#its because of the 'mothers always wear slippers for some reason' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hunflowers · 4 years

Text

Skating Lessons

Word Count: 15k

Requested? Nope, but you always can here :)

Mood board

A/N: She is here! She was a doozy to write but I love her so much and I hope you do too <3 Enjoy babydaddy!Harry, and if you do (or if you don’t) throw some feedback my way, really helps a girl out y’know. *nose boops*

“Y/N!”

It was the voice she hated hearing. The voice she despised. The voice that brought her stress more than anything else in her life.

The voice of her landlord. Old Man Chris as she likes to call him. He was the typical stingy, grumpy old man that owned a small little apartment and hardly gave the young girl room to breathe when it came to rent money.

She always gave her money, albeit sometimes a day or two late, but that didn’t change the fact that she still gave him his expected money. This time was a little different however, seeing how she was already a week late, and at this rate going on to be two weeks late.

But, she was so close to giving him the money, plus a little extra to hold her over for next month. All Y/N needed was a few more days. Money had been very tight this past month for reasons she’d rather not discuss with Chris, and she knows she’s in the wrong, but she will get him that money.

Flipping onto her stomach in bed, Y/N holds her pillow over her head to try and drown out the incessant pounding on her front door. It was most likely just past seven in the morning, and Y/N had a very long day yesterday, so all she wanted to do was sleep away her worries for just a little while longer. Clearly, Old Man Chris had different intentions.

Y/N let out a very guttural groan as she threw off her blanket, slid her feet into her fluffy slippers, and wrapped her robe around her body before stomping to the door with a faux smile plastered across her face.

“Morning Chris,” she chirped, looking eye to eye with the man who looked like he was ready to stab her. Although he seemed like a miserable old man, he wasn’t always so bad. When the two met, Y/N was in a much darker place than she is now. Chris has children of his own so when he saw how desperate she was for help, his heart yearned for her.

It was a love-hate relationship the two shared.

“Is there something I can do for you, so early in the morning?”

He gave Y/N that knowing look that she had seen every month that she’s lived here. The look that said you know why I’m here, now hand it over. And in return, every time, she gave him that sheepish smile.

“Y/N, I can’t let this go on any further.”

“Chris, please, you don’t understand. I promise just a few more days,” she begged, clasping her hands together and bringing them up to her chin. He sighed, shaking his head and placing his hands on his hips as he looked down to the floor. She had a soft spot in his heart, so it was always so difficult for him to put his foot down, but he couldn’t let this go on any further.

He looked back up at her, noticing the way she pouted her bottom lip just like how his daughter does when she wants something. It’s hard for him to say no. “You have until Sunday, Y/N. I mean it. I can’t accept this anymore. Don’t pay your rent on the fifteenth, and I’m kicking you out.”

Y/N nodded her head graciously, not knowing whether or not to hug her landlord. He wasn’t too keen on human contact so she just gave him her brightest smile as he walked back down the stairs that led to her apartment.

It was Thursday, meaning she had two days plus the rest of today to gather up as much money as possible. One of her jobs pays tomorrow, and despite other bills she has to take out of that money, she should still have enough to get her that rent money.

Closing the door behind her, Y/N looked around at her apartment, taking in a deep breath and deciding to make herself some coffee since there was no chance she was going to be able to fall back asleep. Not that she had the choice to anyway, because she had to get downstairs as soon as possible if she wanted to keep her apartment.

By the time she managed to get the tiredness out of her system, it was a little past eight-thirty. Y/N locked her door behind her, hurriedly running downstairs and to her day job.

From nine to six, Y/N ran her ice skating lessons down at the local ice rink. And although there weren’t a lot of people that came to her for lessons, by the time six o’clock rolls around, Y/N is beyond exhausted.

But then seven comes, and she’s running to her night job as a waitress to one of the more popular restaurants in town. And by more popular, it’s a nonstop rotating door of people walking inside until it closes at midnight. But, even though it closes at midnight, that doesn’t stop the people already inside from taking their sweet time in leaving. Last night, the last group of people left at one-thirty, and they didn’t even leave a good tip. She survives off minimum wage there, and even though she’s been working there for nearly a year, a raise was out of the question. The owners hardly ever pay more than what they’re supposed to. But they’re the only ones who’ve given her a job and at this point, she had no choice but to stay.

Ann and her daughter Olivia were the first to stroll in once it was nine in the morning. They always book the first slots every Tuesday and Thursday because they both claimed to be early birds. And it was good for them, because being the first ones means they get Y/N when she’s not completely wiped out.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Olivia said happily, running up to her skate teacher and giving her a big hug. Olivia had just turned six last Thursday, and she was the most exuberant six year old Y/N had ever met. She gets it from Ann, because like Olivia, Ann always seemed to have a smile on her face.

Returning the hug, Y/N squeezed the little girl, standing up and twirling her around before placing her back down onto her tiny feet. “Good morning, Livie! Let’s get started shall we?”

❊ ❊

It was almost five, and no one had booked a lesson within the last hour. Usually after school gets a bit busier, but of course, when Y/N really needs it to get busy, it doesn’t, leaving her to sulk around for an hour as she thinks of what she has to cut from her budget for the upcoming months.

As the sun sets, Y/N decides to cut time early, to give herself that extra ten minutes to herself in bed before she heads off to her second job. When she sits on a bench to unlace her skates, she hears the door to the rink open. Turning around to see whoever walked in, for a split second, the breath is taken out of Y/N’s lungs as she sees the most handsome man standing before her and the small girl clinging to his leg.

But, just for a split second.

Gaining her composure, Y/N puts on her best smile as they made eye contact, yanking the skate off her foot. “Are you Y/N?”

A little taken aback by the question, since she didn’t expect this fine man to be there for her, she could only nod her head in response. “Great! I was uh – wondering if I could sign my daughter up for lessons?”

Y/N looked at the little girl, noticing the shyness as she stood mostly behind her father. She had cute, big brown eyes that matched her dark brown hair. She had a bit of pudge to her rosy cheeks and it took everything in Y/N to not reach down and give them a pinch.

Y/N was a sucker for children. Well, other people’s children. She wasn’t so sure she wanted any herself. Too many things were bound to go wrong if she had a child of her own and she’d rather not give that human being a fucked up life like her own if she had any say in the matter.

“Uh, yeah, of course! I always love teaching someone new. Especially if they’re as cute as her,” she gushed, making the little girl’s cheeks redden even more, and a small smile wormed its way onto her lips. Y/N took notice of the girl’s missing front tooth.

“Well,” the man looked down to his daughter, a smile of his own on his face as he reached down and picked her up into his arms, “that’s great news! Isn’t it, Abby?”

Abby nodded her head quickly but then soon stuck her head into the crevice between her father’s neck and shoulder, looking away from the woman. Soon, with enough of Y/N’s charm, Abby won’t be too shy to even look at her. That’ll be one of Y/N’s missions, as well as teaching her how to ice skate.

“I’m Harry,” the man stated when he realized he hadn’t introduced himself properly yet. He stuck out his hand, waiting for Y/N to grasp it in a friendly shake.

“Y/N. Do you want to sign her up for private lessons? Or group ones? Or both?”

Then they worked out the logistics of when Abby was going to come in for her lessons, the answer being at noon every Monday, Wednesday for her private lessons, and Saturday with a group around her same beginner level.

When everything was settled, including the pricing for the private and group lessons, Y/N took notice of the time and that twenty minutes had passed. She cursed herself mentally, because instead of gaining an extra ten minutes of rest, she now lost ten. She lost time as her and Harry made small conversation over Abby’s sudden need to figure skate and how they had to go searching immediately. The entire time Abby stayed quiet though, hardly lifting her head from her father’s shoulder.

When Y/N escorted the pair out of the rink, Abby quickly glanced at her before ducking her head back out of sight. For some reason, Y/N found the little girl very interesting - not to mention adorable - so she couldn’t wait for Saturday to see her again and hopefully work the girl into warming up to her. Also wouldn’t mind seeing her father again. Although, Y/N did have this lingering thought in the back of her mind that he surely was off limits, because he has a daughter who has a mother, and that mother is probably his wife or fiancee or girlfriend, whatever the case may be. But, Y/N did take notice that he wasn’t wearing a wedding band. Again, not that that means anything, because he could have a girlfriend, or maybe he forgot to put it on today.

So, Y/N pushed all intimate thoughts to the back of her mind because she deemed it useless, and didn’t want to get her hopes up.

Plus, she had a lot bigger, more pressing issues to think about.

When they finally started to separate, their small talk diminishing, a new voice spoke up for the first time that evening. “Daddy?”

Harry quickly looked to his daughter who squeaked out the soft call, raising his eyebrows in surprise, not expecting her to say anything in front of the stranger. “Yes, baby?”

“We get food now?”

Even her voice had Y/N swooning and wanting to coo at the girl. Abby was just that cute.

Then they officially parted ways, not before Harry spoke the words We’ll see you Saturday that had Y/N’s heart pick up pace for whatever reason. We’ll see you Saturday. We’ll see you.

We’ll.

Y/N can’t remember the last time something so trivial made her happy to see the next day. It was stupid, honestly, because why would something so small from someone so irrelevant in her life, make her this excited?

Only time would tell.

And clearly it made a bigger impact on her than she had intended. Because the moment she stepped into her restaurant for the night, her coworker, Kelly, who she likes to think of as her closest friend, immediately picked up on her brighter mood. Y/N was questioned without hesitation, because ever since Kelly met Y/N, she couldn’t help but feel bad for her because Y/N was always on the quieter side, keeping to herself and finding it difficult to open herself up to anyone who was interested. It was rare finding a genuine smile on her face, and so the fact she walked in actually happy something must’ve happened.

Y/N clearly denied because nothing did happen. All that happened was she met an extremely good looking dad with an adorable daughter and she was probably going to keep seeing them for at least a little while. It was just nice having something to look forward to lately.

“Make a move then!” Kelly continued on with their last conversation that had been interrupted.

Y/N rolled her eyes at the statement, finishing up making the bill for her last table. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“And why not?”

“He has a daughter which means there’s a mother who could be his wife or fiancée or girlfriend,” she stresses, turning to her friend with a bored look.

Kelly scoffed, “Or she’s not in the picture. Won’t know until you try.”

“Or I could save myself the embarrassment.”

“You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, y’know that?”

Y/N shrugs, her chin turning towards her shoulder in a mocking manner as if to say she’s proud to hold that title. She was being stubborn but for good reason. She didn’t feel this need to want to make a move and in the end she knew nothing good would come out of it because that tended to be her luck, so she was protecting herself and saving herself from any unwarranted feelings and such.

And the idea of Harry made her sad the more she thought about it. Because being in a relationship was something she couldn’t have. It just wasn’t in her future and over the years she’s grown to get used to that. So it was best she admired from afar, because that would be the only way she could stay… happy.

❊ ❊

Saturday rolled around a lot faster than usual. During a normal week it felt like years until the weekend rolled around – not that the weekend even really mattered because it wasn’t like Y/N got to go out and have fun anymore, but the idea of it being the weekend settled her mind because that was another week down the hatch.

It was also time to finally see Harry again. Maybe she was being dramatic because she only saw him two days ago so really it wasn’t that long of a wait, but Friday’s tended to be her most crucial day and it zipped by no problem.

Her normal Saturday crowd rolled around, and so far there had been no sign of Harry strolling in with Abby. Everyone else in her beginner group had arrived and she couldn’t prolong class any longer, so with a clap of her hands and an instruction to begin the basic maneuvers she had taught them, she tried not to focus on his absence. Why sign your daughter up and not show up? If anything that was more rude than anything, but maybe something important came up and all harsh thoughts flew out of Y/N’s head.

Around fifteen minutes after class started, the familiar clanky bang to the entrance of the rink sounded as someone threw open the door, causing Y/N to glance up, seeing an out of breath father and daughter with looks of nervousness etched across their features. Y/N excused herself for a moment to greet them, giving the pair a warm smile despite all of the negativity swarming her brain.

“I’m so sorry we’re late. Something came up and I– it’s not too late right?” Harry asked worriedly as his daughter just looked up to her new teacher with the same amount of shyness as Thursday.

Y/N dismissed his worry with a simple hand gesture to reassure him, beckoning Abby to sit down so she could help her tie her skates to her feet. She was clad in these pink patterned leggings and a white sweater to keep out the cold matching with little white skates that had pink laces. Y/N could sense the excited energy emitting from her little body the moment her second skate was fastened to her foot. Standing up with Abby’s hand in her own, the two looked back to Harry as he looked beyond nervous for his daughter to touch down on the ice.

“Try not to worry, she’s in good hands. You can go and wait with the other moms over there – and by the looks of it, they seem really excited to meet you,” Y/N paused as her and Harry looked over his shoulder to the mom’s who were ogling him without even trying to hide it. Y/N couldn’t help but giggle at their overt staring, causing Harry’s cheeks to redden and for him to nervously wave at them. “Or you could always leave and come back at one-thirty.”

Harry nodded to her suggestions, taking a glance again at the woman standing around a table and still watching him. “I think… I’ll stay this time. See how her first day goes. I also don’t know how comfortable I am leaving her on her own for the first time just yet,” he rambled, running his fingers through his hair.

Y/N tried her best to hide her smile at how endearing it was to see him be so nervous for Abby, because it genuinely seemed like she was his life even if she’s only known him for a total of thirty minutes. It’s adorable. He’s adorable.

Leaving him to do as he pleases, Y/N led Abby to the rink, hand in hand, introducing her to the other children and going extra slow with her since she already missed a few lessons in regards to the other kids and what they could do already. And for her first day, Abby was doing a pretty job in getting the hang of feeling the ice and letting it glide her along. The little girl had skating in her blood, and Y/N prayed that she stuck with it because she could very easily have an inclination to the sport.

Every once in a while Y/N would look at Harry, seeing him avoiding the flock of mother’s and their constant whispering and staring at him as he stood against the edge of the rink, sometimes looking at his phone, sometimes looking at his daughter and standing upright every time she had a misstep.

That was maybe the most tumultuous and excruciatingly nerve wracking hour and fifteen minutes for Harry to ever have to sit through, even worse than medical school and interning and residency and everything else he’s gone through to get to the point he is now. Watching his daughter, his precious little girl fall on hard ice and trip over her own two feet countless times while he was helpless because he was off on the sides, was the absolute worst and he doesn’t know how he’s gonna manage this for however long she wants to do it.

When he finally got his hands on her again, he hugged her close and congratulated her on her good work for her first day, kissing her face a whole bunch of times to express how worried he was. After what seemed to be fifty kisses, Abby was shoving him away and giggling at how his stubble was scratching her face.

Y/N couldn’t help but stare at how relieved Harry was for the safe return of his daughter into her arms, all but cooing as he planted many pecks of kisses to her cheeks and nose and forehead. She also couldn’t help but wish he’d give her love and affection like that but she laughed to herself at her wishful thinking. Bidding her goodbyes to her beginner group and welcoming her more advanced, Y/N realized at the last moment that Harry and Abby had stayed behind, hoping to get one final word in before she had to go to her next group of kids. Telling her kids to get some laps in around the rink, Y/N made her way over to Harry and could immediately see how relaxed he was now.

This time, it was actually Abby to say something first. Unbeknownst to Y/N, Abby actually really liked her and couldn’t wait to see her again on Monday for her private lesson. “That was s’much fun! I’m g’na be so good my daddy thinks,” she gushed, hugging her father’s leg as she muffled her giggles against his jeans.

“You’re going to be an amazing figure skater,” Y/N responded, reaching her hand down for a high five from the little girl.

“Thank you for… not letting her get extremely hurt or anything. I’m sure my anxiety will go away soon enough,” Harry chimed in, his heart slightly fluttering at the sight of his daughter actually talking to someone without him encouraging her to do so.

“It would be strange if you weren’t nervous,” she shrugged, standing to her full height in her skates, which reached to just below his eyebrows. Turning around to see a few of the girls in their normal bickering fest, Y/N had to excuse herself to tend to her class, bidding her goodbye for the day to Harry and Abby.

And when Harry wasn’t the one to show up on Monday to drop Abby off but her nanny, Y/N couldn’t help but be disappointed. She can’t say she’s surprised since he’s an adult and probably has his own job to tend to at noon on a Monday, but as she guided Abby around the rink with simple skating motions, she wished he was standing against the rink watching them. Though it did spark a question in her, if the nanny was dropping Abby off, was it because there was no one else to look after her meaning he didn’t have a wife or at least someone who lived with him unless she too also worked which wasn’t an odd thing, but Y/N was an overthinker and maybe if she did grow the balls to ask she’d have an answer for herself and get rid of all of this underlying anxiety.

When their time was done for the day, Abby cheerfully said her goodbye, hand in hand with Natalie her nanny. And for the rest of the day, all Y/N could think about was something Abby said to her on the ice, something that sent chills down her spine that weren’t caused by the cool atmosphere of the arena. “My daddy thinks you’re pretty. I think he likes you, but y’can’t tell him I told you.”

❊ ❊

He didn’t come Wednesday either. And she was convinced he wasn’t showing up Saturday because that was just her luck. But, when he did ten minutes before the group lesson started, Y/N couldn’t suppress the smile and this overwhelming sense of relief. Relief about what? She couldn’t quite put her finger on. She figures it because she has a crush on him, and whenever anyone sees their crush it’s hard not to be happy. But that doesn’t settle well in her brain. She doesn’t like the fact that she’s happy to even see someone’s face, she shouldn’t feel this sense of relief that he’s here again, she shouldn’t be focusing on anything other than her jobs and how she was going to afford going grocery shopping this week.

Yet, she happily waved to Abby and blushed at Harry’s genuine smile towards her, immediately thinking of Abby’s declaration from Monday. She internally scolded herself for acting like a little teenager, urging her skin to make itself feel less heated.

It also didn’t help that she told Kelly about this and she had her nagging words playing in her head to just ask the poor guy if he has a girlfriend or a whoever. Abby ran to the nearest bench to remove her boots and tie her skates, which per usual she needed help from Y/N, which Y/N didn’t mind. Harry bent down near her, his hand a few inches from her knee as he picked up his daughter’s boots, their eyes quickly meeting before just as quickly disbanding, before he stood up and quickly shoved her things into an open locker.

And also as per usual, Harry’s heart couldn’t help but flutter as he watched Y/N act so domestically with his daughter, asking her about her day and tying up her skates. His eyes slowly scanned over the features over her face, taking in each little blemish that made her face hers, subconsciously smiling the moment she smiled at something Abby said. He found himself enticed by the way she held her hair back from her face with a bandana wrapped into the ponytail, and couldn’t stop himself from dragging his eyes over her sweater covered shoulders and the curves of her breasts in her shirt, stopping at where her hips sat tucked beneath her leggings.

“Daddy?” A small voice snapped him out of his daze, his face turning red in an instant at the prospect that he had just been caught staring; and he doesn’t even know for how long.

Licking his lips and darting his eyes to his feet then to his daughters face then to anywhere but her he stuttered, “Uh- yeah, love?”

“We going now,” she spoke, her eyebrows furrowing as to why he seemed so nervous.

All he could do was nod his head and purse his lips, sitting himself down on the bench to collect his thoughts. He repeatedly questioned to himself why he had to be so fucking obvious, all but smacking his forehead in embarrassment.

When she turned to walk with Abby, Y/N couldn’t help but smirk to herself as the image of Harry staring at her so intently was now permanently imprinted into her mind. He was checking her out, no doubt about it, and again that sense of relief flooded her body as she relived it over and over again. It was probably a mistake and it was probably one of those things when he just so happened to look at her when he went into deep thought about something totally not related to her, so she can’t hope it’ll happen again, but boy was it nice while it lasted.

When she was instructing everyone on today’s task and glanced over to him leaning against the outside of the rink, she noticed his eyes on her again, but told herself he was too far away to clearly depict what he was looking at and honestly he was probably only keeping his eyes on his daughter.

Because he wasn’t interested in her. Men like him don’t have interest in women like her; broken and unfixable.

It was a load of bullshit, because Y/N knew she deserved something good after all of the bad she’s faced and still currently facing, but he was just too good and someone like him could never settle for someone like her. He wore expensive clothing and his daughter was wearing one of the nicest brands of skates. He most likely had a very stable and successful career and there was no way he could settle for her, a girl who was always days late on her rent.

The unsettling reality made her jaw clench, her throat tighten up, and caused her gut to twist painfully.

If she hadn’t been put through this scenario before she’d say she would’ve broken out into sobs, but she held herself together for the time being, knowing she was going to let a few tears escape her tonight in bed. And, she’d never forgive herself for crying in front of anyone, especially the man that was the root of it.

Yet, her thoughts didn’t stop him from staring. And when she lapped around the ice, passing in front of him and watching his eyes look anywhere but her, it made her believe that maybe he was actually looking when he thought she wouldn’t notice. And suddenly she was back to rethinking before and how his light eyes fixated on her chest before trailing down the curve of her waist and stopping at her hips. It was a sight that would’ve made her knees buckle if she were standing.

When time was up for the day, Y/N let out a sigh at the thought of waiting another week to see Harry. Even if she didn’t let herself imagine a future with him, she still loved seeing his handsome face for the hour and a half they had together. She sounded so pathetic to herself, but when she saw him talking to one of the other mother’s, admiring the movement of his jawline and the dimple that would appear every once in a while on his cheek, it was safe to say she was utterly infatuated with the sight of him and she didn’t care.

Abby all but ran to her father for a hug, hobbling and struggling a little to balance herself on the blades, urging him to pick her up. Harry walked them over to the same bench from before, helping to untie the laces and hand her her boots and jacket. He was quick to notice that Y/N didn’t walk her out of the rink today, seeing her slowly gliding around in circles as she waited for her next batch of skaters to join her. His stomach dropped a little, his mind immediately wondering if he had done something wrong to warrant her unusual absence this time around. It wasn’t possible for him to have upset her anyway, he doesn’t think, so he stood up with Abby in his arms and neared the edge of the rink again, standing to where she was absentmindedly approaching as she was lost in thought.

She didn’t even realize she was about to slam into the wall if it weren’t for Harry sticking his arm out and preventing her body from colliding against the surface. Y/N quickly snapped herself back to the present, eyes going wide in shock as she put at least a foot of distance between herself and the wall, which also unlatched Harry’s arm from her waist.

“I’m – wow, I’m sorry I didn’t realize how close I was to the wall,” she apologized, scrunching her eyebrows at how she could’ve gotten so lost in her own head to not notice a wall that was approaching.

“Have nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged in response. “Just wanted to say thanks again for watching after her,” he ticked his head at Abby.

“And to say I’ll see you next Saturday. I’m not able during the week to drop her off but I tend to have off on Saturdays. So,” he pauses for a moment, “I, uh – yeah.”

Y/N nodded her head with a small smile, opening her mouth to say she’ll see him next week but he spoke again before she had a chance to push the words up her throat. “Unless I can see you before that.”

Her eyebrows shot up to her forehead, her head slightly cocking to the side at his sentence, wondering if he was asking what she thought he was asking. And again before she had a chance to question him, he beat her to the punch again.

“That was supposed to come out a lot smoother,” he grimaced, nervously laughing to himself as even his daughter looked at him with embarrassment for him. Y/N let out a small chuckle, trying to overlook the fact he just asked her out.

Guess that answers the question if he has a girlfriend.

“Well, I don’t know. Tonight’s my only night off and tomorrow is my only morning off and I think that’s a, uh, little short notice,” her words coming out a lot more sad than she intended. But, maybe at this news he’d say forget about it and just leave her to lonesome because that’s what was best. She needed him to turn it down himself so she wouldn’t feel guilty and so neither of them would harbor any feelings they didn’t need. It would certainly become too messy and Y/N didn’t need more of a mess in her already disorganized life.

But, he didn’t take the bait.

“Tonight works!” He rushed out, hitting himself over and over again mentally as he basically radiated desperateness. “What I meant to say was, I’m available tonight if you are.”

Y/N mulled it over as quickly as she could while on the spot. She couldn’t say no, she never said no, it wasn’t her to say no but there was no way she could possibly say yes. She had to maintain her level of normalcy and that included not going on a date with Harry.

“Yeah… tonight works.”

Well shit.

❊ ❊

“Wear the blue one,” Kelly muffled through the crunch of her chips.

“You think? My boobs kind of,” she paused, aiming the camera of her phone to the shirt on the bed, toying with the dip that sat on her breasts, “Spill out of this one.”

Kelly tilted her head, not blinking at her friend, slowly nodding her head and saying, “That’s kind of the point.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, tossing her phone onto her comforter to use both hands to hook her fancier bra on and slip on the long sleeve blue cotton shirt that tied around the front in a nice bow nestled between her breasts. It felt a bit much for a first date.

But maybe he would be intimidated and put off to how she was showing herself off and wouldn’t want to be seen out with her again. She could only hope.

He insisted he pick her up for the night, and even though he was only going to see the outside of her building, she was nervous he would just smell the poor that stunk up the area. It made her gut wrench and her heart to sink at the idea of him not liking her for her money – or lack thereof, but she really was going to try and enjoy the night.

She deserves one good night.

Her black flare jeans sat snugly on her legs, reaching just up past her belly button, leaving only a sliver of stomach visible between the shirt and jeans. The skin of her chest was a whole different story seeing as how there was basically nothing there to cover her up.

Picking up her friend again to show her final look, Kelly let out a squeal again through her chips, thoroughly agreeing with the choice of attire. “He’s gonna eat you up.”

“Well, I hope not. That’d be an awkward night,” Y/N snickered, tying a black bandana into her usual ponytail.

“Well if you’re lucky he will. In the good way of course,” Kelly winked, eliciting a groan of displease from Y/N.

“Do we know where he’s taking you?”

“Mm, no, he just said to dress casual,” Y/N shrugged, slipping her feet into her flat mules. She actually was pretty satisfied with how she looked for the night, hoping it wouldn’t turn out so horrible. It’d be a shame to waste a nice outfit.

A text notification sent to her phone, alerting her that Harry would be at hers in approximately five minutes. Quick to say goodbye to Kelly and promise to tell her everything, Y/N shut her phone and took the remainder of her alone time to really sit and mentally prepare herself for what was to come.

Trying to navigate how she feels about the entire situation was a lot to take in because it’d probably been close to a year since the last time she even interacted with a male let alone go on any sort of date. She was nervous and intimidated and her anxiety was sky high. She wanted this to go right she really did, but she couldn’t push away those doubts that she would ever meet someone who actually cared about her and properly had their head on their shoulders.

When her phone sounded another notification, Y/N was quick to gather herself and run out of her apartment, giving Harry no time to come to her door even if he wanted. Spotting him standing next to a very nice Mercedes, she had this flashing image of him grimacing at just the sight of her battered front door. But, she smiled at him nonetheless, appreciating the sight of him clad in a nice pinstripe button down shirt with the first two buttons undone, and nearly salivating at the sliver of chest being exposed to her.

And to make everything just so much better, he was holding onto a bouquet of various flowers, looking nervous as ever. Especially when he saw what she was wearing. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight of her exposed chest and he hates that his cock throbbed under his jeans. “You look… stunning.”

Y/N’s cheeks heated at the compliment, her head bowing down to look at her shoes before looking back up and taking the flowers from his outstretched hands. “Not too shabby yourself, Mr. Styles. These are beautiful, thank you. I don’t even know if I have a vase,” she nervously laughed, sniffing the flowers now in her hands.

“Just, uh- give me a second to put these inside.” And then she was turning on her heel and running back upstairs to toss these on the table by her front door. She made a mental note to buy a vase the next day, all while also keeping Kelly updated on what’s going on through texting.

When she came back downstairs, Harry was still next to his car, hands in his pockets as he looked around at nothing in particular. At the sight of her returning presence, he perked up, opening his passenger door for her. Even the inside of his beautiful car, the smooth tan leather practically calling to her as she neared closer. “This is a beautiful car,” she blurted, sliding into the passenger side.

He closed the door, quickly walking to his side and hopping in, “Thank you, she’s my baby. Aside from my actual baby, that is,” he chuckled, checking his blind spot before heading out onto the road.

The car ride to wherever they were going wasn’t exactly awkward but it also wasn’t the smoothest experience of their lives. It mostly was a consistent bickering back and forth of Y/N asking where they were going. He only had a couple hours in advance to plan something if he planned anything so how much could he have possibly planned for? But, she was excited anyway because this was nice being able to go out even if it were for just one night.

After around twenty minutes of constant back and forth of laughing and stubbornness, Y/N finally saw where on earth he was driving to. And it was the fair from a few towns over that was held this time of year every year. She’d never actually been herself, but she’s heard stories about how lovely it is and her nerves suddenly started to deplete and were replaced by growing bubbles of excitement.

Y/N can’t remember the last time she had been to a fair, if ever in her life and she sort of felt like a little kid in a candy shop. The moment he parked the car and turned it off, she was quick to unlatch her seat belt and jump out of the car, eagerly hopping on the balls of her feet, waiting to get further into the fair. Harry laughed at her giddiness, holding his hand out for her to take - which she easily slid her hand into his - and led her to the ticket booth to purchase a few rounds of tickets for the rows of games and maybe a ride or two.

“I don’t even think Abby was this excited when I took her,” Harry noted, admiring how happy his date was at the sight of cotton candy and the various stuffed animals kids were holding or were still being hung up.

Y/N hardly heard Harry, silently routing for the young boy trying to win his own date a stuffed animal at the ring toss. “Sorry… I just - I don’t think I’ve ever been to a fair, so this is really nice,” she responded softly, looking up to see Harry with furrowed brows before she retracted her gaze and focused on anything but his saddened eyes.

She didn’t mean to sound so depressing. Thinking about her shitty childhood was the last thing she wanted on this night, and she certainly didn’t want whatever pity was brewing inside that head of his. But little to her knowledge, all he was thinking was how badly he wanted to make this night unforgettable for her. And how badly he wanted to get to know her.

“What do you say we start with mini golf then?” He questioned, pointing towards the miniature mini golf that only had nine holes. “Up for a little competition?”

“Up for a little loss?”

“Oh, oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be? Fine, don’t come crying to me when y’lose, darling,” he shrugged, giving the worker the desired amount of tickets before being handed two clubs and two balls, one yellow and one red.

He lost.

Quite badly too.

And Y/N was smug the entire time. But in a completely endearing way, because ultimately she felt bad at how bad he was at mini golf. It was a makeshift set up so all of the holes weren’t even difficult yet somehow Harry managed to never get below a two on his shots. And the entire time Y/N was smiling at him and poking fun, and even though the night had just begun, she didn’t want it to ever end.

And to think she almost said no.

“I should’ve figured you’d be competitive,” he scoffed, mindlessly grabbing her hand back in his as they walked to their next stop. And she didn’t mind.

“That was not me being competitive,” she laughed, pushing his shoulder gently with hers. “Trust me, you’d know when I’m being competitive.”

“If that wasn’t you being competitive, then what is?”

Y/N thought about it for a moment, wondering if it were worth opening up to him even if about this. She just knew the moment she opened her mouth he would have questions and they were all questions she never wanted to answer. But, against her better judgement, she tore down her walls just a little bit. “I’m a figure skater - or was a figure skater. I don’t take anything less than winning. But back there, I maybe messed up a few shots so you could catch up.”

“Oh, how sweet,” he feigned appreciation, bringing his free hand up to his chest as if he was deeply touched. He was about to ask her a follow up question, wondering what she meant by was a figure skater, but she pulled him to the balloon dart booth, geeking out at the little rainbow bear that was hanging above the worker.

“You should get that for Abby! Told me she doesn’t have a favorite color, and I think she’d love a rainbow bear from her daddy,” Y/N insisted, taking the correct amount of tickets from Harry and giving them to the very bored teenage girl.

“Shouldn’t I be winning you the bear?”

“You can win me another one if you want. This one is for your daughter.”

Harry knew Y/N for a total of three days essentially. And he’s spoken maybe a few sentences to her before tonight. Yet, despite the logistics, he so liked her. There was something about the girl next to him that was adamant he win the prize for his baby girl instead of her that made his heart flutter and made his mind swirl. He hardly knew her, yet he could just tell she had a heart made of gold. Every other woman he’s been on dates with over the years were always immediately turned off to the idea of him having a daughter, begging his attention to be solely on them. But not Y/N. She was embracing Abby with open arms both physically and mentally, and that was an automatic yes in his book.

Abby was his everything, his light at the end of the tunnel, his eternal sunshine. They were a package deal, and have been for the past four years. That much was clear to Y/N whenever Harry talked about her, or how his face basically lit up at any question revolving around her. He didn’t go into much detail, but Abby’s mom wasn’t particularly in the picture anymore, so it was just her and him. They were best friends and Harry wouldn’t change that for anything or anyone. And Y/N respected that a lot, absolutely loving how close they were and how much she meant to him. It was sweet and deep down made her envious, wishing she had a relationship like this with her parents.

When he finally won the little bear, he was so proud of himself and agreed that it was the perfect gift for Abby, holding onto it as they walked over to the food concession for something to eat. “I bet she’ll never get rid of it. When she’s eighty and reminiscing, she’ll pull out the bear and immediately think of you.”

“Please don’t say that; I don’t even want to think of her being five,” he shuddered, letting out fake weeps at the thought of his daughter growing up.

“What about her dating? Hm? Wanna think about that?” She teased poking his side causing him to look at her with the nastiest glare he could muster before promptly turning his head away with a huff, his chin sticking high in the air.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. No talk about her dating or growing up, I swear on it,” she held up her three fingers in scout honor, making him chuckle at her gesture.

“Can I say how good she’s doing in her lessons though? She has a real talent for skating, I think she should go somewhere with it,” Y/N mentioned, grabbing their drinks they ordered as he held their food and walked over to a clear table nearby. “A lot of kids her age or at her beginner level can hardly keep their balance on the ice but, Abby doesn’t need to hold the wall or my hand and that’s only after three lessons. I’m not kidding, Harry, I think she’s meant for this.”

