eyes searched the entire park for the dark-skinned beauty who had become a fixture of his daily thoughts. He was eager to see you once again, but he wasn’t willing to have his hopes shattered at the reality that maybe he had scared you away. He told his mama all about the girl who captured his attention, how you loved romance novels and little snack cakes. His cousins teased him about how he was becoming a hopeless romantic, after all, they were used to seeing him being chased by girls on the regular. You weren’t like those girls, he refused to believe that you would throw yourself all over him because of his act of chivalry.

Elvis needed to know your name. He knew that it would taste sweet on the tip of his tongue, but he had no clue where to find you. Elvis didn’t know if he would ever see you again, but he wasn’t willing to give up until he captured your beauty in his sights once more.

“Excuse me sir, I’ve seen you walk past this park every single day. Are you looking for someone by chance?” Elvis turned to see a taller woman with the same complexion as the girl who graced his dreams.

It wasn’t you, but maybe she would know where he could find the smaller framed woman that he has been searching endlessly for.

“Uh y-yes. Ya see, ‘m lookin’ for a short woman. W-with the b-beautiful b-ronzed skin that shines under the sun. She’s always readin’ a book or somethin’, n-nude sunhat?” He stammered over his words, cheeks tinted with pink.

The girl in front of him pondered over his words for some time before a knowing smile crossed her lips. Elvis didn’t miss the way her eyes lit up as if she knew exactly who he was talking about. She stepped away from him, peering at him with an unyielding gaze before she opened her mouth.

“So you’re the boy who punched that scoundrel in the face?” She asked, eliciting a nod from Elvis as he twiddled with his thumbs.

Elvis didn’t know where the girl was going with the conversation, but he didn’t press her any further. He was sure that she didn’t know the unknown woman who plagued his dreams every night, but he was surprised when her smile grew. “You’re looking for Y/N. She’s been at the park everyday, lookin’ for you. However, when she didn’t see you, she was beginning to give up so she took a break for a while. I can tell you where she lives if you want to find her?”

Elvis’ knees nearly gave out at the sound of your name. Y/N. He was right that your name was just as beautiful as you were. The girl gave him your address and he became immediately familiar with the neighborhood; after all, that’s where he would frequent with his buddies when they went looking for the hot spots to catch a glimpse of his favorite musicians. Elvis was the type to not chase his tail while trying to get a girl’s attention, but he didn’t mind making a fool of himself in order to get yours.

That same night, he sat at the dinner table with his folks happily chewing up the meatloaf that his mother had made. His mama knew that he was growing impatient with the search for the girl who caught her boy’s attention. It was then at the dinner table that she knew that something had changed, but she couldn’t put two and two together at that time.

“What’s got you so happy, baby?” Gladys placed her fork back down on the plate, catching Vernon’s attention as he sipped from his beer bottle.

“Why can’t the boy be happy, Gladys? He’s been down in the dumps since last week, maybe something good happened at school.” Vernon grunted, turning to face his son as he looked at the both of his parents.

“Nothin’ ever good happens at school, Daddy.” Elvis started, placing his fork down on the table before grabbing the glass of his mama’s famous lemonade, taking a couple of gulps before placing the glass back down on the table.

“If nothin’ ever good happens at school, son, why don’t ya tell us what’s got ya so merry then?” Vernon pressed, a smirk crossing his lips as he knew it had something to do with the short brown-skinned woman that his son wouldn’t stop yammering about.

“I finally found that girl that I was tellin’ yous about. Her name is Y/N and she lives out there by Beale Street.” Elvis grinned, his cheeks burning pink as he felt embarrassed about how jubilant he sounded when speaking your name.

“That’s great news, baby. Are you gon’ invite her over for dinner?” Gladys questioned, a soft smile crossing her lips as she took in the horrified look on her son’s face by the question she asked.

“Mama, I don’t wanna scare her away by invitin’ her to meet my parents so early when I didn’t even know her name until earlier today.” He groaned, brows furrowed as he so desperately wanted you to meet his parents.

“I’m thinkin’ about askin’ her out on a date first. She may not even be interested in me, I’m white and she’s black. That may be a problem for her.” He frowned, scratching at the back of his neck as his ears burned red.

Gladys frowned at her son’s ignorance, sending a sharp glare in his direction before turning to her husband. She knew the era that they lived in, but she could never understand how people could have an hateful perception of a dynamic of people based on the color of their skin. Back in Tupelo, Gladys remembered a kind woman who welcomed her and her son with open arms when they became the only white family to move into Shake Rag. From then on, she had come to love and cherish every human that graced the world.

The good Lord’s word always preached to love thy neighbor and in her eyes, black people weren’t an exception to the rule. She didn’t miss how Elvis was always fascinated by the tent revivals that happened in the same town of Shake Rag, listening to him become thrilled about the type of music that he wanted to make once he grew older. Although she worried about her son, she always wanted her son to be happy. A couple of grandkids didn’t hurt either.

She knew that it was a little bit early to talk to her son about her desire to see her son happily married with children of his own, to fill the void that she has always had since her beloved Jessie earned his angel wings. God knows that she and Vernon couldn’t bear having another child, the uncertainty that the same would happen to it if they pushed through. Having Elvis was enough, but she couldn’t help but to think that maybe growing old and witnessing her precious son having his own family would fill the hole that became engraved in her heart.

“I’m sure that she would be delighted to go on a date with you, son. Don’t let the segregation laws stop ya, but whatever ya do, be careful. You may not know it now, but people are evil. Ya don’t want nothin’ to happen to that beautiful girl.” Vernon spoke up, picking up the bottle of beer before taking another swig.

“Yessir.” Elvis drawled, eyeing his mother who seemed deep in thought. “Everythin’ alrite, mama?”

Gladys returned her son’s gaze, mustering up a small smile as she nodded her head. “Your father is right, baby. Keep that girl safe, Elvis. I couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you or to her. Whenever you’re ready, Vernon and I will welcome her with open arms.”

That gave Elvis the push that he needed to ask you on a date, pushing his chair away from the table before grabbing his coat and the keys to his Lincoln. He wasn’t going to miss this opportunity, not by a long shot. “Where are ya going, baby? It’s late.”

He turned to face his parents. Vernon wore a grin on his face, while Gladys looked confused. Elvis sucked in a breath, a toothy grin spreading across his lips. “‘m goin’ ta ask her on a date, I ain’t waitin’ any longer. Thank ya, Mama, Thank ya, Daddy.”

Elvis shut the door behind him, not giving his parents any more time to keep him at the house longer than he wanted. He climbed into his old Lincoln, pushing the keys in the ignition before speeding away from Lauderdale Courts with only one thing on his mind. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to go to sleep that night without asking you out. The words that his parents had spoken at the dinner table rang in his mind as he drove to your address, but he was filled with so much excitement that he realized that he was nearing your home.

He didn’t pull near your home in fear that he would get you into unnecessary trouble, turning the lights off of his car before getting out. He noticed that there was only one light on in the house, a smile crossing his lips as he realized that it was your room. He crept up to the proximity where he could get your attention. Elvis was filled with nervousness each step that he took to your house, careful not to step on any object that would alert the neighborhood that he was creeping around your window.

Elvis picked up a few pebbles from your flower bed, chucking a few towards your window. He sucked his teeth as a few missed your window, but he grew confident once he adjusted his aim. His eyes lingered towards your window, nerves eating up at his body as he took in your beautiful form making your way over to investigate the noise. He threw two more pebbles, smirking as you pulled your window open with a glare on your face. “Who is-?”

“It’s me.” You turned your eyes to look over the lanky boy who stood in your yard, pebbles in his hand and a lopsided smile on his lips.

It surely couldn’t be the boy who you saw at the park, you thought. Your eyes adjusted to see that it was indeed the tall, lanky boy who wrestled in front of you the week prior. Your glare faltered from your face, becoming replaced with uneasiness at the fact that he was standing in front of you. You would have remembered giving him your address, but you haven’t been able to see him for days. Why was he here now?

Surely, he must have known that you were looking all over Memphis for him. As you took in his goofy smile and his shimmering eyes, you forgot that you were standing in front of him in your nightgown. You reached over to grab your robe before tying it around your body before leaning out of the window to address the boy whose name you still didn’t know.

“What are you doin’ here? It’s late, you know?” You giggled, placing your hands on the windowsill, leaning out to see that he was bouncing his legs like he was on fire.

“I know what this looks like, darlin’. I must look like a creep standing at your house like this so late, but I’ve been lookin’ fer ya everywhere. Your friend told me where you lived so I wanted to come by to let ya know that I haven’t forgotten about ‘cha.”

Trisha must’ve told him about how you were sitting in the park everyday around the same time looking for him. You made a note to tell her off once you saw her the following day, but you pushed that task to the back of your mind before returning the boy’s gaze. “Well, can I at least have the name of the boy who is standing in my yard? You ran off so fast the other day that I didn’t get the chance to ask.”

“E-elvis, my name is Elvis.” The southern drawl caught your attention.

You’ve never met a boy with such an unusual name, but you thought that it fit him. You giggled, rocking on your feet as you smiled softly down at him. “Well, Mister Elvis. I wanted to thank you for standing up for me the other day. I’m Y/N.”

“I-I know. Y-your friend told me your name earlier today when she stopped me.” He stammered over his words, you could make out the pink tint of his cheeks as his eyes looked everywhere rather than at you.

“I'm gonna kill Trisha.” You muttered, rolling your eyes at the fact that she was the one to tell him your name.

“W-what was that, darlin’?”

“Oh nothing, so may I ask why you’re here so late?” You asked, tilting your head, your curls falling in your eyes before you nervously moved them away so you could see him fully.

“I-I was in the neighborhood a-and I-I-I wanted ta know if ya wanted to go out on a date with me? Y-ya don’t h-haveta s-say y-yes, I just felt like I w-would ask.” There he goes again stammering over his words, softly cursing under his breath as he figured he sounded like a fool stumbling in front of you like this.

He looked up at you, twiddling his thumbs as he waited for any reaction that he could get from you. The silence bothered him, putting thoughts in his head that maybe he bit off more than he could chew until finally, you opened your mouth to speak.

“I don’t see why not? When do you want to go on this said date?” You asked, your voice sounding like music to his ears.

Elvis was stunned. He didn’t think that you would agree the first time, but he was so glad that you did. He thought for only a moment before tilting his head up to look at you, his blue eyes glowing with excitement. “Are ya free Saturday? We can meet on Beale Street, if that makes ya more comfortable? I-I-I don’t have any problems with anything ya agree with.”

Your giggle reached Elvis’ ears once more, his heart fluttering in his chest as he took in your beautiful appearance. He could die happily tomorrow if all he heard last was your elegant laugh. “Saturday it is, Elvis. Now, go home! I don’t want to get caught by my parents talkin’ to a boy this late.”

