#cold pizza and cold pasta are honorable mentions | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lunaekalenda · 3 years

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Sooo, I saw someone else do this, and I really loved the idea. Since ur my fav writer👀 (*winkwink), I would absolutely die of happiness if you did an aot boys househusband headcannons. Idc which aot boys as long as Reiner is in it (fr tho he's the most househusband material 😩).

aaAAA i feel honored, thank you so much!! i hope you like it <3!!!! o(≧∇≦o)

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

❁ shingeki boys!

❁ eren, armin, reiner, jean, connie, levi, porco, niccolo

❁ little implied mentions of sexual themes

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

eren:

- he tries his best, don’t judge him.

- if you’re out for more than a week, he’ll die of hunger.

- “honey how am i supposed to cook pasta?”

- “just put it in boiled water.”

- it wasn’t that difficult, but he left it in water for too much time while playing some video games and it is now a mass.

- he stays by your side while you cook, watching it cautiously, but he ends having you against the kitchen island.

- “Eren, i’m cooking, please.”

- his mouth bitting your ear playfully.

- “i’ll be satisfied just with you, no need of food.”

- usually he orders a pizza after that because the food ended being a mess.

- “Eren Jaeger, the next time you distract me from cooking...”

- but, he cleans really well.

- he’s really constant and he keeps doing it until it shines.

- he usually cleans while you work, and he leaves the automatic vacuum working before leaving for his work,

- but, once he puts his headphones on and connects online with his friends...

- his desk is a huge mess, full of energetic drinks’ cans and empty packs of snacks. he cleans it once he’s finished playing, but sometimes he forgets,

- he’s waiting for you on the couch when you arrive late, dressed with his shorts and with his hair tied in a man-bun.

- “i was waiting for you, i missed you so much today...”

armin:

- he’s really clean because he doesn’t mess or mess up things, so you can have the house organized.

- he only makes a mess when he's studying for important exams.

- a lot of books on his desk and around his chair. A lot of papers with appointments.

- "just leave this, i promise i’ll clean it once my exam is done!"

- he cleans it, unless he arrives really tired from the exam, then he goes to sleep automatically.

- when he's alone, he cleans the pets' houses and gets rid of their furr

- also takes naps with his cat while waiting for you.

- he’s really good at ironing, he’s really fast at it.

- his shirts are always impeccable.

- he’s also trying to learn how to cook.

- trying.

- “i made breakfast but i think i burned the pancakes”

reiner:

- he's a huge man and he seems clumsy, but no

- he's incredibly good at tasks.

- he wakes up early, even earlier than you, to prepare you a bath and breakfast for you two.

- “Rein, you don’t have to do this, you can sleep until your work hour”

- his work has night turns, but he shakes his head and keeps doing it for you.

- when you try to wake up early to do the same for him, he’s already awake, pulling you closer to him again.

- “why were you up so early.” he says , his sleepy voice caressing your ears when he speaks.

- he’s also really clean, and it is not new, Bertholdt says he was like that when they shared a flat.

- his breakfasts are the best of the world: strawberry smoothies and fruits salad with fluffy pancakes.

- when he has free day, he likes to buy little things that remind you to him when he walks with the dog.

- “I bought you this chocolate lip balm because you said your lips are getting hurt because of the cold.”

- he also loves kids so much. he wants to have a family.

- “just imagine a little girl waking us up at morning to accompany her to school.”

jean:

- he's so clingy he would do tasks just to be next to you.

- like, doing the laundry in the washing machine room, so small for two people, and be really near to you...

- and at the same time, he wants to show you he deserves to be your husband.

- he works a lot just to show you he can be your husband and the daddy of your children.

- "look babe, try my spaghetti"

- they were actually good, if he cooked a little bit more he will master it for sure.

- "imagine if we make here a garden with a couple swings for our babies?"

- he started working o a cute garden for you two spend the summer days out.

- he put white roses and pink dahlias, and a table with a couple chairs.

- he also put some lights for the night, to power them on and be a even more incredible garden.

- he also proposed to you under this lights.

connie:

- he lazy

- he just wants to watch tv, eat and sleep.

- but, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do tasks.

- not a lot of them, but he does.

- like he does, but not all of them.

- “i don’t know how to use the washing machine.”

- “then mop the floor.”

- “but that’s so boring, baby please...”

- when he goes to the supermarket, he buys cups of instant ramen and sodas.

- “Connie we need real food to survive. We can’t eat everyday instant ramen and cola.”

- “but you look the color of the lettuce and i don’t know why, so imagine i take a poisoned lettuce because i didn’t analyze the color and we both die”

levi:

- he cleans the house in deep every two days.

- he also keeps it organized.

- actually the thought of having kids bewitches him but scares him, just thinking about all the toys in every part of the house.

- he’s a really clean man, and you also clean up the house while he works.

- he likes to spoil you with his acts, like preparing you bubble baths, helping you to sew your clothes and making you braids.

- fortunately, your bathtub is big enough for the two of you bathing together.

- he likes to caress your waist and torso quietly, just the sound of water and your quite breaths.

- his hands on you makes your skin feel electricity.

- he enjoys that moments of privacy and intimacy.

- also drying your hair when you’re about to go to sleep.

- "if you sleep with it wet you'll catch a cold, dummy"

porco:

- he usually avoided the chores, but when you moved with him, he started to pay more attention to what he had to do.

- he’s more fixed on the way your hands take his clothes than on the things he has to do to wash them.

- “i’m paying attention!!”

- his excuses are always that you're a distraction for him.

- "but you're so gorgeous... i need you. now."

- "porco it's the fifth time you say that today..."

- "and not the last."

- you can't say no because you're as needy for him as he is for you, but you try to hide it.

- at the end, he needs help for all the tasks.

niccolo:

- he cooks sooo well

- every time you arrive home, he’s cooking something.

- pizza, seafood, cakes...

- the house always smell so nice...

- you don’t know how to cook that well, but you help him cleaning all the things he uses for his plates.

- and you help him giving him what he needs.

- “could you pass me that knife, please?”

- his hands always touches yours when he takes the knife

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teamhook · 4 years

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Chaste Love :|: CSMM

This is my first submission for the @captainswanmoviemarathon

Thanks to everyone in the Discord for letting me bounce ideas and for all the help.

Thanks to @xhookswenchx for Beta services :)

The story is loosely inspired by The 40 Year Old Virgin it will not be a retell of the movie. I hope you guys enjoy reading it.

Summary: True love is hard to find. Especially when you're a socially awkward virgin who's thirty-five and has an action-figure collection.

When Killian's friends discover his secret, they try to get him laid. But while all their efforts fail, Killian is already smitten by a blonde single mother who shows up at his doorstep one day.

After he finally musters the courage to take her on a date, Emma is quick to get her "happy ending," but Killian is too much of a gentleman to take things too fast. Especially since he's reluctant to tell her he's a virgin.

AO3 or FFN

Chaste Love

The Italian restaurant was quaint with amazing pasta to wood-fired pizza that his brother found online and recommended. The eatery's kind owner, Marco Geppetto. greeted his patrons at the door.

Killian sat nervously as he waited for his date to return from the loo.

His brother Liam had begged him to try to meet someone, a nice young lass. 'Killian just try a dating app. Isn't that what all the young kids are doing?' His brother had joked on their weekly call.

He promised his brother for peace of mind he would, and here he was. He was a man of honor after all. The girl's profile seemed nice enough on the website but sitting in front of him was the complete opposite.

What was her name? Bloody hell, he couldn't remember. It was something like Laney.

