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goneseriesanalysis · 4 years

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Astrid Ellison

So here are my opinions on Astrid Ellison from book 1. Astrid was the character on which my opinion changed the most, which is why it’s taken me so long to get my thoughts together. Sorry for the length again but it seems I have a talent for ✨rambling✨

Spoilers for Gone by Michael Grant down below

Original Opinion: Astrid was one of my least favourite characters. I remember finding her irritating and self-righteous and honestly couldn’t think of a single good thing to say about her.

New Opinion: Astrid was my favourite character in this book. She had moments where I found her slightly irritating - but I think that was Michael struggling to right a smart character more than anything else. She was so kind and brave and not at all like the emotionless and manipulative girl that I remember hating at the grand age of 14.

1.) Astrid’s appearance - Astrid is one of the better described characters in Gone. In the first chapter we find out that she “had shoulder-length blonde hair, and liked to wear starched white short-sleeved blouses that never failed to catch Sam’s eye.” This description immediately establishes her as Sam’s love interest, from her being the first character to get a proper description to Sam’s clear infatuation with her. This is perhaps one of the reasons why I’m not a huge fan of their relationship – it was obvious from page 3 that they were going to end up together. We get three other main descriptions of Astrid throughout the book that really stood out to me:

“Her normally sharp, discerning blue eyes were wide, with way too much white showing” – Chapter 1

“She sat in the big white wicker rocker with her feet propped up on the railing. Her bare legs were blazing white in the sunshine.” – Chapter 20

“The starched white blouses of the pre-FAYZ had given way to t-shirts” – Chapter 28

What really stood out to me in these descriptions is the repeated use of the colour white. Now, in religion white is symbolic of faith, innocence and sacrifice, all of which really seem to fit the characterisation of Astrid. She has a lot of faith in the beginning, not only in God but also in herself. She is relatively confident in who she is and in her place in the world. As the book continues, however, she begins to lose this faith. As she sacrifices more of her time to the care of Little Pete (I really don’t like how Michael constantly treated him as a burden but that is a topic for another post), she becomes less and less confident in her faith and begins to resent what she has become.

As for Astrid’s innocence, I believe this is more of an insight into how Sam views her as opposed to how she actually is. Astrid is intelligent and brave and caring (although a lot of the time I think she struggles to show it) – but is she innocent?? I don’t think so, at least not in the traditional sense. She has grown up as a parent, been forced to mature faster than other children her age. She is Little Pete’s constant defender, and I think in this way Sam underestimates her. As the book continues, he begins to see this, with her staple white blouses transforming into t-shirts, he begins to see her for who she is.

2.) Astrid’s Personality and Character - Aside from Astrid’s intelligence and religious beliefs, Astrid has a very well-rounded personality. She is brave and kind-hearted but seems somewhat socially inept, meaning that the softer side of her personality is often hidden by her cool exterior. (I think there is a possibility that Astrid is autistic-coded but I don’t know enough about the topic to develop this point past mere observation). She takes on the role of a mother to Little Pete and this calmer, kinder, and more protective side of Astrid is often shown in small moments throughout the books. Astrid is the first person to offer comfort to Quinn when he realises his parents are missing, and it is only once she does this that Quinn finally allows himself to fall apart (Chapter 2). She places a hand on his shoulder and for the first night is the one who hears out Quinn’s wild theories, instead of shooting them down (cough cough Sam).

Her relationship with Little Pete is a complicated one. While she often seems resentful about her new position as a guardian, it feels like her resentment towards Little Pete is a way for her to mask her anger at things that are beyond her control. She is furious that the FAYZ has left her without parents, and is even more furious because she can’t truly understand why it has happened. So, to stop these feelings of helplessness, she targets her resentment towards the person she is closest do (as most of us unfortunately do when we feel this way). But despite her anger, her unconditional love always wins out. And this is one of the things I absolutely adored about her when re-reading. Despite her often feeling trapped by her new role in Little Pete’s life, she is still willing to distance herself from Sam, Edilio and Quinn (who are, as far as we know, the closest thing she has to friends) in order to keep him safe. She realises that Little Pete caused the FAYZ in chapter 11 and, even when Sam confronts her, her first move is to defend LP – she is not concerned with what they think of her, only with the safety of her brother.

Further on in the book, after Drake forces her to call Little Pete a slur, she is horrified with herself. She gives almost no thought to the pain she went through stating that “now she was far more angry at herself than she had ever been at him.” I think this really just shows how devoted Astrid is to her brother and, when you remember that she is only 14 it really is amazing how strong she forces herself to be for him. I began to notice on this read through just how much she neglects her own emotions and wellbeing in favour of protecting others (she even shields LP with her own body when the church collapses on top of them and we get no indication as to how injured SHE is). Once again her thoughts are only on her brother. While I wish she had made more of an effort to communicate with Little Pete in a way that he could understand (the few times she does this in the book, he does respond well and it would have been interesting to develop this side of their relationship more, rather than just the one sided protector/protected dynamic), when you think about her age and the trauma that she must be experiencing, I think she does exceptionally well to stay so kind, patient and collected for the majority of the time.

One thing that really surprised me the most when revisiting Astrid’s character was her immense bravery. This is a huge part of her character that I had completely forgotten about, leading me to remember her as little more than a typical damsel in distress. While she often uses her intelligence as a defence mechanism, such as in Chapter 15 when she stands up to Diana, in times when a verbal smack down is inappropriate, she is perfectly willing to put herself in danger in order to protect those that she cares about. We first see this in chapter 10 when she breaks up the fight on the highway. We see it again when Panda and Quinn attack Little Pete, with one of my favourite quotes of the whole book, “Did you throw a rock at my brother?’ Astrid yelled. Fearless in her outrage.” It reminds me so much of the Frankenstein quote “I am fearless and therefore powerful” and was the point in the book where my past prejudices got completely wiped away and were replaced by my new love for her. She cares so much about people, and gets hardly any recognition for it. I just want to give her a hug 😥

Another thing I noticed about Astrid, which I thinks fit’s in really well with the idea of her being this awkward social outcast (I mean did she even have any friends before??) is that while many pop culture references are made by a variety of characters, Astrid makes multiple references to historical figures:

“Patrick was named for Patrick Star, the not-very-bright character on Spongebob” – Lana’s pov Chapter 2

“It’s like a roadrunner cartoon” – Quinn Chapter 9

“I’ll bet you’re one of those brainy Lisa Simpson types” – Diana Chapter 14

“Let me guess, you’re secretly a wizard who was raised by muggles.” – Sam Chapter 21

“And this isn’t exactly the time for me to consult Yoda on how to use my power” – Sam Chapter 26

“..an ornate, heavy iron thing that Coates kids joked was the tenth Nazgul” – Jack’s pov Chapter 32

“Too bad Dr Phil’s not around.” – Diana 39

“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself” – Astrid Chapter 5

“To understand this you’d have to be Einstein or Heisenburg or Feynman, on that level” – Astrid Chapter 13

“Power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. I forgot who said it.” – Astrid Chapter 17

I don’t have much else to say about this other than I find it quite interesting and I think it perfectly highlights how Astrid never quite fits in, no matter how hard she tries.

3.) Astrid’s Intelligence - Astrid’s intelligence is mainly used for world building throughout the first book. It is from Astrid that we learn the full story of the power plant incident, learn that the barrier is a dome and are introduced to the idea of animal mutations, as well as many theories about the outside world/ what caused the FAYZ (although those last theories are a misdirection on her part). This works well for the most part as it means that important information can be spaced evenly throughout the book, without the need for info-dumps. However, sometimes Michael’s attempts to showcase Astrid’s intelligence were, I think, a little on the nose and took me out of the story. The worst offender for this, in my opinion, is in chapter 2 with the line “Is that meant to be a pro forma reassurance or a specific commitment?” This is a really nit-picky complaint but this line just really bugged me as it seemed like he was making her smart for the sake of being smart and it kind of came off as annoying. I know one of her character flaws is her social awkwardness but this just felt too much. I love the way she over-explains and over-analyses things when she’s nervous, and I think her constant referencing to things that the other characters just don’t understand perfectly demonstrate this flaw, but lines like this seemed a little irritating and obnoxious.

The secondary use for Astrid’s intelligence in this book is as her primary line of defence. Her intellect is something that she prides herself on, but it is also something that separates her from everyone else. People are intimidated by her, and, as a result, she has learned to use her intelligence as a weapon when necessary. This is clearly seen in chapter 14, when Diana tries to intimidate her and Astrid immediately starts asking Diana questions about the cause of the FAYZ (questions that she knows Diana has no answer to). It’s later seen in chapter 22. When Drake begins to bully Astrid into calling LP a slur, she fights back by explaining that said slur is outdated; explaining the meaning of it; and then explaining how it does not fit LP anyway. While she knows that she cannot use her physical strength, her intellect is something that she can weaponise in certain situations in order to protect herself and those she loves. Her proficiency in this tactic also leads me to believe that Astrid has probably been in similar situations before. Everyone in Perdido Beach seems to know about LP. Is that why she has no friends?? Has she distanced herself from her peers in order to protect LP from their ignorance, whether consciously or not??

4.) Astrid and Religion - I don’t have as much to say about this, as I’m not religious myself and have very little understanding of Christianity (Or Catholicism – I’m actually not sure which Astrid is meant to be so if anyone knows I would appreciate it), but I feel like this is a such a huge part of who Astrid is that I had to at least mention it. One thing that I do like is Astrid’s seemingly constant battle between her scientific beliefs and her religious beliefs. While she does believe in God, she won’t accept him as an explanation for the FAYZ, and still looks for a scientific answer. Her relationship with religion seems to act as more of a moral guideline rather than a fundamental belief system. She looks to God for guidance and support in times of trouble, such as at Bette’s funeral (Chapter 17), as she is being chased by Drake (Chapter 24) and when the church is collapsed on top of her (Chapter 45) and seems to be convinced that her morality is directly tied to her faith. However, she relies on facts (things she can explain and control) for true comfort, and doesn’t allow her faith to interfere with her action. I think these ideas are perfectly encompassed by this quote from Chapter 40 “No. I believe in free will. I think we make our own decisions and carry out our own actions. And our actions have consequences. The world is what we make it. But I think sometimes we can ask God to help us and He will.” – And I am quite excited to see how her faith/ loss of faith changes her perceptions in the later books.

5.) Astrid’s Role in The Book - For the most part, Astrid has three main roles in this book:

- To act as LP’s protector

-To act as a source of plot-relevant and world building information to the reader

-To be Sam’s main motivation is becoming the leader

And this, in my opinion, is a phenomenal waste. Astrid was the perfect candidate for the leader of the FAYZ, and giving the role to Sam made no sense?? I think what Michael was trying to do was suggest that Sam had to be the leader instead of Astrid because, while Astrid is the intelligent one who knows how to work people, Sam is the one who people look to when things go wrong. (Think of Katniss and Peeta’s dynamic in The Hunger Games). But, it just doesn’t work. For one, we know that what the people of Perdido Beach think has very little effect on leadership. There was no uproar when Caine took over. Were people scared and upset?? Yes. Did they run to Sam’s aid and rebel against Caine?? No. So why should it matter whether they prefer Sam to Astrid – Sam could still be the hero without being the leader. In fact, I think it would have made both characters so much better if this was the case. Also we know that in times of crisis, people DO look to Astrid. Albert’s cat anyone?? Furthermore, Astrid’s ability to use her intellect to play on people’s emotions is a much better match for Caine’s easy charm than Sam with his flame throwers. I mean please. Astrid has a cool and intimidating exterior that actually hides a well of deep emotions that she can pull from and use to manipulate people into doing things they never thought they were capable of (we mostly see this work with Sam in this book during the fire, chapter 4, and the first time he controls his powers, chapter 28). Caine has an easy going and charming exterior that hides his lack of empathy, allowing him to use people for his own gain as he sees them as expendable. They are such PERFECTLY MATCHED OPPOSITES. But no. Michael wanted the leader to be Sam because?? Fire?? Ugh. Even when the question of who will take over if Sam poofs comes up in chapter 40, NOBODY EVEN MENTIONS HER. Astrid suggests that Edilio takes over and that’s that. (With that being said I do find it interesting that Astrid basically chose both the leader AND the backup leader but still. Let her live up to her full potential Michael.)

I think I’ve pretty much covered the first two bullet points in other sections but I’ll just quickly mention her part in Sam becoming the leader. It’s very clear from the fire onwards that Sam being in charge is Astrid’s main goal. Is this so that Sam can protect her?? Maybe. Idk. But it kind of frustrates me that she is broken down into Sam’s love interest towards the end, rather than coming into her own role. We are constantly shown that she is the main reason that Sam is becoming the leader, and this is even explicitly stated when Sam tells his mother/the gaiphage that he has “someone I have to stay here for” – chapter 46. I think the book should have ended with Astrid taking on her own role (as the leader obvs but I would have settled for something smaller or, you know, ANYTHING), instead of her just becoming Caine’s human shield. I do have more to say on this topic but I feel like it falls more into the relationship category so I’ll leave that for a later post.

And I’m not even going to talk about her powers past saying: what was the reason?? As far as I can gather Michael wanted a reason for Astrid being so insistent about Sam taking on the role of leader and so gave her a weird power and then decided hmm no.

Thank you so much for reading and I would love to hear all of your thoughts on Astrid. I think I’m going to do Caine next but who knows.

#the gone series #astrid ellison #Gone

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angryinternetduck · 4 years

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Sunshine

4.6k words exactly on a glowing fem!reader and Harry Styles finally realizing they're more than friends. A few bad words but no other warnings I can think of. Happy reading!!!

Harry always said that you glowed.

He liked to say you were a star: in your actions, in your words, in your very being. He loved to gush compliments over you, drowning you in sweet words and affectionate touches and letting you know just how much he loved you. And sure, most of that took place while he was drunk, but hey - drunk words are sober thoughts, right?

Either way, he sure did compare you to a star a lot when he was drunk, and after a while, it even carried over to sober words too when he gave you the nickname of Sunshine. And, despite your tendency to complain and correct him, you weren’t too mad about it.

You’d met him at a bar, late one night after a particularly messy breakup. He’d been positively hammered, and had approached you with the weakest pick up line you’d ever heard in your entire life.

“You, darling,” he’d slurred confidently, “light up my world… like… like nobody else.”

“Really?” you’d replied, just as drunk. “Is that so?”

“That’s so,” he’d said. He bopped your nose. “Right sunshine, you are.”

The whole night was a blur of bad jokes and aggressive flirting that never actually went anywhere. That’s what you always assumed, anyway, because you’d woken up the next morning alone in your bed with only a killer headache and his number in your cell.

It took you two weeks to call him, and, a bit tipsy, you’d given him your address and offered a night in. You had a few ideas in mind, ones that included quite a different morning after than the previous time you’d seen him, but him coming over in the softest blue jumper you’d ever seen and carrying bags of Chinese take away was not on the list.

“Tell me, Sunshine,” he’d said by way of greeting, “do you have anything fun to drink?”

“Plenty of Capri Sun,” you’d answered.

“Well,” Harry laughed, “with Capri Sun and take away, how could we go wrong?”

That morning after was, technically, quite different than the last, but - again - not in the way you’d expected. You’d traded favorite movies, talking over every scene of Love Actually with snarky commentary and shushing him when he tried to do the same with yours, and fell asleep on the couch hours after the sun rose.

Another drunken night brought another drunken phone call, and another and another, until the phone calls became sober and the random drunken nights became consistent Friday afternoons. You were making a decent headway on classic movies - movies the two of you deemed classic, anyway - and celebrated the first anniversary of your meeting at the bar where you’d met.

It was that night, one year since you’d met Harry Styles, staring at your ceiling fan and listening to him snore, that you’d realized two things at once. One, that you hadn’t dated anyone in a year, and two, that you didn’t care - you were perfectly content as it was. And, you’d thought vaguely, Harry had never mentioned a girlfriend, either.

Strange.

☀️☀️☀️

That lasted another month, and then you met your boyfriend.

His name was Oliver, and he was sweet. Smart. Cute. You really liked him. Of course you did. You’d met him at some party and hit it off almost immediately, and he took you out to dinner a few days after you met. He brought you flowers, and paid for the meal, and at the end of the night, he gave you a soft kiss on the cheek.

Harry was a bit skeptical about the lad, and he wasn’t afraid to voice his concerns.

“Sounds like a prick,” he’d said casually, mouth full of popcorn, when you’d told him all about your new boyfriend and his various hopes and dreams. Your jaw dropped. “What?” you’d said incredulously.

“Dunno,” Harry replied. “Just giving me the wrong vibes.”

And, when you’d shown him a picture, all he had to say was, “Those shoes are weird.”

You only scoffed, and he shrugged, looking at you like you were the one who was crazy. “What?” he said. “Can’t have a man without a fashion sense - don’t want him to be buying you rubbish gifts, hm?”

Despite all the slander, Harry had been adamant about meeting him.

“I need to meet this guy, Sunshine,” he’d insisted.

“Yeah, sure,” was your constant reply, “maybe some time.”

But for some reason, you’d procrastinated with the whole meetup thing. You weren’t quite sure of the exact reason why, although Harry’s skepticism on him probably didn’t help. Harry finally took it into his own hands and sent him a message on Instagram, which led to a very strange, awkward movie night.

“He seems nice,” Oliver said at the end of the night as he walked you home, and you nodded. “Mhm,” you hummed softly. “I don’t know about his taste in movies, though,” he’d gone on with a teasing smile, nudging your shoulder with his own. “Ten Things I Hate About You? A bit sappy, huh?”

You laughed a bit, shrugging your shoulders. “Yeah, he’s a… sappy guy.”

The conversation fizzled out after that, but it was a comfortable silence, and you didn’t mind too much. You seemed to have a lot of comfortable silence with him. He walked you home, and kissed you goodnight, and never came to another movie night again.

☀️☀️☀️

“Heya!” you exclaimed as Harry opened the door of his flat, already scooting past him before he’d stepped back. “Hey, Sunny,” Harry replied, and you corrected him with your name as you plopped four bags of take away on his table.

“Did you invite somebody?” Harry asked, and you frowned. “What?”

Harry grinned, nodding at the food. “That’s food enough for four, love.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and kept taking boxes out of the bags. “I’m just doing my duties,” you told him. “You’re a growing boy, Styles.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Growing horizontally if you keep this up, Sunshine.”

You handed him a pair of chopsticks. “So have at it, growing-horizontally boy.”

“If you insist.”

You collapsed on the couch next to him with a box of lo maine, but when he didn’t say anything and just stared thoughtfully at his food, you asked, “Penny for your thoughts?” He glanced at you, and smiled. “I found a girl,” he said.

Your jaw dropped, your eyes going comically wide. “You found a girl?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“Well, fuck, H, my bad, but it’s been so long I -” You cut yourself off when Harry shot you a glare. A beat of silence, and then, still grinning, you dragged out, “Soooooooooooo…” and asked, “What’s her name?” Harry smiled. “Astrid.”

“Astrid,” you echoed, pulling a face. “Sounds like a pink haired anime character.”

“You don’t even watch anime,” Harry muttered.

“Still,” you said. “Is she nice? What’s she look like? If she has pink hair I’m gonna -”

“She’s blonde, Sunny,” Harry interrupted, ignoring your glare at the nickname. “And she’s very nice. Proper smart, too - going to med school at the mo’.” You pursed your lips. “Sounds snobby.”

“She’s not.”

You shrugged, spinning noodles round your fork. “Where’d you meet her?”

Harry hesitated, and then, “Starbucks.”

You paused, looked up at him, raised a brow. “Starbucks?”

“Yeah. She’s barista-ing ‘till she gets her degree.”

“When’s your date?”

Harry hesitated, again, and told her, “Last night.”

You scoffed. “Last night?”

“Woulda gone to a pet store if I wanted a parrot, Sunshine.”

“Sunshine, my ass!” you exclaimed. “When’d you meet her?”

“Monday.”

“Monday?” you practically shrieked, talking over him when he murmured something about parrots and asking, “And you didn’t tell me this Wednesday because?” Harry shrugged. “Didn’t wanta tell you ‘bout something that would go south.”

A pause. “So it went north?”

Harry grinned. “To the stars, Sunny, she’s wonderful.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, she’s amazing.”

A pause, again, and Harry glanced over at you, and you were smiling, just a bit, and Harry raised an eyebrow. “You’re looking at me funny, Sunshine.” You shrugged. “It’s just weird, is all.” You frowned. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

Harry flushed. “Not important.”

“Riiiiight,” you laughed, nudging him with your elbow. You settled against the couch, twirling noodles around your fork before slurping a noodle into your mouth. “So,” you went on, running your tongue over your lips, “tell me about it!”

“What?” Harry asked distractedly, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“The date, moron.”

Harry’s smile faded, and he shrugged, his enthusiasm suddenly lost. He looked at his food. “Erm - it was good. She’s brilliant.” You laughed, prodding him with your foot. “Gotta give me more than that, Styles. What happened to ‘to the stars’?”

“She’s really into astrology,” Harry mumbled.

You raised an eyebrow. “Hm.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re not giving her a chance.”

“You’re not giving me a proper picture!” you insisted. “Give me details, dude, c’mon.”

He bit his lip, studying you for a second before looking away. “She’s… she’s perfect, Sunny. She just - she glows. And she’s so funny. She always knows what to say, too, like she can read my mind. And Christ, Sunshine, she’s gorgeous. Her smile’s brighter than the sun and…” He looked up, meeting your gaze with a lopsided smile. “And she’s got the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen,” he finished, his voice going quiet.

“That’s more like it!” you cheered. “Maybe I’ll give this girl a chance!”

“Yeah,” he said softly.

“Where’d you guys go?”

“Some little restaurant by the river…”

“Ooh, by the river - you walked with her, right? All romantic?”

Harry nodded. “Mhm. Saw some stars, too.

You snickered. “Did she tell you your future from the constellations?”

Harry groaned, tossing a pillow at you. “Stop itttt,” he dragged.

“Sorry, sorry,” you giggled, “please continue.”

“It was fantastic. She -”

“Wait a minute,” you interrupted. “Wait a minute, you called me this morning. At, like, eight o’clock!” Harry nodded. “Yup,” he said, and you frowned. “So you… didn’t get laid?” Harry scoffed. “Mr. Checkered Shoes over there didn’t shag you the first date, now did he?”

“Yeah, well, he’s a gentleman, and you’re a dick, so -”

“I am not!” Harry exclaimed. He smiled smugly. “Ask Astrid.”

“Oh, I will,” you replied, just as smugly. “Wanna invite her over for a movie night?”

“Abso -” He paused, frowning slightly. “Maybe later.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Later, huh? Should I send her a dm?”

“Don’t even think about it,” Harry warned, and you laughed.“Sure, sure,” you told him, wondering what a girl named Astrid would have as her Instagram handle and whether or not she’d reply to a perfect stranger’s message.

☀️☀️☀️

Harry missed the next week’s movie night because of Astrid.

You didn’t mind.

You’d been wanting to spend more time with your boyfriend, anyway.

And if you kept your phone by your side the whole night through, waiting for a heartbroken text from Harry saying it didn’t quite work out with Astrid the pink haired barista, nobody had to know.

☀️☀️☀️

Astrid’s timing was perfect. She met Harry Styles at the end of January, on a cold winter’s day just begging for a warm cup of coffee. She wasn’t even supposed to be there that day; she was supposed to take off, but the guy who was supposed to cover for her couldn’t make it because of the snow. She’d never been more miserable to live walking distance from her work than that morning.

Her mood had lifted, however, when a new face had stepped into the coffee shop. A new, dangerously gorgeous face that was grinning a swoon-worthy smile down at his cell phone when he walked in. Astrid didn’t even get annoyed when he took a call in line. Hearing him greet somebody named Sunshine with that deep, accented voice of his practically made her melt on the spot.

She felt a bit of a twinge when the man said the name of the person he was talking to, which sounded a bit feminine, but didn’t think on it too much. She managed to take his order and hand him his coffee without making a fool of herself, and the worrying started after he walked out the door.

He called the girl on the phone darling. And Sunshine. Who nicknames a friend or sister Sunshine? And the way he was grinning while he was talking to that girl - there’s no way that much fondness could be for a friend. He looked like he was walking on… well, sunshine, as he talked, and that laugh…

Well.

So her hopes fizzled out, and she was certain that was the last she’d see of him.

Until the next day, when he came back.

And this time, since Astrid wasn’t even worried about impressing a potential boyfriend, they actually had a conversation. His name was Harry, she learned that day, and he was the dorkiest, funniest man she’d ever met. Even just after a two minute conversation, Astrid wanted to be friends with this guy.

The next day, Astrid learned something even more interesting. Surprisingly, it turned out that that Sunshine girl really was just a friend, and Astrid had a date with this Harry guy that Thursday night.

The date went magnificently (of course), and he asked her out again the next week. He was like something out of a fairy tale, this guy, and Astrid was absolutely charmed. She just couldn’t wait to see him again.

☀️☀️☀️

Oliver broke up with you.

It came out of nowhere, a whispered, “I think we should take a break,” after a night out, and despite everything, you were upset. It was just weird not having him around. He was one of those guys that gave you good morning and goodnight texts and called you every night (except Fridays) just to see how you were doing.

He was pretty much the perfect boyfriend, and all you could think was that it was your fault. You just were never really into him. You loved him as a friend, but he just didn’t seem like boyfriend material. You never felt that connection.

So really, all you could do was be thankful that he’d been so civil about the break up. He hadn’t seemed too angry about anything, hadn’t made a whole big scene, just did it quietly and politely and told you he hoped you could still be friends.

Which you couldn’t be, kind of, but at least the thought was there.

Regardless, you were a single woman once again, and you had a best friend to rant to.

☀️☀️☀️

That best friend you were supposed to rant to was MIA.

The week before was fine. You understood. He wanted to be with Astrid, he had a girlfriend, whatever. And really, this week shouldn’t be any different, since - as far as you knew, anyway - the girlfriend situation was still the same.

Only difference was that he told you.

The week before, he’d sent you an emoji laden text message apologizing profusely for the fact that he wouldn’t be able to make it. This week was radio silence. After spamming his phone with text messages and calling four or five times, you’d pretty much given up. You were waiting in your apartment, forty minutes after he was supposed to come, and feeling like a loser with a capital L.

After an hour of boredom and no Harry, you decided to take things into your own hands. He’d probably forgotten (not that he’d forgotten once in all the weeks you’d been doing this) and was sitting at home, scrolling through Twitter or playing the guitar or doing whatever Harry Styles did with his free time.

So you got into your car, and drove.

☀️☀️☀️

Harry grinned when he finally shifted his key right in the door, and he pushed it open as Astrid giggled and pushed him back against it, closing it again, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Harry kissed her back and tried not to think about how her perfume was just a bit too strong, or how she was being just a tad too aggressive with her tongue, or how he didn’t really want to go anywhere past a bit of a snog but she didn’t seem to be on the same page.

Vaguely, Harry realized the light was on, and then slightly less vaguely, he realized he hadn’t left them on, and then not vaguely at all, he heard a clink and realized there was somebody else in his flat.

He pulled away from Astrid, who whined and tried to pull him back, and turned around to see you sat on his sofa with a bowl of cereal and a pair of earbuds. Harry groaned and muttered, “One sec,” to Astrid before walking over to you and pulling the earbuds out of your ears.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed.

“Eating cereal,” you replied all too casually, holding up your bowl.

“Fuck’s sake, you’re not supposed to be here!”

You sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, but -”

Harry groaned your name, shaking his head. “No, no, no, you can’t just do this! You -”

“You know what? You didn’t show up!” you interrupted. “You didn’t show up, and ignored all my texts, and Olly broke up with me, and I was sad!” You scowled. “I was sad, and I thought you’d be here, and I wouldn’t have come over if you’d just” - you glanced behind him at Astrid who was still standing by the door - “told me you had a date!”

Harry paused. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I just -”

“Hey, Harry?” Astrid cut in from the door. “I think I’m gonna… take off…”

“No!” Harry exclaimed, spinning around. “No, no, she’s leaving! We can -”

Astrid gave an awkward laugh and shook her head. “It’s fine. I’ll see you later, Styles.”

She left, and Harry felt a bit of shame for the flash of relief he felt. He sighed and turned to you. “Happy?” he asked. You scoffed. “Happy?” you echoed. “What, you think I did this on purpose?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “You never come in unless I’m here too.”

“That’s not true.”

Harry pursed his lips, grabbing a bowl from the cabinet and pouring himself some cereal from the bag you’d so thoughtfully neglected to put back in the cabinet. He poured some milk and grabbed a spoon, and sat on the sofa next to you. “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry about Olly, alright? I just wish you would text me before coming over.”

“Never told me to before,” you grumbled. “Well, now I have a girlfriend,” Harry snapped, and then frowned, looking at the door a bit forlornly. “I did, anyway, although I’m not so sure she’ll come back after -”

“You guys’ll be fine, H, calm down,” you interrupted, rolling your eyes as you chased a fruit loop around your bowl. “You’re too damn pretty to be dumped ‘cause of - what, a failed hook up session?”

Harry didn’t reply, and you looked up. He was smiling at you. Looked almost smug.

You frowned. “What?”

“You called me pretty.”

You groaned and tossed a pillow at him, which he dodged, but not without spilling a splash of milk onto the couch. “Please,” you muttered. “Have some dignity.” Harry smirked. “Oh, I’ve plenty of dignity, ‘specially after the first compliment I’ve gotten from you in years.”

“Oh, please!” you said again. “That’s just not fair.”