He nodded at her words, surprised at the revelation that Abby actually liked something and was good at it. This wasn’t the first time his daughter gained interest in some hobby before turning on it just a week later. “We’ll have to see if she sticks with it.”

“Maybe you should tell her to. I just don’t want to see something potential be wasted,” she disclosed, dipping a french fry into her little cup of ketchup. Harry picked up on how strongly she felt about this, seeing her get lost in her own thoughts for a few moments before regaining her hold on reality and locking eyes on her date.

“When did you start?” He questioned, biting into the straw of his drink.

She swallowed her fry, twirling the ends of her ponytail around the pads of her fingers. “Started when I was six. It’s good that Abby started early, gives her more time to practice,” she nodded with a smile, and it was so obvious that it was a pained smile as she thought about whatever was going on in her head. And it was hard for him to not notice the obvious deflections every time he tried to ask her about herself.

“Practice for what?”

“Well… What if she can be in the Olympics one day? She’ll need as much experience as possible,” she shrugged back, her voice seeming to grow softer the more they talk about this.

“I assume the Olympics is the ultimate goal?” He wondered, his eyes dancing over the way her face slightly twitched into a frown before being masked by a laugh and bright smile.

“Uh, yeah! It’s every skater’s dream. It’s what we fight so hard for, or maybe that was just me, I don’t know, but wouldn’t it be cool to say your daughter is an Olympic skater or an Olympic medalist? Automatic dad points,” she joked lightly, her eyes hardly meeting her smile.

“Y/N did you ever… make it to the Olympics?” He wanted to ask, he felt he needed to ask, yet at the same time he knew he shouldn’t have. Immediately her fake smile dropped and a layer of sadness washed over her features, something dark flashing across her eyes as her gaze dropped to the table between them.

It’s every skater’s dream. It was her dream, her ultimate endgame, it was everything she wanted and it was within reach of her fingertips. She could practically hold the gold medal in her hand, could see the camera’s flashing, could hear the people cheering, and could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins as she skated along the prestigious ice.

But it never came true. And it never will.

Instead she’s a part time trainer, and a part time waitress. She can hardly afford her apartment and is just barely getting by. She was just within reach of Heaven, but then she plummeted straight to Hell.

Y/N shook her head softly, eyes glossing over with a light sheen of tears, her teeth nibbling on her bottom lip to help her prevent the pesky tears from falling down her face. Her hands instinctively started tugging on the ends of her hair a little harder as she mentally beat herself up for her lost opportunity. “I, uh - had an accident,” she murmured, finally looking up to meet his stare again. There was something about him that made opening up so much easier than it usually is. Maybe it’s because he genuinely seemed curious and cared to know more about her. Y/N couldn’t exactly tell but for some reason she broke down her walls just the tiniest bit more.

“I fell on a landing at Nationals, which was my entrance to the Olympics if I ranked third or higher. I dislocated my hip and twisted my ankle and that was the end. It happened a long time ago though, I’m over it now, I’ve moved on,” she reassured with that same fake smile, taking a small bite from her burger that she’d barely had touched.

It was clear she hadn’t, but they didn’t touch upon the subject anymore.

“Anyway, what about you? What do you do?”

Harry’s main flaw - at least to him - was that he was such a nosey person. The way their conversation around her sort of just terminated abruptly did not sit well with him and that was because there was so much more to the story that she wasn’t letting on. He figures though that since this is only a first date, he can’t pry too much into her life because he doesn’t want to drive her away. Despite her being closed off about herself, he really liked her and he really didn’t want to mess this up.

“I’m a pediatric surgeon,” he spoke nonchalantly, as if it weren’t an actual big deal. But, when he looked up to see Y/N’s eyes bulging out of her head, he guessed he was wrong, it is a big deal.

“You’re a surgeon? Like Alex Karev from Grey’s Anatomy, pediatric surgeon?”

Harry laughed at the comparison. It wasn’t the first time someone brought it up. “Yeah, but a little more real.”

“That’s… Wow, that’s so cool. What made you want to do pediatrics?” She hummed, swallowing her final fry, and chasing it down with the last of her soda.

“Abby. When she was born she had a small abnormal murmur in her heart and I knew that from that moment I wanted to do everything I could for parents and their children.”

As if he wasn’t perfect enough, he just had to be a children’s doctor. It was as if he took Y/N’s heart and strangled it in love and admiration, then stomped on it and left it lying in the dirt beneath their feet. She didn’t match him on any level. She was far from successful and he was so far past it.

All Y/N could continuously think was how could this possibly work out? She was trying her best to look on the bright side, to think positive thoughts, but she just… couldn’t. Him and Abby deserved good, not broken.

The rest of their time at the fair went fairly smooth. They were happy and joyous aside from their little chat when eating and if Y/N didn’t overthink too much, she’d want to see Harry again. She was free in the morning and was tempted to ask him to breakfast or brunch or something. She didn’t want this to end, she wanted to live in this happy bubble for the rest of her life. But, she couldn’t be selfish and needed it to end. It would be good for both of them if they just put this behind them.

When Harry pulled up to the curb in front of her building, he put the car in park and was quick to run around to the other side to open her door before she could get the chance. He took her hand and helped her out leading her to the door that led to the stairway. And if it were being selfish, Y/N didn’t care as she asked him to walk her to her door.

They stood in the small hallway, right outside the old wood of apartment 2, neither of them knowing what to say. But, then in an instant, nothing needed to be said as Harry leaned forward slotting his lips against hers in a quick kiss, his hands coming to rest on the sides of her face as her hands held onto his firm shoulders.

It only lasted a few seconds, maybe five at best, but those five seconds said so much more than anything they actually spoke the entire night. Y/N knew there was no way she was going to be able to let him go, because he was the best thing to happen to her in a long time, and why should she have to give it up? Despite all of the negativity swarming around in her brain she still wanted to get to know him, and she definitely wanted to kiss him more. Maybe it would turn out to be a mistake, but what’s life without a little risk?

The moment Harry touched his lips to hers, feeling the soft plushy texture of her mouth that he had been dreaming of kissing since the moment he first laid his eyes on her hours ago, he knew he was whipped. He knew her for three days and he couldn’t imagine not being able to kiss. And maybe he was desperate or pathetic, but what’s life without a little leap of faith?

“Goodnight Harry.”

“Goodnight Y/N.”

❊ ❊

Saturday’s became their day. It was Harry’s only full day off and Y/N’s only night off, so it became convenient for their dates that have now been on every Saturday for the past two months. And ever since that first date, it was easy for them to say they’ve never been happier.

Y/N’s still trying to find her footing in this whole relationship thing, still finding it hard to believe that some like Harry could possibly like her. She was coming around though. Abby made it a point to tell her every time she saw her when her father wasn’t with her that he says hello and wishes he could be there. Then Y/N would ask her the same every time she left.

The first week after their original date, Harry had walked in with Abby, and without even thinking about it, walked up to Y/N and planted a soft kiss to her right cheek, despite the gawking eyes of the mother’s behind him. They could practically feel everyone’s eyes on them, but it was okay, because it was just a little price to pay for happiness.

That same night he took her out to dinner - at her restaurant of all places, and the entire night was a mess of embarrassment as her coworkers sent her coy looks every now and again that Harry could also very obviously see. Y/N tried to pretend that she didn’t know any of them, but when their waitress also just so happened to be Kelly of all people, it was hard to ignore. And it made for quite the conversation when she had to tell him she worked two jobs and that’s why she hardly had time to even breathe during the week.

What surprised her most when she told him of her misfortunes, was how well he listened. He didn’t seem turned off to the fact she didn’t have one singular stable job, like other men have in the past, and rather he seemed like he didn’t care at all. It was a nice change of pace for Y/N to have someone who seemed interested in her rather than just sex.

Two months had passed and the topic of sex hadn’t really been brought up either. Which again was a total shocker to Y/N since she’s so used to guys asking as soon as they meet her. Yet, the only time she and Harry had mentioned it was when they had been in his car one Saturday night, things getting a little heated as she climbed onto his lap, their mouths dancing together as their tongues lapped over one another.

The make out session wasn’t even meant to get as intense as it did, the gentle rocking of their hips together and the sloppy kisses placed on each other’s necks while her fingers tangled into the curls of his hair and his palms rested gently on her hips right over the swell of her butt, all of it wasn’t even supposed to get that far. But it felt way too good to stop.

Y/N always put her romantic life on the back burner in regards to trying to navigate her actual life instead. Having sex or finding love was something she hardly let herself think about, but when she could feel Harry’s growing erection beneath her center, she forgot how badly she wanted this. It took everything in her to separate their mouths, a trail of spit connecting their swollen lips. It was too much too fast and she wanted to take it slow. She needed to take it slow in order for it to not end just as quick as it started.

And Harry respected her wishes. He didn’t want to mess things up just as badly as her, if not more, and if she didn’t want things to go further, he had no choice but to abide by that.

That didn’t stop him from thrusting his cock into his fist that very same night as he remembered the way she slowly grinded her center against his, the texture of her velvety tongue sliding against his. Those thoughts led him to imagine how her warm mouth would feel against his bright red tip, slowly sinking down further and further until he was grazing the back of her throat.

Since that night the topic of sex hadn’t been mentioned.

When this Saturday rolled around, Y/N was beyond excited for their weekly date night. With their busy schedules it is always hard to see each other during the week no matter how hard they try to fit in some time, so the weekend was always built on a bit of excitement to see one another. And this Saturday was no different, especially since it was Y/N’s turn to plan their night.

After he and Abby left from the usual Saturday lesson, Y/N told him to meet her back at the rink around eight. It wasn’t an expensive date and it doesn’t need a far in advance planning, but this night was truly going to make or break their relationship, because it was easily going to be the most important for Y/N. She planned on opening up to him more than she had with anyone else, and she needed to do that in the comfort of her sanctuary, because - for lack of a better term - she was shitting bricks.

As per usual Harry had arrived right on time. Measuring time had to be their biggest difference, because Y/N always felt like she had a lot more time than she really did, which resulted in her always being late for everything. Harry on the other hand was a very organized man and scheduled himself perfectly to go about his days. Yet the more time they spent with one another, the more they started to adapt to the other, Y/N not being so late anymore and Harry not being brutally early.

Though he did arrive just a minute after eight.

It was a start though.

From the time the rink closed at six, up until the moment Harry walked in the door, Y/N had been busy decorating every inch of the place, setting up their little picnic at one of the tables, stringing lights all around the rink it self, and mastering the best playlist that would be echoing around them until they leave.

Dinner consisted of Harry’s favorite chicken parmesan from her other job that he continued to rave about up until this day because it was just that good, as well as the cookie crumble dessert that had his mouth watering every time he thought about it.

When she saw him knock at the closed entryway, she took a deep breath before scurrying over to him, letting him in from the night time chill outside. They greeted each other with a soft kiss on the lips before she all but dragged him further inside. “Can you guess what we’re doing today?”

Harry’s jaw dropped in anguish, his eyes screwing shut as he whined about the impending future of their night. “Just because my daughter is a prodigy, does not mean I am,” he sighed as Y/N giggled, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she stood on her tiptoes to try and match his eye level.

“Try not to worry, you’re in safe hands,” she spoke cooly, recalling what she once said to him about Abby. There’s a reason Abby is learning and - not to toot her own horn or anything - she wouldn’t be anywhere without Y/N coaching her through it.

So, how hard could it be to teach Harry?

The answer was very hard.

After they finished their dinner, sitting for a few minutes to let it settle within them, Y/N had to practically rip Harry off of the bench. It didn’t help that they both also had two glasses of wine coursing around in their veins, which raised Harry’s stubborn attitude from a seven to seventeen on a scale of one-to-ten.

He was nervous, that much was obvious, but if he didn’t relax everything was going to be a lot more difficult for the both of them. “Why don’t you skate your little heart out and I’ll just stay right here,” he gestured to the wall of the rink where he usually stood during Abby’s lessons.

“Where’s the fun in that? C’mon, you can even hold onto the wall. Please?” She begged, clasping her hands together under her chin as she pouted her bottom lip and giving him her best puppy dog eyes.

How was he meant to say no to that face?

Y/N must’ve gotten a few tips from Abby on how to win over Harry’s heart, because within a few moments he was caving in and ripping the pair of skates she picked out for him right out of her hands, grumbling a few not so innocent words under his breath. He sat on the nearest bench with a very exaggerated sigh, almost like a child trying to make their point that they were not happy. Y/N wonders if he took that out of Abby’s book.

Watching him trying to even stand on the thin blades was a sight in itself, and Y/N couldn’t wait to get him out on the ice. He looked sort of like a penguin as he waddled across slowly, hand clenched tightly in Y/N’s as he tried to keep his balance. “Y/N I can hardly even bloody walk on a stable surface, how d’ya think m’gonna manage on ice? It’s hard enough to walk on ice and now I’ve got skates on! I’m g’na crack my skull open,” he rambled on, throwing in a few more curses here and there. Y/N knew it was him trying to stall, but it wasn’t going to work.

“Will you relax, I won’t let you crack your skull open,” she shook her head, pushing open the gate to the rink and stepping down easily on the ice first.

The moment his first skate touched down, he almost slipped forward and almost collapsed in a split, making Y/N try her best to not break out into a heap of laughter. He grabbed onto her arm even tighter as he eased his second foot onto the slippery surface, probably leaving bruises for the next day.

“How the hell does Abby do this? M’scared shitless, hope you know,” he grumbled, trying to scoot a little past the wall, but again nearly falling on his ass.

“Hold my hand, let me pull you so you get a feel of the ice,” she contained her giggles. He was hesitant though as he stood in his place, slightly swaying back and forth as he tried to gain the courage to move his foot an inch forward.

Y/N looked at him with soft eyes, observing all of the nerves that were dancing across his features. Lacing her fingers in his, she raised her free hand to his face, getting him to look at her rather than his feet. “You trust me right?” she murmured, looking into his vibrant eyes.

He almost immediately nodded his head in response, a slight look of confusion carving into his face as his eyebrows scrunched together and his eyes flashed between hers. “Of course, why’re you asking?”

“If you don’t want to fall, I need you to trust me,” she spoke reassuringly, leaning up to place a quick peck to his lips before joining him back at his side. Harry took a deep breath in, giving her hand a squeeze before he followed in her instructions and guided along the wall at a slow pace.

Trust was obviously the most important aspect to any sort of relationship, and especially to Y/N. Through her whole life she struggled keeping trust in anyone, and she felt she spent so much of her life getting people to entrust her, yet she can’t remember trusting anyone like she trusted Harry. And it was such a refreshing feeling to see that he trusted her just the same. That’s why this night meant a lot to her, because if he could trust her with his well being and his daughter’s, then it was only right to return the favor.

After his initial fear and trepidation, Harry finally developed a basic movement that helped him in his skating endeavors. He was beginning to gain pride in himself for not falling on his ass yet. They slowly made their way around in one lap after about twenty minutes of missteps and yelps in anxiety. The biggest thing they were going to take away from this experience though was how much fun they’re having. If anything, it’s always good to look on the bright side of things and appreciate the good amongst all of the bad.

When they made it back to the gate, Harry declared that was enough for one night on his part, and couldn’t get off the ice any faster. Y/N was about to follow him, when she mulled over an idea in her head, looking back to the ice. He noticed she wasn’t trailing behind him, and wondered why she seemed stuck in her place. She looked lost in thought, looking around her as she bit her lip in concentration before finally snapping her gaze to meet his after a few calls of her name.

“Is everything oka-”

“This has been my life, my entire life. I don’t know a world outside of this and I’ve kept myself closed off for years. Before you, I don’t think I’ve been on a genuine date… ever because I’ve always been so scared,” she rambled, pacing herself back and forth on the ice.

Harry kept quiet, standing next to the wall now, leaning his upper body down on his elbows. “I’ve been so scared of people getting to know me and my past and my fucking demons that I’ve never given myself the chance to be happy. I grew up privileged, I had - or my parents had money and I was blessed to be able to skate without having to worry about prices or anything of the sort. But, that came with a price which was my parents never letting me breathe and pushing and overworking me, telling me that since they were spending so much money on me that I couldn’t settle for less than the best.

“And I mean, I wanted to be the best anyway; everyone does. But knowing they would be disappointed if I were to get second because I was a tenth of a point behind, hurt like hell. Then, Nationals came and if I placed in the top three, I was going to the Olympics. I was the most confident I had ever been. I knew the choreography, I knew my timing, and I knew how to fucking land… but then I fell. Hard. Twisted my ankle and shattered my hip and it was safe to say I wasn’t going to Russia.”

Y/N looked to her feet and let out a mocking laugh, not even caring that a few tears managed to escape her eyes as she rehashed her past. “As soon as I was able to walk again, my parents kicked me out. Tossed me to the curb and told me to never look back. No money, no friends, no idea of what to do.”

Harry’s heart yearned for his girlfriend. He could tell she had some murky past that always kept her quiet and avoided the topic at all costs, but he never would've guessed it to be like this. He tried to butt in but she held up her hand to stop him, asking him to let her finish. He retracted himself, allowing her to continue on. Harry’s heart yearned for his girlfriend, but it also swelled in pride as she felt comfortable enough to want to share this with him.

“I find it hard to trust anyone because I’m always scared they’ll hurt me like my parents did. If my parents could treat me that way then what’s stopping anyone else?” She took a breath before inching herself closer to Harry, coming to stand right in front of him. “But… then I met you and I find it so easy to let you in, and I think that scares me more than anything. You’re the only person I’ve told this too and I’m working on opening myself up more, I am, I just - it’s gonna take some time. My heart is in your hands, Harry… and I’m begging you to please take care of it.”

Y/N finally finished, swallowing down the clump in her throat, her forehead involuntarily pressing against Harry’s as silence swarmed them. Her doors were opening and her walls were falling down and anxiety traveled up her spine as she slowly stepped out of the dark and into a world she’s never known; A world filled with comfort and happiness. If someone told her two months prior that she would be feeling like this, whatever this is, over a man that was way out of her league, she would’ve laughed in their face and tell them to kindly fuck off.

A few tortuously slow seconds passed by, tears still slowly trickling down her face that Harry took upon himself to brush away. With her doubts and self-deprecating thought process, she was sure he was going to turn around and walk out of her life, leaving her to suffer and wallow alone, just like she was used to. But, then she felt the soft press of his lips against hers, and her body broke down into a pile of tears and cries as relief flooded her.

Y/N grabbed onto his face and pulled him harder against her, their kiss filling with passion and ardor. He held her close, not letting her slip away from him as they broke apart, their foreheads resting against each other again, their noses brushing and their breaths mingling. They smiled at one another, mutually agreeing that actions speak louder than words.

“I promise, I’m gonna take care of you, Y/N.”

And then they were kissing again, this time not as intense but the adoration for one another still leaked through the seams. At this moment, right now, this is exactly where they belonged. In one another’s arms, holding on tight to that trust and pushing aside their worries.

This was all that mattered.

❊ ❊

“I know you’ve got your lavish lifestyle, so please, bear with me,” she cautioned him as she shoved the key into the lock of her apartment door. Y/N had been to his house and it was beautiful as she expected it to be. There was actual room for people to walk around and not feel like they were crowding each other.

Y/N hadn’t actually ever had anyone to her apartment, but even alone she felt crowded in the tight space. When stepping in, the door to the bathroom was on the right, and her living room / bedroom was ahead while her small kitchen and little dining table sat on the left. (this is how i imagine it to look)

The grey blue paint of the walls were chipped in certain places that Y/N has been meaning to fix but hasn’t gotten around to doing. The carpeting looked old and in a certain spot right next to the couch there was a stain from when she accidentally spilt red wine and never was able to get rid of it. A few chinese take out cartons littered her table that she never cleaned from the night before while a few random clothes were strewn about on the floor or her bed. She mentally slapped herself for not thinking ahead and cleaning up after herself, hoping he doesn’t turn around now at the pigsty of an apartment.

“I’m not always this much of a slob…” she grimaced, quickly throwing the empty cartons in the trash, smiling sheepishly at Harry.

“If I didn’t have Natalie, I’m sure my place would look a lot worse,” he brushed her off, looking around at the books she had stacked on a shelf and the small collection of CDs. “I like you, Y/N, a lot. A messy apartment won’t change that.”

Y/N took in a calming breath and nodded her head, trying not to run around and fix everything that was out of place. Instead, she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his torso from behind, and watched as he shuffled through the CDs, wondering who piqued her interest musically. Just when he was about to tell her he admired her taste, she turned his body around to face her, her soft eyes gazing up at him, lust dancing across her irises.

“Harry?” she coaxed, a hint of flirtation laced into her voice.

“Hm?”

“Can we have sex now?” she wondered, tilting her head to the side by a fraction, like a little puppy or a curious cat.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly at her forwardness, her question making him gulp in shock. They both knew this was exactly why they came here, but just thought that this was happening was enough to send a chill down his spine. His hands came up to cradle her jaw, desire flooding his veins as various images of her naked body circled around his brain, and as he could practically hear her whiney moans filling the air.

His mouth connected to hers in a fast movement, his tongue swiping across her bottom lip to allow him access to meet hers. She greedily opened her mouth, walking them over the few feet to her bed. The back of her knees met with the mattress, her almost falling over, but Harry held her up. One of his hands wrapped itself into her hair, pulling her head back and exposing her neck to him. He peppered wet kisses along the skin of her jaw, before trailing down to the collar of her sweater.

“Can I take this off?” He mumbled, tugging on the hem of the purple sweater that adorned her torso. Y/N ushered out a small ‘yes’ bringing her arms above her head as he brought it up and tossed it to the side somewhere. His eyes fixated on her chest, her breasts nestled into a black lace bra. Harry was practically salivating at the sight, immediately his mouth pressing against her chest, and he traveled down until his lips met her navel, his knees touching the soft carpet beneath them. His hands caressed her bottom, softly kneading the flesh clad in her leggings.

His eyes met back up with hers as an unspoken agreement was shared, him pulling down the soft black material as it pooled at her ankles. Soon they too were tossed aside, leaving Y/N in her matching underwear set that had Harry seeing stars. Normally, she would be nervous about someone seeing her in such a vulnerable state, but just like everything else lately, she’s never been more comforted in the presence of her lover. The way he looked at her body as if it were heaven, his eyes roaming over every inch without a look of apprehension or disgust.

Harry pushed her to lay back on the bed, keeping her feet on the ground as her knees bent at the edge. He placed a kiss on her covered pubic mound, his mouth ghosting over her pulsing core as he bit down softly into the flesh of her thigh, just next to her core. A small whimper left her mouth as he breathed a line of cool air to her heated center before sucking on her other thigh, again going right over where she wanted him most.

His fingers hooked into her panties, bringing them down her thighs, leaving her completely exposed to him as he then spread her legs wide enough for his shoulders to fit between. “So beautiful,” he purred, eyeing her wet pussy with fervor.

Then a second later he was licking a broad stripe through her folds, the tip of his tongue circling around her clit. A moan escaped her throat as she rocked her hips gently to gain more friction against his tongue. He took her legs and draped them over his shoulders as he began to mouth away at her dripping hole, gathering up all of the wetness dripping out of her. He moaned at the taste of her, the vibrations of his noises hitting against her and causing her to shiver at the sensation before a moan of her own was let out.

He reached up to hands, bringing them to his hair, urging her to tug on his curls when he dipped his tongue inside of her cunt. Y/N’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, her hands fisting his hair and pulling on his roots harshly, the sounds of their groans mixing together.

“Harry,” she cried out, her heels digging into his back as she tried to push him impossibly closer to her heat. “Shit... you’re so go-good at this.”

She could feel him smile against her from her words before licking away at her and sucking her clit into his mouth. One hand remained on her thigh, holding on tightly while his other met her pussy, one finger dipping into her and thrusting in at a slow pace. She whined as he added another finger, quickening his pace as he could feel her walls clench around his digits.

“You’re so tight, love. Can’t imagine how y’gonna feel against m’cock,” he grinned, looking up at her through his lashes, leaving one final wet kiss to her clit before removing himself from her completely, her feet falling back to the floor with a thud. She gasped at the loss of contact, eyes rushing over his figure as she tried to coax him back to her.

He giggled at her impatience, stripping himself of jeans and sweater, the bulge in his briefs looking like it hurt as it strained against the material. He palmed himself, a whimper leaving his throat before he leaned down over her and moving themselves further up the bed. He grinded his center against hers, his precum and her wetness leaving a patch of moisture at the front of his briefs. Y/N gulped at the feeling of his covered cock, measuring in her head just how big he was. She assumed he had some length and girth to him just by his aura, but she didn’t expect this big.

When he finally kicked off his underwear, his bright red tip slapping against the underbelly of his bellybutton, Y/N’s jaw all but fell off at the sheer size of him. Immediately she wondered if he was even going to fit inside her or how badly the burn of the stretch of her walls was going to be. It had been a while since she had sex, and now she was nervous.

“Are you even sure that’ll fit inside of me?” She questioned, nibbling at her bottom lip as she looked into his eyes with a little worry.

Harry pursed his lips to contain his smile, leaning down and giving her a quick kiss before whispering, “We’ll take it slow.”

They engaged themselves into a soft make out session, the final piece of clothing being her bra thrown over his shoulder, leaving the two of them completely and utterly bare and vulnerable for the other. No part of this entire night felt rushed and neither of them had this urge to just get it over with. No, instead they took their time with each other, allowing themselves to get used to this new step in their relationship. This night solidified just how serious they were about each other, and taking things slow helped that. It wasn’t about reaching that orgasm or the amazing feeling that comes with it. It was about them and how much this meant.

After he rolled a condom down his length, he positioned himself at her entrance before lacing their hands together and settling them on either side of her head. Then slowly and tenderly, Harry pushed himself in, cries of pleasure leaving their mouths as he stretched her walls. He didn’t thrust himself all the way in at one go, instead rocking his hips slightly back and forth, pushing just a little bit further each time he reentered her allowing her time to accommodate his size. When he was finally all the way in, Harry nearly passed out as her tightness squeezed around him. He stilled himself for a moment, giving her a second to breathe before he pulled back and thrusting back in with a harsher movement.

Y/N was right when she knew there was going to be a burn as her muscles widened around him, and she felt wetness prick at the corner of her eyes before she blinked them away before he could notice. She raised her head to capture his lips in a kiss, looking to distract herself as the pain slowly dissipated into pleasure. Their tongues lapped over one another as Harry quickened his pace, his hips slapping against hers in a more feverish manner. Soon enough, all Y/N could feel was immense pleasure as her once denied orgasm began to build back up.

The tip of his dick, reached so far into her that she could feel him brush against her cervix, a hazy feeling clouding her brain. When he felt her thighs tighten around his waist, and her walls began to flutter around him, he brought one of his hands to her clit, rubbing quick circles on it with his thumb. “G’na cum for me, baby? G’na let y’self go?”

Y/N moaned in response, her eyes screwing shut as he delivered a hard thrust to her special spot, her climax flooding her body quick and hard. She’s never felt herself get off that much, not knowing that she was even capable of that grand of an orgasm. The moment her body calmed down, she felt herself go into a dreamlike state as exhaustion hit her like a train. Harry continued to pound into her, working himself to his own high. Y/N quivered at her sensitivity, but urged him to continue because she wanted to see how beautiful he looks when he comes undone.

His jaw dropped open in the slightest as his abdomen clenched and his prick twitched, the familiar feeling starting in his balls shooting up through his spine before he released into the condom. A lewd string of curses fell from his lips as he gently continued to ride out his orgasm, his body completely spent as they both panted out quick breaths.

Slowly Harry removed himself, taking off the worn condom and tossing it into the garbage before joining her back in bed. “Should get cleaned up,” he muttered, still catching his breath and calming down.

“Mm,” Y/N hummed, turning herself over so her legs tangled with his and her arm draped over his sweaty torso.

Minutes went by when neither of them said anything, and Y/N was convinced he had fallen asleep as his breaths became more steady. But there was one thought on her mind that she needed to get off of her chest, because ever since they started dating it’s been eating away at her. She wanted to get it out of the way as felt her eyes getting heavier.

“Harry?”

A few moments pass before he softly answers, “Yeah?”

“What does Abby think of me? Not as her trainer but y’know… your girlfriend? She tells me how close she is with her mother and I just - I don’t know,” she shrugged, resting her chin on his chest to look up at him.

Harry looked at her, his one hand gently pushing the hair away from her eyes. “She’s the one that told me to take you on that first date.”

Y/N was shocked at this, her eyebrows shooting up at his confession. She knew the little girl liked her as her teacher and the one showing her how to skate properly, but Y/N never knew how she felt about her being the girl her father was dating. Kids don’t always understand how relationships work and Y/N feared the little girl would end up hating her since she was with Harry and her mother wasn’t. “Really?”

He nodded, “She admires you, Y/N. Yeah, she’s close with her mother but in all fairness I think she likes you more.”

“Oh, don’t say that!”

“Why not? It’s true. She can see how happy you make me and I think that’s all that matters to her,” he surmised with a shrug of his shoulders. At this, Y/N couldn’t help but smile, connecting their lips in a gentle kiss before her eyes fluttered close as she nudged her nose against his in a little eskimo kiss.

She was convinced he was her happy ending. He was the voice she loved hearing, and the person that made her life just a little stressful. And boy, she was happy Abby decided to take up skating lessons.

“You make me happy too.”

#WOW #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles #one direction fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

alicenttully · 4 years

Note

You know with how often people bring up Sansa going to Cersei as some ultimate betrayal of the Starks, you’d think they’d remember that Ned went to Cersei too. And it wouldn’t matter if Sansa told Cersei they were leaving because she wouldn’t have known anything about Ned discovering the incest without him literally telling her what he knew and giving her time to hatch her own plan. It’s Ned’s mercy that dooms him and it’s much more narratively satisfying than it would be if it was all Sansa’s fault than if Ned has literally no influence over his own story. Ned also puts his own men into the city watch, leaving his personal guard very small. Ned has much more influence than his 11 year old daughter.

Oh, and when Ned first tells Sansa and Arya that they’ll leaving KL, Sansa says this, “I’ll be good, you’ll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen.” Ned literally knows that Sansa idolizes the queen and says literally not one word to her about Cersei not being trustworthy. Sansa is an 11 year old girl who’s upset about leaving a place she liked with tons of things she’d always dreamed of, so she goes to someone she thinks will let her stay. Ned never once warns her against Cersei the way her warns Arya even though he knows that she thinks the queen is perfect.

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head.

Sansa didn’t go to Cersei out of some devious need to betray her father or to see him hurt. It was an act of rebellion - an 11-year-old child seeking the help of a trusted authority figure because she doesn’t understand what her father is doing - because as it’s been pointed out, Ned failed to properly communicate with Sansa just truly how dangerous their situation was. I’ve seen people argue that he did when he told Sansa that he wanted her and Arya back for their safety- but looking back at the chapter (Sansa III) he says nothing to Sansa about his mistrust of Cersei Lannister, thus the explanation he gives is in fact INSUFFICIENT. And I’m sure someone will counter this by saying “well, he was her parent. She should have just obeyed, explanation or no.” And I’m sorry, but I don’t agree, and it’s because of this -

Sansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no grounds to suspect our devotion.

Sansa had every right to a proper explanation given that her father betrothed her to Joffrey with the intention of using it as a cover to investigate the Lannisters for murder. If Arya who wasn’t in the position that Sansa was as the betrothed to the future king deserved honesty, then so did Sansa. Also, because as it’s been raised before as to why Sansa continued to trust Cersei after the Trident- it’s been pointed out before that despite everything that happened, nothing happened to Sansa and Joff’s betrothal. From Sansa’s perspective, she was still excepted to marry into this family. Consequentially, it is no wonder she ended up romanticising the Lannisters again, rather than face the horrible truth about who they really are. It’s why she insists Joff is nothing like his father, that “old drunken king” even though there are several parallels between Joffrey’s behaviour at the Trident and Robert’s at the tourney feast. Such actions don’t paint her as stupid. They reveal her as human - after all, how many of us have lied to ourselves? Sansa isn’t alone in this. Ned lies to himself about Robert- taking a while to truly accept that his friend has changed. Tyrion lies to himself about Shae. Both were also much older than Sansa, who was a child.

Furthermore, if Sansa going to Cersei was truly so instrumental in Ned dying then you would think the show’s decision to cut it out would have some sort of effect. Except it doesn’t really. Ned still goes to Cersei (who is already planning her own shit) Littlefinger still betrays Ned, Janos Slynt also betrays Ned, Ned still sends much of his guard away causing him to be more vulnerable. It’s almost like Sansa going to Cersei had little to no impact at all, other than her becoming captive and Arya going on the run. If you want to blame her for the death of the Stark household then fine as it was just meant to be them and the girls going home, but again I can go back to Ned and ask why the hell didn’t he appoint guards for his daughters, given how dangerous he thought KL was, to prevent such a situation. Because if your daughter is telling you how much she admires the queen (the woman you distrust) then that may be a clue you need to keep an eye on her. Also regarding Ned- he was actually planning on staying in Kingslanding. He wanted the girls back in WF, but he said nothing about himself. So hypothetically let's just say the girls did get sent away, certain factors will still exist. Robert will still die, Littlefinger will see betray him, Renly a possible ally, will still be gone. Joffrey will still go mad at Ned declaring him a bastard, and Cersei will still arrest him for treason. In the books, Ned falsely confesses to treason in order to protect Sansa (paralleling his decision to lying about Jons parentage in order to protect him) However even without Sansa’s life being in jeopardy, the outcome IMO would still have been the same. One, Varys obviously has his own agenda and I could very easily see him persuade Ned to confess in order to prevent his son Robb from going to war-

"Robb is only a boy," Ned said, aghast.