“I’ll see ya Saturday, darlin’. Goodnight.” He couldn’t keep his smile at bay, grinning up at you before stepping backwards almost tripping over his feet.

He silently cursed once more, hearing your beautiful laugh grace his eardrums before waving at you as he walked away from your house. As he rounded the tall hedge of bushes that hid your house, he pumped his arm in victory. He couldn’t wait to get home and tell his parents that he would have a date. As he climbed into his car, he couldn’t keep his smile off of his face, excited for the rest of the week to pass so that he could see you once again.

He made it back home safely, the smile still prevalent on his lips as he entered the living room where his mother was sitting with his grandmother, Dodger. He sank down on the couch, still holding on to his keys and his jacket. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t realize that his mother was calling his name. “Yes, mama?”

“How did it go, baby? Did she say yes?” Gladys laughed, patting his knee.

“Mama, she’s so beautiful. I ain’t think that she would agree, but she did. Oh, mama, I can’t wait to see her again.” He spoke fast, not stopping once to catch his breath.

“Calm down, baby. I knew that she wouldn’t say no to my boy, look at you. You’re such a sweetheart, I’m sure she will find that out for herself soon.” Elvis grinned in his mother’s direction, bouncing his knee as his thoughts returned to the brown-skinned beauty whose smile lit up his world.

“I’m gonna go to bed, mama. I’ve got school in the mornin’.” He stood up from his seat, pressing a kiss to his mother’s cheek before going over to kiss his grandmother’s forehead.

As he laid in bed, he couldn’t keep the smile away as he replayed the look in your eyes as he stuttered over his words. He couldn’t help himself, you were too pretty for him to let you slip out of his fingers. He knew that Saturday was a few days away, but he couldn’t wait any longer. He knew that he had to, but that didn’t mean that he liked the idea. As sleep overtakes him, the only thing that his mind replayed was the graceful sound of your laughter.

The rest of the week went by slowly, much to the chagrin of you. You couldn’t stop thinking about the tall boy named Elvis who appeared at your home on Monday evening. Trisha picked at you, wanting to know what he talked to you about. You didn’t miss the time to also let her know that it wasn’t polite that she was the one to tell him your name or where you lived for the matter. In fact, you wanted to be the one to tell him yourself.

“Come on, Y/N, would you have actually told him where you lived even if he asked you out on a date at that stupid park?”

“That’s not important. I wanted to be the one to tell him things about me.” You retorted, tilting your hat properly on your head before turning to face her once more.

You dismissed yourself from her, giving her a tiny smile before you made your way to the familiar park that became your second home. When you first found it, you were amazed at how much you felt free. Your parents weren’t ever home, leaving you to find your purpose on your own. Books became your main source of comfort in the time of loneliness; the words popping off of the page and becoming part of your world.

You were in another world due to the romance novel that you had begun to read when the sun suddenly disappeared from your face. You tilted your head up to meet the icy blues of the boy that you had been thinking about. You thought that he looked handsome as he stood in your yard the other night, but nothing could have prepared you to see him up close and personal. Your eyes lingered on his face, a shy smile crossing your lips as you placed the novel in your hands beside you.

“Good afternoon, peach. I thought I would find ya here.”

You didn’t miss the hitching of your breath and the increase of your heartbeat at the name of endearment. You struggled to find the words to speak, but nevertheless, you pushed through. “Afternoon, Elvis. How can I help you?”

You mentally slapped yourself at how demure you sounded. You turned your face away from him for a short time before turning back to look at him. He still wore the same smile as he did when he was at your house, something that you were starting to like about him. You waited for only a short while, the silence sweet and welcoming as you stared into his blue eyes.

“Well, I know that we are supposed to go on a date soon but I wanted ta come sit with ya for a while. Y-you don’t h-haveta agree, but I just wanted to.” He stammered, your face in awe at how flustered he became when he spoke to you.

“I don’t see why you couldn’t. I brought some snacks, if you wanted to try them.”

Elvis hummed, sitting next to you on your quilt. His eyes wandered over the different snacks that you made, a small smile lingering on his lips before he turned to face you once again. You could make out the small acne lines that littered his overall clear skin, his blue eyes shining beneath the sun before he parted his lips.

“What are ya readin’ today?” He asked, pointing to the book that now laid beside you.

“The Great Sophy, it’s written by Georgette Heyer. She’s one of my favorite authors, have you heard of it?”

He shook his head, waiting for you to continue with your thoughts of the novel. You were blown away at the fact that he was so interested in learning about the books that you were reading. The boys that you would talk to before him were never interested in the same things as you were, often dismissing your love for novels because they thought it was a bit unsuitable that a girl like you would indulge in childish books about romance. Elvis seemed to welcome it and more, wanting to learn more about you the more than he was around you.

“Well, the protagonist, Sophia travels with her father during the Napoleonic war because he’s known as a diplomat. After Napoleon is exiled, she follows her father to South America where he has taken up a temporary post. She gets along with most of her cousins when they arrived, but she doesn’t get along with one: Charles Rivenhall. He finds her annoying to put it lightly.” You started, your eyes never leaving Elvis’ as he soaked in your summary.

“So Charles has a lot happening in his life. He assumed the role of the adult of his family due to his sickly mother and his gambling addict of a father. He’s also engaged to marry a woman who I think he doesn’t need to be with, Eugenia. She’s very spiteful, very tyrannical in a way. Sophia feels as if she needs to save the family, so she makes it her mission to solve the problems that are plaguing the family. According to where I am, she and Charles are supposed to fall in love with each other, although they don’t take to one another.”

“But aren’t they cousins? That’s gross.” Elvis chuckles, picking up one of the strawberry cupcakes that you baked the night before.

“I suppose that would be seen as gross in our time, but this story is written in 1816 so it wasn’t uncommon for familial romance. Although it is boorish, it’s still sweet that Sophia is willing to save his family. She doesn’t have anything to lose other than his fiance, Eugenia who has everything given to her.”

“Do you see yourself like the character Sophia? Do you relate to her?” Elvis asked, catching you off guard.

You turned back to look at him, mouth agape as you thought about the question that he had asked you. In most of the novels that you had read, you found yourself comparing the characters in the stories to your life. You could see some similarities between you and Sophia, minus the falling in love with your cousin. You would like to believe that you were independent and outgoing as she was.

“In some aspects, yes. She’s very independent, outgoing, and elegant. I don’t know about the elegance part, but I am fairly independent and outgoing. My mama often calls me Goose because she says that I’m friendly and always wanting to keep people smiling.” You giggled, placing your hand over your mouth to keep yourself from embarrassing yourself any further.

Elvis found you adorable, his cerulean hues staring into your cocoa eyes as he took in every word that you said. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was to be speaking to such an intelligent soul such as yourself. Although he didn't often read books, he appreciated how you found such importance in the captivating stories that you read. He wanted to sit in your presence, hearing more about the books that you would read. He wanted to be in your embrace even without talking about the stories.

He was enamored with you, wanting to be in your life as long as time allowed. He spent the rest of the afternoon learning things about you that made him like you even more. You were the only child; the child of a businessman and a nurse who were never at home until late at night, and you enjoyed everything that was made of strawberries and peaches. He found that the nickname ‘Peach’ fit you because you were fairly sweet. He adored you, often wondering how someone like you could ever be interested in a stuttering fool as himself.

Soon, the day had come to an end and Elvis needed to return home before his mother sent a search party to look for him. He didn’t want to leave your side, but it was far too dangerous for you to be out when it got dark. “Would you mind if I took ya home, peach?”

“That’s very nice of you, Elvis. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

That was all Elvis needed to hear before he helped you gather your things, leading you over to his car that sat in the front of the park. He opened your door, helping you inside before he placed your things in the backseat. On the ride over to your place, Elvis continued the conversation but this time, he allowed you to ask him questions about himself. He found himself telling you things that not even his parents knew about him, finding that being in your presence was effortless. You were so pleasant to talk to, he wanted nothing more than to continue.

As he made it to your house, he stopped in front of the driveway before clearing his throat. “I could pick ya up tomorrow for our date s-s-so ya won’t haveta walk. Does 4 o’clock work for you?”

“It does, I had a great time today. Thank you for keeping me company, Elvis. You’re such a delight, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You softly retorted, gathering your quilt and the tupperware that now was empty from Elvis eating most of your snacks.

You exited his car, waving goodbye as you made it inside of your house. The beating of your heart never ceased as you laid against the door. Elvis was surely different, so easy to talk to and so polite. You weren’t sure where he came from, but you were so conflicted about letting him in. Yes, he was sweet and very attentive to the words that you said but he was also white. You weren’t the type to think about skin color being a flaw, but it was because of the time that you were living in that you had to take that into consideration.

What would his parents think about their son courting someone of a different skin tone as him? You already knew that your parents didn’t care about a person’s race, only reminding you that it was what was on the inside that counted. Your parents would love Elvis, he was very sweet and he seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. You didn’t know if his parents would respect their son’s decisions to see a black woman, let alone a woman of her status. You were also concerned about what society would think if you were seen with Elvis, making the upcoming date much more alarming.

Only time could tell where this would lead, so you decided that you would give Elvis a try and would worry about the rest at a later time.

Taglist: @lindszeppelin @loving-elvis @lovininapinkcadillac @softsatnin @austinbutlersbaby @flwrs4aust @missmaywemeetagain @steph-speaks @plasticfantasticl0ver @prayerstopresley @presleyenterprise @crash-and-cure @literally-just-elvis-fics @samfangirls @burninlovebutler @cryingabtab @elaaronpresleysgirl @woundmetender @presleysdarling @rjmartin11 @isthlsfate @rosaminny @oh-my-front-door @rainydayz101 @stitchattacks @elvisabutler @ab4eva @kaitaesupremacy @wonka-gifs @iloveaustinelvis @thatbanditqueen @precious-little-scoundrel @marriedtopresley @ccab @18lkpeters @dre6ming @dkayfixates @galaxygirl453 @coolgirl462 @rosecoloreddesire @rosepresley @presleypresley @dhimpson1 @troubleinapinksuit @venus-haze @foreverdolly @polksalademma @austinsmutler @generoustreemystic

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis 2022 #teenaged!elvis #black bookworm!reader #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x black!reader #black writers #black reader #daisy writes #requested

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hope7513 · 4 months

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The Music

An Ellie Williams x reader fanfiction

in which the reader is in love with her roommate includes : modern!ellie musician!ellie, composer!ellie, roommate!ellie, best friend!ellie, romantic/soft!ellie, angst, fluff, let me know if i missed anything. this is my first post so be nice

The soft, dampened sounds of Ellie’s work and thoughts being played through the small piano drifted in the air all that sunny, late-winter afternoon, wafting through the air, towards your door, and out the open window, to be replaced by a chilly breeze.

Ellie’s music was nothing new. She was constantly making something, working long term on musical projects and creations. It seemed as if she formed a bond with each one, never truly leaving them behind, while simultaneously falling in love with another of its kind.