There was a beat of silence before Harry cleared his throat. “So, Oliver broke up with you?” You shrugged. “Yeah.” Harry nudged your foot with his. “‘m sorry,” he murmured, and you shrugged again. “Yeah,” you repeated.

“Do you want to… talk about it?” Harry asked hesitantly.

You shook your head. “Not really.”

“Wanna watch a movie?”

“Sure.”

You stirred your milk around your bowl, deep in thought, as Harry flicked on the TV and found a movie, but you looked up when you heard the beginnings of your favorite movie. You smiled, glancing over at Harry. “Thanks, H,” you said softly.

Harry grinned, putting an arm around your shoulders. “‘f course, Sunshine.”

☀️☀️☀️

“Astrid broke up with me,” Harry announced as he walked into your apartment.

You looked up from your couch, startled. It was only two days after you’d interrupted their date, and you’d been watching a TV show before he’d walked in. “Wow,” you replied, unsure what to say. “Um… I’m sorry, H.”

“Yeah,” he said, standing in front of you with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. He gave a lopsided smile. “Guess I’m not too pretty to be broken up with, hm?” You laughed a bit uneasily. “Yeah, yeah, I guess not. Are you… okay?”

“I dunno. But I - I want to get out of here.”

You frowned. “And go… where?”

“Dunno,” he repeated, shrugging slightly.

“Well…”

“Christ, Sunny, c’mon,” Harry laughed, green eyes bright as he pulled you up and gently pulled you towards the door. You raised an eyebrow but let him lead you outside and into his car. “Are you sure you’re okay?” you asked as you slid into the passenger seat.

“I’m fine, Sunshine. Just wanta drive. Want some music?” he asked, already pulling out his phone. He clicked around for a second, making you frown and mutter, “If we get pulled over…”

Finally, he picked a song, and when the music poured through his speakers, you felt yourself smile as you recognized your favorite song. Harry grinned, poking you and making you giggle as he screamed out the lyrics.

Before you knew it, you were laughing and mumbling along with the song, and you were almost disappointed when the car slowed and Harry turned off the engine. You hadn’t even thought about where he’d been taking you, and you were surprised to step out of the car and onto soft grass.

You were looking up at some trees, feeling a bit intimidated by their enormous branches that towered over you in the dark night. The moon was barely visible through the leaves, and something about the whole scene felt a bit ominous.

You jumped when Harry gently touched your arm.

“Sorry,” he murmured, giving you a lopsided smile as his hand slid down to meet yours. You shivered in the cool air, letting Harry guide you through the trees. “If your way of cheering yourself up after a breakup is murdering me in a forest,” you began softly, and Harry grinned, nudging your shoulder with his. “Shoulda frisked me, Sunshine.”

You looked up to meet his eye, smiling despite yourself. “Maybe later.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Harry looked away. You continued to walk with him in silence, trying not to stress too much over the fact that you were walking hand in hand with him at night.

Your breath caught as you came to a clearing, and you felt Harry grinning as he watched your reaction. He’d brought you to a small clearing in the woods, and the scene was nothing less than magical.

The moon shone down onto the leafy ground, sparkling on the little stream that ran through the shrubs and bushes. Butterflies floated gracefully around the blooming flowers that rose from the grass, their wings iridescent in the light of the moon. Instead of ominous, the scene was calming, the humming of the insects comforting rather than scary.

“‘s pretty, isn’t it?” Harry said quietly.

“It’s gorgeous.”

He sat down in the grass, and you looked at him skeptically. “Is it wet?”

He shrugged. “Nah.”

“I’ll bite you if you’re lying,” you said.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” he said back, smirking at you.

“Christ,” you muttered, crouching down next to him a bit hesitantly before deeming it appropriately dry and plopping down next to him. “So, uh… do you want to talk about it?” you asked after a moment of quiet.

He shook his head. “No, I… I don’t.”

You let your gaze linger on his face even as he looked away, and then sighed and asked, “How’d you even find this place?” Harry shrugged. “Dunno.” You grinned, nudging him with your shoulder. “Are you walking alone in the woods a lot, H?” you said teasingly. “Should I be worried?”

“Only for yourself,” he told you with a smirk.

You frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

Harry grinned at you and leaned in, giving you a whiff of sweet cologne and mint. “You forgot to frisk me, Sunny,” he said lowly, and he was so close that you were momentarily flustered before you laughed and gently pushed him away from you.

Silence came back, settling comfortably between the two of you, and after a minute, you yawned, resting your head on his shoulder. “This is nice,” you murmured. Harry nodded. “Yeah,” he said.

You looked up, keeping your chin on his shoulder. He looked positively ethereal, his profile glowing in the soft moonlight. He glanced at you after a second and smiled a bit. “You’re staring, Sunshine.”

“Did you really like Astrid?” you whispered.

His smile faded. “What kind of question is that?”

“You, um… Well, you’re awful chirpy for someone who just got broken up with.”

He looked down. “I dunno.”

“Don’t think you’ve ever had a serious girlfriend since I’ve known you.”

He still didn’t meet your eye. “Just haven’t found the right girl yet.”

A beat of silence, and then you spoke, your voice coming out barely a whisper.

“Are you sure?”

That was when he looked at you.

“No,” he said.

You sat up, swallowing thickly. “Hey, H?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

A slow smile grew on Harry’s face. “Yeah,” he murmured.

It was like a dam broke, then, and everything came rushing out, because you felt like you’d about die if you didn’t kiss him that very second. So you did. You kissed him, and the world stopped, and everything felt like it went frozen.

Time came to a grinding halt as your lips met his, and you swore you stopped breathing.

And then Harry pulled back. He was grinning. “Yeah,” he laughed, and you shifted into his lap as he kissed you again, and that was when the world slammed back into motion. It was a damn Disney movie in your mind, the world spinning around the two of you as butterflies appeared out of nowhere and blue birds flew in dizzying circles around your head.

You were both laughing, smiling against each other as you kissed each other breathless.

You never ever wanted to leave his side again.

☀️☀️☀️

Harry always says that you glow.

He likes to say you’re a star; in your actions, in your words, in your very being. He loves to gush compliments over you, drowning you in sweet words and affectionate touches and letting you know just how much he loves you. And sure, most of that takes place through drowsy giggles in the wee hours of the morning, but hey - still counts, right?

Either way, he sure does compare you to a star a lot, but at least now you can prove it to him. Now, you can kiss him back and drown him in sweet words and affectionate touches. Now, you can whisper I love yous as he presses featherlight kisses against your cheeks and eyelashes. Now, you can hold him and love him and do whatever you damn well please, because now, you’re not just any sunshine - you’re his Sunshine.

☀️☀️☀️

la fin ❤️

thanks for reading!!!

masterlist | ask

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles

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rosesisupposes · 5 years

Text

Skin Deep

Two royal twins, Remus and Roman, alike in almost every way, trained to be military leaders, trained to serve their nation as generals. But in a society that sees any body irregularities as signs of moral defect, one will never hold the same status as his brother. How could he ever be a proper Face of the Nation?

or, What If Roman Was The Unacceptable One?

Word count: 9,203

Main Characters: Remus, Roman

Appearances by: Patton, Remy, Logan, Virgil, Mentions of Deceit

Relationships: Platonic/Brotherly Creativitwins; background Losleep, past Moceit, beginnings of Royality, Platonic Sleepality, Platonic Sleepxiety,

Warnings: graphic descriptions of war/battle; societal prejudice based on appearances; discrimination based on appearances; trauma-induced body modifications; mentions of emotional abuse including forced starvation/food deprivation;

Credit to @hawthornshadow for being my wonderful co-creator in the worldbuilding especially, and to dear @vintage-squid for beta-reading!

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Roman’s muscles were burning as he blocked the attack, catching the down-swinging blow at the hilt. He pushed back, threw his assailant off balance, and swung out his leg to send him sprawling. Without pausing for breath, he followed through, swinging his sword to stop mere inches from the fallen man’s throat.

“I yield,” the man said, chest heaving. “Also, fuck you, Your Grace.”

Roman grinned and sheathed his dull practice sword, offering an arm to help the man to his feet. “My only goal is to help you improve, my dear Toby. By pointing out the weak points in your defense. Repeatedly.”

“Thanks ever so, royal pain-in-the-ass,” Toby said, letting himself be pulled to standing. He stretched, wincing, and picked up his fallen weapon. The other men of Roman’s squad surrounded them, patting Toby’s back with sympathy and slapping Roman with what were framed as claps of victory but were probably harder than they needed to be. Roman brushed his hair out of his face, his bright red curls turned dark with sweat. One of the men tossed him a damp cloth to wipe his face, and he caught it with thanks.

Roman and his men were chatting and planning their next training session when a servant entered the yard.

“Your Grace, your father requests your presence.”

Roman immediately broke off from the group. “Is it an immediate request, or do I have time to make myself presentable?”

“His Majesty is aware that you were in the training grounds, and it is not an urgent matter.”

⁂

Roman, cleaned up and outfitted in his dress uniform, knelt before his father’s throne, waiting to be spoken to. He felt a slight trickle of sweat on his neck, and he spared a moment to hope that he wouldn’t sweat on his face as well. He would hate to have the makeup he’d carefully applied get smeared. Yes, his scars were common knowledge, and weren’t ever fully made invisible even when he caked on concealer and foundation, but he knew his father preferred it to be less noticeable. His father, and most everyone else too.

He wondered, not for the first time, if his brother would continue to require Roman to wear makeup once he ascended to the throne. He was never quite sure how Remus felt about the whole process.

He looked up under his lashes to see Remus inclining his head to speak into their father’s ear, advising him on some court matter. It appeared he’d been to the castle barber today - his hair was neatly shorn and perfectly shaped. Not a single strand blocked the view of his defined cheekbones, round chin, or his smooth, unblemished skin. Ideal, without flaws. He looked just as one would expect him to, the future Face of the Kingdom.

Currently, he was frowning. He looked up and seemed to notice his brother kneeling.

“Roman, thank you for coming. Father and I need your advice on the next advance.”

Roman rose, finally, and walked over to the map spread on the table by the throne.

“We expect the vanguard to be entrenched at the top of the mountain, but we might be able to draw them out with a flank attack-”

“But we’d run the risk of getting pinned down by their artillery and archers-”

The three royals broke into a flurry of strategy and tactics, Roman giving an on-the-ground view from the thick of battle to his father and brother’s eagle’s-eye-view. He noted more than one moment where his father urged bold, aggressive, and risky strategies that made Remus hesitate. But each time, the crown prince agreed with his father’s methods. Through the involved discussion, a battle plan was crafted.

“I expect well of you both,” the king said, nodding decisively. “We will meet on the peak in three day’s time. Gather your men and arms.”

Roman and Remus both bowed to their father. Roman waited a moment to allow his brother to exit the throne room before him, but walked by his side through the hallways leading to the family quarters.

“Are you quite alright, Reme? You seemed distracted in council-”

“I’m fine, Ro,” his brother responded, cutting him off. “It’s just another battle. Good night.” He entered his room and shut the door behind him with a thud.

⁂

“-no need for such theatrics, Your Highness, it’s just another battle.”

Remus stared up at the general, hardly aware of the tears on his cheeks or the vomit still lining his mouth. He was 12, on his first trip with his father to the battlefield. He hadn’t been prepared.

His tutors had spent years stressing the need for the royal line to fight alongside their men. The glory of war was the glory of generals, directing and rallying troops, inspiring hope and righteous fury from the front of the charge. Remus, as heir, must be the generals’ General. Plain in speech, getting directly to the point. Curt. No fancifulness, lest he be distracted. He was instructed on how to be the perfect leader, the perfect soldier, and one day the perfect king.

But what they hadn’t told him was the reality that all soldiers knew: there is little glory on the field of war. There was the Cause at home, of course, a grand narrative that justified sending the troops out for King and Country, a declaration of glorious purpose and righteous smiting.

But on the field?

There had been the initial clash, of course, the charging of lines against one another. But that was where the resemblance to the theory Remus had been steeped in ended. He’d been brought to a battlefield and saw the charge, heard the horns and drums, and at first, his heart had swelled with the glory of which he’d only heard of.

Then he saw the aftermath. He saw the wounded scattered around like leaves after a storm, limbs detached and bloody like some terrible mockery of dolls, the flies buzzing over blown-out heads… he had barely made it out of the command tent before he started to vomit, long and hard, until he was heaving with nothing left to retch.

But the generals, and his father, had merely frowned and scoffed at his immaturity. Why did he dwell on this? It was a fact of life and war. He wasn't to mind it. He was to do his duty.

So Remus cleaned his mouth and pushed those sights to the back of his mind. They were to be expected, as part of the cleanup. No need to think about the wounded and marred.

Roman, the younger twin, was much older when he was brought to battle. He saw small skirmishes first, before the carnage of all-out war. But the sheen of glory faded for him too.

Remus remembered the voices of the public as they brought Roman home on a stretcher. The country’s champions were only supposed to lead, not get hurt. Or if they must be hurt, it wasn’t supposed to be in lasting or visible ways, they were supposed to at most suffer some injury, bravely soldier through, and return home triumphant in a sling. Why couldn’t Duke Roman have been properly injured, those who sat at home in their solars asked. A broken arm. A leg. Something that would heal and look dramatic doing it. Soldiers, especially noble ones, were expected to recover without a mark to show for it. Once the war had left the public consciousness, the injuries should have vanished, too. “Better to have been a martyr than to return home like that,” they whispered.

Not that Roman ever had a chance.

He’d been born with facial markings. Skin that looked almost painted with a pink mark, a wine stain imbued in the tan skin of his face. He looked wrong, the whispers said. Wrong for nobility. Certainly wrong for royalty. Imagine if such a one had been born the elder. How could such a one lead the nation, be the culmination of the bloodline and the clear face of morals that his people needed?

The king and queen had known of the double heartbeat, known that two children were on their way at once. And the nation and family knew, of course, that Remus was the elder, if only by half an hour. What a relief it was to know that the proper heir didn’t have such a deformity. The royals announced them both at once, hadn’t proclaimed each birth separately as was sometimes done. But then, of course, that was surely because of the queen, may she rest in peace. The midwives and servants didn’t speak of that day. Out of respect for her memory. A day of both joy and sorrow. King and country lost their beloved queen. But they gained the sons of the nation. Duke Roman, who served in battle honorably and mostly well. And Prince Remus, who was soft, and smooth, and blemish-free. A proper heir.

And he never returned from battle with injuries so dire they would leave unmistakable scars.

⁂

Three days later, Remus sat astride his charger, waiting for his father’s signal. The army’s flags snapped in the brisk wind, and he heard the creak and jingle of tack and armor around him as the soldiers shifted in place, maintaining formation as they waited.

The horn sounded, and Remus lifted his morning star with a yell and kneed his horse into a charge, soldiers streaming beside and behind him.

The fight was a blur. Remus remembered moments like the new technology of moving photographs, brief clips only a few seconds long. Catching a blow from an enemy horseman on his shield. Swinging his mace low and alongside his mount, catching a footsoldier from behind. Seeing Roman, bright in a white jacket that would soon be stained as he and his force streamed down a hill to join the fray.

It was just another battle. He played his role in the plan well, and their army won. He sat on a bench outside the command tent, cleaning his weapon and listening to reports. The victory was resounding - the only enemy soldiers not killed had been captured. The day was theirs.

Remus looked across the battlefield as one of his advisors continued to report. The ground was churned by the hooves of hundreds of horses, where it wasn’t obscured by bodies or fallen weapons. He found his eye caught on one lone body at the base of the hill from where he sat. An enemy soldier, now defeated. That's all the man should have been to him. Right?

But he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t. The man’s head was bloody, the wound jagged and terrible and... and it matched his morning star. The punctures, the dent, they matched the pattern perfectly. He’d just cleaned it - the blood and mud and matter had taken so much effort to clean. And there was where the blood had come from, that young man’s head, now part of the carnage, lying in a tangle of the fallen like logs ready to be burnt.

Remus’ hand started to shake, morning star still in his grasp.

“Your Highness? Are you alright?” the general asked.

Remus nodded, still shaking, and tried to flash the man a reassuring smile. His mouth split open, but it stretched too wide, too far, too fake. He started to laugh, air forcing itself out of his lungs in staccato bursts. The general’s eyes widened with nervousness, and he looked around them for someone else, anyone else to help.

Remus’ laugh went on and on, humorless and shrill. He couldn’t stop himself.

“Can't think about it, you know!" he cackled between laughs. "Can't dwell! It's a fact of life!"

The general backed away, heading for the other tents that housed the king and the other leaders.

When they returned to the hilltop, Remus was gone, without a trace. All that remained was a morning star, abandoned in the mud.

⁂

Two weeks later, the king paced the throne room fretfully.

“We fear the worst has happened to the Prince,” the king said. “An ambush, perhaps? Some straggler who escaped our forces, desperate for one last kill? Perhaps they recognized him and mean to ransom him, but wouldn’t we have received a demand letter by now? He’s clearly noble, anyone could tell that from a glance, why haven’t we received word? What shall we do without our heir? What will become of our nation?”

Roman stood at attention, silent. He had not heard from his brother either, but from the general’s report, he was far less optimistic that something so simple as kidnapping had occurred. But his father wouldn’t hear of it.

They hadn’t made an official announcement to the public, besides half-hearted excuses. But the rumors had begun, whispers noticing Prince Remus’ conspicuous absence. Only Duke Roman had presided with the King at the victory procession. How could the Prince allow “feeling under the weather” prevent him from attending? What was wrong?

Roman’s fingers beat an anxious rhythm on his sword hilt as he watched his father pace when they were both jolted by the loud slam of the throne room door opening.

In the doorway stood… well, it appeared to be Remus. But Remus had… changed.

His hair was long and straggly, and dyed a sickening swamp green. Metal spikes pierced the cartilage of his nose and ears, sprouting out like a mockery of armor. Studs were embedded in his cheeks. Black tears were inked under his eyes. His lips were painted a screeching shade of neon green, and when he smiled wide, they saw that his tongue had been disfigured, split into two.

They both stared, but Roman was the first to speak.

"Remus?" Roman asked. "I- we were so worried, what happened?"

"Oh I just got my head out of my ass, brother dear! Didn't want to be like all you shitheads anymore!" Turning to the king, the prince grinned lopsidedly "Daddykins, didn't you miss me? Did you have to slaughter children by yourself or did you bring ickle Romeo with you?"

"Remus!" Roman interrupted, shocked. "We don't-"

"Oh but we doooo!" Remus sang. "Me and Daddy do! We do our doody, don't we, Pop?"

The king finally spoke. "What," he demanded flatly. "Have you done to yourself."

Remus fluttered his eyelashes. "Oh I just stabbed my own face! Professionally, of course. almost as professionally as you with your broadsword. Not nearly as much blood, though, I know you'd be disappointed."

The prince approached the throne, heedless or because of the way the king recoiled from him.

"Hope I can still be your little boy, though, Poppy! Hope I can fill your big dick shoes! Can't you just wait for me to take on our glorious legacy? Aren't you delighted to hand off that big ol' crown to you eldest son?!"

"Let you be the face of the kingdom, looking like that? " his father said coldly. "Let you rule, when you have clearly abandoned all we hold dear?” The King rose, pointing past Remus with a finger that shook with rage. “Get out of our sight. We have only one son."

Remus grinned widely, and Roman realized with a sickening start that he hadn’t seen his brother smile this much since they were children.

“Whatever you desire, dearest darlingest popsicle!”

“Out!” the king roared, and Remus obeyed, his cackling laughter echoing back through the halls.

The king breathed deep, chest heaving as he calmed himself.

“Roman.”

The duke swallowed the lump in his throat to answer, “Yes, Father?”

“We name you Crown Prince, sole heir to our throne and fortune. We disown and disname the former Prince Remus. The realm places its full trust in you, our son.”

Roman knelt, hearing the unspoken end of the sentence. Don’t you dare fail.

“I thank you for this honor, father. I will serve to the best of my ability,” he said graciously.

The king took a medallion on ribbon from the wall - the sunburst seal of the royal house, only worn by kings and direct heirs. He placed it around Roman’s neck. “We- I know you will, Roman. I know you will be all that our country needs you to be.”

King and newly-named-prince made eye contact. The king’s eyes blazed, with anger and grief and unspoken warning: Don’t fuck up, like he did.

Roman bowed his head, lest his father see the heartbreak in his eyes.

You were what fucked him up.

⁂

Roman was introduced to the kingdom as the future king. It was not quite the joyous affair that Remus’ coming-of-age had been, not when the king spoke as if the former prince had died, when the announcement of Roman replacing him was practically perfunctory. When Roman had sat at his vanity for a full hour as the artists worked to cover up his birthmarks and battle scars. And for what? It wasn’t as if the kingdom didn’t already know that he was… imperfect. Marred. Flawed.

But appearances, his father told him coldly, must be maintained.

Roman was the heir, unable to be disowned too, not when the king had no more options. He needed the king’s advisors and generals to respect him if he were to ever properly reign. He needed the nobility to support him. He needed to get the ones in power, the Noble Council, to see past his face, to believe in his ability to rule despite his impurities. But he knew they would never be ignored.

Hadn’t he grown up with the whispers? Hadn’t he seen how others who were injured or disfigured be dismissed from court altogether? Hadn’t he watched as the mere rumor of a nobleman’s secret tattoo pushed him out of the public eye in shame? When a pair of clip-on earrings were scandalous just by resembling a body modification, what hope did Roman and his birthmark have to be accepted?

But he smiled, and waved, and spoke with the oldest generals, and accompanied his father to court days, and filled his role as heir. In battle, he was pulled into a higher level of command, no longer directing just his contingent of soldiers, but entire armies. He and his father led the charges still, of course, but he no longer trained with his men. His missed them, as he’d missed the relative privacy of being just a Duke instead of Prince. But it was his duty.

⁂

It had been months since Remus’ disownment when another major battle came to pass. The king brought Roman to the field with him, keeping him involved in the planning for the entire process. Roman was pleased to discover that the generals actually respected his strategic and tactical contributions - it seemed his closeness with his direct force had given him a keener sense of the risks and rewards of maneuvers that the command tent often lacked. That day, though, his father seemed a bit distracted. It didn’t seem to interfere with his reasoning or fighting, though. Not until the height of battle.

And then the King saw him. A young man with a morning star. It was a common-enough weapon for nobility, but... the boy had smooth skin and no scars and no piercings and he fought well, methodically and with only the required level of ferocity. He was a once-familiar sight on the field, one who had been there every battle until now.

And the king just... snapped.

He charged down the hill, ahead of the signal. Alone. It was unwise. Roman saw his father charge, tried to warn him back, tried to call to him and break through the distraction.

The King probably could not have articulated why he charged. It was out of anger, yes, but was it anger at the boy for being a reminder? Anger because of what he lost? Anger at Remus for no longer looking the way the young man did, for no longer being what the king had wished him to be?

He would never get a chance to explain.

The boy saw his danger. So did three of his fellows. The king brought no backup. He fell.

Roman continued the fight. What else could he have done?

The boy had frozen him too, a shadow from the past, one with a smile that Roman hadn’t seen on his twin’s face in years. Remus’ smiles had been growing stiffer ever since they were 12, pasted-on grins that never reached his eyes. And the last time he’d seen him- it had been even more unfamiliar. Manic. Pained. He’d laughed, but with no true amusement.

Even as he performed the steps of his role as heir, Roman couldn’t rid himself of the thought that the lack of genuine happiness in his brother’s face could only have been due to the king himself and the weight Remus had borne as the Crown Prince.

Roman ascended in the wake of his father’s death with that same weight, grown heavier through guilt and shame and the bitter knowledge that none of this was ever supposed to be him.

⁂

Roman had to be king. There was no one else. His father had been an only child. The next closest relatives were two different third cousins who were quite proud to be in the line of succession. If Roman wasn’t king, the country would fall into a civil war of family against family, fighting for the ‘truest’ claim to the throne.

The nobility accepted the necessity of his reign. That didn’t mean they were happy about it.

Whispers followed him through the halls, stopped suddenly as he entered the audience chamber, rumbled around him when he took his weekly rides through the capital city. He wanted to be an accessible king, one his people knew as more than just a bloodied general returning from the field. He even spent a single afternoon hoping that with enough exposure to his face and his scars, the country might grow to see past his appearance.

It was a foolish hope. Prejudices that have been passed down for over five generations don’t melt away because of one king, much less one who gained power under less than ideal circumstances.

And yet, it didn’t change his determination to be a presence in his people’s lives, not just a face seen from a distant castle balcony. After much cajoling and convincing of his personal guard, Roman began spending evenings mingling in the capital city restaurants and taverns. As a commander, he’d learned how best to let his soldiers get used to him, and he used this skill again across town, night after night. He would sit near the corner of the bar, or at a less-traffic corner of the dining room, or at the end of a shared table. He would eat quietly, only speaking when others greeted him, seemingly very focused on his food alone. And slowly, his fellow diners got over the shock of seeing their king among them and start chatting about their lives, their children, their heartbreaks and dreams. He would listen and nod and quietly pay their tabs, then leave before they got too embarrassed or self-conscious. And when it was commoners, it worked well. With the nobility, or the higher classes of commoners that desperately wanted to be nobility, he had to fend off the comments. Usually, it was surprise that his birthmark and scars were really that obvious. Or passive-aggressive comments about how it was “wonderful how cosmopolitan the Noble Council is these days.”

Roman would just grin and bluster and respond, “Royalty’s more than skin-deep, darling.”

It was just charming enough to satisfy most, or at least end that line of conversation, and he could go back to being a silent listener. But when eyes lingered on his birthmarks or traced down the long line of stitching scars down his cheek, he couldn’t help but flinch internally, preparing himself for the darts and daggers of judgment. The sting of disapproval never really faded, no matter how many times he endured it with a smile.

⁂

He risked it, one night, to go to a place he’d only heard about in hushed tones. It was a scandalous place, certainly not one that any self-respecting noble would be caught dead in. But Roman was desperate with hope. So without telling anyone, not even his bodyguard, he slipped out of the castle to visit Au Naturel.

The sign had been vandalized recently, bright red spray paint across it like blood splatters, but what could be expected when a slur was reclaimed with such audacity? Roman hesitated on the threshold, but surely it would be far worse to linger there on the street and risk being seen for minutes versus the seconds it would take him to enter or exit. With a deep breath, he walked inside.

The first thing he saw was a bouncer, a hulking man with navy blue hair and glasses. He stared down at Roman’s identification papers critically, eyebrows barely twitching in recognition of the kingdom’s regnal name. Roman tried to avoid staring, but the man was pierced in dozens of places, with visible tattoos curling out of the collar of the sensible black turtleneck. But he didn’t look distraught or distressed, just cool and collected.

Roman fought back a shiver of excitement as he reclaimed his papers and was welcomed into the heart of the bar with a wave.

He’d expected dim lights, maybe a smoke-obscured room, something out of the speakeasy fictions he’d read about in the edgier forms of media. Instead, there were golden lamps that lit everything well, and bright neon signs that threw off a rainbow of lights from the walls. The rainbows were reflected back off the many piercings in the crowd, off shiny gelled hair, even off prosthetic limbs. Roman had expected a huddled crowd of solidarity, of societal misfits in their one safe space. Instead, he found a party of delight, with faces that were all relaxed and at ease instead of just in temporary relief.

He shuffled to the bar, avoiding eye contact, a bit overwhelmed and unsure how to start mingling.

A smiling bartender greeted him. They had a mohawk, dyed in blues and purples with glitter sprinkled through like stars. They wore a lipstick of a startling bright shade of pink that contrasted with their tan skin. A huge silver hoop dangled from one ear lobe, accompanied by spikes around the cartilage, and they acknowledged Roman’s quiet request for a gin-and-tonic with a wink. As they turned to the racks of drinks, Roman realized with a start that their skin was perfectly smooth, besides the alterations. No visible scars or marks or even freckles, and the mesh shirt they wore meant much more skin was visible than normal. And yet, they were here. As they returned with Roman’s drink, they asked, “First night, hun?”

Roman nodded. “It’s not exactly what I expected.”

The bartender leaned, tilting down tinted glasses to fix Roman with a look. “What do you mean, babes?”

“I- the way people talk, I’d expected the folks here to be much more… I’m not sure. Bitter?”

“If there’s one thing I know about ‘people’, it’s that they always expect and want outcasts to be as miserable as they believe we ought be. But the owner puts a lot of effort into making this more than just an escape. She wants it to be an oasis. And she seeks out newbies to make sure they know it’s safe to just be here. Here, lemme introduce you, I think you’ll like her.”

Roman nodded his agreement, and watched the bartender flit and weave through the crowd, greeting people and they went. They were apparently a favorite, with patrons squeezing their shoulder or kissing them on the cheek as they passed. They only paused once, when they reached the stoic bouncer from the entrance. He was sitting in a booth, apparently on break, ignoring the room, until the bartender touched his shoulder gently and he turned to look at him with a smile lighting up his face. They exchanged a brief kiss, and then the bartender was sliding into a door labeled ‘Employees Only’.

Roman let his gaze roam. Everywhere, there thronged people with piercings and tattoos and colored contacts, and they all looked happy. He even saw others with scars and birthmarks like his own, but no one stared at them or seemed to care. And they couldn’t all be lashing back against trauma like Remus had, right?

“Welcome to Au Naturel, kiddo! I’m Patton, the owner.”

Roman turned to see a bright smile and an outstretched hand. The owner was like no one he’d ever seen. The majority of her skin was a dark, rich brown, but it was interrupted with splotches of pale skin. And where the skin was light enough to see, it was speckled with light brown spots. She was the kind of face that nobility put on dramatized posters of the ‘less fortunate’, those who were born with so many impurities that they clearly couldn’t hope to be any more than the lowest rung of the serving class. But here she stood, bright teeth flashing at Roman in the club she owned, in an atmosphere of pure joy that she’d created. A silver chain around her neck held a ring and a magenta charm affirming her pronouns.