If Ned falsely confesses to treason in order to protect Sansa who is “no more than a child”, then it is very easy to see him do the same for Robb to protect him from having to go to war, that he saw only as “a boy”. I always found that interesting he would say that, given that this is the same man who tells his wife their three year old son “won’t be three forever”. And yet here faced with the prospect of his other son going to war, Ned is horrified. It’s probably all coming back to him - how he also went to war for the first time when he was not much older than Robb. Neds chapters showcase the trauma that he suffered because of it, which furthers my belief that he would try to prevent Robb from experiencing that. Thus Ned still “confesses”, and he still dies. Because nothing has been done to remove the fact that Joffrey is wildly unpredictable that doesn’t listen to his counsellors (theres a reason why Tommen is regarded as more controllable) or the fact that it has been strongly implied that LF might have had some influence on Joffrey suddenly changing script-

His queen mother stood beside him in a black mourning gown slashed with crimson, a veil of black diamonds in her hair. Arya recognized the Hound, wearing a snowy white cloak over his dark grey armor, with four of the Kingsguard around him. She saw Varys the eunuch gliding among the lords in soft slippers and a patterned damask robe, and she thought the short man with the silvery cape and pointed beard might be the one who had once fought a duel for Mother.

The High Septon clutched at the king's cape, and Varys came rushing over waving his arms, and even the queen was saying something to him, but Joffrey shook his head.

You know whose behaviour isn’t described here? Littlefinger’s. There is no description of LF acting shocked or panicked. That’s very telling.

tldr: sansa is not to blame for her father’s death. it was various other factors that ultimately ended up dooming him. sansa went to cersei not because she wanted to “betray” her father, but because she trusted cersei. it was a horrible situation in which a child’s trust was taken advantage of in the most wretched way, and its time the fandom stop blaming sansa for it.

#sansa stark #sansa stark defense squad #sansa #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #got #asks #lmafo didnt mean for this to get so long

210 notes · View notes

lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, notes, and warnings here!

chapter one: qualia

qualia: in philosophy and certain models of psychology, qualia are defined as individual instances of subjective, conscious experience. philosopher and cognitive scientist daniel dennett once suggested that qualia was "an unfamiliar term for something that could not be more familiar to each of us: the ways things seem to us.”

JANUS

Janus almost always develops a headache when he has to deal with the latest idiot intern at the firm, but this headache is beyond the pale. Then again, so is this intern. He has never met a uni student that is more destined to become an obnoxiously vocal Tory. It’s like someone granted a novel about Etonian history his wish to become a real boy.

“Out,” he bellows at the intern who has been attempting to stick himself to Janus's side, unable to pick up on the fact that his repeated mentions of his father, you know, the chancellor of the high court, is doing the opposite of impressing everyone around him.

This intern—Janus is going to make it a point to never remember his name now—has probably never been yelled at in his life. He gives Janus a very offended look, sniffs, and retreats from Janus's office, likely to bother whatever barrister he hasn’t yet told about the blatant nepotism that has gotten him into their office.

Janus puts his elbows on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing slowly in and out. Though the intern has certainly exacerbated the headache at hand, he’s had the headache since he inexplicably woke up at four in the morning.

He’s taken paracetamol, he’s tried hydrating, and drinking caffeine, and rubbing his temples, and even wearing the blue light glasses Key swears by, but there’s been no luck. His head’s throbbing just as badly now as it did when he woke up from a dream about a strange American wearing a pale brown cardigan and a pink tie.

The man had gone pale and sweaty as if he was ill, leaning back against air, clutching at nothing, like he’d hoped to find someone’s hand to hold, but despite the pain he seemed to be in, he’d stared straight at Janus, beaming and wide-eyed.

“I see them,” the man had whispered. He’d opened his free arm as if to offer a hug. “Oh, they’re beautiful. You’re beautiful, my dear. My darling.”

You’re beautiful, my dear, my darling…

Janus rubs at his forehead. If he’d been so beautiful and dear and darling, he would have appreciated being left without this migraine as the price of the compliment.

“You,” he barks at the nearest intern walking by his office—a mousy little thing, a girl who’s swimming in a cardigan that makes his eyes throb with a familiarity he can’t recognize—“I’ll let you assist on this case if you get me a tea with two sugars, right now.”

She perks up. “Really?”

“Right now,” he thunders, and the girl practically squeaks before she heads for the building’s refectory with its in-house café.

Janus tries his hardest not to smile to himself, really he does, but the best part of intern season is scaring the interns. What is he supposed to do, not revel in their suffering?

He’s about to reach for his smartphone resting on his desk when he feels a buzz against his sternum.

He pauses, glances toward the door, before he swivels around his desk chair and opens a lower cabinet as if he’s searching for a file; instead, he reaches into his innermost breast pocket to pull out his other phone. This one is a good deal cheaper than the one resting on the table; that is by design.

He glances at the window to double-check the reflections, that no one is watching him—they aren’t—before he unlocks the phone and looks at the message.

K: jazza, you found anything yet?

Janus scowls at the phone. Honestly.

J: Do you want to get arrested, Key? Because rushing this job is how you get arrested.

K: aint that the reason ur a big fancy barrister in the first place

J: Do they want to put up the rush fee?

He turns back to his desk and manages to get some actual, legal, non-shady work done before the phone buzzes.

K: no.

If pixels could look sullen, these ones do.

J: Then tell them to put up or shut up.

A pause.

J: And don’t text me for inane little updates during actual people’s work hours again. You are specifically only to contact me during these hours for emergencies.

He shuts off the phone and tucks it into his breast pocket again before Key can respond. The nerve of some people. He’ll do the work, fine, but people needed to realize they’d get what they paid for. For the information that Key’s clientele wants him to retrieve, they’ll have to put up quite a bit more cash for him to move at anything beyond a snail’s pace.

A knock at the door. Janus gives the girl his most imperious look.

“Here you are, sir,” she says, handing over one insulated to-go mug, keeping another one in her hands.

“Yes, fine, fine,” he says, taking it. “What’s your name again?”

“Emma, sir.”

“Emma,” he repeats. He takes a sip of the tea.

Or, he expects to take a sip of tea. What he gets is a mouthful of coffee.

Very good coffee, very high-quality coffee, but coffee, and lukewarm at that. He pulls a face instinctively.

“What did you get me?”

Emma immediately looks petrified. “Tea with two sugars, sir?”

Janus frowns at her, then examines the side, where the tea option is ticked off. If they’ve managed to mess up the order, at least they’d given him the good-quality stuff, even if it did taste like it had been sitting on a desk for an hour. He takes another cautious sip.

Tea. Sweetened, hot tea, fresh from the café.

He’s never had a headache this bad before. So maybe he doesn’t know that headaches this bad can mess with his sense of smell. And temperature. Now that he thinks of it, he is feeling really quite hot, even though the building’s air conditioning is blasting.

“...Very good,” he says slowly, and then proceeds to nudge a perilously tall stack of manila files toward her. “Read the top one so you can get reacquainted with the case.”

Emma takes the file immediately, and, just for a moment, just for barely a flash, Janus could swear he’d seen someone walking in the hall in their pajamas and bunny slippers in the reflection of his office windows.

He looks at it more directly.

No. It’s just Emma’s reflection and his. Janus's office, furnished in dark woods and leather desk chairs, his fine suit, the damningly recognizable birthmark and scar splashed across his face.

Janus frowns at himself in the window, turns away, and reaches for his own manila file.

VIRGIL

Getting off the plane from America to South Africa is always an experiment in temperature adjustment.

He takes off his hoodie in between the shuffle of getting off the plane to going to the baggage claim, tying it around his waist, leaving him just in a purple t-shirt and his ripped jeans.

It doesn’t help that he’s got a headache that’s absolutely killing him.

By the time he gets there, his baggage is already waiting at the side of a woman with her hair wrapped in a scarf, her glasses resting low on her nose; they look new, and it makes Virgil’s chest hurt—what else has he missed since he’s been across the world?

Virgil’s mother, Andisiwe, beams at him. “Virgil!”

“I’ve missed you, Mama,” he says in Xhosa because ever since he was a child jetting back and forth for school breaks she’s been worried about him losing his mother tongue.

She laughs, hugging him tight and warm, and he wraps his arms around her in kind, closing his eyes tight. This is the longest he’s been from her since he was born. She’d been in America to teach for a year and a half at Johns Hopkins when she’d met his father, and then Virgil happened.

He couldn’t have gone back to South Africa with her, a black woman with a mixed-race child, not during apartheid. His white father had had to bring him home to his white wife, and white children, and initiate what would eventually become a long, messy divorce.

But he doesn’t like to think about that, and he won’t, not today, not when he’s finally back here. He’s missed her, and Pretoria, and his jacarandas, and his grandmother’s recipe for coconut pitha, and umngqusho, and proper, African coffee more than he can say.

All he’d drunk in the States was tea because he didn’t want to be reminded of home; he can taste it lingering in the back of his throat, even now.

“Or should I say, Doctor Virgil Wright-Nkosi,” she says, beaming at him wide, and Virgil ducks his head, grinning even through how awkward he feels.

“I’m a doctor of botany, it’s not the same as you,” or Dad, he tacks on in his mind, taking his suitcase and gesturing her ahead of him; she trades him with a to-go cup of coffee, which he sips eagerly. It’s such a perfect taste of home that he doesn’t even care that it’s lukewarm.

“Quite right,” she says, leading their way through the airport. “Ph.D. is different from an M.D., I’m thrilled my employer has taught you so excellently in your undergrad—”

Virgil laughs, again, but his foot slips on the smooth airport tile, and he looks down instinctively, and his breath catches in his throat, laughter dying in his mouth, freezing where he stands, because if he takes one more step he is going to die he is going to die he is going to fucking die—

There’s this tight feeling across his chest like a band and suddenly he’s not looking down at clean airport tile but he’s looking down at a yawning expanse of air between himself and the ground at least three stories up and he’s standing on a thin metal bar and if he keeps moving he’s going to fall he’s going to die

“Virgil?”

Virgil looks toward his mother, breath seized in his throat, and—

And he’s at the airport again. Bustling crowds, pinging PA system, his mother, a hand reaching toward him in concern.

“Virgil, are you all right?”

Virgil swallows once, twice, squeezes his eyes shut, and shakes his head to clear it; he opens them again.

Airport. His mom. The crowd. And, just a flash, weaving in and out of the people, there’s a big man with tattoos, and he’s wearing bunny slippers. It’s strange enough that it manages to shake him out of it better than any physical gesture could.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds strained to his own ears. “Yeah. Um—jet lag, I think.”

Andisiwe surveys him, before she nods, once, decisively.

“Finish that coffee,” she says. “You know how much worse it’ll get if you let yourself fall asleep now.”

Virgil takes a long pull from his cup—bitter, dark, African coffee. Home. He’s home.

Jet lag, he tells himself. Jet lag, and that weird dream you had on the plane. That’s all this is.

REMUS

“The fucking rat bastard bitch-ass sorry shit-stain of a cunt,” Remus pants to himself, as quietly as he can when he’s heaving for breath and sprinting along the forest floor. Remus wasn’t particularly athletic in the first place—one doesn’t really become a horror author if they’re a star athlete, do they?—but when one is running for their life, things like “stitches in my side” and “is that blood I taste in the back of my mouth” kind of take a back seat to things like, you know, continued survival.

Remus nearly trips over a vine, which he verbally abuses for a few hundred more feet, (“fucking useless pieces of shit fucking—”) before he manages to slip and stumble into the shelter of something like a cave. He checks it—as much as he likes wildlife mauling other people, in theory, it kind of goes against this whole survival thing if he wanders into a cave only to get his throat ripped out by a bobcat.

As he casts back the hood of his jacket and mops his brow of sweat, looking back and forth to ensure he hasn’t been tracked, and his heart rate returns to something like normal, turns his mind back to Miguel fucking Contreras.

That fucking bastard was lucky he was dead, and even so, Remus might go back and dig up his freshly-turned grave with nothing but his own two fucking hands and he’d gladly break a hundred of his fingers and turn his knuckles into right-angled wrongness just to reach in there and grab his rotting corpse and wring his neck to kill him again.

He didn’t even kill him the first time, that’s the unbearable thing! He’d wanted to kill him and someone swooped in and did it before Remus ever could!

Remus spits on the ground, furious, and even more furious that everything with him is so vital he can’t risk destroying any of it in a rage—his clothes, his last couple testosterone pills, a burner phone he’d stolen off someone who reminded him of his own wretched abuela a couple cities back and kept shut off ever since. She’d been yelling at some homeless kids trying to get some pesos for a goddamn meal, though, so Remus felt as if he’d performed a public service by making her day worse.

He’d managed to snatch her purse and empty it out, too. The kids got a meal, Remus got a meal, everyone won.

Remus chances a peek around the forest once again, just to ensure he hasn’t been tailed, and—

He shrinks back into the cave at the sight of a large man jogging by. He’s very big, very tall, very tattooed, and very confused, by the looks of it. Like he’s sleep-walked miles into the forest and now doesn’t know his way back.

The man pivots on his foot, walks out of Remus's view behind a tree, and doesn’t resume walking again.

Remus's eyes narrow. He tenses his muscles, ready to start sprinting again, but that man had looked rather big and strong, and therefore much more decisively athletic than Remus.

But minutes pass, and the man doesn’t emerge again.

Remus creeps out, just enough to see past the tree, and—

No. The man is gone.

Anyone else might think that they were losing it. Anyone else might think that they were going crazy.

Remis is fully aware that he’s crazy, though, so he shrugs and returns his attention to sorting through his bag, except—

His fingers run through the money he has, and they aren’t pesos anymore. Remus frowns at the sight of the money, holding it up to the meager light to see it.

There definitely isn’t an old white lady on pesos usually.

“The fuck?”

“Erm.”

Remus whips his head around, very suddenly aware that he isn’t in a cave anymore.

He’s in an apartment. A swanky apartment. The air conditioning is blasting—Remus hasn’t been in air-conditioned surroundings for so long, and he nearly melts under the feel of it, cooling the sweat coating his face, running down his back.

A white man lowers his glasses down his nose and frowns at Remus. The way his mouth moves twists up the scar on the side of the face. He’s holding up a handful of pesos.

“Well, first of all, I really need to send a note so they improve security around this place,” the man says in an undertone. Then, “second of all, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to need those pounds to pay for my takeaway.”

Remus stares.

“I’ve ordered Indian food to my office,” he continues, “and I’d think that they’d prefer the national currency in exchange for my food. I’ve been craving samosas something awful.”

Samosas do sound good. Any food sounds good, Remus thinks, as his stomach growls with envy.

Remus slowly extends his handful of the old white lady money. The white man places the pesos into Remus's hand, taking his money back at the same time.

“Much obliged,” the white man says and disappears.

Remus blinks down at his handful of pesos, then looks around. No more air conditioning, or swanky office, or promise of takeout.

He shakes his head.

“If I hadn’t lost it before,” he mutters aloud and goes back to counting his money.

Well. It’s not like Remus's brain is any great loss.

LOGAN

Logan gives a cursory peek through the telescope and grumbles, pulling back and rubbing his forehead. Fantastic. On top of this untimely migraine, his equipment has decided to throw a tantrum, too.

He’s known technology can be fiddly even in the best of conditions. He’s known that cold can adversely affect equipment. And yet, for some reason, it is still constantly frustrating when it does happen. Which in turn is frustrating; he should expect cold conditions to interfere with any equipment that he uses for his space research. He’s in Antarctica.

Logan makes effort to simply narrow his eyes at the telescope before him, fiddling with the lens. He has half a mind to ask it there, will you behave now? but considering it is simply scientific equipment, it will not answer. Therefore, there is no reason to speak.

Logan rubs his forehead again, and, for the brief moment before his hand obscures his eyes, he sees a flash of something.

Logan squints, lowering his hand. But no, he decides; he just sees snow, rock, the local wildlife.

But for a moment he could have sworn, while he was looking out at the sea, that he’d seen a large, tattooed man looking out at the sea, too.

No, he decides. It couldn’t have possibly been; this headache, coupled with the general brightness of the world right now, is making him see things.

There is no way he’d just seen, in the midst of an Antarctic island, a large, tattooed man in pajamas and bunny slippers.

ROMAN

Fuck if it’s not early, but fuck if he’s not having a blast.

“Do we wanna run it one more time?!” Roman hollers down from the catwalks.

“I should’ve known better than to give you a fly scene,” María says ruefully. Roman blows down kisses from where he’s strapped in, harness tight across his chest, the camera crew looking dutifully to María to see what the verdict is.

A long pause. She sighs and waves a hand. “Set up for the close-up landing!”

Roman whoops to himself, shifting on his own two feet. He never gets to do stunts, much less stunts like this. All his movies are machismo, punching people and firing guns, and sure, this one is full of all that, but at least this time he gets to spend a day flying around on wires like he’s a superhero.

Which is ironic, considering he’d started his career in movies as a stuntman. But now his pretty face is too high-market-value to risk it doing the thing he’s been trained to do.

But whatever! Today he gets to fly around! Today he gets to throw himself into saying his lines! Today he gets to throw himself into his script and his acting and his costars!

Today he gets to spend it on set and not lying in bed taken down by this godawful migraine and scrolling through his phone with his heart in his throat to see if there are any developments in the news!

Today he gets to tell Sasha all about the day he’s had in his usual bright and happy voice! It’s a great day!

Roman shuffles on his feet, waiting for the “action!” to be called when he hears the tell-tale rumbling shriek of a plane flying overhead, and Roman bites back a sigh; that’s going to delay the shoot of the scene for sure while they wait on that, so Roman slumps, looking for something to occupy either his hands or his brain with, but then—

“Quiet on set!” María barks.

“We aren’t going to hold for the plane?” Roman asks, confused.

“What plane?” María says.

“I thought—” Roman says, and frowns; from where he is in the catwalks, he can’t exactly look up and see the sky, but even then the angle of sound seems wrong; it’s like he’s walking past an airfield, planes taking off and landing all at once.

“Never mind,” Roman calls down weakly. “Thought I heard something, must have been tech stuff.”

María looks up at him, eyes narrowed briefly before she shrugs, and repeats, “Quiet on set!”

Roman shakes out his shoulders, intent on getting into the mind of Pablo Márquez, and out of his own.

⁂

Roman’s got an icepack under his shoulder and on his forehead, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Okay, so, maybe he got a bit too into it today. Whatever. It’s not his fault he’s stuck with a killer migraine, and it’s definitely not his fault that the person who fastened his harness clearly didn’t know what he was talking about; you’d think that now he was the big star, people would be more cautious with him than they were when he was a stuntman, but what does Roman know? He’s just the pretty face.

But whatever. He’s got a breather for a while as his costar shoots a few scenes with her supposed father (a twist of the movie is that her father is not, in fact, her father) and so he’s taking the time to sit and relax.

He’s going to relax.

Really.

...oh, who is he kidding. Roman immediately rolls to grab his phone from where he’d set it on the minuscule table in his trailer, and loads the page to El Universal.

He’s got the search down to a science, really. He starts with the wider, more professional news sources—ergo El Universal—and then gradually meanders his way down, through the magazines, then the tabloids, then the blogs dedicated to the writings of R.J. Duke.

When he’s really desperate, he checks Twitter.

He turns out to be really desperate every day, though.

He isn’t really sure how not to be desperate when one’s brother is on the run for committing murder.

He definitely isn’t sure how not to be desperate when one’s brother is only revealed to not be his brother under a thin guise that someone might find out any minute.

He absolutely isn’t sure how not to be desperate when any day now, someone will crack it, and they’ll raid his apartment to see if Roman was hiding him (Roman would absolutely hide him if Remus would just come to him) and ask him questions, and how is Roman supposed to respond when they ask him if Remus would be capable of murder, no? Fucking obviously Remus would be capable of murder.

And the thing is, he is desperate. He’s desperate to get news of how Remus is doing, where on earth Remus is, if he’s okay.

And then he wonders what kind of person he is, to be so willing to set aside that his brother might have killed someone. He’d like to think that he’d do the right thing and turn Remus in, but he is also sure that he absolutely wouldn’t.

But the question is, does Remus know that? Does Remus know that Roman would throw everything, everything—his fame, his fancy apartment, his money—just to be sure that Remus was safe, that Remus was with him?

They’d been so entrenched in their petty disagreements over the years that Roman isn’t sure that Remus does.

The thought that his brother might not know Roman loves him is a thousand times more painful than this headache will be.

Remus is his brother. His twin brother, the only person in the world who understands Roman; for all their differences, for all their disagreements, he and Remus have always understood each other. They’ve always been on a wavelength no one else has, in sync and in step with each other. They’d even been born at exactly the same time, by virtue of their mother’s c-section.

How is Roman meant to just set that aside?!

So he lies on the couch in his trailer, scrolling obsessively through a Twitter search of his brother’s pen name and his legal name and his actual name, eyebrows drawn together further and further.

He’s so lost in chasing down clues, he doesn’t even notice the large, pajama-clad man appearing in his trailer and disappearing again, between five blinks of the eye.

PATTON

The view in front of Patton is crystalline and beautiful, dark gray rock and snow a blindingly clear shade of white and the ocean, constantly shifting between deep, lovely blue and bottle-green depths; ice, and rock, and the sun glinting off the sea and the snow, so bright that it almost hurts to look at it.

It’s so lovely that Patton would gladly spend all day looking at it, if not for the deep chill working its way into his bones as if he’s been here for months instead of minutes. Which is kind of confusing, but he doesn’t think his flannel pajamas and bunny slippers probably don’t make the cut of approved winter gear, so that might be it.

And also the part where Patton went to bed in his apartment in Auckland because of his blindingly bad migraine, and he has woken up in some wintry wasteland. That part’s kind of confusing him, too.

There’s a particularly sharp gust of wind, and Patton squints, turning his face away and lifting his hand. The breeze lessens, and Patton lowers his hand.

He’s in an office.

A nice office, the kind with hardwood floors that would click under his feet if he weren’t wearing slippers and the big, floor-to-ceiling windows that speaks of a recent, expensive renovation, a door ajar. He walks forward to peek into it—

—and finds himself looking inside of a cramped little trailer, a man flung out dramatically on the couch, one arm over his forehead, not able to cover the anguish on his face, and the other scrolling through his phone.

He takes a step forward, and just like before, without any sense of transition, just one blink and he’s not in a trailer anymore, he’s outside, standing at the foot of a mountain stretching for forever above him, moving quickly on his feet, jogging alongside a hooded man sprinting down a barely-worn path—

He takes a step forward, and his foot lands on the carpet.

“Goodness,” a man says, with a familiar, amused tone. “You’ve been walking quite far, haven’t you?”

Patton looks up to see a man—the parent he’d thought he’d seen yesterday. He’s in the same cardigan and dress shirt, looking rather rumpled, but his tie has, at least, been loosened from around his throat. The lights are off, the only light filtering weakly through the windows. The man is lying down in his bed, looking pale and sickly.

The room would look quite depressing if not for the laptop blaring a cartoon—an American one Patton doesn’t know—and various assorted cartoon art and sculptures as clutter around the room. His duvet has a subtle pattern that Patton, after tilting his head, looks a bit like gemstones.

“...I think so,” Patton says cautiously. “But it doesn’t feel like it.”

“No, it never does,” the man says, smiling. “Even when you’ve walked halfway ‘round the world.”

For lack of anything to say—other than who are you, what’s happening to me, what on earth is going on—Patton keeps quiet.

“I like your tattoos,” the man continues.

“Oh, thank you,” Patton says, twisting his arms so that the cardiganed man can see them, swelling with pride. They are a big part of his culture, his history, himself, after all. “They’re tā moko.”

“Tā moko,” the man repeats as if committing it to memory.

“I’m Māori,” Patton adds because he can place the accent now—American. And, well, nothing against Americans, it’s just that he isn’t sure how much the average American knows about the indigenous populations of other continents.

“Indigenous to,” the man says, and his eyes narrow for a moment. “New Zealand, right?”

Patton nods to the man, before he says, “Where am I?”

“Oh, excuse my manners, please sit down,” the man says, gesturing to an empty spot on his comfy-looking bed. Patton sits. It is comfy.

“I’m just so excited, you see, I’ve spent most of the past day recovering, so you’re the first one I’ve met. I’d expect you to be recovering, too, this is either a fortunately-timed fluke or you seem to be getting the hang of this very fast. Doesn’t your head hurt?”

“Terribly,” Patton admits, then, “First of who?”

Before the man can answer his question, his brain flashes with images from today—an airport, dark catwalks, a yawning cliff face, that fancy-schmancy office.

“Well,” the man says. “I’m Dr. Emile Picani.”

For whatever reason, it feels like he should have known that name already; his name slips into Patton’s mind like a key turning a long-forgotten lock.

“And,” the man continues, “you’re technically wherever your body is now.”

“Auckland.”

“Auckland,” he repeats. “Patton the Māori from Auckland. Oh, how wonderful, I don’t think I know any of our kind anywhere near Australia or New Zealand yet.”

“Our,” Patton says, and his brow wrinkles. “Our kind?”

“Patton, my darling,” Emile says warmly, leaning forward to put a hand on Patton’s. “Have you been walking around in other places? Feeling things that aren’t there, seeing people that aren’t there?”

“Yes,” Patton says.

“Those would be your cluster,” Emile says, and the word buries itself deep in Patton’s heart with an aggressively radiating kind of warmth, instantaneously fond, like he’s loved them all along but just now realized it. My cluster. It may as well be my family, that’s how much love he feels.

“Your body is in Auckland, still, but right now, your mind? You’re visiting me in Florida.”

Patton can’t help but smile a little. “I’ve never been outside of New Zealand before.”

Emile smiles back at him, warm and comforting, and it feels just as familiar as looking at the face of his father.

“Patton, dear, you are no longer just you.”

REMY

Remy turns from where he’s making a mug of green tea to see that he’s in Emile’s room.

“Babe,” Remy says, reflexive, before he sees the look on Emile’s face; and he understands immediately.

“Fuck, are they still here?”

Emile, still smiling, shakes his head just a touch regretfully. “You just missed him.”

That piques Remy’s attention. “Him? You’ve got a son?”

“He’s not technically my son,” Emile says bashfully; they swap, effortless after so long, and Emile takes a sip of Remy’s green tea using Remy’s hands, Remy’s ] mouth. Remy takes that time to use Emile’s body to settle more comfortably in the bed, and he places a cool, wet washcloth across Emile’s forehead.

They swap back without losing a beat; this rhythm between them has existed for a decade, Emile’s psychic birth isn’t about to trip them up. Sure, it looks different to him than it does to Emile; right now, to Remy, it’s like Emile’s curled up in his Nicean apartment, just at home in France as he is in Florida. To Emile, he knows, it’s like Remy’s appeared in his bedroom, oddly dressed for the Florida spring.

“Your psychic son, then,” Remy teases, then it clicks. “Wait, you’ve seen one of them already? How long did it take one of us to see Harley after the activation—?”

Emile waves a hand in a so-so type gesture. “Linny saw Dalisay and she kind of served as a mentor for her, didn’t she? That was the closest to a non-cluster visit that we got.”

“And that was after three days or so,” Remy muses. “Hm.”

“Yeah,” Emile agrees. “I dunno if it’s a fluke or if Patton’s just really well-adapted for this life.”

“Patton,” Remy repeats.

Honestly, he isn’t really sure how to handle this; the closest he could get to preparing for his boyfriend’s psychic birth is googling things about being a stepdad, and that’s not even slightly close to what’s actually happening. Bonding with the stepkids can only really happen if Emile’s lucked into a cluster with a Frenchman, Frenchwoman, Frenchperson, whichever.

Emile quirks a brow at him, knowing what he’s about to ask. “New Zealander.”

“Fuck,” Remy says. “No in-cluster education for Patton, then. Do we know anyone there, baby?”

“I’d have to check with the Archipelago, and, well,” Emile says, gesturing vaguely to himself; he’s laid out in bed, and, with the washcloth on his forehead, he really does look quite ill. Out-of-cluster visiting might be too much of a strain right now.

Remy frowns, taking the washcloth in hand and gently dabbing Emile’s forehead.

“Tell me about him?”

Emile beams.

“Oh, Remy, he’s wonderful. Simply fantastic! He’s Māori—indigenous population—and he’s got all these interesting tattoos. I’ve been researching, look,” Emile says, tilting his phone so that Remy can see.

Remy takes it. He sees swirling designs, up and down arms and legs, neatly segmented lines filled with various patterns, a few portraits of tattooed faces.

“—the tattoos themselves have a really interesting history, but I have a lot of reading to do when it comes to the Māori population itself. I've already tried to put a few books on hold at the university library.”

“What’s he like?”

“Big, tall,” Emile says, gesturing vaguely with a hand where the top of Patton’s head would compare with his own. “It’s late there, or early, I think, he was still in pajamas. Bunny slippers.”

Remy smiles at that, knowing for a fact that Emile’s wearing his knee-high muppet socks. “Takes after you, then.”

“Maybe,” Emile admits, then, “oh, all right, probably. We have a lot in common, at least, even if we don’t have any solid evidence on if cluster parents influence the traits of their cluster.”

“Influence, schminfluence,” Remy says.

“But he seems very nice, very polite. Wasn’t too shaken by appearing in America.”

Emile’s brow creases.

“I think he needs a cluster,” Emile says, very quiet. “I think he needs them badly.”

Remy isn’t sure what to say to that, so he puts a hand on Emile’s cheek, attempting to check his temperature.

“Harley should have given us the equivalent of psychic sex-ed,” Remy mutters irritably. Emile’s skin, always soft, is warmer than Remy would like.

Emile yawns. “Not gonna disagree with you there.”

Remy tugs up Emile’s blankets to tuck him in. Emile smiles up at him, a little bashful, a lot sleepy.

“Cuddles?” Emile mumbles, holding out his arms, entreating.

And, well. What is Remy gonna do, not cuddle his incredibly adorable boyfriend recovering from psychic birth?

#my fic #my fanfic

7 notes · View notes

sabraeal · 3 years

Text

All That Remains, Chapter 7: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure [Part 4]

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @claudeng80′s birthday! I’m only a week and change late this time, but everyone knows what they’re getting into when they request this fic for gifts-- aka, me dithering for weeks on if a chapter needs to be cut and where it inevitably needs to happen. But here is an almost 5K labor of love...and a little bit of hope... :3c

It would easy to speak of good and evil, would it not? To condemn a sorceress for her conjuring, to pity a girl and her deception. That is the way such tales are crafted: for simplicity, moral lines drawn in the sand.

But life does not fit so easily into the pages made to contain it. A line of prose may distill it to its essence, but a word spoken, an act done by a living creature-- these contain multitudes.

“Well.” Lady Mihoko fixes a shrewd glance over the rim of her teacup, pinning Shirayuki to her chair. Bombazine may creak with her every breath, but when Mihoko sets her demitasse upon its saucer, it is silent. “You are much improved.

The words alone would make a compliment, but with the way her ladyship threads them through her teeth, it is an accusation. Her eyes narrow even now, a proctor determined to catch her pupil filching answers from across the aisle.

Still, it’s the kindest words Mihoko has ever managed to spare, and Shirayuki seizes them with both hands. “Thank you, Lady Mihoko.”

All her ladyship’s fine graces do not restrain her from a humorless grunt. “Do not think it so fine a feat. You could hardly have gotten much worse.” With another contemplative sip, she adds, “But your progress is at least...heartening. You might not be entirely hopeless.”

Polite, tea-appropriate smile firmly in place, Shirayuki casts her eyes down at her plate. How fortunate she is to be able to experience such a fine example of being damned by faint praise.

He mouth does not twitch; by now, she knows better than to allow any of her facial muscles free reign in the presence of the lady-- but it does waver. It was not her own voice lilting those words.

A toe nudges her ankle; the consort’s countenance is carefully composed of bland inquiry across from her.

“You are too kind,” Shirayuki manages, smile polished back to its original brilliance.

“I am.” She settles back in her chair, spine straight as a rod, conveying that her enjoyment of the meal now resides firmly in the past. “You are lucky indeed that Her Majesty deigned to take a girl like you under her wing. How fitting it is that my best student is responsible for righting my worst.”

“It is only because I had such a good tutor that I could even attempt to teach.” The consort sets her own cup onto its saucer, mouth rounded in a pleasant curve. Shirayuki’s never mastered the art of it, to smile to brightly with so little teeth or crinkling around the eyes, but on Haki the effect seems natural, right. “But I must say that Lady Shirayuki is a pleasure as a student. A quick mind and a dedicated learner.”

“What she lack in aptitude she certainly makes up with vigor,” Mihoko allows grudgingly. “In my day, that would not be near enough to make a lady.”

It would be easy to condemn the sorceress, would it not? To raise the roses from their bed and cast the bright light of truth upon them, to drag her into the village square and expose her as a deceiver, a most vile villainess to lead this stray girl astray. We would stretch our hands through the pages if we could but shake our girl awake, if we could put our hands around the throat of the conjuress and see she never bent another illusion--

But that would miss the point entirely. You were told, so long ago now, that life does not fit into the narrow confines fiction demands. Surely you have not forgot?

There is a reason for every action. Unfortunately.

“That is true enough.”

The consort speaks in honeyed tones, mouth composed in a thoughtful pout. But that, Shirayuki knows, is merely an inoffensive mask she wears, one that may be discarded at a moment’s notice. It is always her eyes betray her, burning with an intelligence she can never fully quench.

“But was that not also the era of the former Viscount Yuris? Or the Counts of Sui and Lido?” It should be an accusation, a condemnation, but from the consort’s mouth, it is little more than a polite conversation, small talk between two peers. “So many traitors in so few years.”

Shirayuki may have gained some dominion over her face, but not near enough to keep from glancing at Lady Mihoko.