And you listened. You grew and lived with each piece she made. Every day, the things Ellie created became more and more perfect, more and more enhanced and beautiful. You fell in love with the sounds, each of them outlining stories of experiences you shared with Ellie, the soundtracks to certain chapters yours and Ellie’s novel.

That certain day was one that was specifically tied with a song. Ellie’s current piece was unnamed as of yet, but you remembered it as one that was to be played warm and soft, while the harmonies danced around with each other in a way that created a beautiful friction— like of that between butter and toast.

You got up from your position of study to go out to get a snack, but also as an excuse to get closer to the blissful noises. As you walked out, you saw Ellie, somewhat disheveled; hair tied back but still messy, sleeves rolled up, glasses slipping down her nose. Yet, the closer your eyes got to the piano, the more peaceful the scene became: her arms moving and swaying along with the sway of the music, and closer yet, her fingers connecting with the music, in perfect harmony with the very things they were making.

As you opened the fridge, you heard the soft sounds of Ellie's playing stop, almost to your disappointment. "Hey," you heard her voice from where she sat. She sighed a small, tired sigh and asked, "How's your studying going?"

"Uh, fine, I guess. Really boring, though. What about, uh, that piece? It sounds really beautiful." Your awkward disposition only further cut off your ability to convey to Ellie how you truly felt towards her music.

"Uh, I don't know. Something isn't sitting right with me about it yet, but I can't figure out what it is." Ellie looked at you, her beautiful green eyes brewing up a request, sending a grin onto her face. She cocked her head, motioning for you to sit next to her on the small piano bench. "I think I might just need a fresh set of ears on it."

You took a spot next to Ellie, your right leg lightly toucher her left, and when Ellie was settled and ready, she began to play.

It was the same song as before, but an entirely different experience. The music seemed to be so much closer. In fact, it seemed not only to be embracing you, but even flowing into you as the vibrations of each note, soft and connected and warm. Ellie truly created a world with her music, and she had transported you into it.

By the time the piece was over, you knew you had to leave the magical world you had enjoyed so deeply, and give Ellie the advice she had asked for in the first place.

Luckily, even in your dreamy state, your mind was still able to be analytical about the music Ellie had played.

"It's the time signature," you said, pointing at the music. "You have it written in 4/4, but you're playing it in threes, so you gotta switch it to 9/8. That's why the downbeats are so fucked up."

This was when you got to see Ellies thinking process, through her facial expressions. At first she looked intently at her music with furrowed eyebrows, and then realization flashed across her face and she moved swiftly, changing the things that needed to be fixed. Once her process was over, she looked at me and smiled.

"That was exactly it," she smacked the side of your leg light-heartedly. You knew she was oblivious to the experience she had just given you. She stood up and stretched, groaning a tired groan.

You looked up at Ellie, admired at how she could produce something so beautiful so nonchalantly. "It really does sound beautiful," you said, standing up and gazing into Ellie's eyes. She met yours as well, matching you in meaning and intent. "How do you do it?" You ask.

She giggled and plopped onto the couch. "What are you talking about," she said with a grin and skeptical gaze.

"You know what you do." You try your best to shield your thoughts from how in love with her, and everything she did, you were.

"If you're talking about my music, uh.... I don't even know. It's a gift that I'm glad to have, though. It's like I just sit down with an idea-- like sometimes I look at a picture, or just sit by the piano after a nature walk-- and my thoughts just flow out through the music."

The two of you just sat for a moment until a question popped in your head. "What inspired this piece?"

A very light shade of pink flashed on Ellies face, but she brought out her phone and opened the photos app. She pulled up a picture of a sunset shining through a window, silhouetting a girl who looked down at the work in front of her. And that girl was- you...

You looked into her eyes and she only smiled back, looking just as deeply into yours, your faces hardly inches apart. The only way to interpret how you felt in that moment seemed through the music Ellie had played not too long ago.

#ellie x reader #ellie williams #wlw #ellie tlou #tlou #tlou2 #fanfic #x reader #first post #short story #part 1?#story #original story #fiction #writing #lesbian #fluff #angst

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mixelation · 1 year

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i dug up a scene i wrote years ago for plasticity re: itachi and shitty fiction. context is that tori is hobbling around from a hip injury while they stay in a small town to figure out their lives. this was written BEFORE i decided icha icha was a Thing which is why there is a bizarre lack of mention of it. because of that, who fucking knows what this scene will look like when i do get to this part

Tori spent the next few days laying in bed and drifting between sleep and absolute boredom. She’d occasionally stagger over to the bathroom and managed to wash herself with a wet towel a few times. The ninja mostly ignored her– Sasori disappeared for a full three days to scope out a place for the sealing ritual– but they would occasionally leave her with cartons of their left-over take-out meals. Itachi brought her a truly terrible novel. No one ever offered to help her to the bathroom, which her pride was secretly grateful for.

She decided against the soldier pills, until Sasori returned and informed her she should be getting light exercise to strengthen her bruised muscles.

“I put them back together,” he said tersely. “You won’t damage them further by walking. I’m not that incompetent.”

So Tori, unsure of how she had accused Sasori of incompetence, popped a soldier pill and went for a walk behind the hostel. It had a tiny, largely unkempt garden, with an algae-covered pond full of koi that were miraculously still alive. Next to it was a bench that looked like it might collapse at any moment, and Itachi was tempting fate by sitting on it.

“That book you gave me sucked,” Tori said by way of greeting. Itachi acknowledged her by turning his head slightly.

“You look like a ghost,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Tori, quite genuinely, and continued with her walk.

When she’d done a full loop around the garden, and then a smaller loop around the pond, Itachi was still sitting there, ankles crossed. She sat down next to him and the bench groaned.

“Do you want it back?” she asked. “The book, I mean.”

“No. I found it in a cafe.”

“Oh, so you didn’t read it?”

“No.”

They sat in silence. The day was still, with little wind to rustle the leaves, and the various conversations going on inside the hostel could just barely be heard. A woman was yelling, angry, while another room was filled with drunk laughter. Next to her, Itachi looked deceptively normal without his cloak. His baggy clothes made him seem too thin, and his posture was loose and relaxed.

“What was it about?” Itachi asked.

“Hmm,” said Tori. “A guy comes into a lot of money and moves to the country. For some reason he’s really good at hiring farm-hands to run his estate, so he makes even more money by relying on those hires. Three outrageously beautiful women fall in love with him and he has to choose one to be his wife.”

“Sounds contrite,” said Itachi, leaning back further into the bench.

“It gets worse,” Tori continued. “Almost two hundred pages in, the author remembers conflict can be fun and there’s some drama where the rich guy starts getting death threats in the mail. But then his childhood crush shows up and that plotline gets dropped for a while.”

“Is she also in love with him?” Itachi asked, the beginning of a smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“Obviously,” said Tori.

“And I suppose she’s also outrageously beautiful.”

“Of course. She’s the most beautiful of them all. And we’re three hundred pages in, fifty to go, and I’m thinking– wouldn’t it be a cool plot twist if she was the one sending him threatening letters?”

“That would be quite dramatic,” Itachi agreed.

“I know, right? But then it’s revealed the threats are coming from a previously unknown character, who wants to marry one of the other girls, and he apologizes because he’s finally gotten brave enough to ask her to marry him.”

“And does she?”

“That’s the thing! She does, but first she has to have this whole thing about how the rich dude is still better, but she’s not as perfect as his childhood sweetheart, so she might as well marry someone else. Like nothing any of these other characters do is allowed to invalidate how awesome rich guy is, even if it’s something totally normal like be a woman and not be in love with him.”

Tori had scooted to the edge of the bench by then, gesticulating wildly as she described her distaste for the story to Itachi. He barely moved at all, but did turn his body slightly more towards her to ask, “And that took fifty pages?”

“NO!” She said, waving her arms. “It took like ten pages. Then the rest was their wedding, where everyone we’ve met in this story has to give a speech about how perfect the rich dude and his wife are, and how everyone wishes they could be him. Or fuck him, if they’re women.”

“Terrible,” Itachi said, now smiling. Sort of. There was a slight raise of his lips.

“Yeah,” Tori said, slumping back into the bench. “Anyway, thanks for bringing it to me, I guess.”

“I’ll admit,” Itachi said, “I was hoping it would be about ninja. I quite enjoy civilian takes on us. It’s amusing.”

“I don’t think even ninja could have made that story better,” Tori grumbled, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her hips were sore, and stretching hurt, but in the nice way where your muscles relax afterwards. “Not even ones that cry every time they have to stab someone. Are you saying you didn’t even read the back cover before you decided it was sufficient entertainment for me?”

Itachi glanced at her. “I’ve found reading tiresome recently,” he said calmly.

Tori opened her mouth to ask why, but then shut it. He was losing his vision. She knew that. Even without her foreknowledge, she’d seen him rubbing the corners of his eyes after reading cooking instructions, back at the base.

“Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.”

They sat in silence and Tori stretched her legs some more. She wondered how she’d feel after the soldier pill wore off. If she felt alright, she could see if she could walk into town and get her own dinner that night.

“Maybe,” Itachi said, “you could tell me about the next book you read. You’re very thorough in your explanations about everything wrong in fiction.”

This time there was an actual, macroscopic smile on his face.

“Oh,” Tori said, dumbfounded. She had thought Itachi didn’t particularly care for her. He’d told her to her face to shut up plenty of times, and he wasn’t much for for friendly ribbing like Deidara or Kisame. “Y-yeah, sure. I’ll pick one about ninja.”

Itachi didn’t comment on that. He stood, the smile drifting from ‘barely visible’ to ‘only noticeable if you know the exact line of his poker face.’

“Kisame wants to try a barbecue restaurant tonight,” he said. “You should come, if you can walk.”

He left. She wondered if he realized how ominous he sounded.

#tori hasn't gotten to explain her extremely correct conspiracy theories in depth to itachi yet because he'd come back with #'i like bad romance novels where a missing-nin has been cursed to be a cat'#and tori simply isn't ready for this development and neither are you #fic: plasticity

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damistrolls · 6 months

Text

Goodbyes

helo ive been sitting on this noboru write for a little while

its gone thru a lot of revisions but i think im finally happy, so!!! here it is!

now read my silly self-indulgent drabble, boy

(google doc link)

—

“I loved you once, you know.”

The statement hung in the crisp air for a few moments. Noboru took his eyes off of the grave, glancing over his shoulder, as though he feared someone was listening to him speaking to a plot of disturbed ground. After he confirmed he truly was alone, he rolled his shoulders casually, and looked back at the hunk of white marble sticking out of the soil.