He only smiled as he heard her talking about work and her coworkers.

The date soon came to an end. “So, can we go back to your place?” She asked as she bit her bottom lip. “Since I saw your profile I've been wanting to go home with you.” she purred as she rubbed his foot underneath the table.

Killian paled as he stammered. “Isn't it too soon? It’s only our first date after all.”

"Come on, let's go to your place and we can work out the food we just ate." She smiled.

“I think we should get to know each other first. You are a lovely lass and I’m not saying I’m not interested” he blushed “I’d be a fool not to be but-” he was interrupted.

“Look I don’t need you to be all gentleman-y. I’m a big girl and I know what I want. So take me home with you.”

She was persistent. “I live nearby, I walked here.”

He had insisted that they should meet at the restaurant. He had walked from his place since it was a block away.

“My car is outside but walking would be nice.” She didn’t want to mention the little fact that it had an ignition interlock device.

He paid for their dinner and soon they were out the door. She grabbed his hand “lead the way.”

The walk had been nice. There was small talk but the closer they got to his place the more his nerves rose.

They arrived at his apartment and he quickly unlocked the door. She entered the clean space. She looked around the living room.

“Please make yourself comfortable.” Killian indicated.

He rushed towards the bedroom to ensure it was clean. Killian slowed his breathing and went back to the living room.

“Lass, would you like a beverage?” He still couldn’t be sure of her name.

She turned to look at him and smiled. “I didn’t know you had kids, your profile didn’t say so.”

“I don’t have kids, why would you think so?”

“Oh, I just assumed since there are so many dolls.”

Killian blushed with embarrassment. “They are not dolls lass, they are action figures, collectibles.”

“Why do you keep calling me lass? My name is Lacey. I mean we were about to have sex for crying out loud.”

“We were?”

She laughed. “You are not seriously thinking we still are? What kind of man your age still plays with dolls?”

“I do not play with them. They’re collectibles. You are not exactly who you claimed to be in your profile, lass.”

Lacey scoffed at him and eagerly left him home alone.

The day after his disastrous date he woke up with a common affliction most men do. The morning wood. He sighed and debated if perhaps a strenuous workout would free him from the need and make it go away. It didn't. A cold bracing shower finally did the trick, he was able to enjoy a healthy breakfast then finish getting himself ready for work.

There was a sudden knock on his door and was surprised since he was not expecting anyone. He opened the door to be greeted by long luminous blonde hair, red leather jacket, tight jeans, black boots, sheer white blouse, and bright green eyes met his blue ones, once his perusal ended. He blushed as he realized what he had been doing.

“Sorry to bother you but I’m looking for Lacey French.”

“I’m sorry lass but why would she be here?”

“I know there was a date last night. Is she in the bedroom?” She tried to push her way inside his place.

Killian stiffened and didn’t allow her entrance. “Lass, no one is here. I’m on my way to work and I’m running late now.”

“Look, your little girlfriend jumped bail and I’m just doing my job.” She forcibly pushed her way in.

“She’s not my girlfriend, I just met her.” He shuffled his feet nervously as she raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Fine, you don’t believe me. Look around but make it fast. I’m really late now.” His heart pounded fast as he scratched behind his ear while she looked around his place.

The lass nodded as she made her way through the tidy place. “Wow, you have a lot of dolls for a grown man.”

Killian’s jaw clenched. “They are not dolls.”

She laughed as she had made her way back from inspecting the rest of the place. “I know they’re not. I was just teasing you.”

Killian raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Sorry to have bothered you, here’s my card. Please, call me if Lacey reaches out to you. Her dad put up her bail, and he is really worried about her.”

Killian grabbed the card and read her name out loud, “Emma Swan.” He couldn’t help the smile that blossomed on his face.

He was late to work. He was the last one to arrive and rushed to his little section.

He worked at the local electronic/appliance store in the small town. They sold everything from appliances, computers, and TVs. They even did special orders for their customers. The owner was an older woman that got the business from her dying mother’s estate when she passed away from a freak attack by her dogs. She was a decent looking woman but she was his boss. She would use any excuse to touch him and flirt with him. His coworkers teased him endlessly because she was into him and that he should go for it. That maybe if she got lucky they would all get lucky with a pay increase or a bonus. Ah, but he knew it wasn’t just him. It was all of them. She was handsy and inappropriate. She really enjoyed seeing his cheeks redden by her comments.

It was going to be a long day. He walked into the store and headed to the back room. Maybe his tardiness would go unnoticed. He had almost made it, he was so close.

“Hey, Killian. So I want to hear all the dirty little details about your date. Was she hot? Please, tell me she was a naughty librarian…”

“Arthur,” Killian paused for a second as he interrupted his coworker, “I’m a gentleman and a gentleman never tells.”

“Come on! I want details, I saw her profile and you know what they say about the quiet ones.” Arthur’s eyebrows wiggled.

Killian grimaced at his coworker when a voice interrupted his thoughts. “Hello darlings,” Killian and Arthur cringed at the purr in her voice.

Arthur forced a smile for their boss, “Cruella, lovely as ever but I really should be getting to work.”

“Oh darling, please don’t rush on my account.” She blocked him from leaving. “You know, I wouldn’t object to getting caught in the middle of this stubble sandwich.” She waved her hand between the two of them.

Arthur glanced at Killian as they shared an uncomfortable look. Killian cleared his throat. “Good morning, Cruella. I’m a little behind on my work.” He pointed at his workstation.

“Oh, my darling Killian, you work too hard. Besides I’ve told you many times before that if you need to put in an extra hour or so, I’m willing to stay later to keep you company.” She inched closer to him.

Arthur had made his escape, as Cruella’s attention was completely focused on Killian.

The day is like any other day. He is so consumed by his work he misses his lunch break. Rushing out of his workstation to leave for the day, he tries to swiftly sneak out without notice. The upside was that Cruella was a creature of habit. It was a known fact that she locked herself in her office the last hour of the workday. While she was distracted in her office, he escaped.

When Killian finally arrived home, he ate his dinner. He followed his usual routine to the “T”. His thoughts briefly drifted to the bounty hunter and wondered if she caught her prey.

The days seemed to blend together. On one of those very typical days, he was surprised by his co-workers’ invitation. “Jones, come here,” David called out to him. There were some whispers and murmurs from the rest of the men.

He cautiously approached them. “Hello, Dave.” When his eyes drifted to Arthur, Leroy grumbled his protest. Robin smiled, “Mate, we were wondering if you would like to join us for our weekly poker game? My cousin, Will, is our regular but he finally found a girl that puts up with him so he can’t join us. How about it?”

Killian looked at the group and knew he should decline. He was about to decline when he noticed Robin and David giving him an encouraging nod, and somehow the wrong words came out of his mouth. “Sure, I’d love to.” He was going to have to look up youtube videos on how to play poker or pick up a copy of Poker for Dummies. “When is game night?”

“We know it’s a bit of a short notice,” David sighed. “But it’s tonight.”

“That’s okay,” Killian said with a smile. “I’ll be there.”

David and Robin smiled and Arthur nodded begrudgingly. After giving Killian all the details, they went back to work. Killian went home and did some fast research about poker. Youtube was truly a lifesaver. After viewing too many videos on how to play poker for dummies, he felt like he was ready. Granted, it didn’t make him an instant expert, but he believed he could handle himself.

He looked in the mirror and freshened up. After finding a stain on his shirt, he made the last-minute decision to change it. A thought crossed his mind; he should stop at the store for some lager and crisps for his friends. Liam would be horrified if he arrived empty-handed.