“That is the nature of the peerage,” her ladyship says after a long moment, mouth pursed in a moue of discomfort. “There are always some that choose to overreach their bounds. It is up to every lord to manage his lands in his own way. Though I know Your Majesties have...newer ideas about such things.”

“Better ideas,” the consort reminds her, both silk and steel entwined. “Under the late king, the court grew indolent, as did the crown. If he had not passed when he did, Clarines might have become another Tanbarun.”

Shirayuki’s teeth grit down, stemming the tide of protest that crashes against them. She had fled her home with little pride or trust in its royals, and it’s not as if she cares for the institution, but-- Raj was no longer the embarrassment he’d once been. It’d be a long time before he’d earn as lofty a reputation as Izana or Zen, but, well, he was trying. And as long as his father remained on the throne, that was enough.

She doubts either of them would appreciate the opinion. It’s not as if any of this is about Tanbarun after all.

Mihoko clucks her tongue. “I would not venture to say we had fallen so far as that.”

“No,” Haki agrees, so pleasant. “But I would.”

A silver spoon clatters to a dish, Mihoko’s aged fingers trembling above it. “That would be your prerogative, Your Majesty.”

“It is my prerogative to see to the quality of my husband’s court, my lady. While once this may have referred to the breeding of its members, I believe we have come beyond that. After all, Lord Zakura was hardly born with silver in hand, or Lord Sui, or Countess Yuris.” The consort hums, delicately setting aside her demitasse. “There would be worse things than to see one of the finest minds of our time raised to a position which suited it.”

Her ladyship does not smile-- a terrible business, nowadays, she would cluck, spoon chiming against the rim of her cup, men should know that every smile returns tenfold in ten years’ time-- but there is a softening in her face. Not of agreement, but allowance.

“We shall see,” she sniffs, waving away another tray of sandwiches. “In time. But none of that removes what a wonders you have wrought with this one, and in less than a month’s time.”

Haki dips her head, the barest bow. “Imagine what a lifetime might bring.”

“Yes.” Mihoko narrows her eyes above the rim of her cup. “Quite unforeseeable.”

What does it mean to conjure, to summon something from nothingness, to breathe life where there once was none? It is no mere illusion; not smoke and mirrors and lies shined until gleaming. Not just a lady’s magic, no substance nor thought, made of wishes and air alone.

No, it is creation; the act of sinking one’s hands into clay and forming something utterly unlike its origin, to take one’s will and give it form. It is any surprise that it is the provenance of women?

But that is the thing, is it not? For every creation, there must be a will, must be a spark. For man to be made flesh, there must first be clay. For illusion to be made real, there first must be a wish.

“One, two-- a sprightly pace if it pleases you, my lady! Lift your feet--”

Sweat spirals down her spine, but Shirayuki picks her heels up of the floor, her sashay the barest whisper of slipper sliding across wood. Far from the ethereal wood nymphs cavorting across the palace’s walls, but it carries her across the floor with far more grace than she’s ever managed before. Like flying, provided it was a hen across the chicken yard.

Shirayuki careens more than glides to the next sequence-- the turn, three, four, return, one, two-- and her heart lodges firmly in the vicinity of her throat. She’s never managed this one before, not without stomping on Arundo’s toes or gravity ruthlessly asserting it dominion over her, dragging her to the earth where she belonged, but--

Haki’s hand squeezes tight around hers before lightening into a lift, pulling right over her head. She curls under it, up-up-down, before swinging back, far less measured, but a thousand times more triumphant.

So many of these story children start with nothing-- unloved and unmissed, abandoned by their parents, scorned by those meant to replace them. But this girl--

This girl was loved. She did not have the mother and father that so many other had, one taken by fate and the other duty; but her grandparents tended her in their place. While other little girls were scrubbing floors, or chopping wood, or being chased into the forest with only the bread in their pockets, she was adored; a treasure on her home’s hearth.

And then, in a breath, it was gone. No time for tears, for contemplation. No time for grief.

She does what all bold little girls do: she moves forward, she adapts. All those fears and grief she locks away; a little drawer inside her mind that only opens in the dead of night, when sleep won’t come to her. How worn those memories are by now, frayed about the edges, folded and thin from neglect.

Strange how it is always children who bear the heaviest burdens. Stranger still that they can grow to used to them, that they can bear them even unto adulthood and hardly realizing they are carrying them at all.

That is, of course, until they are lifted.

“You did it!” Haki catches her arms, stopping Shirayuki’s body from crashing into hers, a smile stretched wide across her face. “With not a step missed.”

“I did,” she bursts breathlessly, nearly sagging in relief. “I did!”

A clap cracks in the cavernous room, but it is only Arundo, his own mouth parted in delight. “Brava, my lady! I am most impressed.”

“As well you should be!” The consort steps back, letting her stand on her own two feet. “There are plenty young ladies I have seen on a dance floor that have not done half so well as Lady Shirayuki.”

Even flushed with victory, Shirayuki knows that for an exaggeration; a thick bit of flattery to bolster her confidence. But it hardly matters, not when she traveled the whole floor without a single misstep.

“I truly despaired of ever teaching Lady Shirayuki much more than swaying in place.” Arundo glances at her partner shyly, color high in his cheeks. “I see it merely took a deft lead.”

“Ah, Master Arundo, it takes a woman to understand how difficult a lady’s part may be.” Haki huffs out a laugh that is far less dainty than one she uses in front of courtiers, sweeping long strands of gold from the frame of her face. “If I knew which place to help, it is only because I remember where I most needed it. As my dancing instructor used to say, we all start at the same place.”

“Still,” Arundo insists, “for you to be able to dance the man and the woman’s part-- a most impressive feat!”

“Not at all!” Haki loops the last of her wisps around her ears, and just like that, the consort’s smiling mask slips into place. “This is but a simple waltz. You yourself must know a hundred or more, and dance both parts with skill besides.”

The dance master waggles a finger at her, playful. “Ah, but in the realm of grace and elegance, Your Majesty has far outstripped my paltry skill.”

With the high drama for which the Viandese were known, Arundo swept into a deep bow, bending near in half. Over his back, Haki glanced at her wide-eyed, mouth twitching, though any proof of it was gone before he rose.

“Please, Master Arundo, I am merely well-practiced.” The consort’s mouth tilts, a wry smile playing at her lips. “Izana and I often switch when we...”

Haki’s eyes pulse wide, her cheeks blossoming with a delicate pink. “In any case, I would not have done so well had Lady Shirayuki not already been through the best instruction.”

You see, Miss? Obi’s laugh is bright in her ears, as if he were only right beside her. Anyone can do it. And if you stumble, only stand on my feet and I’ll guide us both through it--

An arm slips through hers, the consort leaning close. “Won’t my brother be surprised to see such progress?”

Shirayuki cannot fathom why Makiri might care about her dancing. He’s seen it before, both of them often pressed into the same endless dinner parties at Lilias, the sort that always seemed to turn into dancing and awkward moonlight professions. He’d been light on his feet when any of the girls dared to approach, not a born dancer like Haki, but a competent one; when she’d clomped past him, dragged by regretful partners, he’d only raised an eyebrow-- an improvement upon the usual sneers she garnered from fellow revelers. He’d never been forced onto her dance card, but still--

Haki slips her a wink, and oh, it’s not her brother she means, but Zen.

You’re supposed to be learning to dance with him, after all. Even in memory, Obi’s smile cuts like a knife’s edge. No wife dances with any man besides her husband.

Shirayuki’s palms sting where her nails cut crescent into them. This room, it’s-- it’s far, far too small. Too tight. So confining, little more than a cage--

“Shall we break for a moment?” Arundo’s jovial lilt crashes through her thoughts like a bird to a window. “And then we shall start the next!”

“A perfect idea, Master Arundo.” Haki smiles down at her, so bright that the shadows of her thoughts burn away. “I dare say my sister has earned a break.”

It was always just enough for this little girl: a grandfather, a grandmother, a loving home and hearth. There had been no dreams of another there, not even when she lost them, not even when she pruned her roses and found another set of hands to take hers. Not even when those hands became a home in themselves.

But with a single word, uttered so casually, a drawer springs open.

Sister. The word echoes through Shirayuki’s head as they walk. There’s an itch of irritation beneath her skin, a pebble in her metaphorical shoe, but still--

Sister. She’s damp, not gently dewed like Haki, so drenched in sweat that her dress clings to her. Fatigued too, every muscle aching, including a few that hadn’t been in her textbooks. She has every reason to want to bury herself in her covers, to try to find the reason her skin feels too tight.

But that’s not what her attention’s caught on, not in the slightest.

“I’m not your sister,” she says, wishing she hadn’t at all. It would be so easy for it to be taken away, for that soft glow in her chest to be snuffed out.

“No,” Haki agrees, looping her arm through hers as if it belongs there, as if she belongs. “But you will be.”

In the morning the girl rose, the cottage empty save for the scent of honeysuckle and forsythia. Her small feet padded across the floor, right to the window latched tight against the night. She pushed up to tip-toe, fingers flicking against metal, and--

And her first sight was a garden, piled high with blooms; a paradise that belonged on a canvas in oils, not at her fingertips.

Do you see? the sorceress asks, rising from where she tends her beds. I awake to this glory every morning. You could as well, if you wanted.

I can’t, the girl says, certain.

The sorceress blinks. And why not?

I... The girl stares out over all this beauty, its scent surrounding her. I do not remember.

Ah, well then. The sorceress smiles, the way she always thought her mother would, had she known her. Then stay a while, and perhaps we will help you remember together.

“May I...” Shirayuki hesitates, biting her lip as they take another winding curve through the halls. The longer she stays within the palace, the more she’s certain: she could live a lifetime here and never knows all the twists and turns it takes. “My I ask you a question?”

The consort peers down at her, both eyebrows lifted in gentle question. “You may.”

“How do you do this all day?” Shirayuki restrains herself from sagging in her stays, whalebone the spine that keeps her upright. “It’s hardly evening and if I hold my shoulder back a moment longer, I think I’ll...”

Collapse, she means to say, but it lingers at the tip of her tongue, too sweet, too untrue. Scream is close, rend this dress to pieces closer still, but closest--

Her mind snaps tight around the thought, a steel trap with a wolf’s paw between its teeth. From the murmurings she’s heard since she first came to Clarines, Wistal has seen enough madness for a lifetime.

“Ah, you see, the secret is--” Haki leans in, looping her arm through hers-- “I don’t.”

Shirayuki blinks.

“You are still learning,” the consort continues, setting herself upright, setting their arms into the proper form ladies strolling. “And thus, you must memorize protocol every day, eat your meals under supervision, and practice the mazurka. I, however, have mastered all this, and thus, I cannot remember the last time I waltzed outside a ball.”

“But the etiquette--” the poise, the presence, the elocution-- “surely..?”

“Well, of course.” She shrugs, jostling their elbows. “But those lessons were a part of my childhood, much like how you probably learned to cook and clean and pick herbs instead of poison. It all becomes second nature to you, in time.”

Shirayuki doesn’t have the heart to tell her how easy it was to mistake mushrooms, but her point-- well, it’s a good one. “I’m not sure that will ever happen for me.”

“Perhaps not,” the consort allows mildly. “Certainly they will never seem as natural to you as they might to a lady born to manors and castles. And had you continued to try to learn manners from a book, than you would have had no hope at all. But--” Haki pulls her closer to her side, mouth curled with satisfaction-- “you are not alone, you have me.”

Her cheeks flush with heat; the very same as the flame that warms her chest. “Do I?”

“You do.” The consort nods, the sort that says she expects her will to be followed to the letter. “I have always wanted to share these things with someone. Alas, I was given but a single brother, and he my elder. But now I have you.”

What was it we said? A human heart has four chambers, beating in concert. A complex thing, a puzzle box of wants and desires, one buried beneath the other, a dangerous tower of longing crushed inside a container too small to hold it. And all of us live our lives never knowing its depths, not until a drawer springs open, and oh--

Oh how easy it is for our longing to sneak up on us, all unknowing. How easy it is to be blinded by it.

When the consort smiles-- really, truly smiles-- it’s too bright, like looking into the sun, and Shirayuki has to duck her head or be blinded. She’s light-headed from only a moment of basking in its radiance; she can’t imagine what might happen if she dared to look more.

“Besides,” Haki continues blithely, skirts brushing their slippers as they walk. “You could drop an entire tureen on my brother and I think he would adore you just the same. Maybe even more, if you dropped it on the right person.”

A laugh bubbles up from her, and oh, oh, it has been far too long-- it leaves her, a cage thing finally freed from its chains, and rampages through the hall.

Haki stares down at her, pale eyes wide and almost wary. For a moment her mouth works, rounding as if she might say, a lady laughs like a bell, not a gong, just like Mihoko--

And then she joins in, just as wild.

But how can she forget about her precious boy, you might ask? How can she forget about her home?

The answer is easy enough: one must only provide a new one. Oh, how easily a heart may be fooled when the illusion is so pleasant, when it is so wanted. Men on the verge of death imagine entire cities in the desert, oases just over the horizon, luring them yet another step to their doom. When there is no relief, no hope, when only doubts encompass us--

That is when we are most in need of fiction. Of an escape, of respite. How simple it can be to close ones eyes to harsh reality when it is paradise that lays before them.

But take heart-- such things never last. They cannot. It is folly to suggest there is no life without suffering-- an excuse to give breath to all kinds of evil-- but for plenty to have meaning, there must be a lack. To know joy there must be sadness, to know wisdom there must be ignorance, and when all one’s days are filled with a mindless, monotonous bliss--

Well, there is no paradise from which man does not escape, and no garden that will keep a little girl from what she seeks.

“Ah!” Haki’s jolts ahead, a filly at the end of her lead. Shirayuki nearly is dragged with her, her feet stumbling over the hem of her gown, but the consort extricates herself just in time, setting her to rights.

“Just-- just wait here a moment, if you would,” the consort tells her, fingers wound tight over the rounds of her shoulders. “It seems as though there is, ah, someone waiting for me at the door. I’ll only be-- a moment.”

Shirayuki blinks as the consort scurries away, skirts sweeping against the carpet in a rhythm and pace too hurried for Clarines’ stately queen. “But, your room is...”

Around the corner, she almost says, a better shorthand for not yet visible, which is what she means. Both points are moot; the consort springs away long before she can speak, the only part of her that remains the lagging lace of her train. And then even that is gone, all disappeared down the hall.

Perhaps it is the angle, Shirayuki allows. With her on the inside of the turn and the consort on the outside...?

Well, it hardly matters. She huffs out a breath, straightening her shoulders, and comes to stand in the intersection. This is a safe enough place to wait; the consort’s chambers are the first door on this hall, and--

And there is someone waiting. Or was, since all she catches of them the flash of a white coat.

The girl knows every inch of this garden in time, every undying bloom. For that is what they must be, at least for them to be so many, for so long. There are daffodils and daisies, dahlias and tulips, marigolds and gardenias, lilacs and lilies of the valley. A hundred flowers and more, too many to ever name crawling up lattice and sprawling over the bounds of their beds.

And yet, there is something missing. It sits at the tip of her tongue, begging to be said, but she cannot find the word, no matter how long she thinks on it. The only thing that comes to her is the memory of loam, and the warmth of hands brushing hers.

Don’t ever leave me, the sorceress would say, a smile on her lips, fingers tangled in her hair.

How could I, the girl would laugh, an inexplicable knot of dread tightening in her belly, when everything is so beautiful here?

“Shirayuki!”

Haki approaches her, smile wide and warm but also-- strain lingers at the corners. Maybe even displeasure. “I thought you were going to wait.”

“I was,” she says, wide-eyed. “I mean, I am. Who was...”

“No one.” The consort waves her off. “Just a delivery. A tisane. For my migraines. I ran out just the other day.”

“Oh.” Her mouth works, grasping for the words that had come so easily no so long ago, but now were like grinding glass. “From the pharm--?”

“Come!” Haki sweeps her arm up into her own, pulling her firmly against her side. “It’s time for dinner, isn’t it? We must see that you’re ready.”

It ends like this: she finds a petal.

It is no crimson red, no passionate pink, but instead a simple and clean white, not so unlike the gardenia. But it is too small for such a flower, too rounded, too plush. She presses it between her fingers and it is familiar as her own skin, as the scent of vanilla on the air, and yet she cannot find the name, nor envision the bloom from whence it fell. Surely it is nothing in this garden.

What it that you have? the sorceress asks, her voice suddenly sharp, like a blade placed between skin and bloated tick. Give it here.

The little girl has not reason not to. It must have blown in from elsewhere.

The sorceress takes it in her hand, slender fingers curling into a fist around it. When they unfurl it is gone, merely dust in the wind.

We need none of that world here, the sorceress says, kinder but firm. You will never leave me, after all.

Of course, the girl says, turning to her with a wide smile. The sorceress has a new hat on, black and covered in flowers, even finer than the ones she’s worn before. Why would I, when--?

Her teeth snap down, words stuck between them. It’s the only way to be safe, the only way to stop herself from saying now what she knows she cannot. Right there, painted on the cloth, next to a blood red dahlia--

--There is a rose. The sorceress’s hat has roses, and this garden does not.

Of course, she says again, stilted. This is where I belong.

Shirayuki stands frozen in the hall, mind churning like a mill’s wheel in the storm of her thoughts. The summer months mean whites and creams and ivories are in season, a playful palette that the consort’s court adorns with floral embroidery. But she did not see a floating train of silk, or the fluttering layers of linen, but instead--

A white coat. A brown paper package done up with twine and ink scrawled illegibly on the outside, passed so quickly from one hand to the next. The scent of herbs is fresh on the air, valerian among them.

She misses it. Almost as much as she misses...

“Shirayuki?” The consort tugs at her, a question writ across her brow. “Is something wrong?”

“Haki...” Her hands clench at her side. “Has there been any news of Obi?”

That is the thing about magic: it is easy to weave wishes into illusion, but to maintain it-- a different matter entirely. A woman may send all her roses underground, never to be seen again, but to remember to remove them from every vase, from the back of a brush, from a hat--

Impossible.

“Obi?” The consort’s grip tightens, even as her smile spread wide. “No, none at all.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #All That Remains #snow queen AU #ans #i really and truly thought i'd get to finish out this section #but NO #it is not to be #to be fair it's one of the longest in the story #and it has the most like...plot movement in one piece #so i guess it makes sense #but SIGH #soon guys #soon we'll get to the turn on this #NEXT CHAPTER FOR SURE

16 notes · View notes

ameth18blog · 3 years

Text

Unexpected Encounters. Chapter 10: The Search (Part 3)

Washimi and Gori were in the east of the city, they had just left Gori's apartment. The two friends reflected calm in their faces and ways of walking as when they were at work. They passed everywhere with their eyes fixed ahead.

"How long do you think it will take us to find them?" Gori asked.

"I ignore it. This city is very big, so they could be anywhere. We could take hours on this," Washimi replied.

"Well, if that's the case, then I think we should start there" said the gorilla pointing to the park, which was the same one they had visited the day before.

"And why there?" asked the eagle.

"If that was where Koka and Hana found the emeralds, perhaps we could find some clue of the others who came to this dimension because of them" said Gori.

Well, not a bad idea. Then let's go" said Washimi.

Both friends came to the park. It was not as crowded as the day before, and more considering what had happened the day before. It was noticeable that for that reason there were not many children, but there were few. Although it was noted that they were being cautious for some situation that seems suspicious that put them in danger.

"Washimi I have thought something" said the gorilla.

Her friend watched her without saying anything.

"Maybe those beings if they want to use my App when they find out about it."

"Don't tell me you've been thinking about that since yesterday."

"Of course, after years ago the app said that Haida and Retsuko were soul mates and it was 100 percent correct. And since it has come to unite other couples, I thought it could be extended to beings from other universes".

"Perhaps you think that the beings who are lost in this universe are at this time more interested in finding a partner than in going home."

"Of course there is, there is always time to find love and be happy with that other person."

"You never change".

Washimi lowered her head when she suddenly noticed that her communicator and Gori's were blinking.

"Gori, our communicators" said the eagle as she and the gorilla looked at her arms.

"That means they are close. I'm going to show you my application".

"Concentrate."

She could see those who were in the park were a lot of parents with their children, but she could see that some of them had unusual coat colors. They thought it must be them, so they calmly approached. There were a total of 5 families and each of them had children.

The first was a family of two male spouses who had two sons:

One was an orange bear and afro hair with dark orange sideburns. He wore a yellow disco shirt and pants and cream and orange platform shoes.

The other was also a bear, but he was cream-colored, wearing a red hat, a red robe, red pants, and red slippers.

One of the children was a cream-colored bear like the second adult bear. He wore a small yellow and red cap with a propeller on top, a long-sleeved yellow shirt, red pants, red and yellow shoes.

The other child was also a cream colored bear like the second adult bear and the other little one, although unlike the other bear this was a baby, it also had orange hair like the first adult bear, only this baby had curly hair and it was not an afro. He wore a long-sleeved red button-down shirt, yellow pants, and red and yellow shoes.

The second family if it was of two male and female spouses who had a son:

One was a green bear. He wore a green beret with a colored logo of varying shades of orange. He wore a button-down shirt and green military pants, black shoes, and a gray identification tag. On his shirt were orange stripes on his shoulders denoting his rank as a sergeant.

The other was a red porcupine, his quills were a darker red color which were full of flake-like dander. He wore a pink shirt and skirt and light blue shoes.

The boy was a red bear, which had a green abdomen. He wore a green beret with a colored logo of different shades of orange like his father's. He wore a white shirt, black pants and shoes, and a blue jacket.

The third was another family of two male spouses who had a daughter and a son:

The first was a green chameleon with three dark green lines between its eyes, above and below them. He wore a green beret with a colored logo of varying shades of orange. He wore a green military button-down shirt and cream pants, black shoes, and a gray identification tag.

The second was a cream-colored mouse with black ears, they had a stereotypical French-style mustache and black eyebrows. He wore a green beret with a colored logo of varying shades of orange. He wore a green military button-down shirt and cream pants, black shoes, and a gray identification tag. His ears were wrapped in white bandages.

The girl was a dark purple cat, she wore an orange long-sleeved shirt, a green skirt, pink socks and black shoes.

The boy was a green mouse with three cream-colored lines between his eyes and black ears, although unlike the girl, the boy was a baby. He wore a long-sleeved green shirt, blue pants, and black shoes.

The fourth family was another of two male and female spouses who had a daughter:

The first was a sky-blue boar, which had black hooves instead of hands and feet. He wore a dark blue sailor suit with white, including a white hat with a pink stripe, and black shoes.

The other was a purple sheep, with some white woolly hair on its head. She wore a white wool sweater, pants, and white shoes. She wore a purple bow on her head.

The girl was a hybrid, her fur was purple, she inherited her mother's nose, shaggy hair, hands and feet, while she inherited her father's ears, tail, and fangs. . She wore a dark blue dress, with a white ribbon at the waist, and black shoes.

The girl carried in one of her arms a green pickle that had arms, legs, eyes, a mouth and a stereotypical French-style mustache. She also wore a black top hat with a blue stripe. At first glance the pickle looked like a toy.

The fifth and final was another family of two male spouses who had a son

The first was a sea-water-colored sea otter, which had three whiskers on either side of its head. This otter was missing his right hand, instead he used a hook. Both legs were missing and instead had wooden legs. He was missing his right eye and instead had an eye patch. He was wearing a red and white striped shirt, which was ripped at the sleeves and bottom. She is wearing black pants and a black pirate hat with the design of a skull with white crossbones.

The second was a purple deer, whose antlers were pink. He wore white mime makeup, his cheeks were pink, over his eyes he had dark purple makeup. He wore a purple and white striped long-sleeved shirt, black pants, and purple shoes.

The boy was a hybrid, his coat was aquamarine, his cheeks were pink, he had a deer tail, but it was aquamarine on top and purple on the bottom. He had small horns that were beginning to grow on the top of his head and three whiskers on either side of his head. He wore a torn red and purple shirt on the arms and bottom, black pants, purple shoes and a black pirate hat, but without the skull and bones design. This child was a baby.

Something that all these families had in common was that most had rabbit teeth that protruded from their mouths, with the exception of the chameleon, the wild boar, and the hybrid between wild boar and sheep. They all had heart-shaped pink noses, except the chameleon and the boar. The irises in everyone's eyes were shaped like a pacman, except for the chameleon, the two mice, and the cat.

Just when they were about to reach the families, four of the children began to run in various directions while playing, while the three babies stayed playing with their respective parents watching the other children.

"Remember, you have to speak calmly with them, maybe they are still not used to being in this place" said Washimi.

"I understand" Gori said with all seriousness.

They both approached the adults. When they noticed their presence they were watching.

"Good morning" said the eagle.

"Good morning" all the adults replied.

"You come from another dimension and have been trapped in this universe for 3 months, right?" the gorilla said suddenly.

"Gori, I told you that we had to talk things calmly" said Washimi.

"Umm, excuse me. You know what that white light was that brought us here" asked the green bear.

"Yes, those who sent us to look for them explained it to us" replied the eagle.

"Well, before you explain it to us, wait a moment," said the aquamarine sea otter and then called the children who were playing.

When they heard them, they approached.

"Something happens?" asked the little cream-colored bear.

"These ladies are going to explain how we got here" replied the cream-colored mouse.

Really?" said the 4 children sitting on the laps of their respective parents.

Gori and Washimi told everything they knew to the 5 families in front of them.

"So we have to wait for the missing emeralds to be found?" asked the green chameleon.

"Yes, at the moment those who sent us to look for them have 3 in their possession" replied the eagle.

"Well, now that you know everything, you could tell us their names," said the gorilla.

"I'm Disco Bear and this is my Pop husband" said the orange bear with orange afro hair.

"Pleasure. And they are our two sons: Cub and Rory" said the cream bear, pointing first to the little cream bear with a hat on his head and then to the cream baby bear with orange hair.

"I'm Flippy and this is my wife Flaky" said the green bear.

"And this is our son Fluffy" said the red porcupine pointing to the bear with red color and green abdomen.

"I'm Sneaky and this is my husband Mouse Ka-Boom" said the green chameleon.

"This is our adopted daughter Denisse and our son Bomb" said the cream colored mouse pointing first to the dark purple cat and then to the baby green mouse.

"I'm Truffles and this is my wife Lammy" said the sky blue boar.

"This is our daughter Bella and this is Mr. Pickles" said the purple sheep pointing to the purple hybrid and the pickle.

"I'm Russell and this is my mate Mime. And this is our son Robby" said the aquamarine sea otter pointing to the purple deer and the aquamarine hybrid.

The purple deer didn't speak as it was a mime, but still he greeted them with a hand gesture.

After Washimi and Gori introduced themselves. They didn't find it strange to meet same-sex couples and with children, since they already knew several such families.

Then they asked how they got to that universe.

"Well, most of us had gone to pick up the children from school after classes finished, everything was normal. We are all neighbors, so we would go home together," said Lammy.

"Along the way they met Mime and me who were walking Robby and were on our way home. Everything was normal like any other day" said Russell.

"But when we were in front of our house, that strange light appeared that enveloped us all in less than 10 seconds" said Flaky.

"When we woke up, although we were separated, fortunately the children were not left alone, since Flaky and Lammy were with them when they got here," said Pop.

"It took us about two days to meet again, and since we got here we have stayed in a hotel with the money we have gotten by finding certain jobs that we can do," said Sneaky.

"Well, at least we know they haven't had a difficult time here," Washimi said.

At that moment Gori's communicator began to ring therefore he answered.

"Hi. Oh, it's your Retsuko. Yes, we have already found them. And you? How good! They left? Oh I see. Well, if we can meet there. Goodbye" said Gori after finishing the call.

"What was Retsuko saying?" asked the eagle.

"She said that she, Fenneko and Judy already found a group. She also said that they contacted Haida, Ookami and Nick and also found another group. I told them that we too" said the gorilla.

"That is a relief."

"But she told me that Sonic and his friends left, and Jack went with them. It seems they found the location of the master emerald and went looking for it before Eggman finds it."

"I hope they can find it in time."

"I hope so too. He told me that in the meantime we can go to my apartment to meet with the others".

They both turned to the 5 families.

"And what do you say?" Washimi asked.

"Do you want to come with us?" Gori asked.

They all looked at each other and agreed with a nod. The group left the park with Washimi and Gori in front, while behind them were the 5 families carrying their respective children in their arms.

"It's a shame" Gori said.

"What thing?" Washimi asked.

"That all of them are happily united, and they don't need my app and that the children are too young to use it."

"I think you need a new hobby."

After that they continued walking back towards Gori's apartment.

#fanfic #fanfiction #writing #creative writing #action adventure #action #adventure #jack savage #nick wilde #Judy hopps #Finnick #haida #retsuko #sonic the hedgehog #amy rose #zootopia #Zootopia fanfic

2 notes · View notes

strangest-loser · 4 years

Text

Twilight Rewrite

Fire in my Blood ~ Jasper Hale x OC ~ Book One: Chapter Five

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four

The radio sitting on Alessia's desk was set to low volume and the local all night news channel was ignored in favour of the history paper she was attempting to finish on the civil war. The computer keys tapping was giving the girl a headache and her alarm clock read 05:47 in bright red letters, it's too early for this but she has to finish this essay this morning if she wants to get any semblance of a Sunday. Her mind was fried from trying to write up all of the information contained in her APUSH textbook and she was a fraction of a second away from throwing her laptop out of her open window. Her concentration drifted for the third time that morning and while sighing she saved her word document and shut her screen off to give her brain a rest. Her eyes wandered across her room once again and she scanned the things that covered the walls, photos and memorabilia from throughout her life, at 17 she had collected a decent amount of stuff that lay tucked away in cubby holes or displayed on shelves on the walls, things were nestled in corners and they filled the drawers of the room. Her closet drew her attention and she walked towards it almost without thinking. Sliding open the door she let herself push her shoes off to one side while moving the shoeboxes that housed postcards and newspapers and tickets to football games and movies, one of them held her ribbons and certificates for cheerleading and a tiny statue gifted to her by Jacob, she quickly shoved that box aside.

It was the wooden floorboards beneath the boxes that she was interested in. The boards were discoloured and squeaked when she moved them, a minute of putting pressure on the furthest piece let it wedge free and it allowed her to pull up a second floorboard and pull an ornate box from the hole in the floor. This box had never been seen by anyone other than her and her mother, who gave it to her when she left her father. It normally hurt her to look at the box but she was tired and her emotions weren't ruling her head.

The box was oak wood coloured a deep burgundy and it was carved in the shape of a ballerina, the edges of the lid were lined with metal in a lace pattern and it met in the front to form a lock, Alessia needed the key.

Standing from her position kneeling on the floor she set down the box on her bed before walking to her desk and opening the top drawer of a small jewelry box and she let her eyes fall on a small emerald green ribbon that encircled a small black key, grabbing the tiny key she sat cross-legged on her bed and turned the key hearing a tiny click and slowly lifted the lid hearing the tiny tune of 'The Rose Adagio' from the Sleeping Beauty ballet chime throughout the room in its twinkling music box sound, and the tiny figure sitting at the top of the box spun around to the music played for her, pale glass skin with a brunette hair and a pink tutu with roses in her extended arm. This was a tiny Aurora dancing her way through her song.

The contents of the box is what Alessia was looking for, sitting at the top of the box was the only photograph Alessia had of her mother. It was taken when Alessia was four, her brown hair was held in curly pigtails and she sat with a big smile, next to her was a toddler Bella, looking up at her big sister smiling at her, Bella was sitting in their mothers lap and Renée was smiling down at their youngest, that was common in almost every instance of their lives, Renée's attention was almost always on Bella. It was something that caused Alessia a lot of pain when she was growing up and for a long time she told herself her mommy didn't love her because she did something wrong. Setting the photograph aside she continued to go through the box, a small necklace belonging to her grandmother was taken out too, it was a Tiffany necklace from the fifties and it was priceless to Alessia, she slipped the necklace around her neck and the added weight it put over her heart comforted her. More sentimental objects came out of the box including the first dollar she earned at the diner and a dried daisy she got in a meadow in the forest. At the bottom of the box sat a pair of black satin pointe shoes, beautiful black ballet slippers with their box in tact and their black ribbons freshly sewn in. She carefully took them out of the box and held them in her hands, turning them in her palms and observing the undamaged fabric, they haven't been used yet, they were still brand new after her accident.

A single photograph laid underneath those inky slippers. A 15 year old Alessia in a white leotard and a beautiful romantic length tutu standing in front of a wall at a competition in Seattle, she was holding a beautiful pique arabesque and she looked so regal and happy, happier than she has in a long time.

Ballet was never Bella's thing, she was chronically clumsy and she always tried to find any possible reason to skip her lessons at her school in Arizona, but to Alessia dancing was as easy as breathing. After a lot of begging at the age of 4 Alessia was enrolled in the tiny dance school that was in the middle of town just above the town newspaper and for the next 10 years Alessia worked with her teacher Madam Olivia and she grew up to dance beautifully, that Christmas she played Clara and the Sugarplum Princess in the Nutcracker, but not three months later at the end of March she was running through the woods when Sam Uley tried to rip her chest open. She hasn't danced since.

Letting her mind come away from the photograph in her hand she looked towards the window seeing it was just beginning to get light outside and she pulled her cellphone out of her pocket and sent a message to Alice.

°Hey what are you doing right now?°

>Nothing at the moment, why?<

°Can you meet me outside the paper, I have something fun we can do, wear leggings!°

>I'm on my way<

Putting her phone in her bag she changed her pajamas out for leggings and a black t-shirt and put her shoe bag into the backpack she was packing, taking the photograph and the point shoes and leaving them on her bed before locking the box back up and returning it to it's spot beneath the floorboards and turning to slide on her trainers and grab the contents of her bag and her pointe shoes, setting the photograph on her dresser next to the one of her and the Cullens and sliding out of the door and beginning to run to the studio.