“I don’t know when that changed, if it ever did. We were distant towards the end, and we disagreed on more things than we agreed on, but…”

He trailed off, words failing him. Noboru sighed and glanced over his shoulder once more, before carefully kneeling down on the damp grass with a grunt. He always felt his age most when he sat or stood. He remembers a younger Magpie telling him he made old man noises when he moved, and now he can’t help but notice every time he makes said ‘old man noises’.

“… You’ll have to forgive me. I don’t have anything written and practiced. I didn’t want to come here with some kind of speech. I just wanted to talk, I suppose, since I refrained from saying anything during the funeral. Everyone there already wanted me dead, the last thing I wanted to do was rock the boat more.”

The stone in the ground was silent and still, if a bit wet from the rain that had come down the previous day. Noboru nodded in the direction of the grave.

“Magpie insisted on the marble. I thought granite would be more practical, since it lasts longer, but he said you would want it to be beautiful.”

Noboru goes quiet for a few moments, waiting. It was as if he was expecting a response, though he knew none would come. This was probably the most personal death he’s experienced. Every troll loses a friend or two when they’re young, but losing a long-term matesprit, even if an estranged one, was different. His lips press together in a thin line as he tiredly looks down at his lap.

“He asked me not to touch your hive. There isn’t much I can do if the Empire chooses to reclaim the land, but for now, it’s as it was. Though, it may be collecting some dust now. I think the only one who’s been in and out of there is Magpie. He still keeps things in that room of his, even if he doesn’t ever sleep there anymore. Apparently, he’s staying with this teal. And Lupo, of course.”

The violet plucked a blade of grass from the ground, toying with it in his fingers idly as his eyes stayed trained downwards.

“I’d like to say he’s happy, but frankly, I wouldn’t be able to tell. I don’t know how to talk with him. I feel as though I lost my opportunity to ever meaningfully be a part of his life. Yahiro was more of a father to him than I was. I wish I could blame you for that, like I blame you for everything else, but I can’t.”

Noboru’s chest ached and his throat felt tight, but he simply rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger and straightened his back.

“… There’s too much I could say to you, Fansia... I could fill a novel with all of the things I’d like to say. But I don’t have that kind of time, and I’m sure you have some kind of afterlife to get on with. You never wanted to hear me whine about this-or-that while you were alive, gods know you give even less of a damn now. So I think now’s a good time for me to… say goodbye. Officially. To stop… dragging what happened around with me. It’s a weight I’m tired of holding.”

He hesitated, before patting the pocket on his chest, making sure something was still in there. Noboru then retrieved a small, shiny object from the pocket, holding it out as if the marble grave could see it.

“They buried you with yours, but I won’t let them bury me with mine, no matter how much I loved you. It’s been a few perigees already, and I need to stop carrying this piece of you around with me if I ever want to move forwards.”

The grass near the stone was still loose enough that he could dig at it with his nails and pull back just enough to drop a gold ring into the dirt. It was a waste, but Noboru would have felt worse selling it. He pressed the grass back down over the ring.

“… I’m not going to visit after this. You had a tight grip on my life these past thirty or so sweeps. More, if you count the time we spent when we were younger, with me trailing after you like a lost pup. I’m done centering my life around you, Fansia.”

Noboru carefully got off of his knees, standing with some effort. He brushed the grass off of his shins and sighed.

“Despite everything, I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. You take care.”

And after a moment of hesitation, Noboru turned and left.

#writing #noboru #someone go find that ring it would be funny

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lutiaslayton · 9 months

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Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva

ＰＡＲＴ　０７

〚ＦＩＲＳＴ〛〚ＰＲＥＶ〛〚ＮＥＸＴ〛

Disclaimer: This is a fan-translation for the Japan-exclusive novellisation of the movie Professor Layton and the Eternal Diva. The original novel was written by Aya Matsui under the supervision of Akihiro Hino, and belongs to Level-5.

This translation only aims to be a pleasant read for non-Japanese fans, nothing more: I made a few deliberate changes while translating in order to get the writing style closer to what is usually found in English fanfictions, as the Japanese storytelling can sometimes be different than what we are used to.

＊ The Eternal Life Puzzle-Solving Game

Once I had changed out of the Queen’s costume, I sat in front of the mirror and stared intently at the face in front of me.

I was finally about to meet Professor Layton.

Is that alright with you, Janice?

As I was speaking in my mind, I gently stroke the pendant.

What could I possibly tell the professor, and how…? This question had been turning in my head many times, under every angle, but this thought had to stop going in circles.

It was going to be alright. I just had to calm down, and be natural. The professor was going to help. If anyone could solve the mystery behind eternal life, it would be him.

Still. This was making me more nervous than the usual stage fright I would experience before singing.

Maybe this was a different play altogether for me to act on; and most likely the last one…

I smiled at the mirror, trying to cheer myself up. Seeing the smile of Janice Quatlane, looking at me from the other side of the mirror, gave me great strength.

I finally felt calm.

The curtain had now just been raised.

I’m coming, Professor Layton.

I stood up, left the backstage, and headed for the main hall.

I could hear the sound of the Detragan in the distance. Mr Whistler… was playing.

The sadness that his music was conveying infected me as well. When he had experienced the loss of a loved one, the power of his grief caused every note he played to take on the colour of tears. I wondered if he was aware of this…

But then, his performance was interrupted. What happened?

Soon, angry voices resonated instead.

“This is no time to play music!”

“We’re all trapped in this theatre—well, in this ship now!”

“Mr Whistler, you wrote this opera. Did you also orchestrate all of this?”

A familiar voice eventually responded:

“This opera was a request. That is all…”

I quickened my pace and stepped into the scene. And then, a certain silhouette came into my view, accompanied with that of a little pretty boy in a blue hat. It was him…

He was wearing a familiar top hat and jacket. With his gentle gaze, he truly was a gentleman, more than anyone else.

I was filled with such relief that I called out to him without thinking.

“Professor Layton!”

His head slowly turned towards me. The same gentle smile that had been shining in his eyes spread across his face. This was the professor’s smile…

“Janice!”

…and this was the professor’s voice. I missed him…

It was rather odd that I would think that way now, though.

“I’m sorry I got you involved in this, Professor. I never thought that something like this would happen…”

“Don’t apologise. It is the duty of a gentleman to help a lady in need.”

I was startled for a moment… then I giggled.

The ‘duty of a gentleman.’ It was well known amongst the students of Gressenheller that Professor Layton had this habit of saying this kind of funny thing.

And him talking about ‘helping a lady in need’ without any hesitation made him sound so chivalrous, too. Could there be a single woman not happy to be told such a thing?

The tension I had been feeling up until now was completely blown away.

“Of course you would say something like this,” I said with a smile.

“Where is the girl you mentioned in your letter?”

“I haven’t seen her since this morning. When I asked Mr Whistler about it, all he said was that I needed to focus on my performance…”

I was very concerned about Melina. Mr Whistler and her seemed very close for now, but…

At that moment, the mysterious man’s voice echoed throughout the hall.

“Ladies and gentlemen, are you enjoying your ride on the Crown Petone?”

Everyone in the theatre froze.

“We will now begin the puzzle-solving game, for eternal life!”

“Puzzle-solving…?”

“A game…?”

We were all equally confused.

“The rules are simple,” the voice continued. “The last one standing as the winner of the game will get eternal life!”

These two last words won over everyone’s fears, and one by one, more and more people took their seats in silence. I was quite surprised to see that the idea of eternal life would fascinate so many, to such extent. Many wanted to live forever, many more merely hoped for it…

But if I could live forever, what would I even do? If I could continue to live alone, would I really be happy…? With my loved ones dying one by one, leaving me alone for good…

The sound of the little boy’s voice brought me back to reality.

“Professor…?”

He was looking up at Professor Layton with a worried expression. He was only a child, yet he seemed to act as if he were some kind of assistant.

“Under these circumstances, it appears that we have no other choice but to join in, Luke.”

So this was his name.

The two took their seats, getting ready for whatever would come next.

I sat next to the professor and tightly clutched the pendant on my chest. What sort of puzzle-solving game would that be…?

Intense anger started to rise. What on Earth was that man thinking?

I was concerned about Luke. I had put a lovely child in danger, just by writing my letter to the professor…

While I was feeling this regret, I remembered that the wheels of fate had already started to turn and move forward, just like the Crown Petone was doing now as a ship.

I did not want to have any more regrets. And for this, I had to protect Luke and Melina somehow…

I was determined.

　⇚　　　　　　　⇛

#professor layton #layton's book club #janice quatlane #melina whistler #hershel layton #luke triton #eternal diva #eternal diva novel #translation #professor layton and the eternal diva

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kmomof4 · 27 days

Text

Destination Dream Weddings, Driving Disasters, & Dented Derrieres: A Fic Collaboration Between @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose and @jrob64

Hello everyone! We are back with Ch2!!! In today's installment, our couples explore St. Simons Island. Thank you so much for your enthusiasm and for coming along on this journey with us! We'd love to know what you think!

Rating: T

Words: 4500 of approx 21k

Todays Ch On ao3 and ff.net

Ch1 on Tumblr

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it

A wonderfully mild breeze for July and a sky streaked with peaches and pinks and fluffy white clouds greeted them their first full day on the island. The early risers made their coffee and enjoyed a few quiet moments before the rest of their party were up and moving. Mary Margaret and David cuddled together in the large swing on the front porch, perfectly happy sipping their coffee and watching the sunrise. Mary Margaret rested her head on her fiance’s solid chest, and David, with his arms wrapped around her, felt like he held the most precious treasure in the world.

Next door, Belle also liked to be up before it was necessary to dress and start rushing around, enjoying at least one mug of coffee while she read in her pajamas tucked into a corner of the couch in the main living area. Today however, she had only been in her place for a few minutes before Will wandered into the room, looking at her hopefully and asking if she would mind him joining her.

She beamed at him, holding out her hand and beckoning him closer. His larger fingers enfolded hers easily as he drew near, and she tugged him down to the couch beside her, pulling back the corner of her fleece throw to cover his legs as well. He kissed the side of her head tenderly, giving her a hug that she snuggled into happily, and for a moment they sat in contented bliss.

“Would you like me to read to you?” she asked.

Will grinned crookedly and nodded his eager assent. “That’d be lovely if you want. I’m happy just sittin’ here near you, but if you want to share, I’d love to hear it.”

Once again, Belle couldn’t help thinking Will must have been meant for her after the heartache she’d suffered before. Truly, they might not look as though they made much sense on paper, or if one were to merely look at their personalities separately, but that had no bearing on how happy they actually made each other - and how wonderfully appreciated and adored Will made her feel. She had always wanted to share the written words she loved and the fascinating things she learned and cared about with someone who would enjoy them as much as she did. She thought that dating an intellectual, someone reserved and in the same field as she was would be a perfect match, but Robert had undermined her, belittled the things that caught her interest, and he’d never had time for or valued the things she attempted to share with him. Will was nothing like that; he was eager to learn, and live life to the fullest, taking everything in - just as she was. And Belle could only tingle with joy and gratitude at picturing so many more mornings like this before them in the future.

