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am-i-space · 3 years ago

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Picnic with adoraburrs 🍓

A short story about some dragon prince fluff based on an idea of @official-weasley and me (bare with the punctuation I don't know how that works in English xD)

It was a warm sunny day in Xadia, so Rayla and the princes decided that having a picnic would be the perfect way to spend the day. They were quick to convince Runaan and Ethari to join them since neither of them could say no to their daughter nor deny that they themselves would love to enjoy this beautiful day out in the forest with their friends. While Rayla and Callum helped Ethari prepare the food they wanted to take with them, Ez and Zym went to find Amaya and Gren to convince them to join their picnic, prepared to play the “i'm the king” card if necessary.

Amaya would still be tired after only returning to the moonshadow village during the night after spending a few days with her girlfriend Janai but she always had a hard time saying no to her nephews especially with what they both went through the past few months bringing Zym back to his mother.

An hour later the food was prepared and Runaan just finished packing it, Ez finally convinced Bait to jump into his backpack for the walk and Gren gently forced Amaya out of bed and into fresh clothes. They all met at the edge of the forest ready to leave the village for their little adventure.

Zym and Ez were the first to run into the forest, chasing after a brightly coloured bird that seemed to be playing with Zym moving gracefully through the branches of the old trees while Zym, still not used to flying, used the branches of younger trees and big mushrooms to jump and glide to follow the bird. Ezran ran along on the ground, his eyes focused on his scaly friend, shouting encouraging words mixed with laughter up into the sky.

Rayla grabbed Callums hand and pulled him into the forest running after Ez, shouting something about how she had to show them where to go if they wanted to see her favourite meadow.

The adults followed them at a relaxed pace, all smiling softly seeing the children finally being just children, able to enjoy some time with their families.

They passed mushrooms as tall as themselves, beautiful flowers, moss and tiny mushrooms in all shapes and colours, even some purple flowers that played music and swayed like they were dancing. The sunlight creeping through the dense treetops and small glowing seeds floating through the air made everything look even more magical.

Despite having spent some time in Xadia by now, Gren and Amaya couldn't help but stare at their surroundings in awe, a big smile plastered on Grens face as he inspected all the new plants and animals they came across. And even Amaya couldn't help but relax and enjoy the peaceful walk while admiring the beautiful xadian nature surrounding them.

Runaan and Ethari were walking hand in hand showing their new human friends the way, since the children were out of their sight, only hearing the occasional excited shout from one of the boys or Zym squealing happily about something new they discovered.

After about a 30 minute walk they reached a meadow where Runaan and Ethari used to take Rayla as a kid quite often.

It was a beautiful hidden opening between the giant roots of the old trees surrounding them covered in tall, soft looking grass, with the sun shining through the gap in the leaves above them, illuminating the meadow in a beautiful golden light.

The kids were already there playing in the grass laughing, many tiny blobs of what seemed like different coloured fur balls hanging on their clothing, in their hair even on their faces. Small squeaks and chirps coming from their direction and Grens face lit up in a curious delight.

He quickly made his way through the tall grass towards the children, extending his hands, letting them glide over the soft grass until he felt a small weight pulling his long sleeve down and putting just the smallest amount of pressure around his wrist. When he looked down he saw a brightly purple coloured ball of fur sticking to him, that after closer inspection suddenly opened two curious little eyes.

Gren squealed in delight when he saw the adorable little creature and softly pried it off his sleeve and held it in his hands with the utmost care. He looked up when he felt a presence next to him and saw Ethari looking at him with a slightly amused expression in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips.

Runaan couldn't suppress a smile, silently shaking his head at how excited both humans stared at the tiny creature as Ethari explained to them that it was an adoraburr and that there are hundreds of them living on this meadow.

Their little moment of wonder was interrupted by a happy Zym jumping around them with at least 30 of the small colourful animals stuck in his mane and on his scales, happily squealing while Zym was bouncing around.

They turned and walked towards the children to lay out their picnic when Gren overtook them, excitedly running past them which earned him a chuckle from the other adults.

They couldn't blame him, he was barely an adult and Amaya smiled fondly at him, happy to see her closest friend carefree and enjoying life after what he had to endure during the war.

When they arrived in the middle of the meadow next to the children, Gren already started building his own fortress out of the stackable, sticky furballs, grinning happily. Ez was providing him with more adoraburrs he was picking off of Zym, who was more than happy to run through the high grass to collect more.

Callum and Rayla were throwing the adoraburrs at each other counting points of how many sticked to the other, Rayla had a few sticking to her shirt and hair while Callum was nearly entirely covered in the colourful animals.

Runaan and Amaya who were carrying their backpacks were setting them down and Amaya pulled a soft looking, blue blanket out of hers. While Ethari helped her spread out the blanket, Runaan already pulled out some pillows he then placed on it.

Rayla´s attention was immediately pulled from her fight with Callum when she saw Ethari unpack Moonberry surprise, her favourite dessert. She ran over to join the adults, who were all already sitting on the blanket. With Rayla and Callum´s screaming stopping Gren, Ez and Zym also looked up from building their colourful, living fortress, which already looked pretty impressive.

They all got up and walked over to the others to squeeze onto the blanket which turned out to be a bit too small for all of them to sit on and have the food laid out in the middle, which meant they had to slightly cuddle up but none of them seemed to be bothered. They all enjoyed being close to their loved ones and their new friends and were content with being able to enjoy such a peaceful, happy moment after they had to fight for such a long time.

They shared stories about their lives outside the war with their new friends, telling stories about how they grew up, how they met each other and funny little anecdotes about things that happened to them.

Ezran excitedly retold one of his countless heists into the royal bakery to steal jelly tarts for him and Bait, while Gren and Rayla were stuffing their faces with delicious, sweet strawberries. After Amaya told a story about her and her sister taking Callum on his first ride out, Runaan who up until now was mostly listening and letting Ethari and Rayla talk for him spoke up. He started telling a story about his imprisonment by Viren and what an amazing entertainer Gren was. He went into great detail about how Gren kept trying to make conversation and was rambling on about everything that came into his head for hours on end, until he got bored and started singing to pass the time.

When Runaan even tried to imitate his singing Gren buried his, now bright red face in his hands hearing everybody laugh about Runaans´ retelling but he couldn't hold back a small smile himself. He wasn't able to hide his embarrassment for long though because Amaya decided to pull his hands from his face and hold a crimson red strawberry next to it and point from his face to the berry and back. The action made Gren blush even harder and by now his freckles looked light in comparison to the rest of his skin, like the seeds of the strawberry next to his cheek, which after Rayla pointed it out to him put a smile on his lips and he couldn't keep himself from joining the others´ laughing anymore.

Zym who noticed the sudden change in demeanor tried to join their excitement and started to run from one person to the next wiggling his tail like a dog and nearly knocking over their drinks while Bait seemed to be more interested in the food Zym pushed into his direction when he got up.

After everybody calmed down and Callum held Zym secure in his arms to protect the rest of their food they all fell into their own little conversations.

With Gren translating, Amaya and Runaan, both excellent fighters, talked about the differences in their training and how that influenced their fighting style.

Ethari, Ez and Rayla had a quite serious discussion about what was better, jelly tarts or moonberry surprise while Callum was watching, throwing adoraburrs at Zym who was trying to catch them in his mane.

Hours passed and they were now all lying next to each other on the meadow looking up into the treetops around them. Gren and Ezran had built new fortresses since their old one walked away while they were eating and this time there were small hills of the tiny creatures left, still stacked on top of each other but now cuddled up closer together and peacefully sleeping.

The darker it got the more colourful the forest became. Different types of moss, flowers, mushrooms and even some animals started to glow in the most beautiful bright colours.

They saw some glowing blue birds flying through the dark forest and even a few three tailed squirrel-like creatures with vivid blue spots in their fur. Bait was hungrily eyeing a glowing moth that was flying above them just outside his reach, while Zym was napping on Grens' chest.

When it started to get cold they decided to pack up their things and leave for the moonshadow village. With Runaan leading them they made their way back into the forest, the way back looked nearly unrecognisable, at least to the humans, with how much the colours of the forest changed. They passed flowers and bushes they didn't notice on their way to the meadow that were standing out now due to their glowing leaves and flower petals. The elves were watching their human friends with amused smiles on their faces as they were watching them look around with big eyes, taking in the beauty of the forest at dawn.

Zym was sitting on Amayas shoulders, looking like he was going to fall asleep any moment now and Ezran was stumbling next to them, Amayas hand on his shoulder as he wasn't really paying attention where he was going anymore, too tired and too busy looking up to the moths that were following them.

Rayla and Callum were holding hands, staying mostly silent enjoying the quiet way back, from time to time one of them pointed something out in the forest. Callum knew he soon needed to come back here to draw all those amazing plants and animals he saw that day, that he didn't even know existed a few weeks prior.

When they reached the village the sun was almost gone and they decided to retreat to their houses and slowly get ready for bed. While Rayla and Callum stayed in Runaan and Etharis' home, Ez settled for staying with Amaya and Gren in Raylas parents' old house.

All of them went to bed with a small smile still painted on their lips, thinking they definitely have to do this again, thankful that they had the opportunity to do this and the kids' idea that started this beautiful day. Zym, who was lying in between Ez and Bait moved in his sleep, twitching as if he was still running around the meadow with his friends and Bait looked so content that he was surely dreaming of the beautiful moths they saw in the forest.

(this was the second time I seriously sat down and tried to write something so please let me know what you think!)

#the dragon prince #tdp #commander gren #tdp gren #tdp rayla #tdp callum #tdp rayllum #rayllum #tdp ezran #tdp amaya #gerneral amaya #tdp runaan #tdp ethari #tdp janaya

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themurphyzone · 3 years ago

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BatB AU: A Provincial Life

Summary: It’s an ordinary day in ACME Village for Pinky. Until it isn’t.

AN: This oneshot adapts the opening number ‘Belle’ and village scenes, up until Pinky sets off for the castle in search of his father, which leads into the entry Imprisoned.

AO3 Link

Pinky scooped a ladleful of oatmeal into a small, earthen bowl, humming dreamily as he added a dash of cinnamon and several apple slices into the mixture.

Today was a very special day for Papa, and Pinky wanted him to eat a healthy and nutritious meal before he went off to the fair with his invention. It would be a few days of travel, and Papa would need his strength for traveling there and back.

“Papa, I’m going out!” Pinky called as he carefully pushed a large woven basket of acorns outside. “Your breakfast is on the table, so make sure you eat it all!”

There was a sputter and cough of machinery and a trail of smoke from the small room that served as a makeshift workshop next to the kitchen, followed by a loud bang.

“Just getting ‘er warmed up for the final test!” Papa shouted. “C’mon, Madeleine! You may’ve fallen apart for the 264th time, but you can do it!”

Oh, Pinky had no doubt people were gonna love the woodcutting, ax-wielding, only occasionally threatening to take fingers off machine known as Madeleine. She was definitely gonna win that gorgeous blue ribbon at the fair! And even if she didn’t, they’d love her all the same anyway.

He opened the door and stepped into the beautiful autumn morning, taking in the cool, fresh air as he carefully maneuvered the basket of acorns into a red wagon. The leaves were varying hues of crimson and gold, dancing along a gentle breeze that ruffled Pinky’s fur. The sun was peeking over the horizon, slowly bathing the world in light as it rose.

Two songbirds flew merrily above him, their sweet morning song filling the air with beautiful music. Pinky reached up, and one of the songbirds briefly landed on his outstretched hand before flying after his partner, leaving a red feather behind.

“Thanks for the feather!” Pinky shouted to the sky as he tucked the feather behind his ear, where it fit perfectly.

He picked up the wagon handle and pulled it along, the wheels squeaking along behind him.

In the meadow beside their quaint little cottage, Pharfignewton chewed placidly on dew-covered grass. She neighed a greeting to Pinky, and Pinky cheerfully waved back. As much as he loved taking the beloved family horse into town for company, she needed her strength to lug Papa, Madeleine, and all their supplies later. So he had to let her rest.

Reeds and wildflowers of all sorts grew along the banks of the pond that separated the little cottage from the rest of ACME Village. A pair of ducks paddled along in the water, trailed by four adorable, fluffy yellow ducklings. Several tiny turtles sunbathed on an old log, while a large green frog sat on its lily pad and caught insects unlucky enough to stray in the path of a long, sticky tongue.

Pinky took his time crossing the cobblestone bridge over the pond, watching the wild animals go about their day without hustling, bustling, or rushing from place to place. Their lives were very different from their neighbors, despite living so close together.

Little animals, little pond, and little humans in their little town.

Or was everything just bigger than him? He was a mouse after all. It wasn’t hard to be bigger than a mouse, unless one happened to be an insect.

As Pinky crossed onto the other side, he spotted a smooth, pretty gray stone poking out of the reeds. He plucked it out of the damp soil, cleaning the dirt off with the inside of his apron.

It would be a perfect stone for his collection. And he didn’t have any that were this smooth. Most of the rocks he picked up were half-crushed or broken from city streets or well-worn paths. He tucked it into a pocket that he’d sewn on himself, because for some odd reason dresses never came with pockets.

Then he faced the little town, with all its timber and stone buildings lining a narrow cobbled street that quickly filled with half-asleep, half-awake people trying to get an early start on their sales and trades.

To think he and Papa had lived here for three years. While not the most exciting town in the world, Pinky was just happy they didn’t have to move again. He’d spent too much of his life being bustled from place to place since Mama died. The cottage was the loveliest place they’d ever owned.

And while the townsfolk had the same ol’ familiar routine every day, Pinky tried to vary his activities. From baking to horseback riding to volunteering for odd jobs around town, or just taking a day off to nap under a tree and roll down the hilly meadows while grass stains formed on his back.

Just a normal provincial life, yet Pinky often wondered what laid in the big blue yonder. Did the stars and sky look different elsewhere? Do the clouds form big, fluffy, and silly shapes in South America?

“Bonjour!” a man called out as he threw open his shutters.

“Good morning, Emile!” Pinky replied as he skipped past his window.

“Bonjour! Bonjour! Bonjour!” The echoing chant swept across rooftops and streets alike as a new day dawned upon ACME Village.

Everyone from chimney sweepers to merchants to coachmen responded with vigor and cheer, all of them satisfied with their occupations in life.

Pinky greeted everyone he passed, though not all returned the gesture. Everyone was staring at the feather tucked behind his ear, the bulge of the stone in his pocket, or the red wagon with the basket he pulled along. He didn’t think he was that strange-looking.

Unless he had a bit of cabbage stuck in his teeth again. But he flossed really well last night, so he didn’t think that was the case.

“Marie, hurry up with the baguettes!” the baker shouted as he carried several loaves of bread outside.

Pinky inhaled deeply. There was nothing quite like the scent and sound of fresh bread.

“Narrrrrrf! Smells just like heaven, Mr. Baker!” Pinky exclaimed.

The baker set his tray of bread on a windowsill, tapping his foot as he impatiently waited for Marie. “Morning, Pinky. You off somewhere this morning?” he asked, though he didn’t turn around.

“Yup! I’m delivering this basket of acorns to Slappy!” Pinky said, pointing to his basket of acorns. “She really likes the acorns near our cottage but doesn’t wanna make the trip herself. She says it’s too far for her aching joints and she can’t take Skippy along because she’s still trying to convince him that we’re not gonna be shot like Bumbie’s mom if we venture into the meadow, and-”

“Yes, yes, that’s all very nice,” the baker said, half-leaning into the open window. “Marie, I said hurry up with the baguettes! The morning rush is coming soon!”

“Well, if you’d bought the ingredients from Francois instead of Vincent like I suggested then maybe we wouldn’t be running behind, Pierre! But no, you always act like you know best!” Marie snapped.

Not wanting to get embroiled in yet another argument between the baker and his wife, Pinky followed the cobblestone path further into town, where the usual market sprung up, full of local farmers, tradesmen, and merchants.

Villagers bartered and argued and traded like always, and as Pinky stopped to admire a small yellow daisy poking out from the cracks of the street, he could feel eyes follow him closely in that looking-at-you-but-pretending-we’re-not sort of way.

“There goes the funny mouse again.”

“Gets distracted by the littlest things, I swear.”

“Does he even have a useful skill?”

“Besides being the village idiot? Doubtful.”

They’d made those comments ever since he and Papa had moved in. Everywhere they went, people asked Pinky for his trade, and Pinky always told them he took care of Papa and worked various odd jobs around the area for money.

But that wasn’t considered a useful role in society.

He didn’t mind helping Papa though.

Oh well though. He couldn’t delay getting these acorns to Slappy, so he hauled his wagon alongside a horse-drawn carriage that steadily cut through the crowded streets, clearing Pinky’s path.

“Bonjour!” the coachman called to a young woman walking down the street. His eyes were trained on the girl rather than the road, and his horse plowed straight into a farmer’s cart, knocking his produce into the road.

“MY CABBAGES!” the farmer screamed, tearing out his hair as several pigs devoured his vegetables.

The coachman let out a nervous laugh and flicked the reins, spurring his horse forward and blithely ignoring the despairing farmer’s demands for compensation.

“I need six eggs!” a woman cried as she tried to hold several fussing babies at once.

“That’s too expensive!” a man complained to someone selling pottery. “Twenty coins for a pile of cheap clay? Bah!”

Pinky and the carriage parted ways as the cobblestone street changed to an unpaved dirt path. The gossip and chatter of ACME Village faded to background noise.

Slappy had made her home in a hollow tree on the outskirts of town, close enough to get supplies but far enough to deter most from knocking on her door.

Pinky passed by many warning and danger signs that kept most people from bothering the old squirrel. There was a new post up today, right next to Slappy’s front door.

LAST WARNING

NO SELLING, NO PREACHING, NO TAX COLLECTING

KNOCK AT YOUR OWN RISK

Well, what was life without a little risk? Pinky knocked on the door anyway.

He was trying to decide if one of the clouds overhead was shaped more like a monkey or a strawberry when a small brown squirrel in a blue nightgown and cap opened the door. Despite the early morning, he was wide awake and hopping in place, his excitement only growing as he spotted the basket of acorns behind Pinky.

“Morning, Skippy! Got the basket of acorns your aunt wanted!” Pinky exclaimed.

Skippy grinned as he took the basket from the wagon. “Thanks, Pinky! Aunt Slappy will love these!”

He popped a few acorns into his mouth and loudly crunched the shells.

“Skippy, what’d I say about answering the door at this godforsaken hour in the morning?” a cranky voice yelled from upstairs.

“It’s just Pinky with the acorns, Aunt Slappy! No door to door salespeople, preachers, or tax collectors in sight!” Skippy shouted. Then he turned back to Pinky and pointed to his ear. “I like your feather, by the way.”

“Thanks! I like your nightcap!” Pinky said, returning the compliment with his own.

A few moments later, Slappy joined Pinky and Skippy downstairs. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, her long gray tail dragging behind her.

“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Slappy asked. She tossed several acorns into her mouth and nodded her approval. “Crunchy with a pinch of salt. This is gonna be a good topping for my world-renowned creamed spinach later.”

“SPEEWWWWWWWWW!” Skippy cried, sticking his tongue out in disgust.

Pinky just smiled politely. Slappy took a lot of pride in her creamed spinach recipe, and he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by saying it tasted like soggy socks.

“Hey, when I was your age, I ate lots of creamed spinach for dinner. And now I have enough muscles to wield a hundred ton mallet,” Slappy retorted.

“Wow! Was that when dinosaurs roamed the earth?” Skippy asked.

Slappy gave him a light smack on the back of his head. “Little brat. Go grab a few coins from the bureau in my room. Gotta pay the mouse for lugging this stuff across town.”

Skippy blew a raspberry at her and ran up the stairs.

“Your tongue is never gonna go back in your mouth if you keep doing that!” Slappy yelled.

Funny how the Squirrels were his best neighbors, even though they lived on the opposite side of town. They’d helped out so much when Pinky and Papa first moved into the countryside cottage, from showing them all the best places to buy from and all the best trees to climb. Everyone else usually stared at them strangely for not knowing how to find a shop and moved on with their day.

Still, Pinky didn’t want to impose on them or anything. Collecting the acorns was no trouble at all. And he knew money could be a little tight in the village at times.

“You don’t have to pay me,” Pinky said. “Poit. I don’t mind the morning exercise.”

“You’re walkin’ outta here with those coins whether you like it or not,” Slappy said in a tone that invited no room for argument. “Don’t be one of ‘em honor before reason types. That sorta mindset is nothing but trouble.”

Slappy’s long tail flicked in irritation, accidentally knocking a framed painting askew on the wall next to her. She sighed and fixed the crooked painting so that it hung straight. “Can never keep this darn thing straight,’ she muttered.

Pinky had been inside the hollow tree many times, but he’d never seen this painting before. It contained a colorful cast of characters, from a carrot-munching gray rabbit to a crazy black duck to a short gunslinger with an enormous bright red mustache.

In the painting, a youthful Slappy with a manic grin on her face and giant firecracker in her hand was chasing a bald hunter. Her smile was brighter, and her eyes didn’t seem so world-weary there.

“Like it? Old pals sent it to me two weeks ago,” Slappy asked, a hint of nostalgia in her voice. “The Looney Tunes Troupe were a rascally bunch, that’s for sure. All the money for a detailed painting, and they can’t afford a better frame. Our shows were legendary back in the day, you know.”

“Never heard of them,” Pinky admitted.

“Course ya haven’t,” Slappy sighed. “Your generation doesn’t know good comedy when it hits them in the bum with a mallet. Troupe’s faded into obscurity now, but they’ve never stopped traveling and being annoying yet lovable nuisances to everyone from Albuquerque to Kalamazoo to Timbuktu.”

Pinky tilted his head. “But you don’t travel anymore.”

If the Squirrels needed something they couldn’t get in ACME Village, they usually asked Pinky to run the errand for them.

“Yeah, well, that’s life,” Slappy said. “Sometimes you’re a nomad with total freedom and other times you gotta flee with your nephew to a different country.”

Before Pinky could ask more questions, Skippy barreled downstairs with as many coins as he could carry. “I didn’t know how much to grab so I just took a handful,” Skippy said, dumping the currency onto a small side table.

Slappy picked up six coins from the pile and dropped them into a small drawstring bag, then tightened the strings and tossed the bag into Pinky’s wagon. “You can have these. I’ve got plenty more lying around,” she said.

“If you're sure then,” Pinky said, picking up his wagon handle and turning it around. “Love to stay, but Papa’s leaving for the fair soon and I gotta see him off!”

“Tell him we said hi!” Skippy shouted, and Pinky saluted back.

Slappy yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “And I’m hitting the hay again. It’s too damn early, and I’m too tired to censor my swearing in front of kids.”

o-o-o-o-o

After his visit to Slappy’s tree, Pinky decided to kill some time at ACME Village’s fountain, where he could enjoy the fine spray of water and run in circles along the stone rim. It was always fun seeing how fast he could go without tipping into the water.

“Sorry!” he shouted as he accidentally trod over freshly washed sheets that a woman had been folding next to the fountain. She made an indignant noise and carried her basket of laundry away, nose high in the air.

And the whispers started up again.

“That mouse may be a beauty, but he is way too peculiar for his own good.”

“You have to wonder if he’s feeling well.”

“Always a dreamy, far-off look on his face.”

On his tenth lap around the fountain, a flock of sheep strolled by, guided by a young shepherd from behind. Two fluffy ewes jumped onto the fountain rim next to Pinky and drank the water. Pinky smiled and stroked their soft wool, and the ewes bleated in contentment.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Pinky whispered into their ears. “Don’t go blabbing this to anyone now...but I believe Papa’s a shoo-in for that blue ribbon!”

One of the ewes turned and nibbled on his ear, and Pinky laughed as her blocky teeth tugged and tickled his fur. He gently pried her jaw open and his ear popped out of her mouth, dripping wet with sheep saliva.

As Pinky prepared to slide off the fountain rim and onto the small bag of money he’d gotten from Slappy, a regal fanfare went off in the distance, thundering hoofbeats growing ever closer.

A messenger in a white powdered wig blew his coronet and cleared his throat.

“HEAR YE! HEAR YE! MAKE WAY FOR HIS ROYAL MAJESTY, PRINCE SNOWBALL AND HIS HUNTING PARTY!”

The messenger’s declaration sent every man, woman, and child running towards the plaza, gathering in front of the entrance of the local tavern, the centerpoint of all social activities in ACME Village.

The hunting party rode in on their enormous horses, spearheaded by the ruler of the province, Prince Snowball. Though only a small hamster, he was famed by all for his keen mind and ability to get results on whatever he set out to accomplish.

Though dressed in only a simple red shirt and breeches for hunting, the only signs of his higher status being the golden crown upon his head and the expensive black horse he rode, his presence commanded respect and awe.

Behind him, a hunting party consisting of the best huntsmen and archers in the land dragged an enormous buck, two wild boars, and several pheasants into view.

“People of ACME Village, tonight we shall dine on these fine specimens of the animal kingdom!” Snowball announced as everyone bowed in fear of a noble’s anger. “Everyone’s presence is required, for I have a further declaration that shall lift this derelict province out of the ashes and into a glorious future!”

His pink eyes were sharp, but beneath that layer of intelligence, there was an undertone of something that didn’t feel right. Pinky couldn’t explain it, but he always just had this odd, icky feeling that crawled up his spine whenever he saw Snowball.

The crowd straightened up, cheering and clapping and praising Prince Snowball’s name for bringing them such good fortune with the promise of more to come.

Pinky’s ear twitched. There was a soft, desperate sound mixed in with the roars of the captivated audience.

And to the left side of the crowd, there was a tiny lamb whose back leg was tangled in a large fishing net. The mother ewe was both nuzzling the lamb in comfort and trying to pull the net off with her teeth, but to no avail.

The shepherd never noticed his sheep were in trouble, too caught up in hailing Prince Snowball to notice one of his charges was stuck.

Pinky hopped off the fountain and slowly walked over to the thrashing lamb and his mother, putting his hands up to show them he wasn’t a threat. The lamb bleated in panic, and the mother eyed Pinky warily.

“May I help? I’m good at untangling stuff,” Pinky asked. He’d gotten a lot of practice when Papa occasionally tangled himself up in threads and wires.

The ewe regarded him for a long moment, then nuzzled the back of her lamb’s head, letting him bury his head into her wool. The lamb’s trembling stopped, his back leg still.

It was a sweet gesture, one that seemed so familiar to him, even though his own mother had long passed. He remembered that feeling of warmth and safety from so long ago, the last time he felt like he was truly home.

Wiping a stray tear from his eye, Pinky untangled the mesh from the lamb’s leg, starting from the top and slowly moving down to the hoof.

“There you go, baby,” Pinky said once the leg was completely free. The lamb pulled his hoof out of the netting, gave it a good shake, then joyfully pranced and bleated around his mother and Pinky.

The mother gave Pinky a tiny nod, bleated to her little one, and together they rejoined their flock. The shepherd was still ignoring his flock in favor of Prince Snowball. Pinky couldn’t see him anymore from the ground.

Pinky picked up his wagon handle, ready to go home and help Papa hitch everything up to Pharfignewton.

Then he felt a pair of fingers pluck the feather he’d lovingly tucked behind his ear. Pinky turned to get his feather back, and jumped when Snowball was just inches from his face.

“Hello, Pinky,” Snowball said. He smiled, but it was more out of smugness than a real smile.

Pinky’s ears lowered, but then he remembered his manners. “Bonjour, Prince Snowball. May I have my feather please? A really nice bird gave that to me.”

Snowball frowned, holding the feather out of Pinky’s reach. The feather crinkled in his tight grip. “How could you possibly need this? It’s hardly good quality for even the cheapest quills.”

“Poit. It doesn’t need to be a quill to make me happy,” Pinky replied.

Snowball rolled his eyes, tossing the feather behind him. Pinky tried to grab it, but it was caught on a gust of wind and drifted to the ground. It landed in a mud puddle, soaking the barbs of the feather and staining it brown.

“Pinky, get your head out of the clouds and pay attention to important matters,” Snowball’s lip curled as he blocked Pinky from retrieving his feather. “Such as showing royals courtesy when they address a peasant like you.”

“Excuse me, Snowball,” Pinky said politely, going around the hamster to pick up his feather. The damage didn’t look too bad. Still, he tried to be careful when he cleaned it with his apron.

Snowball crossed his arms, and the town’s whispers started up again.

How dare he not show proper respect to Snowball, does he fancy himself higher than a prince, why would Snowball pay him any individual attention and not someone more deserving.

“That’s Prince Snowball to you.” Snowball’s fur bristled for a moment, but he took a deep breath and put his arms around Pinky’s shoulders instead. “The whole town's talking about you and your lack of...purpose. And we can’t have that, you realize. After all, a machine requires all of its cogs and gears to run smoothly, otherwise it won’t work.”

“Bet his crackpot father would know something about that!” one of Snowball’s men chortled.

Everyone laughed, even Snowball, who rarely did so. An unfamiliar feeling boiled in Pinky’s stomach.

“Don’t talk about my father that way!” Pinky snapped. His inventions were amazing and he was going to do well at the fair! They didn’t know how hard Papa worked on his inventions!

Snowball glared at his men. “Yes, don’t talk about his father that way, you fools!” he hissed like Pinky hadn’t heard him laughing just seconds ago.

“He’s not a crackpot! His invention’s gonna win the blue ribbon cause it was made with smarts and love, you’ll see!” Pinky declared, just as an explosion went off in the distance.

And he knew exactly where that explosion had come from.

“I have to go. Goodbye!” Pinky dragged his wagon behind him, setting off for the cottage he and Papa called home.

“It’s a pity and a sin,

He doesn’t quite fit in.

He really is a funny mouse,

A beauty but a funny mouse,

He really is a funny mouse,

THAT PIN-”

The sharp, high-pitched crack of a rifle interrupted the village’s song, and everyone ran for cover.

“WILL YA SHUT UP? SOME OF US ARE TRYIN’ TA SLEEP!” Slappy shouted from her tree, her screech blowing tiles and lumber from the roofs of buildings.

Just a provincial life in this little town. Pinky ran across the cobblestone bridge, wondering if he truly had the right to ask for something more than that.

o-o-o-o-o

He hurried over to the cellar, where smoke trailed from the gaps of the heavy wooden doors. Pinky opened the entrance, and a smoky cloud blew right in his face. He coughed and waved it away, hiding his nose in his dress as he hurried over to Papa, who’d been thrown onto his back. A pile of broken wooden planks covered him.

In the corner, Madeleine sputtered, her gears and dials spinning wildly before she finally quieted down, one loose spring sending a gear crashing into a wall.

“Dagnabbit, Madeleine!” Papa cursed, stumbling as he extracted himself from the pile of wooden planks. Pinky grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet, checking him over for any injuries. Luckily, there were no bruises or splinters to be found. “Don’t you stall out on me now!”

Pinky smiled. Papa’s string of random gibberish and mutterings of smart inventor words he couldn’t understand was something he’d been familiar with from a young age. No matter where they lived, it was just one of those things that came with home.

Papa huffed, untying his apron with all his tools and tossing it to the ground. “She’ll never work in time for the fair! What was I thinking?” he lamented. “It’s not too late. Maybe I can cobble something else together quickly! Yes, I’ll just take the doowhatzit out of Madeleine, combine it with the kaleidomajiggy from the old washer, and-”

“You always say that, Papa,” Pinky said, hugging his father around the shoulders. Papa rested his hands over Pinky’s with a sigh. “Don’t worry. I believe Madeleine will work, and she’ll win you that blue ribbon and help you become an inventor for the history books! Narf! Just like Benjamin Franklin, ‘cept without all the kite-flying.”

“You really think so?” Papa asked, his frown turning to a hopeful smile.

