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crack_van2013-04-29 11:23 am
stars-inthe-sky.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2013-04-29 11:23 am
Entry tags:
"Preludes" by KnifeEdge (T)
Fandom: THE LIZZIE BENNET DIARIES
Pairing: Lizzie Bennet/William Darcy
Length: 5145 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
knifeedgefic
Author Website: Over The Edge
Why this must be read: In this twist on canon, Lizzie doesn't get the memo about Lydia during Ep. 84 and instead accepts Darcy's invitation, and a predictably wonderful if understated evening ensues. Yet, rather than turning this premise into a fluff-fest, the author never forgets that this isn't what happened, and the result is a lyrical and gently melancholy story about what might have been, but wasn't.
“…Gigi has an engagement so… It would be just you and … me.”
Worlds revolve in the silence like the spin of a roulette wheel. In that moment, the universe holds its breath as the spin slows, spiraling toward a stop. The future begins to unfurl like a ship’s sail, like a newly birthed butterfly’s wings. Two hearts pound fiercely, with slightly varying levels of trepidation and hope, beneath ribs that suddenly feel too small and as fragile as glass.
(But this—this is what doesn’t happen.)
Lizzie blinks once, then twice. Her mouth opens soundlessly for a moment before she locates her voice, buried somewhere behind the tidal wave of emotion that has suddenly clogged her throat. She is terrified, as if she stands on the edge of a precipice, but for once—just this once—she thinks she’s ready to take that fall. She has only just been able to admit to herself recently that she likes Darcy—or at least this new, not-so-robot-like version that she has encountered here at Pemberly. She likes him enough to want to explore this—whatever this is that has been gradually building up between them and has, in recent days, felt thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Okay,” she says, finally, and thinks it possibly the stupidest word in the English language. “I mean—that—well, that sounds … good. Fun. The theatre. With … you.”
She may have found her voice but sentence structure, basic grammar and the elements of conversation have eluded her entirely.
Darcy makes a sound that’s not quite a laugh. It might be a grunt, or a cough, except that it’s made of happiness. He clears his throat to get rid of the sound and wonders if there’s ever been a more beautiful sentence ever uttered by a woman in the entire history of speech.
“Wonderful,” he says, then clears his throat once more just because he’s afraid he might make that noise again. “I will—“ he rethinks the wisdom of his phrasing and tries again. He is, after all, making an effort to be a better man. “May I pick you up at six-thirty?”
Lizzie gives something that approximates a nod, but which feels as graceful as a head butt. “Yes. That would be … lovely.” She wonders when she started talking like a Regency romance novel, but somehow doesn’t mind in the slightest.
She wants to ask if he’s still in love with her. If, after everything she has said about him, every hurtful thing that has been between them, if this is him, offering them another chance. In the end, however, she decides not to question it.
A date, she thinks. I’m going on a date with William Darcy.
Preludes
Pairing: Lizzie Bennet/William Darcy
Length: 5145 words
Author on LJ:
knifeedgeficAuthor Website: Over The Edge
Why this must be read: In this twist on canon, Lizzie doesn't get the memo about Lydia during Ep. 84 and instead accepts Darcy's invitation, and a predictably wonderful if understated evening ensues. Yet, rather than turning this premise into a fluff-fest, the author never forgets that this isn't what happened, and the result is a lyrical and gently melancholy story about what might have been, but wasn't.
“…Gigi has an engagement so… It would be just you and … me.”
Worlds revolve in the silence like the spin of a roulette wheel. In that moment, the universe holds its breath as the spin slows, spiraling toward a stop. The future begins to unfurl like a ship’s sail, like a newly birthed butterfly’s wings. Two hearts pound fiercely, with slightly varying levels of trepidation and hope, beneath ribs that suddenly feel too small and as fragile as glass.
(But this—this is what doesn’t happen.)
Lizzie blinks once, then twice. Her mouth opens soundlessly for a moment before she locates her voice, buried somewhere behind the tidal wave of emotion that has suddenly clogged her throat. She is terrified, as if she stands on the edge of a precipice, but for once—just this once—she thinks she’s ready to take that fall. She has only just been able to admit to herself recently that she likes Darcy—or at least this new, not-so-robot-like version that she has encountered here at Pemberly. She likes him enough to want to explore this—whatever this is that has been gradually building up between them and has, in recent days, felt thick enough to cut with a knife.
“Okay,” she says, finally, and thinks it possibly the stupidest word in the English language. “I mean—that—well, that sounds … good. Fun. The theatre. With … you.”
She may have found her voice but sentence structure, basic grammar and the elements of conversation have eluded her entirely.
Darcy makes a sound that’s not quite a laugh. It might be a grunt, or a cough, except that it’s made of happiness. He clears his throat to get rid of the sound and wonders if there’s ever been a more beautiful sentence ever uttered by a woman in the entire history of speech.
“Wonderful,” he says, then clears his throat once more just because he’s afraid he might make that noise again. “I will—“ he rethinks the wisdom of his phrasing and tries again. He is, after all, making an effort to be a better man. “May I pick you up at six-thirty?”
Lizzie gives something that approximates a nod, but which feels as graceful as a head butt. “Yes. That would be … lovely.” She wonders when she started talking like a Regency romance novel, but somehow doesn’t mind in the slightest.
She wants to ask if he’s still in love with her. If, after everything she has said about him, every hurtful thing that has been between them, if this is him, offering them another chance. In the end, however, she decides not to question it.
A date, she thinks. I’m going on a date with William Darcy.
Preludes