They played for hours and his coworkers didn’t seem to mind he wasn’t any good. They were playing for money, so there was that. His loss was their gain. Sadly, there had been liquor, which got the men talking about their loves…

David mentioned his high school sweetheart and hoped to marry her soon, Arthur still pined for his ex, Gwen, Leroy is happily married to a nice woman, Astrid, and Robin is married with a small son. That’s when they turn their attention to him.

Killian nervously shifted in his seat, his face coloring a bright shade of red.

Arthur laughed mercilessly. “Please, tell me you’re not a virgin.”

Robin, David, and Leroy stared at Killian.

“Of course not, I’ve had many dalliances before,” Killian answered as fast as he could.

Arthur stared at him. “Prove it.”

This time, David couldn’t stay quiet. “Please, ignore him, Killian. He’s drunk.”

“I’m just teasing. You and Robin are too overprotective. It’s not a big deal. If you are, we can take you out and get you laid, and if you’re not, well good for you.” Arthur smiled wickedly at him.

The night ended in awkward silence.

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked@profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87@snowbellewells@hollyethecurious@kymbersmith-90@branlovestowrite@thejollyroger-writer@shireness-says@ilovemesomekillianjones@thisonesatellite@thesschesthair@winterbythesea@stahlop@resident-of-storybrooke@superchocovian@lfh1226-linda@artistic-writer@thislassishooked@shardminds@winterbaby89@xhookswenchx@ultraluckycatnd@gingerchangeling@laschatzi@wellhellotragic@xemmaloveskillianx@courtorderedcake@pirateherokillian@optomisticgirl@darkcolinodonorgasm@sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @lassluna

#CSMM #Captain Swan #Captain Swan Movie Marathon #cs ff #teamhook

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bo-kryzze · 6 years

Text

Rules: tag 15 people you want to get to know better.

I was tagged by @pumpkinpadmes

Relationship status: always single

Favorite colors: purple, light blue, and red

Lipstick or chapstick: Both. I love me some red lipstick. It makes me feel powerful! I also needs lots of chapstick, especially in winter.

Three favorite foods: Pizza, pasta, and quesadilla's.

Song stuck in my head: Mamma Mia by ABBA.

Last song I listened to: Rewrite the Stars - The Greatest Showman soundtrack

Last movie I watched: Ant-Man and the Wasp (I just got it on DVD)

Time: 10: 41 am

Top three shows: Always Agent Carter, Charmed (not the reboot, sorry I can’t with that) and Parks and Rec.

Honorable mentions: Gilmore Girls, The Handmaid’s Tale and Timeless.

Books I’m currently reading: Unfortunately I’m not really reading anything right now. I have bunch of Star Wars books on my to-read list. The last two books I read were The Handmaid’s Tale and The Princess Diarist

Last thing I googled: Gifs of Cassie and Scott Lang. Listen! They are the cutest father and daughter!

How many blankets do you sleep with: a sheet and two light duvets. A spare blanket for when I get chilly.

Dream trip: So many places in Europe honestly. I really want to travel all over the UK. I wanna see different parts of Canada (I’ve been to Montreal before) and visit one of my best friends who lives there. Seeing South America would be pretty cool as well.

Anything you really want: Right now, I really want to move out of my parents house and into an apartment. That’s what my bestie and I are currently saving up for. We’re hoping to move in together next summer. The D.C area is very expensive so it’s kinda tricky, especially when it comes to finding a 2 bedroom in our budget. Wish us luck!

I also am really looking forward to being done with work today. I’m trying to get over a nasty cold. To say I’m so ready for the weekend feels like an understatement.

I’m tagging a mix of friends and people I don’t know that well. @tara-58 @splitscreen @skyshipper @mmap84 @stevedianas @dylanobrienisbatman @smoakingskye @musicfixyou @thesokovianaccords @founderofshield @surannesjoness @bex-pendragon @blissfulmarvels @dcgal814 @capswantrue

#tag game

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neverisalongtime-ja-blog · 7 years

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Chapter 45: I’ll leave it all if you want

Hey everyone! Here is another chapter! Read it and REMEMBER there’s still another chapter to be written and EVERYTHING can change.

Don’t kill me! I hope you like it!

Love you all! ♥

Anastasia was finally getting to enjoy her new house. Living away from everything was kind of hard, but pleasant at the same time. Mandy stayed a couple of days with her friend and brought Hercules with her. Anastasia loved animals but the fact that the little dog was shitting all over the place was getting on her nerves so she was relieved when Mandy left.

Richard also stayed some days with her, and it was a entirely different situation. Both enjoyed the pool, the view, the newly finished studio and the bed, of course.

- Mark’s wedding is in a couple of weeks! Finally! – Anastasia told Richard one morning while making breakfast for both.

- It’s in England, right? – Richard asked looking at his phone.

- Yes! The countryside, it’ll be lovely – Anastasia was pouring juice in two glasses – Steph has such great taste – Richard only looked at her for a second and smiled to turn his head down to his phone again, not saying a word so she had to ask – Are you coming with me? – Richard looked at her again, fast.

- I have a couple of shows in Australia and then we go to Canada so I don’t think my schedule will allow it – He said with a very pitiful face.

Anastasia already knew it, but the fact that he confirmed it made her terribly mad. She understood this type of relationship perfectly and the job both had, but she still wanted him to go to with her. She wanted to brag about their perfect relationship, she wanted to share this important family occasion with him. Lately she barely saw him, if he was traveling she was at home and vice versa.

- Ok – Was all she managed to say, drinking her orange juice in one gulp.

She decided not to talk about it again with Richard and just focus in enjoying the couple of days left together. On Tuesday he left for Australia and she took a flight to London. She always managed to go to England at that time of the year, the last months, the holiday season. It was the end of November and it was already cold, she met Mandy, Peyton and Nick at her little apartment, Eric chose not to go because his mother was visiting him in California and they hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

- Is Richard not coming? – Mandy asked while they were dinning in a nice restaurant in the center of the city.

- No, he has a couple of shows in Australia and Canada – Anastasia answered visually annoyed.

- Wow, you’re mad! – Nick said laughing.

- Like hell – She answered not smiling at all.

Mark and Steph were the less organized couple in the world, they just didn’t like to plan things so they just did what their heart told to do. In this occasion, it was a whole weekend of celebration because of the wedding. The countryside was a couple of hours away from London so they had to take a private bus to get there. The shock came for Anastasia when she hopped on the bus and saw Josh sitting in the front next to Nick. Well, of course Josh was invited, he’d been good friends with Mark but she hadn’t see him in so long.

Josh was wearing a black suit, a little too large for his complexion but usual for his style, and his hair was straightened so well and shiny. He looked at her, smiled, waved and returned to the conversation with Nick. It took her a good 30 seconds to react and continue the walk to her seat.

- Did you see a ghost? – Mandy asked her seating next to Peyton.

- Kind of – Anastasia took seat at Mandy’s left – Josh’s here.

- Why wouldn’t he be? – Mandy laughed – He traveled with us!

- It’s just that I didn’t expect to see him.

- But he is good friends with Mark!

- I know, Mandy, it’s just that… I don’t know! I’m shook – Mandy laughed and hugged her friend.

The weather was on Mark and Steph’s favor and the day was beautiful: blue skies, crisp wind, shining sun… perfection. The place was amazing too, a large land with white tents and purple and pink tulips, literally, everywhere. Anastasia was, of course, the maid of honor, Steph didn’t have a lot of close friends so it was natural for her to ask An to be part of such special moment. Anastasia’s dress was deep purple with her shoulders off and loose, comfortable enough to let her dance the night away. Mark was wearing a beige suit with a white shirt, while Steph’s wedding dress was long, also loose with a killer cleavage. A flower crown rested on her head, and her hair was loose with soft waves at the bottom. She looked beautiful and Mark knew it because Anastasia saw his eyes getting watery.