Roman shook her hand gently. “It’s good to meet you, Patton. I’m Roman.”

“Oh, I know! Thank you for gracing my humble establishment with your presence, Your Majesty. I was a bit surprised when Remy told me who was sitting at the bar- I wasn’t sure if your facial marks were really as obvious as the gossips say.”

Roman cringed internally. He’d been recognized, clocked by bartender and owner, and he’d been here barely 20 minutes. The common refrain rolled off his tongue with the perfect intonation of repetition. “Well, royalty’s only skin-deep, darling.”

Patton blinked. “Oh- oh, Your Majesty, pardon me, I didn’t mean to offend.”

Roman faked a smile with practiced ease. “No offense, my lady.”

“No, I- I meant, I assumed they were exaggerating your appearance from just some small beauty mark, because I had assumed anyone who looked like us wouldn’t be allowed to ascend to the throne. I’m delighted that you’re real! And you have these beautiful marks of the gods’ favor, just like me, and you’re our King without having to cover them!”

Roman blinked, started to speak, then blinked again. “Marks of what?”

Patton grinned and sat next to Roman. “Of the gods’ favor, of course! You and I, we were painted in the womb, blessed with more than one color, claimed by more than one patron. Some people get just freckles, a smattering of kisses. Some get a beauty mark, a touch or two. But you and I, they couldn’t bear to refrain, and look at me! I got a whole big hug, from top to toe.”

Roman did look. And he found he got more and more confused by the second. Because here was this woman, multi-colored, a floppy fro bouncing in dark curls with strips of light blonde among them, speckled with freckles along her pale patches of skin. She was everything Roman had been told was impure, imperfect, pitiable- and yet, she was the most gorgeous creature he’d ever seen.

“I’ve… never thought of it that way,” he said softly. “Particularly with…” he trailed off, pointing to his scars.

“I don’t really trust the gossips on the news- how did you get these, King Roman?”

Roman traced the line on the back of his hand, remembering. “It was a particularly bad battle. A young soldier whose fellows had fallen on either side of him had a knife hidden in his belt. I was arrogant, back then, just foolish enough to believe that the norms of the battlefield would always be respected, that the separations of class meant anything in the melee. So I was caught completely unawares by the blade, thinking the young man was just a commoner and so no real threat. I was lucky, though. I survived.” Despite how the Noble Council reacted on my recovery.

Patton’s eyes softened. “I am glad you survived, Your Majesty. And gladder that the prejudices of some against your tapestry didn’t prevent you from becoming King.”

Roman ducked his head. “Thank you, Patton. And please- call me Roman.”

She giggled. “Oh, how scandalous, little ol’ me on a first-name basis with the King! At least let me comp your drink first!”

Roman felt his cheeks heating up as he watched her laugh, curls bouncing. “Please, I’m sure you pay more than your fair share of taxes already. Let me. Consider it a subsidy, if you must.”

Patton tilted her head, contemplating the royal man sitting in her bar. “If you insist, my liege,” she said with a sly smile.

Roman was sure he was visibly blushing now, but caught the owner’s hand in his. Brushing his lips against it, he looked up into Patton’s wide, blue eyes. “And insist I do.”

Patton was quiet for only a moment, before her face split open in a bright smile. “Oh, I like this one. I think we’ll just have to keep you.”

“Kidnapping a king? Now who’s being scandalous?”

“You can only kidnap someone if it’s against their will,” she replied with a wink.

Roman was saved from having to respond by the bartender returning. “Ooohh, Patty, I knew you had expensive taste, but flirting with actual royalty?”

Patton blew a kiss to her employee. “You would know, Remy.”

Roman realized he’d yet to let go of Patton’s hand, but didn’t feel particularly inclined to change that at this particular moment. Until Remy responded, “If even the absolute disgrace of the Dormions clan can recognize royalty, anyone can, but go off I guess.”

Roman turned. “You’re that Remy? Remington?”

Remy grimaced. “Yes, unfortunately. I was going to change my name entirely but Lo already got it tattooed so…”

Patton smacked them lightly. “No lying to new friends, Rem.”

“Fineee, I like the name if not the fam.”

Roman fiddled with his glass. “I- I’ve only heard the court gossip, but-”

Remy rolled their eyes. “Oh yeah, they love me. Perfect little first son completely wrecks and malforms himself and refuses to fit in the box we made for him! Which, while irritatingly misgendering, is all true. I came here on a dare once, tried to sneak in the back-”

“And then they met Logan!!” Patton interjected, hands cupping her cheeks in delight. “And it was love at first sight!”

“More like lust at first sight-”

“But then it became love, let me have this.”

Remy grinned fondly at their boss. “Yeah, it did. Lo was one of the first times I’d seen a real person with body mods outside of the PSAs and I had no idea how attractive they could be. I met him, we went off to-”

“Have a nice chat,” Patton interjected primly.

“Of course, Pat, I chatted at him for four straight hours,” they responded with a wink to Roman. “And then I had to come back and I started to get to know Patty here and the regulars and well... My parents were wrong about literally everything. Including thinking I was their son. But obviously, they didn’t love having that pointed out to them, so…” they trailed off with a shrug.

“Dramatic disownment, Patton hires you, you get your own tattoos and piercings?” Roman supplied.

“That’s about it, yeah.”

Roman looked around the room, the warm likes and mingling crowds. “I can see why you fell in love with it all so easily, why you wanted to have a place like this to call your own community.”

Patton reached out and squeezed Roman’s hand. “It’s yours too, now, Your Majesty- Roman. Please, feel free to come back whenever you like.”

⁂

The king was still hesitant to return. What if the other patrons hadn’t been as comfortable with his presence as Remy and Patton had been? What if he’d been spotted by less understanding people and they were waiting for his return to catch him in the act? And yet, he knew he needed to go back to Au Naturel. He’d learned so much in just one night, had his mind opened to so many different interpretations of the societal expectations that had plagued him his whole life. He couldn’t bear to never hear that again, to go back to the Noble Council and ignore the echoes in his brain that whispered “marks of the gods’ favor” whenever he looked in a mirror.

So two nights later, he steeled himself and made his way back to the bar. The same bouncer was at the door.

“Logan, was it?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded.

“It’s good to see you again.”

His brow unfurrowed, and he nodded again, this time with the slightest hint of a smile stretching out his pierced lips.

Roman smiled back, and entered the main room.

He made his way over to the bar more confidently this time, but was distracted by the crowd from looking at the bartender as he ordered.

“Oh holy fuck shit heck fuck?”

He turned to see a much younger bartender with dark black hair, bright purple lipstick, and hoop earrings staring at him wide-eyed and a bit panicked.

“Uh, sorry, have we met?”

The young man just stared and continued to swear under his breath until he took a deep breath and called out, “Remy?”

They returned from the far side of the bar and saw Roman. With a wave, they said, “Hey there, Majesty. Gin and tonic again?”

Roman nodded as Remy turned away, arm around the young bartender’s shoulders. It didn’t stop him from hearing their quiet conversation.

“You could have warned me that the actual king might come in-”

“I did!”

“I thought you were exaggerating! Or talking about a drag king-”

“Okay fair, but Patton agreed with me-”

“I thought he was humoring you!”

“Logan backed me up!”

“...he just smiled at you. He does that all the time.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t fully prepare you, Virge. I didn’t know if he’d come back.”

“He’s not going to- we’re safe, right?”

“Look at him, of course we’re safe. And also Patty charmed the pants off him, we’re fine.”

“...literally?”

“I mean, maybe, Pat doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Roman started to blush and realized it was probably time to indicate that their conversation wasn’t secret. “I’m right here,” he cut in. He smiled as both bartenders turned to face him. “Patton is indeed quite charming, but I believe I’ve retained my pants.”

Remy smirked, not missing a beat. “So far, anyway.”

Roman tried not to color further and was saved (or ruined) by the appearance of Patton himself. “Remy, are you poisoning Virgey’s mind again?”

The young man grimaced. “Sorry! Virgil’s mind,” Patton corrected, sliding into the seat next to Roman. “Good to see you again, Roman.”

“It’s good to see you as well, Patton. It’s alright that I’m back?”

“Of course it is!”

“Because if I’m making anyone uncomfortable, I don’t want to take this space away from them-”

Patton laid his hand over Roman’s on the bar. “This space is for you, too, Your Majesty. I think in some ways, those like us born into noble families need it even more. Not to say that anyone has it easy, but…”

“But it’s expected that lower classes are ‘imperfect’,” Virgil said, returning with Roman’s drink. His mouth was twisted into a bitter line. “And when you’re not, you never get to be yourself again.”

Roman looked at him curiously. “I confess, I have only been allowed to mingle with mixed classes in my command. What do you mean, if you don’t mind talking about it?”

Virgil looked at Patton with a question in his eyes. Patton smiled. “He’s safe, Virge. Promise.”

Virgil nodded and reached up to his ears. He removed his hoop earrings, showing that they were clip-ons and that his ears were unpierced. “According to this crap system, I’m ‘perfect’. I don’t have birthmarks or discoloration or even freckles. Which means of course I’ve been banned from getting tattoos or piercings or dying my hair. I keep this stuff here with Rem, because it’s the only place I can wear it without my parents getting… upset.”

Roman frowned. “They don’t hurt you, do they?”

Virgil laughed hollowly. “They never hit me, perish the thought, that might cause bruises. Or scars. But you may have noticed, nothing about this damn value system accounts for things like, you know, mental health. Or being well-fed. As long as it doesn’t go as far as like, hair falling out or jaundice.”

“But why enforce it?” Roman asked. “The families I know, it’s to maintain their status and reputation…”

Virgil clipped his earring back on, fiddling with it nervously. “If I’m being generous, it’s a hope thing. That if I can just look refined enough, I’ll be seen by a noble or someone who wants the status of a ‘perfect’ partner and be whisked up into a life of luxury. If you ask my parents, they’d say they’re trying to help me get a better life.”

“But you don’t agree with that.”

“Not for a fucking second. Sure, I believe they believe that. But they refuse to see how shitty it is in the meantime and explode at me when I object.” He adjusted his hoodie, playing with the zippers on his wrists. “This is the only place I can cover myself up this much. They want me to show off as much ‘perfect’ skin as possible, so I can be spotted. Even in the middle of the fucking winter. And even if I wasn’t freezing, it makes me a target. People hope for that Scarella story even if they don’t admit it. It’s like those people who enter the lottery constantly, hoping that with a fancy enough schedule of plastic surgery, one day they’ll be part of the beautiful people. So when they see someone who’s already smooth… they resent it. And they want to ruin it.” He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering despite the thick hoodie. Patton reached out and squeezed his elbow in reassurance, earning a weak smile.

Roman was quiet in contemplation. Sure, he knew it was the most classic trope in media - someone with a Pure Heart (as shown, of course, by their unblemished skin) was seen among the unclean masses and swept away into the sunset by a generous benefactor. He’d fantasized about it himself when he was younger, that someone would see his worth and help him fix his skin so that his outside could look like his inside. After his injuries added to it, though, he’d given up entirely. But to know that the trope caused such harm to people like Virgil…

“I’m sorry I haven’t done more to fix this, Virgil,” Roman said quietly. “I have influence and power, I should and I will.”

Virgil flashed him a wry smile. “I think you’re doing a lot by just appearing in public without covering up your scars, really. I don’t think it’s gonna change fast, but with your help, it might start changing.”

“But you’re at risk and it won’t be fast enough for you.”

“Yeah, I am at risk,” Virgil said with a shrug. “But I don’t need to be protected. With all due respect, Your Majesty. Rem & Lo keep my stuff for me, Pat makes sure I can still make it here, and I’m earning my own money to get out of my parents’ house. I have a plan to earn my own freedom. So don’t change all this shit for me. Change it for everyone else.”

Roman nodded. “I promise, I will.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “I mean, I believe you’ll try…”

Roman raised his hand, pinkie outstretched. “I will. I mean it.”

Virgil smiled, but linked his pinkie too. “You swear?”

“I swear.”

They shook solemnly, before both starting to snicker and laugh, Patton joining in too. But none of them doubted Roman’s determination, all the same.

⁂

Roman returned to Au Naturel multiple nights a week for two weeks straight before he finally managed to ask.

“Pat, how did you manage to open this place? And keep it open, despite, well, everything?”

The response was a melancholy grin as Patton fiddled with the ring on the chain around their neck, right next to their pronoun charm.

“I got a loan from my late fiancé, Diego. He was the son of a noble house.”

“Late? I don’t mean to cause you distress, dear Patton, you don’t need to talk about this if it will be painful-”

“No, no,” Patton explained, reaching out for Roman’s hand. “I- I want to talk about him. Because he was a wonderful man and remains a wonderful memory.”

Roman nodded in understanding and squeezed their hand reassuringly as Patton began to explain.

Diego, too, was one of a pair of twins. His brother was named Cedric, and they were identical in almost every way. The one way they weren’t was Cedric’s eczema. Their faces matched, their laughs sounded like echoes of each other’s, but Cee had red scratchy scales that grew and faded but never fully vanished, and Dee had none.

And according to Diego, Cedric was better. Smarter, kinder, more optimistic, a faster friend to those he met. Yet society valued Diego more because of a condition that could only be treated, never cured.

“And so Dee became a huge advocate for us ‘imperfect’ folks,” Patton said softly. “He used his smooth face as an entry into places we’re barred from, tried to use the family money and influence to change discrimination policies. But, well. One man can only do so much.”

Roman nodded somberly, in perfect understanding.

“There used to be underground meetings of people like us, the underbelly of the city. We rotated locations and kept moving to avoid the zoning laws that made it easy to kick us out at anyone’s request. We’d found Cee and invited him, and he brought Dee too. And I- oh, he was the first person who looked at my skin and saw a work of art,” Patton said with a misty smile, hugging their own torso at the warm memory. “And he had the idea of using his name, using their family’s money to establish this place. They couldn’t take the title away from me if it was under his name too, so after only a couple months of dating and falling madly in love, we got engaged. The deed is technically still under his name, which means it’s secure, and the city can’t take it back.

“But then the household draft came through, three years ago. I was safe,” Patton said with a wry twist to their normal smile. “It called for one son per house, and my family doesn’t acknowledge me as a son those times I want them to, much less for the state. Not that they know where to find me anymore. But - their family wanted to send Cee. Because he was more ‘expendable’. And they didn’t tell Dee until he was already gone off to war. Of course, I was scared for them both, but I knew how important Dee’s brother was to him, so when he said he needed to get to the front immediately, I didn’t hesitate. I gave him the money and advice from my friends here who’d survived previous wars. He listened to it all, then went off to go save his brother.”

Patton paused, a tear creeping along their cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Patton,” Roman said gently. “He didn’t make it back?”

“Neither of them did. Dee threw himself in front of a blow to shield Cee, but it wasn’t enough.”

Roman hesitated, then hugged them firmly. “I’ve lost so many of my soldiers, but it never gets easier. I can’t imagine what this loss has felt like to you.”

Patton hugged back. “Thank you, Roman. It’s been years, but remembering-”

“I know. It’s perfectly normal, my dear.”

Patton smiled up, eyes still shining with unshed tears. “Thank you for listening, Ro. It means a lot.”

“Anything you need from me, Pat. I’m here.”

The next day, Roman quietly requested a meeting with the head of the zoning board of the city, and used the royal seal to confirm Au Naturel s deed to not just Diego and Patton but to anyone Patton ever decided to transfer ownership too. A copy of the document found its way, without fanfare, into the files at the bar. Roman never brought attention to it, nor did Patton, but a golden drink was left at Roman’s typical seat that never appeared on his bill, and a portrait of the nation’s first scarred King found its way to hanging among their other icons above the rows of bottles.

⁂

And then, one night at Au Naturel, there was a new customer who most had never seen before. Or at least, they hadn’t seen this face before. But Roman had.

“...Remus?”

The former prince turned. He’d added more tattoos since the last time Roman had seen him, lines of red drops down his neck to his bare arms. His hair was spiked into a faux-hawk and it almost hit Roman as he turned to face him.

“Is that the golden boy? Romano Cheese Man?”

“Reme, it’s been months, I’ve-”

“Stop right there.” Remus interrupted. He held up a finger topped in an elaborately manicured nail. “Don’t you dare say you’ve missed me, Roman Candle. I haven’t been hiding, you could have found me.”

“I looked!” Roman insisted, reaching out to grab his brother’s arm. “I tried to look, at least, but Father and the generals forbid me to leave the castle-”

“Ooohhh, is the royal baby disobeying orders tonight?” Remus asked, eyebrows dancing.

Roman frowned. “Not exactly, not when there aren’t any…” He looked for any flicker of understanding and found none. “Reme. Have you not heard?”

“Heard what, that the country is just sooooo pleased to have just forgotten the embarrassment that was the old crown prince? Didn’t need to check with the town crier for that one, queen bee.”

Roman squeezed Remus’ arm, a lump forming in his throat. “Brother-”

“Don’t you call me that!” Remus snapped. “I’m not in the family anymore, don’t you remember anything-”

“Father’s dead, Remus!” Roman practically shouted. Remus went silent, eyes wide. “Father died and I have to be the goddamn king now, and I’ve been looking for you for months but no one wants to acknowledge you still and you left me to rule alone.” Roman’s voice cracked on the last word, and Remus stopped trying to pull away. His eyes darted around Roman, taking in the signet ring, the badly-concealed bags under his eyes, and the tear coursing down the royal cheek.

“...how did he die?”

Roman took a shuddering breath. “In the field. He charged alone, after an enemy soldier who looked just like you- well, you three years ago.”

“Did you charge with him? Trying to get back that old shell of a royal? It was never real, brother, just a bundle of neuroses wound so tightly they acted like a person-”

“I know that, Remus! You think I didn’t see how much he pushed you? You think I didn’t know what being in the field did to you?” The other patrons of the bar had edged away, giving the brothers space, while Patton watched nervously without moving from her seat at the bar. “Reme - all I ever wanted was to be able to help. I trained so hard in the hopes that maybe you would be able to sit out for a battle or two. Get a break from the violence. But he didn’t want me, didn’t want the charge to be led by this,” Roman said, gesturing at his own face. Tiredness showed in every inch of him as his shoulders slumped. “And look where that got him. He’s dead, I’m leading anyway, and both his sons are miserable.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Ro. I’m not miserable. I’m wonderful,” Remus replied. “I can do whatever and whoever the fuck I want to, now. No one breathing down my neck, no one saying I’m improper, no blood on my hands except for what I choose to be there.” He lifted his arm, showing off his tattoo, the line of red drops marching down his bicep and forearm and returning back up the inside of his wrist and elbow.

Roman looked down at the marks, blinked, and looked back up. Green eyes met green, as identical as the day they were born. “Are you really?”

Remus scoffed. “Of course I… well. I’m happier. Happier than I was. Wacky, isn’t it, I think my incredibly violent and restrictive upbringing may have given me some issues.”

“But you’re not just… I don’t know, bursting at the seams, doing whatever you think Father would have hated for the sole sake of knowing he would have hated it?”

Remus paused. “Hey, I didn’t come here to have my someone dig through my head, I only wanted someone to give me head-”

“Reme!”

“What, it’s true!”

“We were having a moment-”

“And I was planning on a different kind of moment!”

Roman frowned at his brother, ready to keep arguing, but instead, he started to laugh, and Remus did too, and soon there were just two very similar-looking men leaning on the bar, wheezing with laughter.

Roman wiped his eyes. “You really are happier.”

Remus smiled. “I really am. I’m… still working it out. What’s terrible by his standards versus the society’s. Which society standards are probably actually shit and which make sense. I don’t understand it all. But I will.”

Roman impulsively flung his arms around his twin. “I believe in you, Reme. Just, please- don’t leave me to do this alone?”

Remus pushed Roman a bit back, holding him by the arms. “I’m not coming back to the palace, Ro. I can’t do that. I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have to. But you’re still my brother. As long as I’m the head of the family, you’re part of it. And I…” Roman looked back at where Patton was chatting to other patrons. “I have a lot to learn about what our society is doing to people. We both have a lot to learn, and unlearn. Can you help me?”

Remus grimaced. “Of course I’ll be your brother, but…”

“It doesn’t have to be official- no ‘advisor’ or any title unless you want one. But dammit, if you don’t deserve the crown’s money after all you had to do in its service- any land you want, any title, any income, say the word and it’s yours, Reme. Just, please... don’t shut me out.”

Remus looked down, and back up. He raised his hand and traced Roman’s birthmark lightly. “Can I get this as a tattoo on my face, too?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Well, twins should match, shouldn’t we?”

Roman smiled, understanding perfectly. “Yeah, twins should match. Scars and all.”

⁂

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grigori77 · 5 years

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2019 in Movies - My Top 30 Fave Movies (Part 3)

10. HOW TO TRAIN YOUR DRAGON: THE HIDDEN WORLD – while I love Disney and Pixar as much as the next movie nut, since the Millennium my loyalty has been slowly but effectively usurped by the consistently impressive (but sometimes frustratingly underappreciated) output of Dreamworks Animation Studios, and in recent years in particular they really have come to rival the House of Mouse in both the astounding quality of their work and their increasing box office reliability. But none of their own franchises (not even Shrek or Kung Fu Panda) have come CLOSE to equalling the sheer, unbridled AWESOMENESS of How to Train Your Dragon, which started off as a fairly loose adaptation of Cressida Cowell’s popular series of children’s stories but quickly developed a very sharp mind of its own – the first two films were undisputable MASTERPIECES, and this third and definitively FINAL chapter in the trilogy matches them to perfection, as well as capping the story off with all the style, flair and raw emotional power we’ve come to expect. The time has come to say goodbye to diminutive Viking Hiccup (Jay Baruchel, as effortlessly endearing as ever) and his adorable Night Fury mount/best friend Toothless, fiancée Astrid (America Ferrera, still tough, sassy and WAY too good for him), mother Valka (Cate Blanchett, classy, wise and still sporting a pretty flawless Scottish accent) and all the other Dragon Riders of the tiny, inhospitable island kingdom of Berk – their home has become overpopulated with scaly, fire-breathing denizens, while a trapper fleet led by the fiendish Grimmel the Grisly (F. Murray Abraham delivering a wonderfully soft-spoken, subtly chilling master villain) is beginning to draw close, prompting Hiccup to take up his late father Stoick (Gerard Butler returning with a gentle turn that EASILY prompts tears and throat-lumps) the Vast’s dream of finding the fabled “Hidden World”, a mysterious safe haven for dragon-kind where they can be safe from those who seek to do them harm. But there’s a wrinkle – Grimmel has a new piece of bait, a female Night Fury (or rather, a “Light Fury”), a major distraction that gets Toothless all hot and bothered … returning writer-director Dean DeBlois has rounded things off beautifully with this closer, giving loyal fans everything they could ever want while also introducing fresh elements such as intriguing new environments, characters and species of dragons to further enrich what is already a powerful, intoxicating world for viewers young and old (I particularly love Craig Ferguson’s ever-reliable comic relief veteran Viking Gobber’s brilliant overreactions to a certain adorably grotesque little new arrival), and like its predecessors this film is just as full of wry, broad and sometimes slightly (or not so slightly) absurd humour and deep down gut-twisting FEELS as it is of stirring, pulse-quickening action sequences and sheer, jaw-dropping WONDER, so it’s as nourishing to our soul as it is to our senses. From the perfectly-pitched, cheekily irreverent opening to the truly devastating, heartbreaking close, this is EXACTLY the final chapter we’ve always dreamed of, even if it does hurt to see this most beloved of screen franchises go. It’s been a wild ride, and one that I think really does CEMENT Dreamworks’ status as one of the true giants of the genre …

9. TERMINATOR: DARK FATE – back in 1984, James Cameron burst onto the scene with a stone-cold PHENOMENON, a pitch-perfect adrenaline-fuelled science fiction survival horror that spawned a million imitators but has never truly been equalled. Less than a decade later, he revisited that universe with a much bigger and far bolder vision, creating an epic action adventure that truly changed blockbuster cinema for the better (or perhaps worse, depending on how you want to look at it), but, with its decidedly final, full-stop climax, also effectively rendered itself sequel-proof. Except that Hollywood had other ideas, the unstoppable money machine smelling potential profit and deciding to milk this particular cash cow for all it was worth – on the small screen, it was the impressive but ultimately intrinsically limited Sarah Connor Chronicles, while on the big screen they cranked out THREE MORE sequels, Sony Pictures starting with straightforward retread Rise of the Machines and following with post-apocalyptic marmite movie Salvation, while Twentieth Century Fox then tried a sort-of soft reboot follow-up to T2 in Genisys. These were all interesting in their own way (personally, I like them all, particularly Salvation), but ultimately suffered from diminishing returns and whiffed strongly of trying too hard without quite getting the point. Cameron himself had long since washed his hands of the whole affair, and it looked like that might well be it … but then Skydance Productions founder David Ellison thought up a new take to breathe much needed new life into the franchise, and enlisted Cameron’s help to usher it in properly, with Deadpool director Tim Miller the intriguing but ultimately inspired choice to helm the project. The end result wisely chooses to paint right over all the pretenders, kicking off right where Judgement Day left off, and as well as Cameron being heavily involved in the story itself, draws another ace with the long-awaited ON-SCREEN return of Linda Hamilton in the role that’s pretty much defined her career, hardboiled survivor Sarah Connor. I’ll leave the details of her return for newcomers to discover, suffice to say she gets caught up in the chase when a new, MUCH more advanced terminator is sent back in time to kill unassuming young Mexican factory worker Dani Ramos (Natalia Reyes). Of course, the future resistance has once again sent a protector back to watch her back, Grace (Blade Runner 2049’s Mackenzie Davis), a cybernetically-enhanced super-soldier specifically outfitted to combat terminators, who reluctantly agrees to team up with the highly experienced Sarah in order to keep Dani alive. Arnold Schwarzenegger once again returns to the role that truly made him a star (of course, how could he not?), and he for one has clearly not lost ANY of his old love or enthusiasm for playing the old T-800, but revealing exactly HOW he comes into the story this time would give away too much; the new terminator, meanwhile, is brilliantly portrayed by Gabriel Luna (probably best known for playing Ghost Rider in Marvel’s Agents of SHIELD), who brings predatory menace and an interesting edge of subtle, entitled arrogance to the role of Rev-9. Ultimately though, this is very much the ladies’ film, the three leads dominating the action and drama both as they kick-ass and verbally spar in equal measure, their chemistry palpably strong throughout – Hamilton is as badass as ever, making Sarah even more of a take-no-shit survivalist burnout than she ever was in T2, and she’s utterly mesmerising in what’s EASILY her best turn in YEARS, while Reyes goes through an incredible transformative character arc as she’s forced to evolve from terrified salary-girl to proto she-warrior through several pleasingly organic steps … my greatest pleasure, however, definitely comes from watching Mackenzie Davis OWN the role of Grace, investing her with an irresistible mixture of icy military precision, downright feral mother lion ferocity and a surprisingly sweet innocence buried underneath all the bravado, thus creating one of my favourite ass-kicking heroines not just for the year but this past decade entirely. Unsurprisingly, in the hands of old hand Tim Miller (working from a screenplay headlined by Blade and Batman Begins scribe David Goyer) this is a pulse-pounding thrill ride that rarely lets its foot up off the pedal, but thankfully the action is ALWAYS in service to the story, each precision-crafted set piece engineered to perfection as we power through high speed chases, explosive shootouts and a succession of bruising heavy metal smackdowns, but thankfully there’s just as much attention paid to the characters and the story – given the familiarity of the tale there’s inevitably a certain predictability to events, but Miller and co. still pull off a few deftly handled surprise twists, while character development always feels organic. Best of all, this genuinely feels like a legitimate part of the original Terminator franchise, Cameron and Hamilton’s returns having finally brought back the old magic that’s been missing for so long. I’d definitely be willing to sign up for more of this – such a shame then that, thanks to the film’s frustrating underperformance at the box office, it looks like this is gonna be it after all. Damn it …