“Course I do,” Pinky grinned.

A determined look crossed Papa’s face, and he tied his apron around his waist, nearly tripping over it in the process.

“What are we waiting for then? Let’s fix ‘er up!” Papa said, laying down on a flat, low cart and pushing himself under the broken stove that made up Madeleine’s main body. “So how was your morning in town?”

“A little birdie gave me a feather. I found a pretty stone by the pond. And I delivered the acorns to the Squirrels. Did you know Slappy used to be a part of a traveling troupe? I didn’t.” Pinky recanted his morning to Papa as tools clinked and scratched against metal. “Oh, and I guess you’ll be missing Prince Snowball’s feast tonight. They’ll have venison and wild boar there.”

“A feast? That sounds nice. Much better than inn food,” Papa mused. As usual, only part of what Pinky said ever registered with him. “Are you going?”

“I don’t know yet,” Pinky admitted. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good party...but Prince Snowball is-um, what’s a good word for him?”

“Rich? Smart? Confident?” Papa suggested. “He’s been talkin’ to you a lot lately.”

So everyone’s noticed, even Papa who spent much of his time in the cellar that doubled as a workshop.

“He has,” Pinky agreed. “And he says he can give me a purpose. But...I don’t know. I don’t think he’s right for me. Maybe I’m just as odd as they say I am.”

It was the same everywhere they settled. No matter what Pinky tried to do, the whispers always followed him. He noticed strange things, he wore strange clothes, he and Papa were always strangers in towns where everyone knew each other from birth.

Papa slid out from under Madeleine, wearing a silly helmet on his head that gave him huge, bug-like eyes.

“My son is odd?” Papa asked in disbelief, and Pinky laughed. The helmet always made Papa look silly. “Don’t know where these folks get their ideas from…anyway, I think Madeleine’s all ready to go. Care to give her a whirl?”

“Zort! Am I!” Pinky clapped his hands together. Papa pointed to a lever, which Pinky pulled with all his might.

Madeleine’s bells and whistles sounded, water steadily pumping through her system while steam filled her stove. Pulleys and gears turned along her sides, reaching the front. Her dials quivered until they reached the red zone, and the ax at her front swung down, scoring a deep cut in a block of firewood. The ax swung faster and faster, until one final split the firewood in half and sent one chunk flying.

Pinky and Papa ducked, and the chunk flew over their heads and landed perfectly on a pile of firewood against the wall.

“She works!” Pinky shouted in joy, kissing one of Madeleine’s wooden wheels. “You did it, Papa!”

“I did?” Papa murmured. “I did! 265th time’s the charm, Pinky! Look out fair, I’m on my way!”

o-o-o-o-o

Within the hour, Madeleine was wheeled out from the workshop, covered and tied up with a tarp, and hitched to Pharfignewton.

“Bye, Fig,” Pinky said, hugging his beloved horse’s muzzle. “Keep Papa on track to the fair, okay? You know how he likes taking shortcuts.”

Pharfignewton whinnied gently, planting a sloppy kiss on top of Pinky’s head.

Then Pinky embraced Papa, who returned the hug with the same enthusiasm. And he was reminded of how the mouse and horse he considered his home would be leaving for some time. He wished he could go with them, but someone had to keep house and he was the best one for the job. It wouldn’t be for long, but he’d miss them all the same.

A stray tear dropped. Just another reason he was considered odd. He cried so easily.

“Chin up, Pinky,” Papa murmured, rubbing a soothing circle into Pinky’s back. “I’ll win that blue ribbon along with the prize money, and we’ll begin our lives anew within the week.”

Through his tears, Pinky gave him a wobbly smile. Then he helped Papa onto Pharfignewton’s back.

“Take care!” Pinky called as Papa flicked the reins, and Pharfignewton trotted off at a steady pace, dragging Madeleine behind her. He watched them from atop the highest hill in the meadow, as they went further down the well-worn trail that merchants used for their travels.

Then they were nothing but specks in the distance, swallowed by the thick, twisted branches of the forest. It was an unusual forest, one where the trees lost their leaves in early autumn, making the trees look scarier than they actually were for half the year.

With nothing else to do outside, Pinky went back into the empty cottage. He’d had three years to become familiar with this house, full of odds and ends from Papa’s inventions alongside their meager belongings.

Mama’s cloak hung from a place of honor on a coat rack by the door, one of the few belongings Pinky could take along no matter where they lived.

Hours passed, and Pinky already missed the banging and exploding and sputtering of Papa’s inventions. It was just too quiet without them.

He cleaned the red feather and pretty stone, then added them to his collection. Feathers and rocks didn’t take up a lot of room, and like Mama’s cloak, they could easily be taken to new places as well. He was just very careful not to lose them.

The wagon was tucked away by the door, and the small bag of money was tucked inside a flower pot. It was how Papa always stored money, and Pinky had picked up the habit.

There wasn’t much to do. He’d cleaned the cottage several days ago, cellar notwithstanding. That was Papa’s territory, and he always had trouble finding tools when Pinky put them away.

Suppertime approached.

He could either cook dinner or go to the feast.

Didn’t matter what he chose. He would be lonely either way.

A sharp rap on the door startled him out of his thoughts. How strange. People only knocked at this time when there was an emergency.

“Sorry for taking so long. I wasn’t expecting-” Pinky opened the door, and he immediately stood face-to-face with Prince Snowball. They were so close that their noses nearly touched. “-to see you here, Snowball. Um, this is a surprise. Poit.”

Snowball’s pink eyes narrowed in annoyance, and Pinky remembered that Snowball preferred to be addressed with his full title. “Yes, it’s not often that someone of my standing chooses to grace a peasant’s home with their presence.”

Behind Snowball, there was an entourage of townsfolk. Many wore their Sunday best, which was still quite cheap compared to the royal finery that Snowball bore. A fine red coat, a decorative golden cape slung over one shoulder, and white dress pants. A shiny crown embedded with rubies and emeralds sat atop his head.

“I thought you were all at the tavern for the feast,” Pinky admitted.

Snowball laughed, but it was a joyless laugh. He stepped across the threshold without being invited in.

“Why, Pinky. Your hovel is positively primeval,” Snowball said, wrinkling his nose in disdain. He tugged Mama’s cloak off its hook, stared at it for a moment, then carelessly tossed it behind him. “If this is how you live, then it’s a truly auspicious time for me to come and offer you an opportunity out of this squalor.”

Before Pinky could ask what auspicious was, though he figured it had something to do with Austria, Snowball harshly dug his fingers into Pinky’s shoulders. Pinky tried to pry them off, but the fingers just burrowed further into the fabric of his dress.

“Not to worry, dear Pinky,” Snowball said. “Today is the day all your dreams come true.”

“You mean my dream to find a home and a porpoise? Because I don’t know if we have enough money to live by the ocean. Beachside properties get very pricey, you know,” Pinky asked.

Snowball waved off that concern. “You forget that finances are of no consequence for me. But I digress. For now, allow me to plant the image of a wonderful future in your vacant mind.”

“Okay, but I don’t know how you’re gonna water it,” Pinky said.

“Picture this,” Snowball demanded, leading Pinky around the cottage. “A magnificent castle. Two golden thrones, mine higher than the queen’s of course. A few summer homes to expand my sphere of influence. A court of other royals, lesser nobles, while the servants do all the menial work around the fires and kitchen. We’ll have...oh, six or seven.”

“Servants?” Pinky grinned nervously as Snowball leaned in with a chuckle.

“Castles, Pinky. How else would I showcase my power?” Snowball corrected. “And the townsfolk shall become our servants. It will save me the trouble of setting up a hiring process anyway. Besides, you’d appreciate having familiar faces around. Less of an adjustment period.”

Pinky freed himself from Snowball’s grip. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t,” Snowball shrugged. “But in simplest terms, I require a queen. One who is good at smiling, waving, and entertainment.”

Wouldn’t that person become a princess rather than a queen though?

Snowball must’ve seen the question coming. He paused in front of the mirror to adjust his crown.

“There is but one title higher than a prince, Pinky,” Snowball said once he was finished. “In order to qualify for the kingship, it’s required of me to marry first. And do you know who that queen will be?”

“Elizabeth? Victoria?” Pinky wilted under Snowball’s intense stare. “Um...Cleopatra, final answer?”

Snowball shook his head. “It will be you, Pinky.”

A queen? He’d always just been the inventor’s son. An outcast no matter where he lived. How could he possibly be a queen?

“That’s a very generous offer, Snowball,” Pinky said, once he finally found his words again.

“Isn’t it, though?” Snowball said smugly. “You and your father will live in an extravagant new home as you perform your queenly duties, and I will be forever hailed as King Snowball. Both of us shall benefit.”

Maybe he and Papa could live in better conditions. Maybe they didn’t have to move around anymore. Maybe they could afford shoes for Pharfignewton. But at the same time…it wouldn’t be right.

It wouldn’t be home.

Smiling, waving, entertaining. Was that all he was good for? Was that all Snowball thought he could do?

“I thought...marriage was for love,” Pinky said softly. “That’s what Papa always said.”

Snowball rolled his eyes. “It’s a political marriage. It doesn’t have to be built on love.”

Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.

It was one of the earliest morals Pinky had learned.

Wish for a home, only for it to be a castle. Wish for a purpose, and it’s to be married without love as a foundation.

“Snowball...I’m speechless,” Pinky said, backing out the front door. He nearly tripped over the welcome mat, but regained his footing. “I...I really don’t know what to say.”

Not even a narf would help him out of this situation.

“Say that you’ll marry me, Pinky,” Snowball replied, and he stalked toward Pinky like a cunning predator, backing him against the edge of the porch. “And after you say yes, I will announce our engagement to the rest of ACME Village at the feast. Attendance is mandatory for a reason.”

“I’m really, really sorry, Snowball,” Pinky said. He’d backed up too far, and the heels of his feet dangled precariously over the edge. Instincts kicking in, Pinky grabbed Snowball’s shoulder to pull himself to safety, though he underestimated his strength. Snowball yelped as he was pulled over the edge, falling into the mud puddle by the staircase.

Oops.

“Sorry, Snowball! But I just don’t deserve you,” Pinky admitted.

The mud-covered crown slipped around Snowball’s head, covering his eyes until he took it off with an annoyed grunt.

Pinky slipped back into the house, grabbed a small towel, and handed it to one of Snowball’s men.

Claude, if he remembered right.

“He can have that one,” Pinky told Claude, who gingerly took the towel like it was a fragile item.

Snowball crawled out of the mud, his royal clothing covered in gunk and sticks. He stomped out of the mud, hands clenching against his sides.

Snowball’s brow lowered, his pink eyes hidden in humiliation and a quiet, seething fury.

Slowly, Pinky retreated into the cottage and hid behind the door. There was something about that look that terrified him. And it wasn’t the fun kind of fear, either.

“You will consider my offer, Pinky. Make no mistake about that,” Snowball spat, his scrutinizing gaze directly on Pinky, despite the door between them. “Claude, quit being daft and hand me that towel already!”

Pinky waited in the cottage until he could no longer hear their voices or footsteps. They must’ve gone back to the tavern for the feast.

He didn’t feel hungry though. Snowball’s proposal left a sour taste in his mouth, like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

“He asked me to marry him,” Pinky said to his mother’s cloak, which was still crumpled on the floor. He gently picked it up, brushed off the wrinkles, and put it on. The fabric was warm against his back, like being wrapped in a ginormous embrace. “But he doesn’t love me. Narf! You can’t have a marriage without love!”

He thought of all the married couples he knew in ACME Village. The baker couple, who were constantly at each other’s throats. Gerard the butcher was always making googly eyes at any woman who bought cuts of meat, much to his wife’s frustration. There was the stressed lady who had to drag her six kids around town while her husband played cards and darts at the tavern.

And Pinky thought of his parents. His mother had fallen in love with his father’s inventive streak when she was the daughter of a town official and Papa was just the crazy mouse whose inventions blew up a lot.

He tied the cloak tighter around himself. Unable to take the silence of the cottage and the stifling influence of the village much longer, he allowed his feet to carry him out of the cottage and to wherever they wanted to go.

He sprinted into the unknown. He wouldn’t be afraid of whatever he found there. The autumn wind blew golden, red, and brown leaves in whichever direction it wished as Pinky climbed the highest hill in the gorgeous flower-filled meadow.

The peak of the hill was his favorite spot, and he was surprised that nobody else came out here to enjoy the view with him. Trees lost their colorful leaves so they could sleep for the winter, the river splashed and babbled along its banks, and proud mountains with mysterious cloud-covered peaks rose high above the landscape.

What laid beyond villages and towns, he didn’t know.

There was something in that great wide somewhere for him. Just a feeling, an inkling, a hunch.

But could he truly go exploring it when his home was here?

Maybe he could convince Papa. Somehow. When Papa came back with the prize money, they could fit Pharfignewton with her shoes and they could all explore together!

Staring into the autumn landscape, Pinky sank to his knees, careful not to squish the daisies and dandelions around him.

Maybe that was home, but…

He didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. Would he ever figure that out?

He loved Papa, but he couldn’t really talk to him. And Slappy had her hands full with such an energetic nephew. Pinky didn’t want to impose. Everyone in the village gossiped about him, like he couldn’t understand.

But he did.

And it hurt.

“Would be nice to talk to someone. Anyone, really,” he whispered, and he blew on a cluster of dandelion puffs. His wish scattered along the wind.

Pinky picked up more dandelion puffs. If he blew more around, maybe his wish would come true. And dandelion flowers were very pretty.

Maybe they were considered weeds, but how could anyone call such a sunshine-y yellow flower a pest? He didn’t get it.

Then a distant, familiar neigh caught him off-guard.

Pinky thumped his hand against his ear. Maybe he was missing Pharfignewton so much that he heard her voice?

But he’d recognize her magnificent white coat and spirited blue eyes anywhere.

“Easy, Pharfignewton! It’s okay!” Pinky cried. He scrambled up Pharfignewton’s leg, avoided her flailing hoof, and held onto her muzzle as she bucked and reared in sheer panic. “Shhh, it’s okay. You’re okay…”

Pharfignewton quieted down, her frantic neighs melting into soft, worried nickers as Pinky stroked her nose. She stopped kicking, though she was wide-eyed with fear.

Madeleine wasn’t hitched to Pharfignewton. Nor was she wasn’t the only one missing…

And Pinky suddenly understood his horse’s panic.

“Pharfignewton, where’s Papa?” Pinky asked. “Is he okay? How did you get separated? Did he try another shortcut when I told him not to do it?”

Pharfignewton’s hooves shuffled, and Pinky forced himself to take a deep breath. He was scaring her with all these questions, so he nuzzled her between the eyes in apology. Still, his heart raced with panic.

From the top of the hill, he saw thick, gray clouds rolling in from the mountains. The temperature was dropping fast.

An early winter would be upon them. They had to find Papa quickly.

“Please, Pharfignewton. We’ve gotta find him,” Pinky pleaded.

She whinnied in agreement, and galloped into the strange forest with all its dangerous, twisted branches before Pinky had a chance to settle in his usual spot at the base of her neck.

Don’t worry, Papa. I’m on my way.

End AN: Well, this is beast is complete (no pun intended).

Yeah, poor Pinky’s usual charm doesn’t really work here. Poor mouse.

Slappy is fun to write, not gonna lie. Love her cartoony antics. She’s also led quite the interesting life in this AU.

The reason Snowball didn’t show up sooner was because I wasn’t sure how to tweak the proposal scene to fit. Cause for one thing, Snowball is way smarter than Gaston, but just as arrogant to boot. So I changed Snowball’s motivation into marrying Pinky because it will help him gain a higher title than a prince. He doesn’t actually love Pinky in this AU, but he’s very annoyed at him for that stunt with the mud puddle (though it’s accidental on Pinky’s part rather than intentional like Belle’s).

The reason Snowball doesn’t go seeking a princess’s hand to gain the kingship is cause he tried that already. It was Billie of a nearby kingdom. It didn’t go well.

Also yes the village is named ACME Village because I’m lazy and can’t come up with anything better.

#pinky and the brain #patb snowball #beauty and the beast au #patb fanfiction

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ot7always · 4 years ago

Text

Forget-me-not

Word Count: 7.4k

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Genre: Village!AU. Angst. Seriously, it hurts.

Warnings: Mentions of war. Death, grief.

Rating: PG-15

Summary: As much as this had always been a possibility, you never thought that one day your best friend would actually be stolen from you.

A/N: This fic is part of my 1k Milestone Requests that was picked randomly out of the pool of requests I got!! Thank you to the lovely @jinpanman for sending such an interesting request in!! When I started writing this I had just come off of writing so much fluff, so I thought: I guess it’s time to write ANGST and this physically hurt me fhkfldhgf

“Y/N!” a voice called out loudly from downstairs, startling you enough to drop your sewing needle into the mess of fabric on your lap. Your sister had once again managed to tear one of her dresses running around doing whatever it was she did with the neighbour’s youngest son. Not that you could have boasted any more appropriate behaviour when you were her age.

“Just a moment, mother!” you responded, eyeing the damage. Truly, it wasn’t as bad as she made it sound when she came to you in a panic, dirt on her hands and tears on her cheeks. Surely it couldn’t take you more than a few minutes to fix.

“Come now, love! There’s a messenger from the capital outside!”

That had your brows furrowing instantly. A messenger? Here? Surely your relatively small, riverside village was of nearly no importance to the capital aside from paying the annual taxes.

“Coming!” you shouted, rising quickly and tossing the garment onto the chair behind you. The sewing could certainly wait, whereas the capital did not wait for anyone. It was possible the messenger had already started his spiel, and you were much too nosy a person to sit at home while something interesting was happening.

You slipped into your shoes quickly before rushing downstairs and out the door, hoping you still appeared as put together as you had that morning. Perhaps you should have thanked your mother before running full-speed toward the village’s centre, but it was much too late for that now.

When you arrived, a well-dressed man was already standing in the centre of a crowd, luckily only seeming to have just begun speaking.

“-sends his regards from the capital, but also his deepest apologies.”

Before you could ponder his words much, a sudden towering presence beside you stole your concentration for a moment.

Dark brown hair unruly, coat hastily done up, boots unlaced – how Kim Namjoon managed to make looking like a total mess a fashionable statement, you could never understand. But according to the whispers you heard as you went about your day, his unkempt, boyish manliness had stolen many ladies’ hearts in your little village. You would almost be annoyed, if not for the fact that he was so oblivious.

He shot a quick, dimpled smile your way, returned by one of your own before you both concentrated on the man’s speech once again.

“-army had taken a massive hit after the last war. As you know, that was only one year ago, and we have yet to recover properly after the close victory. And it appears that Reina is looking to take advantage of this.”

Reina. A country nearly 2 weeks away by horse, one who recently allied with Xenia through marriage, who your Kingdom’s army had barely defeated last year.

Unease settled over the crowd immediately. You grabbed for Namjoon’s arm instinctively, his hand raising to cover your own only a second later. This couldn’t possibly be what you thought it was, right?

“War appears to be imminent, and it can only be so much longer before tensions snap. We cannot let the Kingdom fall without a fight, and we are calling on all of our allies for assistance. But it is not enough.”

You sucked in a breath.

“The capital has decreed for all able-bodied man over 20 years of age to report for training and assignment. Women may volunteer to join the forces.”

Whispers and hushed cries of disbelief rang out through the crowd, but were quickly quieted by the continued announcements.

“You are expected to be in the capital within one weeks’ time. You may report to me for additional details. That is all.”

You turned to Namjoon with a helpless expression colouring your face, but the one on his was already one of resignation. Every man knew this could always be a possibility – hell, the same thing had happened only years ago for similar reasons, though that that time, your best friend had been too young to be conscripted.

But not this time.

“Namjoon-”

“It’ll be fine,” he cut in quickly, trying to quell the steadily rising despair taking over your features.

It seemed that the other men in the crowd felt the same sort of sad acceptance, hushing their daughters, wives, and friends in the same way.

As much as you might as joked to anyone who asked that Namjoon was nothing more than a nuisance, you hardly went a day without seeing him. His family home was only down the street – a fact you’d learned only days after you grew old enough to play with the other children on your own.

His tiny body had come barreling into your smaller one in a rush, sending your 6-year-old figure straight into a nearby bush. And as any young girl would do after having torn the new dress gifted to you only weeks earlier, to no fault of her own, you recalled throwing quite the tantrum.

You only saw more and more of him after he brought you to his home in a hurry, pushing you towards his mother in a wordless plea to fix whatever problem he caused. And so she mended your dress, urged you to return for tea the next day, and thus began your odd relationship with the clumsy boy.

You were not quite fast friends, your friendship with his mother developing much more quickly than any relationship with him. The younger you was quite adept at holding a grudge, and you didn’t dare forget that this was the boy that almost ruined your birthday present.

But, as children did, you got over it before long, especially after learning that you would be attending the same classes that same year. While a year older than you, an unfortunate illness had befallen him two years prior, holding him back several months.

After weeks of taking the exact same walk to and from school, you’d warmed up to the boy quite a bit. He liked to show you his strange collection of rocks, and in exchange you showed him your collection of fabrics you’d collected from old clothing and blankets over the years. The fact that you’d acted interested in each other's odd habits must have been a testament to your strengthening bond.

Spending your days with him became second nature over time, right up until he’d grown at least a head taller than you and become more man than boy.

You’d seen each other through almost all of life’s troubles; studying together in a harried panic, hurriedly throwing together gifts for birthdays you’d forgotten, and eventually cheering each other on in finding an occupation for yourself.

It must have been a surprise to the other villagefolk that it was you who had become the teacher, and not Namjoon, because it was him dazzling your teachers with grand speeches and uncanny wisdom for his age. Though they could not be surprised long, for it was Namjoon who spent many months of the year in neighbouring villages, and sometimes even the capital, studying to be a doctor.

There were few people in your village with the capabilities to study such a profession, but Namjoon excelled. He preferred not to boast of his abilities, but you heard frequently from your mother that many travellers sung his praises. Your best friend was a rare gem whose future appeared to span far beyond the tiny walls of your village.

Which was why you could not simply accept that he would go off to war, possibly never to be seen again.

“How can you be okay with this? How are you not panicking? Namjoon, I-”

You were unaware of your rising volume until steady hands settled on your shoulders, moving to shield you from the curious eyes now pointed in your direction. How could he possibly take care for your reputation when the country was asking him to give up his life?

“We always knew this might happen some day, Y/N. You know it as well as I do.” His words were firm, but his eyes spoke different words, pained words. Words that he could not say here, for to publicly voice his displeasure would not be taken well. Especially not when so many of the men around you had already gone to war and returned.

He was right that you knew this could happen – you would be a fool not to realize such a thing. Even your father had been lost to war when you were only a child, as is the reality for many children in your village. But did that make this any easier to bear? No person could say that preparing for a possible goodbye made the event any less gut wrenching.

“I’m worried for you,” you eventually whispered, head tipping back to stare into those eyes that had become a constant in your daily life, eyes that, one week from now, you might never see again. That thought sent a new wave of dread through your very being, a hole opening in your chest at the thought of Namjoon riding off, never to be seen again.

“Y/N,” he said, squeezing your shoulders in an attempt to pull you out of your head and back into this moment with him. “I need to speak with the messenger. Will you wait for me by the pond?”

You could only nod mutely, afraid that if you were to open your mouth, the only thing that would come out would be more words of displeasure.

“I’ll come as soon as I can okay?” he asked gently, voice filled with compassion. A part of you was ashamed that he was here comforting you when it was his life on the line.

When you didn’t make to move on your own, the hands still on your shoulders nudged you to turn around, further words of assurance falling from his lips.

It was as though you had been possessed. Your mind felt suddenly blank, your chest empty, your movements not your own. You hadn’t even realized you were approaching the pond near your home until the water was glistening right in front of you.

You stood as close to the water as one would dare, what with the notoriously slippery rocks at your feet. You stared at your reflection in the crystal-clear shallows before you, as though she could tell you how to deal with this situation. And as you watched your skirts sway gently in the spring breeze, you wondered if your eyes appeared as empty as your soul felt in this moment.

Being here only spurred up more shared memories. Summers spent playing in the water, digging up insects, even chasing each other over the wet rocks, much to the disdain of your mother.

Not only that – this place felt safe. It was where you came when you were upset, where you always were when Namjoon came looking for you to make things better. It was where you found him when he was contemplating whether he was fit to be a doctor, where you assured him that he was the most intelligent person you knew of.

Without even realizing it, you had begun digging up every good memory you had with Namjoon, as though to mourn them before you’ve even lost him.

It seemed that a part of you had already accepted the possibility of losing him forever, already accepted that as many memories as you had together, you might never have the chance to make any more.

But rather than sadness, sorrow – all you felt was a gaping emptiness within you as you stared, unblinking, unseeing, into the water before you.

Was something wrong with you, not to feel? Someone akin to family was about to be ripped away from you, yet your eyes were dry. Shouldn’t you be screaming, sobbing? Didn’t he deserve at least that?

“Y/N.”

You didn’t have the slightest idea how much time had passed before Namjoon was calling your name, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned slowly before meeting his eyes, the distance between you unusually large. He appeared as though he didn’t know what to do with himself, as though you hadn’t spent over 15 years at each other’s side. He looked to be brimming with words he wanted to say to you, but his eyes remained fixed on you, his mouth shut.

“So?” you managed to force out, voice sounding distant even to your own ears.

He only gave you a pained smile in response, closing the space between you and eventually sitting next to the place you stood. When he patted the ground at your feet, you joined him.

Minutes went by with both of you silent, gazes staring blankly across the water, as though failing to address the subject at hand would render it nonexistent.

However, patience was never your strong suit, and you could not hold your tongue any longer, even if you would only receive bad news in return. Though, it appeared Namjoon had the same idea.

“What-”

“I-”

As quickly as you had both opened your mouths, you had stopped talking. A slight smile finally cracked your stony expression as you met Namjoon’s eye, his expression sheepish, as though he could have known he was going to cut you off.

“You first,” you chuckled, tension seemingly broken as you watched Namjoon collect his thoughts.

“I spoke to the messenger...” he started, taking another breath as you acknowledged him with a low hum. “He told me I would be able to work with the doctors there.”

You perked up immediately at his words, hope blooming in your chest. “So you won’t have to fight?”

But the troubled expression on his face told you it wasn’t that simple.

“Not on the front-lines, but I’ll have to be close by. Wherever they decide to send me.”

“You’ll be in the camps.”

“Right.”

That coiling feeling in your gut returned. “And the camps get raided often.”

“Right,” he murmured. “I could...”

“You could die.” You cut him off with a whisper, turning your head away to hide your furrowed brows, nails digging into your forearm as though the physical pain could ease the burden in your heart. “How are you not more upset?”

“Part of me always expected for this day to come,” he sighed, hand drawing senseless patterns into the rocks at his feet. “As a man in a country at war, it’s like I was born just to die.”

“Don’t say that. Why do you accept your death so easily?” you forced out through gritted teeth, burying the sorrow in your chest that was creeping up your throat, threatening to burst at the seams. Did he value himself so lowly that it was so easy to throw his life away for his country?

“There’s nothing I can do about this, you know that,” he said lowly.

“I know,” you replied simply. You did. But that didn’t mean you could accept it so easily. You should have been more like him, should have expected that this might eventually happen to the two of you, but too much of you didn’t want to think about a reality without your best friend in it. Perhaps it was naïve and foolish of you, but you were happier thinking that the time you had with Namjoon was not defined by an hourglass that tipped at the notion of war.

The silence that followed was heavy, the emotions that laid between you more than words could express.

To think that his hulking presence in this place you grew up together – when he visited you in the classroom with treats for the children, when he ran through the village streets with your sister on his back – to think that one week from now, those might just be memories, never to be seen before you again. Was it selfish to mourn how lonely you would be without him?

You thought you could hold yourself together until you returned home, but it was the arm circling around your shoulders and the words that came next from his lips that broke you.

“Will you remember me well?”

It was as though the single thread holding you together snapped, sorrow rearing its ugly head as tears spilled from your eyes. You kept your face from him, but no matter how quietly you cried, the heaving of your shoulders, gave you away.

Namjoon didn’t comment, only pulling you closer so that your head could rest on his shoulder.

“You’re so stupid,” you sobbed, voice strained as you angrily wiped at the tears on your face. “I hate you.”

You swore you heard Namjoon snort at that. After all, he heard that phrase from you at least 5 times per week.

“I know, I know.”

You finally turned towards him, but before he could get a good look at you, you buried your face in his chest and wrapped your arms around him. When you realized that this could be one of the last times you held him close like this, another strangled cry was wrenched from your throat.

He didn’t dare comment on how tightly you were holding him, nor how wet the front of his shirt was becoming.

Another comment on how well he was keeping himself together was on the tip of your tongue before you felt the shuddering of his body beneath you.

Namjoon was a silent crier if you’d ever seen one, and if not for the breath catching in his throat, it would have been hard for anyone to tell without seeing him.

You didn’t know how long you sat there like that, half-sprawled across his body, tears falling until there was nothing more for your body to give. Namjoon’s hands trembled in their place on your back, and you wished more than anything that you could make this easier on him somehow. It was his life on the line, after all, and not yours.

“Y/N,” he whispered, the sound wrought with emotion.

You pulled from him enough to meet his eyes, the pain you found there a reflection of your own. His hand rose to wipe at the wetness on your cheeks before moving to lace his fingers with your own.

“Take care of my mother for me. Please.”

You nodded gravely, reaching for his other hand as well. “Of course,” you replied, breaking eye contact lest you fall apart all over again. “Only until you get back.”

“Only until I get back.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noted the setting sun above the tall trees surrounding you, though you still had no grasp on how long you had been here together. Everything felt to be a blur of fear and despair.

“When do you leave?” you asked.

“In five days.”

You nodded. Five days left with your best friend before you had to send him off to a war he might not return from. You were certain those days would be spent busy right from dawn until dusk, but you would steal whatever moments with him you could.

You eventually returned to your original position sitting beside him, facing the water as a slight breeze sent a shiver through you.

“We should head back soon,” he said, but he didn’t sound to want to leave very much. “It’s getting dark.”

“Stay with me a while longer,” you murmured, reaching for his hand.

So he did.

The days following passed in a whirlwind. Despite your dedication to spending as much time with Namjoon as possible before his departure, it proved difficult with the preparations he had to make. Writing letters to his colleagues, saying goodbye to old teachers, securing a horse, packing his belongings – there was unfortunately not much time left for the two of you to simply spend with each other, though you stole what moments you could.

It was almost surreal, what you felt in that time. You couldn’t help the tears that came that night after the pond when your mother held you. Since then, it had almost been an endless cycle of sorrow followed by emptiness, over and over and over.

But the morning before Namjoon would set out on his own, you were determined not to break down again. You were determined that you would send him off with a smile, no matter how difficult it would be to manifest one. He deserved to leave on a good note, not having to comfort you yet again right before he left. You should be the one making him feel better, not the other way around. You would support him as best you could, and momentarily put aside the worst-case scenarios that had been circling through your head ever since the words came from that messenger’s mouth.

“Were you waiting long?” came a voice from behind you.

Turning around, you smiled as you met Namjoon’s eyes, his body already clad in a riding outfit and sturdy boots. It looked good on him.

“Not at all.”

The two of you had decided to spend the last of his time in the village together at the pond. It felt fitting – it was a place ever-present in your childhood memories together, a place you felt a strong emotional attachment to. Not only that, it was peaceful here. Quiet. Perfect.

“Sit with me,” you said, settling yourself in the grass beside a basket you brought with you.

“Is that what I think it is?” he questioned, clearly trying to keep the childish excitement from his voice, though failing.