An was so happy for her brother finally taking this step after all those years of relationship. Mark and Steph were meant for each other and nobody there had any doubts about it. Anastasia felt a pair of eyes on her and when she looked at the audience sitting down she saw Josh looking at her with the dumbest smile on his face, which made her release a quiet giggle.

The ceremony was beyond beautiful. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house when they told each other their vows. Barbara was probably the most emotional, and their dad, Nick, was all smiles. Mark’s mother cried a lot also. Anastasia didn’t shed a tear but the joy in her heart was huge.

Craft beer and champagne were the drinks of the evening and the food was a wide selection of pasta and pizza, an informal meal for this informal couple. To top it all a huge ice cream bar was set at a corner.

- Fuck that ice cream bar – Mandy said annoyed eating an ice cream cup on her own.

- Why? – Anastasia asked back.

- I planned an ice cream bar for my wedding! Now I have to cancel it! – Mandy’s wedding was already planned and in a month she was going to walk down the aisle.

- Don’t be silly! – Anastasia was sipping her fifth champagne glass – You can have everything you want – She laughed.

Mark was friends with a bunch of popular DJs and of course they all were there playing music and mixing songs and putting everyone to dance, Anastasia and Mandy included, of course. Richard was in constant touch with her through chat, she sent him a bunch of pictures and he sent her another bunch as well. While she was dancing she saw Josh looking at her again and she decided it was time to talk to him. He was alone at the bar.

- Never gonna get tired of watching you dance – Josh was the first to talk.

- Never gonna get tired of you doing it – An stopped suddenly realizing that wasn’t a good line to say but she was tipsy by then. Josh just laughed – Are you enjoying the celebration?

- It was a beautiful ceremony – Josh said – Those two finally tied the knot.

- I know! – Anastasia didn’t know what else to say.

- Wanna go sit down and talk? – He asked.

- Yes – She said without thinking, about what could they possibly talk about?

An looked at Josh as the alcohol did its effect on her. His small eyes were shining in front of the candles and the improvised lights of the decoration, he didn’t stop laughing the whole time and the conversation was fluid like the old times. She realized, at that moment, that she missed him; that even if she had another boyfriend now, Richard wasn’t Josh and he would never be.

- Do you wanna dance? – An asked without thinking, again.

- Dance? – Josh laughed some more – Are you insane?

- Come on! – She took him by his wrists and pushed him up the chair.

Josh put up some resistance but gave up in the end. One of Mark’s friends was playing 80’s hits while Anastasia started to move her hips inviting Josh to join her. He was stiff, as stiff as he could be, she laughed and pushed him closer trying to teach him some moves, the scene was hilarious and both were laughing hard. People around, including Mark, Steph, Mandy and Nick laughed too.

They danced until their feet hurt and Josh decided it was time for another beer. He walked Anastasia to their table and sat her down to then go and grab his beer and another champagne glass for Anastasia.

- I don’t know if I can drink more – Anastasia said sipping more champagne.

- I miss our wild drinking nights on tour – Josh said and Anastasia stopped to look at him because there was so much meaning in that phrase.

- Do you? – She asked.

- I do – He answered understanding what she meant.

And a special moment started and not just their eyes connected but their minds too. Anastasia smiled nervously confused about the moment. She wasn’t uncomfortable but more pleased and she could tell he was relaxed too. It was like a year ago when there were just the two of them in the world.

They talked some more about any topic one can imaginable, except their respective significant others. An never asked him about Lauren, and Josh didn’t even dare to mention Richard. It wasn’t because they were avoiding it, but because neither of them were thinking about them for a second.

The party ended the following morning. At around 6:00 am everybody left back to London in the same bus that took them to the wedding the day before, only now everybody was too tired to talk.

This time, Josh decided to sit next to Anastasia. She was probably more tired than anybody and, without thinking about it, she let her head rest on Josh’s shoulder and fell asleep for the whole ride. When they were approaching London she woke up kind of ashamed for snoozing over him.

- It’s fine – Josh said smiling.

- Where are you staying? – An asked him.

- At the Ritz – He replied.

- Uh, fancy!

- Are you guys staying at your apartment?

- Yes. I can’t wait to get in my bed and sleep the whole day – She said and both laughed.

The bus stopped and An hugged Josh goodbye. Mandy and Barbara looked at her with evident suspicious eyes and she just laughed on their faces.

An went home, took her dress and makeup off, took a long bath and went to sleep with Josh in her mind. She was in a cloud, because Josh had this power over her to just make her feel good. Despite everything that happened in the past, she just felt good around him.

Her phone beeped and it made her wake up. It wasn’t a surprise when she saw who texted her, Josh.

“Wanna have dinner?” – She read on the screen.

“Yes!” – She typed and sent, not thinking she was about to go out with her troubled ex-boyfriend while having a man of her own back in America.

It was cold outside so An chose warm trousers, a pair of black boots and a leather jacket. She knew that Josh wasn’t taking her to a fancy place; she always loved that about him, that he was so laid back and would rather have a good time at some pub than at an expensive restaurant.

They met at the lobby of the Ritz and then walked to a nearby pub to enjoy a burger and some beer. Josh was being that dude she fell in love with, shy, loose, without issues, kind, caring and lovely.

They talked, ate and drank and by the fourth beer An knew what she wanted to do with him that night. She wasn’t thinking clearly, or maybe she was thinking clearer than ever before. Richard was blocked from her brain and she wanted to be with Josh, it was like if she was drunk of him and she wanted more. Josh realized Anastasia’s attitude and that excited him, he wanted her also.

- I don’t know how to ask this, especially after all we went through – Josh started to talk but Anastasia interrupted him.

- Yes, let’s go to your hotel room – She said not measuring her words.

Those kisses, she longed for them for so long. She missed having him in her arms and she could feel he missed her the same. The way he was holding her, so tight, so respectfully, she loved that about Josh so much. She realized Josh could give her so much more than Richard could. Josh and An got in bed and made love like the old times, wild but full of love; they needed each other. That hotel room at the Ritz was a witness of all the love that they held for such a long time being finally released.

They had sex about four times that night and next morning An woke up with a feeling of peace she didn’t feel in a long time. She got up to have a nice, long bath and when she went back to the bedroom, Josh was already awake and sitting on a big chair in front of a huge window from where you could see a big part of London. Anastasia decided to hop on his lap, none of it felt real for any of them.

- Here we are, looking at a skyline together – An said and Josh smiled putting his arms around her.

- It’s our thing – He said smiling some more.

- I love you, and it’s so fucked up because… – Anastasia stared into Josh eyes while playing with his left ear - …you hurt me so bad – She looked down.

- I know and I will probably say sorry for that until my dying day – He said hugging her tighter.

They stared at the view for a few minutes more without saying a word.

- I don’t want to wake up from this – Josh said. Anastasia looked at him realizing for the first time that weekend how open he was being.

- We don’t have to – An said.

- How come? – He smiled sarcastically.

- I will leave it all for you – Anastasia looked straight to his small eyes – I will leave Richard, I’ll leave everything if you just ask me to.

- I can’t do that – Josh’s answer wasn’t exactly what she was expecting.

- Why? – She got up from his lap.