8. DOCTOR SLEEP – first up, before I say anything else about this latest Stephen King screen adaptation, I HAVE NOT yet got round to reading the original novel yet, so I can’t speak to how it compares. That said, I HAVE read The Shining, to which the book is a direct sequel, so I DO know about at least one of the major, KEY changes, and besides, this is actually a sequel to Stanley Kubrick’s MOVIE of The Shining, which differed significantly from its own source material anyway, so there’s that … yeah, this is a complicated kettle of fish even BEFORE we get down to the details. Suffice to say, you don’t have to have read the book to get this movie, but a working knowledge of Kubrick’s horror classic may at least help you get some context before watching this … anyways, enough with the confusion, on to the meat of the matter – this is a CRACKING horror movie by any stretch, and, for me, one of the strongest King horrors to make it to the big screen in quite some time. Of course it helps no end to have a filmmaker of MAJOR calibre at the helm, and there are few working in horror at the moment with whom I am quite so impressed as Mike Flanagan, writer-director of two of this past decade’s definitive horrors (at least for me), Oculus and Hush, as well as a BLINDING TV series adaptation of The Haunting of Hill House for Netflix – the man is an absolute master of the craft, incredibly skilled with all the tricks of this particular genre’s trade, and, as it turns out, a perfect fit with King’s material. Following on from The Shining, then, we learn what happened to the kid, Danny Torrance, after he and his mother left the Overlook Hotel in the wake of his father’s psychotic break driven by monstrous apparitions “living” in the cursed halls, following him from childhood as he initially shuns the psychic gifts (or “shine”) he was taught to use by the hotel’s late caretaker, Dick Halloran. It’s only in later years, as he fights to overcome his alcoholism and self-destructive lifestyle, that he reconnects with that power, just in time to discover psychic “pen-pal” Abra Stone, an immensely powerful young psychic. Which leads us to the present day, when Abra, now a teenager, becomes the target of the True Knot, a group of psychic vampires who travel America hunting and killing young people with psychic abilities in order to consume their “smoke” (basically the stuff of their “shines”), thus expanding their already unnatural lifespans – they’re tracking Abra, and they’re getting close, and only her “Uncle Dan” can save her from them. Ewan McGregor is PERFECT as the grown-up Dan, delivering one of his career-best turns as he captures the world-weary seriousness of someone who’s seen, felt and had to do things no-one should, especially when he was so very young, the kinds of things that colour a soul for their entire life, and he’s clearly DESPERATE not to become his father; newcomer Kyleigh Curran, meanwhile, is an absolute revelation as Abra, bringing depth and weight far beyond her years to the role, but never losing sight of the fact that, under all the power, she’s ultimately still just a child; there are also excellent supporting turns from the likes of Cliff Curtis as Dan’s best friend and AA sponsor Billy Freeman, Zahn McClarnon (Longmire, Fargo season 2) and Emily Lind (Revenge, Code Black) as True Knot members Crow Daddy and Snakebite Annie, and Carl Lumbly (Cagney & Lacey, TV’s Supergirl), who beautifully replaces deceased original actor Scatman Crothers in the role of Dick. The film’s tour-de-force performance, however, comes from Rebecca Ferguson as Rose the Hat, leader of the True Knot – they’re an intriguing bunch of villains, very well written and fleshed out, and it’s clear they have genuine love for one another, like a real family, which makes it hard not to sympathise with them a little bit, and this is none more true than in Rose, whom Ferguson invests with so much light and warmth and intriguing, complex character, as well as a fantastic streak of playful mischief that makes her all the more riveting in those times when they then turn around and do some truly heinous, unforgivable things … as horror movies go this is the cream of the crop, but Flanagan has purposefully kept away from jump scares and the more flashy stuff, preferring, like Kubrick in The Shining, to let the insidious darkness bubble up underneath good and slow, drawing out the creepiness and those most unsettling, twisted little touches the author himself is always so very good at. Intent can be such a scary thing, and Flanagan gets it, so that’s just what he uses here. As a result this is a fantastic slow-burn creep-fest that constantly works its way deeper under your skin, building to a phenomenal climax that, (perversely) thanks in no small part to the differences between both novels and films, pays as much loving tribute to Kubrick’s visionary landmark as the original novel of The Shining. For me, this is Flanagan’s best film to date, and as far as Stephen King adaptations go I consider this to be right up there with the likes of The Mist and The Green Mile. Best of all, I think he’d be proud of it too …

7. SPIDER-MAN: FAR FROM HOME – summer 20019 was something of a decompression period for fans of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, with many of us recovering from the sheer emotional DEVASTATION of the grand finale of Phase 3, Avengers: Endgame, so the main Blockbuster Season’s entry really needed to be light and breezy, a blessed relief after all that angst and loss, much like Ant-Man & the Wasp was last year as it followed Infinity War. And it is, by and large – this is as light-hearted and irreverent as its predecessor, following much the same goofy teen comedy template as Homecoming, but there’s no denying that there’s a definite emotional through-line from Endgame that looms large here, a sense of loss the film fearlessly addresses right from the start, sometimes with a bittersweet sense of humour, sometimes straight. But whichever path the narrative chooses, the film stays true to this underlying truth – there have been great and painful changes in this world, and we can’t go back to how it was before, no matter how hard we try, but then perhaps we shouldn’t. This is certainly central to our young hero’s central arc – Peter Parker (Tom Holland) is in mourning, and not even the prospect of a trip around Europe with his newly returned classmates, together with the chance to finally get close to M.J. (Zendaya), maybe even start a relationship, can entirely distract him from the gaping hole in his life. Still, he’s gonna give it his best shot, but it looks like fate has other plans for our erstwhile Spider-Man as superspy extraordinaire Nick Fury (Samuel L. Jackson) comes calling, basically hijacking his vacation with an Avengers-level threat to deal with, aided by enigmatic inter-dimensional superhero Quentin Beck, aka Mysterio (Jake Gyllenhaal), who has a personal stake in the mission, but as he’s drawn deeper into the fray Peter discovers that things may not be quite as they seem. Of course, giving anything more away would of course dumps HEINOUS spoilers on the precious few who haven’t yet seen the film – suffice to say that the narrative drops a MAJOR sea-change twist at the midpoint that’s EVERY BIT as fiendish as the one Shane Black gave us in Iron Man 3 (although the more knowledgeable fans of the comics will likely see it coming), and also provides Peter with JUST the push he needs to get his priorities straight and just GET OVER IT once and for all. Tom Holland again proves his character is the most endearing teenage geek in cinematic history, his spectacular super-powered abilities and winning underdog perseverance in the face of impossible odds still paradoxically tempered by the fact he’s as loveably hopeless as ever outside his suit; Mysterio himself, meanwhile, frequently steals the film out from under him, the strong bromance they develop certainly mirroring what Peter had with Tony Stark, and it’s a major credit to Gyllenhaal that he so perfectly captures the essential dualities of the character, investing Beck with a roguish but subtly self-deprecating charm that makes him EXTREMELY easy to like, but ultimately belying something much more complex hidden beneath it; it’s also nice to see so many beloved familiar faces returning, particularly the fantastically snarky and self-assured Zendaya, Jacob Batalon (once again pure comedy gold as Peter’s adorably nerdy best friend Ned), Tony Revolori (as his self-important class rival Flash Thompson) and, of course, Marisa Tomei as the ever-pivotal Aunt May, as well as Jackson and Cobie Smoulders as dynamite SHIELD duo Fury and his faithful lieutenant Maria Hill, and best of all Jon Favreau gets a MUCH bigger role this time round as Happy Hogan. Altogether this is very much business as usual for the MCU, the well-oiled machine unsurprisingly turning out another near-perfect gem of a superhero flick that ticks all the required boxes, but a big part of the film’s success should be attributed to returning director Jon Watts, effectively building on the granite-strong foundations of Homecoming with the help of fellow alumni Chris McKenna and Erik Sommers on screenplay duty, for a picture that feels both comfortingly familiar and rewardingly fresh, delivering on all the required counts with thrilling action and eye candy spectacle, endearingly quirky character-based charm and a typically winning sense of humour, and plenty of understandably powerful emotional heft. And, like always, there are plenty of fan-pleasing winks and nods and revelations, and the pre-requisite mid- and post-credit teasers too, both proving to be some proper game-changing corkers. Another winner from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, then, but was there really ever any doubt?

6. US – back in 2017, Jordan Peele made the transition from racially-charged TV and stand-up comedy to astounding cinemagoers with stunning ease through his writer-director feature debut Get Out, a sharply observed jet black comedy horror with SERIOUS themes that was INSANELY well-received by audiences and horror fans alike. Peele instantly became ONE TO WATCH in the genre, so his follow-up feature had A LOT riding on it, but this equally biting, deeply satirical existential mind-bender is EASILY the equal of its predecessor, possibly even its better … giving away too much plot detail would do great disservice to the many intriguing, shocking twists on offer as middle class parents Adelaide and Gabe Wilson (Black Panther alumni Lupita Nyong’o and Winston Duke) take their children, Zora (Shahadi Wright Joseph) and Jason (Evan Alex), to Santa Cruz on vacation, only to step into a nightmare as a night-time visitation by a family of murderous doppelgangers signals the start of a terrifying supernatural revolution with potential nationwide consequences. The idea at the heart of this film is ASTOUNDINGLY original, quite an achievement in a genre where just about everything has been tried at least once, but it’s also DEEPLY subversive, as challenging and thought-provoking as the themes visited in Get Out, but also potentially even more wide-reaching. It’s also THOROUGHLY fascinating and absolutely TERRIFYING, a peerless exercise in slow-burn tension and acid-drip discomfort, liberally soaked in an oppressive atmosphere so thick you could choke on it if you’re not careful, such a perfect horror master-class it’s amazing that this is only Peele’s second FEATURE, never mind his sophomore offering IN THE GENRE. The incredibly game cast really help, too – the four leads are all EXCEPTIONAL, each delivering fascinatingly nuanced performances in startlingly oppositional dual roles as both the besieged family AND their monstrous doubles, a feat brilliantly mimicked by Mad Men and The Handmaid’s Tale-star Elisabeth Moss, Tim Heidecker and teen twins Cali and Noelle Sheldon as the Wilsons’ friends, the Tylers, and their similarly psychotic mimics. The film is DOMINATED, however, by Oscar-troubler Nyong’o, effortlessly holding our attention throughout the film with yet another raw, intense, masterful turn that keeps up glued to the screen from start to finish, even as the twists get weirder and more full-on brain-mashy. Of course, while this really is scary as hell, it’s also often HILARIOUSLY funny, Peele again poking HUGE fun at both his intended audience AND his allegorical targets, proving that scares often work best when twinned with humour. BY FAR the best thing in horror in 2019, Us shows just what a master of the genre Jordan Peele is, and it looks like he’s here to stay …

5. KNIVES OUT – with The Last Jedi, writer-director Rian Johnson divided audiences so completely that he seemed to have come perilously close to ruining his career. Thankfully, he’s a thick-skinned auteur with an almost ridiculous amount of talent, and he’s come bouncing back as strong as ever, doing what he does best. His big break feature debut was with Brick, a cult classic murder mystery that was, surprisingly, set in and around a high school, and his latest has some of that same DNA as Johnson crafts a fantastic sleuthy whodunit cast in the classic mould of Agatha Christie, albeit shot through with his own wonderfully eclectic verve, wit and slyly subversive streak. Daniel Craig holds court magnificently as quirky and flamboyant Deep South private detective Benoit Blanc, summoned to the home of newly-deceased star crime author Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer) to investigate his possible murder and faced with a veritable web of lies, deceit and twisting knives as he meets the maybe-victim’s extensive and INCREDIBLY dysfunctional family, all of whom are potential suspects. Craig is thoroughly mesmerising throughout, clearly having the time of his life in one of his career-best roles, while the narrative focus is actually, interestingly, given largely to Ana de Armas (Blade Runner 2049 and soon to be seen with Craig again in the latest Bond-flick No Time To Die), who proves equally adept at driving the film as Harlan’s sweet but steely and impressively resourceful nurse Marta Cabrera, whose own involvement in the case it would do the film a massive disservice to reveal. The rest of the Thrombey clan are an equally intriguing bunch, all played to the hilt by an amazing selection of heavyweight talent that includes Jamie Lee Curtis, Michael Shannon, Toni Collette and It’s Jaeden Martell, but the film is, undeniably, DOMINATED by Chris Evans as Harlan’s black sheep grandson Ransom, the now former Captain America clearly enjoying his first major post-MCU role as he roundly steals every scene he’s in, effortlessly bringing back the kind of snarky, sarcastic underhanded arrogance we haven’t seen him play since his early career and entertaining us thoroughly. Johnson has very nearly outdone himself this time, weaving a gleefully twisty web of intrigue that viewers will take great pleasure in watching Blanc untangle, even if we’re actually already privy to (most of) the truth of the deed, and he pulls off some diabolical twists and turns as we rattle towards an inspired final reveal which genuinely surprises. He’s also generously smothered the film with oodles of his characteristically dry, acerbic wit, wonderfully tweaking many of the classic tropes of this familiar little sub-genre so this is at once a loving homage to the classics but also a sly, skilful deconstruction. Intriguing, compelling, enrapturing and often thoroughly hilarious, this is VERY NEARLY the best film he’s ever made. Only the mighty Looper remains unbeaten …

4. CAPTAIN MARVEL – before the first real main event of not only the year’s blockbusters but also, more importantly, 2019’s big screen MCU roster, Marvel Studios president Kevin Feige and co dropped a powerful opening salvo with what, it turns out, was the TRUE inception point of the Avengers Initiative and all its accompanying baggage (not Captain America: the First Avenger, as we were originally led to believe). For me, this is simply the MCU film I have MOST been looking forward to essentially since the beginning – the onscreen introduction of my favourite Avenger, former US Air Force Captain Carol Danvers, the TRUE Captain Marvel (no matter what the DC purists might say), who was hinted at in the post credits sting of Avengers: Infinity War but never actually seen. Not only is she the most powerful Avenger (sorry Thor, but it’s true), but for me she’s also the most badass – she’s an unstoppable force of (cosmically enhanced) nature, with near GODLIKE powers (she can even fly through space without needing a suit!), but the thing that REALLY makes her so full-on EPIC is her sheer, unbreakable WILL, the fact that no matter what’s thrown at her, no matter how often or how hard she gets knocked down, she KEEPS GETTING BACK UP. She is, without a doubt, the MOST AWESOME woman in the entire Marvel Universe, both on the comic page AND up on the big screen. Needless to say, such a special character needs an equally special actor to portray her, and we’re thoroughly blessed in the inspired casting choice of Brie Larson, who might as well have been purpose-engineered exclusively for this very role – she’s Carol Danvers stepped right out of the primary-coloured panels, as steely cool, unswervingly determined and strikingly statuesque as she’s always been drawn and scripted, with just the right amount of twinkle-eyed, knowing smirk and sassy humour to complete the package. Needless to say she’s the heart and soul of the film, a pure joy to watch throughout, but there’s so much more to enjoy here that this is VERY NEARLY the most enjoyable cinematic experience I had all year … writer-director double-act Anna Boden and Ryan Fleck may only be known for smart, humble indies like Half Nelson and Mississippi Grind, but they’ve taken to the big budget, all-action blockbuster game like ducks to water, co-scripting with Geneva Robertson-Dworet (writer of the Tomb Raider reboot movie and the long-gestating third Sherlock Holmes movie) to craft yet another pitch-perfect MCU origin story, playing a sneakily multilayered, misleading game of perception-versus-truth as we’re told how Carol got her powers and became the unstoppable badass supposedly destined to turn the tide in a certain Endgame … slyly rolling the clock back to the mid-90s, we’re presented with a skilfully realised mid-90s period culture clash adventure as Carol, a super-powered warrior fighting for the Kree Empire against the encroaching threat of the shape-shifting Skrulls, crash-lands in California and winds up uncovering the hidden truth behind her origins, with the help of a particular SHIELD agent, before he wound up with an eye-patch and a more cynical point-of-view – yup, it’s a younger, fresher Nick Fury (the incomparable Samuel L. Jackson, digitally de-aged with such skill it’s really just a pure, flesh-and-blood performance). There’s action, thrills, spectacle and (as always with the MCU) pure, skilfully observed, wry humour by the bucket-load, but one of the biggest strengths of the film is the perfectly natural chemistry between the two leads, Larson and Jackson playing off each other BEAUTIFULLY, no hint of romantic tension, just a playfully prickly, banter-rich odd couple vibe that belies a deep, honest respect building between both the characters and, clearly, the actors themselves. There’s also sterling support from Jude Law as Kree warrior Yon-Rogg, Carol’s commander and mentor, Ben Mendelsohn, slick, sly and surprisingly seductive (despite a whole lot of make-up) as Skrull leader Talos, returning MCU-faces Clark Gregg and Lee Pace as rookie SHIELD agent Phil Coulson (another wildly successful de-aging job) and Kree Accuser Ronan, Annette Bening as a mysterious face from Carol’s past and, in particular, Lashana Lynch (Still Star-Crossed, soon to be seen in No Time To Die) as Carol’s one-time best friend and fellow Air Force pilot Maria Rambeau, along with the impossibly adorable Akira Akbar as her precocious daughter Monica … that said, the film is frequently stolen by a quartet of ginger tabbies who perfectly capture fan-favourite Goose the “cat” (better known to comics fans as Chewie). This is about as great as the MCU standalone films get – for me it’s up there with the Russo’s Captain America films and Black Panther, perfectly pitched and SO MUCH FUN, but with a multilayered, monofilament-sharp intelligence that makes it a more cerebrally satisfying ride than most blockbusters, throwing us a slew of skilfully choreographed twists and narrative curveballs we almost never see coming, and finishing it off with a bucket-load of swaggering style and pure, raw emotional power (the film kicks right off with an incredibly touching, heartfelt tear-jerking tribute to Marvel master Stan Lee). Forget Steve Rogers – THIS is the Captain MCU fans need AND deserve, and I am SO CHUFFED they got my favourite Avenger so totally, perfectly RIGHT. I can die happy now, I guess …

3. JOHN WICK CHAPTER 3 – needless to say, those who know me should be in no doubt why THIS was at the top of my list for summer 2019 – this has EVERYTHING I love in movies and more. Keanu Reeves is back in the very best role he’s ever played, unstoppable, unbeatable, un-killable hitman John Wick, who, when we rejoin him mere moments after the end of 2017’s phenomenal Chapter 2, is in some SERIOUSLY deep shit, having been declared Incommunicado by the High Table (the all-powerful ruling elite who run this dark and deadly shadowy underworld) after circumstances forced him to gun down an enemy on the grounds of the New York Continental Hotel (the inviolable sanctuary safe-house for all denizens of the underworld), as his last remaining moments of peace tick away and he desperately tries to find somewhere safe to weather the initial storm. Needless to say the opening act of the film is ONE LONG ACTION SEQUENCE as John careers through the rain-slick streets of New York, fighting off attackers left and right with his signature brutal efficiency and unerring skill, perfectly setting up what’s to come – namely a head-spinning, exhausting parade of spectacular set pieces that each put EVERY OTHER offering in every other film this past year to shame. Returning director Chad Stahelski again proves that he’s one of the very best helmsmen around for this kind of stuff, delivering FAR beyond the call on every count as he creates a third entry to a series that continues to go from strength to strength, while Keanu once again demonstrates what a phenomenal screen action GOD he is, gliding through each scenario with poise, precision and just the right balance of brooding charm and so-very-done-with-this-shit intensity and a thoroughly enviable athletic physicality that really does put him on the same genre footing as Tom Cruise. As with the first two chapters, what plot there is is largely an afterthought, a facility to fuel the endless wave of stylish, wince-inducing, thoroughly exhilarating violent bloodshed, as John cuts another bloody swathe through the underworld searching for a way to remove the lethal bounty from his head while an Adjudicator from the High Table (Orange Is the New Black’s Asia Kate Dillon) arrives in New York to settle affairs with Winston (Ian McShane), the manager of the New York Continental, and the Bowery King (Laurence Fishburne) for helping John create this mess in the first place. McShane and Fishburne are both HUGE entertainment in their fantastically nuanced large-than-life roles, effortlessly stealing each of their scenes, while the ever-brilliant Lance Reddick also makes a welcome return as Winston’s faithful right-hand Charon, the concierge of the Continental, who finally gets to show off his own hardcore action chops when trouble arrives at their doorstep, and there are plenty of franchise newcomers who make strong impressions here – Dillon is the epitome of icy imperiousness, perfectly capturing the haughty superiority you’d expect from a direct representative of the High Table, Halle Berry gets a frustratingly rare opportunity to show just how seriously badass she can be as former assassin Sofia, the manager of the Casablanca branch of the Continental and one of John’s only remaining allies, Game of Thrones’ Jerome Flynn is smarmy and entitled as her boss Berrada, and Anjelica Houston is typically classy as the Director, the ruthless head of New York’s Ruska Roma (John’s former “alma mater”, basically). The one that REALLY sticks in the memory, though, is Mark Dacascos, finally returning to the big time after frustrating years languishing in lurid straight-to-video action dreck and lowbrow TV hosting duties thanks to a BLISTERING turn as Zero, a truly brilliant semi-comic creation who routinely runs away with the film – he’s the Japanese master ninja the Adjudicator tasks with dispensing her will, a thoroughly lethal killer who may well be as skilled as our hero, but his deadliness is amusingly tempered by the fact that he’s also a total nerd who HERO WORSHIPS John Wick, adorably geeking out whenever their paths cross. Their long-gestating showdown provides a suitably magnificent climax to the action, but there’s plenty to enjoy in the meantime, as former stuntman Stahelski and co keep things interestingly fluid as they constantly change up the dynamics and add new elements, from John using kicking horses in a stable and knives torn out of display cases in a weaponry museum to dispatch foes on the fly, through Sofia’s use of attack dogs to make the Moroccan portion particularly nasty and a SPECTACULAR high octane sequence in which John fights katana-wielding assailants on speeding motorcycles, to the film’s UNDISPUTABLE highlight, an astounding fight in which John takes on Zero’s disciples (including two of the most impressive guys from The Raid movies, Cecep Arif Rahman and Yayan Ruhian) in (and through) an expansive chamber made up entirely of glass walls and floors. Altogether then, this is business as usual for a franchise that’s consistently set the bar for the genre as a whole, an intensely bruising, blissfully blood-drenched epic that cranks its action up to eleven, shot with delicious neon-drenched flair and glossy graphic novel visual excess, a consistently inspired exercise in fascinating world-building that genuinely makes you want to live among its deadly denizens (even though you probably wouldn’t live very long). The denouement sets things up for an inevitable sequel, and I’m not at all surprised – right from the first film I knew the concept had legs, and it’s just too good to quit yet. Which is just how I like it …

2. AVENGERS: ENDGAME – the stars have aligned and everything is right with the world – the second half of the ridiculously vast, epic, nerve-shredding and gut-punching MCU saga that began with 2018’s Avengers: Infinity War has FINALLY arrived and it’s JUST AS GOOD as its predecessor … maybe even a little bit better, simply by virtue of the fact that (just about) all the soul-crushing loss and upheaval of the first film is resolved here. Opening shortly after the universally cataclysmic repercussions of “the Snap”, the world at large and the surviving Avengers in particular are VERY MUCH on the back foot as they desperately search for a means to reverse the damage wrought by brutally single-minded cosmic megalomaniac Thanos and his Infinity Stone-powered gauntlet – revealing much more dumps so many spoilers it’s criminal to continue, so I’ll simply say that their immediate plan really DOESN’T work out, leaving them worse off than ever. Fast-forward five years and the universe is a very different place, mourning what it’s lost and torn apart by grief-fuelled outbursts, while our heroes in particular are in various, sometimes better, but often much worse places – Bruce Banner/the Hulk (Mark Ruffallo) has found a kind of peace that’s always eluded him before, but Thor (Chris Hemsworth) really is a MESS, while Clint Barton/Hawkeye (Jeremy Renner) has gone to a VERY dark place indeed. Then Ant-Man Scott Lang (Paul Rudd) finds a way back from his forced sojourn in the Quantum Realm, and brings with him a potential solution of a very temporal nature … star directors the Russo Brothers, along with returning screenwriters Christopher Markus and Stephen McFeely, have once again crafted a stunning cinematic masterpiece, taking what could have been a bloated, overloaded and simply RIDICULOUS narrative mess and weaving it into a compelling, rich and thoroughly rewarding ride that, despite its THREE HOURS PLUS RUNNING TIME, stays fresh and interesting from start to finish, building on the solid foundations of Infinity War while also forging new ground (narratively speaking, at least) incorporating a wonderfully fresh take on time-travel that pokes gleeful fun at the decidedly clichéd tropes inherent in this particular little sub-genre. In fact this is frequently a simply HILARIOUS film in its own right, largely pulling away from the darker tone of its predecessor by injecting a very strong vein of chaotic humour into proceedings, perfectly tempering the more dramatic turns and epic feels that inevitably crop up, particularly as the stakes continue to rise. Needless to say the entire cast get to shine throughout, particularly those veterans whose own tours of duty in the franchise are coming to a close, and as with Infinity War even the minor characters get at least a few choice moments in the spotlight, especially in the vast, operatic climax where pretty much the ENTIRE MCU cast return for the inevitable final showdown. It’s a masterful affair, handled with skill and deep, earnest respect but also enough irreverence to keep it fun, although in the end it really comes down to those big, fat, heart-crushing emotional FEELS, as we say goodbye to some favourites and see others reach crossroads in their own arcs that send them off in new, interesting directions. Seriously guys, keep a lot of tissues handy, you really will need them. If this were the very last MCU film ever, I’d say it’s a PERFECT piece to go out on – thankfully it’s not, and while it is the end of an era the franchise looks set to go on as strong as ever, safe in the knowledge that there’s plenty more cracking movies on the way so long as Kevin Feige and co continue to employ top-notch talent like this to make their films. Eleven years and twenty-two films down, then – here’s to eleven and twenty-two more, I say …

1. THE IRISHMAN (aka I HEARD YOU PAINT HOUSES) – beating smash-hit superhero movies and unstoppable assassin action-fests to the top spot is no mean feat, but so completely blowing me away that I had NO OTHER CHOICE than to put this at NUMBER ONE is something else entirely. Not only is this the best thing I saw at the cinema this past year, but I’d be happy to say it’s guaranteed to go down as one of my all-time greats of the entire decade. I’ve been an ardent fan of the filmmaking of Martin Scorsese ever since I first properly got into cinema in my early adolescence, when I was first shown Taxi Driver and was completely and irrevocably changed forever as a movie junkie. He’s a director who impresses me like a select few others, one of the true, undisputable masters of the craft, and I find it incredibly pleasing that I’m not alone in this assertion. Goodfellas and The Departed are both numbered among my all-time favourite crime movies, while I regard the latter as one of the greatest films of the current cinematic century. I’ve learned more about the art and craft of filmmaking and big-screen storytelling from watching Scorsese’s work than from any other director out there (with the notable exception of my OTHER filmmaking hero, Ridley Scott), and I continue to discover more about his films every time I watch them, so I never stop. Anyways … enough with the gushing, time to get on with talking about his latest offering, a Netflix Original true-life gangster thriller of truly epic proportions chronicling the career and times of Frank Sheeran, a Philadelphia truck driver who became the most trusted assassin of the Northeastern Pennsylvania crime family and, in particular, its boss (and Sheeran’s best friend) Russell Bufalino, particularly focusing on his rise to power within the Philly Mob and his significant association with controversial and ultimately ill-fated Teamster boss Jimmy Hoffa. It’s a sprawling epic in the tradition of Scorsese’s previously most expansive film, Casino, but in terms of scope this easily eclipses the 1995 classic, taking in SIX DECADES of genuinely world-changing events largely seen through Sheeran’s eyes, but as always the director is in total control throughout, never losing sight of the true focus – one man’s fall from grace as he loses his soul to the terrible events he takes part in. Then again, the screenplay is by Steve Zaillian (Schindler’s List, Moneyball, Fincher’s The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo), one of the true masters of the art form, with whom Scorsese previously worked with on Gangs of New York, so it’s pure gold – tight as a drum, razor sharp and impossibly rich and rewarding, the perfect vehicle for the director to just prep his cast and run with it. And WHAT A CAST we have here – this is a three-way lead master-class of titanic proportions, as Scorsese-regular Robert De Niro and his Goodfellas co-star Joe Pesci are finally reteamed as, respectively, Sheeran and Bufalino, while Al Pacino gets to work with the master for the first time as Hoffa; all three are INCREDIBLE, EXTRAORDINARY, on absolute tip-top form as they bring everything they have to their roles, De Niro and Pesci underplaying magnificently while Pacino just lets rip with his full, thunderous fury in a seemingly larger-than-life turn which simply does one of history’s biggest crooks perfect justice; the supporting cast, meanwhile, is one of the strongest seen in cinema all year, with Ray Romano, Bobby Canavale, Anna Paquin, Stephen Graham, Harvey Keitel, Stephanie Kurtzuba (The Wolf of Wall Street), Jack Huston (Boardwalk Empire) and Jesse Plemmons among MANY others all making MAJOR impressions throughout, all holding their own even when up against the combined star power of the headlining trio. This is filmmaking as high art, Scorsese bringing every trick at his considerable, monumentally experienced disposal to bear to craft a crime thriller that strongly compares not only to the director’s own best but many of the genre’s own other masterpieces such as The Godfather and Chinatown. It may clock in at a potentially insane THREE HOURS AND TWENTY-NINE MINUTES but it NEVER feels overlong, every moment crafted for maximum impact with a story that unfolds so busily and with such mesmerising power it’s impossible to get bored with it. The film may have received a limited theatrical release, obviously reaching MOST of its audience when unleashed on Netflix nearly a month later, but I was one of the lucky few who got to see it on the big screen, and BELIEVE ME, it was totally worth it. Best thing I saw in 2019, ONE OF the best things I saw this past decade, and DEFINITELY one of Scorsese’s best films EVER. See it, any way you can. You won’t be disappointed.

#how to train your dragon the hidden world #terminator dark fate #doctor sleep #spider-man far from home #us #us movie #knives out #Captain Marvel #john wick chapter 3 #avengers endgame #the irishman #2019 in movies

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amandaoftherosemire · 5 years

Text

Lightning Strikes Part Seven

Fandom: Marvel Avengers AU

Pairing: Thor Odinson X Reader

Characters: Thor Odinson, Loki Odinson, OFC Astrid, Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers

Author: @amandaoftherosemire

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 6,013

Format: Series (Complete)

Warning: Language, angst, the appearance of infidelity,

Summary: Ready to finally give Thor an answer to his request that you move in with him, you travel to New Asgard. Once there, however, you receive information that explains a lot even as it creates new questions. Regardless of the answers, what you discover has the capacity to change how you feel about everything.

A/N: I want to start by saying I’m sorry. That said, this chapter has its place and I promise that I’m building to something worthwhile. I also swear I didn’t do this just to be a dick. I’m perfectly capable of that, but that’s not what I was going for here. 😉

Part Six: Crucible here

Sublimation

Loki walked out of the manor house to meet the jet from New York, a wickedly delighted grin on his face. He'd been anticipating this day for nearly a month, ever since you'd told him the plan. Now that you were here, the fun could really begin.