They were able to get a more leisurely start this morning, having a trolley tour of the historical sites and points of interest around St. Simons Island scheduled at 11:00. And while she savored Will’s hands gently brushing up and down her arms and the way he leaned forward to rest his chin on her shoulder as she read several more pages aloud from the novel she had chosen, when the other couple in their cottage entered the kitchen and began to get breakfast together, Belle knew she needed to extricate herself, dress and get her things together.

Luckily it only took an hour to fix Emma’s tire at a nearby service station, and soon all thirteen members of their large group were gathered on the driveway between their two rentals, dressed comfortably and with good walking shoes, ready to drive to the welcome center and pier where the trolley tour began. Everyone was anxious to get going, chatting about how nice the cottages were, and the things they hoped to see in the next few days.

It was a short drive and they reached the picturesque area where they would board the trolley some several minutes early. The various couples split to stroll along the pier, exclaiming over the view, the sea birds and how close they would come, and sharing some quick private moments together, while still keeping the space where the trolley would arrive in sight.

Right on time, the trolley pulled into its spot. David gave his name for their reservation and they all boarded. Their party was large enough that it filled the last few seats remaining, interspersed between the groups of twos, threes, and fours who had already been seated. Luckily, most of them hardly minded being pressed in close to the side of their lover.

Having introduced herself as Georgia, the silver-haired older woman leading their tour began to give them instructions in her charmingly sweet Southern drawl and then launched into her identifications and descriptions of the various places they were passing, as they started down the road which wound by the beach and through both streets full of shops and restaurants and scenic lanes, bounded by live oaks draped with Spanish moss. None of them could resist snapping pictures that hardly captured the wondrous sights, but Mary Margaret and Belle proved to be obsessed with catching every possible moment, until David and Will could only shake their heads and shrug, watching their ladies affectionately, though with a healthy dose of humor as well.

The highlight of the tour was when they stopped at the small Christ Church Fredericka, pausing and disembarking to take in the lovely white building, its stunning stained glass windows, and its aged graveyard stones in more depth on foot. They were seated in the pews within the sanctuary as their guide continued to tell them more of the church’s history and the life of its founder and builder, Anson Dodge.

Mr. Dodge was quite the fitting historical subject. Not only Belle, who always enjoyed a good story, but the entire tour group listened in rapt attention as Georgia explained how he’d built the lovely church for his sweetheart - only to enjoy a mere three years together before her untimely passing. Though Dodge had carried on in his life and work, accomplishing much that was worthy of praise, and had eventually even married again and founded a home for orphans with his second wife, he had never forgotten or stopped grieving his first love - his True Love, one might say.

Both Belle’s and Mary Margaret’s eyes looked more than a bit glassy by the time the story had been recounted fully, and neither would be rushed or deterred from circling to where the Dodges were buried around the side of the chapel - a simply beautiful resting place infused with a tranquil and reverent hush amidst the live oaks and their dripping trails of Spanish moss.

The entire group from the trolley was in the graveyard when the guide began to speak again about the trilogy of novels written about the area with Mr. Dodge as one of the character inspirations, but at this point Belle’s enthusiasm simply overflowed, and she hurried toward the older woman, breaking in with breathless excitement, “Oh yes! I know that series! Beloved Invader really focuses on him and the mark he made within the St. Simons community, despite what he was going through personally. I remember when I first read that story, how captured I was by his strength and all that he overcame, and now to think we’re standing here where he likely once stood as well…”

Suddenly, she bit off her own flow of words and looked around meekly, as if just realizing that she had rather hijacked the woman’s entire address. “Oh,” she glanced at their guide sheepishly, her voice much calmer and more subdued, “I apologize for getting carried away. It wasn’t my intention to interrupt.”

But judging by the good humored smile on Georgia’s face, she was not at all offended or upset as she waved off the brunette’s apologies. “Never you mind, Sweetie,” she reassured, even as Belle stepped back to Will’s side and linked her arm with his, subtly leaning against him and almost burying her flushed face into his shoulder for a moment. “It isn’t very often we get a visitor so keen and well-informed on our local history. Anson Dodge was indeed quite a heroic figure - well worth remembering.”

Belle nodded her thanks for the generous understanding, but vowed to bite her tongue all the same, not wanting to miss out on something she might yet learn. And if Will got a few more additions whispered into his ears from there on out, she knew he certainly didn’t mind.

Soon they were back on the trolley again, returning to the starting point where they would disembark. As they passed one tall, stately oak however, Georgia pointed out the enigmatically beautiful figure carved into its side. “And this is Cora, one of our local tree spirits,” their silver-headed guide introduced cheerily. “You can find a map in the visitor’s center leading you to Cora and her compatriots about St. Simons, should you wish to meet them all,” she added with a wink.

It was really just a fun little carving in the tree trunk, and many chuckled or snapped pictures as the trolley rolled by, but Regina felt an odd shudder run through her frame. Besides the fact the carving shared a name with Regina’s mother, the very last person she wanted to be thinking about, perhaps it was just that she’d never been much for tramping around in nature and smelling like forest. Still, there was something about the wooden visage which just didn’t sit quite right with her.

~*~*~

After disembarking from the trolley, the couples meandered around the surrounding area, taking more pictures and exploring what the seafront had to offer.

Elsa and Liam were drawn to the playground, with equipment designed to look like a pirate ship. As they watched parents pushing their children on the swings and catching them at the end of the slides, Liam draped his arm over his wife’s shoulder, and she wrapped hers around his waist.

“That will be us in a couple of years, Sweetheart,” Elsa said quietly, aware that no one from their group was close enough to hear.

“Aye, it will, and I can hardly wait,” Liam replied, pressing his lips to the crown of her blonde, sun-warmed head.

Belle and Will walked a few blocks to the visitor’s center so she could pick up more brochures and informational books. The tour had sparked her interest in the history of the island, and she was determined to find out more. Will, as usual, was her captive audience, hanging on every word of her monologue as they walked.

After exiting the building, Will pointed across the street. “Hey, look! There’s that fancy tree they talked about while we were on that trolley thing. Do you want me to take a picture of you in front of it?” he asked Belle.

“That would be wonderful!” she exclaimed. “You’re always so thoughtful.”

Digging her phone out of her small bag, she handed it to him, then they walked across the street to the large, old oak, whose low-hanging branches rested on the ground. Will helped Belle find a good spot to stand, then held up the phone, backing up to get a better shot. Just as he was about to tap the circle to take the picture, he tripped over an exposed root and landed with a loud ‘OOF’ on his ass.

“Oh, Will!” Belle cried, rushing over to him. “Are you alright?”

“Just dandy,” he grumbled, getting to his feet slowly and rubbing his derriere. “Last year, it was me head that took a beating. This year, it’s me arse.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to hide her giggle behind her hand. “I could give you a massage later, if you think it would help.”

Despite his pain, he gave her a goofy grin. “I certainly won’t turn down that offer.”

She glanced around to see if anyone was looking, then gently patted his bruised bottom and leaned up to give him a kiss.

Unbeknownst to them, the lighthouse had drawn Graham and Ruby’s attention during the tour, and they had taken the opportunity to visit it, climbing to the top to survey the island from a different perspective.

They witnessed Will’s tumble and laughed so hard, they were wiping away tears. When they saw Belle’s response, Ruby said, “Aww, isn’t that sweet?”

“Not as sweet as this ass,” Graham whispered into her ear, squeezing that part of her anatomy.

After sharing a just-this-side-of-inappropriate kiss with him, she pointed out various things to look at while he stood behind her, arms wrapped around her and chin on her shoulder, happy to hold his girlfriend in his arms again, after being away from her for so long.

Meanwhile, back at the boardwalk, Roland led Regina and Robin to the wooden pier, where he watched, fascinated, as fishermen cast their lines and waited patiently for fish to take their bait. Even the most crusty, seasoned angler was charmed by the little boy with dark, curly hair and deep dimples as he ran from one to another, asking them questions about what they were doing.

Mary Margaret found a set of stairs leading to the beach below. She and David descended them and were soon joined by Emma and Killian. The two couples strolled slowly along the packed sand, their arms intertwined.

“Oh, look!” Mary Margaret exclaimed, stopping and bending down. “A little shell!” She picked it up and held it in front of her fiancé for him to see.

David examined it as if it were a priceless treasure and declared it to be pretty, but not as pretty as his soon-to-be-wife. Her cheeks pinkened and she gave him a kiss before continuing to scan the beach for more shells. She was thrilled when she was able to add a small, intact sand dollar to the collection David held in the palm of his hand.

Emma and Killian trailed behind the engaged couple, before stopping to watch the small waves, quietly absorbing their relaxing sound.

“I miss living by the sea,” Killian admitted, his eyes trained on the boats dotting the surface.

“I know it’s a lake and not the sea, but you could always move to Chicago and work with your brother,” Emma said. “I, for one, would be happy if you did.”

“I’m not sure my brother would share your enthusiasm, Love. I think he likes having his own identity away from his younger brother.”

She wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder. “Well, at least think about it. This long distance thing sucks.”

Before he could reply, they heard Liam’s sharp, distinct whistle coming from the top of the stairs. “Time to load up so we can get to the restaurant,” he informed them.

It took fifteen minutes to round everyone up and get them into the three vehicles so they could travel to Tortuga Jack’s Mexican Cantina. When they arrived, they were excited to learn there was outdoor seating and were soon seated at one long table. Once again, the couples didn’t mind the close proximity, giving them a reason to cozy up to their significant others.

While they waited for their meals, they munched on warm tortilla chips and kept an eye on the birds who were almost too comfortable around the customers. Whenever a chip was dropped on the ground, they swooped down to peck at it, carrying it away if it was small enough to manage. Robin had to remind Roland several times not to throw the chips on the ground on purpose.

A couple at the neighboring table had their dog with them, who instantly took a liking to Graham. He and Ruby spent most of the time while they were waiting for their food, petting his brown, curly fur and chatting with the owners. Once their new acquaintances paid their bill and left, Graham turned to Ruby and said, “You know, I didn’t realize you’re such a dog lover.”

“Well,” she grinned, running her fingers through his wavy, sandy-colored locks, “I like most dogs, but that one in particular reminded me of you.”

Graham looked confused. “Is that a good thing? That I remind you of a dog?”

“Of course,” she said, her smile turning softer. “You know I can’t resist when you look at me with those big puppy dog eyes.” She leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth lightly.

Their meals arrived and conversation died away as they all ate. Just as they were finishing, the hostess seated another large group of people at the table beside them. They were loud and raucous, clearly having been imbibing for several hours already. One man was particularly obnoxious, and everyone could see the angry steam building in Regina. When he let loose a slew of expletives, she went into full Evil Queen mode.