- You aren’t thinking clearly here! – He shouted - Listen – He went after her – I hurt you so bad, you don’t deserve someone like me – Apparently, the “Josh with issues” came back.

- Don’t say that! – She screamed now – You are enough for me, you are everything I want!

- And because I love you I can’t do that to you. I don’t know if I’m gonna screw it up again and you don’t deserve that.

- So I’ll have to wait? – Anastasia thought it was useless to keep fighting.

- I don’t know – Josh said and Anastasia went back to the bathroom to get dressed and cry. She just cried silently, and when she opened the door he was seating in the bed looking miserably at the floor. She walked towards him to be closer.

- I just want to say that you worth the wait. You are everything to me – An said and Josh looked up at her – Can I give you a kiss?

That kiss felt like a goodbye. That’s how a death kiss should’ve felt.

#Josh Klingohffer #josh klinghoffer fanfic #josh klinghoffer fanfiction #josh klinghoffer fan fiction #fanfiction #fan fic #Red Hot Chili Peppers #rhcpfanfiction #joshan #never is a long time

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hollywoodx4 · 7 years

Text

Sticking with the Schuylers (50)

It’s been too long, thank you for your patience! There’s a lot going on in these next few parts, so I’ve been hunkered down with research and re-writing (and what’s now just about 10 pages of notes and little bits of story that need a home). But this is the 50th part. shit. I know I say it a lot, but it’s genuinely amazing to me that you are still reading this-I know it’s long, but it’s my baby and I’m so glad there are people out there that love my baby too.

Anyway, sorry about that. Here’s PART 50!! YAY!! CELEBRATE!!

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 1112 I 13 14 15 16 17 18A 18B 18C I19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 I 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 3738 39 40 41 42 I 43 44 B 45 46 47 48 49

Tagging: @linsnavi @workworkbae @adothoe @oosnavi

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse

Her red rubber boots are heavy as they carry her through the snow; it’s another frigid day in February, falling into those last few chugging weeks that lead miserably into the promise of spring. There is a slight swell of snow which the wind picks up and tosses around in the air, patterns rising and falling and whipping themselves onto the exposed skin of her face. Eliza takes the biting winds and bitter flakes of snow with not so much as a blinking eye; there is no difference between this outdoor battle and the syncopated thrumming of her heart.

She’d only felt this particular brand of terror once before, when she was much younger. The memory plays in her mind like a scratched up record not quite able to be destroyed. Her mother did not take a single moment of misbehavior from her daughters, not even when they were still wearing matching outfits and sitting on Santa’s lap at the Christmas tree lighting ceremony. Phillip was a bit more lenient, but only with the innocence of one of his daughter’s sparkling eyes or tiny hands in his. They got away with very little as children, but it never bothered the sisters much. They were good girls, polite and charming in public and loud and raucous at home. Peggy caused the brunt of the trouble, with her child-hearted mischief and wild temperament. Angelica’s brand of trouble followed words that grew a bit too feisty, arguments that were biting especially when she hit puberty. Eliza, the ‘sweet, quiet one,’ was known to never raise her voice. She was an adaptive child, one who’d always take the flavor of lollipop neither of her sisters wanted, or to sit squeezed tight between them in the town car. She’d only once known the sinking, harrowing physicality of getting into trouble, and the experience still makes her heart pulse irregularly.

She’d been eight years old at the time, old enough to know the rules but just young enough for her naïve, impressionable air to take a stronger hold. If she closes her eyes on this campus, ignores the smog of her breath mixing into the air, or the bitter cold making its way through her red rubber boots and woolen socks, she can feel herself shrink down to the age of headband bows and tulle church dresses. Eight years old was young, infantile compared to Angelica’s graceful eleven. Even the word of her age seemed juvenile; everything did in this time, where her older sister was already getting excited about middle school and leaving Eliza back at the little private elementary school they’d been walking to together for three and a half years. She was excited, Angelica, early on. And in the case of this particular memory, Angelica was excited for middle school in February-the day she turned eleven.

She’d been wearing a new dress; they all were, the sisters, but Angelica’s was the prettiest. Hers was a matte black, straight at the hips. Her tights were patterned and sheer, and on the edge of her shoes was a heel-a heel. Eliza feels her own flat boots bring her closer to choking nerves as she remembers those shoes, shiny and sleek and tucked away in her mother’s bag until they got to the restaurant. It didn’t seem fair; her flat, bow-topped Mary Janes didn’t shine the way Angelica’s new boots did. They didn’t make her tall, or elegant, or old. They just made her feel young-and even worse, without the attention of her parents.

As tradition would have it, Angelica was tasked with choosing the place they would eat dinner, a special night out to honor her birthday. They ended up at an Italian place they’d only been a few times, before the rare and exciting nights they’d be taken to a show or a fancy exhibit, out past their bedtimes and allowed an extra sweet treat to share. Angelica chose a booth by the window, and the seat closest to the foot traffic outside. She ordered a Shirley Temple and crossed her legs underneath the table as she drank it, dainty and graceful, straight from a glass. Eliza sipped reluctantly on her milk, shifted her once crossed legs so she might sit like her older sister. The table was too high, just by the fraction of an inch that made it annoying for her to keep an elbow over-bent as she tucked into her pasta. She couldn’t sit like Angelica. She couldn’t wear high heels, or drink a Shirley Temple, and she certainly couldn’t handle herself the way her older sister did.

Eliza never got in any real sort of trouble as a child-except two nights after this birthday that had left her feeling more upset than celebratory.

She hadn’t been thinking-there was the first clue to her naivety. From the moment they’d gotten home from the restaurant, and Angelica had opened her presents and said her thanks…from the moment Eliza crawled into her older sister’s bed after they’d all been tucked in separately, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about those shiny black heeled shoes. And when Angelica had sighed, turned her head to come nose to nose with Eliza and stroked her moon-like cheeks, Eliza’s eight year old heart sunk.

“I’m going to miss you when I’m in middle school, Betsy,” She’d said. “If you were old enough, we could go together.”

The black heels had looked so nice on her; she’d twirled around in the mirror all morning, coveting the prizes as she paired them with her own flared out party dress. There in the mirror, Eliza puffed out her chest and fashioned her hair into the best rendition of a French braid her poorly trained hands could manage. And then, she’d tucked the shoes into her backpack and left for a friend’s house. She remembered the prim, popular little redhead. She remembered the way she’d stared longingly at the high heels Eliza had brought; all the girls in their party dresses had envied her, thought her old and mature to be clicking around the house during the movie star themed sleepover. She’d thought highly of herself, too, glancing in each mirrored surface at the level of those shining shoes, refusing to take them off.

There was pizza at the party, with sauce that rolled from crust and onto the shiny shoes. She’d wiped them with a cloth and said nothing, continued on with the night. There was dancing, and a fashion show, and by the time the party was over the next morning Eliza had forgotten about the heels on her feet completely. Then, her mother had come.

In the present day, as her woolen socks finally succumb to the cold, Eliza shudders at the memory of Catherine Schuyler’s contorted expression of horror as she looked down at her middle daughter’s feet. The shiny, coveted shoes had been ruined, scuffed and stained and played in. She’d shaken her head, made her change into her old winter boots in front of each girl at the sleepover and carry the heels between shaking fingers. Her wide eyes were brimming with unshed tears of embarrassment, her mother’s eyes on her until she got to Angelica’s bedroom door.

“You need to own up to what you’ve done.” Catherine scolds her with a lower voice and crossed arms, knocking on Angelica’s door for her. She shrinks within herself, ducks into her shoulders with a reddened, weeping expression.