Alessia would have expected to see her friend extremely angry for dragging her out of the house at 6 am if she knew that Alice actually needed to sleep, instead she saw the beautiful girl stood with her kind smile in a jacket and leggings outside of the building that housed the Forks Forum and as she sped up her run to meet her Alice gave Alessia an awkward stare, "I don't think I've ever seen you run."

Her quip was met with a half hearted punch in the shoulder as Alessia led her around the side of the building to a set of stairs and began to ascend them, most stores in town were only opening in 30 minutes so the street was dead and her and Alice seemed to be the only ones around. Alessia reached a single door that had a ballet shoe on the window glass and began to wrack her mind for the location of the school's spare key, Madame Olivia told her to use it to let herself in if she ever needed extra practice time and the memory of constantly being in that studio lead her to look at a loose brick in the side of the building, pulling it away from the wall revealed the silver key needed to unlock the door and showing it to Alice with a vocal "aha!" gained a laugh from the petite vampire.

Pushing the door open into the small reception area felt like opening a door to her childhood and she couldn't help the smile that fell on her lips, she was too busy looking around the room she didn't notice Alice standing at the small trophy case in the corner and pointing at a photograph, "Is this you?"

When Alessia came close enough to see the photo in question she laughed a really genuine laugh before nodding and smiling "Yes, I was 14 and we were doing a showcase with all of the dance schools in Washington, each school got assigned a ballet to perform a piece from and our school got Giselle, that's me in the front."

Moving away from the case she pulled Alice in past another set of doors and switched on the lights to show a familiar room full of mirrored walls and ballet barres. The next hour of their morning was spent with Alessia and Alice goofing off working through different warm up excercises and technique work. Alice, displaying that she was in fact not human anymore, had amazing strength and flexibility and with Alessia only running through everything once she was soon dancing like she had been all her life. Alessia was a little out of practice but cheer kept her fit and healthy so she soon got right back into the swing of things and their hour was some of the most fun she'd had in a long time. After their hour long session Alice began to beg her to teach her an actual routine, and Alessia caved because she knew she couldn't say no to those golden eyes. Travelling to the back storage room she saw rows upon rows of pink satin shoes, brand new, not even out of their bags yet. Grabbing a few sizes and makes she backed out of the room to size them for her friend, and while she knew realistically that Alice couldn't injure herself if her shoes fit wrong she still would want them to look right. After finding her size and showing her how to put them on, she began to sew in the ribbons while telling Alice to grab the MP3 player out of her bag. Putting the other shoes away she had Alice put of the pointe shoes and do a few more barre excercises to get used to going on pointe and trying to keep her technique correct, naturally Alice didn't need too much help before she could do it perfectly and the tiny girl moved into the centre of the floor to practice some more while Alessia lifted the beautiful black shoes out of her bag and slipped them on her feet. She still remembers when she got them, shopping in Port Angeles with her father she saw them in the window of a dance shop and with her left over money from Christmas she bought them with every intention of wearing them to class the next day, she never got the chance. Rising onto pointe was like coming home for Alessia and without realising she shed a tear before letting herself go through a few movements that she wanted to make sure she wouldn't hurt herself on, with everything in place she took the MP3 from Alice and scrolled to something familiar, walking Alice through the 'Waltz of the Snowflakes' wasn't too dificult and once Alice got the basics down they ran it twice more before Alice asked to see something Alessia could do. Her eyes fell onto the name of a familiar ballet and she pressed play letting herself fall into a series of movements that felt like second nature as the sweet flutes guided her into dancing 'Juliet's Variation' from Act 1 of Romeo and Juliet. It was always easy for Alessia to get lost in the moment of her dancing, she remembered each and every step and pirouette and pas de bouree that Madame Olivia taught her and even though she made a few mistakes being out of practice and all she still knew her musical cues and to Alice she danced ethereally. To Alice and the shadow watching from the door.

The music signalled her to pause and in her minds eye she could see the partner that wasn't there, Romeo entering the party and meeting Juliet in his disguise, before she was swept away to continue.

Coming to a halt in the centre of the room Alessia was no longer in a ballroom being caught by Paris and Tibult, she was looking at Alice and smiling widely, and she was shocked out of her thoughts by a voice at the door. "Your arms weren't strong and you were off your foot, the turns weren't perfect and you were sloppy on your leaps."

Alessia snapped around to see a familiar lithe frame wrapped up in her black dress standing in the doorway, her grey hair tucked away in a french twist. A moment passed and Madame Olivia walked towards her and let her stern face pull into a happy, kind one, "But you dance beautifully Ma Cherie I'm so glad that you are back."

Alessia returned the warm hug and let herself sag in relief, she felt good, she hasn't felt this good since she bought these shoes. Olivia turned to Alice then and continued speaking, "and what is your name child?" Alice responded in her sweet fashion and Olivia complimented her on her technique and began to make corrections again, pulling the pixi girl aside to teach her correct positions and help her with her turns, Alessia watched until Olivia snapped at her in her 'Madame voice' to get back to running the variation again, Alessia smiled and hit replay letting herself get lost once more.

Walking out of the studio and down the stairs at 11 am was like stepping back into her life for Alessia, she chatted with Alice, the two laughing and joking about the fact that Olivia was obsessed with Alice's "Natural talent" and when they turned the corner to walk back onto Main Street they were greeted with the sight of Jasper waiting by the car for them. Alessia managed to claim shotgun to sit next to the guy who was quickly becoming her favourite person while Alice sat in the middle of the back seat declaring that she at least got to choose that was playing on the radio. The idle chatter was broken by Jasper asking if Alessia wanted to play baseball with them this afternoon. "I mean sure but there is gonna be a thunderstorm you know, but hey, lead me to my doom why don't you." The laughter she pulled out of both siblings made her own smile widen, she was having such a good day today.

With the car pulling into her driveway she got out and let Jasper know she would catch a ride with Bella and Edward as much as she really didn't want to be stuck in a car with all of that sexual tension, she hadn't spent much time with her sister recently and she wanted to at least check in with her.

The click of the front door closing and the sound of her bag hitting the floor is what prompted Charlie Swan to race into the living room to see his oldest daughter watching South Park reruns while eating rice cakes and he almost had a heart attack for the second time today. "You can't just show up out of no where after disappearing all morning and give me no warning Alessia, I thought something happened!" His voice cracked under the stress, "Where even were you?!"

Alessia muted the TV before walking up to him and patting his shoulder before pointing to the kitchen table where her pointe shoes sat, worn with the mornings activities. Charlie didn't give off too much of a reaction but she could see the worry in his eyes dissolve into pride and joy. After the accident Alessia's depression and grief over what had happened caused her to completely abandon ballet. When she moved on to her freshman year of highschool she joined the cheer team to keep herself busy and hopefully keep her mind occupied. It was so bad that Alessia made Charlie take down every ballet photograph of Alessia he had. The fact that she was dancing again made his relieved and happy. Alessia smiled at her dad's happy face while he pulled her into a tight hug, the type of dad hug that couldn't help but make you feel safe and cared for, whatever Renée had against her father Alessia has been getting these hugs all her life, and she couldn't remember the last time her mother called to talk to her.

A shower was well deserved after her active morning, she hasn't used the muscles she used today in over two years and she knew that if she didn't ice her body she was going to be seriously crippled in the morning, after a hot shower to wash away the sweat and clean her hair she filled the bath her with freezing cold water and sat in it for 30 minutes, she definitely didn't miss this.

Her earlier clothes were swapped out for a Washington State Cougars t-shirt, leggings and her addidas superstars and she braided her hair to keep it out of her eyes, hearing a beep from outside bad her meeting Bella on the stairs and grabbing her hand as she passed Charlie with a kiss on his cheek and the two sisters sat in the car of Edward Cullen as he drove them off to the field where the rest of the Cullens were waiting.

The clouds were rolling dark as they pulled up to a clearing and by the time the car stopped Alessia was already out of the car and sprinting towards the Cullen's who stood on their DIY baseball court. Jasper caught the girl by her legs when she jumped on his back and him preteding to fall over caused Alessia to scream and start laughing, he eventually put her down after swinging her around a bit until she leaned over his back and whispered in his ear "Please put me down sugar." He pushed her shoulder and she stuck her tongue out before walking over to Esme to get her scheduled 'momma hug'. Esme pulled away slightly before wrapping her arm around her shoulder and walking a ways away from the group with her.

"You make him happy you know, you bring this whole family joy but Jasper especially. You know the day they met you in school he came home and pulled me aside and told me about the pretty girl in his history class. They might be hundreds of years old but all of my boys are the same, they go to Carlisle for advice about important decisions and morality, but anything to do with love, or feelings or anything like that they all know to talk to their mother." Esme told Alessia with a smile that only a mother could have. "If you don't mind me asking Esme, how did you all come to be a family?" Alessia asked looking into the amber eyes of the kind woman before her, who took her by the hand as the baseball game began and lead her to a fallen tree branch to the left of the field. Esme sat down on the branch fully expecting Alessia to sit down beside her but she was surprised when the brunette sat on the ground with her eyes looking up expectantly, like a child waiting to be told a story. The thought made Esme smile because she knew all too well what had happened to the girl. She remembered the night her husband came home after an excruciating surgery talking about how he had to stitch a little girl back together after their warewolf rivals ripped through her. Vampires couldn't cry, because they were not alive anymore, but Esme had never seen Carlisle more broken than the night he sat down and told her about the tiny little human they almost lost, but who despite all odds decided to survive and who would go on to make a full recovery. They decided as a pair to watch over the child and placed her under the covens protection because they knew she was special, her blood had no scent and Alice could see her future, and it was one the Cullens would be involved in. The fact that all of the pain Alessia suffered wasn't enough to break her and that she was still able to hold some of her childish nature made Esme happy to see.

Esme launched into the tale of the basics of their covens formation while Alessia listened intently. "Carlisle was the first one turned, in 1663. He knew he couldn't stay in London so he moved around perfecting his self control around human blood and his compassion for human life is the reason we drink animal blood instead of human. He turned almost every single person in this family, first was Edward." Esme felt a head lean against her leg and she looked down to see Alessia staring up at her with absolute fascination and her undivided attention, Esme continued. "After a while Edward left Carlisle to travel and be alone, that's when I met him, back in 1911, I was 16." She smiled fondly at the memory, "he changed me in 1921 when I was dying in the hospital, he remembered me and decided he couldn't let me die, so he changed me. We married some time later.

The next one changed was Rosalie, Carlisle found her beaten and bleeding in the streets and saved her life in 1933 and she found Emmet and Carlisle saved his life two years later.

The only ones Carlisle didn't change himself were Alice and Jasper, they found each other, then joined us in 1950, and now we live in Forks Washington, where we met you and now we are playing baseball." Esme finished with a smile looking down at the girl who was processing all of that information with her brow creased and a small smile on her face. Esme started to run her fingers through the brown locks when Alessia spoke up in a quiet laugh, "Wow, you guys are like, super old." The two began to laugh when suddenly the atmosphere changed and Alice calls for the game to be over, clearly sensing something was wrong by the look on her face. Esme grabbed Alessia and moved her back to the group at a speed that quite frankly gave her a headache and the first person to greet her was Jasper who held onto her protectively while the others fussed over Bella trying to mask her scent. Jasper could feel Alessia's sudden confusion and panic before he whispered in her ear. "There are other vampires trespassing on our lands, you don't have any scent so just stay calm and act normal, you'll be fine," he lifted her eyes to meet his honeyed ones before leaning his forehead on her own, "Gotta be brave darlin' I'll protect you till the end of time."

The nod than Alessia gave was only enough to let her stand wrapped in Jasper's hold and she began to feel like she could pull this off, slowing her heartbeat with deep breaths long enough to walk into a better formation with the vampires hiding Bella, she could fake their confidence if it was her life on the line.

The clearing they were in was quickly occupied by three strangers, two men and a woman who began talking to the Cullens before Carlisle announced that they could play because three of their players were leaving. This cue prompted Alessia to look up at the trio in front of her and find out just what exactly has everyone so spooked.

The three strangers had approached the group, two men and a woman, all of them had that inhuman beauty that the Cullens possessed but there was something different that Alessia couldn't put her finger on. The air was tense and it made her feel a fear she wasn't used to. Jasper seemed to joke with the female of the group while giving Alessia a look to say 'move over to where Edward and your sister are'. She remembered what he had said about staying calm so while trying to keep from shaking she looked towards the three intruders who she found were now looking directly at her, she greeted their stares with a confident smile and reached up to wrap her arms around Jasper's neck. She would absolutely not remember what was about to happen in the next thirty seconds but she panicked and this was how she thought to make it seem plausible that she was in fact with the Cullens not just an afternoon snack.

She really wasn't thinking anymore but ice cold lips on her own wasn't nearly as bad as she had thought, and she could only thank the stars that Jasper wasn't as much of an idiot as some other boys are because a possessive arm slid around her waist and the kiss deepened letting her fall into the feeling and relax enough to actually let her mind register that she was kissing Jasper...

HOLY SHIT SHE WAS KISSING JASPER.

At least one of the two of them was still keeping their head in the situation because Jasper pulled himself away and made a clear sign of lightly bumping his nose with her own affectionately, "go" he whispered to her before she looked back at her audience to see the darker skinned man had lost interest and the pale one was now staring at Edward, but the girl, with her firey hair and crimson eyes, her gaze was locked on Alessia as the girl walked to her sister. Chaos erupted as Alessia's back was turned and before she knew it the three strangers were speaking about the Cullens keeping human pets. We so much for being stealthy.

It wasn't until after Carlisle managed to get the intruders to leave that Alessia's legs seemed to be replaced with jello and she fell to the ground hitting her palm on a sharp stone. Emmet was the one who lifted her up and put her her in the car with Bella and Edward before the three of them sped off back towards town, the look on Edwards face was enough to tell Alessia that there genuinely was a reason to panic now as there were absolutely three vampires chasing them but the adrenaline in her bloodstream and the thought in the fore front of her mind telling her that she was the big sister and that she needed to be brave to protect Bella didn't let her lose her cool. She was brought back to reality by Bella shaking her and pointing down at her hand. "Is that blood!?"

Alessia looked down to see that sharp rock had in fact sliced into her hand and now rich streams of blood were streaming down her fingers, but apparently Alessia left all her smart ideas back in Jasper's mouth because the only answer that came to her mind was "No?"

Bella exploded at her dumbass answer "That's not something you can answer with another question!"

"Bells listen it's fine my blood doesn't affect boy toy in the front seat okay so chill out."

Edward took the chance to pipe in at that point "Maybe so but I can still hear you talking about it so focus, you both are in danger, James is a hunter so he will be after you both and he won't stop until he gets you, we have to get you are far away from forks as possible."

Alessia hated this plan but quite frankly she didn't have much of a choice. The idea of leaving her dad was heartbreaking to her but she would do anything to keep him safe. She ran into the house after Bella and while her younger sister ran up the stairs to pack ranting and raving about needing to leave, Alessia looked at her dad's confused and distraught face and told him that she would follow Bella and talk some sense into her, that she was taking Alice's car and that she would be back with Bella soon. She grabbed some bandages from the kitchen and sloppily wrapped up her hand and ran back out the door giving her father a kiss and telling him she loved him, she didn't know when she would get to see him again. Edward and Bella sat in his car when she jumped in just in time to see Charlie run out after them through the rearview mirror as they drove away to the Cullen's house. Thoroughly heartbroken she glared at Edward through the mirror and asked him "Was that really necessary?" He only nodded and said that if Alessia wanted to keep Charlie safe that she had to leave because not only was James after Alessia, the woman Victoria was too.

Pulling up to the Cullen's house the first person to greet Alessia was Jasper who grabbed her arms before looking her over for any injuries, his eyes narrowing when they landed on her wrapped hand. She promised him she was fine and before any more words could be exchanged between them she was handing Rosalie her clothes and being bundled into the back of Alice's car with her sister as it pulled away from the house and set off towards Phoenix Arizona. As much as Alessia loved road trips she had never been on one that caused her to look over her shoulder every 5 minutes because there were homicidal vampires trying to drain her like their own personal bloodbag. The ride was quiet and feeling the same comforting feeling she looked towards the driver's seat to see Jasper focusing on the road ahead of him, but she knew he was trying to help, to look after her. His calm settled over her and Bella like a weighted blanket and Alessia fell asleep for most of the trip.

She dreamed about the blonde boy she had come to care about, and it was a wonderful dream. A dream that was interrupted by scratching of a pencil on paper and Alice having what looked like some sort of fit, fully awake now and kind of scared she realised that they were in their Phoenix hotel room and Alice was drawing something. Once the fit ceased the drawing was of the incredibly familiar ballet school that was home to Alessia on the summers that she visited her mom. After Alice, Jasper and Bella left the room for a reason Alessia wasn't paying attention to the hotel room phone rang and in true horror movie fashion the only remaining member of the group answered it...

Incredibly familiar music filled her ears as Juliet's Variation played through the speaker, which was weird but when her mother's voice called over it, calling for Alessia her blood ran cold and she dropped the phone on the floor. Without thinking about this situation she flew through the door and booked it down the service stairwell in the back of the building, the Arizona heat was melting her brain but she kept running, the studio wasn't far and if she ran she could save her mother.

The lights weren't on but she could still hear the happy tune floating through the building. Walking into the main ballroom she looked around to try and find her mother, but seeing no one there she switched her attention to where the music was coming from.

It didn't take long.

But by then it was too late.

Hearing the piece draw to a close her memory told her mind that when the last note hit she should see Romeo standing before her.

But all she saw was an empty room.

And as the music came to its abrupt end...

The burning in her arm caused her to let out a gut wrenching scream. The fire in her lungs and her head and her veins called her legs to give out, and her head to hit the floor,

And her heart to stop.

~ A/N ~

Oh my god that was long 😂

Anyway here's a link to Juliet's Variation so you can see the dance for yourself.

https://youtu.be/6awUwiWAtnI

youtube

And I hope you enjoyed!

TAGLIST

@treestarrrrrrrr

@whattheheckisevengoingon

@fangirl1029

@iliveforthefandom04

@frozenhuntress67

@mikariell95

@jessabellaswan

@geekysimmerthings

@payourdebts

#alice cullen #edward cullen #jasper hale #jasper hale x reader #original character #rosalie hale #rosalie twilight #twilight rewrite #twilight #twilight x reader #x oc #fire in my blood #Alessia Swan OC

57 notes · View notes

terapsina · 5 years

Text

5 Times Monica and Her Mom Have Difficult Conversations About Auntie Carol (+1 Time She Plans A Parent Trap With Her Skrull Friend)

---- ao3 ---- 1 ----

When Monica is five years old, her mom and Auntie Carol don’t come home in time for dinner.

This is unusual, they’re always home in time for dinner. But that day they aren’t.

She’d known something was weird before that, when the phone rang while she was playing Planes and Pilots with her bears Bessie and Jerrie, and Grandma almost dropped the phone and then pulled the cord until she could talk from the other side of the door. But it wasn’t anything that was important.

She’d thought so at first anyway.

But when Monica starts asking for cookies Grandma actually gives them to her instead of making her wait until she’s eaten her lunch. And then she doesn’t start getting ready for her mom and auntie to come home. And then Grandpa comes over to watch her too, and that only ever happens when Mom and Auntie Carol have to work on Sundays.

By then something has started clawing inside Monica, it feels like there’s a cat trapped in her stomach and trying to scratch everything in its sight. Grandma and Grandpa are so quiet.

She spends almost the whole evening just trying to draw but none of the colors look right and even though she’s big now, there’s frustrated tears at the edges of her eyes that she’s holding back by sheer stubbornness.

By the time the front doors finally open, Monica’s eyelids are beginning to grow heavy and her head is tucked into Grandma’s lap. She shoots up straight and is off the couch like a rocket before those doors get a chance to close.

“Mom!” Monica exclaims as she rushes into the hallway but stops short at the sight of her mom.

There’s tear tracks on her mom’s cheeks and she’s clutching at the wall like she’ll fall if she lets go. And she’s all alone.

“Mom?” She asks, suddenly so scared she doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey, honey.” Mom says, voice hoarse, and drops to her knees in front of Monica. She smiles at her, but it’s small and weak and only makes Monica more scared. “Let me talk to Grandma and Grandpa for a minute, and then- then I have to tell you something. Okay?”

“Where’s Auntie Carol?” Monica says in response, the claws inside her stomach getting sharper.

“Just a minute. Okay?” Her mom says again and leads her up to Monica’s room, sitting her down on her bed. She kisses her forehead and whispers into her hair before she leaves. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She says back because that’s what she and Auntie Carol always do, and because it’s true.

Then she grabs Amelia from her pillow and clenches the bear against her chest. Waiting for Mom to come back. It feels like forever before she finally does.

And then her mom sits in her bed and pulls Monica and Amelia into her arms.

She knows this means it's going to be a 'serious conversation' - just like the time when Mom told her about how she couldn't tell her friends that Auntie Carol lived in the same room as Mom because some grownups could be really mean about it, even though there was nothing wrong with that. Monica knew that anyway though, the moms and dads of her friends had the same rooms too, and though Monica didn't have a dad she had Auntie Carol, which was the same thing.

"There was an accident." Her mom says, her hands running slowly and soothingly over Monica’s braided hair.

"What kind of accident?" Monica asks, pulling Amelia so close to her chest that her nose dug into her shoulder.

"Auntie Carol's plane crashed and we can't find her." Mom says and starts rocking her in her lap. Monica’s lower lip trembles and she smushes her face into Amelia’s fur to hide it.

"But... you will, right?" She says, voice tiny and quivering, and she doesn’t feel very big at all anymore.

"I don't know, baby," Mom says and squeezes her tighter "I hope so."

Monica looks up to her mom and bursts into tears as soon as she has, her mom is already crying, eyes staring forward out the window and into nothing. She looks just as scared as Monica feels, and something about that is so very wrong Monica has no words for it. Just the inherent certainty that Mom isn’t supposed to be scared.

She falls asleep in her mom's arms that night, doesn’t remember if she ever stopped crying, just remembers feeling her Auntie Carol's absence like a cold river-stone in her chest and somehow knowing there's a stone just like it in her mom's chest too.

---- 2 ----

Monica is eight years old and Auntie Carol has been missing for three years. There was a funeral not that long after the day of the accident but her mom doesn’t really believe that Auntie Carol is dead, Monica can tell because she doesn’t believe either.

She's heard her mom and grandmother fighting about it sometimes, because Grandma can tell too and she does believe that Auntie Carol's really gone. Monica doesn't like it when they fight about it, she's afraid that one day Grandma will win and her mom will start believing it too.

She doesn’t know what wakes her up that night. But when she opens her eyes, the windows are dark. After blinking the sleep from her eyes though Monica grows thirsty and carefully gets up from her bed, pushing her feet into her fluffy panda slippers.

Halfway down the steps though she hears her mom’s voice. She sounds upset so Monica stops to listen.

"Where the hell are you Carol?" Mom says and Monica’s heart starts running in her chest. She slowly takes the last few steps down, avoiding the creaky one by grabbing hold of the railing and very carefully skipping it.

She sneaks a look into the living room and her heart falls with a painful swoop at finding her mom alone.

"I heard your voice. I know I did. I didn't imagine it no matter how much those badge wearing bastards try to tell me otherwise. You were fine after the crash, so where did you go." Mom’s pacing back and forth through the room, eyes toward the ceiling, like that’s where Auntie Carol’s hiding in.

"My mother's been trying to get me to let you go. Yes, I know what you'd say: 'She never liked me, Maria.' And you're wrong, she liked you fine... eventually."

Grandma didn’t like Auntie Carol?

"Maybe... maybe she's right. Maybe I should stop waiting for you to show up like some kind of gift from heaven." She says, sounding frustrated now.

Monica has to bite her lip to stop herself from yelling that Mom couldn’t do that.

"Wherever it is you are, it's not here. And it doesn't look like you're in any particular hurry to come back." Her mom says, and she sounds mad now, but also sad, like she did when Monica spilled ketchup on Auntie Carol’s favorite jacket after she took it without asking permission.

"Where the f-" her mom starts saying but stops mid word as she finally seems to catch sight of her. "Monica?"

Monica steps out of her hiding place, feeling a bit guilty, she knows it’s rude to spy on grownups. But then she remembers what Mom had just been saying and that overcomes the little niggle of guilt. "You're angry at Auntie Carol."

"No, baby. I'm not." Mom tells her, dropping to her knees in front of her.

"You sound angry.” Monica argues and then flinches as a terrible thought crosses her mind. “Do you- do you think she left us on purpose?"

"Of course not. She loved us, you know that." Mom says and her eyes are as wide and honest as ever, so she knows that her mom isn’t lying to make her feel better.

But that just makes it more confusing.

"Then why are you mad?" She asks, not understanding.

"Sometimes it hurts less when we're mad." Her mom says very quietly and wipes away a tear from Monica’s cheek. She hadn’t even noticed she’d started crying.

She looks down and starts playing with the sleeves of her pajamas, it makes it easier to say something she’s never told anyone before. “Sometimes I’m mad at her too.”

“And that’s okay. It’s okay, baby. It doesn’t mean we love her any less, do you understand?”

Monica nods, even though she doesn’t really.

“Did you come down here for something, baby?” Mom asks after Monica doesn’t say anything more.

“I was thirsty.” Monica says through a sudden hiccup. She hates them, they always show up when she gets upset.

“Let’s get you a glass of warm milk then, okay?” Mom offers and wipes more tears from Monica’s face.

“Yeah.” Monica nods and lets her mom pull her up into a lingering hug, feels it as she starts drawing little circles over her back while they move toward the kitchen. It makes some of the lingering pain of thinking about Auntie Carol leach out of her but some of it remains, some of it hasn’t really ever gone away.

---- 3 ----

Monica is ten years old. And lately she’s started to think about something that never seemed like it mattered before but now doesn’t feel quite right. She’s thought about it so much that it finally feels like she’ll burst if she doesn’t ask her mom about it.

"Hey, Mom? I have a question about Auntie Carol." Monica says after she stops in front of her and sits down on the opposite side of Mom’s work table.

They’re in the little hanger near the house. Her mom’s busy working on what looks like a faulty injection pump.

"What is it, baby?" She asks and looks around for a different tool when hers proves too big to ply open the metal covering. Monica passes her the smaller one that’s on her side of the table. “Thank you, honey.”

"Why do we call her Auntie when... when she was... more?" Monica says, jumping straight to the point.

Her mom puts down the broken engine part and the tool she’d just given her, and looks at Monica. Then she lets out a long breath and seems to be steeling herself for the conversation.

Monica doesn’t let herself fidget. She’s not going to be nervous about this, if she doesn’t look like she can handle the answer her mom might decide to tell her she’s too young to understand.

"You loved her." She instead says, continuing to her next point in her mental list of reasons for why something isn’t quite right.

"Of course I did." Mom says but her face tells Monica she’s taking her question seriously.

"And she lived with us. And she made us breakfast because she always woke up so early, and she used to kiss you sometimes, and we were a family. And it doesn't... feel like my aunt is gone.” It’s the truth, because she thinks about her as Auntie Carol, but she's never thought of her as her aunt. Not the way other kids have talked about their aunts and uncles anyway, even though some of them live at the same house as them, just like Auntie Carol used to live with her and Mom. “Laila's aunt left for Minnesota and it doesn't hurt her like it hurts when I think about Auntie Carol. It hurts like it hurt Johnny when his mom died last summer."

"That's because we were raising you together." Mom says but it sounds like an excuse.

"Like parents do. So shouldn't she have been Mama Carol? Why didn't I use to call her that?" She says, trying to drive her point home.

Her mom sighs and gets up to pull her bench to Monica’s side of the table. Then she sits down and takes Monica’s hands into her own.

"Because people can be really cruel." Mom tells her, eyes staring straight into Monica’s. "You remember that talk we had about how you should always tell me if one of your teachers is particularly harsh on you, Laila, Gabriel, Angel and Jordan but not the rest of your class?"

"Because we're black and they're not allowed to do that?" She asks, a low-burning flame igniting in her chest at remembering the conversation Mom’s referring to. The one her mom has had with her more then once because she always says it’s important to have it fresh in her memory.

"Yes, well sometimes there are people who hate us for who we choose to love, like there are people who hate us for the color of our skin.” Here she picks up her smaller hand and pointedly kisses it like she always does during those talks, she says it’s a reminded that Monica’s beautiful and that no one is allowed to make her think otherwise. “And no matter how much we'd like to punch them all in the face, and no matter how much they would deserve it, sometimes when we have something to protect, it's safer to not step in front of those people in the first place."

“What did you have to protect?” She asks, not wanting to but beginning to understand.

“You. Our jobs. Each other.” Mom says with a sad smile that makes Monica feel like maybe she shouldn’t have asked in the first place. She hates making Mom sad.

“Oh.” She says and thinks about this for a moment, feels herself grow angry at yet another unjust thing. “Well, it’s not fair, we shouldn’t have to lie about how much she means to us just because people are stupid.”

“You’re right, baby, it’s really not fair at all.” Her mom says and squeezes her hands between her palms. It’s like being reassured but Monica doesn’t want to be reassured.

She pulls back to jump to her feet and clenches her hands into fists. The flickering flame inside her has been fed a little bit more fuel.

“And you said we should always stand up for ourselves because other people won’t, so isn’t that true here too?” She says, knowing she’s right, knowing her mom agrees, and still knowing that there’s very little she can do about it right now anyway.

“I wish it was that easy, Monica.”

---- 4 ----

Monica is eleven, and yesterday Auntie Carol came home. Monica and Mom had been right, she hadn’t died and she didn’t leave them on purpose.

It’s been a day since then and so much has happened. Mom and Auntie Carol are heroes, they saved a spaceship full of people - they were aliens but they were also people. She’s already prepared to argue with anyone who would say otherwise, even though she knows this is a secret and that there’s no one else who knows.

One of them is her new friend. Her name is Talia, she’s shy but really nice, Monica’s going to miss her.

She’s going to miss Auntie Carol too. That shouldn’t feel like a new absence, she’s been missing her for so long now after all. But somehow the sting is fresh. Even though she’s so proud of her.

They said goodbye to her half an hour ago but Monica and her mom are still sitting on their porch and looking up at the stars, staring at them like if they try hard enough she’ll still be up there looking back. It’s here that Monica finally pulls together the courage to ask the question that has been bothering her for the past two days.

“Why didn’t you tell her, Mom?” She asks, turning her face sideways to look at her.

“What’s that, baby?” She asks, voice sounding far away even coming from right beside her. Monica’s pretty sure it’s somewhere up in the sky with both their hearts.

“You didn’t tell Auntie Carol that you loved her. And that she loved you.” Monica isn’t going to let this go, they’d gotten her back. She won’t let them lose her when there’s so easy a way for them to keep her.

“She doesn’t remember it, honey.”

Monica continues staring at her mom, her mom continues looking up.

“So? You could have reminded her. And she remembered that I was Lieutenant Trouble.” She says and feels a smile crossing her face again, Auntie Carol remembers her. Even if it’s just that one memory, it’s one Monica shares with her and somehow that’s all that matters.

“I know. But... it would have made it harder, and it would have meant making her choose and it wouldn’t have been fair to do that. Talos and his people need her right now.” Mom says, finally looking down and tucking Monica against her side.

“But she left us that communicator, Mom. We’ll be able to talk to her now, and she said she’d visit.” Monica says, pleading for her mom to change her mind about this.

“And I’m sure she’s going to. But you can’t tell someone they love you, they have to figure that out on their own or it doesn’t really mean anything.”

“But-”

“It’s late, baby, you should get ready for bed,” She says, standing up and reaching out to pull Monica to her feet too.

Monica lets Mom take her hand but doesn’t let her drop the conversation. “I think she does though. Love us.”

“Monica-”

“She looked at you just like she did in that photo you took out before we showed her the rest of them.” Mom looks surprised, like she’d thought Monica hadn’t noticed. She had though, and once they started going through them, Monica knew which one she’d taken. It was the one where there were just inches between Mom and Auntie Carol’s faces and both of them were visibly laughing at something. But there was also a strange look on Auntie Carol’s face, like she was completely spellbound by Monica’s mom. “So I think you should tell her.”

Her mom just shakes her head and goes on the offensive, starting to tickle her till Monica yells at her to stop through her uncontrollable giggles.

“To bed with you, Lieutenant Trouble.” Her mom says with amusement.

Monica finally listens. She doesn’t admit defeat though, she just needs to think of a new strategy.

---- 5 ----

Auntie Carol does call them. She calls them almost every night around dinnertime. And when she hasn’t she always tells them why later, sometimes she even retells the coolest parts of whatever fight had happened. Monica’s pretty sure she skips a lot of the more gnarly details to not make Mom mad though.

But during the nights when Auntie Carol calls on time, Monica pays close attention to how she and Mom interact during them.

By this point Monica’s pretty sure she has conclusive evidence that she was right. Auntie Carol might not remember how it was before, and if Monica’s honest there’s a lot she doesn’t remember either - she was only five after all, - but she’s sure that however it was then, it’s a lot like that now too.

They smile at each other and joke with each other, dryly and occasionally through sarcasm but Monica’s well aware that those are her mom’s favorite modes of humor. And whenever Mom isn’t looking at her, Auntie Carol’s smiles turn all sappy and soft.

Auntie Carol loves Mom, it isn’t even a question.

Besides, there’s also the way she’s started to say goodbye when it’s time to cut off the call.

“Love you, Trouble, Maria.” Auntie Carol says with a smile for Monica that she knows is honest but also only half the story. Because then, like gravity, her eyes would always flicker toward her mom.