When you removed the cloth covering what laid within, you had to keep yourself from laughing at Namjoon’s sudden intake of breath.

“Apple pie, fresh from the oven about... an hour ago?” you hummed nonchalantly, not bothering to hide your grin at his excitement. “It’s not exactly breakfast, but I thought you would appreciate it. You can take what’s left with you.”

“You really know how to cheer up a guy, don’t you?” he breathed, sending a reverent ‘thank you’ as you handed it over to him.

As he distracted himself with the pie, you took the chance to study him.

You quickly dispelled the thought that you had to memorize his face now, burn the picture into your memory while you could.

What startled you was that he looked... happy. Well – as happy as he could be considering the situation, but truly, he looked content. As though accepting his fate was no difficult thing, as though he wasn’t leaving his family behind within hours.

Perhaps you should not have been so surprised, though, as Namjoon had always been someone who adapted well to change and thrived wherever he went. All you could do now was have faith that that would hold true now.

“Something on my face?” he teased, snapping you out of your thoughts before darting a slightly embarrassed glance his way.

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“How much I’m going to miss you.”

A flash of pain went through his gaze before he snapped his head down to hide it. A pang of guilt shot through you at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” you hastened. “I promised myself not to be negative today, I just...”

“Can’t stop thinking about it, right?” he mumbled.

“Yes,” you whispered, reaching for his hand as you pushed the leftovers of the pie out of your way. “But it’s okay. You’re so stubborn I know you’ll come back.”

Your words had their intended effect, those dimples you’d come to grow and love making their appearance again as he exhaled a laugh. The momentary joy you saw there, though, was quickly put away and replaced by an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Y/N,” he said, his tone sounding unsure and entirely unlike him. A furrow worked its way between your brows immediately and you were about to comment on his apparent nervousness, but he spoke up before you could. “I need to tell you something.”

“Hm?” you responded, caught off guard. “Okay, sure. What is it?”

“I... This is – Well...” he stuttered, taking you off guard even more. Anything that rendered Namjoon an ineloquent speaker must have been weighing heavily on his mind.

“Namjoon?” you prodded, tone laced with concern. You had never been one to mince words with each other, and so his inability to come out with what he was thinking was unusual.

“I’m sorry for doing this to you right now,” he blurted out in what must have been half a breath. “But I don’t want to leave here with any regrets, you know? In case... well, you know...”

“You’re scaring me,” you said, your heartbeat increasing already just from watching him fumble around with his words.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he breathed. “But before I go, I just have to tell you that I...”

He took a long pause then, several moments passing as he gathered himself. Just as you were about to cut in again, he said the words all at once, almost too fast for you to process.

“I love you.”

You spent a moment staring at him blankly as you registered what he said.

But once you did, you were left no less confused than you were before.

“I love you too, Joon, you should know that-”

“No,” he interrupted loudly, wincing slightly in apology when you jumped in surprise. “That’s... that’s not what I meant.”

That’s not what he meant? What else could he have possibly-

Wait.

Namjoon spotted the exact moment you realized exactly what he meant by his words, confusion, realization, then confusion again flashing in your eyes.

It was silent for several moments as you simply stared at him, no part of you knowing what to do with this knowledge.

“What?” was what you settled on, and you inwardly cursed yourself for not having anything better to say.

He gave a bit of a self-deprecating laugh then, and something in your gut wrenched knowing you were the cause of that sound. He broke eye contact, bravery seemingly used up, instead staring blankly into the water.

“I know it’s unfair to tell you this now, and honestly,” he paused as his lips upturned in a mirthless grin. “I don’t really know why I did. It doesn’t change anything.”

You wanted so badly to be able to comfort him, but you couldn’t tell whether your touch would just make it worse.

“I-I don’t know what to say, I never-”

“I know you don’t feel the same way. I just had to get it off my chest since...”

He let his words trail off, both of you already knowing what he was referring to. There was no use saying the same thing again and again.

“I never thought about it,” you whispered, glancing over at Namjoon in a new light. In love with you? You couldn’t say there was never a moment where you thought you and him could be together like that – you'd spent much of your life together, after all. But it was never something you’d entertained seriously, never something you allowed to linger in your brain.

“I know,” he said, and you ignored the way his voice cracked at the end of the phrase. “I just didn’t think our story would end like this, you know?”

“Namjoon...”

“I thought I’d have time to muster up the courage, time to make you fall in love with me too,” he continued. “You always told me I was naïve.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I should have said something earlier, stopped hiding, stopped pretending...” He sighed. “There’s no use dwelling on it now. Find someone who makes you happy, okay?”

It was as though all of the words had been stolen from your body. You didn’t know what you could possibly say to him, how you could possibly ease his pain. And despite not having known, you couldn’t help the guilt that washed over you. You were the one causing him this pain, you were the one somehow too oblivious to see something in the man you claimed to know everything about. And at the same time, you wished he said something before, because now was too late – whether you could have been happy together didn’t matter now. Fate was cruel with her strings.

“Y/N.” His stern tone broke you free from your thoughts. “It doesn’t bother me now, okay? I just... couldn’t leave with secrets.”

“I understand,” you responded, though you could not stop thinking on the notion. What you might have been together had he not been called to war, had he had time to enact his grand plan to win your heart.

But none of that mattered now.

After several minutes of heavy silence, his voice startled you out of your melancholy.

“I need to say goodbye to my mother.” He stood, offering you a hand to join him.

“I’ll walk you,” you offered quietly, not letting go of his hand. He didn’t comment on it.

You felt almost dazed after his confession, the two of you arriving at Namjoon’s family home within what felt like seconds.

When you looked up at him he was staring at you quizzically, and you quickly removed your hand from his own.

“Will you meet me at the gates in a half hour?”

The gates. The place where you would say goodbye to your best friend, not knowing if or when you would hear from or see him again. You pushed down the dread once again, determined to show a brave face.

“Of course,” you replied weakly, sending him a smile that surely didn’t meet your eyes.

Before he could express his worry at your behaviour, you patted him on the back as you set out for the gates.

The entrance to your village was a beautiful place – surely the most beautiful in the entire area. One of the village teachers had a special gift for horticulture, tending to the hedges and flowers almost every day. You had tried your best to help him when you were young, though it was quickly proven that despite your love for flowers, you lacked the ability to care for them properly.

The primroses were in full bloom, the array of colours surrounding you from where you sat in the grass. The butterflies were rampant this time of year, enough that some of the grumpier citizens likened them to pests. But you had always admired their beauty, silken wings of white, yellow, and orange fluttering gently through the warm breeze.

Perhaps such painful goodbyes could be made slightly easier in scenery such as this.

The grass was soft where you sat waiting, nothing like the thick, pointed blades near the pond. You allowed your fingers to trail through the greenery on either side of you, closing your eyes and tipping your head back to greet the warmth of the sun, only having just taken its place in the morning sky.

You didn’t move even as you heard the clacking of hooves on cobblestone, as footsteps approached and arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind.

He was warm, and safe, and alive, and you would give anything and everything to keep him that way.

But sheer will and sacrifice could not win a war, no matter what the folk tales claimed.

You allowed yourself to relax into his hold, despite the awkward position of Namjoon hovering above you.

You didn’t remember doing it, but at some point, you must have pulled him down with you. Because the next thing you knew you were in his lap, face hidden away in his chest as you trembled, holding back tears.

The hands on your back and on your head almost hurt in the way they were crushing you to him, but you didn’t dare complain, not when you were doing the same to him. Not when this one moment needed to last you until you could see him again.

If you could see him again.

But now was not the time to explore that train of thought once again.

Pull yourself together and be strong. For him.

Forcing yourself to take several deep breaths, you eventually pulled away from him enough to look into his eyes for the first time since he walked up.

You didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that the deep brown of his eyes held only a resigned acceptance, lips upturned in a smile that looked more self-deprecating than anything.

Neither of you dared to break the silence, and it dawned on you then that to anyone else, you might have looked like lovers, wrapped together amongst the flowers, gazes locked.

Yes, fate was cruel with her strings.

The bell from the clocktower several blocks away was what broke you free of the moment, your heart dropping in your chest when you processed what you’d heard.

The seventh hour.

He had to leave now.

You stood up wordlessly, almost as though you were in a trance. You couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head up, staring intently at your feet.

“Y/N.” His voice came with a gentle hand on your cheek, tilting your head up to keep you from hiding any longer. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep.

“Okay,” you whispered, covering his hand with both of your own.

A moment passed before you led him to where his horse was waiting. You managed to crack a smile at the sight of the remnants of your pie bagged and tied messily to the saddle. With a knot like that, you were dubious that it would make it to the capital in one piece without being left behind.

You clung to his bicep the entire time you walked the horse past the gates, your fingers digging into the flesh as though you had the power to keep him there.

His hands moved to cup beneath your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his eyes one last time before he left.

You didn’t even blink as his gaze darted across every inch of your face, memorizing it as if he didn’t see you in his dreams every night already.

“I guess this is it,” he murmured, allowing his thumb to stroke mindlessly along the soft skin of your jaw.

It wasn’t often that he got to touch you like this, and he would make this one moment last a lifetime if you would let him.

He gave you a smile then that was small but as genuine as you’d ever seen it, and your face was lighting up in return before you even gave it any thought.

You only nodded, afraid in that moment of what would leave your lips if you dared to part them.

His hands left you slowly, leaving warmth in their wake. When he turned his back to you, about to climb atop his horse, you didn’t know what came over you then. The warmth, the pain, emotion you couldn’t put into words – something in you snapped.

You saw the breath leave him in a sigh, and right as his leg begun to raise from the ground-

“Wait!” you yelled, yanking his arm to turn him back around, a yelp leaving him as he almost lost his balance.

His eyes were wide with alarm, but you didn’t give him the chance to ask what you were doing before you threw yourself at him.

When your lips met, sparks didn’t fly, nor did time slow to a pause.

But something within you blossomed at the touch, a hand raising to rest against the nape of his neck even as he stood frozen with shock. His hands hovered in the air as his mind struggled to catch up, struggled to process the fact that you were kissing him.

Just as you were about to spring away from him, concerned by his utter lack of reaction, he groaned into your mouth, arms circling around your waist.

You’d clearly awoken something in him, his lips responding to your own with vengeance, pulling your body as close to his as possible. Your neck ached fiercely at the harsh angle, but that was the last thing on your mind.

You couldn’t pinpoint what this feeling was – you only knew that you didn’t want to let it go. This warmth, this safety, this moment with the sun warming your skin, his hands clutching you, his lips soft, patient against your own.

What started out hurried and desperate soon became slow and calm, but your heart was pounding in your chest regardless.

It was the horse’s whinny at your side that broke you from your daze, your lips separating as you looked at him wide-eyed.

“Y/N-”

“Come home safe,” you cut him off, finally disentangling yourself from him and stepping back.

He looked like he had so much he wanted to say to you, and you shared the sentiment.

But there was no time if he wanted to reach the capital before sundown.

He would just need to come back.

With a sombre nod and a quick touch of his fingers to his lips in disbelief, he turned to finally mount his horse.

You locked eyes once more, forcing your mouth up into a smile as you weakly waved farewell.

But your heart hurt, your eyes stinging.

All he could do was try his best to return it.

And with one last tilt of the head from both of you, he set off.

Come home safe.

Please.

It was a long and grueling six months.

You were beside yourself once Namjoon left that morning. It must have been days before you felt well enough to leave your bed, but time was a blur then. Your sister did her best to comfort you, cuddling her much smaller body into your side until you both fell asleep.

But you could not spend all of your days moping. Not when you had your own responsibilities in your home and with your students. Not when that would be the last thing Namjoon wanted, either.

Each time a letter arrived from Namjoon, your hope renewed. They came every few weeks, one for you and one for his mother.

You always ran excitedly to her house when a letter came for you, eager to share what words he was able to put down in a rush at the camp.

He was clearly a busy and well-needed man, stationed at one of the more populated camps on the edge of the battlefield, tending to the wounded at every hour of the day.

Despite his short letters and scribbled words, he always included petals or pressed flowers in his letters to you.

It made you giggle when you opened the first one to find a badly-crushed hyacinth stuffed into the sheets.

It was no secret that you went through a phase in your adolescence in which you loved to collect flowers in notebooks. You’d had many short-lived passions, but this one lasted for years. Books and books of dried, pressed flowers, enough that your poor sister sneezed whenever she entered your room.

It became routine to find flower after flower in his letters to you, and you had to admit that your heart fluttered each time, excited to see what he included for you that time.

The flowers on the other side of the country were much different from your own, and it was no small thrill to see what beauty was in store for you with each letter.

Stretching your arms far above your head, you sat up in bed, having been woken by the sunlight streaming in despite your closed curtains. Perhaps you would soon need to invest in buying some heavier, darker fabrics.

Hopping out of bed quickly and tossing on your skirts and apron, you gave yourself a quick once-over in the mirror before heading out to wash up and make breakfast.

You were often the first one up, your mother much preferring reading or knitting until late at night, lit only by lanternlight. Your sister, on the other hand, slept early and woke up late. The girl got an obscene amount of sleep, though you supposed her growing body must have needed it.

You didn’t mind the quiet, your hushed footsteps and soft humming only ever interrupted by birdsong and crickets chirping.

You were in a particularly good mood as of late, constantly receiving news of battles gone well and your country’s forcing advancing. The village elders had told you that with the way things were going, the men should be back in about a month or two, perhaps even sooner should your opponents surrender.

The thought of seeing Namjoon again in only a month had a soft smile spreading across your face before you had realized it.

You didn’t know what you were feeling for Namjoon, didn’t know if it was love, but you knew that with every letter, he wrapped himself around your heart even more.

Reaching the kitchen, you reached for a hair bandana before turning in search of flour. Perhaps you could make pastries before your family woke up?

But as you turned, a flash of white in your peripheral caught your eye. Spotting an envelope on the near the front door, the bandana fell forgotten to the floor, feet racing across the room.

Scooping the envelope from the floor, you hurried over to the table, setting yourself down into a wooden chair in preparation for another of Namjoon’s letters.

But when you examined the letter closer, you frowned.

It was addressed to you, but the handwriting wasn’t one that you recognized. Who else ever sent you letters? Who could you possibly not recognize despite them knowing where you lived?

Doubt and dread rose in your gut, but when you turned the envelope around, you could have sworn your heart stopped.

A military seal.

Bright red, and clear as day.

With trembling hands, you reached for a nearby knife to cut the envelope open.

Pulling the paper from inside, you had to muffle a cry when you unfolded the letter, a flower falling into your waiting hand, Namjoon’s writing covering the page.

Unlike his normal, scribbled, rushed handwriting, this was meticulous. Neat.

It made you feel sick.

Already feeling like you were sinking, you begun to read.

My dearest Y/N,

I pray to anyone who may be listening that your eyes never see the words written on this page, that I return to you a stronger man, prepared to do anything to have you kiss me again.

In the event that you are reading this, I’m sorry.

I asked my commander to send you a letter in the event that I do not make it out of this war alive.

It pains me to write this, and I fear staining the paper with my tears as I do. There is nothing I want less than to leave you alone, than to leave you behind as I leave this plane.

There was something you said to me once when we were perhaps 11 or 12, I’m not sure if you remember it. It was after we got into one of our silly, petty fights, and I ignored you for a several days.

When we met again, I remember that you were crying. Your eyes were wet and red, and my heart hurt then. You told me, “Never leave me alone again.” I told you I wouldn’t, and I never did something like that again. From then on, I promised myself that I would never leave you. I would stay by your side in whatever capacity you let me.

I'm sorry. I’m sorry I broke my promise, and I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to come back to you.

I love you more than words can say, and I’m sorry.

I never want to cause you pain, and it kills me knowing that if you ever have to read this, I won’t be there to ease the hurt.

I want you so badly to be happy no matter what, and I want nothing more than for you to look back on our moments together with joy. Please don’t let my death take that beautiful smile from your face forever.

I’m sorry.

With all my love,

Your Namjoon

You didn’t know when you had started crying, but fat teardrops covered your hands, splashing against the ink on the page.

Why?

Why did your story have to end here?

You tried to quiet your sobs, but it was no use. You were lost to sorrow, overcome with pain, your vision blurry with tears.

As you balled up your fists in rage and agony, you felt something poke into your palm.

The flower.

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you looked down into the palm of your hand, and another gut-wrenching cry was pulled from your throat.

Because there laid a browning, wilted, crushed, forget-me-not.

Tagging: @jinpanman @ezralia-writes @wwilloww

#houseofddaeng #btsgoldnet #btsguild #ficswithluv #heartsforbts #hyunglinenetwork #magicshopnet #mikrogalaxynet #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #bts angst #namjoon angst #bts fic #bts fanfic

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berrynarrybanana · 4 years ago

Text

Deck the Halls pt. 2

A/N: Okay! Here is part two! I’m sorry I’m a little later than the evening, but I forgot that I had work tonight....anyways...here is part two. Harry is being a little cheesy and romantic in this one, and I love that about him because even though he’s a scrooge, he’s still baby for Holland. I hope that you all are enjoying this so far, and expect part three at any random point in the day tomorrow lol. Love you all!

Warnings: Mentions of death, violence, smut, fluff....other things i can’t remember at this moment?

Word Count: 9.7k

Holland’s POV

Holland stood there, staring at the dark blue paint on Harry’s door with wide eyes.

“He really has lost his true Christmas spirit, hasn’t he?” She whispered, shaking her head as her heart sank just a little in her chest. “Sugar sticks, this is going to be harder than I thought.”

She turned towards her own door, walking back inside of her flat with a sigh.

London had been her home for about ten hours now, and she was more than ecstatic to finally have her own place. It wasn’t the size of her home back in the North Pole, and it wasn’t nearly as grand, but it was hers and she loved it. Her Father showed her around London for most of the day, helping her settle in before he finally bid her farewell, and since he’d left her alone, she had been sitting on the couch in her flat, binge watching movies that she’d never seen before.

During a sappy movie about falling in love at Christmas, Holland felt a strong pull in the center of her chest. Her heart started beating rapidly, and her palms were sweaty. At some point, she slipped off of the couch before she started pacing in front of her door. Everything in her brain screamed at her to open the door, to poke her head out and see what could be in the hall.

So she did.

And there Harry was, walking down the hallway like he stepped right out of her dream.

Now that she had finally met him, she was worried that fixing his spirit would be a challenge that she couldn’t handle. She walked back into her flat with a dark cloud over her head, and a sad feeling in her chest. In her mind, their first meeting was magical and grand. She didn’t expect for it to be over in under ten minutes, and she definitely didn’t expect to faint when she first saw him. It made her cringe just thinking about it, her body hitting the ground after they met eyes.

She was in London to find him, for gingerbread sake.

She knew that she would obviously run into him at some point.

As she curled back under her blanket on her new couch, a Christmas film still playing on the television, she started to think about what happened to Harry’s true Christmas spirit. After reading the book that Morpheus gave her, she came up with a few odd theories on what might have caused his spirit to dim, but she didn’t have any solid proof.

All she really knew about the situation was that Jack Frost wanted to destroy Christmas, and he wanted to absorb the powerful magic that only two souls forged from the same star could grant him. It just so happened that Harry and Holly were both souls forged from the same star, and souls that contained true Christmas spirit. It was a double whammy that could give Jack Frost the power to destroy any other magical being, including Santa Claus himself.

She tried not to dwell on the negative parts of her journey to London, but the positive ones instead. Her soulmate was just across the hall from her, and though it would clearly take some time to warm him up to the idea of soulmates, he was still there. They were both safe when they were together, according to Erotes. His presence would cloak hers, protecting her from any outside forces, and her presence would bring light and joy into his heart.

It was all very exciting, having a soulmate that could protect her and love her (even if he wasn’t there quite yet.) and she was excited to learn everything she could about him. Morpheus and Erotes had a theory that the nightmares might cease with the souls being near each other, and Holland kept that in the front of her mind as she started to doze off on her couch.

But she still had a nightmare.

She had one worse than the last few that she’d had, actually.

This time, there was no mercy at the hands of Jack Frost.

This time, he knew that she was watching and taking notes. He made sure to pull her out of the ice by her hair, holding her up as she gasped out. He looked her in the eye, the chill that he sent through her body much colder than the water he held her under. Jack Frost looked her dead in the eyes before he looked back at Harry with a smirk. His lips pressed into hers next, kissing her with cold and slimy lips before he dunked her head back under the water. This time, she heard Harry screaming from the shore, his voice laced with agony as he called her name out.

Holland woke up to the sound of banging on her door, her name being called out.

She let out a shriek, her body falling off the couch in shock.

She recognized Harry’s voice, scrambling to her feet as quick as she could before she opened the door. He stood there, his chest heaving and his eyes dark as he looked at her with tear stained cheeks. Her heart shattered in her chest, her body relaxing when she realized he was safe and that he was standing right there in front of her. He let out a sigh, reaching up to brush his sleeve under his nose. She crossed her arms over her chest, anxiously shifting on her feet as he stared into her eyes for a few minutes in silence.

“You’re alright?” He asked her, licking over his bottom lip as she nodded. “Fuck me.”

“Excuse me?” She asked, her eyes growing wide. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, no.” Harry said quickly, his hands flying up in defense. “I didn’t mean it like that, Holland. I swear, it’s just an expression.”

She cleared her throat, pressing her lips together as she nodded slowly.

“Well, since you’re alright, I’m gonna go back to bed.” Harry said softly, gulping as he brushed his palms over the outside of his thighs. “Just do me a favor, and don’t go near any lakes.”

“Noted.” She whispered. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” he whispered, pulling her door shut.

“What in the candy canes is wrong with that boy?” She muttered falling back onto her couch with a heavy groan. “My soulmate is insane.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️

November 11 Holland’s POV

Holland didn’t see Harry for four days after their initial meeting.

She expected him to come banging on her door when the nightmares happened again, but she didn’t hear a peep out of him. She had to admit that they were pretty standard nightmares compared to the ones they had been sharing the last few nights. They were just run of the mill, ‘oops, Jack Frost got me again’ nightmares that she’d been having almost her entire life.

During the time that they spent apart, the night that they met continued to replay in her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he’d run across the hall in his pajamas just to bang on her door in the middle of the night to check on her. He looked so heartbroken, and distraught, that it almost broke her heart to see him that way. She realized then that she could feel his emotions just as strong as she felt her own. Their souls were one and the same, and they were both hurting. It made Holland want to wrap herself around him, but that was hard to do when he was never around.

She also could tell when he was home due to the warm feeling that flowed through her veins and the pull in her chest. That feeling was the reason that she knew he was never home, and she wondered if he was avoiding her because of it. So instead of sitting around and pining after him, she decided to hit the streets and explore the new city that she’d always dreamed of seeing as a little girl. There was on use in wasting her time here, waiting for Harry to come around.

He would come to her in his own time.

On her second day in London, she decided to bundle herself up before taking herself on a walk around the small village area that she lived in. It was filled with cobblestones and tiny shops preparing for the biggest (and best) holiday of the year. Everyone was slowly putting up decorations in their windows, covering the glass outside with fake frost. Holland absolutely adored it, even if it wasn’t the same as The North Pole. She loved the enthusiasm and the electric feeling in the air that only Christmas could inspire.

On the fourth day, she ventured just a little farther than her tiny village to the busier streets of London. She was lost in her head, watching the people rush by as they talked to themselves. It made her a little nervous when she saw cotton stuffed in their ears, and she wondered if maybe it was a cultural thing that she knew nothing of. She made a mental note to ask Harry about it the next time that she saw him.

“Grab a cup of Christmas cheer!” Holland turned her head at the sound of ringing bells that sounded like they belonged on Santa’s sleigh, and the word Christmas. “Come to Java Java for our signature holiday Peppermint Mocha!”

“Peppermint.” Holland’s lips spread into a smile as she turned around, moving in the crowd of people towards the shop. “I love peppermint.”

She was starting to understand why people talked to themselves, but it still seemed weird.

Holland walked towards the shop, smiling at the elf standing outside with a sign in her hand.

“Hello, kind elf.” Holland waved at her, causing the girl to give her a funny look. “What is a peppermint mocha, and how do I get one?”

“It’s coffee, and you just go inside-” The girl said, her brows raising. “-and pay for one.”

“Oh, that’s easy!” Holland exclaimed. “Thank you for your help! Merry Christmas.”

She reached for the door, pulling at the handle, but it didn’t budge.

“You push it.” The girl said, her voice trailing off. “The door is a push, not a pull lady.”

Holland’s cheeks grew warm as she pushed the door open, smiling over her shoulder at the girl.

When she walked into the cafe, she felt like she was back in the North Pole.

Java Java was adorable and Holland was ecstatic to see their decorations. There was tinsel draped over almost every surface, and little reindeer figurines on the counter tops. As she stood in line, she noticed a little girl looking up at her with wide eyes, a little doll in her hands that caught Holland’s attention. The doll looked a bit like her, with white blonde hair and a pretty blue dress.

Holland was almost confused by it.

“Hello there,” Holland crouched down, pointing at the doll. “What’s her name?”

“Elsa.” The little girl whispered, looking at the doll and then back at Holland. “Are you Elsa?”

“I’m sorry.” Holland glanced up at the sound of someone’s voice. “She’s absolutely obsessed with Frozen and...you do kind of look like Elsa.”

“That’s what I thought when I saw her doll.” Holly smiled at the girl's mother before looking back at the girl. “What does Elsa do?”

“She’s a princess.” The little girl spoke with a lisp due to her missing front teeth. “She can shoot ice from her hands.”

“That’s so cool!” Holland gasped in excitement. “And her dress is so pretty.”

“I want one just like it when I grow up.” The little girl smiled. “I want to be a princess.”

“Well, everyone can be a princess.” Holland said. “I’m a princess.”

“You are?” The girl’s eyes grew wide before she snapped her head up to look at her Mum. “Did you hear that Mummy? She’s a princess.”

“I heard, Maddy.” The mother chuckled, glancing at Holland. “Isn’t that amazing?”

“Can you make me a princess?” Maddy bounced on the balls of her feet. “I want to be a princess just like you and Elsa!”

“Oh, I’m afraid that I can’t make you a princess.” Holly said softly “Being a princess comes from within, Maddy.”

“Like from your tummy?” She asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Like from your heart.” Holland giggled. “Do you have a kind heart?”

“I think so.” Maddy nodded. “I like to read to the ducks in the park, does that make me kind?”

“I think it might.” Holland nodded. “Being a princess also means that you must be brave, are you brave?”

“I fell off of my bike last week, and I didn’t even cry!” Maddy exclaimed turning back to her mother with a smile.

“That is quite brave.” Holland hummed, tapping her finger against her chin as if she was deep in thought. “Well, I guess that makes you a princess, Maddy.”

“Mummy, I’m a princess!” Maddy cheered out. “Just like Elsa!”

Holland stood up, looking at the Mother as she smiled at her daughter.

“That was really kind of you.” The lady said. “She probably won’t stop talking about it for the rest of her life.”

“I’m glad it made her day just a little brighter.” Holland chuckled, stuffing her hands in her pocket. “She’s a very lovely little girl. You’re doing a wonderful job with her.”

The woman’s face softened, her eyes filling with tears.

“Thank you.” She said. “I don’t mean to cry, it’s just that...things have been hard since her father passed away.”

“Oh my.” Holland said. “I’m so sorry.”

“She truly is a brave little girl.” The mother wiped under her eyes, sniffling. “She’s been keeping me afloat during this entire thing, and I just...you making her smile has been the best thing that’s happened to us all year.”

Holland’s heart squeezed in her chest, and before she knew it, she was wrapping the woman in a hug.

“Everything will work out just fine.” Holland whispered. “You’re going to be alright.”

“Thank you.” She hugged Holland back.

Holland continued talking to Maddy and her mother while they stood in line, and after a little bit of back and forth, she even paid for their drinks and a special treat. She waved them both off when they left the shop, playfully curtsying in honor of Princess Maddy. When Holland went to order her own drink, the girl behind the counter stared back at her with wide eyes.

“You really do look like Elsa.” She said. “Are you into cosplay?”

“I don’t know what that is.” Holland laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And I don’t really know who Elsa is.”

“She’s a cartoon character in a movie.” The girl explained with a chuckle. “It’s called Frozen.”

“I should watch that.” Holland made a mental note. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, it’s Sarah.” The girl pointed to her name tag. “I forgot to ask what you would like, I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright!” Holland said. “I would like four of your peppermint mocha drinks and as many of your sugar cookies as I can buy.”

“Oh, okay.” Sarah typed at the screen, nodding her head. “Are you going to drink all of those by yourself?”

“No, I thought that I would pass them out to strangers to brighten their day.” Holland said, pulling the card that her father gifted her from her pocket before handing it over to a chuckling Sarah.

“That’s funny.” Sarah said, handing the card back.

“Why?” Holland’s brows pulled together.

“Oh, you were serious.” Sarah said, her face turning to shock. “It’s not a bad thing, I just thought you were being sarcastic.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Holland said softly, her cheeks growing warm.

It was starting to become a pain, not knowing things.

“It just means that you’re trying to be silly by saying something that you don’t really mean, but like you mean it….if that makes any sense?” Sarah said.

“Oh that makes perfect sense.” Holland said it as if she meant it, but she didn’t.

“Really?” Sarah asked.

“No, I was actually trying out the sarcastic thing.” Holland giggled. “Did it work?”

“It did.” Sarah tossed her head back with a loud chuckle. “You’re really funny, um-”

“It’s Holly.” She said.

“Holly.” Sarah nodded. “I think you’re great.”

“Thanks, I think you’re pretty cool too!” Holland smiled. “I’m sure I’ll see you again if I like this peppermint mocha thing. I really love sugar and sweets.”

“We’ve got plenty here.” Sarah said. “Have a great day, Holly.”

“You too, Sarah!”

When Holland had a tray full of coffee in one hand and a bag full of sugar cookies in the other, she set off in search of something. There was a warm pull in her chest, one that told her Harry was close by. She followed her instinct, turning down several alleyways and small side streets until she found herself standing in front of a black door with chipped paint.

There was an equally worn sign hanging above the door that read Paradise Records. She did her best to open the door with a full tray of coffee, still upset that no one wanted to take any of the drinks she offered them. Everytime she stopped a stranger, they turned their nose up in disgust before walking off with a sour look on their faces.

Holland, however, had downed her entire drink.

She was honestly considering taking another one for herself, if no one else would drink it. It was sweet, and filled with notes of chocolate and peppermint. It was like heaven in a tiny paper cup, and she made a mental note to insist that her father make them a staple at his bakery when she finally made it back home to the North Pole. As Holland walked into the shop, she caught sight of a boy with dirty blonde hair writing something down in a journal. There was another boy with long, dark brown hair sitting on a stool behind the counter with a guitar.

What she didn’t expect to see as she walked up to the counter, was Harry.

He walked through a beaded curtain, his eyes trained on a sheet of paper and his brows furrowed.

“Harry!” Holland chirped out, sitting the tray of drinks and cookies down on the counter. “Oh my garland!”

All three boys turned their attention towards Holland, but she was only looking at Harry.

“What-” Harry muttered. “How?”

“I don’t know, I just...I was walking and here I am!” She smiled, clapping her mitten covered hands together. “I went to this bakery because I heard someone talking about peppermint mocha, and I love peppermint. So I got one for me, and then I got more for other people, but everyone just looked at me funny when I tried to hand them out. And I met this little girl and I helped her become a princess, and then I learned that I look like Elsa-”

“Holland!” Harry said her name, causing her to take a deep breath. “Breathe.”

“Holland, baby, breathe!”

The memory of Harry calling her baby while he tried to bring her back to life sent a shock wave of ice water over her body. She stared back at him, her breathing a little heavier as his brows furrowed. He almost seemed worried, as if Holland was going to talk the air out of her lungs.