“You need to own up to what you’ve done.” It’s the same thing James says to her years past those childhood months she worked toward buying Angelica a new pair of shoes. At eight years old the words had felt just as life-shattering as at eighteen. This time, however, there is no pair of shiny shoes. Eliza stands in front of James with her eyes narrowed in confusion. She shakes. She doesn’t understand.

“You know I have a problem, and yet you continue to drink like it’s nothing. You’re eighteen, for fucks sake. You shouldn’t even be having alcohol in the first place.”

“It was at Angelica’s, I stayed over. I,”

“Don’t give me that,” He is a picture of beauty, her James. With his tanned skin and freckles, bright eyes and pearly teeth, a freeze-frame of the moment would capture nothing but each of his remarkable features. Even when he is upset, he is still a pretty picture of the beautiful thing they had built so many months ago. She is sorry. She’s sorry when his tone grows from Catherine’s low leveled voice to his own booming argument; when he rises from the couch to approach her. Her body jerks in shock, an unsolicited movement she attempts to cover with a stretch.

“You’re getting to be crazy. You know that, right? You walk around here like you’re waiting for something bad to happen, and you sit around treating me like the bad guy. I don’t know what else I could do for you to get you to stop being such a victim every time I say something you don’t like.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know, considering the fact that the whole drinking thing is hereditary, and something you know about, a good girlfriend would probably be a little more considerate than this.”

“Are you drinking right now?”

“Maybe I should be!” He clenches his fists, opens and shuts them and walks around the living room with the first signs of a narrow-lipped scowl cracking his beautiful features. “Now that you’ve gone out and done it, why shouldn’t I? You’re tempting me again. If I fall down this hole, think about that. All you ever do is tease me, Eliza. And then you walk around like I’m the one causing all of your problems.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” Eliza’s gutsy, randomly sparked confidence drives her rebuttal through shaking nerves she hides well. Even as he hears her, takes his own straightened posture and incredulous air of defense, she sucks in her breath. This time will be different. Angelica’s voice rings through her head-you need to start saying no to him. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, or what he’s saying that’s getting you so upset, but you don’t deserve this.

“It’s not.” Her voice takes half a step up, tripping over itself before she regains her composure. “It’s not true. I’m not trying to disrespect you, that’s why I spent the night at Angelica’s.”

“You know it makes me upset when you do that-I don’t know where you are, or if you’re safe.”

“If I text you while I’m there and you know that I’m there, I don’t see where the problem is, James. I’m not a child. Spending the night with my sister shouldn’t be such an issue to you.”

“So sue me for worrying!” James throws his hands up in the air, running over his buzzed hair and settling by his side. He is the release of rolling, boiling anger into a thick cloud of steam as he pulls back from himself, giving his head a slight shake. Through her peripheral vision Eliza counts the tense and release of her boyfriend’s hands as he curls them, in and out. He seems to be settling, taking a moment to collect and reconfigure himself after the raise of his voice and her recoil.

In all of the time she has spent with him, Eliza knows that this is nothing more than a false pretense she has fallen for one too many times. In these moments, when she has frustrated James to the point of his shouting, she can count on this burning, seething steam settling through the room, enveloping her in its choking hold. His movements turn into concentrated, slight motions; the miniscule tilt of his head, the way he looks at her through eyes narrowed just enough to portray that she has done something wrong again. His posture straightens, yet he seems to be bent toward her, looming. His grassy eyes, rare and beautiful against his olive-toned skin, point down at her. She is below him; in size, in physicality...in this argument, where she feels she has done nothing wrong, Eliza has suddenly committed a series of horrible acts against James. The guilt is incredible, her heart squeezing and thrumming against her chest in protest of herself.

Eliza recognizes these things as James takes another breath, poised to speak. Angelica’s voice is a broken record begging to be listened to. That same spontaneous spark of confidence shoots back through her gut, and Eliza raises her finger in rapid motion.

“Stop! Just-stop speaking to me like I went and murdered someone, or did a line of coke, or robbed a bank. I went to see my sister, which I don’t need your permission to do. And whether I drank or not I still came home sober. I still haven’t talked about it, or offered you one, so don’t act like I’m trying to get you back down that hole because we both know that I’ve always been the first person here for you when you have. So stop, James. I can’t argue like this anymore!”

The sting that spreads through her cheek is familiar-it spreads like electricity, hostile and hot as tears fill the brim of her eyes. She says nothing as he stares back at her, his lip pinched into a stiff gathering of muscles at the center of his face. It’s the same tight balloon tied expression he wears when she gives him a Warhead from her purse. In that instance, when his eyes are wide and wondrous and his body relaxed into the couch, her body convulses with laughter that has her doubled over. When his eyes are narrowed, when his hand lowers from her face with conviction, his sour face shakes her with fear.

She does not move from her place in the kitchen when he leaves her line of vision. The mass of emotions pulse through her body like fireworks, popping and hissing and keeping her stiff and rigid. She is consumed with a fear of their escape; it keeps her rooted to the hardwood, concentrating on the way the air moves around her and waiting for the next inevitable blow. She has never spoken back to James.

“Look what you’ve done now!” James hisses. His body is pressed against their front door, and his eye trained on the peephole when he groans. The movement of limbs when he comes back to her is elongated, rapid. He crosses the space between them before she can even register what is happening. All Eliza can decipher is from the hushed and tensed tone of his voice, his sour lemon face coming back so that he may stare at her with eyes that throw an intense, incredulous stare her way.

“You’re so far down this victimizing little hole you’ve built yourself that the police are here! How do you feel about that? Do you feel good about yourself now? Because this is just going to look fucking great to our landlord.”

“James,”

The persistent knocking interrupts her speech-thankfully, because the sense of vocal direction is lost on Eliza, who stays rooted in her place in the hallway. Her bare feet dig into plush carpeting and she pushes her toes back and forth on them. A flood of unfamiliar noises enters the space; the jangling of keys, static feedback of a radio, and the new, bass-toned voice that accompanies James’s smooth words of apology. It’s a song, almost, the quiet gathering of sounds that push themselves together in one complete rhythm. And in her mind, Eliza can just hear the melody of it all; This is my chance, I can have this chance. James is wrong, I’m not making anything up. Say something.

“Miss, I’m going to have to ask you some questions.”

The man before her makes her breathing hitch in her throat, stops and starts her heart as her eyes catch the shine of the badge he wears. She’s not sure how her contorted face might read, but in one invisible motion of air to her lungs she attempts to collect herself the best that she can. Eliza nods.

“We received a call from a neighbor about the level of noise coming from this apartment.” She’s not sure what he says next; her mind thrums in and out of focus, unable to catch specifics other than its masculine tone. Her body still aches, longs to release what she has bottled for her own safety. She nods and shakes her head to questions she can’t completely decipher, her eyes trained on the shadow of James’s body from where he waits in the kitchen, just around the corner. She swallows the air, thick and dizzying, and holds herself high.

“Can you explain what happened leading up to this? There was some shouting,”

“-We got into an argument, that’s it. I was shouting back at him, I-I was completely in the wrong, and it won’t happen again. I don’t usually shout, I’m so sorry.”

The man shifts on his feet, writes his transcription of her words in a little notebook he holds in the palm of one hand. He is composed, gentle yet carrying an air of authority that surrounds her in an immediate sense of safety. The dissolution of this is inevitable. When he goes, she will be alone. The vision of it breaks her bubble of security immediately. And when she lets her eyes wander somewhere other than the officer’s gold badge, she catches the long black deflection of light that throws itself onto the tile. He’s leaning against the wall, he’s listening.