Rising to her feet, she tugged down the hem of her blouse and turned to face the offender. “Excuse me,” she said, in a barely controlled voice. “Is it beyond your inebriated comprehension to see that there is a child at this table, one who does not need to hear your foul language? Are you truly that obtuse, or are you just incredibly self-centered to the point of offending everyone around you?”

The obnoxious man slowly stood up, weaving a bit as he walked over to stand toe-to-toe with her. Everyone at both tables held their breath, wondering what was going to happen next. Robin pushed his chair back, ready to jump to Regina’s aid, if need be.

“Wha’ did you say?” the man slurred.

Though the man was several inches taller than she, Regina didn’t blink, her upper lip curling in a disdainful sneer. “I said, this is a family establishment with children present. Your loud and rude behavior is not appreciated.”

The man drew in a deep breath, puffing out his chest. After holding it for a second or two, he let it out, completely deflating. “Yer right, ma’am. I ap-ap-...what I mean to say is, I’m sorry.” He turned to look at Roland, who was staring at him with wide eyes. “Sorry, lil man. Won’t hap- won’t happen again.”

“It’s okay, mister,” Roland said, giving him a grin that could win over even the most unpleasant person. Then he turned to Regina. “Thank you, Miss Gina.”

She bent down to his level and gave him a warm smile, kissing his dimpled cheek before replying, “You’re very welcome, Sweetie.”

~*~*~

Later that evening after Roland had been put to bed, the friends were scattered between the eat-in dining area playing an escape game - solving riddles and puzzles to escape the Enchanted Forest- and the living room, where the rest of them were working on a slide show of the bride and groom growing up, meeting, and falling in love to use at the end of the ceremony and during the reception.

“When did you know she was the one, David?” Killian called from his place in the living room where he sat in front of the laptop, hands poised to type whatever came out of his friend’s mouth.

“Huh?” David asked, confused. He’d been hard at work trying to figure out the coded message that would help “Cindy” get to the ball on time and hadn’t paid attention to Killian’s words until he heard his name.

“Was there a moment when you knew you’d marry Mary Margaret? A specific point when you fell in love with her?” Graham repeated the question.

David got up from the table he and Mary Margaret, Liam, Elsa, Will and Belle were all gathered around. As he approached the living room to answer the others’ questions, a chorus of No! Stay back! Don’t you come in here! reached him.

He stopped with a chuckle, his eyes sweeping over the rest of his friends who were either at laptops of their own or were going through the box of pictures he and Mary Margaret had provided for the project. Regina was manning the copier/scanner, feeding the pictures chosen by Robin and Emma into it.

“One more time?” he asked.

“When did you know, David?” Ruby asked, the slightest bit of exasperation coloring her words. “When did you realize you were in love with Mary Margaret?”

David’s face softened as a nostalgic smile lifted his lips.

“It was at the Titanic Museum,” he said.

The previous year, when the two groups met for the first time during their respective Guys Week and Girls Trip, they’d joined together almost from the beginning, getting to know one another and enjoying each other's company, as well as some of the touristy trappings of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.

The last day before they’d all return to their homes was spent on the strip, exploring the Titanic Museum and other attractions. They ended the evening with reservations at Dolly Parton’s Stampede for dinner.

The Titanic Museum was amazing, with each of them receiving boarding passes of an actual Titanic passenger along with their history and why they were traveling to America. At the end of their visit, they had discovered if their passenger made it off the doomed vessel.

Liam received Captain Smith, whom everyone knew didn’t survive, the captain going down with his ship. Killian’s pass was Henry B. Harris, a Broadway producer who died in the disaster. Graham got Thomas Andrews, the ship’s designer, who also went down with his ship. Will got six-year-old survivor Robert Spedden, who was forever immortalized by Father Frank Browne, an amateur photographer who caught the boy playing with a spinning top on the First Class Promenade Deck. Robin was Harold Bride, one of Titanic’s two radio operators. A true hero, he stayed at his post tirelessly sending out SOS messages after they struck the iceberg until water began to rush in the room. Miraculously, he still managed to survive, though his feet were frostbitten from spending hours in the freezing ocean water before he finally got into a lifeboat. David and Mary Margaret received honeymooning first class couple George and Dorothy Harder, who both survived. Belle was Margaret Brown, a new money socialite later immortalized by Debbie Reynolds in the musical The “Unsinkable” Molly Brown. Emma received survivor Edwina Trout, a second class passenger returning home to Massachusetts after traveling to Bath, England. Anna Turja was Regina’s boarding pass. The eighteen-year-old was traveling to her new home in America with a large group from Finland and survived. Ruby was first class survivor Gertrude Thorne who was returning home to New York City. Elsa received young Catherine Van Impe who perished in the tragedy. At only ten years old, she was one of the more than one hundred children aboard the vessel.

The lower floor of the museum contained artifacts from the ship, including an actual deck chair. No photography was allowed, much to Mary Margaret’s dismay. But once they climbed the grand staircase to the second level of the museum, they could take as many pictures as they liked. There they saw a first class estate room as well as clothing from the Edwardian time period.

From there, they entered a large room featuring a grand piano in the center, with pictures and biographies of the nine members of the orchestra lining the walls. There were no ropes around the piano to keep people from touching it, and a simple arrangement of “Nearer My God, To Thee”- the last piece, according to witnesses, to be played by the orchestra as the ship sank- sat on the music rack. While the rest of their group went from picture to picture, reading about the brave men who played to the very last, bringing comfort to those still on the sinking ship, Mary Margaret sat down at the instrument and began to play the old beloved hymn.

David felt tears form in his eyes as he stood behind her taking a video. He fell in love with her at that moment and thought to himself that he was going to marry this girl.

“When she played the piano in the music room,” David said. “Remember?”

Smiles and nods of agreement told him they recalled the moment as well.

“That was when I knew I loved her.”

“What about you, Mary Margaret?” Regina called.

Now Mary Margaret joined her fiancé, linking their arms. “It took me a little longer,” she said, smiling up at David. “We kept in touch with phone calls and texts after getting back home, and I decided to go to Pigeon Forge for a visit before school started again.” David noticed amused and secretive grins exchanged between Robin and Regina at Mary Margaret’s words and realized exactly what they must be thinking about. “He took me on a nature hike,” Mary Margaret continued, “and when I started talking about all the different flowers, he started picking them and made me a little bouquet of wildflowers. That was when I knew he was the one for me. I still have the flowers,” she sighed dreamily.

“Why does that not surprise me?” snarked Regina, a knowing and bemused smile on her face.

“I’ll have them to show our children,” Mary Margaret continued.

“Now what was that look about, Regina?” Ruby asked out of the blue. Both Robin and Regina’s faces turned a bright red, and David burst out laughing, glad that he wasn’t the only one who noticed their exchanged looks.

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” David said, “but since you asked, Ruby, and they don’t seem to be terribly inclined to share it, I will.”

Robin and Regina sputtered while everyone else laughed and encouraged David to continue.

“After Regina decided on Knoxville and passed the bar,” David began, grinning widely, “she came over for a visit after school started.” He shot Mary Margaret a significant look, and she turned surprised eyes on her friend.

“What?” she cried. “You didn’t tell me!” Similar exclamations came from the other ladies, with Ruby crowing “Get it, girl!”

“I don’t tell you all everything,” she countered, cheeks flaming anew.

“Don’t you mean y’all?” Ruby asked. “You do live in the South now.”

“No,” Regina deadpanned, raising her chin just slightly. “I refuse to say y’all. That’s the best you’re going to get.”

Ruby laughed while Emma and Elsa rolled their eyes at her snarky response.

“Anyway,” David interjected, eager to continue with his story, “It was Roland’s first day of kindergarten the Wednesday before Labor Day when Regina came over for the long weekend. After Robin dropped Roland off, he went over to Regina’s room in the Lodge. Well, as luck would have it, around the same time, I was walking by Robin’s cabin and could hear water rushing in the basement. Where the hot water heater is.”

Exclamations of dread and surprise sounded from all their friends as David continued the story.

“I got in and found it was flooded,” he said. “So, of course, I had to call Robin. Who was just a little bit occupied.”

Robin and Regina both resembled ripe tomatoes as their friends all whooped and hollered.

“Cock-blocked by the plumbing,” Will commented, shaking his head and laughing. “I think he would have rather snaked Regina’s drain than deal with that mess.” Belle and Elsa both snorted at Will’s comment, and Belle smacked him upside the head.

“William Michael Scarlet,” she admonished him, sternly, but still trying to hold in her laughter.

“Then as soon as he got off the phone with David,” Regina interjected, eager to get away from that portion of the story, “Roland’s school called.”

Robin picked up the narrative from there. “During morning recess, he was swinging too high, and when he jumped off the swing - something he’s done a million times at the Sherwood Forest playground - he landed wrong and hurt his ankle. I had to go have a look at what was happening at home, so I told them my girlfriend was on her way.”

Regina blushed again and a soft smile graced her face. “That was the first time he called me his girlfriend,” she said quietly, a chorus of awwwwws coming from her friends. “When I got there, I could clearly see the half-assed job the student nurse had done wrapping his ankle, plus he didn’t give Roland anything for the pain. I told him it was a good thing he was still in nursing school, because if he’d been the actual school nurse, he’d be lucky if he still had a job the next day. He was shaking in his boots.”

No one was surprised at Regina’s recounting, and they all praised her handling of the situation.

Emma smiled softly at her friend. “Of all of us, Regina - given the way you were brought up and your own ambitions - you were probably the last anyone would have expected to enjoy motherhood. And yet, here you are, the first of us, very much a mother to Roland.”

Regina blushed and lowered her head slightly before lifting a shoulder in a half shrug and nodding.

“She’s right, Darling,” Robin agreed, pressing his lips to her temple. He looked around at the rest of the room and continued recounting the story where Regina left off. “It was a sprain. We kept him out of school the rest of the week, so he could rest and stay off of it, and get used to using crutches too.”

“Oh, bless him,” Mary Margaret cooed.

“So instead of having some time to ourselves - not like that -” Regina snapped, glaring at Will, “during the day, and then time with Roland in the afternoons, evenings, and the weekend, we had him with us the whole time. It wasn’t all bad though,” she said, smiling affectionately at Robin. “With needing a new water heater, Robin and Roland stayed with me in the lodge and we had a great weekend.”

“We did,” Robin agreed. “And by the time it was over, Roland loved Regina as much as I did.” With those words, he lifted their joined hands and brushed his lips across her knuckles. Regina blushed and ducked her head before leaning over and kissing him on the cheek.

“Did someone take notes for when those two tie the knot?” Ruby asked, looking around.

“You’d better believe it!” Mary Margaret exclaimed.