“I thought I was bad with coffee.” The boy with short brown hair snorted out a laugh, reaching for a cup. “I’ll drink your peppermint mocha, love.”

“Yeah, go ahead.” Holland said, her eyes still locked on Harry. “Um, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He cleared his throat, dropping his paper to the counter. “Have you never had coffee?”

“No.” She said. “What is it?”

“Magical little beans that give a lot of energy.” The boy said, taking a sip from the paper cup with a hum. “This is so good. Where did you get this?”

“Java Java.” Holland turned towards the boy with a small smile. “There was a really lovely lady named Sarah there that made them for me.”

“Mitch!” The boy smiled, looking over at the boy with long hair as he stopped playing guitar. “Did you hear that? Sarah made these.”

“Shut up, Niall.” Mitch grumbled.

“Do you know Sarah?” Holland turned towards Mitch as her smile grew. “I love Sarah, she’s such a wonderful person.”

“She’s cool.” He nodded, offering Holland a small smile.

“Mitchell has a crush on Sarah.” Niall snickered, glancing at Mitch.

“Oh!” Holland chirped, looking between both boys. “Having a crush is a lot of fun, isn’t it! I have one on Harry.”

“Okay!” Harry interrupted, dropping the papers to the countertop. “I’m getting my coat and walking you home, I think you’ve had enough excitement for the day.”

“Harry’s got a girlfriend.” Niall sang out, but his voice was cut off as Harry landed a smack to the back of his head.

Holland pressed her mitten covered hands to her lips, watching with wide eyes.

“That’s for sleeping with my sister.” Harry said. “And for teasing.”

“Oh, c’mon.” Niall groaned out, looking over at Mitch as he smirked.

“He said you would get it when you least expected it.” Mitch shrugged, going back to playing his guitar. “You deserved that one.”

“Is having a crush on Harry a bad thing?” Holland asked. “Why did he hit Niall?”

“Because Niall is dating Harry’s sister.” Mitch said. “And Niall and Harry are best friends.”

“My brother is dating my best friend.” Holland said. “Pippa and Nick are very happy together! That’s not a bad thing, is it?”

“No, it’s not, but Niall is an arse.” Harry’s voice made Holland’s heart rate pick up. “Let’s go.”

“It was lovely to meet you!” Holland waved at Mitch and Niall. “I’ll see you again soon!”

“Oh, definitely.” Niall chuckled. “Goodbye!”

❄️❄️❄️❄️

Harry’s POV

Harry guided Holland out of the shop with his hand hovering over her lower back.

He made a mental note to never give her coffee ever again. He had never seen anyone talk so fast before in his life, and he knew Niall, for fuck’s sake. When they made it into the cold, London air, Holland curled in on herself. Harry felt a jolt of panic rush through his bones, reminders of her cold body lying on ice flashing before his eyes. He couldn’t explain the itch he got in his arms, but the urge to hold her close was almost unbearable. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side.

“Is this alright?” He asked her, his cheeks burning up as she smiled at him. “You look cold so I thought-”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” She said. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your friends, Harry.”

“You didn’t.” He said quickly. “But they don’t know about you, or my dreams.”

He felt horrible for keeping things from them, but he couldn’t tell them about her.

They would think he was certifiable, especially now that she was real.

“I didn’t tell my friends, either.” Holland said softly. “I thought they would be afraid of me if I told them.”

Harry’s eyes snapped towards hers, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“I don’t think anyone could be afraid of you, Holland.” He chuckled, tightening his arm around her waist as a crowd of people rushed by them. “You’re like Bambi.”

“Okay, first I was Elsa, and now I’m Bambi!” She tossed her hands in the air, causing Harry to laugh at the adorable expression on her face. “I don’t know what any of that means...well, I know now that Elsa is a princess who has ice in her hands.”

“Something like that.” Harry laughed softly. “And Bambi is a baby deer who has a lot of trouble walking.”

“I walk perfectly fine.” Holland frowned at Harry, her lips pouting out in a way that made him want to fall to his knees. “Well, except for when I skip to my death on a frozen lake.”

“That was too soon.” Harry shook his head, his fingers grasping at her coat protectively as his expression shifted. “That’s not funny, Holland.”

“Gumdrop, you need to smile more.” She sighed, shaking her head. “I’m starting to think that might be the reason you lost your Christmas spirit.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, his blood running colder than the wind whipping around them.

His arm slipped from around her waist slowly.

“What did you say?” He watched Holland turn to stand in front of him, her eyes wide and her lips pressed together.

“Your Christmas spirit? It’s kind of in danger.” She said softly, glancing down at her feet. “And it’s my job to fix it.”

Christmas spirit.

There were thousands of questions running through his mind.

But shamefully, his first reaction was harsh defense to get her to back off.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He let out a bitter laugh, brushing his fingers through his hair, fluffing up the curly strands. “You can’t fix me, I’m not bloody broken just because I don’t like Christmas.”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Harry.” She said. “Your soul is just a little lost and I’m just here to help restore it.”

“That’s basically the same thing as fixing me.” He snapped, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “If that’s what you’re really here for, you can go back to wherever you came from, because you can’t make it better.”

“I can try.” She said. “I don’t know what happened, and I don’t expect you to tell me, but I can try to make things better.”

“I don’t need your pity.” He snarled. “I don’t need anyone.”

“Well, I need you.” She said quickly, her hands reaching out for him. “I need you in my life, Harry.”

“I can’t save you.” He shook his head. “I’ve been trying to save you for sixteen years, Holland, and I can’t do it.”

“That’s just a nightmare.” She said. “When it happens in real life, you’ll save me because you have to.”

“I can’t.” He whispered as she moved closer to him. “I can’t just watch you die, Holland.”

“You won’t.” She tentatively slipped her arms around his abdomen, the familiar scent catching Harry’s attention as she rested her cheek against his chest. “We’re going to figure this out, I promise.”

Harry melted in her arms, sliding his own around her body as he pressed his nose into the soft material of her bright red coat. He inhaled sharply, the scent of berries and clove soothing his senses. He couldn't be upset with her, no matter how hard he tried. So he gave in as her fingers toyed with the ends of his long curls, and her breath warming up his neck.

He needed her too.

And he couldn’t explain it, but his heart ached for her.

“How?” He whispered against her shoulder before lifting his head up to look down at her. “How can we figure this out?”

“I’m working on it.” She gave him a smile that was meant to be reassuring, but he could see through her facade. “I’m doing everything I can to fix this, Harry, but I need you to let me in just a little. I can’t do this without you.”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat, nodding.

“That’s going to be hard.” He said. “I don’t let anyone in.”

“Well, I promise to treat your soul and your heart kindly.” She said. “Seeing you down makes me feel down, Harry. I would never hurt you, ever.”

“I’ve already hurt you, haven’t I?” He said softly, lifting a hand to brush a few strands of hair from her face. “I’ve hurt your feelings.”

“You just…” She licked over her bottom lip, and Harry bit back a groan at the sight of her candy pink tongue. “You can be a bit...well, like Scrooge sometimes.”

“Ow.” Harry said, a smile pulling at his lips as Holland tried to hold back her own. “That hurt my feelings.”

Her face fell, and Harry’s eyes grew wide.

“No, Holland, I didn’t mean that seriously.” He said. “I was just-”

“Being sarcastic.” She exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. “Sarah taught me about that today.”

“Did she?” Harry chuckled. “Sarah is really lovely.”

“She is.” Holland nodded, her eyes glancing up towards the sky as she thought aloud. “And I think she’s gonna marry Mitch.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide, his arms tightening around Holland’s waist in shock.

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, his heart beating faster. “What?”

“I don’t know, after I saw Mitch, I just kept picturing Sarah in this lovely white dress with flowers in her hair.” Holly looked back at Harry. “What?”

“Are you a psychic or something?” He asked softly. “Like, can you see the future? Is that why we keep having those dreams? And why is it me that’s meant to save you? Why did you chose me, I don’t-”

“Harry.” Holland lifted her hand, brushing her fingers over his cheek. “Breathe, gumdrop.”

Breathe.

He inhaled sharply before letting out a long exhale.

“I have a lot of questions.” He shook his head, biting at the inside of his cheek. “Do you...would you like to talk about it with me over dinner?”

Holland raised her brows, pressing her lips together as Harry tried not to squirm.

“Are you asking me out on a date, gumdrop?” She sang softly, swaying on her feet as Harry dropped his head back, groaning.

“If I was, would you say yes?” He glanced at her, tilting his head forward slightly.

“Yes.” She said. “I said I have a crush on you, what makes you think that I would say no?”

Harry tried to fight off the smile creeping up on his lips.

“You’re really cute.” He said softly. “And I hate that you make me feel like a fucking kid, but I also really like it. I haven’t been this...reckless in a really long time.”

“Well, I’m yours for-” Holland snapped her mouth shut, shaking her head. “We’ll save that for dinner, yeah?”

“Whatever you say.” He chuckled, brushing his palms over her back. “Let’s get you home, okay? It’s cold out here and I don’t want you freezing to death.”

Harry blinked rapidly after he spoke, the weight of his words sinking in as Holland let out a loud laugh. She tilted her head back, slapping her mitten covered palm over her mouth as Harry inhaled through his nose, his lips smashing together as he nodded.

“Let’s just forget that I said that.” Harry cleared his throat awkwardly as Holland laughed loudly. “C’mon, Bambi.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️

Holland’s POV

Holland spent three hours looking for something to wear to dinner with Harry.

They weren’t actually going anywhere, but she still wanted to look nice for him.

Before Harry left Holland on her doorstep, they made a plan to get pizza (because Harry learned that Holland had never had pizza before) and talk. They didn’t put any pressure on the evening by going into detail on what they would talk about, but she could tell that Harry was having an internal battle as he said goodbye to her. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek before he took off down the hallway of their complex, his head ducked down and his hands in his pockets. Holland smiled the entire time she watched him walk away, her heart fluttering.

She spent most of her afternoon dancing around and singing to herself. It was the first time in her life that she would be just a normal girl, not Santa’s daughter or a Christmas Princess. She would just be Holland, a girl living in London, eating pizza with her soulmate. She couldn’t wait to learn more about Harry and his life, and her mind was reeling with questions to ask him.

Holland decided to wear a blush colored sweater with little pearls stitched into the fabric, and a pair of light wash jeans. She put on some fuzzy socks so that her toes wouldn’t get cold, and she tossed her hair up so that it would stay out of the way while she was eating pizza. She wasn’t sure what eating pizza entailed, or what it was, but she didn’t want her hair getting in the way. When her hair was up, she tried out the new lip product that a lady sold to her a few days ago when she was in Harrods. She let out a soft ooh when she swiped it over her lips, smiling.

When she was done with the lipstick, a series of knocks pulled her attention from the mirror in her bathroom. Harry was home, and she could feel it in her chest.

When she opened the door, Harry stood there with his hands in his coat pockets, and a sympathetic smile on his lips. Holland raised her brows when she saw Niall and Mitch behind Harry, both standing there with smug smirks on their own lips.

“So, I know that we were supposed to have pizza tonight.” Harry cleared his throat. “But I forgot that it was Wednesday, and that I had plans with these two idiots tonight.”

“Hey, I am not an idiot.” Mitch pushed Harry’s shoulder with a scowl. “Niall might be, but I’m not.”

“Hey!” Niall glared at Mitch. “That was rude.”

Holland tried not to laugh, rolling her lips in as Harry closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

She could sense his frustration by more than the look on his face.

“It’s okay, Harry.” Holland smiled at him, shrugging her shoulders. “We can do pizza tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we can.” He opened his eyes, nodding. “But I also wanted to ask if you would like to join us? My sister will be there, and so will Sarah.”

“Sarah!” Holland smiled wider. “Let me get my shoes!”

“You might have some competition, mate.” Niall chuckled, but he quickly stopped when Harry shot a glare over his shoulder to Niall. “I’m starting to think she has a crush on Sarah too.”

“Oh, Sarah is very pretty, but I only like Harry.” Holland moved aside, opening her arms out as Harry smirked back at her. “Come on in while I get my shoes on.”

When all three boys entered her apartment, they stopped in their tracks.

“It’s a winter wonderland in here.” Niall cheered out as he rushed towards the small table by her sliding glass door that led to the balcony. “Look at this little Christmas village.”

“Oh my god.” Harry whispered, his eyes growing wide as he took it all in. “Fuck me.”

Mitch slapped a hand down on Harry’s shoulder.

“You okay?” He asked softly. “I know Christmas isn’t your favorite-”

“I’m fine.” Harry said, turning back to Mitch. “I don’t know why, but...it doesn’t bother me.”

“It’s because you’re in love.” Mitch squeezed his shoulder. “Welcome to ‘Pining over girls that are way too good for miserable sods like us anonymous’. We have complimentary tequila and tissues at the door.”

Holland tried not to hug Harry after she heard him say that her decorations weren’t a bother.

Instead, she walked back to her bedroom in search of shoes and a coat.

She pulled a long, tan coat from her closet before she dropped it on her bed. As she bent over, looking for shoes in the bottom of her closet, she heard someone clear their throat behind her.

“Knock, knock.”

Holland lifted her head up, turning around to see Harry leaning against her doorway with his arms crossed and a smile on his lips.

“Hi.” She had one boot in her hand, her hair a little mussed up from the clothes that brushed over it. “Hi.”

“You said that already.” Harry chuckled, pushing himself off of the doorway before walking towards her. “You okay?”

“Just a little…” She paused, trying to find the word. “You’re pretty, and it’s distracting sometimes, that’s all.”

Harry stopped in his tracks, his cheeks turning pink as Holland smiled.

“You just say whatever pops into your pretty little head, don’t you?” He mumbled, watching her with curious eyes as she nodded.

“Why wouldn’t I?” She asked. “Keeping things to yourself is no fun, and I really enjoy when your face looks like a surprised frog.”

“Excuse me?” He parted his lips, staring back at her as she laughed. “You know, I was coming back here to apologize for the whole pizza thing, but I’m not doing that now.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” She rolled her eyes, pressing a palm against her wall as she tried to wriggle her foot into a boot. “It’s been a really weird week for both of us, and I can’t blame you for being a little forgetful.”

“I was really looking forward to us finally talking about this whole thing.” He cleared his throat, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets as Holland reached for another shoe. “I just want to figure out how to keep that man from hurting you, Holland. I think if he did hurt you, it might kill me, and I don’t understand why I feel that way about you when I hardly know you.”

She couldn’t tell him that it would kill him if she died, not yet at least.

“Let’s not think about it tonight.” She grunted, sliding her left foot into her boot before she zipped it up. “Let’s just have fun! Show me what it’s like having fun in London.”

“Do you really want that?” Harry asked. “You want the proper London welcome?”

“The whole shebang.” Holland nodded, sliding her coat onto her arms before she stopped in front of him with a bright smile. “I want you to show me what you do for fun, gumdrop.”

“Alright.” Harry smiled back at her, brushing his thumb softly over her chin before bumping his forefinger under it as she giggled. “Let’s get this show on the road, Bambi.”

Harry’s POV

“Here you are.” Niall placed a glass of red wine in front of Holland before handing Harry the beer that Holland insisted he get. “And for you, H.”

It was a gingerbread stout, the liquid dark as it sloshed in the glass.

Harry only ordered it because Holland wanted to know what it tasted like. She claimed that he smelled like gingerbread and she wanted to have a sip of the stout to see if it would remind her of him. He knew that he probably wouldn’t drink it anyways, even if Holland didn’t want it. He was more concerned about his sister meeting Holland, and getting Holland back home safely.

He lifted his glass to his lips, taking a small sip as Holland watched him like a hawk. It definitely tasted like gingerbread, and it almost made Harry tense up in his seat at the memories it brought back to his mind. But Holland pressed her hand to Harry’s arm, and it calmed him down almost immediately. Her curious eyes distracted him as he put the glass down.

“Does it taste like cookies?” She asked him, batting her lashes as she leaned down to sniff at it, causing her nose to scrunch up. “It doesn’t smell like cookies.”

“Have a sip.” Harry handed her the glass, watching her eyeball it as if it were going to jump out and bite her. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

“Alright.” She whispered, pressing the glass to her lips before she sipped.

When she pulled it away, she narrowed her eyes in a comical manner before lifting it to her lips again for another sip.

“I do like it.” She said.

“Do you want that one instead of yours?” Harry asked. “I don’t mind switching.”

“I haven’t tasted mine yet.” Holland set the stout down on the table, reaching for the glass of red wine that she picked for its name. Holland Oaks Mulled Christmas Wine. “I wonder if it tastes like berries.”

I wonder if your lips taste like berries.

Harry shook the thought from his head, watching Holland take a sip of the red liquid before she pulled it away with a sour look on her face. He tried not to laugh as she reached for the stout, taking a large sip to drown out the taste of the wine on her tongue. Harry covered his mouth with his fingers, holding in a laugh as Holland shook her head, a small shiver causing her shoulders to roll.

“I don’t like that one.” She muttered, shaking her head. “They should take my name off of it.”

“Hmmm, I’ll see what I can do about that, love.” Harry took the wine glass, taking a sip as Holland moved the stout in front of her. He took a swig, shrugging his shoulders before he sat the glass down. “I think it’s nice. It kind of reminds me of your perfume.”

“Oh, I don’t wear perfume.” Holland said. “It’s my aura.”

“What?” Harry blinked back at Holland as she nodded. “Your aura?”

“Yeah, it’s berry and cloves.” She smiled. “I think I like this one because it’s your aura. You always smell like warm gingerbread and spice.”

Harry held his breath, tilting his head as he tried to find the words to say.

“We’ll save that for the pizza talk.” Holland patted his shoulder gently. “I’ll explain it later.”

“Please.” He nodded, reaching for his wine to take another sip.

He put it down immediately, remembering her words.

Berry and cloves.

“Slap me on the ass and call me Sally, is my brother drinking wine?” Harry groaned when he felt Gemma ruffle his hair. “Hiya, doll.”

“You’re an asshole.” Harry grumbled, swatting her hand away. “Hi.”

“Sarah!” Holland exclaimed, causing Harry to turn his head towards her as she straightened out her spine.

“Holly.” Sarah looked just as surprised and excited to see Holland. “I didn’t know you knew Mitch and everyone.”

Mitch and everyone.

Harry tried not to smirk at that, but he made sure to nudge Mitch’s calf under the table.

“Yeah, Harry is my neighbor.” Holland smiled back at Harry before accepting Sarah’s hug. “I loved that peppermint mocha drink you made me today, but Harry says I shouldn't have anymore.”

“Oh, did he?” Gemma took her coat off, draping it over her chair before she sat down next to Niall with raised brows. “Why is that, Harry?”

“She’s worse than Niall.” Harry defended, pointing towards the Irish lad. “Nearly talked until she passed out earlier, it was crazy.”

Gemma rolled her eyes, leaning over to kiss Niall.

“I don’t want to see that.” Harry slapped his hands over his eyes in a childlike manner causing Holland to giggle. “That’s gross.”

When he peeked between his fingers, Gemma looked like she’d seen a ghost.

“What?” He lowered his hands, looking behind him. “What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head, clearing her throat before she turned her attention towards Holland. “So, I’m Gemma.”

“That’s such a beautiful name.” Holland said. “It’s very nice to meet you, Gemma. My name is Holland, but you can just call me Holly.”

“It’s a pleasure meeting you, too, Holly.” Gemma gave her a soft smile before lifting her menu up. “So, what are we eating today, lads.”

Harry watched Holland look down at the menu in front of her, her brows furrowing as she read over the items listed. He leaned closer, sliding his arm over the back of her chair to look with her. He felt her lean in closer, settling into his side ever so slightly as she hummed.

“What do you like to eat?” He asked her, brushing his fingers over her bicep. “Do you have a special diet or anything?”

“No.” She shook her head, glancing at him before looking back at the menu. “I really only like to eat sugar.”

“With the energy you have,I’m not shocked by that.” He chuckled. “Do you want me to help you find something?”

“I’m sure she can order her own food, Harry.” Gemma piped up. “Give her some breathing room, why don’t you?”

“Oh, I have plenty of breathing room!” Holland was so naive and innocent at times that it made Harry just want to wrap her in a blanket and hide her away. “And Harry smells nice, so I don’t mind.”

He felt his cheeks grow hot at her words, his fingers pressing into her bicep as he glared at Gemma. She sat with a smirk on her lips, glancing back at her menu as Niall cackled.

“So-” Harry cleared his throat. “Chips are a must.”

“Okay, so let’s get some.” She said. “What are they?”

“Fried potatoes.” He said. “We’ll dip ‘em in ketchup.”

“And malt vinegar.” Gemma said.

“No malt vinegar, it’s gross.” Harry scrunched up his nose as Holland looked over at Gemma.

“It’s the proper way to eat chips, Harry.” Gemma sang under her breath.

“Then let’s try it with that.” Holland had a soft pout on her lips, the pink lipstick she smeared over her beautiful berry lips almost gone. He couldn’t wait for it to disappear so that he could see the natural red shade that sent his heart soaring. “I want to do it right.”

“Malt vinegar on the side, then.” He said. “Do you like fish?”

“I’ve never eaten a fish.” She said. “Is it good?”

“Yeah, it’s good.” He assured her. “Maybe we’ll do fish and chips?”

“You don’t have to order the same dish as me, Harry.” Holland said. “You can order whatever you want, I’ll be fine.”

“Well, there’s also cottage pie-” Harry started, but Holland’s soft gasp cut him off. “What?”

“I can have pie for dinner?” Her eyes grew wide, causing Harry to chuckle. “I want that.”

“Well, it’s not like regular pie.” He said. “It’s got meat and-”

“But it’s pie.” She smiled. “For dinner.”

“Okay, pie for dinner it is.” He said. “I’ll order the fish and chips just in case.“

❄️❄️❄️❄️

Holland ended up eating Harry’s fish and chips.

He wanted the cottage pie anyways, so it worked out.

When she took her first bite of the pie, she looked utterly disgusted and betrayed. He tried to warn her that it wasn’t like dessert pie, but he was almost glad that she didn’t like it. The little scrunch to her nose and the shake of her head had him chuckling. He took the dish, passing his fish and chips over to her before pressing a subtle kiss to her temple. He hoped that no one else saw him do it, but when he looked up Mitch was smirking at him from the other side of the table.

“Holland.” Harry whispered her name. “Do you know what the world's largest island is?”

“Greenland.” She said it out loud, slapping her hand over her mouth when everyone shushed her. “Sorry.”

“I’m sure the pricks behind us stole the answer to that question too.” Niall grumbled. “Cheaters.”

They were winning trivia at least.

It was all thanks to Holland and her magical brain.

For someone who knew so little about the modern world, she knew a lot about history and geography. Harry carried most of the music questions alongside Mitch, Gemma carried the math questions, and Niall and Sarah carried pop culture. It was the perfect team, and they were kicking ass. Harry was proud of Holland, and he made sure to bump his knee to hers subtly whenever she gave him an answer. If it was a correct answer, he would squeeze her knee.

He checked in with her often, asking if it was okay for him to touch her in that way. He almost died when she gave him a shy smile before telling him that she liked it a lot. He couldn’t keep his hands away from her then, always finding some part of her to touch respectively.

Harry handed the last sheet in to Hank, the guy who ran the trivia scene, before he dropped his hand to Holland’s thigh. She rested her head on his shoulder, covering her mouth as she yawned. Harry decided then that it was probably time for them to go home. They had a lot going on, and it was starting to take a toll on him as well. He was glad that Holland had the chance to let go for the night, sipping at her gingerbread stout while she laughed with her new friends.

Something inside of Harry clicked when Gemma and Holland shared a knowing look before laughing, as if they already had inside jokes. It dawned on him that he needed her in his life just as much as she needed him, and he wasn’t about to let some slimy iceman drown the girl that he was falling in love with. Harry supposed that his touches weren’t only to show Holland his affection, but they were also a byproduct of his protective nature that was clawing its way into the front of his mind.

“Let’s go home, yeah?” Harry squeezed her thigh, turning to kiss the top of her head. “Get your coat on, love.”

“Gumdrop, you’re having fun with your friends.” Holland lifted her head, pouting at him. “I’m okay, you can keep playing.”

“Don’t you dare leave us now.” Niall said. “We’re actually winning for once, mate! Don’t take our brainiac away from us.”

“We’re tired.” Harry rolled his eyes at Niall, tossing a note onto the table. “We’re gonna go to bed at a decent hour, unlike some of you heathens.”

“Oi, I’ll be tucked in bed before ten!” Gemma said.

“Really?” Niall looked at Gemma with a frown. “But, it’s Wednesday.”

“Holland, darling, are you ready to go?” Harry tried to change the topic, unsure that he wanted to know about Wednesday’s with Niall in his sister’s household.

“Yeah, I'm ready.” Holland draped her scarf over her neck, smiling at everyone as Harry moved beside her. “It was really nice to see you all again, I had so much fun.”

“Harry, I need Holland’s phone number.” Gemma said. “Send it over to me.”

“No.” Harry said plainly. “Goodnight, I love you all. Be good!”

Harry guided Holland out of the pub, sliding his arm around her waist as she leaned into him.

They didn’t talk much on the walk back, merely holding onto each other as they stumbled towards their building. Harry let Holland wrap herself around him in the lift, her head pressed to his chest as it moved slowly from floor to floor. He made sure to rub his palms over her back just how she liked, his heart swelling when she let out soft little hums.

“I feel warm and fuzzy.” She whispered.

“Is it because of me or the alcohol?”

“I think it’s both.” She lifted her head with a soft giggle, looking up at Harry. “I think I like alcohol.”

“Wait until you have your first hangover, you’ll change your mind.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Let’s get you tucked into bed, you look drained.”

“I feel drained.” She yawned, pulling away from Harry before she stumbled into the hallway.

Harry chuckled as he watched Holland stumble up to her door.

She turned around to look at him with a pout after she unlocked the door, pushing it open.

“Well, I guess this is it.” She whispered. “I’ll see you tomorrow for pizza?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, smiling as she scrunched her nose up. “What?”

“Nothing, I just…” She sighed. “I think I might miss you tonight, that’s all.”

Harry’s heart was beating so loud that he could hear it in his ears.

“I’ll miss you too.” He lifted a hand, brushing his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “But you need some rest.”

“So do you.” She whispered, giving him a soft smile. “And you know where I am if you need me.”

“I do.” His head moved closer to hers, and he watched her breath hitch in her throat. “Do you want me to kiss you, Holland?”

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate, giving him a soft nod. “Kiss me, please.”

It was a quick peck at first, but it sent sparks shooting in the night sky.

Holland’s eyes slipped shut as she grabbed Harry’s sides, pulling him closer to her body as he chuckled against her lips. She caught him off guard with another kiss, her tender lips moving over his so passionately that he thought he might fall in love with kissing her right then and there. He didn’t waste time, cupping both of her cheeks as he let his tongue swipe over her bottom lip. She parted her lips for him, allowing his tongue to massage over her own.

Berries and clove.

That was all he could taste, all he could smell.

“Fuck.” He pulled back, gasping softly as Holland whimpered. “Holland, we should slow down. We’re both exhausted and I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to...we should just slow down.”

“Okay.” She nodded, clearly still breathless. “I um...goodnight, Harry.”

“Goodnight.” He pressed his forehead to hers, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

❄️❄️❄️❄️

Holland’s POV

“No.” Harry held Holland’s hands tight in his own, holding her back as her body started to move towards the ice. “No, Holland. Stay with me.”

“I have to go.” She whispered. “You know that I have to.”

“I can’t watch you die.” He pulled her closer, pressing his forehead to her own. “Baby, I can’t let you go.”

“But you can.” She gave him a soft smile. “You know that it’s the only way.”

When Jack Frost pulled her under, Holland didn’t fight.

She was tired of fighting it, tired of trying to survive when she knew that she was doomed.

She just wanted it all to be over so that she could sleep peacefully.

Holland woke up with a gasp, sitting up straight in bed in a daze.

It took her a second to realize that someone was knocking, but when she did realize it, she nearly tripped over her duvet on her way out of bed. She rushed to her front door, flinging it open without hesitation. Harry plowed into her, wrapping his arms around her as tears sprung to her eyes. She clenched them shut, swinging her door closed as Harry sobbed into her hair.

“Why didn’t you fight?” He croaked out. “You didn’t try this time, Holland.”

“I was just so tired.” She brushed her palm over his back, tucking her nose against his shoulder as she tried to soothe him. “I’ve had a long day. I didn’t have the energy to fight him, gumdrop.”

“Please don’t ever do that again.” He pulled away, grasping her face before he pressed a series of damp kisses over her cheeks. “Please, promise that you’ll always fight him, baby. Don’t let him win like that.”

Holland lifted her hands, brushing her thumbs over the outside of his wrists as she curled her fingers around his forearms.

“I love it when you call me baby.” She confessed, looking into Harry’s eyes as he tried to catch his breath. “It’s alright, gumdrop, just breathe.”

They stood there for a few minutes, Holland rubbing soothing circles over Harry’s wrist as he stared into her eyes. It didn’t take long for him to calm down with her in eyesight. Holland noticed his chest slowing down, no more haggard breaths ripping from his nose as he tried to hold back tears. When he was done crying, she wiped at his cheeks with her fingers before she brushed his hair over his shoulder. Holland brushed her palm over his t-shirt covered chest before she grabbed one of his hands in her own with a soft smile.

“C’mon.” She said softly, reaching for her flat key hanging on the key hook by her door.

She pulled Harry behind her, despite the heaviness in her limbs threatening to drag her down to the floor. She locked up her flat before turning towards Harry’s, not at all shocked when she saw the door wide open. She walked into his flat, familiar with the floorplan that was nearly identical to her own. Harry followed behind her without a word, his fingers holding onto her for dear life.

“What are we doing?” Harry’s voice was raspy and rough as Holland pushed into his bedroom, walking him straight towards his side of the bed. “Holland?”

“I’m sleeping with you tonight.” She whispered, turning back to him with a soft smile. “Get comfy, okay?”

“Do you think it will help?” He asked, climbing onto his side of the bed as Holland walked around to the other side. “It’s never helped me before, sleeping with other people.”

Holland had to admit that hurt just a little.

“Um, it should.” She said. “I read about it in a book, actually. I think it will keep us both from dreaming.”

She did read it in a book, but it wasn’t one that Harry could get his hands on. It was a book that Morpheus gave her, and it touched on the topic of soulmates. Holland read about shared dreams between soulmates, and how nightmares could stop if they slept near each other. The closer the souls were, the less likely they were to have nightmares. Holland hoped for both of their sakes that it was true. She just needed a peaceful night’s sleep to regain her strength.

“Who is that man?” Harry rested his head on his pillow as Holland slipped her legs under the duvet. “Why is he doing this to us?”

“Do you promise not to laugh at me if I tell you who he is?” Holland settled her head on the pillow next to Harry’s, letting out a sigh as she turned on her side.

“I promise.” Harry turned on his side, his knees knocking into hers.

“It’s Jack Frost.” She said. “And he’s trying to take our power.”

“What power?” He asked. “Why does Jack Frost need power?”

“Harry, let’s save it for tomorrow, okay?” She leaned forward, kissing his forehead before she fell against her own pillow. “I’m so tired.”

“Tomorrow.” He lifted his hand, brushing a few strands of hair from her face as her eyes slowly slipped shut.