And yes, Monica has noticed how Auntie Carol always puts her first. Like a barrier between the sentiment and the other person it’s being directed at. Her moms are impossible - she’s started sometimes to think of Auntie Carol like that, as the second of her two moms, if only inside the safety of her own mind.

“Love you too, Captain.” Monica says and turns significantly towards her mom.

“Goodnight, Carol.” Mom says instead as the hologram flickers off, leaving them alone a second later. It was still enough time for Monica to see that brief half a heartbeat where Auntie Carol’s smile fell a bit.

She glares at her mom. Mom, as is starting to become her habit, pretends not to notice it and stands up to take the empty dishes to the kitchen.

“Grab your plate, honey.” Mom just says, already by the doorway.

Monica does and then stomps off after her.

“You’re supposed to say it back.” Monica says, losing her patience. It’s been happening for months now, this weird thing where they almost say something and then never actually do.

“We’ve talked about this, Monica.” Mom says, placing her stack of dishes in the sink and then taking the ones from Monica.

“No. you said that Auntie Carol had to figure it out on her own. I think she’s figured it out.” Monica says back and then, perhaps rather unwisely, actually says the thing that’s been hiding in her mind for a while now. “I think you’re just scared.”

Then she freezes, she knows she’s not supposed to talk to Mom like that.

“I am.” Mom says, instead of immediately sending her to her room, though the look that comes with the words is stern. Monica’s on thin ice here.

Monica stops in her tracks, - not because she’s one step away from getting in trouble but because she didn’t expect Mom to actually admit that she’s scared. Now that she has, Monica’s not sure how to proceed.

For a minute she just stands there as her mom starts washing the dishes. What finally comes out is: “But you love her. And she loves you too.”

“Maybe. Or maybe she thinks so because one of those flashes told her that she once did.” Mom says back, adding more dish-washing liquid to the sponge.

“But don’t you want it to be like it used to be?” Monica asks, finally feeling lost.

“It’s complicated.” Mom says and continues doing the dishes.

Monica grabs a towel to help with the drying and falls silent after that. Mind busy stewing in frustration over adults and their need to call very simple things ‘complicated’. It’s not complicated, it’s so easy; her mom still loves Auntie Carol and Auntie Carol is clearly either starting to remember or has fallen in love with Mom all over again. Either way the answer to what they should do is very obvious.

Monica has a terrible feeling that if she lets them continue like this on their own they’re never going to figure it out. She can’t let that happen.

---- +1 ----

She’s not supposed to call Auntie Carol for anything other than an emergency because there’s no way to predict if she’ll receive that call while on board their hijacked space cruiser, during a live firefight or while on a covert op. It’s all around safer if Auntie Carol’s the one who contacts them.

But Auntie Carol is not the only person Monica uses their holographic communicator to talk with.

Which is why Monica is closing her bedroom door and turning on her radio to cover up the noises from her planned conversation. That done, she goes back to the communicator and enters the - by now familiar - string of Kree symbols.

“Hey, Talia. Are you by yourself right now?” Monica says as soon as the call connects and her friend’s image forms above the device.

“Hi, Monica.” Talia says from her side of the galaxy as they grin at each other. “I’m in my room. What’s up?”

When Monica first met her, Talia might have come across as shy and quiet but she learned really fast that this was true only while Talia hadn’t known her. Now that they’re friends they’ve fallen into the habit of talking for hours, sometimes right up until the point where their parents have to make them stop and go to sleep.

“I think I need your help.” Monica says and starts ruffling through her bag for the book that’s given her an idea. “You know how Auntie Carol plans to come to Earth for a few days next month, because it finally looks like things are going to be quiet for a little while?”

“Yeah, my dad’s going to be free too, he said he wants us to spend some time together while it lasts. Why?” Talia says, looking curious.

“I need Auntie Carol to spend more than a few days home. I’ve told you about how she and Mom have been dancing around each other without ever just sitting down and admitting that they’re in love with each other, right?” She says, knowing she’s kinda whining a bit but after seven months with a first-row seat, she thinks she’s due.

“Only once or twice.” Talia says with a smirk and a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Monica throws one of her stuffed bears through the hologram and gets met by the sound of Talia laughing as the light reforms back into her.

“That wasn’t nice. I thought you wanted my help.” She says, still smirking. This is why Talia is her best friend even though she’s two years younger than her.

“I do.” Monica says and turns serious. “Can you talk your dad into taking you here to Earth too?”

“Maybe?” She says, though she doesn’t sound entirely sure. It’ll do for now, they can throw around some ideas on how to accomplish that part after Monica explains her plan.

“I found this book in the library and it gave me an idea,” she pulls out her copy of ‘Lottie and Lisa’ to show it to Talia, “it’s about these twin sisters who got separated as babies by their parents, and then found each other and decided to switch places while pretending to be each other.”

“But what does that have to do with your mom and aunt?” Talia asks.

“Well, I was thinking. If you were here and pretended to be me and neither of us would tell anyone which of us was which...”

“...your aunt and my dad couldn’t leave before we told them.” Talia says, finishing Monica’s thought.

“And we won’t tell them until Mom and Auntie Carol admit how they feel about each other. I don’t even think we’ll have to do much, they just need to spend enough time together that they forget all the stupid reasons they’ve come up with for why they’re too scared to be together.” Monica finishes by letting out a long, extended, exhausted breath.

“That’s brilliant.” Talia says, her pretty green eyes widening in wonder.

Monica smiles, proud of herself.

“So can you do it? Make yourself look like me?” She asks and bites her lip, this is the one part of her idea she isn’t sure of. If Talia can’t turn into her, then her plan gets unraveled at the seams and she’s back to square one.

“Probably?” Talia says, bending her neck to the side and seemingly taking a new look at Monica. “You’re not that much bigger than me and I’ve been practicing with dad. It’s also a lot easier if we know the person we’re trying to turn into. But I can’t really do the memories thing yet.”

“That’s okay. I’ll tell you everything you have to know and if they ask us something we haven’t covered we’ll both pretend that we don’t know the answer.” Monica says and smiles an exhilarated smile.

This is going to work. This has to work.

----

They step downstairs hand in hand - hand in the same hand, in fact, - it’s time for the show.

“Monica?” Her mom says cautiously.

“Yes, Mom?” Monica and Talia answer in unison just like they’ve practiced, two identical grins on their faces.

“What are you two doing?” Mom says a suspicious cadence coloring her voice and a look on her face like she’s already getting an idea of what they’re planning. And why.

Monica doesn’t mind, as long as her mom isn’t sure which of them is the real Monica there’s nothing she can do about it. Knowing what Monica wants from them might actually hurry this thing along faster.

She does know that as soon as this is over she’s going to be grounded for a very, very long time. But sacrifices have to be made in the name of the greater good of Mom and Auntie Carol getting back together.

“Yes what are you two up to?” Auntie Carol asks looking over the back of the couch. She looks amused and unlike Mom clearly hasn’t yet worked out that Talia’s not about to change back any time soon.

They exchange a look and pull their lips in a smirk, Monica has to admit it feels a bit strange seeing her own face looking back but it’s also kinda... really cool too.

“Nothing, Auntie Carol.” Talia says innocently.

“Nothing at all.” Monica echoes her.

They both look left at the sudden loud chuckle coming from the corner where Talia’s dad is standing, as soon as they do, he sends them a quick wink and continues laughing. Monica likes him. She has a good feeling that he’s not gonna snitch on them even if he does have some way to tell them apart.

1K notes · View notes

scribblesandsnark · 3 years

Text

“Days Gone Bye” (TWD 1.1)

There’s so much about “Days Gone Bye” that is well done – not least because it operates primarily on silence and visuals rather than the preachy dialogue that takes over down the road. (Yes, season 2, I’m looking at you.) That said, not gonna lie, it took me bloody ages to figure out where the opening scene falls in Rick’s post-hospital, pre-Atlanta adventures. (And when I say ages, what I really mean is it took me about six or eight times watching the episode. Ye gods.)

I feel like Rick might have lucked out in the apocalypse. He’s a cop, so there’s obviously a uniform to wear as he waltzes off into the unknown. What would you opt to put on if you were in his shoes and didn’t have a uniform to default to? (Personally, I’ve realised I have a serious lack of practical apocalypse shoes on hand. Although I’m inclined to think that my high heels would come in handy for breaking dead limbs and stomping in undead brains, so there’s that to consider.)

Burnt out and/or flipped cars are popular for set design in post-apo/dystopian TV and films, as are buildings with blasted out/shattered windows, but until fairly recently I’d always viewed them as sort of abstract decorations without really registering how they might get that way. Indeed, in earlier drafts I spent some time snarking about how the zompocalypse must infect people’s driving abilities (a terrifying thought considering the actual driving ability of your average non-zompocalypse-affected person) and, to quote myself,

Given the amount of fire damaged/cars upturned/miscellaneous damage inflicted on cars, you’d think that fcking flamethrowers and grenades and rocket launchers were being wielded by random Georgian citizens as they frolicked through the streets escaping the dead.

But this year [2020], between the port explosion in Beiruit, which flipped cars with the force of the blast and turned high rises into ghouls with hundreds of gaping mouths, and the fires in California, leaving burnt-out hulks in their wake, it’s really come home to me how easy and careless that kind of destruction can be – and how swiftly it can come to be seen as a norm. No flamethrowers or grenades necessary.

Even the empty streets and the silence we’re greeted with in this opening scene, as Rick drives down a barren street and walks through an abandoned campsite, now has more resonance since the 2020 lockdowns brought that apocalyptic empty street into reality. I don’t think I’d ever really thought to walk down the middle of a street before, because, you know, traffic – and yet for a time, when there were no cars on the road and people were hidden away in their homes, that became a new normal. There was a freedom in knowing you could walk in the middle of the road with almost no risk, because all normal rules had been suspended indefinitely. Why stick to the sidewalk when you know a car’s unlikely to drive through?

I guess apocalyptic fiction only ever seems apocalyptic and unimaginable until the real world catches up.

There are a lot of things I could say about this opening scene, aside from the great visceral pleasure of getting absorbed by the camera work, feeling one with Rick as we witness the destruction, the abandonment, the death… There’s a stillness that I wish we saw more of in the later episodes. The introduction of the little walker girl sets up Rick’s hope and his despair in a wonderful way. Having the first appearance and first death of a walker be a little girl in her jammies really shows us just how much the world has been turned on its head – Rick’s a police officer, whose job is to help people (ideally, at any rate), and the realisation that in this new world the only way to help is to kill those he used to protect sets up a(n albeit inconsistent) through-line for the rest of the series.

So yeah, I could wax lyrical about the excellent beginning of “Days Gone Bye” – but because I’m a snarky arsehole, I’m going to talk about the dead. And I’m going to do so with the caveat that while I’ve read some of the behind-the-scenes commentary etc., I am not actually a Walking Deadhead, and consequently do not have at my fingertips the reasons why certain production decisions were made.

There’s an oddity in the first…two seasons? when it comes to cars and the dead, in that there are a startling number of people who seem to have just…died, while in the driver’s seat of their cars. We see two clear examples in the opening scene, as Rick passes between two cars, facing opposite directions, each with their own definitely dead driver slumped at the wheel. This appears, rather more egregiously, in the traffic snarl at the start of season 2, but for the moment we’ll stick with season 1. The camera’s shown us an abandoned camp, any number of cars that seem to have become part of stationary living. Yet we’ve got two dead people behind the wheel, in cars facing opposite directions. Now, I’m not disputing that people could die at the wheel. As the show later goes on to show us, you can get chomped, die, and resurrect within minutes. The problem is in the fact that a proportionally ridiculous number of people seem to die at the wheel. I suppose the logical conclusion is that said individuals stupidly had their windows down and their arms out, got chomped, and sent away the rest of the car’s occupants or anyone else in the vicinity, and then opted to just hang out in the car until death – at which point zombrain kicks in and any attempt to use a door handle is moot. (See, e.g., the number of zoms hanging out in closed cars.) Combine that with people more likely than this show’s putative heroes to shoot someone who’s been infected in the head before they turn and simply move on… Eh. I suppose it’s plausible. It’s just not very realistic. (Not least because oh my god, there are undead people, roll up your fucking window you fucking idiot. I know it’s hot in Georgia but roll those windows up, babe. You might sweat, but at least a stealth zom won’t use your hand for a snack. Gah.)

…not going to comment on the inconsistent zombehaviour in which a smolzom stops to pick up her teddy (see, later, other zoms climbing ladders, scaling fences, and using rocks to bash through windows – and in one instance, tugging her zip hoodie back up over her arm). Instead, my issue is with smolzom’s slippers. How has she not lost those by now??

(Total aside, but I’ve been bingeing L&O:SVU lately, and boy howdy do a lot of TWD people pop up like daisies there. Daryl, Shane, Noah, Dale, Beth, Lori, Amy, Tyreese, Lizzie, Liza (tbf from FTWD)…)

The fries that Rick and Shane are eating just look sad and wimpy and not worthy of eating. Do better, cops. (Do better, fries.) Really, it’s almost a surprise they’re not nomming doughnuts and coffee. There’s no doubt that the two are meant to be close, though; you have to be close to dab your fry in your partner’s ketchup (oh no, Lori).

Jon Bernthal is a good actor. I just wish they hadn’t given him a character who was so all over the place. (I’ll delve more into this in later episodes.) The first scene he appears in, after the opening credits, clearly sets him up as a chauvinistic dick, in contrast to pauvre Rick, whose relationship with his wife is suffering – and, critically, this is not because of Rick, but because of Lori. Her first introduction as a character is as a woman at odds with her husband – and the fact that her husband is in law enforcement really should not be glossed over here, not given America’s contentious relationship with LEOs. (We’ll get back to Rick and Shane eventually.) It’s no secret that spouses of people in law enforcement, or in the military, often struggle because their partners are always absent. I’m not trying to apply blame, here; law enforcement and military positions require a lot, and there is absolutely a high degree of trauma that can result due to the kind of work in which they engage. That said, the way Lori is set up as the antagonist from the get-go is just…distasteful. Rick is presented as reasonable, as wanting to try to make things right, as trying to do what Lori wants and yet always being the bad guy. The sad thing is that Lori is no one’s favourite character, and yet the character never had a chance. She was fucked over long before she actually turned up on screen, ensuring that our perspective of her is negative from the start. In a show that takes years to establish strong women, Lori stands out as a particularly egregious example of a woman, wife, and mother who realistically could have been a positive representation of a woman that instead was turned into a caricature everyone loves to hate. (We’ll get to Andrea eventually, I promise.)

I think perhaps, most egregiously, the fact that Rick says something like “It’s like she’s pissed at me and I don’t know why” sets up Lori as being irrational and Rick as being patient and anxious to fix things without knowing why. Lori is fucked in terms of character development from before she ever appears on screen and never has the opportunity to claw back some of that lost ground. Rick literally labels her as cruel – and cruel in front of their son, to boot. Who doesn’t view a person cruel to their child as a villain? Gah. Lori was absolutely fucked by merit of being Rick’s wife. And it’s really a shame, because every so often Sarah Wayne Callies absolutely kills it (no pun intended, but leading up to Lori’s death is perhaps the character’s best scene).

Of course, too, the whole convo between Shane and Rick sets up Shane as a “fuck me, women, man” – and yeah, absolutely, this attitude ends up extrapolated to his behaviour towards people in general. Yes, it bonds our two good ol’ boy policemen as lads who love each other and try to jive each other into better moods but are sensitive enough to listen to actual emotional shit… But ultimately it establishes Shane as a dick and Rick as a victim. Shane’s absolute disdain for women’s emotion/women talking about their emotions is in some ways bizarre when you look at his future relationship with Lori – and yet at the same time, that disdain echoes through all of anything he does with Lori, with Carl, and with Rick in future.

Okay, so, let’s move on to the fuckfest in which Rick gets shot. (Twice, Lord help me. These fuckers are alarmingly inept.)

Pro: they fling out the spikey “stop the bad guy” chains.

Con: …well, at least one dude doesn’t know about the safety, so that’s … not ideal. (His death: not surprising.)

Pro: Rick can apparently drive backwards with skill. I can’t even back around a corner.

Con: Leon is a fucking moron.

Pro: Rick and Shane disposed of their hats??

Con: what happens to the Black cop? Why is he the only one we don’t know the fate of? (See TWD’s treatment of Black actors in general…)

Pro: the car does not flip in their general direction.

Con: pretty much everything else in this scene.

I dunno about the average viewer, but I feel like the two apparently competent cops – Shane and Rick – should each be assigned to one of the shitty cops, rather than riding together, because really, do you want cops rolling in to save you when they clearly don’t know the first thing about gun operation? (Yes, as any number of viewers have pointed out, there’s no safety on the gun that Leon is holding, but the fundamental point is to articulate how much of a fuck-up he is as a cop. If you’re out in the field and don’t know how your piece works, should you even be out there? Don’t they give cops gun training? You’d hope so…yikes. Although I guess it does sort of set up the absolute nightmare of season 2’s gun control plot line. (Oh god, season 2. Help.))

Am I the only one amused by the name Leon Basset? He’s a cat and a dog at once!

It takes Rick and Shane and co. an embarrassingly long time to put down the baddies – one of whom manages to hit a cop in a spot not covered by his vest, after having been flipped violently upside down in a car crash. Seriously, the fact these dudes are able to crawl out of the car and start merrily firing away, much less actually hit someone, is fucking insane. Have they trained in post-car crash shooting? I have to conclude they have, because otherwise the fact they have better aim than the multiple cops shooting at them is absurd. (Also hilarious: bad dude #1 crawls out of the completely totalled, upside-down car with, like, a scratch on his cheek. Until bad dude #2 takes a shotgun blast the chest, he appears to have lucked out with almost zero wounds from the crash. Are we sure *they* aren’t actually already dead??) And really, Rick’s an idiot in this scene – his fellow cops are intelligently hanging out by the cop cars, using them for cover, while Rick displays a high degree of absolute idiocy in waltzing straight out into the open; it’s made even worse by the fact that he’s brandishing his cute little Colt Python revolver while at least two of the cops behind him are wielding shotguns.

Bad copping, Rick. Cop better, please.

There are several shots right before Rick gets shot the first time where the camera angle makes it appear that Shane has his shotgun pointed straight at Rick, including the actual frame where he *does* get shot in the vest – when he’s shot in the side closer to Shane than the unnamed assailant. Now, this is probably due to bad blocking, although you’d think Rick would know better than to walk directly between the baddies and his fellow cops when there’s active gunfire, since it makes him a liability (seriously, I doubt the efficacy of the cop training programme in whatever bit of Georgia this is), but with the benefit of hindsight you could also see it as foreshadowing the eventual deterioration of Rick and Shane’s relationship. Think about the scene in “Wildfire,” the penultimate episode of the season, when Shane and Rick are in the woods doing a sweep, and Shane sights down that shotgun at Rick walking through the trees ahead of him for a long moment before Dale turns up. In that later episode (and moving on increasingly through all of Season 2), Shane wants Rick out of the way, but it takes a very long time in terms of screen hours to actually get around to making his final move. Ironically, it’s only ever here in the opening episode, following Shane appearing to be aiming through Rick’s back at the assailants, that Shane ever successfully gets Rick out of the way. Unintentionally, of course, but there is nevertheless an odd parallelism created here due to blocking and weapon of choice.

Dammit, Shane.

You know, on thinking it over, I’m surprised that this police force functions at all. Yes, the dispatcher only noted two individuals in the car, but if I’ve learned anything from watching procedurals it’s that before stopping to chat about anything you clear every possible place an unknown assailant could be hiding. I’d think that would especially be the case for a car chase, because how accurately can you see inside a speeding car? (That’s a legitimate question; I have no idea.) And actually, entirely aside from the possible existence of a third assailant, if you shoot someone with a gun, surely the follow-up after they’ve gone down is to immediately approach, ensure any weapons are out of arms’ reach, ascertain if the individual is dead, and if not, call immediately for medical attention. I know the baddies took several shots to the chest, but come on. They also emerged almost entirely unscathed from a totalled car, so clearly they’re already marked as practically unkillable. And yeah, following procedure wouldn’t have allowed Rick to get dramatically shot for real after the first fake-out, but they could easily have had him get dramatically and unexpectedly shot by the third dude when following procedure and checking to see the other two were dead. Most of the dialogue could have been retained as well. But oh well. I guess the show sets up the failure of authority figures to function effectively from the very start; not following procedure proves to be useful to Rick, considering his future actions as leader of the Merry Undead crew.

Further proof these cops don’t know how to cop: literally no one notices the third dude crawl out of the car, not even to go “hey!” Dude literally has enough time to crawl out on his hands and knees, stand up, point a gun, and actually hit his target before anyone (aka Shane) so much as notices his existence. There are at least three other cop cars in the vicinity – the other car that arrived with Rick and Shane (the “wait what’s a safety” cop and his partner) and the two cars that were chasing the criminals in the first place (four more dudes) – and yet apparently no one noticed a third guy standing up with a gun in his hand. And yeah, I’ll cut some of them a bit of a break on the theory that they probably couldn’t see the guy until he stood up because of the car in the way, but with seven people standing, *someone* should have seen him. Given Shane’s angle when he shoots, the two cops behind him definitely should have noticed something. The fact that someone only shouts to move in after Rick gets shot is just…shoddy copping. Seriously, this is the kind of stupidity that leads you to wish characters would just die. I’m sure someone would miss these people, but the world isn’t likely to notice they’ve gone. (Also, Shane blowing away the third dude on the first shot is pretty much the only time any of these professionals have actually hit their target immediately. Glad to know the safety of the Merry Undead crew is in the hands of people with worse aim than people flung around in a totalled car. Hurray!)

I’ve decided that after Shane goes with Rick to hospital in the ambulance, the rest of the terrible cops get eaten by the reanimated baddie crew. It’s what they deserve, really.

Moving right along…

Rick has a frigging massive hospital room. Either he or Lori is secretly a drug runner, or else the local cops have some pretty sweet health insurance. Lucky for Rick; if he’d been in a shared room or on one of those corridors with multiple beds separated by curtains, he’d have been walker munchies asap. Unforeseen side-effects of the zompocalypse: healthcare edition.

I…am not going to deal with the time issues of Rick being in hospital and then waking up to a hellscape. Suspension of belief, yeah?

I think the weirdest thing in the cut from Shane with the flowers to Rick waking up on the bed is the silence. The background beep of the machines has vanished, telling us the power’s gone off; the off-screen background hospital noise – heard most notably in the undiscernible PA behind Shane talking – has also vanished. Rick’s harsh breathing under Shane’s words also vanishes when the shot does, though I’m not sure if that’s meant to suggest Rick is better, worse, or otherwise. The scene doesn’t show it, but it sounds vaguely like a ventilator is functioning when Shane’s in the room, which would suggest Rick’s still hooked up to breathing support following surgery; if that’s the case, Rick was taken off the ventilator to breathe on his own at some point after that, since he wakes up only with oxygen to his nose. The shift from all that background noise to absolute silence is incredibly effective, because though we can’t register it visually, and may not consciously notice the shift in audible sounds, it nevertheless conveys to the viewer that something has changed before Rick even opens his mouth.

Horrifying thought, though, being stuck in hospital in Georgia without aircon. (I’d melt. Not just in hospital, but in general. Heat and humidity are not my friends.) Frankly, I’m surprised Rick manages to get any words out of his mouth given he’s probably a wee bit on the thirsty side; my mouth goes a bit dry and I might as well be trying to talk through a damn desert for all the words I manage.

It’s kind of amusing that there’s a lingering shot of the clock on the wall. Yeah, it adds to Rick’s confusion and disorientation because dammit, he can’t even tell what time it is – and what is the world without timekeeping?? – but what are the odds it happened to run out of battery in time to inconvenience the last man standing in the zompocalypse? “Oh no! I’ve missed the end of the world! Ah well, better late than never.”

Helpful that Rick woke up during the day – can you imagine how disorienting it would have been to wake up in pitch dark with zero sound? Anyone who lives in a vaguely urban or suburban area is almost entirely unaccustomed to the dominance of both anymore; when I moved back to suburbia after living in a sort of downtown-y bit of an offshoot of the nearest city, I had serious issues for months because at night everything was so quiet and so dark, especially during the period when the house next door was unoccupied. Seriously creepy. (Although I’ve also seen raccoons, deer, and a coyote as well as the ubiquitous squirrels and birds and neighbourhood cats, so that’s exciting. Actually, weirdly, there’s a surprising dearth of animals, to say nothing of pets, floating around in the apocalypse. We see dogs occasionally as time goes on, running about the streets of Atlanta, eating the dead, getting eaten when times are desperate; deer pop up every now and then, and crows alight ominously all over the place, but…where are all the dead goldfish? The cats??)

Does Rick just have a super special water faucet in his private bathroom, or are the utilities still working? (Nice to immediately have a way to quench his thirst. It also apparently gives him super strength, since he doesn’t keel over again despite the probable weeks he’s been flopped out in bed not using his muscles.) Alexandria has running water, but if I recall correctly it was also designed as self-sustaining. Hospitals usually have generators, since if the power cuts for whatever reason (earthquake, hurricane, T-rex attack) you want to make sure a bunch of people don’t cut out as well as a result, but as far as I’m aware that…doesn’t affect the water systems? (I am definitely not a water engineer. Are there water engineers?) And since he later goes down stairs to get out of the hospital, is there really a system still functioning that pumps water up several stories when the electricity appears to be dead? Convenient water is convenient.

Obviously there must be a generator or some kind of power still functioning, since there are some lights on in the hall, complete with requisite horror-themed buzzing and flickering. (Help, I’m having flashbacks of my mother’s kitchen.) Useful, in any case, since otherwise Ricky boy would be tripping over the debris in the hall before he got to the nurse’s station. (I guess we’ll put his continued unclothed state down to disorientation, but if I looked out my door and saw that much of a hallway disaster, I think I’d find some shoes first. Yikes.)

The clock at the nurse’s station has also stopped. These are battery-run, guys, they don’t go off when the power does. Speaking of electronics, though – it’s 2010, right? Why doesn’t the nurse’s station have any computers? I mean, I got my first laptop in 2006 and I think we always had a family computer when I was growing up, so it’s not like this predates the computer era. Actually, that’s a point – in all of the places that the Merry Undead crew break into/crash at, I’m struggling to think of instances of computers, laptops, mobile phones, etc. Rick has an mp3 player at the start of season 4, when he’s in his farming phase, and Olivia in…season 6? still carries her long-dead mobile around, but aside from the CDC and actual hospital-related machinery, there’s a startling lack of technology. I dunno, it just seems odd. Like the lack of feral cats.

I know Rick wants to illuminate the situation (hah), but his first thought is RUMMAGE THROUGH SHIT TO FIND MATCHES. Like, seriously, open a drawer or something, there’s probably a flashlight in there somewhere? I suppose we couldn’t spend too much time on finding lighting resources, though, considering that would delay the DRAMATIC DISCOVERY of Rick’s first dead person.

On which point – what are the walker rules for nomming a corpse, and what are the rules for reanimation? If the only way to actually put down a walker is through the brain, why isn’t our eviscerated lady corpse in the hospital undead? Her head appears entirely intact, although we might be missing a wound on the far side. (Although jeez, given how many facial bites and tears we see throughout this series, including the little girl at the beginning of this episode, how has no one snacked on her delicious face??) A single bite will kill and turn you, and some people do manage to get an initial chomp and then remain unconsumed before turning, like Sophia and the little girl at the start of the episode. But is there a maximum limit of flesh that can be consumed before a person is thoroughly dead and won’t reanimate? A severed head sans body will reanimate, as we see later with Hershel and the Whisperers’ victims, so it seems like percentage of bodily consumption can’t factor in. Certainly bike lady later in this episode is missing her entire lower half without it having affected her walkerdom eternity. Yet we have people like hospital lady corpse and T-Dog in season 3 who get more or less entirely consumed without reanimating. And that’s without even talking about all of the dead who appear to have croaked in their cars without becoming undead despite the lack of a head wound. So where’s the boundary?

At least some of this we can probably attribute to early days inconsistencies, since most shows don’t dive in with all of the rules for new worlds and supernatural creatures laid out and set in stone, but the amount of consumption has always bothered me. From the other side, too, actually, because walkers appear to be wholly driven by a single purpose: consume. So when a walker has a nice juicy item in front of them with plenty of flesh left on it, why would they leave it behind to drift off after something else? Walkers are later shown to be drawn by light, by sound, by smell (operating on the suspension of disbelief that undead would retain any of the senses of sight, hearing, or smell, but never mind), but since the underlying drive remains to consume, why would light, sound, or smell be sufficient to draw them away from a meal directly in front of them? I could see it if, for instance, a corpse were being devoured by a whole bunch of walkers and so those who couldn’t easily get to the body went “welp fuck it, Imma go follow that gunshot I just heard,” or if a body has pretty well been picked to the bones, since then there’s not anything left to consume and the drive would push on to the next. But there are plenty of times over the course of the series when walkers abandon a perfectly delicious human with plenty of meat left on the bones in order to go chase something else. I’m not saying walkers are meant to be intelligent hunters or anything, since as Jenner shows us there’s just some sad little sparkles at the brainstem that are still operating, but if you boil it down to the most basic drive, walkers are driven to consume, and it makes little sense that they’d abandon something consumable in front of them that’s a sure thing to chase something else (I could see maybe abandoning an animal to chase a human, like dropping the pigs’ feet to chase after sirloin). But to leave something not completely eaten… Unless they get full? The human stomach can only contain so much at one time, so maybe there’s a default survival code that overrides the consumption drive to stop a walker eating if continuing to do so would explode the stomach. Although that doesn’t really make much sense, either, since any number of walkers are wandering around with their innards more or less exploded without it being a problem. Hmm. No real answers, there, other than that overriding logic of THE PLOT. I guess the only thing I can say with some confidence is that at least part of the walker digestive system seems to still operate, because when Rick and Daryl gut a walker to make sure it hadn’t eaten Sophia, not only is the woodchuck turned from fur and flesh into nasty black goo, the skull of the woodchuck has also been stripped clean. (Then again, I have difficulty envisioning how a walker manages to swallow an entire woodchuck skull, but that’s neither here nor there. Who’s up for woodchuck chilli??)

Anyway, back to Rick and his terrifying exploration of his new world of doom.

I have to laugh when I look at this disaster of a hospital. Did someone, in the last throes of the world ending, just take medical records and fling them everywhere? When is there ever that much paper floating around loose in a medical facility? Ye gods, Rick could learn confidential patient information! Nooooooo…

Ahem.

Like the episode’s opening scene of Rick working his way through the abandoned streets, silence is used to great effect from the time Rick wakes up through to his encounter with Morgan and Duane. The audience takes in everything along with Rick, unfettered by exposition. The silence, the dark, the emptiness, the dead – it all unfolds through Rick’s shocked and bewildered eyes. I mean, what would you do if you wandered down the hall and suddenly discovered a mostly devoured corpse? (I’d probably hurl. Ew.) Alas that so much of the series later gets bogged down by humans who never shut up. (Yes, Rick, I do mean you.)

Of course, in order to do that, the episode also, to quote CinemaSins, conveniently conveniences a bunch of its walkers. Where are they? Where they can’t hurt Rick before he knows what to do. Which is…kind of ridiculous. Logic be damned! I mean, if there’s one thing this show has been consistent about, it’s the inconsistency of its walkers.

Wait.

Man, I would not want to be walking across that floor barefoot. Ew. And ouch.

I’d be a terrible candidate for the apocalypse. I’m afraid of the dark.

I do like the background details of all the blood spattered on the walls. It’s more quiet filling in the blanks of what happened when Rick was in his coma – all that lovely show, don’t tell that later gets left by the wayside. BUT HE’S WALKING BAREFOOT THROUGH GLASS OH MY GOD PLEASE STOP AND FIND SOME SHOES AAAHHHHHHH.

PUT ON SOME DAMN SHOES.

DON’T DEAD OPEN INSIDE.

The fact that the doors are bound with a chain AND with a slat of wood just makes me laugh. I don’t think that wood’s going to do much if the chain breaks.

That’s a shockingly good manicure for a dead person. She might be stuck in a locked room for eternity but at least her nails look fab.

I know Rick is freaked out by the groaning and dead lady manicure and chained up door and blood all over the place, but charging into a pitch-black stairwell armed only with a fold of matches seems really stupid. This is perhaps the most egregious instance in this episode of convenient walker placement. The fact that Rick not only makes it down the stairs and outside without tripping and smashing his pretty face is one thing, but it’s really stunning that there are no walkers who got trapped between the stairwell doors. I guess maybe that was the military exit route so they cleared as they went (and…took the bodies with them, as well)? Then again, I’d rather rappel out a window using bedsheets than make my way through an endless stairwell of night, so…

I’m going to be *extremely* nitpicky here and wonder why Rick hasn’t noticed the smell. Between lady chewy and the not insubstantial blood puddle he walks by, you’d think there’d be at least a whiff of the smell of decomp, especially if the power and thus the aircon are out and humidity reigns supreme. Blood is a biological hazard, and it…is definitely not odourless, especially after it’s been sitting around for days. Rick does grimace when he first goes into the stairwell, implying he’s caught a whiff of the dead, but he doesn’t encounter anything going down the stairs that seems likely to have caused it (maybe the dead laid out that he encounters outside?). Scent’s an ongoing problem with this show, though; it crops up when it’s a useful narrative point, like smearing yourself with guts to escape detection or realising there’s an ocean of the dead nearby, but otherwise, not so much. Okay, yeah, maybe I can buy that after a while of living in close proximity you’d acclimate – humans are stunningly resilient – but given how quickly humans tend to get tetchy when in forced contact with disgusting smells, are you really telling me that Rick just…doesn’t notice? Or is his own “I’ve been in a coma for an indeterminate period of time” smell so bad that it overpowers the death smell? Yikes.

