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And there was my most prized possession: a framed oil painting of Edward Cullen on the wall above the sink, sparkly and magnificent as he gazed moodily into the middle distance. (I didn’t care what Frederick thought about Twilight. I fucking loved Edward Cullen. To be able to read minds? Epic.
FREDERICK: Sorry for my delayed response. Cassie and I are enjoying ourselves immensely while away and I have not been checking my messages. FREDERICK: Anyway, no: I will NOT give you “kissing advice for humans” FREDERICK: I am not that crass. Additionally, what are you THINKING.
I’d have said this lapse in glamour functionality would one day be my villain origin story if I didn’t already have at least four of those.
She smiled at me, so warm and genuine it felt like the sun emerging after a century of slumber, and Hades help me, I was lost.
REGINALD: Where does Cassie get her food REGINALD: Also what does she eat FREDERICK: Her food? FREDERICK: To be frank, her taste in food is disgusting. Even if I were capable of eating human food I don’t think I would ever willingly put something called “Hot Cheetos” into my body. FREDERICK: Why do you ask? REGINALD: I need to get some human food FREDERICK: I guessed as much. But why? REGINALD: A human friend has dietary limitations that her family doesn’t respect REGINALD: Which is total BS if you ask me!!!!!! REGINALD: And I just thought I’d buy her some food she can eat to show her not
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But the moment Derek’s back was turned, I could no longer remember what Frederick said Cassie liked to eat. He’d once mentioned something about frozen imitation fish sticks, but had he said Cassie liked them or that she didn’t like them? He’d also said Cassie enjoyed something orange and terrible called Hot Cheetos, and I thought she also liked peanut butter. But did Cassie like peanut butter with Hot Cheetos? Or just straight from the jar? And what were her thoughts on peanuts that weren’t in butter form?
“The truth is, I quite like making you happy.” He shook his head. “I’m frightened to think too much about what that means, because I honestly can’t remember the last time I wanted to do anything for another person, simply for its own sake. And without having an ulterior motive.” His eyes, when they met mine, were so intense I had to look away. “But for you, I would brave a blizzard just to see you smile.”
“I’ve wanted to make you laugh like this since the night we met. You were terrible at pretending to laugh when I asked you to, but in hindsight I see that was a good thing. Because if I’d seen what you are like when you truly let go, I would have fallen to my knees. Right then and there.”
“Even as I walked away from you that night, all I could think about was what it would feel like to hold your hand. To kiss you.” His eyes dropped to my mouth. “The reality of that is way better than I imagined it would be. Which just makes me wonder if the reality of touching you in other ways would be better than my imagination, too.”
“He also said that leaving you when he did is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. He placed special emphasis on the word hardest, but out of concern for my own sanity, I refuse to analyze why that might be.”
Efficiency. I can’t stop thinking about her so keeping her with me would save time I would always make sure she has food she can eat She needs to laugh more. I’m good at making her laugh (I love making her laugh) She makes me forget the terrible pointlessness of my existence (as well as all the other terrible things in this world) (she is so lovely) I haven’t made love to her yet and I REALLY want to. (I think she would enjoy it tbh) I would devote the rest of my existence to making her happy and I think (???) she would enjoy that Continued proximity to a real live historian (her dad)
“I knew it. Knew you’d taste so good, I never want to leave you, want you, I—you are mine.”
Mission Statement: To be by A’s side for as long as she’ll have me
Reggie let out a quiet moan. “You’re so hot when you talk taxes,” he breathed.
“On second thought, let’s sit this one out,” I said. Reggie looked like I’d just proposed chopping off his arm. “You must be joking,” he said, horrified. He was already making his way to where dancers were assembling, hand around my wrist as he attempted to bring me with him. “I never miss a good Chicken Dance.” “Are you serious?” “As the bubonic plague.”