#harry styles fic #deck the halls #harry styles christmas fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #my writing #harry styles imagine

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samwritesforyou · 4 years ago

Text

Booked

Diego x reader (the whole family is present at the beginning but as time goes on becomes more Diego-centric)

Summary: You have a summer house that is far away from any big cities, you’ve inherited it from your great-great-parents and you want to prove to your friends that you cannot possibly make an income out of it. So you submit the house at booking dot com for the lowest price possible. Your plan was working for years and you’ve been happy and content just by growing your own food and participating in the village’s community, completely forgetting about the offer you presented on booking. Until one day, seven siblings arrive at your place, saying they reserved themselves the whole house for the eternity of summer.

Warnings: gender-neutral reader, swear words (? but just a couple, mainly from Five)

Wordcount: 3.7k

A/N: settling is post s2, so everyone looks accordingly. umbrella academy gets back into the timeline where no umbrella nor the sparrow academy exists, yet the world is still ending. mostly written out of nostalgia for my own summer house that my family sold years ago and i will never come back there, so i want it to live on at least somewhere

Summers were always hot in this little village that you lived in, especially with the climate change looming over humanity’s ignorant heads.

So you were actually relieved that you finally persuaded a local technician to help you fix the fridge that stopped freezing its insides for good two weeks already.

You just handed her the cash and waved her goodbye, also giving the lady a basket with apples and peaches that grew in your garden. You don’t have enough people eating your fruits and most of it goes into jams anyways.

You waited a little until her car disappeared into the horizon of the bumpy road near your house, seeing as it even got blurry in the end, as the air was literally melting the reality in front of your eyes.

With a swift movement you adjusted a cap on your head, went out of the creaky gate - which green color was peeling off into the original black metal that it was made with - and closed it behind yourself with a happy hum.

It was a twenty minutes walk to the nearest convenience store and it gave you just enough time to ponder about the recent weird thing that happened to you.

About three days ago you just got a random payment come to your bank account.

15 Euros. That was it.

No note, no name.

You decided to let it be, even though it did stir your mind in various ways.

Normally, when something like this happens, the bank realises the mistake in the recipient and takes the money back within 24 hours.

Either the person who sent it didn’t care that it went to the wrong place or bank decided to be generous with you.

Whatever the reason was, those 15 Euros could be used now to buy yourself a little more sweets than you usually do.

You never had to complain about how little money you actually have from living here and being more or less self-sufficient, but some random extra cash will make anyone smile in this capitalistic hell that you tried so hard to escape from.

After you came home you started sorting out groceries that you’ve bought, putting them into the right places.

Upon finishing you just plopped yourself on the bench near the big abandoned table in the room, looking around.

This house used to be alive. With a lot of your family members running around, making noise, sometimes fighting, but always generally just enjoying the good time at this place.

At the end of the extended room was a window, showing you the rest of the garden that you lovingly cared for every single day.

Under the window was a spacious kitchen counter, with a fridge and shelves for ingredients next to it. Then there was the entrance to one of the unused bedrooms with one bed pushed against the wall, which in turn was covered by a red hanging carpet. On a wall, yes.

You stopped tracing the room around with your eyes as you heard some rummaging coming from the outside.

After easily springing to your feet you saw black dots in front of you and your head was spinning. Damn you, iron deficiency!

A few seconds passed and you were collected again, rushing out towards the gates to the property.

You stopped in your tracks as you saw five people literally barging through your piece of land with suitcases and bags, bickering with each other.

Oh, nope. They were six, actually. A very tiny figure closed the gate after all of them made it in and started clumsily going forward on a tiny tartan road that lead all the way to the summer house.

“Klaus, stop fucking pushing around and help me with the bags, maybe?” said a man with longer curly hair and a goatee, clearly agitated at another person, who wasn’t holding anything except some bottle in their hand.

“Oh cut it, you two! We’re almost in the house, come on,” said a woman with straight black hair in the flowery dress and then she noticed that someone blocks their way.

Her eyes landed on you.

“Um... hello?” she said with an awkward smile, attempting a wave in your direction and continued, “are you the owner? We booked your house until the rest of the summer like.. a few days ago.”

Your eyes widened and your mouth hung open in the “o” shape, trying to grasp the reality.

So.... someone really booked your summer house after several years of no traction from booking and you had no clue.

That’s what the payment was for!

But..

“Oh,” you said, not knowing how to proceed about the situation, “well, you see.. um... I have nowhere to stay? This is my only home,” you started timidly, rubbing your hands together.

“Oh,” the woman seemed surprised and confused but quickly collected herself, “well, if you have enough beds to keep us all in then it’s no problem, I guess?”

“Yeah? Alright, great!” You smiled at the whole “squad” and looked at them all.

“Uhm.. my name is y/n! Welcome to my summer house, I guess,” you put your hands into the back pockets and shook your head a little into the direction of the house.

“Allison, nice to meet you,” the woman you talked to said, smiling invitingly.

“Diego,” almost spat the guy with the goatee.

“Klaus, darling,” said the person with the bottle in their hand, widening his arms in an invisible hug.

“Luther,” mumbled a big man in the back of them all.. he looked like he’s been through something.

Actually, they all do.

“Vanya,” chirped a girl behind the big- Luther, the corners of her lips lifting ever so lightly.

“Five,” said a child in the front, looking unusually angry, suddenly shortening the distance between the two of you, “as long as you’re out of our business you’re good to stay,” he literally sneered at you, pushing past you and going inside.

That left you kinda shook, but then Allison just apologised for “their brother”, so you decided to ask another question:

“So you’re all a family?”

“Yes, we’re all siblings. Adopted,” she said, actually following you inside, not as the little guy before who let himself in without even knowing the place.

“I think my place is not the best for so many people to sleep at though..” you said quietly, biting your lip.

“That’s why it was so cheap..” Luther wondered, looking around.

You had to calm yourself so you didn’t snap at your guest. You didn’t even know anyone would ever book your house, damn! What were you supposed to do?

In the end you spent some time showing them the rooms, starting with the first one that contained an old-fashioned sink and the water tank near it, which you needed to manually fill up with water, and the drain led to the bucket under it.

Very simple.

In the back of the room there was a dining table, on one side surrounded by the bench and the other with some mismatching chairs.

From this space you proceeded into the extended “hallway” that you stared at before your peace and quiet was ruined.

There was also an ancient literal furnace, on top of which you could actually lay on, you know, as in all the fairytales.

After that, there was another room entrance that contained two beds on each side (one of them pushed under the window), similar to the other room and a coffee table in the middle of the area.

When you all went back to the first place, there was a wooden staircase that led to the second floor.

There were two rooms. One had a king sized bed in the middle of the space, with a closet and various tables around the whole area.

The other one had a working table and a bed in the corner.

“And that is the end of the tour!” you proclaimed, as everyone got seated by the big table in the extended room, while you were making everyone tea and preparing some snacks.

“Great, I sleep on the furnace!” Klaus exclaimed, putting his hands in the air animatedly.

“I guess we can fit all of us in here, actually,” Allison was clearly thinking aloud, counting the members of the family and available sleeping places.

“You’re gonna take one of the beds, right?” she said, pointing at you.

“Uh.. yes! Upstairs, I think. The one with the small bed and a table,” you smiled at her and she nodded.

“Then I’ll be sleeping with Vanya in the king-sized bed and you guys can fight for who’s going to end up sharing the room,” Allison concluded, clearly enjoying herself.

“Funny of you to think I’ll have enough time to sleep, in our situation,” said Five, suddenly coming out from the doorframe into the room.

You didn’t even mention that he wasn’t there when you were explaining the plan of the house.

“What situation? There should always be time to sleep,” you chipped in, carefully smiling at the boy.

“Stay the fuck out of our business, I said,” he gritted through his teeth at you, which left you blinking in surprise as he went away again, out of sight.

“How... old is he again?” you asked with the confusion that a kid would be so rude to a stranger like this.

All of them kind of nervously laughed or mumbled something that you couldn’t understand.

“It’s complicated,” said Vanya, smiling at you reassuringly.

How the fuck an age of your own brother is complicated?..

You heard the fancy-looking woman - Allison - sigh heavily and turn to you, shrugging.

“It’s just.. when our parents adopted him, he freshly got into the orphanage so he didn’t even have any documents about his birthday, blood type or anything. Apparently, he was really abused by his biological parents. Or whoever else, we don’t even know.”

“Oh.. I’m sorry,” you apologised quickly, biting your lip. Didn’t expect to poke into any painful subjects.

“It’s okay, really, we’ve learned how to take proper care of him,” Allison said, putting her hand on your back with a smile.

When you excused yourself to continue with gardening and went outside, Allison just shook her head.

“Who says ‘it’s complicated’ when someone asks you about their sibling’s age, Vanya?” said Allison in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, I thought it would settle the matter..” she muttered, playing with her fingers anxiously.

“It’s okay..” she smiled at her sister and then looked around the whole table, “look we’re here for the whole summer, so I think it would be better if we somehow told the owner at least partially about our powers so we’re not hiding all the time. We came here to have a safe space where we could train after all, am I right?” she looked expectantly at Luther who immediately started nodding along, agreeing.

“Or maybe,” started saying Klaus, already getting up from his seat and trying to crawl onto the furnace, skinny legs already dangling in the air, “we can just tell them we’re the umbrella academy, don’t you think?” he concluded, facing a wall with his face.

“But we checked that the umbrella academy doesn’t exist in this universe.. nor any other replacement of us,” reminded her siblings Vanya, fingers still intertwined on the table, firmly put together.

“I’m sure we’ll tell them one way or another,” said Diego, getting up just like his brother, making his way a bit further though, his objective clearly being the fridge.

He opened it and smirked at the beer present there, taking one can with him. His eyes then wondered to the window at the end of the room and he stepped closer, inspecting what is outside.

Apparently it was still their new home’s property, as he saw y/n working in the garden, repotting some plants under the tree.

His gaze stayed on them as he thought about various topics in his head, but then he decided to go out of the house, jumping down the wooden stairs leading to the tartan road, framing the whole garden.

You heard steps behind you, turning your head away from the the plants, only to meet a tall man in front of you, with a can in his hand.

“Hey, uhm..” he nervously put his hand on his neck, scratching it, “I just wanted to ask if it’s cool if I take some beer from the fridge?” he lifted the other hand with the mentioned item, giving it a little shake.

“It’s cool,” you replied, smiling softly at him, and then getting back to work, grabbing the plant by the root, moving it to another hole in the ground.

“Okay..” he retorted, biting his lower lip and scanned the area with his dark eyes.

There was an abandoned greenhouse with broken walls, greenery growing all around it, just next to the fence of the property. To its left was a wooden toilet booth with a typical round-shaped hole in the higher part of the door.

“I’m really sorry, by the way,” you started talking again, now finally done with your objective of the day, now plopping yourself next to Diego on the bench that he was chilling at, the surface creaking from the added weight, “I really thought nobody would *ever* rent this place,” you shrugged with a smile, now looking in front of yourself, closing your eyes and letting sunshine illuminate your face.

“Well.. uh.. then why did you put up on that website anyways?” he asked, clear confusion in his voice.

You sighed, shifting your body a little, getting into more comfortable sitting position, “It was a bet I made with my friends back in the day. A few years ago they told me I could actually rent this place and get income from it, not having to work a day in my life! Yet i told them that it’s not possible, and I wanted to prove that I was right by putting the advertisement,” you finished, finally opening your eyes, tilting your head at your new acquaintance.

You caught him staring at you, so he quickly turned away, now getting quite a violent sip out of the beer can.

“You should’ve put some timing on that bet then.. Let’s say, if it doesn’t get traction after two years you’ll finally delete the posting,” he said, after gulping some liquid.

That made you laugh and you couldn’t look away from him. His features were so.. delicate.

“Yeah, you’re actually right!” you admitted, slapping your thighs in excitement.

“Diego, my precious brother!” you two suddenly heard from the entrance to the house.

You lifted your eyes and saw a slender confide getting closer to you both, the man walking barefoot.

“Five said we’re all needed for a ‘family meeting’,” the guy literally put an air quotes with his free hand that wasn’t holding a glass, saying it in the mockingly serious tone, “so you better come with me and stop bothering this lovely person, alright?” he then proceeded sweetly, extending a hand towards Diego with a wide smile.

“God.. alright,” he answered and to your surprise took his hand, now brothers going away into the house, Diego briefly looking back at you, “Let’s talk later.”

You just nodded, finding yourself still smiling long before they were gone.

What is this funny feeling in the pit of your stomach?..

And why is one of their family members called by a number instead of a name?!

It was only the second day of your coexistence with the Hargreeves but it was already a wild ride.

Normally your morning looked like this;

You would wake up at a reasonable hour, maybe like.. 9am. You would go down the stairs from your room and make yourself some breakfast. While eating you’d either read a book or just listen to some music from your phone.

Then you’d do daily tasks, so taking care of the garden or some house maintenance, or both.

Then you’d do everything special that needs to be done only once in a while: a meeting with a friend, grocery shopping, attending a meeting with your neighbours where you decide on further upgrades of the village.

Then you’d draw some commissions, if there were any and after all of this you’d have late lunch that normally turned into dinner, concluding your day with doing your hobbies or rarely taking out your laptop and browsing the internet.

“Rise and shiiine!” you heard somewhere from downstairs, for some reason that person was also ringing a bell, making you immediately sit up in your bed.

You turned your head towards the mirror that hung across your sleeping space on the wall and you could see your hair standing up in different directions, cowlick upon cowlick.

You also felt tired, kind of not used to that feeling and shifted your half-closed eyes to the alarm clock near you.

It was... a bit past 7am. Who are those people to wake up that early?!

You lazily got up from the bed, yawning and stretching your arms up, feeling a few cracks here and there.

“Good morning!” first half of the sentence was muffled by the closed door to your room, but that quickly changed as it burst open, Klaus marching right in, his voice now uncomfortably loud for your sleepy ears, “I thought it would be nice to have breakfast all together and make you feel a part of the family, wouldn’t it?” he said with a genuine smile, looking at you.

You were sitting on your bed in pyjamas, hair all over the place, most unamused expression on the face, eyes half opened.

“Not a morning person?” he mused, tilting his head at you, “well, feel free to join or sleep more, I wouldn’t judge,” he continued and you saw in literal slow motion as he lifted his hand with a bell in hand, shaking it hard as he marched out of your room just in the same manner as he came in just seconds ago.

“BREAKFAST!!” he yelled with at least two octaves lower at his siblings, still ringing the bell that now was resonating in your brain in a highest pitch possible, making your head hurt.

Great morning.

But despite the general morning grumpiness you did find it endearing that Klaus decided to include you in their activities, making you feel less alone and - quite funnily - welcomed in your own house.

You slowly went down the stairs, hearing the lower floor full of different voices and it made your heart clench. You immediately thought of your family that made it feel alive like this in the past and a warm smile appeared on your face, as the Hargreeves huddled up around the smaller table in the room you descended from the stairs into, all making your appearance feel natural.

“Good morning,” you passed Luther that nodded in your direction alongside the phrase, as you went into the bigger room, seeing Allison cooking by the stove, window open.

“Oh hey, you’re up,” she said with a smile, “can you pass me some milk?” she asked, extending her hand into the air, already expecting said item.

“Sure!!” you hurriedly opened the fridge, giving her the thing she requested and she continued cooking.

You slowly looked around, seeing a blanket and some different things like cigarette boxes and teddy bears on top of the furnace, which made you realise that someone from the family has clearly claimed it to be their place for sleeping and you found it adorable.

“You can go sit with the others, I’ll bring it all in when it’s ready, Allison said, adjusting her black hair so it didn’t get in the way of preparing food.

“Oh.. okay!” you chirped, with a smile going back to the first room, and finding an empty seat between Diego and Klaus.

You almost sat already when Klaus sprang to his feet and took you by the shoulders, making you freeze on the spot, eyes wide.

“Klaus?” you asked, confused, “is that seat taken?”

“By Allison,” Diego quickly responded before his brother had any chance to and then the skinny man sat back on his chair, nodding with an awkward smile on his face.

“Yes, exactly. Sorry y/n,” he sighed and shrugged, clearly playing along Diego’s words, but you just let it go.

Instead you sat next to Luther, whom already opened his mouth but Vanya looked at him with a forced smile, raising a brow. At that, the big guy closed his mouth again, without making a sound.

Something.. is weird here. You shifted a bit in your seat, biting your lower lip.

The kid wasn’t here at all, you just noticed.

Then finally Allison came with the food and your anxiety lessened, as everyone started cheering for wonderful pancakes that she made.

She already wanted to sit on the seat that the guys told you was reserved for her, when suddenly Klaus did the same to her as he did to you.

“Klaus,” Diego hissed in a low voice.

Allison just looked at her brother, expression just as confused as yours was.

“What?” Allison deadpanned, putting a hand to her hip.

There was a brief second of silence until Klaus just burst into an emotional speech.

“Look, I know we’re all pretending that we’re normal in front of y/n but you all know that Ben always sits next to me and he’s sitting here right now, yet you all wanna make it seem like he doesn’t exist? I’m sorry that he’s a ghost, I’m sure he didn’t want to die either!” then after a moment he added, “Right, brother dear?” looking at an empty space near him.

Your brain clearly wasn’t catching up to what was just being said.

Pretending to be normal?..

“Great. Just fucking great, Klaus. I bet Ben would move, understanding the situation!” Allison waved her hands at him and the chair next to him with an annoyed voice.

“We just blew our cover, guys,” said Diego with pursed lips, looking absentmindedly at the table filled with food.

Soon enough they all started arguing and only when there was a sudden blue light in the room, and the kid appeared literally out of the thin air in front of your eyes, everyone fell silent, looking at him.

“Guys, I just did a search around the neighbourhood and—“ his blue eyes met with yours, full of shock and denial of what you just saw, “shit.”

He clicked his tongue and frowned and that was positively the last thing you remember before losing consciousness, everything around you turning black.

Too much of supernatural for one morning, that’s for sure.

Precious taglist: @radcloudenthusiast, @spacenerdpascal

NEXT PART→

#diego x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #tua diego #diego reader insert #the umbrella academy #tua fanfic #umbrella academy x reader #diego hargreeves #number two #number two x reader

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pinktintedmonocle · 4 years ago

Text

Dedicated Followers of Fashion - A Cobra Kai Lawrusso Fanfic - Chapter 2

“I found that shirt”, Daniel said, feigning casualness.

“What shirt?” asked Johnny, plonking himself down in his own chair.

“The pink one”, Daniel replied. He stood up slowly, bracing himself against the desk as the room threatened to start spinning. “The one you said – that you said – ah – from the photo album.”

When a look through an old photo album leads to Daniel unearthing a certain pink shirt, things heat up between him and Johnny when they both get drunk at the dojo.

Trigger warning: some description of one of the characters having issues accepting their sexuality.

May 1985

“So I’ve gotta go into the office this morning, just for an hour or two, but I’ll be back by lunch so we can go to the mall, get you some new clothes.”

Daniel made a noise of protest around his mouthful of eggs. He swallowed and took a gulp of orange juice.

“But I’ve got plans, Ma! I was gonna go round to Mr Miyagi’s, learn some new moves, feed the fish. And the clothes I got are fine, honest.”

“Your clothes are not fine, Daniel; all of your pants are about an inch too short in the leg, and look at that shirt!” said Lucille, gesturing to Daniel’s red checked plaid, “Those cuffs are supposed to come down to your wrists, not your elbows!”

Daniel slumped back in his chair, clamped a hand to his heart dramatically and groaned.

“But I don’t wanna go shopping, Ma!”

“Then quit growing”, said Lucille with a grin. “Come on, it’ll be fun. I’ll treat you to a burger and a milkshake from that place you like. Hey, why don’t you invite Ali? I haven’t seen her around in a while. Everything OK with you two?”

“Oh yeah, we’re just peachy. But she’s – er – she’s got family stuff on this weekend”, Daniel lied.

“Alright, well it’ll just be the two of us then. It’ll be nice to have a bit of mother-son bonding time, you can fill me in on everything that’s been going on with you lately.”

“There’s nothing going on with me”, Daniel said shortly, a slight flush on his cheeks. He pushed back his chair and stood up. “Look, I better go tell Mr Miyagi I can’t make it this afternoon. I’ll see you later, Ma.” He barrelled out of the door, leaving it open.

Lucille shouted after him, exasperated. “Alright, but we’ll meet back here at 12. And don’t be late!”

**********************************************************************************

“Alright, so you need some new pants and shirts. And what about underwear, do you need new underwear?”

“Ma-”

“Well do you?”

Daniel shrugged, looking down at his feet and scuffing the floor with his shoe. “Yeah, I guess”, he muttered.

Lucille pulled his head up by the chin, looking at him with concern. “Are you OK, Daniel? You’ve been in a mood all day, didn’t even finish your milkshake. Those Cobra Kai boys aren’t giving you a hard time at school again, are they?”

“No, Ma. They’re not even in Cobra Kai anymore-”

“Then what is it, huh?”

“What it is is that my mother is stood in the middle of a store with people all around tryin’ to talk to talk to me about underwear.”

Lucille dropped his chin and rolled her eyes. “Alright, smartass, I’ll shut up. Come on, quicker this is over with quicker we can go home and not worry about shopping again until you hit another growth spurt.”

They walked through the store, picking out a new wardrobe. (Daniel had tried to fill the basket with nothing but camo pants and plaid shirts, but Lucille had laughed and put most of them back. “How about we try and get you a few clothes that you can wear together that actually match?” she had suggested. “Matching, matching, who cares about matching?” Daniel had protested, but had still allowed his mom to pick out a few pairs of jeans and a couple of plain shirts.)

“OK, I think that’s nearly everything we need – oh, look at that!”, exclaimed Lucille, smiling brightly as her eyes caught on something over Daniel’s shoulder. “That shirt would look so nice on you.”

She walked past Daniel and he turned to see her picking out a rose pink shirt and peering at the label. “And it’s your size too, perfect! Alright, let’s find the cashier’s desk and then get outta here-”

Daniel reached into the basket and plucked out the shirt. “I’m not wearing that, Ma. Aren’t there any other colours, like, um, blue or something?”

Lucille looked at him, brow furrowed. “Well yeah, there might be – but look, what’s wrong with this colour? It brings out your eyes-”

“But it’s pink ma, and I’m – I’m not – look, I can choose my own clothes, OK!” yelled Daniel, hands curling into fists.

Several people in the store turned to stare.

Lucille took a step back, shock etched onto her features. “Hey, hey, don’t you talk to me like that, young man!” she shouted back, voice steely. “I don’t know what’s got into you lately but I don’t like it, you hear me?”

Daniel suddenly deflated, fists uncurling, shoulders dropping, and for a second he looked as if he was about to cry.

“It’s nothing”, he said, swiping at his eyes fiercely with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry Ma, really I am.” He put the shirt back in the basket. “It’s just a shirt, it’s fine, it’ll be fine. Oh hey, I think the cashier’s desk is this way-”

He lolloped off on his long legs and Lucille had to almost run to catch up with him.

**********************************************************************************

They loaded up the car with their purchases and drove home in silence, Daniel fidgeting with a loose thread on his shirt and staring out of the window. When they were nearly home, Lucille spoke.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s going on, Daniel”, she said softly. “You know you can tell me anything.”

I can’t, Daniel thought, I can’t tell you this. He looked at his mom and smiled tightly. “Yeah, I know mom, but it’s nothing. Really.”

“OK”, said Lucille. “OK”.

Daniel could see that she didn’t believe him, but mercifully she didn’t ask him any more questions.

May 2019

“Oh, you’re so tiny!” laughed Carmen, taking a sip of wine as she giggled. “And that outfit! That’s certainly something…”

Amanda grinned. “Yeah, thankfully he outgrew his plaid and camo phase before we met. Not sure we would’ve got past the first date if he had shown up wearing that.”

“Hey, it was a look!” Daniel protested. “I’ll have you know I got plenty of dates in that outfit back in Jersey!”

The two women laughed, leaning against each other as they continued to study the photo album, while Johnny smirked. Daniel rolled his eyes and took another sip of wine.

It was two weeks until the tournament, and Daniel and Amanda had invited Johnny and the students round to their house for a meal to blow off a little steam after months of intense training. Amanda had also invited Carmen (“I need another person here who isn’t a teenager or a man-child, otherwise the evening will end with me throwing someone through a window, never mind Kreese), and they had all sat outside, enjoying the late evening sun and eating and laughing.

Eventually the kids had sloped off to Daniel’s home dojo to admire Hawk’s new hair colour (purple), and discuss teen drama (Daniel had gathered from the conversation over dinner that Demetri was in a relationship with a blonde girl called Yasmine despite the fact that they apparently hated each other and spent most of their time denying they had anything to do with each other. He had caught Johnny’s eye while Demetri told his story and Johnny had held his gaze for just a moment before they both quickly looked away).

The adults had then retreated to the kitchen to polish off a bottle of wine or two (or beer, in Johnny’s case), and after a while Daniel’s childhood photo albums had somehow materialised. After laughing themselves silly over the plaid/camo combo, Amanda and Carmen had continued to make their way through the album, getting to prom (“Look at that suit!” cackled Amanda), and then to Daniel’s trip to Okinawa.

“I thought the village I grew up in in Ecuador was rural, but this is something else”, said Carmen, flicking through the photos. She paused at a picture of Daniel and Mr Miyagi, standing outside Yukie’s house. “I like your shirt here, Daniel. Definitely an improvement on the plaid”.

“Oh yeah, pink is definitely your colour, LaRusso”, said Johnny, and Carmen nudged him.

“Don’t be mean, Johnny”, she said.

“I wasn’t!” protested Johnny. “I meant it!”

“Really?” Daniel asked lightly, taking another sip of wine, tone casual even though his heart was hammering in his chest. “Not like you to compliment me, Johnny.”

Johnny’s face flushed. “No, I just – I just meant it’s not completely awful. Not like most of the clothes you wore back then. Or now, to be honest.”

“How about we talk about something that isn’t my fashion sense”, said Daniel, picking up the album and closing it firmly.

“I think you mean ‘lack of fashion sense’”, said Amanda teasingly, leaning in to kiss him on the check. She stretched her neck and grimaced. “Why don’t we go and sit somewhere more comfortable?”

“Good idea!” Daniel said brightly. “You all go into the living room and I’ll grab some more drinks.”

As soon as the others were out of sight the smile slid off Daniel’s face and he leant heavily against the kitchen counter.

“But it’s pink ma, and I’m – I’m not -”

“Oh yeah, pink is definitely your colour, LaRusso”

It had been over a month since the almost-kiss and he and Johnny hadn’t talked about it. There had been a few times when Daniel had thought Johnny was on the verge of mentioning it, but he had always just opened and closed his mouth a few times before clearing his throat and starting to talk about something else entirely. Daniel, for his part, had no idea how to even approach the subject. Hey Johnny, remember when you put on that ridiculous jacket that made your arms look amazing and then rubbed up against me and spun me round and then freaked out when I leant in to kiss you? You wanna talk about that?

“Hey babe”, said Amanda, and Daniel started as he looked up to see her in the doorway. “Just thought I’d come and give you a hand with the drinks.”

He looked at his wife, the woman who had stuck by him through thick and thin for the last twenty years, and felt a surge of guilt. He pushed it away and clapped his hands together. “Right, what do you and Carmen want? Another bottle of the Cabernet Sauvignon?”

“Yes please”, said Amanda, picking up the glasses while Daniel fetched the bottle. “And grab another Coors from the refrigerator for Johnny.”

Daniel took out the beer and followed Amanda into the living room, plastering on a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

**********************************************************************************

A few days later Daniel told Amanda over breakfast that he wasn’t feeling so good. Amanda had taken his temperature with the back of her hand and frowned.

“Well, it doesn’t feel like you’ve got a fever, babe, but maybe you should take a day off from the dealership.

“Thanks”, he said, smiling weakly. “I’m sure it’s nothing, probably just a twenty-four hour bug or something.”

“OK, well, just take it easy, yeah?”

“I will. I’ll just go back to bed, try and get some sleep.”

Daniel had lain in bed until he heard Amanda leave for work and the kids leave for school before he jumped up and made his way to the storage room at the back of the house. It was packed full since he had moved everything out of the dojo and into this one room, and he spent a good half hour clambering over old chairs, kids’ toys and pool noodles before he found the two cardboard boxes he was looking for, tucked away in a dusty corner.

Both boxes had ‘1985’ scrawled on the side in black sharpie, and Daniel picked them up in turn before pushing the lighter box back into its corner. He knew what he’d find there – a white gi with a faded black snake on the back and blood stains on the sleeves – and he wasn’t quite ready to deal with that one yet. He would have to, one day, but currently there were more pressing demons he had to face.

He opened the heavier box and started to pull out piles of clothes. He had kept almost every bit of clothing from his first trip to Okinawa, folded up neatly and all stored away together, every piece infused with a memory he never wanted to forget. He smiled fondly as he took out the jeans, red shirt and black vest that he wore down at the docks with Mr Miyagi when they practised the drum technique, followed by his red silk kimono with the black and yellow embroidered bonsai trees, thinking of the O-ben festival and the fight with Chozen. Eventually he found the rose pink shirt and held it up, shaking it out.

It was paler than when he’d first worn it, bleached by the sun. There were a few loose threads but overall it still in fairly good shape. He stared at it as the memories came flooding back. There were the good ones; mooching through Tomi village with Mr Miyagi and waving to Kumiko as the little girls giggled shrilly, and then there were the bad; the department store, the feeling of panic that had welled up in his chest when his mom had picked it out, the irrational fear that somehow she knew the secret he had tried so hard to conceal. After a minute Daniel placed it down on the floor, then re-folded all of the other clothes and packed them away until only the pink shirt remained. He knew the sensible thing to do would’ve been to pack it up as well, push the feelings back down, but instead he left it out and put the box back into its corner without it. Then he washed, dried and ironed it and placed it in his gym bag.

**********************************************************************************

The week before the tournament Daniel and Johnny stayed late at the dojo, sitting on the deck and sorting out some last minute details while munching on burgers. (“I get to pick the food tonight”, Johnny had said, “and I don’t want any green stuff.” “You’ve got a pickle in that burger”, Daniel had pointed out. Johnny had removed the pickle and thrown it at him).

After eating they did a final assessment of the strengths and weaknesses of their students (Miguel had eventually convinced Johnny to let him fight with the blessing of Carmen, and he and Sam were placed in joint first in their rankings, with Hawk coming in a close second. “I think Demetri could stand a good chance” Daniel had said and Johnny had rolled his eyes. “A good chance at what, getting his arm broken again? I think Bert’s got a shot though; he may be small but that kid can kick”. “Oh yeah?” Daniel had grinned. “Remind you of anyone?” “No”, said Johnny), and after an hour of furious scribbling (on Daniel’s part), Johnny had stood up and stretched, his t-shirt riding up a little to expose a strip of taut stomach (Daniel had turned his head, pretending to be very interested in a rock).

“I need a drink”, Johnny declared, walking towards the house.

Daniel thought of the pink shirt in his bag. “I’ll have one too”, he called after Johnny.

A minute later Johnny emerged with two stubby brown bottles clutched in his hands. He sat back down on the deck and handed one to Daniel.

“Thought my taste in beer was beneath you, LaRusso”, said Johnny as Daniel twisted off the cap and took a gulp.

Daniel grimaced, nose wrinkling in distaste. “Yeah well, you’ve worn me down. It is disgusting though; I don’t know how you drink this stuff.”

Johnny barked a laugh. “It’s an acquired taste.”

“Acquired through what?”

“Through drinking nothing else for thirty years”, Johnny replied with a shrug, uncapping his own bottle and flipping the lid behind him. It landed in a bush.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “I hope you’re going to pick that up later, Johnny.”

“What? No, its fine, I’m sure it’s recyclable or some shit.”

“You mean degradable and no, it’s not.”

Johnny just shrugged and took a long pull at his Banquet.