The jet was of Wakandan design and manufacture and a gift to the Avengers from King T'challa to aid you in your new duties. It had taken the better part of a month to learn how to fly the thing but being the pilot when this baby kicked into gear was out-fucking-standing. You were now the point of contact between the Avengers compound in New York, New Asgard, and Wakanda, hence the gift. You had a base of operations in all three locations, at least you would once you talked to Thor about it, but were expected to spend most of your time in New Asgard, handling what you could remotely and traveling when necessary.

As soon as you'd gotten back to New York from your vacation with Thor, you'd gone to Pepper. You'd told her the entire situation and asked for her help in figuring out a solution. Pepper, both a powerful and ambitious businesswoman and a quietly tender-hearted romantic, had immediately put her phenomenal brain to the task. With the full power of Pepper Potts behind you, it hadn't been too difficult to find a solution that should work for everyone. Thor didn't know yet, but since he'd asked you if you'd decided yet every time you talked, you figured he'd be on board.

You'd been putting him off, gently telling him each time that you still hadn't figured it all out. You'd wanted to surprise him when everything was in place. You were here today because everything was in place. All that was left was to talk to Thor.

You sauntered out of the open hatch into the balmy ocean air, your bag over your shoulder and eyes shaded against the early summer sun, a cheerful grin on your face.

With a sweeping and dramatic bow, Loki offered his arm. You took it as you laughed up into dancing emerald eyes. “Pet,” he purred, mirth and mischief ripe in his tone. “Welcome home.”

Loki filled you in on the gossip as he walked you to the rooms you normally had each time you visited, making you laugh with catty sotto voce commentary on the various people you passed on the way. Once there, however, you chased him off, wanting to change before you saw Thor. Loki had gallantly offered to go push his brother out of his office for you before sauntering out. You frowned after him, mildly suspicious. But without anything else to go on, you opted to chalk his oddly helpful behavior up to pleasure at having you here.

You didn't fool yourself. Whatever Loki felt for you was real and deep, but you also knew that he was pleased to have you there because you entertained him. He had made no secret that he was excited to have a partner in crime, confident in his ability to draw you into his schemes and games. You had to admit it depended on how funny and ultimately harmless his schemes and games were. You had no doubt that the two of you would find plenty of mischief that would satisfy you both and hopefully harm none.

You pulled a sleeveless lace shirt and bustle skirt from your bag, getting ready to wiggle out of your jeans. You wanted to be comfortable while traveling, but pants were always more trouble than they were worth around Thor. To top it off, you hadn't seen each other in a couple of weeks, the only thing that could test his patience and spur him to anything you considered urgency. You flipped the button open on your jeans as you debated the merits of underwear when a beam of sunshine hit something shiny on the table next to the bed.

Curious, you rounded the bed to approach the table. You would have ignored it, but the curtain was almost too perfectly parted to allow a beam of light to fall upon the object. Once next to it, you could see that the object was an earring, what looked to be a pretty one carat diamond. Not only was it not yours, it was also perfectly angled to shine upon the opposite wall. Even had your body not gotten in the way, there would have been no way to be in these rooms any time in the afternoon and miss the thing.

You stood, looking at the small item, considering the wealth of meaning that could imbue anything, should the circumstances be right. Or wrong. You don't know how long you stood there, mulling over the weight location, position, identity of owner, etc. should each have in the calculation of how big an explosion should occur when you next got your hands on either Odinson.

At your back, the bedroom door opened to Astrid, her arms full of clean towels. The last time you'd seen Thor, you'd asked him to assign Astrid to you whenever you were in New Asgard. You were unsurprised to see her, as you'd seen her in the hall on your way in. Astrid, however, looked confused to see you here, then concerned when her eye fell on the sparkling jewelry at the obvious focus of your attention.

"Lady Y/N!" she said softly, her voice low and warm. One of the things you liked about Astrid was her calm no matter how you surprised her. "These are no longer your rooms." You weren't ready to speak, holding on to your temper was difficult enough, so you tilted your head in question.

Another thing you liked about Astrid was her talent at reading nonverbal communication. She stepped forward and slipped her arm around your waist, supporting you without words as she answered. "His majesty commanded that you be put in his private quarters from now on," she explained.

"I see." You pulled away slightly to turn and look at her, your eyes catching and boring into hers. She was on the tall side of average for a woman, a couple of inches under six feet, well-built and strong. She had a lovely, sweet face, with charming dimples that you knew she used as a distraction. Even in the little time you'd gotten to spend with her, you had somehow become genuine friends. This, however, was the first time she looked into your eyes and saw what her king found so compelling about this funny little human. Your gaze was fierce and held a strength she hadn’t expected.

"And was I the last to have these rooms?" you asked, your voice hardening as you saw the change in her eyes. You knew she'd liked you before; your triumph was that she now respected you. Your eyes fell back to the earring on the nightstand.

"No." Astrid's voice had dropped to a sympathetic murmur. "The Lady Jane Foster visited last week." Her arm came back around you and squeezed gently at the tremor that rocked through you. Her tone took on a touch of urgency. "But she slept in this bed. And his majesty slept in his."

You huffed out a breath and even you didn't know if it was a laugh or a sigh. You reached out and snagged the earring, tucking it into your pocket, before turning into Astrid's arms to give her a quick hug. "Astrid, I adore you." She hugged you back, but you could see the worry in her eyes. You smiled sunnily and turned to snag your bag. "Let's go to his majesty's quarters and I'll give you your present."

Astrid's eyes widened. You'd told her the last time you'd visited that you would bring her some human designer shoes so she could see them for herself. Astrid was a fashionista, but specifically for shoes. You had gone with Natasha to her favorite boutique and picked out the prettiest, shiniest, crystal embedded Jimmy Choos with Astrid's caramel hair and bright blue eyes in mind.

The pictures of Human Mistress Guy tucked between the shoes weren't necessarily for Astrid, but you knew she'd be happy to take responsibility for them. Turned out HMG was more interested in enforcing Asgardian social norms than he was in living up to them.

Though most were unaware of it, you had a vast, and some would say insidious, network of connections. You had once been the gatekeeper to Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark fucking Industries and one of the most powerful people in the world. Not only that, you had facilitated the connection between the Avengers and SI, you knew people who knew people who knew people. You could find dirt on almost anyone, almost anywhere.

You figured Astrid would be the best person to ask how her people would feel about the pictures of Human Mistress Guy with his very own human mistress.

Loki stood at the door to his brother's office, smirking as Thor worked at the Stark designed touch computer, clearly in a terrible temper. Thor delegated as much as he could, but he had prepared to be king of Asgard when she was whole and strong. Here on Earth he was, in some ways, painfully out of his depth. And he hated the bureaucracy that went along with ruling more than almost anything.

Loki's voice held a light taunt as he spoke into the silence. "Your delicious little human has arrived, brother."

Thor didn't look up. He knew you were coming; you'd sent him a text on the phone you’d made him take. His lips twitched at the memory of your utter disdain for any form of communication he had suggested other than the little plastic and glass box. The twitch turned to a smirk as he remembered how'd you'd changed his mind about the device when you'd introduced him to sexting.

“I am aware,” Thor growled, annoyed with the world. He was annoyed that he had to deal with this if he wanted to spend the rest of the day as he wished, in bed with you. He was annoyed that you still hadn't given him a straight answer about whether you'd live with him. He was annoyed with himself for not being honest with you about everything. He was annoyed with Loki for being so obvious in his regard and pursuit of you.

"I’ll greet her when I can do it properly." Thor didn't try to stop the smug smile from curving his mouth, even as he kept his eyes on the screen in front of him. He couldn't help but remind his brother that though you may be Loki's pet, you were Thor's lover.

"Suit yourself." Loki was unamused and equally annoyed with Thor. There were few things that Loki found distasteful, self-righteous hypocrisy was one of the few. As long as Thor acted as though he had the moral high ground, Loki would continue to remind him that he was always ready to take you from him. "I certainly intend to."

"Loki." Out of patience, Thor pushed back from the screen, causing it to blip away, and turned to fix Loki with an angry glare. "Why are you trying to make me jealous?"

"Why should you be jealous, brother? After all, I befriended her on your orders, did I not?"

***

You were almost to Thor's office, your hands in your pockets, the right toying with the earring there when the sound of raised male voices had you lifting your brows. It occurred to you that living with both Thor and Loki was not going to be peaceful. Up until this afternoon, you'd been nothing but excited.

The discovery that Thor had had his ex-girlfriend as a guest but had not mentioned it either before or after the fact had put something of a damper on your enthusiasm. However, Astrid's sincere and sweet rush to reassure you had given you pause. You were, at least, determined to remain calm as you asked Thor what the hell. You would lose your shit only if and when his explanation proved inadequate. As for the location of said earring, you knew you had a tendency towards cynicism, but you doubted it had been left in that exact place on accident. The only question was whether Dr. Foster left it there, or Loki.

You had every intention of asking Loki what the hell, also.

Astrid had been utterly delighted, both with her shoes and with the pictures. She'd had a run-in of her own with HMG and was happy to help her new best friend (she really loved the shoes) get revenge for both of them. Astrid knew exactly which gossipy guard's sister was the best friend of HMG's wife's personal assistant. You figured that would be enough degrees of separation to keep both you and Astrid out of it.

Your stomach was already churning, and the dread was shimmering up your spine at the tone in Thor's voice when you got close enough to understand what he was saying. At the words Loki, why are trying to make me jealous? your feet slowed without your brain getting involved in the situation. At Loki's response, you stopped in your tracks. After all, I befriended her on your orders, did I not?

You'd never before known that you could actually feel your heart break. For all that emotion came from the mind, there was still a pain in the chest. Even as the betrayal crashed down upon you, as your breath caught at the enormous agony of it, a calm and detached part of your mind wondered at the physical reaction to something wholly emotional. You latched onto that calm and detached part, knowing only that would get you through the next moments.

You flinched at the sarcasm you could hear in Thor's voice, the warm rumble sounding threatening for the first time. "It’s evidently been a terrible hardship for you."

"‘Charm her, lure her, seduce her if you can.’ Your words, brother." Loki's voice was a taunt and had you leaning on the hallway wall, needing the support to stay on your feet. Every word felt like a blow. "Only now, when I’ve proven her true, you want to pretend I’m encroaching?"

Your eyes closed at the words proven her true. The fucking hypocrite hadn't trusted you but had been lying to you the entire time.

"If you're not encroaching, why do you seem determined to prove her untrue?" Thor's voice held a bitterness you'd never heard before. You couldn't understand why Thor had lied to you, how he could claim to love you when he so obviously didn't trust you. Unless this had never been about you, in which case you were what you had always truly feared: a pet, nothing more than a rope for two spoiled boys to play tug-of-war.

"If you think so highly of her," Loki's voice was bored, as though he were only asking to be polite, "why is it so hard to believe that I might simply like the silly creature?" Thor didn't respond, but the look that flickered across his face sparked Loki's temper. For the first time, he sounded like cared. "It’s not, and that’s the problem. I wasn’t supposed to be myself when I charmed her, was never supposed to actually get attached in any way." There was a pause, then he continued, his voice calm and mocking once more. "My apologies. In the future, you may want to make such commands explicit."

You'd had enough. "But then how would he maintain plausible deniability?" The words were out of your mouth before you had a chance to think about them, but you didn't want them back. You were angrier than you'd ever been in your life and you knew you needed to use it before it ran out and left you the broken wreck you knew were going to become. You'd never had two people break your heart on the same day, but here you were. Maybe it was what you deserved for presuming to fly so close to the sun. You pushed off the wall and closed the last couple of feet to Thor's open office door.

You hoped that one day the sight that met your eyes would seem comical. Both men looked dumbfounded, as though they had been so caught up in their argument that they had completely forgotten the possibility that they might be overheard. The expression of dawning horror on Thor's face only hurt, so you focused instead on Loki and on the flicker of sly satisfaction you saw fly across his face. You used the rage it inspired to dismiss him as unimportant, knowing it would infuriate him more than anything else. Frankly, in this moment he was unimportant; Thor's betrayal so much worse because you truly hadn't seen it coming. You'd always expected Loki to return to form in one way or another.

"You." You fixed Loki with a sternly disappointed glare. You pushed unsurprised exasperation into your tone, and by the irritated flare of Loki's nostrils, you'd scored your point. "I… can’t. With you. Today. I’m too pissed and need to focus. Take the escape hatch and be grateful."

To your surprise and secret gratitude, Loki said nothing more, merely inclined his head and walked out. You stepped back to let him pass, and it took everything you had to not punch him as hard as you could in his sexy brooding poet face. Even the knowledge that you'd be more likely to damage your hand than his face couldn't stop you; only your stubborn pride could do that.

Once Loki was gone, you stepped into the room. Thor still stood behind his desk where he'd stood to yell at Loki when, with a mocking lift of your eyebrow, you pointedly closed the door behind you. As you walked forward to sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk, Thor finally spoke. "Plant, I—"

"Do not call me that." You cut him off quickly, unable to stand the sound of that nickname in the rumble you loved so dearly. The sound of your heart crumbling apart lived in that beloved thunder. You leaned forward to set the earring on the desk in front of you. "Do you know what that is, Thor?" He didn't answer, only closed his eye. "No? You want to guess where I found it?" Your voice was sweet as candy laced with strychnine. At the sound, Thor dropped into the chair, resigned to his fate. Hopeless. "Or do you already have a pretty good idea?"

You waited until Thor's eye opened and met yours. He'd never seen you so angry, but he wasn't a fool. Your eyes were also glittering with tears. His muscles were bunching to propel him to action, his heart leading and desperate to soothe away the desolate look in your eyes, but the hardness on your face stopped him from moving. Harshly, you accused, "And you have the nerve to distrust me?"

"I'm sorry."

"Oh, well then." You scoffed, and mockery coated every word. "You're sorry. Problem fucking solved." You sat back, spread out in the chair in a posture of furious disdain. "I was on my way down here to ask you about that," you gestured, and Thor saw something in your eyes he'd never thought to see, coldness, "to give you a chance to explain. Loki may have called me 'pet', Thor, but you made me feel like one."

You reached out and picked up the earring, twirling it between your fingers by the post and watching the afternoon light sparkle through its facets. Such a pretty thing to be the beginning of the end. You looked up when Thor remained silent, and the pain on his face only spiked your rage. A snarl in your voice and on your lips, you went on. "I came here today to tell you that I’d figured it out, and I'd done it. I’d rearranged my entire life for you. I thought it would be worth it, because I thought the one person in this world that mattered didn’t see me as a pet. I am not surprised that I’ve lived to regret that decision, but I am perturbed that it happened so quickly."

Thor's continued silence, his face growing more and more white with every word out of your mouth, his face twisting in pain, only served to pour gasoline on the inferno about to burst into full and cheerful flame. "I know you've got trust issues. I get it. But that does not excuse what you've done." You were nearly yelling now, but it was the disgust that cut Thor to the quick. "Seduce her if you can!? How dare you!? How fucking dare you!?"

You were shouting at this point, but you couldn't stop yourself. Thor finally spoke, the pained rage in your voice cutting through the agony blocking his own. "Y/N--"

"No!" You bellowed to cut him off as you shot to your feet. You had thought you wanted him to speak, to explain himself, but the moment you heard your name in his gorgeous rumble, you knew if you let him continue you'd end up sobbing and you would not shed a goddamn tear until you were back home. You closed your eyes and took a shaky breath. "No," you said again, more calmly and opened your eyes to look down into the face you adored. "No, Thor, I will not move here, I will not live with you." You tossed the earring onto the desk. "I can't trust you. I told you; betrayal is a dealbreaker. Commanding your brother to attempt to seduce me is a fucking betrayal. Goodbye, Thor."

You turned and walked toward the door. Your hand was on the knob when Thor spoke. "Please." You paused, the anguish in the single word catching at your weeping heart and stopping you even against your will. "I don't want to lose you." You closed your eyes against the tears threatening to fall but didn't turn around.

"Then you shouldn't have lied to me."

As the door closed behind you, Thor sat alone in silence, watching the earring sparkle mockingly on his desk.

You walked quickly, but at a pace carefully under a run. You could still see through the sheen of tears coating your eyes, but the world had become a wobbly, warped mess. You strode with purpose back to Thor's quarters to pick up your bag, determined to leave as little of yourself here as possible. You'd never had a heartbreak like this, the kind that's so huge it feels like grief, like you were mourning the future you would now never have.

Worse, to find out that so much of what had come to this point had been, if not a lie, tainted with dishonesty was yet another thing to grieve, the death of all you'd thought you had. Once you had your bag, you looked neither left nor right, acknowledged no one as you walked quickly to the door that led to the jet and escape.

"Lady!?" The sound of Astrid's sweet voice stopped you at the door to the vehicle bay. At this point, she was the only Asgardian with that ability. She ran up, her face stricken, and you realized you really had made a friend here. You choked back a sob and threw your arms around her in a quick hug.

"I have to go, but I'll be back, I promise." You didn't know how you got the words out past the tears clogging your throat, but Astrid seemed to understand. She nodded and hugged you back, but she didn't try to hold you when you pulled away to run outside.

As soon as the jet was at its cruising altitude and pointed toward New York and home, you put on the autopilot, buried your face in your hands. You couldn't cry yet; you had to stay calm until you were no longer flying a jet tens of thousands of feet above the surface of the Earth. Your heart was wailing, but you held on but for an occasional choking sound that escaped every time you forced the shriek of pain back down.

Bucky was waiting with open arms as soon as you stepped off the jet. You had called him while on your way home, told him what had happened. He'd been appropriately infuriated on your behalf and had promised to meet you as soon as you arrived. He was as good as his word, enfolding you in muscular, comforting arms and holding you close as you finally let go and sobbed. He basically carried you inside, but instead of taking you to your rooms, he took you to his and Steve's.

You didn't argue, especially when Bucky more or less handed you over to Steve, who also folded you close and rocked you back and forth. You couldn't stop crying, but Steve's arms were even more comforting than you'd imagined. You were too wracked with grief to notice when Steve settled you on the couch, but you noticed Bucky's arms coming around you from the other side. Squeezed between super soldiers, you poured onto them all the anguish in your broken heart.

After you calmed, Bucky made you laugh with the offer of triple chocolate brownies and four different kinds of Ben and Jerry's. It healed your heart just a little when he turned on Hot Fuzz, handed you a glass of pinot noir and a brownie, then settled onto the couch at your back, with your legs across Steve's lap. Though it was only a few months ago, it felt like a million years when you'd told Bucky about your Breakup Triage Kit: comedy, wine, and chocolate. You adored him for remembering and taking care of you.

You were fairly embarrassed when you woke up the next morning still on the couch, laying between Bucky's legs with your back against his chest, his flesh arm around you under your breasts. Steve was laying with his arms around your hips and his head on your stomach. Bucky's metal hand rested on Steve's shoulder while Steve's temple rested against Bucky's flesh arm. You would sneak out, but you were completely tangled up in the two men. You'd never been this physically comfortable with either man, but apparently comforting you through a broken heart had changed your relationship. You hoped to god it wasn't going to cause any more grief or drama; you needed a fucking break already.

The sound of someone clearing their throat made you groan aloud. With a roll of your eyes, you let your head fall to the side to meet the mischievous emerald gaze of the lithe god standing across the room. He looked both amused and annoyed, and to your surprise seemed to be keeping the men pinning you down from waking.

"Ahem." His lips curled in a mocking smile as he took in the tangle in front of him. The three of you were fully clothed, and there was nothing sexual about the way either man was embracing you, but there was something undeniably intimate about the curl and curve of bodies asleep together on the couch. Loki filed the image of this tableau away in case it became necessary or amusing to describe it to someone.

You closed your eyes in response to that mocking smile, wondering when exactly your life had become a clusterfuck. "Oh, for fuck's sake,” you groaned, insult and disbelief warring for control.

"Charming, as always, my dear." Loki chose not to comment on your current… predicament… aware that his silence would be more effective in what he wanted to achieve here today.

You rolled your head back to stare at the ceiling. It was more comfortable here, your head pillowed comfortably on Bucky’s sternum. You could hear the taunt in Loki’s voice, the invitation to play, but you could not find within you any answering warmth. You were too sad and too tired to care about dancing to his tune for any reason. Your voice infinitely weary, you sighed. "Loki, why are you here?"

Loki was sorry to hear the exhaustion in your voice. He adored trying to outwit and out-manipulate you and he hated hearing his favorite adversary so weak. His voice softened along with his guarded heart. "I wanted to see you."

"Why?" You wanted to look at him, surprised to hear sympathy in his tone, but you didn't have the energy to really care. You'd long ago purged all the rage and pain in tears and sleep and all you had left was a kind of vaguely exasperated apathy. You had no defense, no deftness, and so opted to not even try to dance or dodge but spoke bluntly with no attempt to hide how you felt.

"You know why." Loki's voice was gentle, and you frowned at what sounded like sincere remorse in his tone. You couldn't dare believe that he actually felt sorry for lying to you, but you found yourself wondering if you could get a straight answer out of him for once.

"Did you put the earring on the nightstand so that it would catch the light?”

"Yes." You tilted your head to look at him again and he smiled slightly. "I wanted you and Thor to fight on your first day there so you'd spend the evening with me, instead. I thought it'd be funny."

You were scowling warily at Loki's half-smile, confused by his posture of honest confession. "Ha." Loki snorted, and your lips twitched against your will. His smile started to widen until you asked your next question, still mired in skepticism despite the lack of artifice. In fact, his guileless demeanor only exacerbated your suspicions instead of alleviating them. "Did you plan for me to overhear you and Thor?"

For the first time since you'd met him, his eyes softened with what looked like real tenderness. If you didn't know better, you'd think Loki genuinely cared for you. "No," he said, gently, and part of you wanted to believe him, "I wanted him to tell you the truth. I didn't want you angry enough to leave."

You told yourself to harden yourself against him, that he was still playing with you, but you heard yourself ask, "Why do you care?" Your heart was aching; Thor wasn't the only one who'd broken your heart. Though you'd never been foolish enough to fully trust Loki, you'd believed his feelings for you, his friendship, at least, to be true.

Loki waved his hand dismissively, and you saw his discomfort with the honest emotion in the gesture. "Because you're my pet."

You would not play along with this anymore. You would not allow anyone, even in jest, to make you something less. "No, I'm not," you answered and turned your face all the way to the wall. When you'd felt respected, cared for, it had been one thing. Discovering how little regard either man had had for your feelings and dignity made the 'pet' joke a lot less funny.

Loki had never heard your voice so cold, was shocked by the finality in the dismissive movement of your head. He hadn't known, when his brother asked him to befriend you, that he would come to like you. If he had known a human could charm him so, he'd have been on guard against just such an eventuality, because to deliberately deceive in just such a way requires detachment. Because he hadn't known, you'd gotten under his skin. He didn't want to lose his friend.

Loki sighed, and the melancholy in his tone almost had you turning your head. You held out, but surprise had you listening despite yourself. "Because I’m actually quite fond of you, my silly little human."

Your head snapped back around. You couldn’t help it. Loki had never given you so clear a glimpse into the man that lived behind the mask. He was giving you what he could, and the part of you that reminded you to love people as they are rather than how you want them to be spoke up for the first time in Loki’s defense.

That little voice pointed out that you’d never expected honesty from Loki, one of the many reasons you’d still not act on any attraction. A dealbreaker is a dealbreaker, after all. But for a friend you could make an exception when deceit is a fundamental aspect of the friend’s personality.

You also didn’t expect Loki to apologize. You’d no more expect the sun to apologize for shining, or fire for burning. His very presence, his careful words told you he cared.

Unless he’s up to something and needs to charm his way back into our good graces. The cynical voice in your head may have been unkind, but she wasn’t wrong. Still, trying to figure out what mischief Loki was up to was part of the fun of being his friend. You wouldn’t change him for worlds. You knew you’d end up forgiving him.

But not today.

“Well, now.” Your voice was dry and mostly unamused, but the strident tone told Loki his work here was done. “This is a red-letter day. You gave me the unvarnished truth and you were mostly honest about your feelings.” Loki shot you an unrepentant grin and you had to fight to keep the sneer in your face. The burning insult still raged under the surface of your skin, however, and kept you sarcastically steadfast even as you continued. “I love you, too, Loki. I'm so mad at you right now that I could strangle you, but I love you.”

Loki was shocked to hear the words pass your lips. Even as part of him cringed away, a small but vocal part of him gloried in the word, swamped in gratitude for your open and generous heart. “I’ll be waiting when you forgive me, dear one.”

With a last unusually warm and sweet smile, Loki shimmered into nothing. The next moment, both Bucky and Steve began to stir. Steve’s pretty face lifted, a red crease imprinted in his cheek from a wrinkle in your t-shirt.

Bucky’s voice rumbled at your back. “This is gonna sound weird, but, doll, is your superpower being insanely comfortable? I slept like a baby.”

“Me, too,” Steve said, bashfully, carefully and respectfully disentangling himself and allowing you to sit up. “I don’t know how that happened, but it was nice.”

Your broken heart healed a little at the sweetness of these two, the kindness they’d shown in tucking you between them and protecting you until you could stand on your own.

Your voice low, and a little shy as the change in your friendship was still new and uncertain, you murmured, “Thank you. Both of you.” You leaned forward and kissed Steve on the cheek, then turned to do the same for Bucky. “Nobody has ever taken care of me like that before.”

(Except Thor.) You had a new train of thought to torment yourself with now: constant reminders of everything you had and lost with Thor. Wasn’t this going to be fun. You focused back on Steve, who looked as though he could hear your thoughts and had nothing but sympathy. “I needed my friends last night, and you guys more than delivered.”

You patted both men, Bucky’s arm and Steve’s chest, before you stood up, a little wobbly still. Each held out a hand to help steady you.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” you said, smiling, and if the smile was heartsick around the edges, neither of them would be rude enough to mention it, “I’m going to go cry in the shower, then I’m going to make an absolutely enormous breakfast for my heroes.”

You weren’t entirely certain why, but you decided to keep the visit from Loki to yourself.

Part Eight: Aphelion here

Taglist:

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#thor odinson x reader #Thor Odinson #thor x reader #thor x fem!reader #thor fanfiction #thor fanfic #mcu au #marvel au #mcu fanfiction #pantswrites #lightning strikes #angst #series

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a-tamed-dragon · 5 years

Text

HTTYD: Outlander!au

In the words of Squidward Tentacles: “Well, here you go.”

It only took 2 hours to produce about 1K words of the blurb I was ranting about earlier. I guess it is my work-in-progress for now to see if anyone out there would be interested in reading more.

The Outlander AU - this is just a blip where Astrid is picked up my the Haddock’s. The setting is the same as the HTTYD-verse and so are the characters. The storyline, however, will follow Outlander but veer around if I keep writing it to fit the characters and plot better. Maybe dragons? Let’s see where this test-drive takes us.

Let me know if you are interested in more, DM me or comment on this post :) It just takes a single person to sway me haha.

Best,

Prue

———-

I looked around me- looked for a way out, but what good would being alone and exposed be as it has led to this. Barefoot and in a shift with no weapon on me- not the best odds, therefore foolish to take the chance on my own. No. Escape, as of right now, was not an option.

As I looked out into the trees, seeing my breath rise in the near frigid temperature, gentle hands announced themselves on my waist with barely a graze.

“It’s time we get on our way, Mistress” He spoke quietly into my ear from behind my back, keeping a politeness that, although not dissipating my still ravenous impulse to comic a crime, kept it in check. The safest thing to do was to keep within, at least for now, everyone’s good graces.

He lifted me up to side-saddle at that. His fingertips were nearly inches away from meeting when they wrapped around me. His hands were big, in fact, every one of them was taller than the averagr man. The one who had lifted me, though, was lean but strong enough to lift me a few feet intot he air with absolute ease.

“Tuff, ride ahead and tell Stoick what we are bringing.” The large, balding man with the peg leg shouted form his Clydesdale of black and white to the absolutely morose young man hidden behind a combination of pure grime and matted, wiry hair. If you can call it that. I guess I am a ‘what’, then.

“I will hold it with my life, good sir.” He said with solute and a nod before riding off into the now falling darkness.

I watched from my perch, fully aware of .. of… I couldn’t recall his name... Ren.. lifting himself up behind me. I adjusted with him like a rag doll of sorts as I was too busy absorbing what I was seeing and hearing. They all oggled me, the greasy black haired one and the large mustachiod one pulled up on there horses while talking in the group but could not stare more clearly at me. I starred back, trying to hold the chatter of my teeth from showing from the cold.

The addition of another person in the single-person suited saddle had me pushed forward, causing me to sway and nearly lose my balance. Ren was talking over me when I gasped:

“Jesus Fu-“

“Wooh.” he stopped and steadied me with a grasp on my left arm. “Can’t have you falling.”

He chuckled under his breath, a half-smile pulled the corner of his lips up, a crooked left smile. It was humorous, amused, and calm. As cold as I was, and despite how bitterly stubborn to stay bitterly cold that I was, a protest died in my belly once Ren’s arms encircled me from below my elbows and along my hips to still hold the reigns. He maneuvered his heavy cloak to fall around me too, engulfing me in a warmth that I would silently relish as it kept me from freezing, but show an outward reluctance for.

With a shout the 4 men’s horses moved out. We lead in the front, the rotund man just nearly behind us, followed by the other two. The movement of a horse was not something I was used to and to keep from slipping my back was pressed into the riders chest while he kept his elbows ineard to lock me in place as we traversed the terrain.