That said, the moments of tension when Rick’s match goes out and he’s left alone breathing in the dark of the stairwell are lovely. It carries the audience along with Rick’s fear and anxiety and confusion, knowing he knows something is hinky without actually knowing what’s happened and what’s going on, while as a viewer conversant with the horror genre you keep expecting something to happen, to lurch up out of the dark. That nothing does actually is a delightful defiance of expectations. And after a silence and darkness punctuated only by the dim, narrow light of a match and Rick’s harsh breathing, the overwhelming brightness of the outdoors combined with the sawing of the cicadas almost begs you to retreat back into the contained, comparative safety of the stairs rather than venturing out into the huge unknown of the world outside the hospital and its endless supply of the dead.

Shame that the hospital’s flickeringly dodgy power doesn’t include the EXIT sign. Aren’t those supposed to work even if nothing else does? Maybe it was crashed with whatever took out the clocks. (Hah.)

Every barefoot step Rick continues to take hurts. Like, there’s all kinds of shit on the ground, and I’m not just talking bits of wire and other stabby pieces of metal. There’s blood and guts – do you really want to be squishing that between your toes?? Also, I’ve let it go this far, but Rick is wearing his hospital gown backwards, and if he’s been in a coma he…really shouldn’t be wearing boxers (and should have been hooked up to a catheter, but I think watching Rick rip that out instead of pulling the IV from his hand might have been a bit too traumatising for the average viewer). So out here in the open air, with all the wrapped rows of the dead, we get our first obvious sign of decomp in the number of flies buzzing around, and some of the limbs look like they might be mottling from decomp (kind of hard to tell, though). I know I said I wasn’t going to get into the time problems, but I promise I’ll try to keep it to this paragraph. The fact that the hospital and town are both almost entirely deserted, as we’ll go on to see, certainly suggests a decent amount of time has passed, since it takes time for that many people to up and leave somewhere. (I’m really surprised that in this show they only ever seem to encounter major traffic pile-ups on freeways or similar; if the people in my town were trying to skedaddle, we’d all get stuck on the road outside my neighbourhood. Hell, until they put in roundabouts it backed up horrendously just for getting to the schools in the morning! You’re telling me everyone was able to get out of their neighbourhoods to get to the freeway in the first place? Bullshit.) The state of the dead half-lady Rick runs into outside also seems to support that, since she’s pretty decomposed (though weirdly looks more mummified than not, which is odd considering Georgia’s on the humid rather than the dry end of the heat spectrum). On the other hand, though, the state of decomp of the lady in the hospital hallway and the corpses outside the hospital point to not much time having passed; they’re still juicy, if you like. As the following episodes will go on to show via characters’ minimal clothing and copious amounts of sweat, Georgia is hot and humid, and I hate to tell you this, guys, but if you keel over in a climate like that, you decompose quickly. You bloat up and your skin slides right off, and it’s all extremely disgusting. But here there’s a stunning amount of intact left on these corpses considering, again, it’s Georgia. (Disclaimer: I am not a medical doctor, so my observations might not be medically valid. Then again, the very idea that dead people are wandering around eating people is … also not medically valid.) In any case, Rick should be walking through a soupy mess of liquefying human tissue seeping through the sheets wrapped around the dead (yum. One more reason to acquire footwear, mate). The bodies piled in the truck should be sliding over each other as decomposing human makes the sheets slippery. I suppose that’s a major flaw in zombie construction in this particular zompocalypse; it forgot to take account of actual decomposition in the specified climate. (The smell also ought to be enough to pretty well bowl Rick over, but again, everyone apparently has the opposite of super smell in this series, so we’ll let it slide). Of course, if corpses actually decayed like normal, they’d be rid of most of the zombies in no time.

There’s a weirdly small amount of damage that’s been done to this hospital, from what little we’re shown. The hospital scene in “TS-19” suggests that bombing of the hospital, or nearby, has commenced, but all we see is a relatively small chunk of building missing, rather oddly in the middle of a wall, a downed ambulance sign, and then a bit more horizontal damage behind the military encampment when Rick gets up the hill. You’d think they’d have kept bombing, not least to eradicate the piles of corpses, but unfortunately we never really get to see much of the early days and the military reaction; we get snippets about bombing Atlanta and see Shane and Lori watch as Atlanta’s struck, and when Daryl and Carol stalk Grady Memorial there’s at least one shot of the city where it’s clearly suffered aerial bombardment. But there’s really not a lot of engagement with the drastic measures taken to try to control the situation, just the idea that those existed. Fear the Walking Dead, from my understanding, doesn’t really do much to deal with this either, despite ostensibly aiming to initially tackle the very period of time that The Walking Dead skipped over. So that’s a shame.

The military encampment is odd. Surely you’d only bail on things like helicopters and Humvees if you absolutely had to, since otherwise they seem to me like the first thing you’d hop into as an escape route (and certainly in season 3, the Governor indicates that military playthings are highly prized). Sure, maybe your random joe couldn’t commandeer a helo, but surely joe schmo could yoink a Humvee. I mean, if I were fleeing a hospital and there were a whole military encampment hanging out in the back yard that no one was minding, I’d be inclined to hijack something and zoom away. Operation Save the Toes! If a herd had passed through, surely we’d see more damage to what remains (for instance, would that nice tent still be standing?). Points, though, for framing of Rick against the broken military might that both visually and metaphorically shows us how small he is. Okay, so I have to ask: how far away from hospital did Rick and his family live? Because he appears to walk for quite a while – with a bullet wound that’s still healing! – and their house looks like it’s firmly in a nice suburban neighbourhood. So did he walk several miles to dead half-lady and steal her bike, or did he literally just walk down the street? Maybe the unhappiness in the soles of his feet is just being overwhelmed by, well, everything. All I can say is that I ran away from home barefoot around age 8 or 9 and ended up with such bruised and blistered feet – after maybe twenty minutes of walking total – that I couldn’t go to school for several days because I couldn’t walk. And I wasn’t even recovering from a gunshot wound!

(Also, can we talk about that hospital wristlet. That sucker should have waaay more info on it. Really, if nothing else I think we can conclude that the hospital Rick was admitted to post-shooting spent all their money on giant rooms and then forgot about actually hospitalling. Do we blame that on Georgia, America, or bad TV writing?)

CORAAAL!!

Further proof of the rapid adaptation of the human species: Rick spots the bike and goes AH YES MINE, sort of clocking the half of a lady ten feet away without really being fussed; maybe an hour (?) into his re-entry into this waking nightmare of a world, he’s already become so numbed to dead bodies hanging about that it barely registers until she moves. And, mind you, while he’s seen plenty of dead people, and seen undead fingers poking through the crack between doors, this is the first undead person he’s actually seen. His reaction to just…flee is very much in line with his general “holy fuck okay moving on” attitude that we’ve seen thus far; each thing is weirder and worse than the last, layering up the horror as a surreal reality that’s made even more bizarre by the utter lack of any living people to ground him. While his collapse and “is this real?” moment at the Grimes household is, I think, a bit misplaced, it’s also really understandable because everything he’s seen is so far out of the normal realm of expectation that the only logical reaction is to question reality. He’s almost certainly both dehydrated and undernourished, on top of which he’s been utilising muscles that haven’t been used in some time; probably the most unrealistic aspect of his first hours after waking up is that he actually manages to get out of hospital and home so easily, rather than keeling over somewhere in the street and becoming Walker O’s (part of a balanced breakfast!). Although I feel like I would have hit the “wake up” whacking yourself in the head point long before getting home and realising my family wasn’t there. I think I’d be more likely to believe I’d walk through the door and my family would be out than to believe that all of the dead or the moving dead were real. Obviously the latter for Rick makes the fact his family isn’t home that much more surreal and distressing, because thus far he appears to have awoken to a world where there are no living people aside from himself, thus leading to the conclusion that if there are only the dead and himself, Lori and Carl must be dead – but I think I’d crack before getting to that point. (Though I sometimes wake up in the morning and literally can’t tell reality from what happened in my dreams, so who am I to judge?)

Weirdly as well, there’s very little in the Grimes household that tells me anything about any of the family. I know Lori and Carly frolicked off with Shane super fast when everything went to hell and took pictures and photo albums, but this house (as excellent as it is) looks very much like a set. There’s nothing really personal. It’s weird. Who are the Grimes, even? It reminds me of my ex-boyfriend’s flat. No pictures, no posters, no books (!!), nothing on the walls, no trinkets or files or any personal touches at all (please don’t be a serial killer eek). No wonder Carl settles into the apocalypse quickly and Lori has no personality other than being a disaster. They had practically no pre-pocalypse life other than “I’m Rick’s child” and “I’m Rick’s bitchy wife.”

As Rick walks back out of his empty house, you can see that the letterbox appears to be full of envelopes. Do you suppose Lori wrote a bunch of letters to people on the off-chance they’d get picked up after she and Carl left town with Shane, or do you think the post carried on even after everything else collapsed? (Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds… Nor zombies either, apparently. Now I really want a series of shorts following a postman as she strives to deliver every letter she can (well, not the bills, obvs) even as the world continues to collapse around her head.)

Okay, so if you get home and discover your family is not there, and everything is topsy turvy and haywire and omg what the hell is even happening – who just goes and plonks outside to think? Surely you’d think “hmm, okay, maybe I should check the neighbours”?

Are overhead fans on the porch a southern thing? I can’t imagine having one here in the Pacific Northwest.

Can we talk again about how absurdly lucky Rick is when it comes to the existence of walkers in this town? The only ones in the hospital are literally chained behind doors with an explicit warning to piss off. The only one he encounters on his journey from hospital to home has no legs, and thus poses minimal threat to a man able to walk (or cycle, as the case may be). The first mobile walker he sees is in the distance and hasn’t noticed him yet, and before he has a chance to shout out and put himself in danger, Morgan and Duane ex machina themselves into position to not only take out the walker but also provide medical support. (I guess Rick’s just been running on…adrenaline? And yes, I know Rick also takes a shovel to the face – we’ll ignore the fact that there’s no apparent lasting damage from a shovel to the face, good grief – but that’s a far cry from the fate of having his flesh ripped from his bones before he even knew what walkers were. Boy, would that suck.) A whole bevy of walkers turn up that evening, ostensibly because Morgan had fired a gun, but then they all vanish by morning aside from a single walker still skulking around for the convenience of whacking practice. (I wonder what would have happened if the single walker still hanging around had been Morgan’s wife. Somehow I doubt he’d have been as willing for Rick to practise his new world survival skills on her.) Quite aside from his dubious hospital survival, Rick Grimes should be dead. I really wish this could be attributed to his cop training (but we know that shit is dubious as fuck), but unfortunately he’s just a dude wandering aimlessly who gets super lucky. Sigh.

(I can’t be the only one who looks at the walker Rick sees and thinks he must be either a mortician or a goth kid. That much black? When it’s apparently warm enough in Georgia that Rick is totally fine in your not-standard-issue hospital gown and boxers? Also, thanks camera for keeping the walker blurred out so we can’t tell he’s dead (did you save on makeup?), but in retrospect it kind of makes you wonder if Rick has eye problems. Now there’s a real problem in the apocalypse.)

Two things about Duane’s first appearance. First, he was inches away from Rick; how did he get enough room to swing a shovel? Second, wtf is Duane doing shrieking for his dad? He’s been living in this world for at least a month and his mum’s a zom: he has to know that walkers are drawn to noise, yet he’s yelping out like a wounded dog here. Apocalypse better, kiddo.

Rather hilariously, it’s when Rick sees Morgan casually shoot the walker through the head that he starts to panic. OMG HE KILLED A DUDE. I feel like with everything Rick’s seen so far he ought not to jump so quickly to the assumption that Morgan killed another living dude. Then again, he did just get whacked in the face with a shovel and should probably have a concussion, so…

Convenient that Rick passes out when Morgan threatens to kill him if he doesn’t answer, since given his current state I’m not sure he could have done coherently. Note to self: when faced with difficult or awkward questions, keel over. It’ll give you time to think.

The first conversation Rick and Morgan have when Rick first wakes up tied to the bed raises far too many questions related to how long Rick’s been in hospital and how bad his wound is. I…am not going to spend much time on this, because it’s a never-ending chase with no real answers. This is the scene that rips us out of the glorious silent exploration of Rick’s new apocalyptic world and thrusts us into exposition, which at least in this case has a reason given Rick’s total ignorance of the current state of the world – but it’s still exposition.

Anyway, briefly – didn’t Rick get hit from behind, under the armpit? Shouldn’t Morgan have had to change two dressings? But there’s only one, and moreover, Rick’s original bandaging didn’t come close to covering where the original gunshot entry wound was. Magical moving bullets! Mystery wounds! Exposition! Hurray!

Ugh, reasons never to work on The Walking Dead: you have to film in Georgia, and it’s hot and disgusting and everyone sweats, even at night. Blech. Thanks but no.

Morgan’s stupid use of the gun to kill the walker provides helpful exposition, but his reason for why he did it – “it all happened so fast, I didn’t think” – doesn’t make much sense. It was one walker, with no others anywhere in the apparent vicinity, and while his son had potentially whacked down another walker, there wasn’t exactly an urgent need to use the gun. And while I’m not sure that Rick would be able to articulate the idea that what Morgan killed was something other than a living human being, the fact that he’s so insistent that it must have been a man speaks to his desperation to cling to anything resembling normalcy, while unfortunately ignoring his experience since waking up in the hospital. What do you do when you don’t have the vocabulary to articulate what you’ve seen?

As an aside, Rick chained up to the headboard wearing his boxers and hospital gown kiiinda looks like he’s ready for someone’s doctor dom fantasy playtime fetish. Good thing Morgan’s not into that, right?

There’s something deliciously hilarious about Morgan warning/threatening Rick with his tiny little knife when the backdrop is such delightfully mundane floral pillowcases. Laura Ashley does not approve!!!

Why couldn’t Morgan have found Rick a snuggie? Or, I don’t know, slippers? Or socks? Or an actual bathrobe? He’s stuck with blankie chic.

I do love that shot though.

Sidebar, your honour, I have a digression to indulge.

Morgan’s “friend, you need glasses” is kind of hilarious given that now they’re into the apocalypse, sucks to be you if you have non-perfect sight or any medical problems requiring medication or other intervention. There’s a surprising lack of your average American with lots of health problems on TWD, perhaps in part as commentary that many of those individuals would have stood no chance against the relentless people-eating horde. While the introduction of Connie offers a welcome insight into how someone with a disability is able to survive in an apocalyptic situation, the show on the whole oddly glosses over that whole issue. America is not a healthy country (we weren’t pre-Covid and we’re certainly not doing well lately). Nearly half of Americans take prescription drugs, according to a survey from the National Center Health Statistics. Some of these are vital, in that without them the person would die sooner rather than later; others treat conditions that won’t kill you immediately if untreated, but will kill you eventually or will cause significant problems as time goes on; and still others treat conditions that, while usually debilitating, you can usually survive and be at least vaguely functional. Some medications can be substituted by herbal remedies (digitalis, marshmallow root), but many can’t. I have chronic fatigue syndrome and fibromyalgia, and deal with chronic pain and migraines; I take daily meds to counter both pain and migraine, as well as an assortment of supplements (and hayfever tablets, oh god) that I *can* function without, but which to do so would seriously suck. Where are these people in the apocalypse? There are so many people with disabilities or on medication who would be able to keep functioning as potentially beneficial partners in the post-apo world. Where are they? And where are the characters grappling with the choice of whether to sacrifice themselves or let their family and friends deal with an ongoing and worsening condition? The only times we really encounter that sort of thing are Milton’s test subject Michael Coleman, who ultimately dies of prostate cancer, the vatos’ little senior citizen safe haven, and Lilly and Tara’s father, all of whom are elderly. We only ever get a little blip of each of those instances, as well, in what appear to be relatively comfortable and secure locations, so we really don’t get a sense of how their frailties or differing abilities play into the survival of those around them. Hershel’s worst health problem was the leg amputated post-walker bite, and that ultimately was irrelevant to how he lived and died. I might be missing someone – I probably am – but it’s an oddity, one that I suppose arises out of both a narrative need – the elderly and disabled and sick are often viewed as less capable and thus less interesting except as an emotional zinger – and a practical in-world need that wants to focus on the strongest and most active rather than devoting time to people who’ve not only had to adapt emotionally but also physically and psychologically. I’ve got a main character in a post-apo situation who’s not only hauling herself through cities and forests with a bad lower back and weak hip and reliance on a cane but who also is unquestionably the leader of her group, because while her disability is not ideal in this post-civilised world, it doesn’t negate her value. The apocalypse doesn’t eradicate every non-fit, medicated adult, and leaving them out or using them as plot conveniences isn’t ideal. To get back to Morgan’s glasses comment – a quick google search suggests that around 61 percent of the population is reported to wear reading or visual aids at least occasionally. This probably isn’t nearly as many once you wipe out the need for reading glasses among the older population (and, you know, people in their 30s like me… *sob*), but nevertheless there’s a significant portion of the population who can’t see very well without glasses (and let me tell you, good luck getting contacts during the apocalypse). My sister is pretty well blind as a bat without glasses and has been since she was in middle school. Imagine how differently things might have played out if Carl’s vision had been super shitty.

Sidebar complete.

I like the all-male hand-holding over the meal prayer. There’s something sweet about it, a clinging to old habits even in chaos.

It’s interesting that Morgan asks Rick if he even knows what’s going on, because by this point it must be at least a month into apocalypse (per Morgan’s line later in the episode that the gas mains have been down a month or so) – what are the odds you’d run into a random person so utterly clueless a whole month in? I guess maybe the hospital gown, boxers, and bare feet clued him in.

I’ve been thinking this all episode: Rick’s beard is beautifully trimmed for a dude who’s been in a coma.

Rick’s response to Morgan’s “yep, the undead, they’ll try to eat you” line is so blasé it’s funny. Like he’s just so overwhelmed by everything of the day that zombie cannibals or whatever are hardly worth getting fussed over. He jumps right from sort of reacting “oh dead people” to going “so they’re out there? Okey-day then”. Meanwhile, Morgan’s cool air comment about drawing zoms never occurs again, and there’s such a time gap between the firing of the gun and the walkers skulking around outside the house that it’s odd they’re still hanging around. Actually, you see this too at the end of season 2, when the herd of walkers wanders out of Atlanta and eventually ends up on Hershel’s farm – they turn when they hear the gunshot, but how good are their powers of perception? Like, they’re attracted to sound – fine, whatever, I can buy that, fine – but a gunshot, for instance, is a single instance of noise that then dies away. If you’re not in the immediate vicinity, as a walker, how do you continue knowing where to go? The show suggests that when zoms are drawn by noise it’s like a magnet, pulling them in unerringly to the source of the sound, but how do they continue to know which is the right direction for ages after the sound has ceased? It’s not like they have a compass or GPS.

Aww, we’re still early enough in the apocalypse that car alarms still work.

Morgan’s wife makes me sad in a lot of ways. Obviously she’s undead and roaming around looking for her next snack and her son and husband love and miss her and find her undead state to be traumatic, but it’s not that specifically so much as the consequences down the line. Morgan and Duane stayed in the same house where Mama Morgan died, meaning they’re regularly within eyeshot, thus inflicting pain and anguish, or suffering the threat thereof, long after her actual death. (Yes, of course, they had a secure and safe base in the house and didn’t want to move, but still.) Morgan couldn’t kill his wife when she dies, the first time around (although that makes me wonder at what point she was booted outside, considering she died in the house; did they chuck her dead body out the front door before she turned, or wait until she was ambulatory and forcibly eject her?). This – I guess you could call it weakness – proves tragic. When Rick gives him a rifle, he sets out deliberately to kill her and still can’t. And then, because Morgan repeatedly failed to put her down, she ultimately causes the death of Duane – and Morgan takes the blame, flipping into a state of madness that operates until he meets the cheesemaker. (I’ll come back to Morgan in later posts. I have *thoughts* about him as both killer and pacifist.)

How do you grieve loss or try to move on if you can’t actually lay the dead to rest? It’s a question that I don’t think gets explored enough in the show, because most of the time everyone is so concerned with pressing on and surviving that grieving is set aside. I’m not going to go into this here, because there’s ample opportunity to do so in later episodes without needing to jump seasons ahead.

Early days: walkers attempting to work doorknobs are a thing, rather than just pawing at the door.

Man, I miss having a bat. I have a wok and a kitchen knife to protect against the undead these days…and assorted high heels, should it come to that. (Oh god the humanity. My shoes would be ruined!!)

There’s something adorable about Rick wearing a damn headshield mask as he waltzes out the door in the morning with his wooden baseball bat and WHITE T-SHIRT to whack the undead dude on the front walk to death. Where did the headshield mask come from? Did the Drakes just happen to have one in the back closet in case of a pandemic? (*sad hollow 2020 laughter*) In any case, it’s a laughable contrast with rest of the show; by the end of the season, no one gives a shit about facial protection or protecting the skin. Potential backsplatter? Eh, give it here, I bathe in zomgoo for the health benefits daily.

Lori appears to keep a glass jar of pinecones on a shelf. She also apparently took framed photos from the wall in addition to the photo albums. At least one photo album makes an appearance in this season, but unless Morgan repurposed the empty frames for defensive purposes, there’s no indication ever of what Lori did with those framed photos. (Sadly, the photo album is lost when they flee Hershel’s farm. One assumes, anyway, since Carl later gets hold of a single photo for Judith because there are no others.)

Atlanta as a safe haven/refugee centre is…well, it’s a plot point to get Rick where he needs to go. Realistically, you don’t want to go into an urban centre when there’s a pandemic. In America, Covid is now hitting rural areas with force, but pretty much all of the early outbreaks and spread were in urban areas. And that’s without the added complication of the dead getting back up again! Cities obviously have more resources, but… I dunno. Although, to be fair, unlike Covid or the flu or the common head cold, zombieism appears only to transmit through bites (since we don’t yet know that everyone is infected!), like rabies, rather than being so contagious that if someone breathes on you, you’re sick. But even then – even accepting that people think that it’s passed solely through bites and not any other way – being bitten doesn’t necessarily mean instant death (Carl is perhaps the most obvious example of this, I think, but Jim and Deanna both also survive for a time after being chomped), so you could conceivably be bitten in a non-obvious area (your side, for instance), waltz into a populated area with only minor symptoms or hop on a plane and then be released into the population of another country, only to then actually die and start to nom people. Eh.

How many sets of keys do the Grimeses have??

I’d suck in the apocalypse because without showers I’d be so sad.

Ah, bonding is always best when undertaken half-naked and wrapped in a pristine white towel.

Duane is adorable. Why couldn’t we get a show following Duane and his sass?

This episode is almost entirely about following Rick in his discovery and acceptance of this new, batshit life, but in some ways I wish we’d got a snippet of flashback with Morgan and Duane and Lady Morgan. It wouldn’t really have fit into the episode, but I can dream.

Rick showers and puts his uniform on rather than civvies. The implication here is that the uniform retains a certain power – protect and serve – so anyone living who sees him would know that here’s a person whose job is to help. Contrasts sharply with the police officer in the second episode of Fear the Walking Dead who’s stockpiling water and clearly has already shifted over to an every-man-for-himself mindset. In light of America’s current epidemic of problematic police officers, it’s interesting to contemplate differences had TWD first aired in 2020. Or had it aired, for instance, in the Pacific Northwest or Northeast, which generally tend to have a more left-skewing and police-condemning attitude.

I mentioned guns briefly earlier, but seasons 1 and 2 have this cute “must respect guns” thread underlying any use of a firearm. Here Duane wants to learn to shoot, but both Morgan and Rick make sure to emphasise that he has to respect the weapon – “Yeah, it’s not a toy, son, when you pull the trigger you gotta mean it.” Season 2 has Shane (and Andrea) flouncing about articulating THOUGHTS about gun ownership and use and training. After that? Welp, fuck it. You get a gun! And you get a gun! And you get a gun! To be clear, I do think if you’re going to handle a gun you should know how to do so properly and safely, but in the context of the Walking Dead it’s an early seasons thing that’s totally dropped by season 3 as the zompocalypse marches on and nobody got time for that shit anymore. (I’ll get around to discussing the shooting practice in season 2 later…)

I don’t know if it’s just the camera angles, but when Rick remarks that a lot of the armoury is gone, it seems like a massive understatement – from what we see, almost all of the guns are gone. Which might be a prop issue (although given the number of guns floating around on this show you wouldn’t think that would be a problem), but does sort of make season 3’s trip to the ol’ hometown with Michonne and Carl kind of funny given that all the guns are gone if there were never really any left to begin with. (And, thinking about it, when Rick is trying to justify going back into Atlanta to get Merle, he comments that he cleaned out the armoury, which makes it even odder that Rick decides to go back for weapons against the Governor et al.

“Conserve your ammo. It goes faster than you think, especially at target practice.” Unless you’re in season 2 on Hershel’s farm, in which case everyone has so much ammo that they’ll never run out.

I know Rick is still in early days of understanding the apocalypse, but it’s still sweet, and ridiculous, that he gives Morgan a radio with the expectation they’d continue chatting and catch up with each other. It also highlights Morgan’s downfall: the unwillingness to get involved in others’ business. He could go with Rick and probably be safer, not least because there’s two grown men to protect one boy, but he instead waits – ostensibly to up his and Duane’s shooting proficiency, but ultimately we see that it’s very much about the unfinished business with his wife.

As an aside, it seems the police station was useful for (1) hot showers and (2) guns and ammo. I’ve never been in a police station, but weirdly I’d have thought they’d have supplies stashed away. Rick and co. didn’t even have a gander at what might be there. But again, early days, I suppose!

RIP Leon Basset.

I love how Morgan hammers the shit out of the wood he’s using to barricade the door. I guess the zoms are conveniently faffing about elsewhere. Especially funny given that he then goes upstairs to snipe walkers, none of whom seem to have noticed the hammering. Are hammers just soundproof??

Christ Morgan’s wife is beautiful.

There’s something…poignant about Rick tracking down the first living dead person he ever knew in order to put her to rest. It’s the same kind of early apocalypse care that we see in “Guts,” when he stops to look through the walker’s wallet so they know the life of the undead man they’ve killed. His sorrow and tendency towards mercy are both here clearly indicated and provide a sharp contrast with the man he becomes. The mercy and drive to do what’s right is what results in him feeling he has to go back to Atlanta to get Merle, what makes him so adamant that they don’t kill the living and should strive to go where there might be a cure, what drives him to hop off the road and go after Sophia and to keep optimistically searching for her. There’s a sweet innocence there that still exists because he came to the zompocalypse after the fact and still retains a strong need to do what’s right that time living in zombieland will beat out of him. The parallelism in this section of the episode, which switches between Rick and Morgan’s actions after leaving the police station, also highlights the difference between having to kill someone you love vs. killing someone you don’t know (or, rather, have no personal attachment to; Rick kills Leon Basset with few qualms, but also frames it as mercy).

Rural Georgia looks hot. And sticky. Thank God my sister didn’t end up moving to the south.

Are the cracks in the windshield and the dirty appearance of the glass supposed to be the result of the apocalypse, or just their police department being a bit short on funds? (Also, it’s Rick’s face in a cracked mirror! Premonitions of mad Rick??) At least Rick’s got his windows rolled up like a sensible person.

Initial observations of Camp Outside Atlanta:

Dale is wearing glasses that I *think* never appear again.

Amy is carrying an armful of kind of hilariously long twigs.

WHY IS AMY WEARING WHITE TROUSERS IN THE APOCALYPSE THIS IS A TERRIBLE DECISION.

Who on earth is on watch on the RV? From a distance it looks, frame-wise, like either Shane or Daryl, but Shane makes his appearance to the side and Daryl is off on a hunt, so who’s this? Actually, in general, it’s kind of amusing that there’s a whole slew of other people in this camp (mostly older/heavier people, based on visibility) that are just sort of vaguely there until the walker attack. It’s actually a shame, really that they didn’t do anything other than plonk some irrelevant extras in the background; it means that when they all die, it means pretty much nothing as a viewer. (I’ll come back to this.)

Shane has great hair. Shame he shaves it off later…

It’s difficult to see when you’ve watched the episode multiple times, but we don’t know what either Lori or Carl look like before they appear in the quarry group receiving Rick’s radio call – we only actually realise who they are when Rick flips down his visor. And, actually, despite what I said above, Lori’s first appearance is not that bad. She observes that there are others – Shane sort of dismisses it with “oh well we knew that.” And then she says that they ought to put up warning signs on Highway 85 to warn people away from the city. Which is smart. Yes, it’s potentially dangerous, but as we’ll go on to learn, they’ve sent people to Atlanta with no previous problem, on top of which the road into town is absolutely empty – Glenn’s exit from Atlanta on the same road Rick rode in on tells us that the road Lori is talking about here is the same road Glenn and Rick have been in and out on. And this is the first time that Shane puts forward an argument that’s just plain wrong. He says they’ve had no time. Okay, fair enough – but they have a group of five literally in Atlanta as they speak. And based on Glenn’s exit path on the way back to the quarry, that group of five followed the same route in. Setting aside the question of why the hell their scavenging team apparently couldn’t stop along the road to place a “Stay Away, Walkers Ahead” sign, Shane’s argument is that they can’t spare the time to place the sign, because it’s “a luxury we can’t afford.” This makes no sense. As we’ll go on to see, this isn’t the first time someone from their group has gone into Atlanta (although it turns out that Glenn, their “go to town” man, has previously only gone himself, without anyone else). Everyone else up by the quarry is basically just fucking around doing nothing. The fact of the matter is that putting up a sign to warn people away from the city isn’t a luxury, but rather a helpful, logical, and overwhelmingly safe thing to do. Shane’s objection comes, in the first instance, from a man reluctant to relinquish control; it’s clear that Shane is viewed as a decision maker with practical knowledge the other survivors lack, and as a result of that knowledge is viewed as a leader. It’s an important if subtle moment in which Shane is established as the leader of the camp, a position that he then unwillingly gets shoved out of when Rick turns up. It is interesting, though, that here Lori is gung-ho about leaving their mountain and going down to put up a sign, while she later adamantly vetoes her husband going back to Atlanta. Shane’s argument is that no one goes anywhere alone, but given later events, it seems that Shane’s objection is not that someone wants to go warn people away from Atlanta, or that they want to risk Atlanta itself, as much as it is his desire to not let Lori be in danger. And Lori’s frustration at Shane’s decree is obvious – and yet she relents and gives in once kisses are to be had. Shane following Lori to verbally whack her for even thinking of putting herself in danger just points up Shane’s chauvinism. NOT LEAST BECAUSE, OH MY GOD, HE CALLS HER GIRL. SHE’S A WOMAN, YOU TWAT. If the argument had been made that Lori shouldn’t go because she has a son, and she shouldn’t risk him being an orphan – that I could understand. But Carl is so side-lined here that he’s really just a reason to make Shane and Lori stop kissing. Sigh.

God I wish Lori would have socked Shane in the eye. He does have nice hair, though.

Also, those are some *really* nice giant tents. Although my best friend’s adventures have made clear to me that I have unrealistically small expectations about tents.

I’m a little concerned about the condition of the windows of Rick’s cop car. They’re…disgusting. The driver’s side front and back windows look equally awful – I guess it’s good the apocalypse happened, because good luck seeing traffic out those windows. His windshield doesn’t look much better. Is over-enthusiastic pollen a thing in Georgia??

So, about the dead couple whose farm Rick encounters/steals a horse from. They’re both dead, woe, sadness, etc. What I’m fascinated about is that dude took the time to shoot his wife, and then decided to write a message IN HER BLOOD on the damn wall. I mean, okay, you wanted absolution for killing your wife and being about to kill yourself. But you kill your wife and then use her blood to write on the wall??

Signs that Rick is still in early days acceptance: he doesn’t enter the house with two clearly dead people (and thus likely no walkers) and then has a sit on a bench, throws up, and then goes in search of alternative transportation.

…that poor horse.

Is horse-taming a southern thing? I feel like I’d be terrified enough of the giant heavy horse to…not approach it.

Iconic shot!

It’s stunning that Rick has encountered zero walkers aside from the little girl. Works with the need for the story to move along, but is silly in terms of later walker distribution (ignoring season 2, which is its own special disaster).

Is everything flat in Georgia? Legitimate question. The extent of my knowledge of Georgia is a flight transfer through Atlanta. (Atlanta airport employees are all super nice, though.)

There’s something about the two zomdudes hanging out on a bus that cracks me up. How do walkers decide to just park it somewhere? “Ah yes, I recognise this bus, I’ve taken it to work every day for ten years. Definitely the best place to spend eternity.” It’s also odd but entertaining that the two dudes on the bus are repeatedly seen once Rick is in the horde and then in the tank. Why these two? Yeah, they’re the first Atlanta walkers he passed by, but they’re not exactly presented as special or important enough to appear repeatedly. Rick pops out of the top of the tank and whacks the one across the face, and the other skulks around the base of the tank and makes eye contact.

One of the weirdest and most uncomfortable moments in this episode, for me, is the two crows nomming the dead military officer. Caw caw! There’s a mild horror at the thought of ever being carrion. Though I guess everyone is just food for something else…

I can forgive Rick for a number of odd decisions based on the fact that he’s really only been awake for, what, two days? Maybe three? He’s still adapting to the new world, learning its rules, etc. But he rides a damn horse into a major city and is just generally not concerned. He comments to the horse when they pass the bus with the two walkers that it’s no big deal, they can outrun them – and yet somehow doesn’t think ahead about the existence of the dead in a major city. I guess it can sort of be attributed to the fact that he’s encountered remarkably few dead, plus in his brain Atlanta and its refugee centres are the answer to everything. He just hasn’t actually thought about it.

And, again, I’m stunned at the amount of abandoned military equipment. I guess the moral of the story is “don’t trust the military, don’t trust the government, they can do fuckall to help you.”