Daniel side-eyed Johnny as they both drank their beers, watching as Johnny swiped a strand of tousled blond hair out of his too-blue eyes before his gaze tracked lower, noting the way Johnny’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, then lower still to take in the broad shoulders, muscular arms and firm chest visible under a tightly fitted t-shirt. He looked away, feeling his cheeks redden.

They spent another hour or so grading students and discussing tactics, during which Daniel managed to drink another three beers (those tiny bottles don’t last long) and it was almost dark in the garden when Johnny drained his own beer and rubbed his eyes.

“I should go”, Johnny said, although he didn’t move.

“You’re not driving”, Daniel said firmly, lips pursed.

“I’m barely drunk!”, Johnny protested. “I’ve only had six beers!” He waggled a finger under Daniel’s nose. “And don’t talk to me about drunk driving, LaRusso, you’ve gotten into a car with me when I’ve had way more than this. I don’t know why you suddenly care so much.”

“I care because we’ve got the tournament in a week from now, and if you end up dead and the kids are too grief stricken too fight and Kreese takes over the valley it’ll be all your fault.”

“Whatever”, said Johnny, “you can just say you’d miss me, LaRusso.”

“In your dreams, Johnny”, Daniel answered, rolling his eyes.

I do miss you, I’ve always missed you. I missed you thirty-five years ago, and I’m missing you now, even though you’re right here.

Daniel felt something brush his hand and he looked down to see Johnny’s own hand resting next to his on the deck, pinky fingers touching. He glanced up and they stared at each other for a beat before they both pulled back at the same time.

“I’ll call us both a cab”, said Daniel, clearing his throat. “You can leave your car here and I’ll pick you up tomorrow before training.” He half expected Johnny to protest, but instead the blonde just nodded.

“Right. Well, we should go inside”, Daniel continued. “It’s getting cold out here.”

Johnny got up and Daniel followed suit, but he had only taken two steps before his feet seemed to stop working and he nearly fell off the decking. Johnny caught him, strong arms encircling his waist, chest pressed flush to Daniel’s back, and Daniel was reminded of the night a month ago; the way the denim scratched over his skin, the warmth of Johnny’s body.

“Easy, LaRusso”, Johnny murmured in his ear and Daniel shivered slightly at the sensation of Johnny’s breath on his neck. “Banquet will do that to you when you’re not used to it.”

“I’m fine”, Daniel insisted, head spinning, suddenly aware of how drunk he was, “You can let go of me.”

“You sure?”, Johnny asked, and Daniel briefly considered feigning another dizzy spell to stay in Johnny’s embrace for a little longer, before firmly shaking his head and pushing Johnny’s hands away.

“I’m good, really”, Daniel said, vaguely aware that his speech was a little slurred.

Johnny moved away and Daniel just about stayed upright, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Jesus, Johnny, how do you drink that stuff every day and still have a functioning liver?”

“You’ll get used to it, LaRusso”, said Johnny, walking into the house.

“I seriously hope I don’t”, Daniel muttered, following Johnny inside.

Johnny headed for the bathroom while Daniel stumbled over to his desk and sat down heavily. He fished his phone out of his pocket, squinting against the glare of the screen, and pulled up the number for a taxi company. Then Johnny walked back into the room and Daniel found himself placing the phone face down on the desk without making the call.

“I found that shirt”, he said, feigning casualness.

“What shirt?” asked Johnny, plonking himself down in his own chair.

Johnny frowned. “The one from the 80’s?”

Daniel licked his lips. “Yeah.”

Johnny scoffed. “Oh yeah? You gave me shit for having my old clothes and you’re still hoarding all of yours?”

“For sentimental reasons only, Johnny. I don’t wear them on a regular basis.”

Johnny pointed a finger at him. “Hey, my clothes are timeless. Did it fit?”

“Did what fit?”

“The shirt”, Johnny said, swinging his legs up onto his desk and leaning back, hands behind his head. “It probably does, you’re still as much of a shrimp as you were back then.”

“I don’t know, I didn’t try it on”, Daniel replied, and he knew he should go, call a cab and get out of there, but the cheap beer was making his tongue loose. “But I could do.”

Johnny fixed him with ice blue eyes. “You got it here?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Johnny was silent for a moment as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. There was an expression on his face that Daniel struggled to read in his hazy state, half fear and half something else, as if he was trying to decide whether to run away from something or towards it.

“Go get it then”, Johnny said eventually, and Daniel just nodded and walked unsteadily into the next room to fetch it, making a detour to the bathroom on the way. He half expected Johnny to be gone by the time he got back, but the blonde was still there. Daniel stood awkwardly in the middle of the room and waved the shirt around lamely in one hand.

“You gonna put it on?” Johnny asked.

“I will if you take your dirty shoes off my desk”, Daniel shot back.

“It’s my desk!”

“Yeah, but I bought it.”

Johnny grumbled but removed his feet, and Daniel unzipped his tracksuit jacket and pulled on the shirt over his workout top. He stretched out his arms, waggling his fingers and feeling a little smug in spite of himself. “Still fits!”

“Yeah, but can you button it?” asked Johnny.

“Yeah, I think so. It might be a little snug with this top on underneath-”

“Then take it off”, Johnny instructed, and his voice was so direct, so commanding, that Daniel obeyed without thinking, tugging off both the shirt and his top.

I wonder if that’s a trick he learned from Kreese, Daniel mused, before he suddenly realised that he was topless in front of Johnny Lawrence who was staring at him, eyes wide. He quickly pulled the pink shirt back on and hurriedly buttoned it up. It was loose when he got it and it still mostly fitted, but he was also a beanpole with an almost concave stomach when he was sixteen, and he’s definitely filled out a little since then.

Johnny just looked at him for moment and Daniel fidgeted with the hem of the shirt, not quite able to meet Johnny’s eyes. He heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back and when he glanced up Johnny was standing, that fight or flight look on his face again. He moved forwards and Daniel followed suit, closing the gap between them until Johnny was close enough to reach out and touch Daniel’s chest, dragging his fingers down to where the buttons were a little snug around Daniel’s waist.

“It’s nice”, Johnny murmured. “It’s soft.”

“Yeah”, Daniel whispered, leaning into Johnny’s touch. He swayed dangerously as he did so and gripped Johnny’s arm to steady himself.

“It’s different, for you”, Johnny breathed. “Not blue.”

“That”, Daniel said, prodding a finger into Johnny’s chest with his free hand, “is your fault.”

“What is?”

“The blue.”

“How can a colour be my fault, LaRusso?”

But Daniel didn’t answer; he just made a noise in the back of this throat and pressed their foreheads together, feeling Johnny’s hot breath on his face as he moved just a little closer, lips almost touching-

Daniel’s phone rang shrilly, and he and Johnny sprang apart. Daniel threw himself across the room to his desk and grabbed it, breath hitching as he saw the name on the screen.

“It’s Amanda”, he said hoarsely, and glanced up at Johnny.

Johnny looked nauseous. “You should get it.”

Daniel answered the call.

“Hey babe”, said Amanda, and Daniel tried to respond but his throat was suddenly tight and he couldn’t quite form the words.

“Daniel?” asked Amanda, and there was a hint of panic in her voice. He cleared his throat and forced the words out.

“Hey. Everything OK?”

“I was just about to ask you the same thing. It’s pretty late; I was starting to get worried, thought Kreese might’ve decided to pay you a visit.”

“God, no, I’m fine, really. Just – just had a few beers with Johnny, lost track of time. I was just about to get us both a cab.”

“OK, well, see you soon. Love you.”

“Yeah”, said Daniel, turning away from Johnny. “Love you too.”

He hung up and immediately ordered two taxis. He walked over to the refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water and took a long drink from it, trying to clear the alcohol induced fuzz from his mind.

Johnny was stood against the wall opposite Daniel, pressing himself into it as if he hoped it would magically open and swallow him up. Silence hung between them, heavy and oppressive, and Daniel knew that if he didn’t say anything Johnny wouldn’t either. But he also knew that if they didn’t deal with this soon the next time they were alone with a few drinks in their system would likely end with either him or Johnny just pinning the other to the floor, and not in a way that had anything to do with karate.

“We need to talk about this”, he said softly, and Johnny’s eyes met his.

“The cabs will be here in a minute-”

“Not now”, Daniel replied. “But soon. After the tournament.” He half expected Johnny to deny there was anything to talk about, but instead the blonde just nodded.

“Yeah. After the tournament.”

Daniel looked down and realised with a jolt that he was still wearing the pink shirt. He turned away, quickly taking it off and pulling his workout clothes back on.

He had just finished changing when the glare of headlights shone through the doors. He and Johnny made their way outside and got into the two cars, exchanging a brief lingering glance before they went their separate ways.

Daniel slumped down in his seat as the car wound its way out of the driveway. He stared out of the window as the city lights flashed by and found himself thinking about that day at the mall with his mom all those years ago and a similarly awkward car ride home, looking out at the same streets and trying and failing to not think about the same thing, of blue eyes and blonde hair and strong arms that would pick him up and pull him in and never let him go.

#cobra kai #Daniel LaRusso #Johnny Lawrence #lawrusso #cobrakaifanfic #cobrakaifanfiction

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ieattaperecorders · 4 years ago

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Something’s Different About You Lately - Chapter 11: Going Out

Jon looks to the future.

* * *

The streetlights were coming on. One of them caught Jon's eye, flickering for a moment before settling. Its light didn't make it very far into the alleyway, cut off by the shadow of the institute building. As the sky grew dark, the last few feet of pavement were completely obscured. Something could easily stand in that shadow, unseen by anyone walking by.

The words can I have a cigarette popped into Jon's mind as he pulled out the slim package of Silk Cut, placed one between his lips, and lit it. His lighter was cheap yellow plastic, disposable and meaningless. There was no lighter with a spiderweb pattern in his pocket. Like the table, it had never been delivered.

That lighter. He wondered, as he inhaled nicotine and acetaldehyde, why he could think about it now. His mind had simply slid off it before, even when it was brought to his attention. Only recently had it finally occurred to him how strange it had been, to hold onto a thing like that for so long. He'd been made not to notice it. Why was he allowed to realize that now?

Maybe he'd been freed from something. More likely, they didn't need the lighter anymore, didn't need to hide their influence on him. They knew that there was nothing he could do.

Annabelle's words rang in his memory as he took another drag, telling him that addiction was one of the most powerful vectors of control. She wasn't wrong, and maybe he shouldn't be smoking at all right now. But the old lie of just one more still had its pull. Any fractional part of himself he might be feeding to the spiders with every puff seemed as irrelevant as lung cancer at this point. Besides, this really was his last cigarette. He knew a surefire way to quit.

Still a couple of hours until it would begin, and there was nothing to do but wait and contemplate. Everything was ready. It had been ready for some time, really. If he was honest with himself, he'd been putting this off. Stalling, telling himself he needed more time, when the reality was that he just didn't want to go through with it. It was strange that he was still afraid to die. After everything he'd been through – more importantly, everything that was at stake – one might expect him to go to his end stoically, even with relief. Comforted by some notion that he was making a noble sacrifice. Or by the darker hope that so many cross that line with, that at the end of it all there will be rest.

He didn't feel noble. He didn't feel like some soldier in a Tennyson poem, riding boldly and well into death. He felt like Alexei in the endless trench at the end of the world – scared, powerless, yearning for a home that had ceased to exist. All he had in him was a dull, cold ache, broken by the occasional stab of fear as he contemplated how little time was left. He supposed Terminus's torments got everyone in the end.

It would be nice, though, if he could be stoic. He didn't like thinking his last hours would be spent fighting down dread.

Another puff. The smoke made patterns in the air around him, the abstract shape of his breath outlined in ash and tar. As he watched it dissipate, the light hit it at a particular angle and for a moment – fast, but unmistakable – he saw the interlacing tendrils of a spider's web. With a start, he dropped the cigarette, crushing it under his shoe.

Dying wasn't so bad, he told himself. Everyone did it eventually. And there were far worse things than death.

There was still time before Rosie would leave for the night, and he decided to treat himself to a last meal. He considered getting something extravagant or indulgent, but in the end all he wanted was a sandwich and soup from the nearby cafe, so it would be that. One more simple comfort, with enough calories to get him through this final push.

As he passed the front of the Institute he saw Martin sitting on the steps, staring out across the street and scribbling something in a little notebook.

Jon froze. He hadn't expected to run into anyone. "Oh. Hello."

". . . Hi." Martin seemed likewise surprised to see him, quickly stuffing the notebook into his bag. In the back of his mind, Jon wondered if he'd been writing poetry. "You, uh . . . coming to the meeting later?"

Martin was choosing his words carefully, he noticed. At least someone was taking his warnings about Elias seriously.

"Yes. Ah, yes," he replied. "I'll see you there."

Martin nodded. Jon began to walk past him, but after a few feet he stopped and turned.

"Have you eaten?" he blurted out. Martin blinked, surprised, and he continued. "I, ah, was just going to get something from the cafe down the street. If you'd like to join me."

He spoke stiffly and too fast, and maybe that was what made Martin pause – the nervousness apparent in Jon's demeanor. The weight he couldn't keep from placing on the question.

"Um. You mean. . . ?"

He could almost see Martin doing calculations. Weighing the intensity of everything that had happened that day, and Jon's own confusing outburst earlier. They'd eaten at that cafe before, but only during work hours. Did it mean something else if it was dinner?

Jon wanted to say yes, it meant exactly what he thought it did and more. But now was the one time when he really, truly couldn't, not with what he knew was coming. It would be too cruel. He'd had countless chances to tell Martin how he felt, and he hadn't taken them, and now it was too late.

"I mean," he said gently "that I think we could both use a little time to just relax. And not think about everything that's been happening. That's all."

"O-oh. Right. Of course." Was he disappointed? Embarrassed? Relieved? Jon truly couldn't tell. "Um, yeah. That sounds good. Let me just get my coat."

He vanished into the institute, leaving Jon outside. He wondered if it had been a mistake to ask. If he should have just left on his own, come back alone, and done what had to be done. Then Martin came back out, wrapping a scarf around his throat, and smiled when their eyes met.

After that, he didn't worry or wonder. He smiled back.

* * *

Jon's thoughts were scattered, and Martin's presence beside him as they walked was a source of gravity, pulling him back to the same questions, over and over. Would he believe Jon after he explained everything? Would he take it poorly? More than anything else . . . when it was over, all of it, would he be all right? Perhaps predictably, Martin was the one to actually break the silence.

"So . . . look. We don't have to talk about Sasha, or Tim, or–" he waved his hand, indicating anything and nothing. "All of that. It's just, today's been rough, and you're being really quiet, and . . . ."

A quiet warmth rose in Jon's chest. ". . . You want to know if I'm all right."

"Basically?"

"I'm . . . as all right as I'm going to be. Under the current circumstances," he sighed. "I'll let you know if I feel a nervous breakdown coming on."

Martin gave him an uncertain look, as if he might be serious, but when Jon smiled he seemed to realize he was joking. "Ah. Well . . . Sasha took hers this weekend, so the rest of us are probably due."

"Seems only fair."

"Maybe we can set up a schedule? ‘Oh, Tuesday – that means it's Tim's turn to do the dishes in the break room and Martin's to scream in the storage closet.'" He shook his head. "We're a mess, huh? The four of us."

"Could be worse. No one's murdered anyone else, or threatened a coworker with a deadly weapon. Those are a couple of points in our favor," he paused for a moment, then added. ". . . That was a joke."

"I should hope so. Sheesh. If I'm ever in a position to send out job applications again, remind me not to use you as a reference. Can't imagine what you'd say about my perfect no-homicide streak."

That made Jon pause. He tiled his head, considering. "I'm not sure that you actually have one . . . we did kill Jane Prentiss?"

"I – what? She wasn't even really alive, though, was she? That can't possibly count."

"Mm. Maybe not." He had his doubts, but how much of Jane had truly been there when they killed her wasn't a question he wanted to dig into at that moment. "Either way, since I was the one to set off the alarm, you were really more of an accomplice."

"And there's self-defense? She was trying to eat us, it doesn't get much more threatening than that."

Jon smirked. "It'd be a bold strategy, arguing that to a jury."

The last few blocks to the cafe had passed without him really noticing, and the two of them went inside. As they settled at a table, he turned to Martin.

"What would you actually do? If you could leave?" he asked. "If you really were sending out applications."

Martin paused in draping his coat over the back of the chair, startled by the question."Is this a, ‘what would you do if money didn't matter' sort of thing, or like –"

"No. Money is the same. Everything is the same, just the institute's gone. What would you do?"

"Dunno? Try to get another library job, I guess, since it's what I have experience in. Suppose that's not a very interesting answer."

"It's a reasonable one."

"I liked it in the library, though. I guess it suited me . . . it was quiet and easy to keep things organized. Easier than the archive, at least," he shrugged, sitting down. "What about you? What would you do if you could quit?"

Oh. Fair question, one Jon should have realized he was opening himself to after asking Martin the same. He really wasn't sure what to say. Starting over outside the Institute . . . it was something he used to think about, occasionally. In Scotland he would allow himself silly, idle thoughts of the two of them settling there. Laying low, maybe finding work in the tiny village somewhere or in his more fanciful moments living ‘off the land' in some impossibly nonspecific way.

His mind still drifted the safehouse from time to time, but it was only a daydream. His already impractical, half-formed plans had turned into soothing fantasies disconnected from any reality – too perfect and comforting to bother with the question of how they paid for groceries.

"Hard to say. The supernatural has seemed like such an inescapable thing for a while now. I – I know it's only been a year. But it's still hard to imagine myself outside the archive anymore." He sucked air in through his teeth. "Which sounds awfully grim, I'm sure."

"I think I might get it. Honestly . . . this is going to sound just awful, but after you told us about the no-quitting thing, I think a part of me was relieved? Just a small part. But I'd been anxious about losing this job on and off for a while now, and on some level I guess I was just glad I wouldn't need to worry about that."

"Martin . . ." Jon said softly. "You – we can't think like that. You're not better off at the Institute."

"Oh, I know. I mean, I get it. Like I said . . . just a small part," he shrugged. "But you already know this is the only real job I've ever had. And even before the supernatural stuff, it's not like I had much of a life outside of it."

"You seem to get along with people, though," he said. "Hannah, and the others from the library. You talk with nearly everyone, don't you?"

"I guess . . . but only at work. Which kind of proves my point."

Jon nodded slowly, looking down at his hands. Once again found his mind returning to would he be all right? He knew that there were a thousand, thousand ways for a person to be trapped somewhere. After a moment of silence, he continued.

"Er. How is Hannah doing?"

"Oh. All right, I suppose. She's got her due date set, so she's making plans for that."

"Right . . . you know," he cleared his throat. "I don't think I know half the people outside the archive as well as you do."

"Well, I've been here a lot longer. You at least know Yolanda right? I saw you two talking last week, it looked like you were getting on."

"I suppose? I mentioned liking cats, and she sort of cornered me. Wouldn't let me leave until she'd gone through every detail of hers."

"Heh, that sounds right."

"I don't mind seeing photos of people's pets, obviously. But she insists on calling them her ‘fur babies' which really is an horrific term. . . ."

From there they got to talking about others in the Institute who had strange quirks with their pets. Apparently Iris had brought their bearded dragon into the library one afternoon and it had gotten loose in the stacks. Jon observed with a smirk that this seemed to be a pattern around Martin, which to his delight managed to fluster him a little. He stammered something about how he'd checked with the shelter and the dog had been adopted already, so Jon could rest easy knowing it wouldn't find it's way back there, thank you very much.

Listening to him speak, Jon found himself thinking about how much Martin noticed about other people. Little things that escaped Jon or fell through the sieve of his memory somehow stood out to him. It was a bit embarrassing to realize there were still colleagues of his in research that Martin knew better than he did.

Martin also had more than a small streak for gossip, a quality that hadn't had much chance to come up much in the time he'd spent with Jon in that other life. It was a recklessly endearing thing to discover, and the time passed quickly as they talked.

". . . And there's the live lobster that Rosie won in a raffle," Martin said, finishing out a story. "But you probably know about that one already, pretty sure she told everyone about it."

"Not everyone. Not me, anyway."

Jon's mind momentarily drifted to a cold, echoing tower, to a sense of being caught eavesdropping, and of swallowed regret. It was usually how he felt around Rosie nowadays. Things weren't made much easier by the fact that whenever they made eye contact he heard Jonah's voice saying "Nosy Rosie" in the back of his mind, and he'd grown vaguely terrified that one day he'd just say it out loud without thinking.

"I find it little hard to talk to her, though," he added. "And I don't think she's especially fond of me."

Martin balked at that. "Rosie? Come on, she likes everyone."

"No one likes everyone, Martin."

"Okay, fine. But, still, she's like, the most laid back person in the whole building. How is she of all people hard to talk to? Unless –" a thought seemed to occur to him. "Oh, wait – is this something to do with Elias? Is she, like, his henchman or something? Is she in on it?"

"What? No, no, it's nothing like that . . . though I suppose her closeness to Elias doesn't help. I can't exactly talk with her about . . . well, any of this."

"So talk to her about something else, then!" Martin's tone had taken on a determined edge, and Jon feared he had a point that he was making. "I know you can talk about things that aren't terrible, dire secrets. Tell her about emulsifiers or something."

"I don't know . . ." Jon shifted in his chair. "I think I lost the art of conversation somewhere."

"Oh, come on. You talk to me all the time, and Sasha and Tim . . . ."

". . . That's different."

Heat was rising to Jon's face, and it occurred to him that he should probably just agree with whatever Martin said in the hopes that they could move past this point in the conversation. But he just didn't have it in him not to be contrary over this – an energy that seemed to only feed into Martin's.

"Come on, pretend I'm Rosie." Martin folded his arms and leaned forward on his elbows, looking at Jon. "Tell me something about yourself. Talk about your hobbies or something."

"Hobbies . . ." Jon shook his hand, quietly baffled. "I don't know . . . I read a lot? I used to collect sea glass, but not really lately."

He sounded boring even to himself, but he couldn't think of a hobby that he'd stuck to for any real amount of time. What had he done with himself before his days were spent desperately scrabbling against a tide of supernatural horror? He thought back.

"Oh. Well, I did a little bit of theater in college. And I was in a band for about a year and a half."

That got Martin's attention. "You were in a band? Like, a real one?"

"I don't know what makes a band ‘real' or not," he shrugged. "We weren't imaginary."

"Fair enough, I suppose. Would I have heard of you?"

"Are you – are you still being Rosie, or –?"

"No, I guess not. I'm just curious. Would I have?"

"Definitely not. Not unless you happened to attend open mics around Oxford, or were a regular at the only bar that ever let us play," he waved his hand, already embarrassed that he'd brought it up and eager to move past it. "It was just myself and a few friends, really it was an excuse to blow off steam."

"Huh. What kind of music did you play?"

"Oh God. Experimental, I guess? Sort of industrial, but also operatic, maybe? Not – not what you're thinking of probably, but –" he huffed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not describing it very well."

He looked up to see Martin leaning forward subtly, arms on the table, a look of eager curiosity on his face. He was smiling. It was a nice smile, not nervous, not tired and worn down or wry, and Jon wanted to stop everything there. Stop time from moving forward, so that Martin could keep smiling like that, just for a while.

Nothing matters anymore, he thought.

"Hell with it," he said, reaching for his phone. "Would you like to see pictures?"

"Um, yes?" Martin said. "Absolutely."

Jon sighed, but felt a smile pulling at his face. "I'll warn you, they aren't very flattering. And almost all of them were taken in the dim light."

He thumbed through his photo albums until he reached what he was looking for, then passed his phone across the table. Martin took it, looking at the picture and then back at Jon, as if comparing the two.

"Huh," he said diplomatically, biting his lower lip. Jon was just glad he wasn't openly laughing. "You look different."

"Mmm. My hair was longer then."

"The makeup is nice. Are the silver things stars?"

"Oh. Yes . . ." Jon frowned, trying to remember details. "We each had sort of a character we played, though the backstories kept changing. Mine was a space explorer, I think? Honestly, I don't remember very well, and I don't think it was ever fully fleshed out."

"Have the others seen these?" Martin asked, flipping through them with growing delight.

Jon shook his head. "I've told Tim that I used to sing. But I'm fairly sure he thought I meant a school choir, and I didn't correct him. I haven't told Sasha at all, though I suppose it's always possible she's found out on her own."

"Really?" That made Martin pause and look back at him. Still smiling, pleased to have a secret, but surprised. "Why show me, then?"

Because I love you. Jon thought. Because I'm going to be dead in a few hours, and seeing the surprise and delight on your face is one of the last and greatest pleasures that I'll ever know. Because I want to give you so much, and I can't. I want to give you every wonderful thing you deserve, and I won't. All I can give you is this, and it's so small and stupid and pointless, but it's all that I have.

"I suppose I'm just in a sharing mood," he said.

* * *

Dinner passed far more quickly than Jon would have ever expected, and it was with a sigh that he finally looked at the time and realized it had nearly run out.

"We should probably be getting back."

A stab of something ran through him as he said it – fear, regret, or resolve, he couldn't tell. But it was soft, and didn't linger. Martin nodded and frowned as he looked at the bill.

"Forgot to ask them to split it," he muttered.

"Let me," Jon reached forward, gently slipping it from under his fingers. "It's the least I can do."

Martin hesitated, then said "I'll get the next one."

He managed half of a nod in response, he couldn't bear to agree out loud, it would feel too much like a lie. A moment later the bill was paid, and the two of them started back towards the Institute. As they left, Jon put a hand on Martin's arm.

"Thank you for this," he said, squeezing slightly before letting him go. "I . . . well, I think I really needed it."

The surprise in Martin's face at Jon's touch quickly turned into something softer, and he smiled down at him. "Anytime, Jon. Really."

The two of them walked back in silence.

* * *

Tim was still in the archive, meaning Sasha had managed to convince him not to go off in search of the circus again. Melanie had also arrived, brought in by the unavoidably cryptic voice message he'd left on her phone. She seemed to be in conversation with Sasha.

Jon nodded at them. "You're all here. Good."

"What's going on?" Melanie said. "You claim it's urgent that I come but you don't say why, and it seems to me like no one else knows either."

"Not here." He held up a hand and turned, gesturing for them to follow. "We can talk in the tunnels, I'll explain everything there."

#tma fanfic #ao3 link in reblog #tma #tma time travel au #cw: suicidal ideation #cw: smoking

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deathsmallcaps · 4 years ago

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@boopboopboopbadoop

April’s Story

Shrek premiered 20 years ago this month! So I decided to honor it with my own illustrated version of the movie for my Win A Commission Contest! If you’d like to see the illustrations in context with the text, please

Once upon a time, there was a lovely Princess

But she had an enchantment upon her of an awful sort, that could only be broken by True Love's First Kiss

She was Locked away in a tower, guarded by a terrible fire-breathing Dragon

Many brave Knights had attempted to free from this dreadful prison, but none prevailed

She waited in the Dragon's keep, in the tallest room of the tallest tower. Where she waited for her True Love and True Love's First Kiss...

A large green hand ripped a page from the Book and revealed another part involving the whole kingdom celebrating on the Princess and her True Love's wedding day, laughing heartily as he slammed it shut.

"Like that's ever gonna happen!" A Scottish voice said dismissively. "What a load of-" A flush of a Toilet drowned out the last part of the sentence.

We look and see an outhouse. It was made of white birch wood, lashed together with a rope for a handle and a black crescent moon facing the right. There was some hanging moss on the tilted roof growing and a pathway of stones, weeds crowding in between. It was set right in front of a thick wood, facing towards a house. The strange thing about all of this is that the outhouse had plumbing with a flushing toilet.

The door slammed open, revealing no Prince Charming nor a Frog, but an Unlikely Hero: an Ogre. Yawning and stretching out before fixing his wedgie, he shook off a ripped page that was sticking to his shoe and stared at his house.

He lived in a giant, white, hollowed out mangrove tree, the trunk thinning out into a perfect chimney. Moss, ivy and weeds grew all around or on top of it, and there was a crude door and some small windows set into the side.

The Ogre breathed in and left the outhouse with the door slamming behind him as he began his day.

Using a bucket and scraping up some mud, he carried it over to a branch. The ogre undressed and pulled on a rope, causing the mud to pour onto him. He made an “Oof!” sound when it first hit him, but continued scrubbing himself with the mud like it was soap. He drank the last dregs of the mud and then spat it out, ending the shower.

Then the Ogre brushed his teeth. He grabbed a red caterpillar, and squeezing it like a tube of toothpaste, pushed its innards onto a bone. He scrubbed well, getting the insides of his teeth, then the outsides. It turned his already unhealthy teeth greener, and the putrid goo shown in his hideous smile caused his mirror to shatter and fall onto the floor.

Next, he plunged himself into a lake and made a huge splash, turning himself right and getting ready; the Ogre let out a loud, horrendous and terrible gaseous fart that bubbled behind him. Feeling relieved and making an “innocent” pose with his finger to his lip, he turned to see that there was not one, not two but three red salmon floating up to the surface; murdered by the deadliness of the stench that continued to plague the rest of the underwater native wildlife. He grabbed the one next to him and proceeded to leave.

Later army crawling into a hollowed husk of a fallen tree, pointing diagonally skywards, the Ogre pushed out a ton of mud as he climbed his way forward like a commando in the trenches of a battlefield. The final mud slopped out as his stained face popped out.

He smiled as he found a green slug right outside the tree trunk. The Ogre grabbed it and the slug squirmed in alarm as it was picked up by a giant green hand, leaving the small maggots once underneath the slug exposed to the air.

Closer to sunset, near a lake with verdant hills in the distance, the Ogre began painting a new sign. Having picked out a broken off- plank of moldy wood form his outhouse, he didn’t bother with a base coat of white. He spent several hours painting. Once he finished, the Ogre placed his palette down, took a good look at his newest masterpiece, and out of sheer joy of satisfaction he kissed the ogre in the picture on the lips. It left red paint all across his lips as he posted it next to an older sign that said, "STAY OUT". It was a rather hideous portrayal of his face with red eyes and red writing that stated, “BEWARE OGRE".

After The Ogre had ate his fishy and sluggy dinner and had lit a fire with the strength of his belch, he sat back on the crocodile flesh recliner. Just as he was settling in, the Ogre's tiny trumpet ears picked up a disturbance in the Swamp.

It was the sounds of people trespassing. With a groan he lurched to his feet and glanced out his window, spotting a group of Ogre Hunters in the far distance, mostly visible due to their torches. Within moments, the Ogre snuck outside his home and was tiptoeing behind them.

The Ogre Hunters, dressed mostly in green and sporting crappy haircuts, pushed aside the tall grass and foliage as they watched the Swamp House, lit from within by The Ogre’s Belch-Fire.

"Think it's in there?" The one with a bowl cut asked

"Alright... let's get it!" The one in the a tall hat declared, holding a torch and about to make a charge forward before he was stopped short by the one with the mustache next to him.

"Hold on, you know what that thing could do to you?" the mustached one said with fear.

"Yeah, it'll grind your bones for it's bread!" The one with the bowl cut told him.

They all froze when a loud chuckle echoed behind them.

Turning around, they saw the Ogre towering over them. He spoke in an almost friendly manner, but what he said was the opposite of friendly. “Ha, yes, well actually; that would be a giant!" He exclaimed, causing the men to back off. The Ogre stepped forward each time they stepped back. "Now Ogres, oh.. they're much worse! They'll make a suit from your freshly peeled skin!"

"No!" A man was horrified

"They'll shave your livers!"

“No!”

"And squeeze the jelly from your eyes!" The Ogre Hunters were cornered as the Ogre added, thoughtfully, "Actually it's quite good on toast."

The bearded Ogre Hunter swung torch at The Ogre’s face. "Back! Back, beast! Back! I warn ya!"