It was silent for a long while until the oldest man began singing something in a language entirely foreign to me. The other two in the back pitched in and they proceeded to perhaps scare every living creature within ear shot. That’s when he decided to say something-

“Falling asleep, are you?” He whispered lowly.

Wide awake I was, though, trying to memorize every bit of my surroundings to figure out how to get back. Where was I? When was I? So engulfed in my own thoughts I barely heard him speak and questioned if I had even heard anything at all.

He waited, his breath in my hair. Where our heights nearly matched had his chin at my ear. He could not look clearly over my head. Finally, as he patiently waited for a response from me, I breathed:

“No.”

“Hm.” He hummed with a thought. “You know,” He shifted mis sentence and pulled the now nearly fallen cloak back around in front of me, I held it shut in front of my chest as he handed me the pelt. “If you tell me where you are from, or why you are out here, a wee lass all on her own, it’ll be easier for you than waiting until we get back home.”

Still looking perfectly straight ahead of me I replayed his words in my head again, choosing my response not on the merit of question response, but that of priority.

“Where is ‘home’?” As clearly as I tried to speak, I could not keep the trembling of chill and adrenalin out of my voice.

I knew he could here it and perhaps even feel it as I my entire body began trembling as the sun set and the temperature dropped even lower.

“Home?” He shifted yet again, I held my breathe, unsure of what he was doing as His left hand reached in between us and he pulled at the fabric in front lf him. Unsure I held my breathe and braced, ready to push away.

“ Why, it’s the most dangerous place in the world, it’s about... hmm... twelve days north of Hopeless,and”

He had pushed the fabric of his overlayer away and be scooched me back with his left arm bared across my mid section like I weighed nothing to press back into his chest. His mouth was right at my ear again, still not releasing me from his bar, causing me every nerve in my body to reanimate and grow nervously close to threshhold response.

“a few degrees south of Freezing to Death.”

“Where?” I interhected and tried to hold my impatience disinterest in his long-winded spiel.

He paused, I could feel his chin turn towards me, perhaps in mild surprise at my change jn nathre. As he was about to answer men began shouting in the back. Ren cursed under his breathe and slowed the horse down to a slow walk.

“Hello? Gentlemen, could you please hold your minds?” He shouted over his shoulder.

The round man began shouting at them also.

“ We was havin such a nice time and you have ta start up again?” He scolded.

I looked over Ren’s opposite shoulder but could not see far back enough as I was sitting side saddle to the right while looking over my left.

“Idiots.” Ren groaned, laughing it off.

I was still looking over his shoulder, at what? Nothing in particular anymore. It had become too dark and hazy to see clearly; I could not make out a visual marker from the ground to the tree tops above.

The conversation had died with that; I would not know where I was so long as they did not know where I came from.

I fought the lull of sleep with all of my might, never has the will to sleep and the will to stay awake sparred so furiously for dominance. I could keep my eyes open, but it was getting hard to keep my head from going idle. Around what I felt like the hour and a half mark, with open eyes and a nearly fuzzy mind my head fell back and hit the captor’s shoulder. I snapped up again, shaking my head and releasing the cloak from my fist which had grown ridged- cricking as it lifted to rub my eyes.

“Sleep, Mistress, ‘till be an hour yet before we are home. If you’re not going to talk, then be ready to meet the redt of us.” He bunched the cloak around me again, using the arm which bared across me to now reach over and hold it closed in front of me just above my own.

I wouldn’t sleep, I did not know these men and would not let my gaurd down to sleep. I shook my head.

“ No?” He chuckled “ I’can tell you have the urge to from every time your head hits my shoulder.”

I couldn’t tell why be was talking, but it still made me nervous he would try something like the Red Coat.

I jumped again when the horse faltered for inly a second and I lost my balance.

“Heyyy, easy boy.” He called his horse. I had gripped his forearm that layed on my hip and pushed back into him. As the horse recovered and tread on he placed a bared arm around me again, the intimacy was more than uncomfortable and he said “ I apologize mistress for the close quaters.” There was an uncertainty now in his voice, implying he was nervous also, or atleast uneasy with having a strange woman in his saddle now.

His sense of propriety certainly was bordering archatic, but whatever kept his hands from me.

We were almost there, but where?

__________

There she is, guys. Let me know your thoughts, I would really appreciate feed-back.

Thanks!

#hiccstrid #outlander!au #httyd #howtotrainyourdragon #httyd3 #httyd2 #astridhofferson #hiccuphaddock #outlander #a-tamed-dragon

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wolfie-dragon-rider · 5 years

Text

Grey Stains, chapter 2

Hey everyone, here's chapter 2 of Grey Stains. Our first glimpse of Hogwarts, and backstory for Astrid! I hope you enjoy it! I will also update my masterpost with this story, so if you want to find chapter 1, look there or check my ‘grey stains’ tag.

One thing I would like to address here are the side characters. Pretty much all side characters like professors and classmates, are lifted from other franchises that I enjoy. However, you shouldn't feel obligated to know all (or any) of them to understand my story. They're simply there to add some color to the scenes, and because I think having Hiro and Rayla is more interesting and easy to remember for you, the reader, than Ravenclaw OC #1 and Gryffindor OC #2. So if you don't know a character in the story, I hope the context explains enough about them. If you do know the character, I hope you enjoy some of the in-jokes I put in. After this chapter their presence should be less overwhelming, as the story will focus more on Hiccup and Astrid proper.

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"And we're here, with fifteen minutes to spare! Those Muggle 'taxis' are faster than I thought!" Astrid's uncle Finn said as he led the way into King's Cross Station. It was filled with people, and the loud announcements and screeching of the trains made Astrid's head hurt. Her owl, a yellow-blue bird with the powers of a Blast-ended Skrew who she named Stormfly, screeched loudly, and she hoped none of the Muggles would notice the puff of smoke coming out of Stormfly's beak.

"I keep telling you, the Muggles are smarter than you assume, but you never believe me!" Aunt Erika said. They kept bickering about transportation as they walked onto platform 9. Astrid recognized a man standing there, despite him wearing Muggle clothes. It was Mr. Cruz, one of the aurors working with her uncle. He was subtly guiding wizard families towards the column dividing platforms 9 and 10.

Finn and Erika stopped their argument to greet him, and a minute later they got the signal to go. Astrid looked at the solid brick wall in front of her, and she suddenly felt scared. No, no, she can't be scared. She's gonna be a proud Gryffindor, she has to be brave! So she gritted her teeth and ran right after her guardians.

Although she may have closed her eyes before reaching the wall. There was a brief sensation of her moving through what felt like liquid, but then the sounds warped and changed. The Muggle talk and modern trains vanished, replaced by the sounds of magic and the hissing of a steam engine.

"Alright girl, are you ready? Oh, you grew up so quickly! Don't be afraid to send us letters, okay? It's normal to feel a bit lonely at first! But I'm sure you'll make lots of friends!" Erika said, rubbing her cheek.

"Thanks, Aunt Erika. I'll try," she said as Finn took her suitcase and lifted it onto the train. Astrid wanted to protest, say that she could do it herself. But before she could open her mouth he turned to her with that look that meant he was going to say something important. He kneeled, putting himself a little below her eye level, but she still felt small.

"Astrid… I'm sorry your parents couldn't be here to see you off. Or your sister. But I know that your mom and dad and Celia would be so, so proud of you. And so is your brother Max, even if he couldn't make it to London because of his work. And we are so proud of you too. You know, after the Battle… there was so much destruction. So much death, and it felt so hopeless. But we took you in, and in you we saw hope. That war ended because people like your parents and your siblings stood up and fought against evil. They fought to give you a better world to grow up in. And I know you'll work to fight the evils of your time. It's different now, you know. Less open. Don't forget that some people still have those… evil beliefs, even if they won't say it out loud. But I know you'll do the right thing. You're strong," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders.

Astrid tried to look him in the eye, but she felt tears appear, and she dropped her head trying to hide it. She wasn't so sure if Max was proud of her. They had barely spoken in years. He was abroad, studying Healing in Italy, and rarely replied to letters. She rarely felt like sending him letters either. They had never been super close, Astrid had liked her sister Celia more back when she was alive, and six months after the Battle of Hogwarts Max had left Britain, finishing his NEWTs at Beauxbatons and traveling Europe ever since.

As she looked around, seeing parents hugging their children, siblings teasing each other, laughing together, she wanted to shout that it wasn't fair. Her family had been torn apart by Death Eaters, and these people were all perfectly fine?

But no, she couldn't do that. Like Uncle Finn always said, she should be grateful she has what she has. Entire families had been slaughtered, Muggleborns tortured until they were left permanently insane at St. Mungo's, babies killed and turned into Inferi and other monsters. Her pain was nothing compared to that.

So she forced herself to smile and nod.

"I'll fight for the light, Uncle Finn. Like you taught me! I'll be a brave Gryffindor like you and Dad and Celia! Not to mention Harry Potter and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger!"

"Alright, little lion, just remember it's okay if you end up in another house. Of course, I know you want to end up in Gryffindor like your heroes. Just remember the other houses did great things too. Hell, your brother was a Slytherin and he fought alongside Neville Longbottom for the entire battle!" Aunt Erika said, and Astrid rolled her eyes.

"I know, Auntie! Doesn't mean they're not dorks," she said. Behind her aunt and uncle she could see the boy from the wand shop walk past, with his messy brown hair and expensive robes. A bald man with two prosthetic limbs walked alongside him. His father? They didn't look related. Something about the boy made her nervous. When she saw him at Ollivander's, waving wand after wand with no effect, she had thought he might be a squib. But if he was going to Hogwarts he should be magical, right?

After some goodbyes and awkward hugs Astrid boarded the train. She walked through the corridor, checking for any empty cabins but not finding any. Eventually she found one with three girls of her age, and decided she might as well get started on making friends.

"Hello!" she said, trying to seem confident as she opened the door and pulled her suitcase inside. The white-haired girl turned to her, revealing strange purple markings under her eyes.

"Hi, I'm Rayla, and these are Merida and Pidge. Merida and I already knew each other, we grew up in the same town," the girl said in a thick Scottish accent, gesturing to two girls who both had their own style of wild hair. Merida had a wild mane of curly bright red hair, while Pidge had short dirty blonde hair that stuck out in all directions and looked like she cut it herself.

"I'm Astrid," she said, sitting down next to Pidge.

They easily got to talking, and Astrid learned that Rayla's family situation was similar to hers: Her parents had gone missing during the war, and she was raised by a family friend called Runaan. Pidge was Muggleborn, but her brother Matt was magical too, and was currently a Ravenclaw prefect. Merida was from a very old wizarding house, and her father lost a leg fighting evil creatures in the war.

"So what do you think you'll be when you grow up? My parents keep trying to push me into politics, that I'll have to keep managing our ancient house, but I say sod that!" Merida said, her accent even thicker than Rayla's.

"Probably inventing. I'm good at figuring out tech and stuff. I'm curious if I can use magic in Muggle computers," Pidge said. Astrid wasn't sure what she was talking about. Before she could ask, Rayla spoke up.

"This is probably weird, but Runaan is part of an elite group of aurors, and he kind of expects me to join him. Not sure if I want to, though," she said, rolling her eyes.

"My uncle is an auror too. That's what I always expected to be. Never really considered anything else. I want to fight evil like my family did," Astrid said, trying not to think about how often Uncle Finn had come home with dead eyes after another raid. Those were evenings he wouldn't say a word. He'd just grab a bottle of firewhiskey and slowly empty it while listening to old songs on the radio.

"I'll stick to making weapons for you, I guess. Way safer than being on the frontlines," Pidge chuckled, adjusting her round glasses. Astrid wondered if she knew they looked just like Harry Potter's glasses.

--------------------------------

"Come on, Gobber! Aren't I supposed to make friends? Meet people? Doesn't Dad always say networking is important?" Hiccup exclaimed, gesturing at the locked door of their cabin.

"Your father gave me strict instructions not to let you out of my sight until you're safe at Hogwarts. He may not be my direct boss, but you know I can't ignore an order from him! He's got influence! That curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts teaching position is finally gone, and I'll be damned if I lose the job anyway because you can't stay put for a few hours!" Gobber shouted, pointing at Hiccup with his prosthetic hand.

"What does he think is gonna happen? Death Eaters kidnapping me? People angry about his policies attacking me? What even for? My dad is the most apolitical politician ever, he doesn't care about any ideology. All he cares about is slaying dragons," Hiccup said, looking out the window at London disappearing behind them.

"Oh, don't play dumb. You know what this is about. Stoick is worried that the Red Death will attack the train. I figured that you of all people should understand that," Gobber said, digging in his bag with his good hand.

"You know I don't live my life cowering in fear of dragons every moment, right? My dad may be obsessed, but I'm not. It's ridiculous. Like that Red Death would actually attack us," Hiccup said, looking up at the cloudy sky. Could dragons be hiding up there?

"Hey, I agree that Stoick is paranoid about dragons, but he's not wrong about the Red Death. It has killed fourteen muggles and three mages in the past year. Despite nearly all the Department of Magical Creatures' resources being devoted to hunting it, it has eluded your father for years," Gobber said as he pulled a chess set from his bag. Hiccup looked away from the window just in time to see the man take his wand out and placing it on the bench beside him.

"I just… He's always locked me up at home in fear of it, and I figured that now that I get to go to Hogwarts I'd finally be… free. But he's still locking me up," Hiccup muttered, glancing at his own wand. According to the eighth wandmaker they had visited this summer, in Beijing, it was the best wand money could buy. Hiccup had tried thousands of wands in shops all over the world, and none had chosen him, so Stoick had bought him this. Maybe at Hogwarts he'd learn how to use it.

"Oh, don't think like that. It's just until we reach the castle. You'll be safe there, and I won't have to babysit you anymore," Gobber chuckled, and Hiccup tried to smile. "Now, since we're stuck together we might as well pass the time with some chess!" the man said, laying the board on the table as the pieces jumped out of the box, taking their positions with loud boasts and battlecries.

They played for a while. Gobber won the first game, and they took a break when a nice lady knocked on the door to ask if they wanted any candy. Gobber bought a large brick of chocolate for them both. The sugar seemed to make Hiccup more alert, and he easily won the next three games.

"Looks like you'll be a Ravenclaw with those brains. What house would you like to be in?" Gobber asked as his broken black pieces put themselves back together with loud groans and whimpers. Hiccup shrugged.

"Haven't really thought about it. I guess everyone always says Gryffindor, but I'm not so sure. Maybe Slytherin, to piss off Dad," he said as his king and queen led his white pieces back onto the field.

"Honestly I think he'd be more disappointed if you ended up a Hufflepuff. He often complains they're 'too nice' and 'care too much about dangerous creatures'," Gobber said. "But with the way you're slaughtering me, I don't think you're nice enough for that."

--------------------------------

As he climbed out of the rickety boat Hiccup didn't feel like Hogwarts was a very magical place. It was raining, and the summer warmth was blown away by a cold wind.

"Why did we have to go all the way to London for the train if Hogwarts is right next door? And now a boat! I hate water!" a Scottish voice from the next boat said, and Hiccup looked over to see a white-haired girl looking sick as she jumped onto land. Her robes were simple and sturdy compared to his gilded silk robes that did nothing to keep him warm.

"Such weird boats. Ours back home are much sturdier!" a girl with long brown hair said as she climbed out beside Hiccup. "I'm Katara, by the way. Katara Waters."

"I'm Hiccup," he said loudly to be heard over the howling wind. They hadn't had much of a chance to speak during the boat ride.

"Alright, head inside now, let's hurry!" Gobber shouted, helping a black-haired girl out of one of the boats. She looked very annoyed, and when Hiccup looked closer he noticed her eyes were blank and milky. For a second the dragon's eyes from that day in Gringotts flashed in his mind. Katara waved her wand and did a strange movement with her other hand, and the rain above them was diverted, like she was holding a large umbrella. Hiccup gladly took the opportunity to look away from the blind girl and focus on something else.

"You can do that already?" he asked, fingers rolling over his own wand on his belt.

"It's magic from my tribe, I learned it from my gran-gran," she said, continuing the odd spell.

"I thought Hagrid was supposed to guide the first-years?" one of the boys asked as the last of the boats docked, water splashing over the side as its occupants jumped out.

"Hagrid retired years ago, he moved to France. I'm the groundskeeper now," Gobber said, before casting a charm that lit up a muddy path. The group hobbled along for a few minutes until they reached the front gates of the castle. Gobber waved his wand, and the gate opened. They gladly ran inside, slipping and sliding on the tiles. They barely had time to appreciate the enormous hall with its marble stairs before a familiar voice spoke up.

"Ah, you're here. Welcome, first-years, to Hogwarts!" a tall woman with grey hair said. Hiccup recognized her from one of his dad's ministry parties.

"I am Professor McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts and Transfiguration teacher," she continued as the kids gathered around the enormous marble stairs she was standing on. Once they were all lined up she talked a bit about how houses worked, and that they should obey the rules. Hiccup's mind wandered, and with it his eyes. Next to him was Hiro, the boy from the wand shop, who looked as bored as him. Next to Hiro was a bald boy with arrow-shaped tattoos on his head and arms. Despite his strange appearance he looked giddy and excited. And at the far end he saw Astrid. She suddenly noticed him staring and frowned, and he quickly dropped his gaze.

"Now, let us enter the Great Hall so you can be Sorted!" McGonagall finished her speech, before passing through the line of first-years to a large door to their right.

Although he had heard stories and read books about this hall, he still gasped at the sight of it. The ceiling reflected the storm clouds outside, though no rain fell on the floating candles and tables filled with precious silverware. Hundreds of students dressed in similar black robes sat along the 4 tables, and they all looked at him and the other first-years entering. At the far end was the staff table on the raised platform. He could see Gobber near the center of it, giving him a quick wave with his prosthetic hand. He tried to smile back, though it was hard when his stomach churned at the sight of the tattered old hat sitting on a tiny old chair.

The blind girl was the only one not gasping at the amazing room. Instead she just kept walking forward alongside McGonagall, leading the other first-years towards the Sorting Hat.

Eventually they were all crowded near the chair with the hat, and it began to sing. Some of the Muggleborns gasped and looked fearful at first, but the hat quickly reassured them as it explained its purpose and the characteristics of the four houses.

"Alright, when I call your name, step forward, sit on the chair, and I'll put the hat on you. It will then sort you into your House. Firstly… Avatar, Aang!" McGonagall said, lifting the hat with one hand, a scroll in her other. The bald boy with tattoos he noticed earlier stepped forward with light steps and sat down, and McGonagall lowered the hat over the large blue arrow on his forehead.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" it shouted barely a second later. The boy jumped up, higher than Hiccup knew someone could jump, and ran over to the table that had exploded with applause.

"Beifong, Toph!" The blind girl stepped forward, somehow noticing the small step between them and the chair, and sitting down without help. Hiccup wondered how she did that.

The hat was quiet for a minute as Toph grimaced, before eventually announcing "GRYFFINDOR!"

Butterfly, Star!"

"That's me, that's me! Hi, Mr. Hat! Ooh, ooh, are you going to look into my mind? That's soooo cool!" a girl with heart-shaped cheek marks and blonde hair past her knees screamed as she ran forward, knocking over several first-years with surprising strength. She had an enormous grin as the Hat was placed over her head, hiding her wide eyes from the room.

For a second the grin lowered, before returning full-force. She nodded wildly, making McGonagall reach out her hand to steady the hat.

"GRYFFINDOR!" it suddenly boomed. The table next to them applauded loudly as the girl took off the hat and ran to her new house.

The sorting went on like that for a while, and Hiccup had trouble keeping track of all the names. There was a small commotion at the Ravenclaw table when Pidge Gunderson was called forward and sorted there, but it was quickly shushed.

Hiccup didn't recognize any of the kids that were sorted until "Hamada, Hiro" was sorted into Ravenclaw. Hiccup frowned at that. Wasn't he supposed to be before Hamada, since he's a Haddock? He was about to raise his hand when "Hofferson, Astrid" was announced, and at the sight of the fierce blonde walking forward with resolute steps he forgot what he was thinking about.

The hat was quiet for a very long time, at least five minutes, during which Astrid balled her hands into tighter and tighter fists. Even with her eyes hidden by the hat's brim she was clearly angry.

'GRYFFINDOR!" the hat eventually shouted, and she didn't even wait for McGonagall to lift the hat. Astrid jumped to her feet and tossed it to the chair, before stomping to the applauding table.

Hiccup's musings on what Astrid could be angry about were interrupted by McGonagall scraping her throat and announcing the next name.

"Horrendous, Hiccup!"

The tension that had filled the room at Astrid's anger snapped in the form of collective laughter.

"That's his actual name?"

"Don't know what's worse, the first or last name!"

"Wow, I feel sorry for the house that gets that one!"

"What were his parents thinking?"

Hiccup could feel his cheeks heat up in shame as he slowly stepped forward.

"That's not my last name! It's Haddock! Horrendous is my middle name!" he shouted, trying to be heard over the laughter which only increased at his words.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes as she checked her scroll again.

"You are- SILENCE!" The one word instantly stopped all the laughter in the hall. "You are listed as Horrendous in our records-" Snickers and soft laughs again echoed through the room, though they quickly stopped when she glared.

"We'll figure this out later. Either way, Mr. Hiccup, step forward and be Sorted."

He slowly nodded, feeling the stare of every person in the room on him, and sat down on the chair. Then the hat slid over his eyes, and it was suddenly completely silent.

...Until a raspy voice whispered in his ear.

"Who do we have here? Mistaken identity? Someone messing with the records? Well, let me tell you, you do belong here at Hogwarts, even if your wand doesn't work and someone got confused about your name. But where to put you?"

Hiccup jerked away from the voice and opened his mouth to ask how the hat knew all of this, but before he could even draw a breath the voice whispered in his other ear.

"Don't bother talking out loud, this is all in your head. No need for anyone else to hear this. Now, where oh where shall you go? A kind heart, loyal and forgiving. Not too lazy either. You'd make a decent Hufflepuff. But on the other hand, what a brain! Eager to learn, and I can see a spark of genius in you. You could have new perspectives. Maybe Ravenclaw?"

Hiccup's thoughts raced as he awaited the hat's verdict. A sweatdrop slid over his forehead. The presence gave him a headache.

"You're obviously not a Slytherin, you don't have a deceitful or ambitious bone in your body. Brave though, even if you don't know it yet. A good sense of right and wrong, and deep inside there's fighting spirit. What glorious cause would bring that out? You could be a great hero, you know, and Gryffindor would lead you to glory. All the kids these days want to be in the house of the amazing Harry Potter and his friends, but you could truly follow their path," it said, and Hiccup squeezed his eyes shut.

He was about to agree. Gryffindor was the house of the heroes, the good guys, the house that would please his father, the house the girl who made him feel all funny and light went to.

But then he remembered three Gryffindors on the back of a dragon. Three Gryffindors who everyone called heroes. Gryffindors who let a dragon run amok and kill his mother.

If that was heroism, Hiccup didn't think he wanted it.

"Oh, what's this? Now this is interesting. You might be the first kid I've seen in 7 years who doesn't worship those three. The complete opposite of that previous… never mind that, I'm not supposed to talk about other Sortings. Anyway, this is an interesting form of bravery in itself! But in your case, I think you'd better go to… RAVENCLAW!"

The hat was pulled from Hiccup's head, and the sounds of the Great Hall returned. There was muted clapping from the Ravenclaw table, not nearly as much as for the other students, while the other tables looked relieved. He awkwardly walked to the Ravenclaws, stumbling on the small step, though he managed to avoid falling on his face. He quickly sat down next to Hiro as McGonagall called forth "Jorgenson, Scott" and attention diverted away from him. A girl with round glasses and short hair reached out her hand across the table to him.

"Hey there. I'm Pidge Gunderson. Well, my brother here would say I'm Katie Holt, but that's not what the official records say now, do they Matt?" she said, pointing to a boy several years older, with similar hair and glasses who was sitting next to her. Hiccup awkwardly took her hand and shook it.

"How did you even hack the records here to change your name?! They're all in parchment! It's not like they have computers or internet!" Matt shouted, though he silenced himself when the hat proclaimed "SLYTHERIN" and "Katolis, Callum" was called forward.

"Oh, I have my ways. Still, you owe me 50 quid," Pidge (or was it Katie?) said, snickering. Hiccup wasn't sure how to respond to the bickering siblings.

"Fine, but I still don't understand why you did it. This will come back to bite you eventually," Matt said, rolling his eyes and digging in his pockets, pulling out a few bills of muggle money.

"Let me guess how you did it… You intercepted the communications between the ministry and Hogwarts, probably via Floo," Hiro said, and Pidge chuckled before nodding.

"Yup. Just had to figure out a charm to modify the ink inside the envelope."

"Oh man, I can see you two are already becoming partners in crime. What did I tell you, Tadashi? Hopeless. Our siblings are supervillains in the making!" Matt called out to a tall boy several seats down. He started to reply when the hat shouted "RAVENCLAW" and a boy with messy brown hair and a thick book on a belt slung around his shoulder walked over to sit next to Pidge.

"Hi, I'm Callum. Muggleborn, but my dad is high in muggle government so he already knew about magic," the boy introduced himself. Pidge quickly introduced herself, explaining that she and Matt were Muggleborn as well.

"I'm half-blood. Muggle mother, wizard father. They both died when I was 3," Hiro said, and Hiccup turned to look at him. Murdered by Death Eaters?

Hiro must have noticed the question in his eyes. "No, nothing to do with the war. Broom-flying accident. Dumb stuff like that still happens during wartime," he said lightly, though something in his face fell anyway. Down the table Tadashi frowned.

"My mom died during the war too," Hiccup said, looking down.

"May I ask what happened?" Matt asked softly. Hiccup sighed.

"A dragon killed her," he simply said, not in the mood to explain the role of Harry Potter in it.

"I'm sorry," Callum said, just as the hat announced another Ravenclaw. Hiccup moved to clap loudly, grateful for the distraction. A boy with black hair with faint blue streaks sat down next to Hiccup.

"Hey there, I'm Varian! I'm from a little village in Wales called Old Corona. Muggleborn, hoping to figure out how magic fits into physics and chemistry!" he said, lifting a hand covered by a huge lab glove to shake Pidge's hand.

Hiro, Pidge, and Varian immediately started an animated discussion of muggle science, and Hiccup couldn't help but feel left out somehow. He caught Callum's gaze, and they shared a chuckle at their housemates.

"I'm more an artist than a scientist myself," Callum said, and Hiccup nodded, before turning to watch the rest of the sorting. Not many kids were left. He noticed Katara, the girl from the boat who could direct the rain, waiting next to… someone with purple hair and pointed ears. Hiccup wasn't really sure if the person was a boy or a girl.

"Vaarsuvius!" McGonagall called, and they stepped forward.

"Finally. You strange cranial accessory, let us purvey the different possibilities of social company I shall have to compete with in my quest for Ultimate Arcane Power!" they said loudly before putting the hat on.

"That one sure looks like to hear his own voice," Callum chuckled, and Hiccup had to agree.

"RAVENCLAW!"

Hiccup wasn't surprised after Vaarsuvius' declaration, and joined the rest of his house in applause.

Welcome, fellow wizards and other arcane casters! My name is Vaarsuvius, from the ancient village of Ivyleaf on the Western Continent! Former apprentice of Aarindarius, who also moved here to Albion to teach the noble art of Arithmancy!" they said as they sat down next to Callum.

"If it's okay, I'll just call you 'V'," Pidge said. Vaarsuvius simply shrugged at that.

"So you're from America? Me and my brother are as well, but we moved here because my aunt could set up a cafe in Hogsmeade," Hiro said as Katara was sorted into Gryffindor. Realizing the Sorting was over, all conversations ended.

An old grumpy looking man took the chair and hat away, and McGonagall moved to the center where it had stood.

"Welcome, students, to another year at Hogwarts! The usual rules still apply, but I must announce an extra rule coming from the Ministry of Magic via our groundskeeper and professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Gobber Belch: Due to the increased threat coming from the so-called Red Death dragon, students are no longer permitted to walk the grounds after dark. I must remind everyone that the Forbidden Forest is forbidden because of its many dangers, dangers which have increased in recent years. Do not be foolish and risk your life in there. There's plenty of excitement in the castle itself," McGonagall spoke. There was some nervous chuckling here and there, but overall people seemed very uncomfortable with this warning. Was this that unusual?

As far as Hiccup knew, his father had announced more warnings and declarations and rules about the Red Death every year since its first appearance 5 years ago. Maybe they hadn't reached Hogwarts until now.

"But let us not be saddened by such dark thoughts on such a happy evening. A great feast has been prepared, so let us enjoy it!" With those words, piles of food appeared on the golden plates, and the scientists finally stopped their discussion on perpetual motion in order to eat.

A flash of light flickered on the walls, and Hiccup looked up to see lightning strike across the enchanted ceiling. For a fraction of a second he thought he could see the shadow of a dragon inside a cloud, but then it was gone, and he shook his head and forced himself to focus on eating mashed potatoes and deciphering Vaarsuvius' long-winded speeches.

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"This portrait is the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. We have a password, which currently is 'Primum non nocere'. Please do not share this password with anyone from another house. While we encourage friendships between houses, you should be meeting in shared spaces like the library, the grounds, the great hall, or unused classrooms. There are some plans for a 'common common room', but it will likely take a while for that to happen," a prefect explained to Astrid and the other first-year Gryffindors.

Astrid didn't feel the need to be friends with other houses for now. Of the three girls she met on the train, two had joined her in Gryffindor, and it wasn't like she had bonded much with Pidge.

The portrait of the fat lady swung open, revealing a chamber filled with poofy armchairs, thick rugs, and wooden tables.