Maybe it is my fault that this man is here, I was the one who lost my temper. I don’t want to be kicked out of this apartment, we just got here. What would everyone say, that I can’t handle being an adult? That we can’t just work things out for ourselves? I should be old enough by now to sort things out, and he’s never meant to do what he’s done. People lose their tempers. And the alcohol…he’s struggling, and I ignored that. It’s my fault.

“Miss, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. It really isn’t a big deal, I’m the one who started it all in the first place. I’m going to apologize to the neighbors, get everything squared away…”

The officer looks at her, and for just a second, when she lets her eyes meet his, she feels herself falter. His eyes are warm, concerned. They wrap her in a sense of security that has her stuttering, flickering between what’s in her heart and what her mind is being told. The words nearly come out, questions of help and guidance, but they’re blocked by shadows and a figure that covers both figuratively and literally. She is blocked.

“We’re fine.”

The officer nods, reaches out to shake her hand. And in that hand she feels the press of a hard corner of cardstock, something she clutches and tucks into the pocket of her dress. And as he leaves, he carries a piece of that opportunity with him. She could have done it; could have saved herself then. But she’d been fine-she’d convinced herself of that fact a long time ago.

She lets herself into the big, foreboding building and shakes the snow off of her boots, kicking at the carpet until she’s sure each melted-on bit has landed there. There is a receptionist, a younger woman who stares at Eliza until she looks up from her task, clearing her throat in a way that echoes through the high-ceilinged foyer. Eliza’s face grows hot with embarrassment as she moves to the counter, her eyes shifting warily around the unfamiliar territory as she’s looked over.

“Elizabeth Schuyler, I’m here for a meeting?”

“With the dean, right? I’m glad you finally called back.”

“Let’s just say he missed me the first four times.” The receptionist chuckles, and Eliza lets out a breath that had been subconsciously stuck in her throat. The response to an unplanned joke is welcomed, brings her mind to a place of distraction. “He couldn’t get a hold of me when he emailed, so it took a while to even set this up.”

“Well whatever you’re in for, don’t sweat it-he’s a nice guy behind all of that pomp and circumstance, he really makes himself seem scarier than he is. Trust me, I work for him.”

“Thanks.”

“And anyway, you’re a legacy. I’m sure whatever he has to say to you will be slapped between memories of ‘the good old days.’”

The sentiment does not leave Eliza when she’s called into the office, red boots squeaking along the floor as she holds her coat, slung over one arm, with both of her hands. The old, ornate building seems to capture each sound, replay it over and over as a march to the unknown that catches her thrumming heart and makes it work twice as hard. There’s an electronic sweeping, a break in the anxious noises that raises alarm as she scrambles to silence her phone.

Alex: Whatever it is, good luck at your meeting. I’ll be waiting for you at home. Love you. You can do it!

The sentiment alone is enough to raise her posture, and by the time the trek to the dean’s office has ended Eliza enters the room with a smile, a picturesque vision of confidence and poise as she shakes the aging man’s hand and introduces herself.

“Oh, I need no introduction. Even if your father and I hadn’t gone way back, I’d still know your face from all of those magazines.” She laughs-something forced with a well-played air of humor, as if she has never heard the joke before. The man continues on his path, recounting stories of ‘Phil Schuyler’ as if they had been best friends back in the day. In reality he refers to her father often as ‘a treasured student’ or an ‘example of what Columbia truly builds.’ As she lets the man take his trip through his own memories, Eliza can hear Peggy’s unfiltered groaning in her head. She’d hate this-the way the meeting seems to drag on, the man’s dimpled eyes and lifted wrinkles creasing his forehead as he chuckles, jokes with her as if to lighten the mood.

But I’m lucky to be here, sitting in this seat. I’m lucky to be at Columbia, and this man is just trying to make me feel less anxious.

“And your sister, heading off to Oxford in the fall. We’re delighted to be sending one of our best students there, I bet she’s thrilled.”

“She is, thank you.”

“And your younger sister-a senior, right? Has she considered Columbia at all? Because the normal application period is running short on time, and I know the two of you applied as early applicants, so…”

“She’s not sure what she’d like to do, but Columbia was on her list. We took her on our own little tour in the fall.”

“Ah, good. It’d be a wonderful thing to have all three of you girls under our roof. Speaking of which, I’d like to move on to the reason I called you here. Enough pleasantries for now, but do tell your father that we’re still thinking about him.”

She shifts in her chair; the elaborately carved wooden chair is uncomfortable on her back, its curled wooden dowels dig into her spine if she rests against it, but the tough material sends an ache through her butt if she distributes her weight in the wrong way. She settles for a posture that is just at a bearable level, crossing one leg over the other and leaning slightly forward in her chair. This helps to hide the shaking of her hands, which she tucks neatly onto her lap.

He opens the conversation with something about academics, which she hadn’t been expecting. Eliza isn’t sure what she’d thought this meeting would be about, but the way he brandishes a manila folder, one with her name on a printed label, closes her throat. Her mind flashes back to elementary school, to coming home with her first real report cards and being unsure of the few B’s it displayed. Angelica’s, always on the fridge, displayed an array of A’s every single time. Hers varied; sometimes, the subject matter wouldn’t capture her, or she’d stumble on particularly hard scientific concepts. As middle school approached, she maintained rows of A’s with only ‘sometimes B’s,’ which attributed to things like teachers that didn’t click, or time spent studying that seemed to go to waste. In high school, the playing field was the same; Angelica graduating with a 4.0, Eliza just out of her reach. She was not a bad student-still is not-but there is clearly something wrong by the way the dean’s words come through a tone of certainty.

“We’ve looked everywhere, and this document is not in our records. It’s unfortunate, because looking at your files from last year everything else seems to be in order. There are even bits and pieces from this particular assignment, but no final paper.”

“I’m sorry, which assignment are you missing?”

“One from your freshman year, your observational thesis. We have proof of each observation, we have written drafts, but the key to this assignment is what you’ve learned as a whole. It’s thoroughly explained in the syllabus that this assignment is crucial not only to passing the class but to add to your growing portfolio, which I’m sure you’re aware is a requirement of completing the degree program. I’m not sure how this was overlooked, but I’m sure you remember this assignment?”

All Eliza can manage is a nod. She combs her hair over one shoulder with her fingers, occupying them from their stilled state. Her blink is held a moment too long; when her eyes are closed, she can see the lines of writing on the screen of her laptop. Back when she had the spacious balcony of a townhouse to work from, she’d hide away there to do her work. It was an easy place to escape to, with the rush of the city below her to drown everything else out. She’d even brought a big chair out there; John had helped her with the task, the lifting and assembling. Her happy place had been a glorious escape, and she reveled in it. Even in January, when they first moved in, she found the rush of the bitter outside air to be more relaxing than the loneliness of their new home. With the city below her, Eliza always had company. Today, in the closed-off pseudo-sanctuary of the dean’s office, all that is present is silence as she sorts through her memory.

The assignment had been due on March 1st, a Tuesday shrouded in clouds that never broke to rain. The document was on her computer, waiting for submission, but she’d been busy that morning with cooking; with chores and work that kept her occupied. She’d been busy waiting.

March 1st was the day James left early for work-a rarity in that time, where his schedule was so widely dependent on the amount of private time he did not want to allow her. It was a day of only one class, a seven a.m which came and went faster than expected. She’d kissed him at the door that morning promising updates of her day. Her first text, just after class got out, was habitual, mechanical. She watched the other students pour out of the room from behind her, chatting and laughing, making spontaneous plans. She said no; she always said no. There was no room for spontaneity back then.