The Ogre simply raised an eyebrow before calmly licking his fingers and putting out his torch with a pinch and a smile.

"Right..." the Ogre Hunter dropped the extinguished torch.

The Ogre let loose an horrible and fearsome ear bursting roar directly into the faces of the cowering Ogre Hunters. Spit flew in their faces as their hair and hats were thrown back. They screamed in response as their torches extinguished as the roar continued. After a long moment, he stopped and wiped his mouth, but the Hunters continued to scream; when they finally stopped they looked like their wits had long been scared out of them.

The Ogre leaned in and whispered to them as the crickets and other hidden wildlife in the night went on in the silence. "This is the part where you run away..."

With a yelp they immediately dropped all their pitchforks and weapons and bolted out of the swamp as the Ogre chortled to himself. The bowl cut Ogre Hunter tripped but kept running in desperation.

The Ogre laughed whole heartily and yelled after the retreating party. "And stay out!"

A piece of paper they must’ve left behind caught his attention. He picked it up, and saw that it had the face of a solemn elf with a green leaf hat and white beard. There were bags of gold drawn around it, but no explicit price was given, just the word, “Reward” written in red. Above it he read, "Wanted: Fairy Tale Creatures...".

He realized they had wanted to capture him for the reward money. He looked towards the fleeing villagers in disgust and shook his head, throwing the paper to the ground as he went back inside to spend the rest of the night in peace.

The next day, as part of his new plan to get people to leave him alone, The Ogre set up some new new signs, even farther from his home. Just as he was setting up his last one (it had a green skull with the words ‘Keep Out!’ in the pupils), something ran into his butt.

The Ogre turned around to face what appeared to be a terrified mini-donkey.

Someone yelled, "He's getting away! Get him!" and the sounds of guards in armor scared the little donkey into hiding behind The Ogre. "This way! Turn!"

The local Captain of the Guard and his men ran up, stopping when they all saw the tall Ogre who stood before them. "You there... Ogre" The Captain grabbed a scroll his waist

"Aye?" Was The Ogre’s reply, hands on his hips and now seemingly irritated that his day was once again involving contact with humans.

"By the order of Lord Farquaad... I am authorized to place you both under arrest and transport you to a designated resettlement... facility...?" The Captain's voice was shaking and nervous due to the face that the Ogre was walking towards him slowly, now standing right in front of him as a deafening silence fell.

"Oh really?" He asked, leaning down so he was face to face with the Captain. "You and what army?" He asked as his teeth glittered with a smile, glancing behind him.

The Captain turned around to see what was once left of his men as their halberds fell down and a shield spun around onto the ground like a coin. He turned back to the Ogre; the mini-donkey smiled as the Captain took his men's example and made a run for it.

Now that confrontation is over with, the Ogre shook his head and walked away; but the mini-donkey had nowhere else to go and decided to follow his accidental savior. He trotted behind him.

"Can I say something to you?" He asked with the Ogre walking on. "Listen, you were really, really, really somethin' back here. Incredible!"

Now fully irritated, The Ogre turned around. "Are you talkin' to..." The Ogre saw no one else, just the ground lit by the sunlight within the forest of the tall trees. The voice was clearly gone. "Me?" He blinked and shrugged, turning before giving out a startled yell as the Donkey now stood before him.

"Yes I was talkin' to you. Can I tell you that you was great back here? Those guards! They thought they were all of that. Then you showed up and bam!" The little donkey caught up to The Ogre before getting up onto his hoofs in front of The Ogre and made a martial arts move with his right hoof, stopping him again. "They were trippin' over themselves like babes in the wood. I loved seeing that, made me feel happy seeing that"

"Oh, that's great. Really." The Ogre sarcastically replied

"Man, it's good to be free!" The burrito declared as the Ogre turned to him.

"Now, why don't you go celebrate your freedom with own friends? Hmm?" He suggested, leaning down to the little donkey, before walking off again.

"But... I don't have any friends, and I'm NOT going out there by myself!" Exclaimed the creature. A flash of inspiration came to him. "Hey wait a minute, I got a great idea! I'll stick with you" Donkey returned happily to the Ogre, deaf to his annoyance. "You're a mean green fighting machine! With you, we'll scare the spit out of anybody who crosses us!"

The Ogre halted and regarded Donkey for a moment. Then seemingly out of the blue, he fully turned and gave off an all might roar right into the animal’s face; hoping this would scare him.

The mini-donkey just stared, now with an impressed look drawn on his face. "Oh, wow! That was really scary!"

The Ogre just frowned and stomped away.

"Now if that doesn’t work, your breath will certainly get the job done, 'cause you definitely need some Tic Tacs or something 'cause your breath STINKS!"

The Ogre continued walking, but then looked back when he didn’t hear the none-stop chatterbox for about five seconds, to his relief and hope that he lost the annoyance.

To his irritation and surprise, the donkey appeared looking down at him from above; atop of a fallen tree over The Ogre’s path.

"You almost burned the hair outta my nose, just like the time..."

The Ogre covered the donkey's mouth, muffling his little obnoxious tale. The donkey still did not shut up as he kept it held there; continuing to talk either way; The Ogre removed his hand. "Then I ate some berries, man I had some strong gasses leaking out of my butt that day!"

"WHY are you following me?!" The Ogre asked, losing patience; nothing could shut this donkey up and he just needed to get away right now.

"I'll tell you why!" The animal leaped off the tree as he followed the Ogre, before breaking out into obnoxious song. "Cause I'm all alone, there's no here beside meeeee." He stopped in front of the Ogre as he wiggled his butt, the Ogre's right eye was half closed and his left eye was twitching in madness as the mini-donkey continued. "My problems have all gone, there's no one to deride me... but you gotta have faith-"

"Stop singing!" The Ogre yelled, he grabbed the burrito by the ears and tail as he moved him out of his way. "It's no wonder you don't have any friends!"

"Wow, only a true friend would be that truly honest!" The small donkey claimed.

The Ogre only groaned "Listen, little donkey. Take a look at me: What am I?" He held out his arms and stood tall before him.

The burrito looked from the Ogre's shoes to his head, whose face looked irritated while he thought to himself. "Really tall?" was his first guess. The mini-donkey wasn’t sure what The Ogre was asking.

"No! I'm an Ogre, you know. ‘Grab your torch and Pitchforks!’ Doesn't that bother you?" He imitated an Ogre Hunter before asking.

Donkey shook his head

"Nope." came the response

"Really?" The Ogre was a bit surprised.

"Really, really" The creature happily assured.

"Oh," The Ogre was not too sure on what to say next.

"Man, I like you, what's your name?"

The Ogre looked a little surprised. For all his time living alone in the Swamp, no one had ever asked him of his name. He had always been The Ogre, not a true individual to the people around him.

"Uhh... Shrek." He replied after a moment, before continuing his walk home.

"Shrek?" Th little donkey echoed, seeing if he got it right before following the now and forever named Ogre himself. "Well, you know what I like about you Shrek? You got that kind of I-don't-care-what-nobody-thinks-of-me-thing I like that. I respect that Shrek. You all right."

He continued to follow Shrek up the hill as they came overhead across a small grassy meadow hill above that overlooked Shrek's Swamp. Donkey (for that was his name) stared looked at the scene before him.

"Whoa! Look at that. Who'd want to live in a place a like that?" He asked with a hint of disgust, mostly discomfort, in his voice.

"That... would be my home" Shrek claimed, his hands on his hips before heading down the other side of the hill.

Donkey could only blink in response, he had really put his hoof in it now. "Oh! And it is lovely! Just beautiful. You know you are quite a decorator. It's amazing what you've done with such a modest budget!"

Shrek only shook his head as he continued downwards.

"I like that boulder, that is a nice boulder." Donkey followed him down. He continued after Shrek once again and stopped in front of the three signs: "BEWARE OGRE", "STAY OUT" and "DANGER". Donkey took a look at each of them all and asked,"I guess you don't uh.. entertain that much do you?"

"I like my privacy." Shrek claimed as he kept walking to his front door, Donkey trotting after him.

"You know, I do too. That's another thing we have in common. Like I hate it when you got somebody in your face. You've trying to give them a hint and they won't leave. Then there's that big awkward silence you know?"

Shrek turned to face him, silently willing Donkey to understand that the creature had just described their exact situation.

"Can I stay with you?" Clearly Donkey did not receive the hint.

"Uh, what?"

"Can I stay with you, please?" He added in the magic word.

"Of course!" Shrek declared lightheartedly as he smiled.

"Really?" Donkey asked.

"No." Shrek bluntly denied.

"PLEASE! I don't wanna go back there! You know what it's like to be living like a freak!" Donkey reconsidered for a moment as he looked at the large green humanoid before him as he pushed Shrek onto his front door with his hooves. "Well, maybe you do. But that's why we gotta stick together! You gotta let me stay, please, please!" Donkey was getting hysterical.

"OKAY! Okay..." Donkey dropped to the floor as Shrek opened his door inwards as he gave his one little stipulation. "But one night only." He was about to enter before Donkey bolted in.

"Ah! Thank you!"

"What are you...?" Donkey leapt onto Shrek's crocodile skin recliner. "No, no!"

"This is gonna be fun! We can stay up late, swappin' manly stories and in the mornin," He trotted around on the chair before sitting down as he finished with: "I'm makin' waffles!"

"Oh!" Shrek groaned as he held his hands out, as though he was planning to strangle the noisy intruder.

Donkey looked around and asked him. "Where do, uh... I sleep?"

"Outside!" Shrek screamed irritably.

Donkey's ears drooped upon hearing that response. "Oh, well, I guess that's cool. I mean, I don't know you and you don't know me, so I guess outside is best, you know. Here I go." He sniffled as got off his recliner and walked out sadly,"Goodnight..." He told him as Shrek slammed the door on him.

The mini-donkey kept talking, of course. "You know, I do like the outdoors. I'm a Donkey. I was born outside. I'll just be sitting by myself outside, I guess, you know. By myself, outside!"

Shrek looked out before shaking his head and sighing to himself, walking away from the door to enjoy himself for the rest of the day as Donkey began singing the same annoyingsong again; although more sorrowfully.

"I'm all alone, there's no one here besides me..."

That night, as the cauldron hanging by chains over the firepit bubbled solemnly; Shrek was enjoying himself with a nice dinner while Donkey was locked outside of his home. He dropped a eye on a stick into his martini glass and slurped it down as he looked at his dinner before him. There was a slug with orange eyes, what appeared to be green grapes, a jar of eyes, spice, worm stuffed pumpkin and a nice large piece of cooked skinless meat on his plate.

These were the times he enjoyed the most out of his solitary life, he was home, nice and warm and he wasn't bothered by anyone at all. Though he had to pause and glance at his front door. Shrek had ... mixed feelings about his new acquaintance. He talked WAY too much, but he was also the first person in a very long time to actually treat Shrek like a person.

He shook his head and sighed, scooting in further to his table as he felt that there was just something missing from the layout of the table. The man he figured out what ir was. He brought his hand to his ear and started to pull hard and painfully as the earwax built up came out like a spear and placed it atop a candle platform; lighting the wick made of ear hair afterwards with a match. Now he can enjoy his meal alone.

The same could not be said for Donkey, who peeked sadly into the window before making his way back to the front door. He laid down as he smiled bittersweetly and went to sleep at his new friend's doorstep.

Shrek continued to eat and enjoy his meal until the sound of his door creaking interrupted his silence.

He put his fork and knife on the table as he got up. "I thought I told you to stay outside." He was hoping to shove Donkey back outside, if that was what had come in.

"I am outside." Donkey’s voice came from the window.

In confusion, Shrek turned and saw a shadow move across the wall. Who was now moving around near his table? He returned and observed it. Everything was normal underneath the table, but then he heard voices from above.

"Well, gents, it's a farcry from the farm, but what choice do we have?" A blind mouse asked, tripping over Shrek's fork.

"It's not home, but it'll do just fine!" The second of the blind mice knocked over the jar full of eyeballs, spilling out the contents.

"What a lovely bed" The third of the blind mice was bouncing on the Slug, Shrek immediately caught him.

"Got ya!" However it escaped his grasp.

"I found some cheese" the third mouse said, biting Shrek's left ear.

"OW!" He cried in pain, grabbing at the mouse again who was now on his other shoulder.

"Blah! Awful stuff!" The tiny rodent jumped down onto the spoon and inadvertently launched a piece of gravy towards Shrek's left eye, which he wiped away immediately.

"Is that you Gordon?" One of them asked.

"How did you know?" A different one asked back.

"Enough!" Shrek grabbed all three of them by the tail, flipping the wooden spoon off the left side of the table as he turned his back and demanded angrily.

"What are you doing in my house?" The dinner on his table was then violently shoved off and Shrek's back was hit with an gold and glass fashioned coffin, labeled, ‘Here lies Snow White, under the curse by the Poison Apple infected by the Sleeping Death curse’.

"Hey!" He turned and saw the Seven Dwarves, one of the waved at Shrek.

"Oh, no, no, no. Dead broad OFF the table!" He shoved her coffin back to the Dwarves

"Where are we supposed to put her? The Bed's taken!" They shoved the coffin back to him.

"Huh?" Shrek stopped short. He hurried to his bed and opened the curtain separating the rooms and gasped. There laid comfortably and in grandmother's clothing, was a wolf of all creatures.

"What?" The Wolf asked irritably.

Shrek was now on the verge of rage, he dragged the Wolf out of bed and held him in the air through his house as the Seven Dwarves made themselves comfortable.

"I live in a swamp, I put up signs! I'm a terrifying Ogre!" He shoved his door open outwards. "What do I have to do to get a little privacy?!" He screamed as he threw the Wolf out of his house.

Then he saw a sight that would haunt him forever. "Oh no... oh no!" Shrek bellowed.

His Swamp. His lovely, silent, peaceful Swamp was no longer the way he intended it to be. It was now swarming with many, many Fairytale Creatures; many, many beings now living in his precious Swamp. Even the old woman brought her entire shoe to his Swamp, with many children running around. Tents were set up, fairies roamed around in the air, Pinocchio and a short yellow elf with a cone shaped hat were arguing and many people were conversing with each other.

“No!" A witch flew past him. "NO!" He screamed out, three more witches came zooming past him and Shrek had to jump for cover as they came flying down with elves helping them land.

"Wha?" Shrek turned his head to the side with the old woman hanging her clothes with a child and two other children pushing each other.

"Hey, don't push!" A girl in the blue shrieked.

The Pied Piper in red was calling over rats with his flute while many other Fairytale Creatures were waiting in line towards Shrek's Outhouse.

In the meantime, Papa and Baby Bear were sitting by the fire, the latter upset and being comforted by his father; no Mama Bear in sight, as many other Fairytale Creatures warmed themselves up by the fire before them. Elves, Lepricons, Dwarves, Fairies, Witches, Pigs, Wolves, a Unicorn and any Fairytale Creature you can think of were all there in Shrek's Swamp; shattering his peace.

"What are you doing in my Swamp?!" Shrek roared out as he got up, his voice echoed all over the sound of his Swamp; everyone and everything came an abrupt half as it was followed by screams and gasps. The Dwarves who held bowls to be fed with soup from the cauldron by the witch dropped them, the three fairies of Sleeping Beauty flew in the tent to hide and two Dwarves ducked out of sight and appeared holding each other out of fear behind a branch.

Shrek wasn't going to have all this; he eyed everyone and began to walk to some Elves and Dwarves. "Alright, get out of here. All of you, move it! Come on! Let's go! Hapaya! Hapaya! Hey! Quickly, come on!" He shooed them all backwards but some of the Dwarves and fairies ran into his home as Shrek turned back. "No, no! No, no. Not there, not there!" He ran after them as they slammed the door on him and a little green fairy, the door now unable to open despite his best efforts.

He stopped and turned to face the large group before them, especially on Donkey.

"Hey don't look at me, I didn't invite them!" Donkey replied.

"Oh, gosh, no one invited us" Pinocchio confirmed.

"What?!" Shrek came over, demanding to know what happened.

"We were forced to come here" He told the Ogre.

"By who?" He was flabbergasted until one of the Three Pigs told him.

“Lord Farquaad. He huffed and he puffed and he... signed an eviction notice." His brothers nodded in agreement.

"Alright. Who knows where this Farquaad guy is?" Shrek asked.

Everyone looked around at each other with no answer, until Donkey answered. "Oh, I do. I know where he is!"

"Does anybody ELSE know where to find him? Anyone at all?" Shrek was desperate to not to go with Donkey of all people.

"Me! Me!" Donkey tried to get his attention, jumping comically into the air. Baby Bear held his paw up, but was stopped by his father.

"Anyone?" Big Bad Wolf and a Green Wizard pointed to each other while Donkey continued

"Oh! Oh, pick me! Oh, I know! I know! Me, me!"

"Okay... fine." He reigned himself to being annoyed; Shrek knew that he would either go with Donkey or risk asking a human. "Attention, all Fairytale... things. Do not get comfortable, your welcome is officially worn out. In fact, I'm going to see this guy Farquaad right now and get you all off my land and back where you came from!" He pointed to the left before the entire crowd went wild.

Shrek shook his head and groaned before walking, four birds draping him in a flower cloak. "Doh!" He swatted them away as he sharply pointed directly at Donkey. "You. You're comin' with me" He told him darkly as he shoved the cape off him and started walking, the birds returning and dropping a flower crown on his head.

"Alright, that's what I like to hear man: Shrek and Donkey, two stalwart friends, off on a whirlwind big-city adventure. I love it!" Donkey rushed after the ogre.

Shrek tried to grab torch from a Dwarf while walking. He refused to let go, so Shrek simply shook him and then dropped the dwarf into the water where the dwarf resurfaced moments later.

"On the road again, sing it with me, Shrek. I can't to get on the road again!"

“What did I say about singing?" Shrek sharply turned to Donkey and grabbed his flower crown before throwing it off of him. They crossed a log that bridged the area between Shrek’s little island and the rest of the swamp.

"Can I whistle?" Donkey asked.

"No."

"Can I hum it?"

"Alright, hum it."

Donkey continued to hum ‘On the Road Again’ while Shrek

focused on the road ahead.

The two heroes marched off into the woodlands while being waved off by all creatures.

Art Explanation

So, it’s obvious I copied the title from the movie! It sure did make my life easier!

And I used a lot of references for my pictures. I hoped to make them true to the movie as possible.

The second picture is possibly my favorite, although I didn’t enjoy drawing all the scenery. It isn’t my specialty.

The third picture was fun! I remember being very jealous of Shrek’s belch power when I was little, lol.

To be honest, the fourth picture was my least favorite. It felt too busy.

The fifth picture is my other favorite, because it has Donkey!

The last picture was hard, for sure. I wanted to ge their reflections right, and not make the background look too crappy. It’s hard to adapt things from such a dark scene. But I think it turned out alright, although the scaling is a little funny :).

So, I was hoping to not have to write out these scenes myself, because it’s ten whole minutes of a movie and let me tell you, it’s hard to do from scratch. Luckily, I found a version, which I’ve left a link for below. I just polished it a bit.

Anyways, I hope you’ve enjoyed!

SOURCE

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/450448/1/Shrek-Adaptation

#shrek #shrek 20th anniversary #shrek twentieth anniversary #win a commission #wac

9 notes · View notes

halothenthehorns · 3 years ago

Text

THE RIDDLE HOUSE

Harry and Lily were the only ones to wake at the normal time the next morning. In fact they were the only ones awake all day. Both stayed quiet and in the kitchen, chatting about everything and nothing. Harry was particularly interested in asking his mother about the cases she'd had at work, trying to avoid as much talk of school as possible. Though he longed for as much detail of their time at Hogwarts, he now realized he may have gotten all the information he was going to get for a time as memories of that place would be particularly painful for everyone now.

Harry still couldn't help but edge in at one point, "so, what did they do about days like this back in school?"

Lily kept her eyes focused on her infant, trying to ignore the frown line this brought up but she knew she was the best person to answer, as none of the boys could have gotten this out properly. "Remus normally slept through the day hidden in the hospital wing, the other three often went around making jokes that he was just skiving class. They put some numbing charms and the like to hide the worst of their injuries."

Harry was frowning in thoughtful concern, trying to picture what he'd seen of them last night actually pushing through a whole day of classes, and his respect for them grew tenfold. Thankfully it wasn't a problem today.

He couldn't help the next question that burst out, "but you said he's never come back looking so bad, why couldn't they have just gone outside, why stay in that tiny little room?" He'd spent some time outside that morning looking around what could have possibly been his childhood home, and while he could see something that might have been a town off in the distance, he couldn't help thinking of some way that could have gone better for the lot of them.

Lily had honestly asked James the same the other night, unwillingly admitting she hadn't wanted this in the house if it could be avoided, but James had admitted same as she told Harry, "they didn't feel it was safe enough. They were wandering Hogwarts and Hogsmeade for years before they even made Animagus, they knew the area and felt safe running around with, well, Moony as they refer to Remus when he's like that. We've only lived here about a year though, and almost all of that time has been out of the house for one reason or another due to the Order and the like. Normally they go out to some unpopulated forest near Remus's parent's old place, and they didn't have the heart to test anything new last night." Considering they weren't even sure if Moony would be able to leave the boundary of the property unattended by the two animagus' and do unspeakable damage, it hadn't even been worth the risk really.

Harry could tell how much it was bothering his mum to talk about. He put it all down to moments when he was sure she was remembering the rat making a crack or two that she'd just brushed off at the time, to her old friend Severus trying to make something more of it and her ignoring that too, and how now she was the one making defenses for him while she'd rather never see those two again.

Then there were other things, a topic that couldn't be avoided but they both knew would be brought up, at least by Sirius, so Harry voiced the concern now, "are you guys going to try and convince him to come back over again?" He knew for a fact he did not want that confrontation to happen, let alone somehow be a part of it when he knew he would somehow step in and protect someone, though he had no ideas of who anymore. Would he still try and protect Pettigrew? He doubted this, as he no longer held the key to Sirius' freedom in this timeline. Would he still be okay with watching his dad and Uncles become murders though? That he had no answer to.

Lily saved him by saying, "no," with absolute force, clearly leaving no room for discussion even as she explained, "it's too dangerous. Clearly we can't leave here for a reason, at least until these books are done. If nothing's changed and we still can't leave after that, then we'll concern ourselves with it, but for now I'll not risk it again. Merlin knows what could have happened if we had convinced, that rat, to stay and read with us, something might have gone very wrong adding someone into the group when clearly there's something going on around us. I'll tell Sirius and anyone else it is not worth the danger." Then she finished in much softer tones, "besides, he's hardly come around so much lately, it would probably take Merlin himself to get him to come back over."

Over a dozen times Lily had to squash down the urge to go and wake her boys, to at least get some food in them while they slept, but instead she only occasionally peeked in on each of them, repeated a few of the healing charms she knew and left them to sleep the day away.

The first thing James found the next morning was Sirius and Harry sitting on the couch, laughing about something. Pressing down on the vile green urge that was trying to come back up, he made to go back up the stairs and pretend like he hadn't noticed, trying to give them some space and bonding time he knew Harry would want now, but Harry caught sight of him and said, "Hey Dad, come here and look at this."

Forcing a smile onto his face, he came over and ignored the fact that Sirius was giving him an odd look to glance over and see what Harry was looking at, and burst into real laughter at finding them holding a photo album he and Lily had been making recently.

"What are you doing with this?" He snickered, lunging over the sofa and landing with a whump on Harry's other side, offering his hand out for it.

"I wanted to show it to him," Sirius said like that was obvious, now smiling lightly as well when he realized whatever had been bothering James had clearly passed for now. "Thought it would be worth a laugh for him."

James began flicking back through the pages they'd already passed stopping at a few and laughing in remembrance of when they'd been taken. There was the one of the first night Harry had been brought home, Lily being so exhausted in the photo she was constantly yawning, but the glowing smile so bright it dimmed the rest of the background. There was the day James brought Hickory home as an anniversary gift for Lily, and the very first thing the cat did was walk up to two week old Harry and curl around him to fall asleep.

Harry recognized quite a few from his own Hagrid had gifted him, and couldn't help but wonder if they were in fact the exact same photos. Could this have possibly survived whatever had happened to his parents on that Halloween, had Remus somehow fallen into possession of this and he'd been the one to send some of these pictures to Harry? Hagrid had mentioned some of his parent's old school friends had supplied the photos, it made sense at least. He found even more photos from his parent's wedding than the one from his, plus a few others of what were probably his parents first, like them standing in the empty living room when they'd first gotten this house.

There were some that were even older, scattered around before Harry was born of James, Sirius, and Remus all doing random things such as Sirius' last birthday, and the cake that had exploded onto the ceiling, leaving all of them with icing in their hair. Remus, with a hairbrush where his nose should have been, done in retaliation by Sirius for who knew what at the time. James a week before his wedding acting like a loon and bouncing around every inch of the frame, his constant worries about everything that was going to go wrong long since forgotten. The rat was conspicuously lacking, and there were some empty spots where a few pictures had clearly been removed, and James couldn't help but wonder if Lily had spent the day they'd all been resting to pull them out. He supposed that's how Harry and Sirius had come across it.

They spent the rest of the morning going over every picture, Harry still able to come up with endless questions for the both of them about every second the pictures were reenacting, until finally Remus and Lily arrived as well. Sadly they ran out of pictures about that same time. Remus had the baby playing happily in his arms and curled up into the recliner with him, leaving Lily to lounge out on the other sofa by herself for now. All three of the boys still looked terrible, James still had a vivid black eye and kept wincing whenever he shifted around too much and Sirius wasn't twitching as much as he normally did, leaning a little more heavily than was usual into the couch to keep himself upright. Remus still somehow looked the worst, an unnatural white with vivid dark circles under his eyes and he was moving the least of all, though that's probably why he wanted the baby, to help him remain as still as possible.

Silence rung in the room, Harry got the feeling they were trying to avoid talking about something and he had a very good idea of what. They decided they'd waited long enough anyways, and Lily went to fetch the largest book of the stack that was a vibrant blue stamped with a dark navy blue 4, a worry line already creasing into her as she asked, "Merlin Harry, what happened this year, it's thick as a tomb."

Harry just gave her an exasperated look, she knew he wouldn't be able to answer. At any rate she wasn't even that worried, maybe this year would finally be filled with happy and memorable times, with actually more than one chapter in a row where she didn't get sick from stress. As she rummaged for the first page, she at least comforted herself nothing could be as bad as last year.

Narrative starts by speaking of the villagers in Little Hangleton, who all refer to it as 'the Riddle House,'

"Riddle?" Sirius frowned, what an odd way to start. "Wasn't that Voldemort's real last name?"

"Pretty sure, yeah," James grumbled, he wasn't likely to forget that Chamber any time soon.

Lily was already getting a tingling feeling up her spine, asking, "okay, but so what? Where's Little Hangleton, and what's this have to do with Harry?"

"Maybe it's like those odd moments in the first book," Remus offered, "and this book's going to show us some things that aren't from Harry's point of view." After all, Harry wasn't likely on vacation anywhere, nor did he see a place like Private Drives occupants being referred to as villagers.

"Does it have to start with information about Voldemort though?" Harry sighed with distaste, completely with his mother on this one in hoping this wouldn't amount to anything, and already getting an insistent feeling trying to tell him otherwise.

even though the Riddles hadn't occupied the house for many years. It sat on a hill above the local village, dilapidated and forgotten.

"So one of those places where you wonder why it hasn't just been torn down at some point," Sirius muttered with disinterest. He wanted to hear about Harry, not Voldemort's childhood home or some nonsense. He really didn't like this was how Harry's next year was getting started.

It had taken a hard fall from grace with its years of emptiness,

"Great, so no more of his bloodline is hanging around, good to know," Remus huffed.

leading most of the locals to refer to the place as haunted. This came about because of what happened fifty years ago, something the villagers still enjoyed discussing when there was nothing else to do.

Lily still couldn't get rid of this nasty little feeling, like she really didn't want to know about what these people gossiped around in relation to anything to do with Voldemort's namesake, but she'd never gotten a say with these books before of what she was reading.

Like most stories it had been exaggerated and skewed over time,

"Sounds about right of any tale," James agreed, his own time at Hogwarts giving him plenty of experience with how wild a tale could spin, though it also caused a more terrible wince in his memory then any physical injury could do to him at one person who was entangled in every single one of those moments.

though everyone agreed on the beginning. On the day the Riddle House ended, it all started with the maid of the house running into the local pub to announce the family dead.

"Huh," they all muttered, finally feeling a small spike of curiosity. Sure they didn't really want to know anything about Voldemort except possibly where his self-destruct button was, but they also couldn't help the vaguest of interests starting up at what could have possibly caused this nut job to turn into the way he was.

Screaming about how they'd all been found with their eyes wide open and still dressed for dinner, but each without a pulse.

"Wow," Sirius couldn't help the curiosity in his voice now. "Wonder what did them in?"

Lily felt he was actually showing too much interest now, it was still gross, but didn't rebuke him either, she couldn't deny her own shared feeling.

The authorities arrived, and while the bodies were taken away no one bothered with sorrows, as the Riddles weren't well liked.

"Why am I not surprised?" Remus scoffed, "apparently the whole line was rubbish?"

Lily still couldn't help but think that was kind of sad, not one person mourned the passing of an entire family? But they were possibly the parents or in some way connected to Voldemort, so she couldn't muster up much herself either.

The narrative going on to say how unlikable the two parents were, and their boy Tom being worse.

"Oh, wait," James said, ruffling up his brow as he struggled to remember details back from that chamber. "Is this Voldemort's Dad and grandparents? He did say he was named after his father, unless you just said Voldemort was dead, in which chase I am okay with this."

"I doubt we're that lucky," Sirius sighed dramatically, "and it's likely the first." He knew James had been kidding anyways, the timelines didn't match up for this to be the description of the death of the Dark Lord, but it was still nice to think about.

"But this could be what started Voldemort on being, well Voldemort." Lily was frowning as she thought this over, "Over half a century ago, that's before Voldemort took over. Maybe the death of his family caused him to be the way he is."

"The way he went on about his own dad being a muggle?" Remus reminded, "Honestly I wouldn't be surprised if he did this himself."

Harry only got the briefest flash of something, like he wanted to agree with Remus, before Sirius laughed it off.

"Gee thanks Moony." Sirius shuddered, "I really wanted to think about Voldemort doing his own parents in, though," he added on curiously, "guess I can't say I haven't envisioned doing it myself." There was no real enthusiasm to his joke, after the last book, even knowing he hadn't committed all those murders, he just couldn't find the same sense of humor about killing anyone else. He still did it out of obligation, he'd never missed a chance to ridicule and show off how much he hated his namesakes, it was just a shock to the others to hear such a different tone while speaking of it.

What the villagers couldn't stop talking about was who had committed the murder, for obviously all three wouldn't have died like that otherwise.

"Though it most likely does seem magical at this point," Lily muttered to herself, as she quite agreed, it would be odd for this to be explained otherwise.

Names were tossed around until one woman entered with a real answer, the family cook, who had been down at the police station and came back to announce the arrest of Frank Bryce.

Harry felt something twitch inside of him at this name being mentioned, though he had no real connection to it. If it wasn't someone he should care about, then why did he feel sorry for him? Why would he feel anything for a name he was positive he probably had never even met?

He was the Riddle's gardener, a war veteran who lived on the property and was well known for not liking to be around others.

"And that just automatically makes you a murderer now does it?" Remus grumbled, he didn't particularly like going over to stranger's houses either.

One nameless woman tried to defend the old man, saying he just wanted his privacy, but then the cook pointed out how everyone knew he kept a key to the main house in his own home.