So Rick sees a helicopter. When he meets the others after Glenn rescued him, they ridicule the idea that helicopters still exist. Which brings up two instances. Firstly, beginning of season 3, when Andrea and Michonne witness a helicopter crash with military dudes who’ve got others attached to them. Secondly, the helicopter that rescues Rick and has apparently set up Rick Grimes’s future films. I just wish I knew where this particular helicopter was from and where it was going.

For a cop, even one with minimal experience with the world as it is now, Rick is an idiot. He lunges forward as stupidly as he went forward alone in his confrontation with the idiot car guys. Surely you should be thinking ahead? He’s in relatively unknown territory in a relatively new world. I’m not saying he should have anticipated a horde of dead people, but you’d think he’d exercise as least some caution, especially when his nearby décor indicates that the damn military was swamped with the enemy, such that they fucked off elsewhere. But maybe it’s just me.

Ooh, look, an extra drinking water.

I like that the makeup artists decay the walkers more each season. Season 1, most of them are sort of “hai I’m a regular human, I just have some dramatic injuries and some zombie eyes.” They look like people who are mostly dead but haven’t started to decompose. (I’d never be hired as a walker – the longer the show goes, the more they need skinny people so the makeup and prosthetics aren’t so obvious…and I am not skinny.)

That poor horse…

Yet again, Rick seriously lucks out. We see him multiple times with “omg dead people” face, with walkers just sort of lurking/dancing in place because they can’t lunge in or he’d be dead. And then there’s conveniently a tank above him. I’ve never been able to decide whether Rick going “Lori, Carl, I’m sorry” and then putting his gun to his head is a genuine “Oh no, I’m about to die” or if he’d realised the hatch was above him and so it was a “welp if I die, I love you.”

Men have huge feet. Yeek.

It’s stunning how long Rick’s in the tank with a zombot before said zombot wakes up and attempts a menacing growl. Not least because Rick’s so overwhelmed at having been upwardly mobile that he completely fails to take in his surroundings. (Although, as we’ve seen, Rick has never been great at checking his surroundings. Dude should be walkerbait by now.)

Oh no, a walker. Haaalp.

I do appreciate that Rick suffered auditory pain from firing a gun in an enclosed metal space. I also find it funny that one of the buszoms comes into his eyesight, like for some reason he's important.

“Hey, you. Dumbass.” Glenn is fucking amazing and iconic. I wish he'd been the main of this show. No offense to Andrew Lincoln, of course, but Steven Yeun is great, and Glenn's development from a kid into an adult is just lovely.

Anywho, that marks the end of "Days Gone Bye." Good in so many ways, eh in so many others. What's not to love?

love em

5 notes · View notes

noonaduck · 4 years

Text

The puppet in the painting

Pairing: BTS Yoongi x reader Genre: Halloween special, oneshot,horror(?),Supernatural au,marionette au, smut, angst Warnings: Umm sex, oral (forr mallleee), mild bondage/marionette play Words: 7108 A/N: Aaand its out. I hope you enjoy my attempt to write something different. I’m not 100% happy with this but I decided that it is good as I am able to write it. HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

Since you were little you were excited and scared to visit your grandfather from your father's side. Your family was from old money and you could see that from the clothes you wore and behavior you were expected to follow. Your grandfather lived in big mansion in middle of woods next to deep lake. During the day the mansion looked peaceful and serene but during the night the shadows turned long and the water seemed dark and ominous. Your grandmother had died before you were able to meet her and only memory of her was huge painting in the mansion's entrance hall. She was a proud woman with straight posture and emotionless face. In the picture she held an old marionette who was wearing a black and white costume with a matching hat. His face was painted with white and his lips and cheeks were colored with black. The doll's bright red hair and brown plastic eyes were in big contrast with his black and white outfit. The puppet was as emotionless as your grandmother, maybe even bored looking. The puppet's string were hanging loosely from it's arms and streamed down to your grandmothers heavy dress. The painting was always something that mesmerized and scared you at the same time. The reason for the puppet being in the picture was beyond of your knowing and every time you asked about it your grandfather turned silent and even your parents didn't know the reason but neither seemed to care.

You could clearly remember the night way back when you were seven because the memory caused shivers to run in your spine. The storm was hitting hard and you could hear the wind howling and whipping the old windows outside. The rain was pouring so hard that you weren't able to see anything if you made the mistake looking out of the window. The moon and the stars has decided to hide on that night and only light in the sky was occasional flashes piercing the darkness. The storm wasn't the reason for you being awake in middle of night, in fact you found the storm quite beautiful. The minor reason for you being awake was the thirst that had woken you up. You were sleeping alone in big room which was meant for you to use every time you visited your grandfather. The room was in the third floor of the mansion and so in highest, if you didn't count the attic. Your grandfather's and parents' room was one below you so you were basically alone. You get up from your huge canopy bed and seek the bedside lamp with your small hands. When you are able to locate the light you turn it on with soft click and dim light flows into the room. The furniture in the room is way too stiff for a seven years old. Big dark mahogany table is pushed against the left wall and tall chair is paired with it. Your bed doesn't have a sing of you being a child, there is no ponies on your bed sheets, instead plain light purple patterns covers your bed. The walls are grey with dark shapes which almost look like a smoke and the lighting in the room is creating tall shadows on the walls. The wooden floor is cold under your feet when you start to walk towards the door on opposite wall of your bed and window. You weave between your toys on the floor which are only sign that a child lives in the room and turn the knob carefully. You don't want to make a sound even you know that there isn't a danger of waking anyone up. The hallways are dark but you remember your way by the memory so the navigation isn't that difficult. The rug on the hallways is ruff under your feet and you wish that you would have sworn some slippers but you did not want to turn back, your throat was dry and itching. Another flash illuminates the sky and you can see the thunder rolling clearly from the hallway windows. You finally reach the staircase and begin to climb down the stairs. You know where you need to step more lightly to avoid the old wood creaking. Now you have reached the second floor where your family is sleeping and your movements gets more careful. You glance towards their rooms but nothing but silence greets you. You knew that if your parents or even grandfather knew you were up this late you would get scolding. You start to move again and you reach the first floor quickly. The entrance hall isn't completely dark, old wall lights creates a small glow in the room. Every time you were in this big space your attention would automatically drawn towards the painting like you were under a spell. You see your grandmother sitting again on her seat looking all high and mighty with the puppet on her... wait where is the puppet? You rub your eyes and look back up again and the puppet is nowhere to be seen, instead your grandma's arms are tightly on her lap. Everything else is the same except the missing doll. Small scream escapes your lips and you hurry to cover your mouth with shaky hand. Feeling of being watched takes over you and you look back towards the stairs, maybe your parents has woken up and found you missing from your bed. There is no one and your eyes turn slowly back towards the painting of your grandmother. The puppet has returned to its place. Did you imagine the whole thing? No, you were sure that the puppet was gone. You had lost your will to drink water and you decide to return to your room. You never told anybody what you saw or what you think you saw because surely they would think you would be insane, even in your age you knew that it was wiser to keep your mouth shut.

present day You watched how the taxi drove away and left you on the doorsteps of your grandfathers house. You were wearing warm wool coat over your knee length black dress and on your hand was a heavy suitcase. You had come to visit your grandfather after his health has gotten worse. Doctors were sure that he didn't have many years left. You walk up the wide stairs and press the old door bell which lets rattling noise. Soon hurried steps comes towards the door and a handsome young man opens the door. You have never seen him before and look him surprised. He is wearing black straight pants and white button up shirt. His light brown hair is pushed backwards and pair of round glasses is covering his bright brown eyes. When he sees you wide dimpled smile rises to his face. ''Uh, hi. I'm looking for my grandfather.'' You tell awkwardly. ''I guessed that much, I'm Namjoon your grandfathers care taker. Please come in.'' The man tells and steps away from the door. By your surprise every where is white sheets covering the furniture and the floors seems to be in need of dusting. The image is so far from your childhood memories that you blink for a few times. ''After your grandfather fired everyone else except me it has been hard to keep the place clean.'' Namjoon tells apolitically. ''What? Why he would do such a thing?'' You ask confused and put your suitcase on the floor while Namjoon shuts the front door.

''It's beyond me, the only reason that I'm still here is that he can't survive alone. Speaking of your grandfather he is waiting you at the living room. You can leave your bag by the stairs, I will take it to your room later.'' Namjoon tells and begins to walk towards your grandfather's location. You do as he says and hurry after him. Even tough this isn't your first visit at least five years has passed from your last stay. When you arrive in to the living room you find your grandpa sitting on heavy armchair covered in blankets. A tube is on his face going to his nose and its connected to oxygen tank. Last time when you saw your grandfather he still had black hair left, now the grey has taken over his hair and his wrinkles has deepened and got more visible. His dark eyes brightens up when he sees you. ''Y/N, its so good to see you. Come here my child so I can see you better.'' He says with raspy voice and you go to stand in front of his chair. Your grandfather has always been strict but under his actions love was always visible even more than with your parents behavior. Your grandfather excepted you always be polite in your doings and walk your back straight and chin held high. You had been so relived when your parents had split up five years ago and you were left live with your mom. All they had done was fight behind closed doors but for the outside world they showed nothing more than perfection and flawless family. Even when you were alone with your mom she wasn't more affectionate, you were a grown woman already after all. You had lost contact with your father's side relatives after your parents divorce and were surprised when your grandfather send you a letter requesting you to visit. Of course your mother was against it but what she could to her adult daughter? Nothing except ignore her like a child. ''Hey grandfather, I missed you.'' You tell with soft smile and take his fragile hands in to yours. ''I missed you do, its been too long. You have already met Namjoon, he is here take care of me.'' ''And to learn from the best writer of all the time.'' Namjoon adds with grin and your grandfather chuckles lightly but soon his laugh turns into coughs and Namjoon hurries to give water to your grandfather putting the glass on his lips. You look worriedly your grandfather when he takes a long gulp of water and his coughing calms. Your grandfather has indeed made a career worth of mentioning, his books has sold over million copies even when his writing career has been just a hobby for him, he really didn't have to work to be able to live comfortably. ''Are you okay?'' You ask worriedly and Namjoon puts the glass away. ''I'm fine, I'm fine. Don't worry about me.'' Your grandfather dismisses your worries. ''So I heard that you have fired all your staff, why is that?'' You ask worriedly and your grandpa frowns. ''They were on the way and did not do anything right. I decided that I'm better without them. All those gossiping servants were good for nothing.'' He huffs. ''But you kept Namjoon.'' You add confused and glance the man in question. ''Only because I refused to leave and camped on the yard for few days.'' Namjoon tells and you feel quite grateful towards the man. ''Luckily I did so because soon after that Henry's state got much worse and he is barely able to do anything...'' ''Enough, don't tell your tales to my granddaughter.'' Your grandpa interrupts Namjoon's story. ''Why didn't I know anything about this?'' Quilt about being away for five years was eating you alive. During the time of your parents divorce you were still underage and now in age of twenty-three you felt guilty that you hadn't visited as soon as you turned eighteen. Because I did not want you or your father worry for nothing.'' Your grandpa tells and takes his hands away from yours. ''You must be tired. I have asked Namjoon to prepare your old room for you, go there and rest. We have plenty of time to talk later.'' He adds and you sigh. You knew it was useless to argue with your grandfather, it was like talking to walls. ''Follow me then, I ques''Namjoon says and you obey him without word. When you return to the entrance hall your eyes slides to the painting, you can't miss it because its right in front of your eyes when you enter, and cold chills runs on your spine. Namjoon doesn't seem to notice your discomfort and picks your suitcase from the floor starting to walk up the stairs. You notice the addition of small elevator chair installed on the stairs so the steps would be easier to handle for your grandfather. You follow Namjoon in silence you don't know what to say to him after all he was stranger to you and neither Namjoon doesn't seem to need of filling the space with meaningless chitchat. When you walk along the hallways you notice that all the paintings on the walls are also covered in white sheets which makes it more strange that the painting in the entrance hall was on display. Still you decide against commenting against it and you finally reach the door of your room. ''Here we are. I hope that you like it, I uh did my best while cleaning.'' Namjoon says and opens the door without much ceremony. Everything is like you remember except the lack of toys of course. ''Seems clean to me.'' You tell and Namjoon lets relieved sigh out of his lips. ''Um, if you need anything come to find me. My room is on opposite of Henry's.'' Namjoon tells and leaves without other goodbyes. When you are finally alone you take of your jacket and shoes and fall to your bed with loud thud. Your grandfather was right after all, you were feeling tired. Your eyes were quick to close and you drifted in to dreamland. ~ You spend as much time as you could with your grandfather and get to know Namjoon better along the way. You learn that he comes from middle classed family and he has been always big fan of your grandfather's and he was the reason for Namjoon starting to write. Namjoon had send one of his short stories to your grandfather to read but not expecting nothing much in return. He told that he was speechless when his idol has wrote him back and even wanted to meet him. Soon Namjoon become student of your grandfathers and rest was history. Namjoon was kind and caring by nature and even without being asked has taken over of taking care of your aging grandparent. Namjoon had told that he didn't miss his boring office work in buzzing city and quite enjoyed the quiet and peace of the mansions location. Your respect towards him grow day by day. You were sitting in the living room on the evening and Namjoon tried to teach you how to play chess. Your grandfather had gone to sleep long time ago so you were alone. The night was same as any regular night and it was only a coincidence that Halloween has arrived. You weren't big fan of Halloween, in fact you hated everything scary. Your grandfather had said that he was too old for Halloween and neither Namjoon didn't seem to care about the festival.

''This is hopeless.'' You sigh when once again Namjoon is able to topple your king.

''Don't say that, with some practice I'm sure that you will be a great chess player.'' Namjoon assures and flashes quick smile to you. ''It's easy for you to say that.'' You huff. ''You are basically genius.'' ''pfft, I'm far form it. Being book smart wont take you far.'' ''Whatever you say.'' You roll your eyes for the man opposite of you. ''Do you want to do something else then?'' Namjoon asks arching his brow and you shake your head. ''Nah, its pretty late. I think that I take a bath and go to sleep.'' You say while yawn escapes your mouth. ''Okay, sleep well.'' Namjoon says and picks up a book which he has been reading. ''I will go soon to bed as well.'' You tell your goodnights and head out of the room. You avoid watching the painting while you climb up the stairs and when you reach the third floor you walk straight to bathroom opposite of your room. The bathroom is old looking and big bronze bathtub is located in middle of it. You take your clothes of and put them on the bench in the room and turn the tabs open. The bathtub is so old that there is two tabs, one for cold and another for hot water. it takes quite some time to find right temperature but when you do you hum happily. You wait the tub filling while sifting from one foot to another impatiently. The floor tiles felt cool under your feet and you regretted taking your clothes of before the tub was ready. When the tub is full of steaming water you climb in and sigh happily when the hot water caress your skin. For a while you just enjoy yourself and let the warmth surround you. When the water is turning cooler you finally begin to wash your hair while singing with low voice. You were actually quite shy with your singing voice and only sang if you were sure that no one was around. You close your eyes and rinse your shampooed hair when you open your eyes again you scream. You see pair of glowing brown eyes staring you from the mirror. The bathroom door slams open and worried looking Namjoon steps inside. ''Y/N whats wrong, are you okay I heard screaming and- oh um you are naked great, shit.'' Namjoon rambles and hurries to cover his eyes. You feel embarrassed and shaken at the same time and hurry to cover yourself with your arms. ''I saw pair of glowing eyes in the mirror.'' You tell with shaky voice. ''wait how you are even here? I thought that you were going to read.'' You add quickly. ''I was going to give you the book which you wanted to read while I remembered it and when I was walking to your room I heard screaming and wait- did you say you saw pair of eyes? Are you sure?'' Namjoon says all this while covering his eyes. ''I'm quite sure. Do you mind to turn around so I can get up from the tub.'' You ask. ''Yes of course, I wont even peek. But are you sure about what you saw? Maybe the Halloween made you imagine things.''' Namjoon continues to speak while facing the wall and you climb from the tub and put a robe around you. ''I'm all covered now.'' You tell and Namjoon returns to look at you again. He can't deny the fact that you look beautiful even in your bathrobe H/C hair soaked and face bare from make up. The fact that he saw more that he was supposed didn't help him surpass the feeling. Namjoon felt the need to please you so he decided to agree with you even if he didn't believe you. ''So can you tell me what the eyes looked like?'' Namjoon asks curiously and tries to avoid staring your particular body parts. You are completely ignorant of Namjoon's little crush to you and the eyes were still haunting you so you didn't even notice his lingering looks. ''Well, they were brown and glowed unnatural light.'' You tell hesitantly. ''Do you have any idea where those eyes came from?'' Namjoon asks also hesitating and even you start to doubt yourself. Maybe you were just too jumpy and overreacting. ''Maybe you are right, I'm imagining things.'' You admit and hug yourself. ''Thank you for coming to look that I was okay.'' ''Its no problem. Um, do you want that I stay with you tonight or are you okay by yourself?'' Namjoon asks and feels his cheeks heating from his suggestion. He secretly hoped that you would say yes. ''There is no need, thanks. I can manage. So Can I have that book now?'' You ask glancing the book still in Namjoon's hands. ''Yes sure, of course. If you need me just give me a call.'' Namjoon says and hands the book to you disappointed. You smile happily and wave to Namjoon by your bedroom door when he disappears to the stairs. You put the book away and change in to loose white top and silk shorts which you use when you sleep. Even when you close your eyes you can see the glowing eyes in your mind. ~ You wake up for a strange feeling. You can't quite pinpoint what it is but suddenly the room feels much colder than usual. You shiver and pull your blanket higher up to your shin scanning around your room. You see nothing out of place, just darkness creating its shadows. You glance to the left and to the right for one more time for good measure and your eyes stop on the figure standing next to your bed on your right side. You open your mouth ready to scream when a clothed hand comes to cover your lips. You look up horrified and see the familiar glowing eyes greeting you- ''Shh everything is okay.'' You hear a low male voice saying. You can't see him clearly because of the darkness but you are already shaking. ''Who are you? what you want from me?'' You ask with scared voice and squeeze your blanket tightly in your hands. ''I have been watching you Y/N for a long time now. I Assure that I'm not here to hurt you.'' The figure tells and suddenly small light appears in to the room. He had turned your nightstand lamp on so you could see him better. It was the puppet from the painting. He was wearing same black and white outfit as in the painting and his red hair was bright under his hat. His face was lacking details except the black lips and blush. When the puppet sees you looking him with so scared face he reaches to his face and to your surprise removes a mask covering it. You haven't even known he wore any it was fitting on his face like a second skin. Underneath of the mask was revealed a beautiful man with pale skin, slightly ajar brown eyes and and plump light pink lips. ''Who are you?'' You repeat still shaken despite his more humane look. ''Your grandmother called me Suga but my true name is Yoongi.' The puppet tells flashing gummy smile. Without asking your permission hi sits in the end of your bed and crosses his legs. ''In every Halloween the curtain between a living and the spirit world is at it thinnest and I'm able to leave my prison to roam free.'' He continues picking his nails lazily even if they are covered with gloves. ''You said prison, are you dangerous?'' You ask and hope that you could back more but you are already against your bedpost. Yoongi looks up and something sifts in his eyes. ''I'm not. I haven't been in long time.'' Then he grins happily. ''Can you tell me why you are trapped in my grandmothers painting then?'' You ask meanwhile you begun to slightly relax despite your unusual visitor. ''I'm a spirit formed by darkness. Long time ago a powerful witch summoned me to be his familiar, a companion of sorts, and I was bind to them. The witch was powerful as she was gruel. Nothing could stop her and she enjoyed feeding from the fear caused by her actions. I didn't care what we did as long as it brought me a pleasure. After few years of our rampage a coven of powerful witches decided to end our time of terror. They burned the witch on stake and captured me into the canvas. Originally your grandmother wasn't even in the painting. She found the piece from the attic of this house when she was on her twenties and somehow ended up loving it or should I say me. How I ended up in the attic is still mystery to me, one day I just woke up and saw dust and spider webs all around me. I had already spend quite a time in the canvas and I got curious about your grandmother who was always admiring me. So on the Halloween after our first meeting I left the painting and confronted her. You can believe that she was scared like you are now when I talked to her for a first time. Year after that I visited her again, she hadn't get rid of my picture which made me surprised by the way and this time she was prepared. She wanted to help me out of the painting but sadly it wasn't that easy. I'm only able to roam free on Halloween.'' Yoongi ends his story while he shrugs his shoulders. ''How my grandmother ended up into your painting then?'' ''Well after she died your grandfather ordered a painter add her in to my picture, after all I was her favorite thing.'' Yoongi chuckles. ''What if the canvas are destroyed?'' You ask out of curiosity. Yoongi's face turns into serious mask. ''I'll die.'' Your own face fells as well and Yoongi leans towards you on your bed. He is so close that you can feel his cold breath on your skin. Your body goes stiff but it relaxes again when Yoongi swipes a curl of hair away from your face. Yoongi gives you little more space and withdraws further in your bed but is still closer than before. ''I have lived a long life and if I'm going to meet my end I'm not regretting anything. Specially after I have met your grandmother and now you.'' Yoongi assures and takes his gloves of. Your eyes widens when you see his fingers, his joints are unnatural and indeed look like ones that belongs to a doll. You can see the small nails in his fingers. You let small gasp out of your mouth and Yoongi smiles in amusement for your reaction. ''Quite ugly, aren't they? '' He asks and waves his fingers in front of your face. ''I wouldn't say that they are ugly, just quite different.'' You hurry to assure. By Yoongi's and your's surprise you take his right hand to yours and give small peeks to his knuckles. You could swear that you saw a small blush cover the puppets cheeks while he stays still letting you do how you please. Your curiosity has taken over and its your turn to lean closer to his face. ''Can I touch you?'' You ask your hand hovering right above his cheek. Yoongi nods for an answer and you press your fingers gently on his cheeks. His skin feels unnatural under your finger tips, its like you are touching a wax, the feeling isn't unpleasant but its quite odd. You follow shape of his nose with your index finger and then slide to corner of his lips. Yoongi's breathing has turned more rapid and sound of it is filling the quiet room. When you slide your finger along curves of his lips his mouth turns into small smirk. ''Bold aren't we?'' He mumbles against your hand and you pull away. ''I didn't meant that you have to stop.'' Yoongi takes your hand and leans to you pressing his lips against yours. For a moment you both just stay still looking at each other. Yoongi's lips are like a velvet against yours and you want more. You start to move your lips slowly against his like asking questions that only he can answer. Soon Yoongi pulls you closer to him and answers to your pleas with his lips. Soon your hands find his neck and you tug gently his neck hair. Yoongi moans softly and squeezes your sides which causes you to moan as well. You part away panting and when you meet Yoongi's eyes you can see the lust swirl around then. You are feeling the same and you have no idea where the feelings came from you were never usually this easy to be thrilled. Something about this puppet has completely enchanted you and you can't wait to have some more. Yoongi examines you with wonder, your mind is somewhere far away while small smile lingers on your lips. ''What are you thinking?'' Yoongi pulls you back to present with his words. Instead of answering you lean towards him once more and pull him back to heated kiss. This time Yoongi pulls your blanket away from you so he has a better access to your body and soon his cold fingers are roaming under your top. When he squeezes your left breast in his palm a gasp leaves your mouth which he swallows with his own. Yoongi parts from your lips and you hurry to chase him with yours which leads him to let loud chuckle out of his mouth. You look with wide eyes when the shadows around Yoongi begins to thicken and soon tentacles formed from shadows escape from his finger tips and curls up around your wrist. ''What are you-?'' You open your mouth to speak but Yoongi interrupts you by moving his hands like a puppeteer and your arms combined by shadows begun to obey his commands. The puppet has become the master. Your hands move without your own control and you pull your top over your head tossing it on the side while you are in state of lust and confusion. You can't lie you feel also little bit of scared. Your hands doesn't obey you when you try to cover your revealed breast and Yoongi looks them with hunger.

When Yoongi notices your scared face his face softens. ''Tell me if you want me to stop and I leave and won't bother you again but if you want me to stay I will make you the most prettiest marionette that has ever existed.'' He says and the hold of your wrists loosens and you can move your hands freely once again. You are torn between fear and lust and glance from your bare breast to Yoongi's assuring face and you make your choice. ''Make me yours.'' You say and hungry look returns to his features. ''As you wish.'' Yoongi grumbles and soon your hands are moving again on their own accord controlled by Yoongi's shadows. Your right hand begins to roam over your breasts and pinches your nipples quickly. You gasp the feeling so foreigner and so familiar coming from your own fingers but not by your own demands. After pinching your breasts your right hand begins to roll your right nipple between its index fingers and tugs it gently. You can feel how the nipple hardens under your touch. Your other hand hurries to give the same treatment to your other breast and small moan of appreciation leaves Yoongi's lips. Your hands stop their actions and stills on your sides and you look Yoongi confused, why did he denied your pleasure? You get your answer when Yoongi takes your breast into his mouth and bites it gently. Small hiss of air leaves your lips and you are so focused to Yoongis actions on your breast that you don't notice the new shadows creeping towards your ankles. Yoongi is still toying with your breast licking and sucking both of them that when your legs open wider without you telling them to do so you are taken by surprise. Yoongi backs of your breast with loud bop and backs away again. Your hands are yanked up above your head by the cords made of shadows and Yoongi moves to sit between your opened legs. His hands reaches to your shorts and with one quick pull you are left only with your black underwear. ''You looks so good your legs open and hands above your head. I can't wait to ruin you.'' Yoongi tells and his eyes trails towards your clothed core where small spot of your wetness has already formed. You were sure that your face would be bright red by now if you were able to blush. You let out small complaining whine when Yoongi trails small path over your clothed core. You try to tug your arms against your restraints but it is useless. ''Yoongi please.'' You beg him, you really want to touch him. ''Everything good will come to you if you are patient.'' Yoongi hums and slaps your pussy so unexpectedly that the sound registers before the sting mixed with pleasure. You hiss in pain and wiggle your hips when your insides pulses by his actions. Yoongi doesn't give you much time to recover and he slaps your pussy again. This time you moan for his actions and you can see Yoongi licking his lips. Before you even realize your panties are gone and Yoongi is examining your glistering core with interest. The room is silent and Yoongi isn't moving and that is making you impatient. ''Yoongi...''Your words are replaced with moan when he inserts one of his fingers inside of your heat and begins to move it slowly around your hole. You watch with interest when Yoongi begins to flex his finger inside of you and it feels so good. Yoongi ads his thump in to mix and presses your sensitive button with it while he does circular motions around it. You are truly at his mercy. Yoongi's eyes burns like a fire when he examines your reactions caused by his actions on your body. Your mouth has left hanging open and you have creased your eyebrows together. For a while Yoongi just continues with his slow and torturous space and you get an idea. ''Please, let me suck you of.'' You beg hoping that he release your body from its trap. Yoongi catches the bait and stops his actions. ''How I can refuse after such an offer?'' He grins and your hands falls to your lap, you are free again. Yoongi backs towards the end of the bed and motions you to come closer. You obey him while your eyes are drawn towards his pants and visible bulge. ''You know its unfair that you are still dressed and I'm completely bare.'' You comment dryly when you seat yourself between his legs. ''Indeed, where is my manners.'' Yoongi grins and begins to open his shirt's buttons slowly while you drool when slowly more skin is revealed. Yoongi shakes his shirt away from his shoulders and you realize that rest of his joints are unnatural as well like a doll's, who he is. You don't let it to stop you and put your hands to his chest. Yoongi's body is slim and as creamy colored as his face. You could admire your doll for eternity. ''As much as I enjoy this you made me a promise.'' Yoongi reminds you and your hands finds their way to his pants button. You bop the button open and his hard member springs free, he isn't wearing any underwear and you gasp admiring his hard shaft. His dick is long and curves slightly from its end and its already leaking with white substance. You lick his tip slowly to test waters and small hiss leaves Yoongi's lips. ''I don't like to be teased.'' Yoongi grunts and you roll your eyes. Who was the one teasing just seconds ago? ''Did you just roll your eyes to me?'' ''Um, no?'' You deny and Yoongi takes grip of your hair. ''You are even lying? Tsk, open your mouth baby doll.'' Yoongi commands and you do as he says. Use of the nickname to you makes you squeeze your legs together and Yoongi doesn't miss that. ''Oh so you like to be called a baby doll, how suiting. Well baby doll don't just stare at me with that pretty mouth open and get to work'' You hollow your cheeks and start to work around his tip and slowly lowering yourself on his member taking more of him into your warm mouth. You start to suck his dick and put your hand around the part where your mouth can't reach. As a reward you see Yoongi closing his eyes and biting his lip while his hand is still resting on top of your head. You bop your head up and down and drink Yoongi's emotions with your eyes. Yoongi tightens the grip of your hair and pushes your head lower which makes you gag around his length. You back of from his dick while stream of saliva is connecting you lips and his angry red tip. Yoongi opens his eyes slowly and looks at you displeased. ''Maybe we have truly just been delaying the main course.'' He says with low voice and quickly pushes you on your back. Surprised gasp leaves your mouth when Yoongi spears your legs open and thrust in to your hole without warning still wearing his pants. Yoongi doesn't go slow, oh no after you just left him hanging he has decided to destroy you. He slides easily in and out of you while slick wet noises fills the room. Yoogis hand finds your breasts and he squeezes them both while he pounds in to you without mercy. ''I thought that my baby doll was going to give me a good old fashioned blowjob but no, as soon as she got little too much into pretty mouth of hers she backs of. Maybe you aren't such a good slut after all.' 'Yoongi tells with grunt and his fingers finds your clit. ''What a disappointment.'' He adds but at the same time he rubs your clit between his thump and index finger. You know that he isn't really meaning his words based to that his dick is still deeply buried inside of you and his balls are slapping against your ass. You feel how the knot is tightening in your lower belly and series of small moans leaves your lips. You are now more happy than ever that you are only one living in the third floor. Yoongi slows down and pulls out his member still hard and this time you moan for a loss. ''Be a good girl and get on your hands and knees.'' He tells and you follow eagerly. You get in to the position and Yoongi's hard member is soon entering again to your waiting hole. ''Look at you, you are making such a mess you are dripping all over your sheets.'' He tells and begins to move again. What he is saying is true and you can feel how your juices are dripping along your legs. In the new position Yoongi is able to hit deeper than before and soon you feel him hitting that one particular spot inside of you which makes you tick. ''Ri-right there.'' You moan and Yoongi points his thrust to the spot over and over again. ''I'm so close.'' You warn feeling the familiar tightness again in your guts. ''Come for me my doll.'' Yoongi whispers to your ear and pinches your nipple. it is all that you need and you feel yourself shaking and you aren't able to hold yourself up anymore. You fall on your bed and black out Yoongi still inside of you. Yoongi doesn't care about this and chases his release and comes soon with low moan. Yoongi exists you slowly and turns you around gently watching how your mixed liquids slides out of you. ''Thank you doll.'' He whispers and reaches to your nightstand to pick up his mask and puts it to your blacked out face. ''We will meet soon in the painting.'' With a flicker of lights you and him disappear from your bed and all there is left is messy bed sheets and silence. ~ When Namjoon walks down the stairs in next morning his steps freezes when he sees the familiar painting. Instead of one creepy doll on your grandmother's lap there is now two. A girl with a black and white dress and emotionless face is holding hand of another puppet. Something about the girls posture and H/C hair resembles him of someone who he knows... Suddenly he realizes it. ''Y/N'' He yells and starts to run up the stairs. Namjoon doesn't slow down until he reaches your door and slams it open without knocking. There is no trace of you, all your belongings at their place. Only thing that is of its place is the messed bed sheets. Namjoon turns on his heels and runs this time towards Henry's room. This time he remembers to knock but won't wait for an answer. Henry looks Namjoon surprised from his newspaper and when he sees Namjoon's panicked face his own face hardens. ''Whats wrong?'' He demands while Namjoon tries to pick himself together. ''Y/N is gone and the painting.. its its.. there is now two dolls.'' Namjoon rambles and Henry's breathing turns more rapid. ''I knew I should have burnt that dam painting but I was too selfish.'' He tells with agitated voice. Namjoon hurries next to Henry's bed and takes his mentor's hand into his. ''Breath, breath. Just like that.'' Namjoon calms his mentor while his breathing evens back to normal. ''The painting, its cursed. First it take my wife and now it took my granddaughter. only reason for it still hanging on the wall is that my wife is trapped there.'' Henry continues with painted voice. ''So you are saying that its not picture about your wife but that it is your wife?'' Namjoon asks slowly. ''Yes and we won't ever get them back. ''Henry's words are followed by loud coughing and his hands reaches his throat. Henry's body rises up from the bed and slam down. He doesn't move again and his eyes are left open looking into nothingness. Namjoon's panicked face falls and satisfied smirk covers his lips. ''Are we done here?'' A voice comes from the open doorway and Namjoon glances up seeing bored looking Yoongi. ''Yeah, I think we are. You did well.'' Namjoon tells and evil smirks rises to Yoongi's lips. ''Anything for you master.'' He tells and bows to the warlock who now rules over him. ''I hope that my mother can now rest in peace.'' He tells and leaves the room followed by his puppet. ''I'm sure that she is, after all his little boy is all grown up now.'' Yoongi tells and Namjoon hums in agreement. Do you still remember that powerful witch who Yoongi talked about? Well she was Namjoon's mother and you can ques that Namjoon isn't any regular office worker but something more powerful and ancient. When the two men arrives to the entrance hall Namjoon glances towards the painting seeing the new doll taken the place in the woman's lap. Now the doll is crying black tears streaming down her cheeks. ''You really can't choose your ancestors. Still what a shame, she was pretty.'' Yoongi nods in agreement and with a puff of smoke they leave the manor behind of them.

@fivesecondsofsarang

121 notes · View notes