"Ugh, carpeting. I prefer solid wooden or stone floors, they're much less fuzzy to see through," Toph, the blind girl, said, and Astrid noticed for the first time she was barefoot.

"Up here are the dorms. Left for the boys, right for the girls. No mingling. You'll keep the same dorm for the 7 years you are here. You got lucky, you get the closest ones, so you don't have to climb another six flights of stairs. These are also the dorms Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom and the other heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts used during their time here, so you can feel a bit closer to their glory, I suppose. Your belongings have already been delivered to your dorms. Owls are in the Owlery, you can visit them after class. Breakfast is between 8 and 9 AM. It is your own responsibility to be on time, but perhaps you can work out a system with your roommates to wake up and go down together," the prefect said, gesturing at two open doors through which she could see steep stairs.

"I expect all of you to bring glory to yourselves and to Gryffindor. This means doing well in class, going the extra mile for more points, but also by helping students who are struggling, whether they are in this house or not. True chivalry doesn't look at someone's colors. That is all for now. I advise you to go to sleep quickly, as you have a long day ahead tomorrow. Any questions?"

At the reminder of sleep Astrid yawned. She hadn't had much sleep last night, too excited to go here, and she desperately wanted to catch up.

However, Rayla didn't seem to agree.

"I heard there's a dueling club or something? How can we join?" she asked.

"There is, though it's rare that it accepts first-years. You'll have to talk to Professor Flitwick, he runs it. If he's impressed with your performance in his Charms class, he might let you join. Once in, you get to compete with your fellow duelists for the highest rank. If you want to become an auror a good duelist rank helps you a lot," the prefect explained, and Astrid woke up at that.

If she wanted to be good at dueling she needed to be rested, however. So she led the way up the girl's stairs and into the first room labeled "First-years". In there she easily found her suitcase on the bed closest to the window, and laid down. She was tempted to fall asleep like that, but she forced herself to unpack her pajamas and toothbrush as the other girls walked in.

"Ooh, ooh, this looks nice! Can I have this bed, can I? Do you think I can make an extra closet?" Star Butterfly was as loud and energetic as she had been the entire evening.

"I don't think we're allowed to modify anything, Star. But you can take that bed. Toph, how about you take this one near the door, that way you don't have to walk through our stuff when you get up," Katara said, making Toph scoff.

"I can handle myself, Sugar Queen," she muttered, but still took the suggested bed. The two had gotten off to a bad start when Katara offered to help her eat and Toph responded by magically shifting the table to make food fly into her face.

"Can you two stop bickering so we can sleep?" Merida groaned.

"Fine," Toph said, and Astrid figured it was a good thing the blind girl couldn't see Katara roll her eyes.

"How do we wake up on time tomorrow?" Rayla asked, digging through her own bags.

"I can set an alarm with my wand!" Star said, showing off her strange wand. She tapped it, and with a cloud of pink smoke the round top part suddenly had a clock face.

"What kind of wand even is that?" Merida asked, lifting her own simple wooden one.

"It's the Butterfly wand! Has been in my family foreeeeveeeeeer!" Star said, dragging out the last word as she fiddled with the clock.

After that they prepared for bed mostly in silence, taking turns in the bathroom before crawling under the covers. Despite the summer heat, it was quite cool. Astrid wondered if it was because they were so high up, or if the temperature was controlled by magic.

Despite her heavy eyes, Astrid couldn't fall asleep, even though the curtains on her bed muffled Star's and Toph's snores. She had hoped she could sleep easier here. Back in her little room at Uncle Finn's she never slept well. Every time she'd open her eyes in the dark room, it was like that night over seven years ago, when Aunt Erika woke her to tell her Daddy and Celia were dead.

But this place was different. She shouldn't still be bothered by those childish memories! Still, her annoyance didn't help her fall asleep, and after an hour of staring at the red curtains she finally sat up and grabbed her suitcase, searching for some little notebooks.

Her sister's diaries. Celia started a new one every year, leaving the old ones at their house, where Astrid found them when they moved everything to Uncle Finn's house. As always when she opened them, Astrid wondered if her sister would have been okay with her reading them, but she could never resist. Apart from her letters this was all she had left of her. Maybe if she reread how her brave sister handled her first night at Hogwarts she could handle it as well.

So she found the diary from Celia's first year, and opened it to the first page.

September 1st

Dear Diary, I'm at Hogwarts! It's incredible here. It's so big! I got sorted into Gryffindor, Harry Potter's house! He wasn't at the table, though. Apparently he got really sick from the dementors on the train!

Oh right, I forgot to tell you, the train was stopped by dementors looking for Sirius Black! It was so scary, they made me feel all cold and empty. Jackie, who got sorted into Gryffindor with me, had to cry. Still, the feast made me feel much better, there was so much food!

I got to meet all my new housemates too! There's Jackie, and Chang, and some other girl whose name I forgot, and Dennis. Dennis' brother is also in Gryffindor. They're both Muggleborns. They're different than I expected. I always thought they'd be much dumber! But they were funny, and I can't wait for my classes tomorrow! I should go to sleep now, I think Jackie is getting annoyed at my writing at night.

The entry reminded Astrid that she had it easy compared to her sister. She didn't have to deal with Dementors! With that thought she finally fell asleep, still holding the diary.

#grey stains #httyd #fanfic #hogwarts #hiccup #astrid

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come-with-me-and-imagine · 7 years

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The Lady and The Viking

(This is the Ragnar Soulmate Au. The character in mind is inspired by Lady Marion from Robin hood, in the more traditional sense. I realize that this imagine is not all together historically accurate but for the sake of the Imagine just go with it) :) I was in a more romantic fluffy mushy mood right now.

Ragnar had become separated from his kinsmen after a long raid. Something had gone wrong and they had become overpowered very quickly. One of his men had pushed him off a cliff to avoid being shot by an arrow. The last thing he truly remembered was plunging into the fast moving current of the river. When he had awakened he found himself in a strange area he did not recognize. Pulling himself from the bank he quickly found a road...but which way to go? Left? Or Right? Looking back and forth he decided to go to the left.

His boots kicked up the dust and rocks from the pathway. He didn’t know how long he had been walking before he rounded a corner only to come face to face with a horse. Clearly having been startled the horse reared causing the rider to cry out in fear. The horse stood at its full height before stomping back down in front of Ragnar. This caused the rider to fly off the saddle. Instinctively when he felt the body connect with his, he grabbed a hold as he fell to the ground. With sharp grunt he felt his breath escape him as a body landed on his chest. His vision seemed to blur due to the wind being knocked out of him.

But then he smelt it...sweet perfume. His blue eyes opened and tried to focus...only to behold the person laying on top of him.

A woman...with a white head veil and cloth covering her from the top of her head down into her dress. Long bell sleeves and skirts had flown about them. Her face was perfectly framed for him to behold. He felt his heart thumping ever faster as all seemed to fade before him. Only she remained clear and unwavering. It felt as if his heart was trying to jump out of his chest towards her. Her cheeks had flushed as their eyes locked with one another before she slowly got up. He smiled seeing her embarrassment.

“Are you alright?” he asked her gently causing her to blush even more. By Odin...she was beautiful.

“Yes.” She spoke softly and eloquently “I am well good sir. I thank you for catching me.” She smiled softly with her hands placed before her. Ragnar felt severely under-dressed standing next to her.

“It was a pleasure catching you my lady.” he smiled as he spoke his best English before offering a bow. He watched her smile and blush.

“Might I inquire your name good sir? I would like to know the name of my savior.”

“I am Ragnar Lothbrok. And Might I know the name of the lady I had the pleasure of rescuing?” He smiled at her as he dared take a step forward.

“I am Lady (Y/N).”

“Lady (Y/N)...a name truly worthy of a beautiful woman.” He watched her smile fade when she noticed his state of dress.

“You are absolutely drenched sir and injured. Please follow me back to my home we can bathe you and clean your wounds. It is the least I can do.” she offered as she got her horse. “If you sit behind me we could get there much faster.” She said as she went to get on but soon felt a pair of hand sat her waist. She blushed and smiled to herself as she was hoisted onto the saddle. How she hated sitting side saddle. Sitting astride was much more secure. Looking down she watched Ragnar climb on behind her and hold her around her waist. Being this close to a man...a handsome man...her heart was racing and pounding in her ears. Surely he could see her blushing at this point. Looking ahead she kicked her horse into a trot. It would be about a 20 minute ride before they arrived at her home.

The entire time, riding with her, holding her. He felt as if he was in a dream...a dream he never wished to wake from.

Once there Ragnar jumped down first despite his injury and helped the Lady (Y/N) down. Once her feet touched the ground servants ran out to see who this man with their lady was. “Please take him inside, bathe him and give him fresh cloths. Treat him as you would me.” The servants gave a nod before taking Ragnar inside. Much to his surprise they were very...through...in their cleaning. By the time he emerged from the bathing chamber he was as squeaky clean as he was after being born. Not a trace of dirt or blood. His leg was bandaged and he was taken to the dinning area. There the Lady (Y/N) awaited him in a fresh dress. He felt his breath being taken away again. “My lady...” he bowed causing her to smile.

“Ragnar...I...Wish to discuss something with you.” She was nervous and couldn’t find the words. “Oh forget it...its stupid,” she blushed and turned to the fireplace.

“No, please...tell me?” he asked hoping it was similar to what he wished to ask her. Did she feel that strange pull he felt? Was the world all a blur but him? His hand gently touched her shoulder. He needed to know!

Oh dear Odin he sounded like a love struck boy having seen his first beautiful woman. What was happening to him?! Why was he suddenly so struck by this her? Slowly, Lady (Y/N) turned to face Ragnar. “I know this may sound completely ridiculous. But did you...feel something strange when you caught me? Oh listening to me I sound like a fool--” she said but Ragnar quickly silenced her. His finger pressed to her lip.

“All of my life...even with the woman I married I felt as if something was missing. Never has my heart reacted the way it did with you today.” His hand tentatively cupped her face. “Not once...but when I looked upon your face...it was as if you were the only clear thing in this world for me to look upon.” He watched her smile happily at his answer.

“Do you think...my mother often spoke of finding a soulmate...is...is that what this is?” She asked curiously as he stepped forward and held her hands.

“That I do not know. But what I do know is this...now that have met you, my lady (Y/N)...I do not intend on letting you go.”

“Will you take me with you? Back to where you are from?” Her eyes were wide in wonder as she thought of the far off places where he had traveled from. Sh wanted to see the world she wanted to explore. She wanted to be free.

“If I left you behind...my heart would surely shatter the moment I step off English soil.” Her hands tightened around his and kissed them gently.

“I wish to learn more about you, Ragnar Lothbrok.”

Ragnar smiled happily, “Just as I wish to learn more of you. My Lady (Y/N).”

I once again apologize for how cheesy this is but I was in the mood for it. :)

@hildeerpdottir @lovelynerdytraveler @cutiepiepotatoes @thinemineours @filippazm @nistaposebno @britt-janssens @titty-teetee @readsalot73 @crazyandanonymous4u @pandainfinitely @peachykenn @angel-852 @whorriblemindset

#Ragnar imagine #ragnar soumate au #vikings imagines #ragnar drabble #vikings drabble #ragnar fluffy romance #cheesy romance

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worryinglyinnocent · 7 years

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Fic: Love is a Layered Cake (4/10)

Summary: Summer has come, and with it, the Great British Bake-Off. Sheep farmer and spinner Rum Gold is one of twelve contestants competing for the crown in the latest show. In addition to navigating the perils of televised baking, ridiculous challenges and his fellow bakers, he also has to contend with his undeniable crush on one of the judges, the beautiful and talented Belle French…

Rated: G

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[Week One: Cake] [Week Two: Biscuits] [Week Three: Bread] [AO3]

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Week Four: Pies and Tarts

In which Gold curses apricots, considers jumping into a fridge, and goes on an adventure involving noodles.

Also, Astrid gets a starring role in the show for one night only.

“It’s time to dust off the innuendo, everyone!” This was Ella’s announcement as she came into the break room early on Saturday morning. Her bright and breezy demeanour, with sunglasses nowhere in sight, was something of a shock to the gathered bakers, who were getting used to seeing her rather hungover of a morning before filming started and she had to look perfectly put together for the cameras.

“Someone’s chirpy,” Jefferson remarked.

“Of course.” Ella gave him a sweet smile. “I always enjoy any week in which I can wring the English language to within an inch of its meaning and in doing so give all the censors a heart attack. Last year during pies and tarts week we got a grand total of twenty-three complaints about the nature of my speeches. I intend to get to at least thirty this year.”

“You do realise that if you do that they’ll threaten to take you off the air,” Ursula pointed out.

“Oh darling, you enjoy it just as much as I do. You’ve been practicing your one-liners in the mirror all week.” Ella pouted, and Ursula had to concede the point.

“That is true. I suppose it’s all part of the bake-off banter. It wouldn’t be the same if we were respectable every week. Still, are we all ready?”

If pressed Gold would say that he was about sixty-three per cent ready. He was hanging all his hopes on the second day, when they would be making pies, because pies were something that he could generally make without too much bother. Of course, this was a baking competition and the simple meat pies that he made for his family wouldn’t really cut it, but he had more confidence in his abilities there than today. Pastry was one of his stronger areas, but unlike bread it could be hit and miss. Belle had said that she didn’t believe in the star baker curse, which was all very well when she wasn’t one of the bakers whom it might affect. If he got off to a good start then so much the better, but if he performed poorly today, then he would certainly be having words with Belle about her theory as proof that the curse definitely did exist.

All the same… It was a well-known fact of the bake-off that despite the increasingly difficult challenges that lay ahead of them, it was extremely rare for the person who was star baker in bread week not to make it through to the grand final of the competition. If he was going to believe in any of the strange legends that surrounded the bake-off, Gold thought that it would be better for him to believe in that one.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” Emma said. “Which is not ready at all. I’ll be all right as long as the technical challenge does not involve puff pastry in any shape or form.”

“What’s wrong with puff pastry?” Lance asked. “It’s easy!”

“Are you mad, man? Puff pastry is the food of the devil! I mean, I enjoy eating a good apple turnover as much as the next person-” here the entire party broke off into laughter as the next person to enter the room was Regina, self-confessed queen of the apple turnover “-but when it comes to puff pastry, mine always comes out of a packet. I have long since given up attempting to make it.”

“No, no, no.” Leroy had come over to investigate their argument. “There’s something very therapeutic and logical about it.” It was rare for Leroy to engage in conversation with the others; he wasn’t anti-social per se but he generally spent most of his time chatting to Astrid and the other production staff whom he knew through her, and to hear the down-to-earth builder talking about baking being therapeutic was certainly an eye-opener. Then again, it wasn’t too strange. Leroy and Lance were both definitely pastry men, that had been established during the first week together, and this would be their week to shine out. Gold had enjoyed finding all the other baker’s strengths, and he wondered how things would continue to pan out as the series progressed and the things they had to make became ever more complicated. He dreaded to think what the technical challenge in the finale would be, if he made it that far.

He shook his head; it was far too early to be thinking about that yet when he hadn’t even started baking today, let alone got through the technical challenge, and there were still another five weeks to go before the finale after this one. Six more people to lose. He didn’t really want to lose anyone, apart from Zelena. They were growing into good friends and a real set of characters, and they’d all be a loss to the tent if they were to leave. He certainly didn’t want to leave himself. Now all he had to do was make sure that he didn’t.

In Belle’s opinion, pies and tarts was another crucial week in sorting out people’s strengths and weaknesses, as it was the first week that the bakers would be tackling pastry. Perhaps those who had not had huge successes thus far would come into their own today. She glanced down at her shoes as they waited outside the tent for the production to begin; she’d worn her favourite bright blue peep-toed heels and they were sinking into the soft ground where it had rained overnight. Granny took a look at her footwear and tutted with good-natured disapproval.

“I don’t know how you can even stand up in those things, let alone walk around or do anything useful in them,” she said. “Ruby’s just as bad. I would say that I thought she was a bad influence on you, but when it comes to ridiculously high shoes, I know that you’re the instigator every time.”

“It’s not my fault, Granny, I really need the extra height!” Belle complained. “The last couple of baking shows I did in the intervals between bake-offs, the producers had me stand on a box so that I didn’t look dwarfed by the other presenters!”

“Well, I’m not exactly a giant myself, but I don’t feel the need to strap miniature spears to my heels. Give me my sensible Hotters any day.”

“To each their own, Granny.”

Belle’s relationship with Granny was a long-standing one, going back long before the bake-off. She’d been at school with Ruby Lucas, and in a way, it was Granny who had inspired Belle to start baking in the first place, as she had always loved watching her best friend’s grandmother create all these amazing cakes and pies when she’d been visiting after school. Although the two girls had grown apart, as school-friends do when distance gets in the way, the lessons that Granny had taught her were still a part of Belle’s baking repertoire, and when she had the opportunity to work with the woman who had become both a personal and professional icon, she wouldn’t have passed it up for the world.

It was time for them to enter the tent, and Belle unstuck her feet from the ground and followed Granny, Elsa and Ursula inside. Although they had only lost three bakers, the tent still felt emptier as the work benches were respaced each week to avoid having everyone clumped together and too many empty benches, and the gaps between everyone were getting steadily bigger. By the time they got to week six they’d all be looking rather lonely in their own little corners, and Belle sometimes found the tent quite sad to look at with so few people in it. Still, there were still nine of them here today, and plenty of work to be getting on with.

“Good morning bakers,” Ella said brightly. “Welcome to week four of the bake-off, dedicated to pies and tarts. I have been categorically forbidden from making inappropriate jokes about this, which I think is most unfair.”

“Believe me, the viewers will thank me for it,” Ursula said. “For your signature challenge this week, Belle and Granny would like you to bake a frangipane tart. It must use shortcrust pastry, and it must be open topped, but it can use any filling you choose.” She glanced over at Ella with a warning look. “Don’t say it.”

Ella just grinned. “You’ve got two hours for your topless tarts.”

A ripple of mirth ran around the tent, and Belle, for all she tried to remain as poised as possible during each week, couldn’t help but give in as well. It was all part of the show’s charm; as racy as Ella and Ursula could be, there was never any harm intended, it was just in-keeping with the ideal. There would be more than one reference to soggy bottoms before the weekend was out; it was a staple of pie week and Belle thought that the audience would be disappointed if they didn’t get a couple of the usual jokes in.

Ursula groaned. “You had to go there.”

“Of course I had to. On your marks!”

“Get set!”

“Bake!”

The tent burst into a flurry of activity as flour was sifted and butter cut into it. Shortcrust pastry was one of the easier pastries in Belle’s opinion, with no repeated turning, rolling and chilling involved, but as with any tart, blind-baking the pastry was crucial to ensure a crisp base that would hold its filling - at the same time this was often a stumbling block for bakers who would go on to overbake the finished product. Like with bread, timing was crucial for each stage of the baking process.

After letting the bakers get settled into their pastry-making, Belle and Granny began the rounds. Leroy was up first, making a poached pear tart that he admitted, with a sheepish little smile, was Astrid’s favourite. His dough was already chilling in the fridge and Belle had to admire the speed and skill with which he’d got it made. Astrid had said that she hoped Leroy would make it into pie week so that he could come into his own, and he showed no signs of letting her down now. Mal was using figs as her fruit of choice, Regina had decided on plums: “I don’t want to be accused of only ever using the one fruit, as much as I love apples they don’t really go with a frangipane. You need a softer fruit for that, I think.” Elsa and Lance had both gone for raspberries.

Much to Belle’s surprise, Zelena was not using a green fruit, and she almost commented on the fact as they came over to her bench to find her elbow deep in blueberries. She and Granny had started making bets on how much more green she could incorporate into her cooking without it looking strange. At least they knew that she was going to enjoy one of the upcoming technical challenges. Green would be in abundance.

“Good morning Zelena,” Belle said brightly. In the week following the baking disaster that had got Rory sent home, Belle had not been able to get the idea out of her head that Zelena had somehow had a hand in the catastrophe. She knew that it was ridiculous to assume something so heinous of the woman just because they didn’t like her and she was trying to keep an open mind as they chatted animatedly about her blueberry and lavender frangipane, but the feeling of unease had been getting slowly and slowly stronger in the intervening days. They had no proof - well, not unless they went through all the reams of camera footage from the day and found something suspect - but the ill feeling remained, and Belle was determined to keep a close eye on the redhead this week in case of any more ‘mishaps’ on the part of the other contestants. Hopefully everything would prove to be unfounded and they could continue on their culinary journey with no further disasters of the scale that Aurora had unfortunately experienced.

“You need to be careful with lavender,” Granny was saying. “You have to be incredibly precise with the amounts you use otherwise it can completely overpower the other flavours.”

Zelena listened happily, her expression open and benign, but Belle still did not trust her. They moved across the tent to speak to Gold. The production team seemed to have finally got the message and were keeping the two of them as far apart as possible now, and Belle had to say that she was glad. The man had enough to worry about without Zelena mentally undressing him all the time.

“Good morning Raymond,” Granny said. “Tell us all about your frangipane tart.”

“It’s apricot and almond,” Gold said.

“A classic,” Granny agreed. “Well, because it’s a classic, we’re expecting great things.”

“Way to make him feel confident, Granny,” Ursula remarked. “Don’t worry,” she added to Gold. “You’ll be fine.”

“I’m really not sure about that,” Gold muttered. “The apricots are getting above themselves.”

He was in the middle of trying to peel the small fruits, and he seemed to be having some trouble. Although Belle didn’t believe in the idea of the Star Baker curse, she wondered if the contestants had created a self-fulfilling prophecy by going into a week expecting to do badly and therefore finding more problems for themselves.

“We’ll let you get on,” Granny said kindly, sensing his mounting frustration, and they moved on to speak to Jefferson, who was using pears and hazelnuts. One of the things that Belle had always enjoyed the most about the competition was seeing the sheer amount of different things that the contestants could come up with to flavour their creations with. It was incredibly rare to have two people making very similar things, and the depth and breadth of creativity that they showed never failed to make her smile. That was, however, one thing that she was slightly worried about with Gold. So far his bakes had all been pretty solid, but thus far he hadn’t strayed too far into adventurous territory, sticking with flavour combinations that were tried and tested and keeping things simple. There was nothing wrong with the basics, it was something that Granny had often espoused when bakers tried incredibly inventive ideas that had gone rather wrong in the execution, but all the same, as time went on and the bakes became more difficult, he might be left behind as the others came up with wilder ideas.

Once they had spoken to all of the bakers about what they were doing, Belle and Granny returned to their usual pastime of wandering the tent. A couple of contestants in past series had jokingly accused them of trying to be menacing, but even though Granny was thought of as a tough judge and sometimes difficult to please, but not even the most nervous of dispositions could ever really find her menacing.

Determined to keep an eye on Zelena, Belle made herself a cup of tea and settled on the bench at the back of the tent, next to the microwave. The redhead was behaving herself, completely absorbed in her own work and not paying attention to the other bakers, and she was beginning to think that perhaps she had been too hasty to judge her. All the same, that little niggle refused to die away, even as Ella called time on the challenge and they moved back to the front of the tent to let the production crew clean up around them before the judging began. She got the feeling that Zelena was planning something, and she wished she knew what it was.

Frangipane was difficult to get right with its mixture of textures, especially when using berry fruits on the top which had a tendency to exude a lot of juice and make the whole thing rather soggy. Regina, Leroy and Jefferson were definitely the frontrunners. Zelena’s had, as Granny had expected, suffered from an overdose of lavender that masked all the other flavours. Gold had also not fared too well; he’d had the bad fortune that the fresh apricots he’d used weren’t very flavoursome and whilst his frangipane sponge was very good, he had fallen into the trap of overbaking the pastry case, making it dry and crumbly. Belle gave him a sympathetic smile. It wasn’t a bad bake, not one that had put him in a precarious position for the next round - Mal and Elsa had also done badly with overbaking, and there was still the technical challenge in which everything could turn around.

All the same, she did feel sorry for him, with this disappointment coming on top of his last week’s triumph.

“I was betrayed by my apricots,” Gold muttered to Jefferson as the two of them sat in the lunch room, discussing the morning’s bake.

“That’s the trouble with fruit,” Jefferson mused, holding up a small satsuma and looking at it critically from every angle. “You can never tell whether it’s going to be good or bad until you get inside it. The flavour is impossible to determine from the outside.”

Gold raised an eyebrow. “I imagine that’s true of a lot of things.”

“No, not at all.” Jefferson was fully earnest as he turned towards Gold, still holding the satsuma as if he was presenting it for Gold’s inspection. “Now, when you pick up an old bread roll, you can immediately tell from the outside that it’s hard and dry and past its best. Same for cheese, you can see where it’s gone dry and brown. Or grown a furry coat. But take this satsuma. You know how satsumas go all horrible and shrivelled up inside when they’re old?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you have no way of knowing if your satsuma is shrivelled up inside until you peel it. Until you peel it, it could be either fresh and juicy or wizened. Schrödinger’s satsuma.”

“I’m beginning to think that you and Lance have a thing about Schrödinger,” Ella said, coming over to them with a large mug of coffee. “Last week it was dough, this week it’s wizened satsumas. You should be glad that the cameras aren’t rolling in here otherwise I would be making some very terrible jokes about your word choice.”

“I didn’t think you needed an audience to make terrible jokes, Ella,” Jefferson said brightly. “You do it all the time.”

“Ah, but it’s always better when I know I have the chance of offending a little old lady in Chipping Norton with my witticisms. Chin up, Mr Gold,” she added on seeing Gold looking despondent after his performance in the first challenge. “There’s still plenty of time for things to look up.”

Gold, unfortunately, did not share her optimism, and he definitely believed in the Star Baker curse at that point in time. A lot of people were feeling the pressure this week, it seemed. It was like the difficulty had been ratcheted up a notch. Still, there was no use in getting himself down before he’d even started on the final two challenges, and he tried to see the bright side. He had certainly not fared the worst in the challenge, even though he was nowhere near the best. He wasn’t going to get sent home right now. He just had to go into the rest of the weekend with a determination to do better. Having done so well the previous week, it would be extremely ignominious to have to go home and tell Aunt Elvira that his previous glory was all undone.

They trooped back down into the tent for the technical challenge, Granny dispensing a few cryptic words of advice before she and Belle were banished from the tent. Ursula outlined the challenge.

“This afternoon, bakers, the judges would like you to make six mini pear pies. These are individual pies made with rough puff pastry and whole poached pears. You have two hours on the clock for this challenge. On your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

Gold sighed as he turned over the recipe card and pulled the cloth off his allotted ingredients, reading through the instructions before getting to work. If there was one thing that he had learned during the past few weekends, it was that two hours was an incredibly short amount of time. He could see a cameraman coming towards him as he began to make his pastry so that it could have the maximum time to chill between turns, and he recognised him as Walter, who was a friendly soul and never too intrusive; Gold didn’t mind talking to him.

“I’ve never poached a pear before,” he muttered. “I hate pears. No-one in my family enjoys eating pears.”

Walter gave a snort of laughter, readjusting the steadicam on his shoulder. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so vehement about something.”

“Well, pears are the fruit of the devil.” Why had it had to be pears, of all the things? At least he wouldn’t be expected to sample his own creation. Across the tent, he heard Emma cursing the fact that they were using puff pastry, albeit the quicker to make version than painstaking full-puff, which involved layering butter and dough. At least in rough puff the butter was already in the dough.

“Who grates butter!” Mal moaned from the back; the recipe had provided them with chunks of frozen butter for grating into the pastry mixture, a process that required great arm strength. It was clear that this challenge was not going to go down as one of the favoured ones, and only the pastry aficionados like Lance and Leroy would get through it without too many problems. Gold just got on with it, feeling the time ticking away as he rolled and turned the pastry and put the pears on the heat, glaring at the offending fruit with such ferocity that Jefferson burst out laughing.

The final hurdle in the challenge came when the contestants had to glaze the pears and wrap the strips of pastry around them before putting them in the oven. Several people complained of their pastry falling off the pears due to the temperature, and Gold was quite sure that no-one in the tent was going to get this challenge perfect. He wedged the pastry strips on as best he could, trying to make sure that there were no glaring gaps between them, and shoved them in the oven, letting out a long breath as he rested his forehead on the edge of his workbench. When he moved away there was a sweaty smear there and he surreptitiously flicked at it with his tea towel. He hadn’t realised just how hot and bothered the challenge had made him. The mood in the tent was far less jovial than it had been in the morning, the entire atmosphere quieter and full of tension. Even Ursula and Ella were speaking to the other bakers in hushed tones, calm and reassuring. Everyone was feeling the pressure this afternoon.

Still, soon enough the pies were coming out of the ovens and Ursula was calling time on the challenge. The pies were placed on the judging table at the front and the clean-up began again. It was interesting to see the vastly different levels of success that they’d all had, and Gold wondered just who had got it right in the end.

When Belle and Granny came back into the tent at long last, it was clear that they were trying not to laugh at the disparity.

“Well, we’ve certainly got some, erm, variety here, haven’t we?” Granny said. “Shall we start?”

In the end Leroy came first, and considering the discussions on puff pastry that they’d been having the day before, Gold couldn’t say that he was particularly surprised. Gold himself was sixth; not great but not completely terrible either. Mal was at the bottom; the majority of her pastry had slid off the pies in the oven and they’d ended up as poached pears sitting in little puddles of puff pastry. Belle and Ursula were consoling her in one corner of the tent as Gold got ready to leave for the evening, hoping that Sunday’s showstopper would bring a better enough performance to guarantee his safety for the next week.

“Feeling confident about tomorrow?”