Her heart had felt strange that day, loose and brimming with a chaos she could no longer control. A switch had been set; kissing James at their front door felt false, her sweet and docile mannerisms harder to keep up with each passing conversation. His grassy eyes no longer charmed her, for she’d found the snake hiding within their depths long ago. She’d been living in a hell she’d only just woken up in, and March 1st found her writhing to get out.

Her consideration came without speaking to anybody; not Angelica, or her friends from class…especially not her parents, although in this case she wasn’t sure where she’d go or how she would explain her sudden need for a home so quickly. These were trivial things, facts and figures that would only matter later on. Her mind was occupied with plans-codes and keys and ways to get around the walls he’d built to keep her in.

She didn’t make dinner. She didn’t text to tell him she’d gotten home safely.

After that 7 a.m, Eliza shoved her laptop, photos, fifteen outfits and a good pair of shoes into a hard-worked and heavy duffle. She bought a subway ticket with cash she’d been keeping in the pockets of a dress in the back of the closet. The city went by in a blur of emotions that hit too quickly, that made her stumble over herself as she fought the crowd to street-level. And in the unknown part of the city, with a dress not comfortable enough for travel and a duffle that kept it riding up farther than needed, she sucked in her nerves and plopped herself down at a café table.

“Moving?”

She jumped in her seat, the voice unexpectedly close as a male form took the empty spot next to her. He handed her a paper cup brimming with heat and she placed it on the table, refusing to make even the slightest bit of contact. I was this voice that brought that current of electric nerve back into her system, and Eliza frowned and kept her gaze down at her feet, shaking her head. At first, she thinks that might be enough-that the simple gesture is going to send the guy away and make him forget he’d ever seen her. After all, the city was a big place; she’s not sure how her luck became so skewed in the first place to warrant this visit after only ten minutes of travel outside of her usual routine.

“You sure? Because the bag,”

“-The bag is nothing, just some clothes I wanted to give away.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good. Hey, want me to get a hold of James? We can turn this into a little morning coffee date.”

“I’m fine.”

“Oh, trouble in paradise?”

“Everything’s fine.”

It’s the second time she’d said the phrase that day; the first had been to herself in the mirror, just before she’d shut the apartment door with the cash she’d saved radiating hope, a way out. Then, at the hole-in-the-wall café, the weight of her decision carried itself in those dollar bills, a secret that made her feel dirty, and wrong.

“You know, Eliza, I get it. James can be an asshole.” She opened her mouth to protest but the man was faster, shushing her with the raise of one finger on his oversized hand and the blinking of his murky grey eyes. “You don’t have to defend him. I know he’s your boyfriend, but even you have had to see some of his bad side.”

She shrugged, silent. But her hand met the heat of the paper cup James’s friend had brought to her, and she drew it to her lips in a wordless agreement. Taking the cup meant peace.

But taking the cup had also meant taking the bait.

She tenses in the dean’s chair as she remembers the moment; the heat of bitter, over-sweetened coffee burnt her lips as his friend’s eyes looked over her shoulder. For a brief second she lets herself remember that false security, the way this guy had been trying to help, to understand and discuss her problems without her having to say a single word. She’d thought he was such a nice guy, such an unexpected light to begin her day. But that security had turned to fear when the guy waved, pulled another stool to their table as a hand met her shoulder.

“I thought you were hurt.”

“I’m fine.”

Again; the phrase came out barely spoken, through a hushed voice that strained through her fear-tightened throat. He seemed to be in a pleasant enough mood-sipped from his cup and smiled between her and his friend. She knew better than this, though. He kept one hand on the back of her chair, rooting her in place without making physical contact. He didn’t need to. The way his voice had dripped from his full and smiling lips was saccharine, hauntingly dressed for a show that would be over as soon as his friend left the shop.

On March 1st, she kept his friend there as long as possible. She asked an array of personal questions, listened to stories about the failed high school lacrosse career this friend treasured at an Olympic standard. She bought them all a second round of coffee with her card, felt the cash weigh with an even heavier upset as she attempted to keep it hidden. She ‘d kept her mind off of what would happen when they got home, when her sanctuary was infiltrated with questions she wasn’t prepared to answer. This had been her first attempt at leaving. This had also been her first time the consequences of her actions had caused her to be ‘too sick’ to leave the house.

The world, in Eliza’s head, did not need to see the blacks and blues that were a fault of her own poor planning. As she hid in the bathroom that evening, let the shower run far longer than needed, she felt every fleeting hope escape her-even the dress pocket full of cash couldn’t overshadow the new hues that now served as her own scarlet letter. She’d been stupid to think that a duffle bag and a hope would be enough to get out. Stupid…

“I have the assignment done on my computer.” Eliza blinks herself out of the flashback that’d had her silent, straightens in her chair as she remembers the things she’d meant to get done on the day of her first attempt of escape. She’d been submitting the research when she’d decided to leave. It had never gone through.

Her words are rambling, arduous as she attempts to arrange her thoughts into a coherent string of sentences. She’s not sure which side of the coin to land on; guilt and an overwhelming feeling of distress hit her both at once, fighting a tumultuous battle over which will take the primary place of settlement in her gut.

“It was done that day, I went to submit it and it just-it never went through. I know that’s no consolation, I know there’s no way you can really verify that, and I don’t blame you if you don’t believe me. Is there anything I can do to make this right? It’s entirely my fault, I shouldn’t even be asking, but I really want to stay in this program and I,”

“-Elizabeth, take a breath.” She follows the instruction although it is tasking, taking in minute amounts of air as her lungs will allow. The dean furrows his wrinkled brow at her for just a moment, just long enough for her to shake in her chair. The uncertainty is crushing, and along with it comes a barrage of plans that cross her mind in incoherent paths. There are other schools that could use her; maybe they’d take my credits, maybe I could still graduate on time. But where would she go-what would she tell her father, who had been so prideful in seeing another daughter attend his alma-mater?

“I know your family well; you come from a long line of people who never give up. You Schuylers are always trying to upstage the others, to set boundaries that are impossible for your fellow classmates to keep up with. Some of the most beautiful recommendation letters I have on-file are those that were written for you, from teachers you observed or professors you had classes with. Not to mention the very deep, very real love the public has for you,”

“-please don’t mention that.”

“It’s true, but I’ll note that. Turn in the assignment when you’re ready, I’m sure it got lost in submission. Cyber space, right?”

Eliza chuckles, a forced noise that comes more from confusion than humor. He shakes her hand then, lets the smile reach his dimpled eyes as he walks her from his office. The wrinkled, humored old man stops to chat with the friendly receptionist, who leaves her with the same sort of wide-eyed grin that has become a common occurrence. But as she walks back to her apartment, the dean’s initial words repeat themselves in her head, covering up the relieving news that her problem can now be solved so easily; “We’re missing an assignment…a requirement of completing the degree program…I’d still know your face from all of those magazines.”

She says nothing when she gets back to the apartment, kicking off her boots and loading her laptop. The assignment is still in its designated folder, labeled and organized right next to March 1st in small, digital documentation. Eliza is silent as she watches it load into her portfolio, sent away to a professor who’d long past graded the others. And as Alex approaches her, cautious and calm, the sinking pit in her stomach grows large and looming, brimming with a strange cocktail of guilt that has been laced with the one word she and her sisters loathed more than anything; Privilege.

#sticking with the schuylers #swts #mine: swts #character: elizabeth schuyler #hamilton #hamilton au #this is a big feat #everyone put on your happy pants #except this is a huge emotional crazy story so

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