Fic!
So I've always had a thing for L. M. Montgomery's Emily books. And I've always been kind of annoyed by the little cop-out she pulled to set Emily up with Teddy, he of next to no personality. :P
Hi, my name is Manon and I'm an Emily/Dean 'shipper. :D
okay, not really. But I easily could be.
Anyway, I haven't read those books in ages; I need to go dig up my old copies and do that. But they've been on my mind of late.
So, ----
Emily is exceedingly demure, sitting on the steps with the mending in her lap, patiently picking a knot out of her thread. She looks like a convent schoolgirl, all in grey, except for the scarlet flower tucked into her hair, which rather spoils the effect. When I tell her so, she laughs, looking up.
"I know. It makes me feel like -- oh, a gypsy fortuneteller, or something. And that's almost enough to console me for having to sit here sewing on such a glorious day."
"I hate to think what your Aunt Elizabeth would say if she knew a gypsy fortuneteller was darning her socks."
She giggles. "Nothing good."
"Will you tell me my future, then?" I ask her, and she flashes those dark eyes at me.
"Cross my palm with silver."
"Silver and gold have I none, I fear." What am I doing? Flirting with the child, for God's sake! Carefully I lean over to nip the blossom from a buttercup growing by the steps, and carefully lay it in her hand.
She puts on a dramatic look. "You will cross water," she intones, "and meet a beautiful, mysterious woman."
I already have, I think, smiling to please her. Someday very soon, she will be you.
-----
*peeks* Is it terrible?
Hi, my name is Manon and I'm an Emily/Dean 'shipper. :D
okay, not really. But I easily could be.
Anyway, I haven't read those books in ages; I need to go dig up my old copies and do that. But they've been on my mind of late.
So, ----
Emily is exceedingly demure, sitting on the steps with the mending in her lap, patiently picking a knot out of her thread. She looks like a convent schoolgirl, all in grey, except for the scarlet flower tucked into her hair, which rather spoils the effect. When I tell her so, she laughs, looking up.
"I know. It makes me feel like -- oh, a gypsy fortuneteller, or something. And that's almost enough to console me for having to sit here sewing on such a glorious day."
"I hate to think what your Aunt Elizabeth would say if she knew a gypsy fortuneteller was darning her socks."
She giggles. "Nothing good."
"Will you tell me my future, then?" I ask her, and she flashes those dark eyes at me.
"Cross my palm with silver."
"Silver and gold have I none, I fear." What am I doing? Flirting with the child, for God's sake! Carefully I lean over to nip the blossom from a buttercup growing by the steps, and carefully lay it in her hand.
She puts on a dramatic look. "You will cross water," she intones, "and meet a beautiful, mysterious woman."
I already have, I think, smiling to please her. Someday very soon, she will be you.
-----
*peeks* Is it terrible?