Gold jerked out of his reverie on hearing Zelena’s voice beside him, and he found her leaning on the workbench next to him, a smile on her face that would be called pleasant if it weren’t so hungry. He looked around desperately for an exit but he was somewhat hemmed in, and any attempt to escape would be incredibly obvious. That was the trouble with the tent, there were no doors, well, except for the doors on the fridges. He weighed up the potential drawbacks of diving headfirst into a fridge to get away from his conversation partner and decided that it was really too much of a risk. The only way to get rid of Zelena would probably be to give her what she wanted, otherwise she’d just persist. Unfortunately, right now it looked like what Zelena wanted was to take one of his kidneys.

“As confident as can be expected,” he said in answer to her question, inching away from her along the bench. She followed him.

“You know, if I didn’t know better I’d say that you were avoiding me,” she said, her tone obviously trying to be playful but succeeding only in sounding menacing. “We’ve never really got to know each other properly.” Gold just stared at her like a deer in the headlights, and she seemed to smirk at his discomfort. “There’s something about you, you know, that makes me wonder. You certainly showed us all last week. What other hidden talents have you got squirrelled away?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gold said coolly, taking another measured step away from her. Zelena just laughed.

“There’s really no need to run away,” she said. “I don’t bite.”

“I’m really not so sure about that,” Gold murmured. “Are you like this with everyone?”

“Of course not. Just the people I find interesting and want to get to know.”

“I can assure you I am incredibly boring and you don’t want to get to know me.” He’d almost managed to get the workbench between himself and Zelena but she grabbed his hand.

“Oh, I beg to differ.”

Gold looked down at her hand and tugged his wrist away from her vice like grip.

“Let go of me, please.”

“I just want to talk to you.”

“Please let go.”

“Hey, Gold, are you coming? We’re going to be late.”

It was Emma whose intervention saved him; she was standing at the entrance to the tent with Jefferson, Elsa and Lance, and even though Gold had no idea what he was supposed to be late for, he grabbed the out with both hands and feet and wrenched himself out of Zelena’s hold, making his way down towards the group with as much speed as his cane could give him.

“You ok?” Emma asked under her breath. “She looked like she was about to eat you alive.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who got that impression,” Gold replied faintly. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

“You’re welcome. We were going to go and get Chinese, there’s a great place down the road from the hotel; Elsa discovered it. You’re welcome to join us.”

Gold nodded, still shaken from the encounter with Zelena. “Please.”

The group left the tent together and Gold glanced back over his shoulder at Zelena. If looks could kill, well, the four of them would be dead several times over from the amount of venom in her stare.

“There is something about that woman that I really don’t trust,” Elsa said once they were in the cab heading for the restaurant. “She just seems so calculated and scheming all the time. I mean, if one of us had a problem with our bake then we’d all chip in to help each other out, wouldn’t we? It’s part of the beauty of bake-off that even though it’s a competition, it’s so friendly, not cutthroat at all. But I really don’t think you’d get any kind of assistance from her. The opposite, in fact.”

“Yes,” Emma agreed, for all the world lost in thoughts of Zelena and the worrying aura that she consistently presented. “From what I overheard from the judges chatting earlier, Belle’s not entirely convinced that she wasn’t responsible for Aurora’s catastrophe last week.”

“When did you overhear the judges chatting?” Elsa exclaimed. “Have you got any more juicy tidbits? Were they discussing who’s going to leave this week?”

“Woah, woah, calm down!”

“We can’t calm down!” Jefferson was just as excited at the prospect of clandestine gossip from the judges as Elsa was. “You have to tell us these things! You can’t just say that you overheard the judges chatting and then not elaborate!”

“I did elaborate, I said that Belle was suspicious of Zelena!”

“Yes! And?”

“And there is no and! That was it!”

“How did you come into this knowledge in the first place? Where were you?”

“I was on my way to the bathroom, if you must know. They put Granny and Belle in that little cubby hole room along the corridor from the break room. Maybe so that they’re not in the break room putting us off our lunch when we’re trying to relax before going into nerve-wracking technicals. Anyway, the door wasn’t closed properly and that was what I heard.”

“Well, that’s definitely news to squirrel away,” Jefferson said. He seemed rather gleeful at the prospect and Emma and Lance gave him a sceptical look.

“You’re getting way too into this,” the other man said.

“But it’s exciting! You never get to see all the gossip and behind the scenes back-stabbing on the actual programme! We’re right in the thick of it now!”

Jefferson and Elsa were still trying to get non-existent information out of Emma by the time they arrived at the restaurant, and Lance and Gold let the three of them get on with it. It was a pleasant evening and the food was, as promised, excellent. It was strange; Gold had never really thought about socialising with the other bakers outside of the tent, even though those who were from places too far away to go home daily were all in the same hotel a couple of miles from the filming location. They had their breaks together in the house obviously, but those tended to be taken up with discussing the events of the day so far, the conversation topics never straying too far from baking. Well, except when Jefferson was concerned as the man could turn his attention to absolutely anything at a moment’s notice. But out here, away from the pressures of knowing that the cameras would be back on them soon enough, it was easier to think of his fellow contestants as friends rather than a bunch of strangers he was just getting to know in fits and starts as they competed against each other. They could have been any group of people out for a meal together. True, they didn’t look like the most typical group of people given the disparity in their ages and looks, but they all got on well, which was the main thing. He stirred around the noodles on his plate, listening to Lance and Elsa argue over which of the major animation studios was the best. He’d learned more about these people in a couple of short hours than he had in three previous weekends in the tent, and he found it sad that they would eventually all be going their separate ways as they gradually left the tent and went back to their day jobs.

Gold knew that he was not the best at friendship; given his isolated location and the demanding nature of his life, it was hard to keep in contact with people and besides, he had always been content with just Bae, Aunt Elvira and Mr Dove for company. They were all he needed, really. But all the same, he still found himself wondering at the possibility of keeping in touch with his new-found friends after the series had finished. He could hope, at least. He was amazed that they had adopted him into their friendship in the first place, odd one out as he was, but they were open and accepting, never once making comment on his limp or his nervous demeanour, and they had certainly helped him out as far as Zelena was concerned. He remembered the look that she had been wearing when he’d been rescued this evening and it sent a shiver down his spine. He felt like he needed to watch his back, but at the same time, he got the feeling that the people sitting around the table would be watching it for him as well. It was reassuring.

It was late by the time they returned to the hotel and Gold remembered that he hadn’t checked in with Bae. It was a Saturday, he and Aunt Elvira would still be up watching Match of the Day, so he sent a quick text.

Going ok so far. I think.

Bae’s reply was almost immediate.

You’re late. Everything ok?

It’s fine. I went out to dinner with some of the others.

*faints* OMG Dad you have a SOCIAL LIFE now! I’m telling Aunt E.

Gold rolled his eyes and didn’t reply, collapsing back onto his bed and wondering what the following day would bring. With any luck it would be a little better fortune than today’s bakes had had.

“Good morning bakers, and welcome to the second day of our pies and tarts week which will, unfortunately, be focussed on pies.” Ella gave an overly dramatic sigh at the prospect of being unable to make quite as many jokes as she had done the previous morning.

“Considering the number of complaints we’ve probably clocked up already, this is likely a good thing,” Ursula pointed out. “Today is showstopper day, and as usual, Belle and Granny are looking forward to seeing you pull out all the stops as you create a three-tiered pie. Now, the pies must share some kind of common theme that links them all together, although exactly how you go about this is up to you. You can use any pastry you like, and any filling, sweet or savoury, but the pies must be able to support themselves and must have at least three tiers.”

“You have four and a half hours on the clock. On your marks.”

“Get set.”

“Bake!”

Gold had to wonder when in his life he would ever need to make a three-tiered pie. He’d never even made a three-tiered cake before, and he really doubted that anyone would want a tiered pie instead of a cake at their wedding, which was the only time he could think of people wanting multiple heights of baked goods. Nevertheless, this was what the judges wanted, so it was what he was going to give them, and he set about creating the first batch of hot water crust pastry that would form the basis of his pies. Looking around the tent, it seemed that everyone else had had a similar idea - hot water crust pastry required no blind baking and was very sturdy, unlikely to lose its shape or collapse under the weight of the other pies on top of it. This was going to prove to be one of the busier challenges, Gold could already tell that from the amount of ingredients that were piled up on everyone’s benches. With three different pies and different fillings to make, there would be no space to sit and think about everything that could go wrong, like there had been during bread week. Gold supposed that this was a blessing in a way as it would take his mind off stewing pessimistically, but at the same time he was already panicking about getting everything done in time. He’d practiced as much as he could, but ultimately he worked long hours and making bread (easy and life-long practised) or cake (extremely quick in comparison), was far more tempting a task after the day’s herding was over. Still, Aunt Elvira and Bae had given the seal of approval to the pies that he had made, and he was hoping that he could win the judges over too. Having been star baker the previous week, it was clear that they were expecting something spectacular from him today when they came over. The little star badge pinned to his apron suddenly felt rather heavy.

“Hello Mr Gold,” Ella said brightly. “What are you making today? It all looks very… meaty.”

“Ella, please.” Belle shook her head in despair. “What are we going to do with you?”

“Love me.” Ella beamed beatifically.

Belle just rolled her eyes and turned her attention to Gold. “Tell us about your three pies.”

“I’m making Christmas-themed pork pies,” he replied. “I know it’s not exactly the right season for it, but I’m hoping that by the time it actually gets to Christmas I’ll have them perfect.”

“Please don’t tell me that you’re going to put sprouts in them,” Ella said. “I’ll have to disown you if that happens.”

“There are no sprouts,” Gold assured her. “The bottom one will be filled with layers of pork with a sage and sausagemeat stuffing. The middle one is layered with bacon and a herb stuffing, and the top one has cranberry sauce and onions.”

“They sound delicious,” Granny said. “I’m looking forward to seeing how they turn out.”

They left him to cross over to Jefferson, who was going above and beyond the call of duty and was attempting to create a four-tirered pie inspired by the four seasons. Belle praised his ambition but was rather concerned about how he was going to get it all done in the time, which was something Gold was wondering about his own creation. Emma was at the bench in front of him this time and she turned to exchange an incredulous look with him when she too heard the extent of Jefferson’s prospective bake.

“I thought three was pushing it!” she exclaimed. “I don’t think there are enough sausages in the world to create that many pies.”

“Sausage pies?”

“Yeah, Henry loves them. They’re kind of like toad in the hole, but in a pie instead of Yorkshire puddings.”

“Right…”

“They taste amazing!”

“I’m not saying that they don’t, I’ve just never come across the concept before.”

“Well, now you have. Although I must say, yours are making me really want a full Christmas dinner when I get home tonight. Graham’s going to think I’ve gone mad.”

Gold just shook his head in good natured despair and returned to the more pressing task of lining the pie tins with his finished pastry, trying to ensure that it was an even thickness all the way round, not so thick that it wouldn’t cook but not so thin that the filling might leak out through it. The cameras kept coming around at various points and he tried to keep up the easy chatter that the other contestants did so well, telling the crew what they were doing at any given point, but even after three weeks in the tent, he didn’t think that the awkwardness would ever really fade away, and they left him alone for the most part. Whilst there were still nine of them in the running, they had plenty of other, slightly more eloquent candidates to choose from, so Gold just got his head down and focussed on his pies and the heady aroma of herbs and onions that was enveloping his workbench. He heard Jefferson exclaiming that he really didn’t have enough room for all his pies on his workbench and lamenting that he might have to start filling them up on the floor, which Belle pointed out was incredibly unhygienic and should he do that, she would not be sampling the finished product for fear of food poisoning. It was only once the pies were in the oven that he had any time to sit and think, and to that end, he settled himself on the floor beside his oven to watch their progress for a while, stretching out his bad leg in front of him. Truth be told, he was hiding. After Zelena cornering him the previous evening, he wanted to avoid any kind of contact with her at all, and if she couldn’t even see him, then so much the better.

“Ah, the classic oven watch.”

Gold startled to find Ursula crouching down beside him and nodded half-heartedly.

“I see. It’s not so much a desire to see what’s in the oven as to not see what else is in the tent.”

“More who else is in the tent.”

“Well, with any luck her pies will turn out terribly and she’ll get the boot,” Ursula said brightly. It was telling, Gold thought, that they all knew who they were talking about without any names being mentioned. Unfortunately, Gold didn’t think that was likely. The trouble with Zelena was that she was pretty good at what she did, and since this was a baking competition, it would have been very obvious that different motives were at work if she were to be sent home when there were other, worse bakers in the tent. Mal and Elsa hadn’t had a great weekend and today was going to be crucial for them to remain in the running.

The timer beeped and Gold reached up onto the bench to silence it and grab the cook’s thermometer that would hopefully tell him if his pies had reached the maximum temperature to show that their filling was fully cooked on the inside. He couldn’t fit all three in the oven at once so he was going to have to cook the final, smallest one after the others had finished baking; he only hoped that he would have enough time. Ursula patted his shoulder and got back to her feet, letting him get on with it as she went over to investigate how Jefferson was getting on with his own monstrous concoction. Gold trusted in Jefferson’s superior skills, but at the same time the chaos going on at the other man’s workbench was rather disconcerting. His pies had reached temperature, thank god, and he shut the oven to given them another five minutes in order to get a really good golden-brown finish.

He’d just put the final pie in the oven and was letting the larger ones cool when he heard an exclamation from the back of the tent and everyone’s attention snap in that direction, with the cameras and crew all heading over towards Mal’s workbench. He grabbed his cane and levered himself to his feet to see what all the fuss was about, and was alarmed to see flames on Mal’s workbench. She was flapping at the blaze with an oven mitt, which really wasn’t helping, until Lance had the bright idea of using a spatula to scoot the burning tea towel into the sink and put out the fire with water. Once the panic had calmed down and they’d established that there was no need to get the fire brigade out, it became clear what had happened. Mal had been attempting to make a three-course meal pie, including a lemon meringue pie on the top, and she’d had a slight accident with the blowtorch whilst trying to cook the meringue. She gave a sigh.

“I have been accused of being a dragon in the past,” Gold heard her mutter as she went about salvaging her pie, “but I’ve never actually got to the stage of breathing fire before. This is incredibly embarrassing. I’m an arson investigator for God’s sake!”

Time continued to tick by and as pies began to assemble on the workbenches, Gold received his first real view of the competition. Jefferson’s creation was indeed enormous; Ella commented that she could probably live in it if she hadn’t eaten it first. Mal’s was looking somewhat haphazard and slightly charred on the top thanks to her misadventures with the blowtorch. Lance’s looked amazing; the crusts of the pies were beautifully decorated with delicate pastry shapes and the entire thing was a rich golden brown that made Gold want to bite into it with gusto straight away. He looked at his own offering, which he didn’t think was too bad, even if he did say so himself. The pastry of his topmost pie was a little darker in colour than the rest of the pies as it had taken longer to cook than he’d expected, and there was a little leakage on the top where the cranberry juice had spilled out of the seam between the sides and the lid of the crust, but over all, he was happy with what he’d produced.

Ursula called time on the challenge and the clean-up and artistic photography began, that agonising wait before the judges began calling them up when all they could do was sit there and look around at what everyone else had created.

Finally the judging began. Gold was the first to be called up, and he immediately came upon a problem. His bake was too large and heavy for him to carry one-handed, and too precarious for him to risk not using his cane.

“Hey, let me.” Elsa dashed round from the bench behind him and picked up the creation easily, bearing it up to the table at the front, and Gold followed on gratefully.

“Well, it certainly looks tempting,” Granny said. “A little bit uneven, but still a nice colour on each of the pies.”

They cut into the pies, tasting each one and proclaiming the verdicts. A little dry, but well-filled and tasty. Gold was happy with that; he’d done enough to be safe, he thought, and he could definitely live with that. Ursula carried his bake back to his bench and he sat back to watch the rest of the judging; there was nothing else he could do to affect the outcome now. Mal and Elsa had both struggled in the challenge again; all of Elsa’s pies had managed to leak and catch on the sides, and having been absent for two weeks, Mal’s accident-prone streak had returned with a vengeance. It would probably come down to the two of them, and Gold would be sad to see either of them leave. Both were strong personalities within the tent, and Elsa had become a good friend over the last few weekends.

Gold had to admit that Leroy’s tower of pies was incredibly impressive. The crisp pastry crusts showed no signs of leakage anywhere, and they were all baked to golden perfection. Each pie was topped with shiny glazed fruit - apricots, apples and cranberries on the top. A trio of pork pies complimented perfectly by the layers of sharp fruit, or so Granny and Belle said when they had sampled a small piece from each of the tiers. Despite the obvious success of his creation, Leroy was looking unaccountably nervous, and Gold turned his head on one side as he tried to work out what was going on in the man’s mind. He had never seen Leroy in the least bit nervous before; he was always reliably in the middle of the field producing things that were not exactly spectacular but were solidly baked and tasted great even if they did not look like masterpieces. This was the first time that Gold had really seen Leroy pull all the stops out, but even so, he and Astrid had already said that pies were his speciality. Perhaps he was feeling the same kind of nervousness that Gold had felt last week, during his own strength. But his judging was ostensibly over and he’d done very well, certainly the best of all the bakes that had been judged so far.

“There’s one finishing touch I need to put on,” he mumbled, and with a speed and grace that belied his stocky build, he darted forward and placed a little square of card atop the glazed cranberries, crowning the towering concoction with a small velvet box before he turned to Astrid, bowing low. “Astrid, will you marry me?”

Without exception, everyone in the tent’s attention turned to Astrid, standing out of sight of the cameras at one side. All the steadicam operators swung around to find her beaming despite the tears that were pouring down her face.

“Of course I will, you hopeless romantic!”

From what little he knew of Leroy before this week, Gold would have thought that ‘hopeless romantic’ would be the last words used to describe him, but today’s events had proved him spectacularly wrong. Astrid rushed across the tent and threw her arms around her fiancé, covering him with sloppy kisses, and the tent erupted into applause and cheers, until a polite cough from Ursula reminded them that they were in the middle of the showstopper judging and they probably ought to get a move on.

“Be careful, you two,” she said. “Remember that this is a family show! We don’t want to be getting complaints from Ofcom. We’re probably already on the watchlist for the amount of tart jokes Ella made yesterday.”

“It wouldn’t be Bake-Off without double entendres and proposal pies.” Ella gave a happy sigh. “Congratulations, you two.”

Astrid pecked a final kiss to Leroy’s bald head and together they carried his triumphant pie back down to his workbench, and Emma brought up her sausage pies.

“I really don’t know how I can top that now,” she said. “I mean, Granny’s a national institution but I don’t think that asking her to marry me will work in my favour.”

“You never know.” Granny winked. “I wasn’t always a granny, you know. I’ve seen all sorts of things in my time.”

Gold did not doubt that. Granny’s solo cooking show, which had been running for longer than the bake-off, was filmed in her own kitchen at home, a vast room which had an antique crossbow mounted on one wall, a weapon that the entire country had unanimously decided that she definitely knew how to use, and almost unanimously decided that she had killed someone with.

The judging came to a close, and the contestants were left to their own devices as the tent was cleaned up and reset for the final announcement of who would not be going through to the next round. Gold didn’t think that he needed to worry - his performance had not been as good as last week but he didn’t think that he had disgraced himself either. It was going to come down to a choice between Leroy, Lance and Regina, who had all performed well throughout the weekend.

Naturally, the only topic of choice in the tent was Astrid and Leroy’s very new engagement, with everyone flocking around them to admire the ring and ask about the circumstances of the proposal.

“That was very brave,” Jefferson was saying to Leroy. “What would have happened if she’d said no?”

Leroy shrugged. “Then she would have said no.”

“He knew I was going to say yes.” Astrid laughed, and rested her head against Leroy’s shoulder with a happy sigh. The rest of the production team had accepted that they weren’t going to have her help during the reset and had given in with good grace, carefully manoeuvring themselves around the crowd that had gathered at Leroy’s bench. “I’ve been asking him when he was going to propose properly for months and he’s always said that he was waiting for the right moment. I never dreamed that it would be now.”

“Yeah, I’d have been a bit stuck if I hadn’t survived this long,” Leroy muttered.

“I had every faith in you,” Astrid said. “You’re a fantastic baker.”

It was this compliment that made Leroy blush, his smile going from ear to ear and lightening a face that was usually dour. It was clear that for all his grumpy demeanour, the two were clearly completely smitten with each other, and Gold had high hopes for their future marriage.

It was clear, however, that not everyone in the tent was as happy with this turn of events as the rest of them were. Zelena was not part of the group and could be found in deep conversation with one of the cameramen in one corner of the tent. From the pout on her face and the way her arms were folded, it was clear that she was complaining about something, and as much as Gold did not want to be anywhere near her, he was morbidly fascinated to find out what she might be saying. Emma caught his eye, nodding in Zelena’s direction, and together they crept a little bit closer under the guise of eating Emma’s leftover sausages.

“I just think it’s so unfair,” Zelena was moaning. “I mean, he clearly only did it for attention. If he comes away with the star baker crown now because of this, then I will complain to the producers about favouritism and publicity stunts.”

“Kind of rich considering what she’s been trying to pull,” Emma muttered, thinking back to their encounter with her after the technical the previous evening. “Leroy waited until Granny and Belle had finished judging his bake before he added the proposal, it’s hardly going to affect how it looked or tasted when they were looking at it, is it?” She shook her head. “I really do worry about her. One of these days I think that she’s going to go too far and something catastrophic is going to happen. To think, she was so sedate last week that I had high hopes for her enthusiasm for chaos being dampened, but she’s back to her old tricks this week. With vigour.”

“Well, it’s almost over now,” Gold said, trying to bring Emma’s brooding back to a lighter place. “Tomorrow is another day and all that.”

“Yes, next week is another week, with all sorts of potential for things to go wrong. Sometimes I wish that we could get rid of people by popular vote.”

“That would be fraught with danger,” Gold said.

“I know. But Granny and Belle can’t boot her off without due cause and her baking is good all the time. She’s always safe and coming back next week to slowly spread all kinds of poison.”

“Well, if the production crew knows what’s good for them then they won’t take any notice of her.” For all Gold sounded calm and wise, he was feeling the exact opposite, and he was just as worried about what Zelena might start getting up to as Emma was. More so, since he seemed to be the object of her twisted affections. Why had she set her sights on him, of all people? There wasn’t anything particular special about him, and if she was a black widow type then she would be sorely disappointed if she was planning to seduce him and murder him to inherit his estate; certainly he owned a lot of land and livestock but farming was hard work and by no means the most lucrative of professions. Perhaps she’d singled him out as the weakest in the pack, that was more likely. All the same, he really didn’t know what she was hoping to achieve other than giving off some pretty stark weirdo vibes. They were all going to have to keep a strict eye on her for the foreseeable future. Perhaps if their fears compounded further, they could rope in Ursula and Ella for assistance. They’d proved themselves more than willing to help out the bakers in the past, and this had the makings of being something far more sinister than a simple baking problem.

There was no more time for deliberation; the tent had been reset and they were being shepherded down to sit in the centre ready for the judges’ return. Both Granny and Belle were smiling broadly as they entered with Ella and Ursula.

“Well, bakers, I think we can safely say that this has been one of the more exciting weeks in the bake-off,” Ursula began. “What with proposal pies and the tent almost being set on fire.”

“Yes, we’re considering installing a sprinkler system,” Ella added.

“According to you, all we have to do is have a rainstorm,” Ursula pointed out. “Still, in spite of the triumphs and the mishaps, there has been some blindingly good baking going on today. Belle and Granny almost came to blows when they had to decide who was star baker.”

“We should have let them fight it out and charged an entry fee for spectators. It would bring a whole new dimension to the bake-off.”

Ursula just rolled her eyes, not bothering to make any kind of response to Ella’s suggestion.

“However, they finally made their minds up based on the performance in all three challenges across the weekend. This week’s Star Baker is Lance.”

The competitors applauded heartily; it was definitely a well-deserved win. Lance had been a strong contender throughout the show so far and it was great to see his dedication rewarded.

“As you know, we can’t take everyone with us,” Ella continued. “I always hate this part. The baker who will not be joining us next week is Mal.”

“We’d like to make it clear that this is in no way a result of the blowtorch incident, and we’re very sorry to see you leave,” Belle said.

Gold was sorry to see Mal leave as well; he would miss her frankness and somewhat cavalier approach to baking. As they all gathered together to congratulate Lance and commiserate with Mal, Gold went over to Leroy and Astrid.

“I’m sorry you didn’t win; I know this was going to be your week.”

“Are you kidding?” Leroy was still grinning in spite of missing out on the Star Baker title. “I’m going to marry Astrid! I’ve won the jackpot!”

Gold had to laugh at the unfailing optimism. Yes, those two were going to be absolutely fine. He made his way back over to the main crowd, who had started to disperse. Zelena had already left, citing wanting to get onto the motorway before the traffic got too bad, and no-one mentioned the fact that the traffic on a Sunday evening at seven o’clock in that part of the country was likely to be non-existent and let her go without another word. Mal and Regina had also vanished, leaving a small group chatting animatedly. It really was telling just how much more vibrant the tent became ‘after hours’ so to speak, in Zelena’s absence. The runners rushed about taking mics off and pulling out the judges and Lance for pieces to camera, and finally, Gold had the opportunity to talk to Belle alone. She was standing at one of the windows to the tent, staring out with a fond smile on her face.

“Something interesting going on out there?” he asked.

Belle waved him over, pointing out Mal and Regina outside, holding hands. “It seems that Leroy and Astrid’s isn’t the only relationship that’s moved onto the next level today. I’m glad that there’s some consolation for her, even if she is going home.”

“We’ll certainly miss her animation,” Gold said. “And everyone loves a good real-life romance story.” He moved away politely as Mal leaned in to kiss Regina’s cheek.

Belle turned to him, still smiling, and for the first time, Gold realised that they were on the same page. There was something in the curve of her lip, something in her bright blue eyes as she held his gaze unwaveringly.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I certainly do.”

Gold shuffled awkwardly, completely at a loss for how to proceed. If this was Belle announcing her interest in him, which he was sure it was, then he was completely screwed. What did he do now? He couldn’t exactly call Aunt Elvira for advice, and besides, her advice would probably come straight out of Ella’s book and be something along the lines of ‘ravish her on the nearest workbench’, adding in various foodstuffs depending on how adventurous she was feeling at the time.

“I do, too,” he finally managed to say, his tongue tripping over the words and making him look even more of an idiot that he already did. “I should, erm…” Oh God, what should he do? His natural instinct was to run in the opposite direction, but he didn’t want her to think that he wasn’t interested in her or that she had scared him off. He was interested. He was also terrified, not of Belle but of the entire idea of romance in the first place.

Thankfully, Belle seemed to have understood, and she touched his arm gently.

“You’re a good man, Raymond Gold, and I like talking to you.”

“I like talking to you too.”

“Good.” Belle’s smile was merry, a little smirk. “I’m glad to hear that we’re both reading from the same songsheet.”

Gold nodded. “I think we are.”

They were left in silence again, neither of them really knowing what to say next, but it was not uncomfortable, and Gold had managed to stop his internal panic. Belle patted his arm and moved away to talk to the others.

“Till next week then, Mr Gold?”

“Till next week, Belle.”

He looked down at his shoes for a long while, wondering if that had really just happened, the dull ache in his ankle telling him that yes, he really was awake and yes, that had really happened. Till next week. Belle liked him and was entertaining some kind of romantic thoughts towards him. It was more than he could have dreamed of, and he didn’t want anything to mar this perfect moment. Eventually though, he had to leave the tent to go and catch his train, but her words and her little smile stayed with him throughout the long journey back to Scotland. It was already dark by the time he arrived home; Dove had taken care of the sheep in his absence and was being treated to hot cocoa and scones in the kitchen, with Aunt Elvira happily yakking on nineteen to the dozen. Gold knew that he really ought to go in and rescue his farmhand, but at the same time, he knew that as soon as he entered the house he would be met with a barrage of questions, and right now he wanted just a few more moments to savour the events of the day.

The front door opened and the sheepdogs rushed out to greet him eagerly, Bae following not too far behind.

“So how’d it go?” his son asked.

“The tent nearly caught fire and there was an on-screen proposal of marriage,” Gold said blithely, as if such things happened every day. Bae’s eyes widened.

“Really?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“You lied to me about the existence of Santa Claus.”

“That doesn’t count. Santa Claus is a universal lie and finding out about it is a rite of passage for every child. At least we managed to keep up the illusion for longer with you because you don’t have any siblings to break the news early. But I am not lying about the fire or the proposal.”

“Who set who on fire? Who proposed? Who accepted? Did they accept?”

“All in good time, Bae. You’ll find out when the series airs.”

“That’s months away! Hang on.” Bae’s eyes narrowed again and he gave his father a sage look. “Are you telling me all this because you don’t want to admit that you got kicked out?”

“Your lack of faith in me is wounding. No, I did not get kicked out. I was solidly middling for the entire weekend and am safely through to dessert week, god help us all.”

“Well done.” Bae paused. “Are you coming inside or not?”

“Yes, I’m coming in.” He decided that it would be best to keep his interactions with Belle to himself for now; he didn’t think that he could handle the Spanish inquisition from Elvira at this point in the night.

But it gave him confidence. He was going back next week, and Belle was looking forward to speaking to him again. That had to account for something, and Gold found himself thinking forward with anticipation, rather than trepidation, and he slipped off into heady dreams of Belle, bread, and crème brulée.

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Next time: The bakers tackle desserts, blowtorches are banned and then reinstated, and Gold sees an entirely new side to Belle…

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Mini pear pie recipe here

Gold’s apricot frangipane recipe here

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #Dwarf Star #GBBO AU #Fic: Love is a Layered Cake #Dragon Queen in the background

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