Regina shot a panicked look at Mary Margaret, who waved away her concerns. “Not right away, I know, Regina. Don’t worry. I’ll just keep this in my back pocket until the time comes.” Regina rolled her eyes and cut them over to where Robin sat, his soft gaze on her settling the butterflies inside that erupted at Ruby and Mary Margaret’s words. She really did love him, and Roland, and she knew they loved her and wanted her to be a part of their family. But was she ready for that? As long as he looked at her the way he was now, she thought she just might be.

“Alright, storytime’s over,” Killian broke into Regina’s thoughts. “As captivating as all these stories are, we’ve got everything we need. You go back and finish your escape game while we put the finishing touches on this.”

With affectionate smiles and chuckles everyone went back to their respective activities until they were ready to call it a night.

~*~*~

Notes

Our trip occurred in April rather than July, of course, but we decided to change the date for plot purposes. We thought it would make sense for Mary Margaret to end the school year before she married and moved to Tennessee with David. Being April, the weather was absolutely beautiful–70s and sunny, but we’ve been told the heat can be positively oppressive in the area in the summer. We chose to give our characters unseasonably cool weather to give them maximum enjoyment of their vacation.

We did take a trolley tour of St. Simon’s Island, and our guide, who was interesting and knowledgeable, was indeed named Georgia.

It might have been Belle and Mary Margaret who were obsessed with taking ALL the pictures in our fic, but in real life, Krystal and Marta were the most dedicated photographers.

The tour stopped at Christ Church Frederica, which was beautiful and meaningful, and, like Belle, we were struck by the beauty as well as the angst of the Anson Dodge story.

The little vignette about Cora the tree spirit was real–although none of us got a chill (One of the many perks of having mothers that are not the literal worst).

We had the various couples split up to see the sights of the island, but in reality we stayed together to see them all–the pirate playground, the lighthouse (although we only saw it from afar), the pier with the fishermen, and the visitors’ center. Marta, rather than Belle, became known as the one who collected ALL the brochures. ALL of them.

We took a bit of creative license with locations during the rest of this chapter. Tortuga Jack’s, the walk down the stairs to the beach, collecting of shells, and enjoying the soothing sound of the waves meeting the shore took place on Jekyll Island for us.

The restaurant our characters went to was a real place–Tortuga Jack’s Mexican Cantina. The bit about the outdoor seating, the birds swooping in to steal leftovers, the couple with the adorable dog and the obnoxious (and clearly inebriated) diner at the next table were all real. None of us took the Regina role of telling said obnoxious diner off, though, which is probably for the best.

The Enchanted Forest escape game mentioned in this chapter was real. We managed to beat it in just under 2 hours (the instructions said it was intended to last 1-2 hours). We didn’t, however, make any wedding slideshows as none of us need them at the moment.

We thought we’d take an opportunity in the slide show section to give you a couple of “deleted scenes” from last year’s fic, though. We went to the Titanic museum last year, and we did receive boarding passes just like the characters (in fact our specific boarding passes were used, as well as several others Krystal researched). The piano incident was real–with Jen being the one to sit down at the piano. To her knowledge her musical prowess did not make anyone fall in love with her, though. The OQ date story was, however, entirely fictional.

In chapter 3, our characters head to Savannah for some sight-seeing as well as for the bachelor and bachelorette parties!

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! We'll be back on Monday when our Destination Dream Wedding heads to Savannah! See you then!

#destination dream weddings driving disasters & dented derrieres #vacay fic #collab fic #whimsicallyenchantedrose #snowbellewells #jrob64 #krystal writes #art by joni

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sharksnshakes · 2 years

Text

Please - Jervis Tetch (Gotham)

Jervis Tetch has a habit of wanting what he can't have.

A/N; is this a drabble? it feels like a drabble. anyway what if jervis was down catastrophically for you, use of (y/n)

Wordcount; 160

TW; mentions of hypnotism, soft yandere themes, honestly pretty fluffy

“Please,” he murmured, rubbing small circles into the skin of your cheek. Jervis's palms were warm where they cupped your jaw, touch gentle, tender, as if holding on to something priceless.

He smelled of spices and smoke and leather-bound novels, and if you didn't know any better, you'd say you felt safe.

There was no way you truly were--not with the way his eyes kept darting to the table, where his trusty pendulum sat atop the dark wood. It took all his willpower not to put you under his spell: it was written all over his face. Even half-shrouded in shadow; he wanted you to accept him fully, authentically, irrevocably, without any sort of hypnotic influence.

Your mouth was dry. You were blinking at him owlishly. You had Gotham's biggest bad in the palm of your hand.

What a predicament you’d gotten yourself into.

“Please,” he continued, voice soft, touch comforting. “Let me be yours, (y/n).”

#jervis tetch #jervis tetch x reader #jervis tetch x you #gotham #gotham fox #jervis tetch imagine #yandere x reader #soft yandere #tw yandere #tw suggestive themes #tw hypnotism #gotham x reader #gotham imagine #bruh i love him so much #i really shouldn't #but here we are

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inexplicablymine · 9 months

Note

IM ATTACKING YOU RIGHT BACK 🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️ how did you get into fandom/writing fic and how do you come up with inspiration for fic ideas? is there a specific place or time of day that strikes you?

Ahem… BUCKLE IN FOLKS this is a long af answer but I have the time. So sit down with your popcorn. Lola this all your fault 🥰

How did you get into fandom: I have (brace yourselves) read in fandom for over 15 years before participating in any way shape or form outside of just enjoying it from the comfort of my screen. I read or watched something many moons ago and said I want more and tada I was initiated. But I stuck around for so long because of the sheer creativity, and talent, and ingenuity of people globally to come together and say “we want more and if you won’t give us more we will do it ourselves.”

I was that reader that lurked with guest kudos and left random inane comments from accounts you could never trace back to one place. When I mean read I mean… if I did have an AO3 account or an ffnet account during that period of time, the sheer number of works in the history would be of concern to everyone.

How did you get into writing fic: As for writing in general, I have a stack of journals I’ve kept since middle school, and an itch in my fingers that feels like I am broken if I am not writing. From the minute I was asked what I wanted to be when I grew up “author” was the answer and it’s always sat at the back of my subconscious like one of those rocks in the bottom of your shoe. There are too many stories rattling around in my head that want to get out, but I took a break for 8 years of writing anything except my journal entries because the world can be a cruel place.

I started writing again just this year in June, and it was really a case of “write the things you want to see in the world,” + it’s time to get back on the horse + the thirst to participate more than just sit on the outside peering in at the inside jokes of chapter end notes and tumblr links I never clicked on. I joined a single discord, had a breakdown, and bon appetite here we are 3 months later with an actual AO3 account, a Tumblr, and a WIP list that is at least 15 works long 4 of which are 25+ chapter outlines.

(This truly was fueled by an idea I had this March for a RWRB full length mystery novel law-case thriller that I could NOT get out of my head, it now has 37 chapters outlined and is getting written this fall/winter to be posted next year)

Where does your inspiration come from: My inspiration comes from everything everywhere all at once. (Not meant to be a reference but it was too good not to use). A not so succinct list of places I’ve found inspiration:

the truth is stranger than fiction: my first day post for FirstPrince week is a “there was only one tent” situation that actually happened on a camping trip this summer. I screamed internally the entire time it was going down.

Songs: I could never write while listening to music except I absolutely will imagine storylines from it. The song Delilah by Mikolas Josef and Mark Neve is going to produce a smutty RWRB one shot of a ski weekend hookup

Co-Authoring: I am currently working on two different co-authored fics. One with @celaestis1 that was just us lovingly yelling at eachother in the DM’s until an outline was made and now every chapter we write makes me more and more giddy. The other is a RWRB x PJO au with @read-and-write- and @userd0esn0texist that is genuinely the most ridiculous fun I have ever had plotting. There is a full blown super six prophecy y’all are not ready.

Prompts: my first two works ever (ever!) were based off of the same prompt for a gift fic exchange. “Don’t look at me I thought we were getting ice cream” (you can read the results of that prompt here or here) I’m participating in @thebrownstone FirstPrince Week which has 7 prompts and @halloweenhuh with two different prompts as well. Sometimes it’s the best way to get the juices flowing.

Asking for it: if someone asks “hey is there a fic that does this” and I haven’t found it, it is really easy to think “hmmm but maybe I could write it” and then the dominos fall and I’m stuck with a problem of my own creation

Fulfilling a need or gap in the fandom: honestly, my current WIP I’m posting is an Ace!Alex fic because well… we need more ace fic in general, but also more ace fic that is happy, and positive, and loving. I love a good whump fic as much as the next person, but sometimes you just need some serious fluff. (Also my first two fics are Demi!Alex so maybe I have just stumbled into this on accident though many of my upcoming fics differ from this pattern)

I want it I got it: truly most of my WIP’s started from a “wouldn’t it be funny” idea that then morphed very quickly into an out of control spiral in my notes app.

Betas: the backbone of fandom and honestly the people who help me take incoherent ramblings and make them something readable. So many amazing ideas come from betas leaving comments in my gdocs and for that I am forever thankful

Is there a specific place or time of day that strikes you?: HA I uhhhhhh will wake up in a cold sweat at 4:37 in the morning with a fic idea, I’ll come up with one walking to work, I’ll get an idea standing in like for groceries. Genuinely my notes app is always open. All of the random ideas I get from a line, to a more fleshed out plot idea go into a note or the matching doc called “table scraps” and then if they evolve from there they get their own note or document for them.

First 🧚🧚 Nice Ask Day 🧚🧚 answer and I can’t wait to ask/answer more

#nice ask day #ao3 #red white and royal blue #fanfiction #inexplicablymine answers #ao3 author #author ask game #inexplicablymine

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pagesfromthevoid · 2 years

Note

NO TELL ME ELOISE DIDNT

Whatever the Poets Say | b.b. | 15

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None? A little drama tbh

Author’s Note: This is by far my favorite chapter so far. Truly.

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

Dearest readers,

So it seems the Queen has taken special interest in our Miss Everly. She was spotted being picked up by the royal carriage and taken to the palace following her gown fittings. The Duchess of Hastings tried to plead her case to join, but the carriage left without hearing it.

Word in the ton suggests that the Queen believes Miss Everly is yours truly. She was caught with a diary of notes about members of the ton; observations about people she has seen and spoken to. But it has been confirmed that most, if not all, of the writings are fabricated. Fictional —meant to be a novel to enjoy rather than take to heart.

It is this author’s duty to inform you —and the Queen —that Miss Everly and I are not the same person. While we share a desire to share with you the inner most workings of society, Miss Everly is not the one who knows all your secrets. Or, if she does, she does not publish them.

Perhaps the Queen should do better research before traumatizing poor members of the ton.

Yours Truly,

The Real Lady Whistledown

“Your Majesty, I swear to you, I am not Lady Whistledown,” she insisted for the umpteenth time as she was escorted through the palace.

The Queen simply ignored her again, taking her time to get to the tea room. They had spent the ride to the palace in silence, with her shaking in fear. She would much rather think the Queen didn’t know she existed than be personally escorted by her. Whatever was going on, it certainly could not be good.

Miss Everly was trembling, wringing her wrists as she was urged along and through the ornate doors. The Queen’s ladies were waiting, lounging casually around as the Queen took her seat and sent the guards away. Then she sent the ladies next, who hummed and sighed in reluctance —wanting the gossip, surely.

“Sit.”

Miss Everly, with shaking legs, sat as far away from the Queen as she could.

“Not there,” the Queen ordered, pointing to the seat closest to her. Miss Everly stood carefully, moving to sit down once more in front of the Queen. “Here. Is that not better?”

She nodded once, rolling the silks of her skirt between her fingers as she looked anywhere but the Queen. “Yes, your majesty.”

“Look at me, child.”

There was a moment of hesitation before she finally lifted her head, looking at the Queen with wide eyes, pleading eyes.

“Did you really think you could get away with it, Miss Everly?” The Queen inquired, leaning back in her grand chair as if this was not the most terrifying moment of the girl’s life. “Did you really think I would not find out your identity?” She opened her mouth to argue but the Queen put her hand up, silencing her. “Give me that diary.”

Her brows knitted together as she stared at the Queen, feeling her cheeks beat up. “Your Majesty, truly, I am not —“

“Give me. The diary.”

She swallowed hard, hands shaking as she sifted through her pockets. The leather bound book slipped into her hands and she closed her eyes and bit her cheek. There was so much in the book; all sorts of things. After all, she wrote about her fellow members of the ton. Nothing true; not purposely true, at least. They were merely observations and made up stories about the lives of people she saw and mapped out. While she was sure that the Queen would realize rather quickly that most of she wrote was not true, she was overly embarrassed and worried about the other information she had included.

She considered what she had written about her and Benedict. Moments they should never have shared together before they were married. Moments she dreamed of, and had to document or else she feared she would forget. Things that would certainly cause scandal if anyone but her and Benedict knew. The scandal wouldn’t necessarily be too bad, given they were already engaged but she did not want anyone to think poorly of her family further.

The Queen snatched the book from her hands, opening it rather roughly and flipped through the pages quickly. Most of the diary was filled out already, with pages of scribbles and writing. At first, Miss Everly swore that the Queen almost looked impressed by what she was skimming. But that was soon replaced with annoyance.

“None of this is…is anything that has been written by Lady Whistledown,” the Queen concluded, though she stopped and skimmed several pages towards the middle of the diary. “You just…you simply wrote all of this for what? Your own enjoyment?”

“I…well, yes, your Majesty,” she admitted, rolling her skirts between her fingers still. “I want to be an author. Though not a scandal sheet author.”

“But you have written about Miss Sharma and the Viscount, the Featherington girl and the other Bridgerton boy, are these not true observations?”

“I mean some of them are but most are not; I want to write books —“

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to write books?”

She leaned back some, having never really been asked directly as to why she wanted to write books. Benedict had asked, in a way. And her answer was enough at the time to gain his favor. But she didn’t think the Queen would accept “to leave my mark on the world” as an answer. And perhaps that wasn’t her full answer either.

“I…I want to write books because I want to be more than just a wife,” she explained, looking up at the Queen. “While I am very excited to marry and have a happy life, I…I want more than that. I want adventure, and I want excitement. And for the longest time, books have been my only way to get close to that.”

The Queen eyed her suspiciously, flipping to the end of the book. Miss Everly held her breath, hoping that the Queen would simply ignore the writing back there; that was where she wrote about Benedict and she just couldn’t bear the thought of anyone reading her most intimate thoughts.

Luckily, the Queen shut the book and huffed in frustration, tossing the book back at her. She pocketed it quickly, though she kept her hand in her pocket to hold it tight as her heart pounded in her chest.

“That foolish girl has no idea what she’s talking about, apparently,” the Queen sighed, standing now to walk to the window.

Miss Everly watched her curiously, frowning some as she also stood. “What girl?”

“Oh, that Bridgerton girl —Elise? She is a terrible informant.” The Queen turned to her again, waving her off. “You may leave; I will have one of the coaches take you home.”

Eloise?

Eloise told the Queen she was Lady Whistledown? Miss Everly swallowed hard, taking a moment to compose herself before nodding once and curtsying.

“I am sorry for the confusion, your Majesty,” she murmured, standing up straight now and walking towards the door.

“Oh, Miss Everly,” the Queen suddenly announced, and she stopped in her tracks to face the Queen. “Do you truly think the Viscount and Miss Sharma are a better match than him and Miss Edwina? The match I have personally blessed?”

“I do, your Majesty,” she murmured, looking down. “At first, I did think he and Edwina were a fine pair but after spending time with them…” She trailed off, smiling sheepishly. “Lord Bridgerton is blind, I think.”

“Men usually are,” the Queen hummed in response, tapping her nail against her chin. “Keep writing, Miss Everly. I want to know how it ends.”

She felt her heart jump into her throat, and she had to resist the urge to smile. Her anger needed to stay in place; she needed to know why her future sister would lie about her. But the Queen wanted her to write…well, it was certainly exciting.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

*****

“What the bloody hell do you mean the Queen just…took my fiancée?” Benedict demanded when the gaggle of women returned home, all rather shaken.

Daphne smoothed out her skirt as she sat down. “Benedict, I am sure she is fine. She is far more resilient than you give her credit for.”

Simon appeared in the doorway, holding their son with a look of confusion as he joined her. “But it is unusual that the Queen simply…picked her up off the street, you must admit that.”

Daphne hummed in response, taking the baby in her arms as Benedict paced back and forth. “The Queen is an unusual person, we all know that.”

Eloise was, much like she had been all day, unusually quiet. As Benedict paced back and forth, she bit her nails and considered what she had gotten them all into. Lord Everly, for the first time since the families had met, seemed properly distraught as well as he sat at the table. Anthony was beside him, whispering quietly something that sounded somewhat reassuring.

Lady Danbury was watching Eloise closely from her corner of the room, frowning deeply. “Eloise, you seem to be put out. Is there something you need to tell us?”

Eloise shook her head frantically, crossing her arms over her chest. “What? No, I am just worried about my future sister.”

Benedict stopped pacing, looking at his sister now with a frown of his own. “Eloise, what is it you’re hiding?”

“Nothing —“

“She is hiding that she told the Queen that I am Lady Whistledown,” Miss Everly suddenly announced, standing in the doorway of the parlor. “Who spent the entirety of the afternoon interrogating me regarding the matter.”

Everyone looked up in surprise as she stayed planted in the doorway. While her meeting with the Queen had ended with reassurance that she was a good writer, her mood was sour and she very clearly was angry. Benedict rushed to her side, reaching out to take her hand but she pulled away.

“I do not appreciate being accused of things that I am not,” she said plainly, looking at Eloise for a moment before she looked to her fiancé. “And I do not appreciate not being told truths about past endeavors; not when I have been very open about my own —or lack thereof.”

Benedict’s brow furrowed as he looked down at her, trying to decipher what she meant. But his cheeks turned red as he realized that Eloise must have told her about Madame Delacroix. “Please, love —“

“I wish to go home,” she stated, voice stern.

Lord Everly stood from his seat, joining his daughter in the doorway. She took his arm, giving him a weak smile before she turned to her future family members.

“I will not be joining you tomorrow at the modiste,” she explained, looking between Lady Bridgerton now and Benedict. “I have many things to think over.”

She did not leave them a chance to argue, allowing her father to lead them out of the Bridgerton home. Yelling could be heard as they walked out of the house, and she clung to her father tight as they walked. Lord Everly patted her arm gently as they made their way home.

“Do you want to talk about it, dear?” He asked quietly.

“She wants to know how my book ends,” she said simply, looking up at him. “She wants me to keep writing.”

Lord Everly looked down at her curiously before he gave an amused smile. “That was certainly not what I expected you to say,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But that is definitely exciting. I told you that you were destined for greatness.”

“It is a shame it only came from an accusation.”

He nodded some in agreement. “Whatever Miss Eloise told the Queen…well, it seems to have only benefited you. And I do not know what Benedict did not tell you, but I am sure that it is nothing —“

“He bedded Madame Delacroix,” she told him, frowning deeply as she looked up at her father. “And while I do not care who he has been with, I care that he did not…warn me that he has been with someone I must interact with on a regular basis.”

Lord Everly took a deep breath, truly not ready to hear her speak so indecently. But he nodded once, patting her arm again. “Sometimes…men are careless, and rather dumb. I can sadly say I did something similar with your mother.”

“What you and mother did was —“

“Even worse than what you two have done, truly. What Benedict has done is nothing compared to what I did.”

They stopped outside the front door of their home, and she looked up at her father with a deep frown. “What do you mean? What did…what did you do?”

Lord Everly hummed a bit, looking down for a moment. “Let me just say that…I was in a very similar situation as Lord Bridgerton is in now. Though it was almost…worse.”

She stared up at her father in confusion, frowning deeply. “How can it be any worse than what is happening with him and Kate?”

“Well, I was married already and…your mother did not know, as she was not part of ton when I met her. She actually lived in the country. But…but we were caught, and my wife —she did not want to remain married. Which was certainly understandable. I made a fool of her, and we had to go through several people to finalize our separation. But your mother and I married soon after. I did not tell her for a long time.”

“You did not tell mother that you were married and divorced until after you married her?”

“It was an easy thing to lie about at the time; I only saw her in the summer months,” he admitted as they walked inside the house finally and sat in their own parlor. “I never should have; when she found out she left for several weeks. I truly was afraid she would never return.”

“But she did.”

“She did, and I thank the heavens every day that she did.”

For a long time, she sat and processed her father’s story.

“You do not need to forgive Benedict or Eloise; you can call off the engagement if that is what you want,” her father whispered, taking her hand in his gently. “But know that sometimes…sometimes we don’t tell each other everything as a way to protect each other. We think lying or omitting details saves others from being hurt but women —much like you —are not always the fragile things men think they are.”

“He should have warned me; especially given how ridiculous Eloise was acting during the whole thing. I probably never would have figured it out, but she was just…ugh! Eloise, that tart —I cannot believe she told the Queen I was Lady Whistledown! How could she do that to me? I have given her no reason to think that!”

“I know, dear. You are angry, and you are allowed to be. But consider the bright side,” Lord Everly grinned at her now, lifting her chin gently. “The Queen wants you to write your book, and you found out about Benedict before you were married. Not only can you write about the experience, but you have an opened door to discuss the issue.”

“How are you so wise?” She asked, looking at her father with a small smile.

“Too many years of experience, my dear,” he teased, tapping her nose gently with his finger. “All will be well, darling. I promise.”

———

Taglist: @queensgirl718 @drowninginaseaofbooks @severewobblerlightdragon @wildflowerel

#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #Benedict Bridgerton x reader #Benedict Bridgerton #Bridgerton

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