"How would she know that?" James demanded. "If she's never been over like it's implied, how would anyone but the Riddle's know that?"

"It was said he was arrested," Sirius shrugged, "maybe this cook overheard the police saying that while it was happening."

The police had told how the house was not broken into, it would have been easy for Frank to have done this.

"Does he have a motive?" Lily frowned. "Sounds to me like he just wants to be left alone, I can't see why he would go doing this, as I highly doubt this wealthy family would even leave anything to their gardener, plus he'd also be out of a job."

"Well let's see if the police scrounge up something," Remus offered.

This seemed to turn the mood of most other people, as many agreed that war had turned him funny.

"War turns a lot of people funny," James muttered bitterly, thinking that no one should have a right to judge those who hadn't actually been in one. He'd seen what war had done to one of his best friends, changed him into a radically different person, and he didn't appreciate any little reminder.

They continued exchanging stories about Frank, and by morning there wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind the police had got their man.

They all sighed heavily, already having lived through one book of a wrongly convicted person. They didn't even know this man, but it wasn't any friendlier of a reminder that it could be happening all over again to some random stranger.

But over in the neighboring town of Great Hangleton,

"Original," Sirius snorted.

the police were having trouble coming to the same conclusion. Frank was denying any such claim, saying the only person he'd seen around the house that night was some dark haired boy, who nobody else had caught sight of, leading the cops to think he was just making that up.

"Maybe not," James muttered, thinking back to Voldemort's more human description, and that wasn't a bad likeness.

Before a conviction could be had though, the medical reports came in, and not a thing could be found wrong with the bodies. They hadn't been strangled, poisoned, suffocated, or by any means hurt, except for the fact that they were dead.

"Oh yes, just that tiny little detail," Remus rolled his eyes, not really able to find it as funny as he once might have.

There was a note at the bottom, the only thing to explain away these deaths, they'd all been found with looks of fear on their faces. That wasn't the answer anyone wanted though, because who'd ever actually died of fright?

"I'm sure if they took a look at Voldemort's face they would have," Harry sighed, wondering why he'd said that at all. Had Voldemort been the person to kill his own family? He only got a sharp poke from his memories for trying to remember.

Without proof, Frank was released, and he returned to his simple life and continued his tending of the manner gardens, to no one's pleasure. All of the villagers were in agreement he should leave town, since everyone knew he was the man who'd done it.

They all had a bite of distaste in their mouth, beyond displeased at this continued topic, perhaps taking it to personally due to what they'd recently learned would happen to Sirius, but not finding it any less foul happening to someone else.

Frank did not move away though, and instead continued his job even as the house changed ownership. The new occupant did not move in, but the man who'd purchased it had claimed tax reasons, though no one was clear what that meant.

Lily actually looked like she was going to interrupt herself and explain, but James cut her off, "let it go Lily, they're not here to explain it to, and not even I wanted to ask."

The wealthy owner continued to pay Frank to do the gardening however.

"Well that's, nice," Remus said, unable to help breaking off at the end uncertainly. He still had no idea what any of this had to do with Harry, what was the point of this book showing all of this, and not even through Harry's point of view?

Frank was about to hit his seventy-seventh birthday by this point, his damaged leg paining him more than ever in his old age, though this never stopped him from tending to his beloved plants.

Lily couldn't suppress a happy smile though. She dearly wanted a garden, and she suddenly found herself very fond of Frank for even in his old age sticking to something that he clearly loved.

Weeds weren't his biggest problem though, but the children of the locals. The boys were well known for chucking rocks and further breaking apart windows,

James made a little scoff. He had no problems with giving cranky elders some fun in their life, but vandalizing was never one thing he did intentionally.

on their bikes as they tore through the grassy lawn.

Making Lily give a heated scowl of outrage, finding these some pretty despicable kids for tormenting this old man's hard work.

A few times they would even break into the house on a dare, finding great amusement when they saw the elder man come hobbling towards them, screaming with his cane about how they were wrecking the property.

Sirius, couldn't say anything. He could make no claims whatsoever that he wouldn't be right along with those kids, this town sounded boring to him and seeing how far they could push this guy sounded like the only source of amusement some rowdy boys could get up to. So long as they didn't do anything too crazy like actually burn the place down.

Frank knew why they did it, because the parents had told these boys of how Frank was the supposed murderer.

"I'm pretty sure they'd be at it no matter what their parents or anyone said," Remus said with an eye roll, most boys in the age he was thinking wouldn't listen to Merlin himself if he told them to stop.

So when Frank awoke one night in August and saw a small flickering fire in one of the windows, he first assumed it was those kids again.

Harry was getting a very hair raising feeling, instincts going haywire as he wanted to blurt out a warning to this old man, that he was way off the mark on that one and he should just go back up to bed. The problem, he knew, was that if he even started to try he'd receive a very sharp pain for his troubles, and considering how much his family freaked out whenever that happened he couldn't bring himself to dig into the feeling despite how much he felt he should.

Frank did not own a phone, and he wouldn't have called the police if he did, having a deep mistrust for the police since they'd arrested him.

"Can't honestly blame him," Lily sighed with a deep shake of her head, wanting to give those kids a good telling off for this. Not that she'd admit she probably would have been one of the first to go in that place on a dare.

Frank began shuffling around his house, getting dressed to head up there, and taking his key as he left. He circled the place first, but found the front door nor any of the windows showed sign of forced entry.

That wasn't so odd though, even the two purebloods knew how to jimmy a lock so that it didn't look forced the Muggle way, or possibly the kids had gone in through one of the broken windows previously mentioned. This all seemed perfectly harmless and meaningless to Harry, that's what all four of them kept telling themselves, and yet they were starting to get a prickling feeling. One glance at Harry and they could see he was struggling, his face clearly showing that he was trying his hardest to repress a memory, and if his rubbing at his temple was any indication by now, they knew it was going to be a bad one.

Frank went around back instead and let himself in. Though it had been many years since he'd come in here, he still had no problems from memory navigating his way to the stairs, thankful for the thick layer of dust everywhere as it muffled his feet and cane.

"I can see the fun of trying to sneak up on them," Sirius nodded, trying to put some mischief into his voice, trying to force the lighthearted tone he so craved from just one stinking chapter, but it sounded false even to his ears.

Once on the top floor, it was easy to spot the occupied room, there was only one door cracked open with the lights flickering out.

Remus couldn't help but picture this place like the Shrieking Shack, and the comparison wasn't making him feel any better considering the last time any mention of Harry had been in there, and now he was having to fight back a combination of vile and hatred all over again and it was in no way reassuring to what was going on now.

Frank made his way to the door in time to hear a man's voice, low and scared whisper that there was still some drink left in the bottle for his Lord.

Lily couldn't help finishing that with a little rasping noise, like she wanted to scream and gasp all at the same time but the two strangled themselves off because this just couldn't be happening! Not to her son, not again! There was only one person who could be referred to as My Lord, and despite how much she so desperately wanted it to not be true she couldn't come up with any other alternatives. She'd had a bad feeling since the first line of the book with Voldemort's namesake, now here he was in the house! Where was Harry? That one question just kept flitting across her mind now with more force than ever before, because she really wanted to hear that this was taking place on a different continent then near her son.

She came back to herself to find James with his arm wrapped tight around her, he'd clearly hopped seats and was now muttering reassurances in her ear that at least this was like that beginning of the first book, Harry really wasn't there now around that monster.

The shock still hadn't completely worn off when Remus blurted out, "who's talking to him? Is it like another Quirrell thing, because otherwise I really don't see how an answers coming."

"You just have this magical ability to ask exactly the wrong questions", Sirius scowled at him, he didn't want to be thinking of things like that. He wanted to hear the possibilities of who else it could be! He'd only gotten one year of reprieve of fearing a Voldemort come back so far and that had been the worst one of all for him!

Remus didn't look very repentant, his mind was scattering in too many different directions at once trying to understand this. At least he wasn't asking anymore what this had to do with Harry, he had a very nasty feeling why they were learning this in comparison with his cub's life now.

No one answered him though, because no one had any answers. They had no idea how Voldemort even still existed! They weren't even sure why he'd disappeared the night James and Lily had died, what could have happened to turn him into the vapor like creature that had been able to share a body with Quirrell. Voldemort no longer resembled anything they could wrap their mind around, so any questions regarding him couldn't even be speculated he dwelled so far outside the realm of their knowledge.

Lily did not look happy about it, but when the silence continued to drag on she realized she was expected to keep going no matter how much she'd rather do anything else. At least now she had her husband at her hip for some reassurance that everything was going to be okay.

The voice that responded was like pure ice, declaring he would finish it later, and even as he spoke it made the hairs on Frank stand on end.

Sirius couldn't help a shudder of disgust, recognizing this was most likely what Voldemort's voice sounded like now, and getting a creeping chill up his spine at the thought.

Then that same voice requested he be moved closer to the fire, referring to the first man as Wormtail.

The old nickname of one of the people she would have claimed as a dear friend up until a few days ago slipped out of her mouth almost without realizing what she'd said. Once she did register that the rest of the boys in the room had tensed up and she recognized why, she couldn't decide what surprised her more; that he'd really gone back to Voldemort, or that he was even still alive and had escaped the combined might of Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore. Really though, it shouldn't have come out as such a surprise, she really should have realized it would lead to this.

That rat really didn't have anywhere else to go back but to Voldemort's side, but she hadn't expected it to come up so soon. What she did happen to linger on in confusion is why Voldemort would use that childhood nickname? Clearly the rat had told Voldemort everything, but why would Voldemort call him that? Had the rat even requested it? It was such an odd detail she almost didn't take notice of what the others were doing.

What Sirius proceeded to call him would have made anyone with the foulest of mouths do a double take, not that anyone in this room could blame him. His rage and anger at being denied his revenge on that treasonous worst excuse for an Order Member he'd ever met left him a broiling mess at even the slightest hint of his being mentioned. Now Lily had just said that he was the one catering to Voldemort himself! That putrid little rat was actually helping him, being his right hand and, and he couldn't even think straight he was cursing so much in his mind as well!

James had no qualms about agreeing with every word, but it didn't change what he was really feeling, which was hurt. Why couldn't he be hearing about Sirius and Remus hunting this soulless critter down? Why couldn't he go on hearing about Harry having a good time with his friends over the summer? Why was it at every turn of the page he felt something else being ripped from him and it just kept leaving him emptier the longer this dragged on?

Remus still couldn't help but wince in shame at the mere mention of that name. Yes his family had convinced him that it wasn't entirely his fault, that the little backstabber's actions belonged only to him, but Remus still replayed those nights' events over and over and he still wanted to strangle the life out of himself for being a hand in his escape. He should have been paying for his crimes in Azkaban by now, for what he'd done to Sirius, James, Harry, and Lily and most likely Remus himself if given the barest of a chance.

Harry recognized hearing this name would still be a terrible blow to everyone in here, it really didn't make him feel much better at the resurfacing reminder that this name was the reason he was interacting with his parents for the first time. This wasn't going to go away though, not for some time, his gut was confident of that. So though he'd rather not, he managed to catch his mom's eye and silently asked her to keep going, knowing this wasn't something to get better with time so hoping moving past it for now would still be a better option.

There was the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor, and once that had stopped Frank could hear that icy voice speak up again asking where Nagini was.

Sirius couldn't help it, he heard an unfamiliar female name and he automatically wanted to make a crack about someone getting a new girlfriend, but he restrained himself by only adding in a few more phrases of malcontent.

Wormtail responded by saying she'd gone to explore the house, and the second voice instructed when she returned she was to be milked again.

Milk her? Well this clearly wasn't a person then. Were these two really dragging a cow around with them in this old abandoned house? As unlikely as that seemed, this one random mental image finally gave the lot of them something funny to focus on, even if it was for the shortest amount of time.

Going on to say how he would need the feeding again, the journey to this place had worn him.

"Wish it had just killed you," Sirius muttered, still intermittent with words he never would have dreamed of using if the baby could understand what he was saying.

Frank continued listening all the harder as Wormtail asked how long they would be at this place, and he was answered with at least until the Quidditch World Cup was over.

James couldn't help but frown, feeling fidgety all over again as his favorite sport was mentioned during such a trying time and he wanted to feel happy just at the mention of it but also still wanted to curse something into smithereens the longer this conversation dragged on.

Frank began trying to clean out his ear in confusion, as he was sure he'd just heard the word Quidditch, which wasn't actually a word at all.

"Ah the innocent," Remus forced an amused look he didn't really feel.

Wormtail began asking about this, saying he didn't understand,

"Of that we can agree on, as I doubt you understand anything," Lily snarled under her breath.

why they had to wait. The cold voice returned that it was to unsafe to continue moving around, the Ministry of Magic was on high alert and he didn't want to catch the attention of the Muggles either.

"I don't want to know, I do not want to know," Lily moaned, glaring down at the print and unbelievably wanting this book to be over already even though she'd just started. It was just so tiring between hearing about Voldemort and the rat, now working together, plotting anything!

Frank stopped trying to clear out his ear.

"I keep forgetting the Muggles hearing this," Sirius frowned, for the first time his attention drawn elsewhere besides the two speakers and realizing how bad this could get fast. That old man had better stop picking his ear alright and get out of there as fast as his bum leg would allow, or they were going to be hearing about something far worse.

He had plainly heard the words Ministry of Magic, and Muggles. As those weren't actual words, they were clearly a code for something, and only two types of people used codes, criminals and spies.

"Well he's not wrong," Remus sighed, rubbing furiously at his temple to stave away an already growing headache.

Still he did not move as Wormtail spoke up about how his Lordship was still determined to go through with his plan? When the cold voice responded of course he was, there was a slight pause before the first man spoke up again, exclaiming how this could all be done without Harry Potter.

That part, actually wasn't surprising. They were all well aware that of course Voldemort would seek the boy who had been his downfall, it was why they were all so tensed and stressed at the mere mention of Voldemort's name. Of course that didn't make them hate it any less, it just wasn't a shock. What did get to them, was that Wormtail had suggested otherwise. Even Sirius, who had every intention of trying to lop off his head with a duller axe then what had been used on Nearly Headless Nick, registered that this little vermin had actually made an attempt at trying to protect Harry. This in no way excused what he'd done to them by any means, but it was the first glimpse for the first time that maybe their old friend was still somewhere buried in there. Too little too late.

A surprised pause where the second considered the option, and Wormtail quickly added on he had no care for the actual boy,

Sirius made a guttural noise, his brief flare drowned at once as he began picturing all over again every torture he'd ever heard of and making up a few on the spot.

James on the other hand flinched like Lily had just cracked him over the head with this book, which would probably give him head trauma, but even that would be easier to deal with then what he was feeling now. He kept flashing back and forth between anger and betrayal like a coin toss, never sure which one he was going to get next but still feeling as raw as the first time. This time it was betrayal, and he wanted that denial back all over again before he'd admit one of his friends had just said that about his baby.

no consideration for him at all!

Lily was planning on pulling out her own tongue if she really had to say that again, still on the more murderous side like everyone else at this sniveling coward covering his tail, probably just trying to make his job easier or some nonsense considering how well protected her son was, but it didn't make the words any easier to say.

He had only suggested this because any witch or wizard could be used for the thing.

'The thing?' James quickly latched onto that, unbelievably finding that whatever Voldemort was up to was actually easier to hear then his friend tossing his son's life away like that.

If he could just be given permission to step out for some time, he could be back with another person in no time.

Remus was grinding his teeth together so hard his jaw was starting to ache, the only reason he wasn't being as vocal as Sirius was because of the baby in his arms and he didn't want to start yelling with him so close. His restraints were starting to wane out though, as he realized that whatever that rat was suggesting wouldn't be any more beneficial to this random person then to Harry, which was most likely murder or something worse. He still could hardly picture it, that same person who'd been to this house less than a week ago casually speaking to the Dark Lord about these matters!

The cold voice agreed it could be done, and Wormtail sounded adamant now that trying to get at Harry Potter would just be so hard, he was the most well protected.

Harry couldn't help but frown in agitation at that, wondering what protections those were, and wondering all the more why he'd never been informed of these. Shouldn't he know if say his house was being watched, or some other monitoring was taking place that stopped any old Death Eater like Malfoy from showing up at his door and killing him? He was having a mental argument with himself whether to bring these things up, see if his family could know anything about them, or if he would sound petty griping about being protected from people he knew he did need shielding from. Judging by the slight confusion on the rest of them, Harry decided he'd have to let it go for now.

The icy voice shot back though that this could just be a double cross on Wormtail's part, a plan for him to be running again?

"I still can't imagine what made him go get him in the first place," Lily grumbled. Sure the rat was outed now, nowhere was safe for him so long as Sirius' name was still criminal number one, but to Voldemort? He could have just lived out the rest of his life as a rat in shame, he could have moved to another country and started a new life, why was this still his decision? His reasons, or lack thereof in this case, were more than baffling, and not something she wanted to linger on.

He tried to protest, but the other voice snapped back that he could tell he was being lied to. How Wormtail had been regretting coming to his aid since the beginning.

James looked like he was trying to release all of the air from his body at once he sighed so loudly, because the reason he wanted to hear for this to be true never would be, and it still wouldn't make up for what he did.

The iced voice declared that he revolted his servant.

Sirius never in his life would have thought he'd have something to agree with Voldemort on...but he still thought that was too mild so he didn't think it really counted either.

He could see the flinch every time he came near him, the disgust as he was being watched over. Wormtail tried to protest, but his Lord cut him off by stating calmly that his service was only being carried out of fear, because he had nowhere else to run.

Lily couldn't help but reflect back on what she'd been thinking, how the rat had other continents to get to if he really wanted to. He must have some other reason for being there, but she had not an inkling of what, so she still couldn't bring herself to say anything.

Then the iced voice reflected that he still took it, because he couldn't survive otherwise.

"I still want to know what the bloody hell he even is," Remus grumbled, thinking that if they could just find this weak little thing that was being described now they could be done with all of their problems. Then he had to correct himself, that this hadn't happened yet, thankfully, but they were still dealing with an all-powerful Voldemort so they'd have to find another weakness of his.

Wormtail tried to console his master already looked so much stronger, but again he was cut off and being told that was a lie, then he silenced him. Whatever protests the servant had been trying to make died off.

"Least someone shut him up," Sirius huffed, thinking he'd die happy if he never had to think about that sniveling voice again.

The unnamed voice got back on track, saying he had his reasons for using Harry Potter and they would be carried out. His plan would work, all he needed was some courage from Wormtail.

Remus scathed under his breath, thinking that was the last trait in the world that rat could claim, ashamed he'd wound up in Gryffindor all those years ago with the rest of them and caused the rest of them so much.

Which he would do, unless he wanted to feel the wrath of Voldemort again.

James leg gave a spastic twitch, an old feeling wanting to rear up when he realized that Peter was being tortured, but that was easily smothered by a terrible glee that he deserved every last second of it and more.

Wormtail still tried, saying how he'd been going over the plan as well, how the disappearance of Bertha Jorkins would be noticed soon,

Lily gave a little ooh under her breath. It may not have been a name she was familiar with, but that didn't make the legitimate claim that the rat really had already gone out and killed even more no less painful. She was still having problems coming to terms with the fact that he'd killed twelve people and seemed to feel nothing for it.

Remus' face went even more sour though, as he snapped, "she didn't deserve that."

"You know her?" Lily asked in surprise.

"Not well," James shrugged, "she was a few years above us, but a horrid little snitch. She made up stories all the time to get people she didn't like in trouble, all talk but no brains whatsoever. We once paid her off to tell Dumbledore someone else had hexed her and she completely fell for it."

"I'm just trying to figure out how she got involved in this," Sirius frowned, "how did she even run across this?"

Harry felt a little stirring, the normal place where he should have felt a memory but of course there was still nothing. Still it was at least a little comforting he would get an answer for this, but for now none of them had the faintest idea.

that if he murdered more- but he was cut off by the self-declared Voldemort that there would be no if. Wormtail would follow through on the plan, and the Ministry would be none the wiser, though he did wish he could do this himself.

"Poor thing, I'll make sure to leave the next murder for you," Sirius snarled.

Sadly he was incapable in his current state.

Remus couldn't help but frown, still torn between curiosity and disgust at what he was hearing. This thing, this form of Voldemort, was clearly more substantial then what they'd last seen in Quirrell. He must have some kind of body now if he needed feeding as he said, but it sounded useless, like an infant to die if not tended to. That still didn't explain what he even was. Had he somehow taken over the body of an actual baby? Why not, if he could have just taken another body, even take the rats. On top of all these questions was the assured desire he did not want the answers, he'd much rather hear about whatever this thing was dying and the rat betraying him and leaving him behind like he had to them and no Voldemort would ever be a problem again.

Then he told Wormtail that all they needed was one more death and Harry Potter would be theirs. Besides, it wouldn't be long before he had a real faithful servant at his side.

"Oh?" Lily couldn't help but frown. At least two names coming to mind of who this could refer to, Snape and Malfoy. Both were known Death Eaters, even that executioner that had been supposed to kill Buckbeak, Macnair, could be a candidate, and Merlin knew how many others there still were out there. Now that Voldemort had any follower he was already back in business of killings and disappearances, with an incompetent fool at his side. She didn't want to think what he could do with even more followers, which he would probably get with the rat quietly spreading the word around the Dark Lord was back.

Wormtail respond with some sulk to his voice that he was faithful.

James couldn't help but press the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw bright spots, nearly knocking his glasses off, just trying to give himself something else to concentrate on, but even that didn't help the cruel noise he made upon hearing that. It just wasn't getting any easier to hear these kinds of things over and over again.

The icy voice shot back that he needed someone with brains and competence, both of which he lacked.

Sirius couldn't stop a strangled like noise, like he wanted to give a harsh laugh at how much he agreed with that statement, but it would once again be agreeing with anything Voldemort ever said or did.

Wormtail argued back that he'd been the one to find him, a definite pout to his voice now.

Remus could vividly hear that voice in his head, because it was the same one he always used whenever he had to tell the others he couldn't come over for the summer because of his mother.

For the first time he remembered that she'd supposedly been given an Order of Merlin because of what everyone thought Peter had done, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was even still alive. Most likely not, or he'd like to think he would have gone groveling back to her even before Voldemort, then again that was most likely a place where he would be looked for so maybe not.

Either way it didn't make him feel one tiny bit better that he could perfectly hear the tone and picture the face of someone who was once a brother now acting like this around Voldemort.

He'd brought Bertha Jorkins in the first place. The second voice agreed this was true, though that was still more a blunder as he'd had no idea how useful she could be. Wormtail tried to protest, but again he was cut off and told he was lying. That same blistering tone saying how he was still grateful for the ineptitude, her information had concocted his plan, and Wormtail would be rewarded for this. It would be an honor, as any of his servants would give up their right hand for this.

Harry couldn't help but blink, hard, wondering what on earth that could mean. Why did he get yet another feeling that this was something important he should remember? It involved Pettigrew though, so he really didn't want to know.

Wormtail went back to sounding terrified as he asked what that could be.

"Not terrified enough," Sirius grumbled.

The other gave an amused laugh back, saying he didn't want to spoil the surprise, but it would be as good as what Bertha had given to him.

James couldn't help but frown as he realized, selfishly, he would almost feel a sense of relief if he found out Voldemort killed the rat. It would make matters more complicated for Sirius, he'd still much rather find out the rat was dragged forward and his real brothers name was cleared, but some tiny little part of him couldn't help but want that the very being the rat had thrown his life away for had also been his undoing.

Wormtail sounded close to panicking as he asked if he was going to be killed?! The second voice was surprised, saying it wasn't like that. Bertha had to be killed, she was no longer of any use after his questioning.

Lily got a terrible taste in her mouth, not even wanting to consider what kind of questioning had been going on to make that girl seemingly useless.

Besides that, she could hardly have been let to leave when she'd discovered Wormtail.

"Oh but it would have made our life so much better," Remus growled.

After all, Ministry employees couldn't be wandering into supposedly dead men now could they.

Sirius grumbled something inarticulate about how this would be the least of that rats problems when he was done with him.

Wormtail still said he'd have rather just changed her memory, but the ice like voice said back that he had just proven Memory Charms could be broken.

"She had a memory charm placed on her?" Lily muttered, finding this more and more confusing as time wore on. Who had that rat run across that was so important it had seemed to help Voldemort in every way possible?

"That can't be good," Harry agreed while the boys remained in stony faced silence, and both Harry and Lily knew they weren't going to be managing much else until this conversation ended.

Frank had been listening to all of this, and he hadn't realized his hand was shaking until now. He'd just heard both of these voices speaking of murder, with amusement. These two were clearly mad men.

"You know it's true when even a Muggle who hasn't understood a portion of this conversation realizes that," Sirius agreed grimly.

And he was planning more death, this Harry Potter boy, whoever he was -

Harry really couldn't help the smallest of smiles, he always appreciated when his name was a question rather than the celebrity.

was in danger. Frank knew what he must do. He would go to the police at once.

"Oh please do hurry," Lily couldn't help but agree. She knew those Muggle cops wouldn't have a clue as to what Frank would be telling them, but she also knew the Ministry kept an ear in almost all branches of the Muggle world to help stray away any magical problems, surely something like this would crop up on their radar and something would be done about this long before it reached the level of hurting her son.

He shouldn't have a problem getting back to the local telephone box back in town.

"Wish he'd get on with it," James muttered, his leg beginning to bounce around in unease, this man was in mortal danger and he needed to get out of that house now!

But then he heard the cold voice start speaking again, and Frank was frozen in his spot as he heard that they just needed one more murder to be done, and then his faithful servant at Hogwarts.

Lily couldn't help a little keening noise, at Hogwarts! This could not be good, because one name clearly came to mind of who that could be referring to! She hoped desperately she was wrong, even if she hated Severus more now than ever after the way he'd treated Remus last year she still liked to think he wouldn't go so far as to help Voldemort murder Harry! She held no confidence in the idea though, and she knew without a doubt the boys wouldn't even give him this benefit of the doubt. She held to her promise she'd made James give though, twisting away at herself that it wouldn't come to the worst.

He then declared he would not hear any more arguments to the matter, and then silenced Wormtail again anyways as he heard Nagini approaching. Then the ice clipped tones changed, not into words, but hissing noises.

"Hissing?" Remus mumbled.

"Isn't that what parseltongue sounds like to other people?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Yep," Sirius muttered, feeling a cold chill run up his spine as he thought he now understood who Nagini might be.

Frank wondered if a seizure was taking place in that room,

"I wish," James huffed.

but then he sensed something from behind and turned only to find himself frozen with shock.

'Oh this can't be good' Remus realized before he reminded himself it was already at that level.

There was a snake slithering right towards him, a twelve foot long beast with a diamond pattern.

Lily let out a breathy whistle, then frowned with puzzled confusion. She realized this was clearly Nagini, but how could you milk a snake? The only thing that could be referring to was the venom, but snake's that big didn't produce venom. They were either strangling size or poisonous, she'd never heard of one that could do both. What else could they have meant earlier though? Even if this was some hybrid creation she'd never heard of, why would Voldemort be drinking snake venom to make himself better? What the bloody hell was he that this would do any good?

Frank couldn't even twitch as he watched the reptile come closer, its thick body cutting through a dusty trail.

"Why did it have to be a snake?" James groaned, he'd had more than enough terror from those beasts from the basilisk!

"What kind of snake is that?" Lily asked Remus, hoping he'd have a better idea then her.

He just shrugged though, admitting the same thing she had, venomous snakes that big didn't exist. Unless it was some rare or undiscovered species, he had no clue, which agitated him to no end.

Frank had no chance, either he stay where he was and be killed by this serpent, or go into the room where the two murderers were.

"Never mind, I'll take the snake," James winced, now wishing he could lend this poor man Gryffindor's sword or pretty much anything to get him out of this mess, which he was quickly coming to realize wasn't possible.

He lost his moment and it was upon him, but then to his astounded life the snake kept going past him, right into the room. Before he could finish blinking the tip of the tail vanished and was instead curling around the chair where the hissing was still taking place by the man, and a ludicrous idea cropped up in Frank's mind, this man could talk to snakes.

"That's not so insane," Sirius sighed, "muggles have people who claim to talk to animals all the time."

"Was that really relevant right now?" Remus demanded.

"Why does it have to be relevant?" Sirius demanded right back, a smile finally showing again at any loose and friendly conversation again.

"Why would you say it if it wasn't?" James happily jumped in.

"For the hell of it," Sirius smirked with a shrug, and looked likely to even carry on except Lily cut him off to keep going. She fully recognized what her boys were trying to do, delay the inevitable at this point because they were all well aware that this poor man was not going to get out of that house, plus they would find any reason to smile again after the already horrid morning they had been having, but she didn't think pushing it off would make it any better to hear.

There was no time for his mind to settle before the Lord's voice spoke in a human tongue again, and to Frank's horror he spoke to Wormtail, telling him that Nagini had just said there was a Muggle in the hallway, listening in on them.

Lily couldn't help a tiny little whimper. She didn't even know this man, she hadn't known Bertha either, but the fact that this book was starting off with yet more murders and all of these unspeakable things happening just felt so sad and foreboding. It was the worst kind of omen for when they finally did get back to what she wanted to hear, Harry.

Frank had not a second to consider anything as the door was flung open, and Frank was looking upon a squat man with a bald patch not quite taking away all of his gray hair, and a thin unhealthy face.

James was actually quite happy he couldn't really picture that. His physical description wasn't nearly so radically changed like Sirius, nor had he reached the level of unhealthy Remus often did, but this was still different enough to what he'd seen days ago that it was no more pleasant a reminder.

When the two just stood there, the cold voice spoke up from the chair, demanding to know where Wormtail's manners were? He was to be invited inside. Wormtail shuffled out of the way and Frank could see the full view of the chair of the speaker, but still not the man himself, meaning he must be incredibly short.

All five of them couldn't help but frown at that. Only Lily and James had ever seen Voldemort at his full power, and they could attest that he was by no means short. It only reinforced all the more that whatever he was now, it wasn't human.

He began addressing him, confirming that he'd heard everything, as well as calling him a Muggle. Frank bolstered himself, demanding to know what that word meant. Now that he was in the room his hand was no longer shaking, in fact he felt quite brave.

'Can we replace that little rat with him?' Sirius couldn't help but think, liking this man more and more as time went on and feeling all the more terrible he was fixing to hear his end come too soon.

Now that the time for action had come, he felt much more assured, it had always been so in the war. The voice explained that he had called him a Muggle, which was someone who was not a wizard. Frank bristled, saying he didn't know what that had to do with anything, but what he did know was that he'd heard more than enough to get the police's attention.

"Why would you say that?" Lily couldn't help but moan. "He should have played dumb, said he hadn't understood a word! I still wouldn't put it past Voldemort to have him killed, but throwing that in their face was a terrible idea!"

"Like he said though," James offered with a sad smile, "bravery took hold of him. I think he knew quite well what was fixing to happen to him, so he set his backbone and wasn't going to back down."

Lily sighed, but acquitted it was the same thing she might have done in that circumstance.

Stating that he knew these men had committed murders and were planning more, than adding on that his wife knew he was here so if he didn't come back-

"Credit to him, that was a truly inspirational on the spot, but honestly he'd probably just go murder that wife so it's just as well," Remus huffed with pity.

but was cut off by the cold voice saying that Frank was lying, he always knew when people were lying. Frank had no wife, no one could lie to Lord Voldemort.

"Stupid, f'ing, legilimency," Sirius kept saying under his breath, thinking that was one of the worst and most violating things any wizard had ever created.

Frank growled back he didn't think much of the title, and told him if he was a real man he'd turn and face him.

Truly it was sad what they all knew without a doubt what was fixing to happen to this man, and yet they still couldn't help but smile when they saw how he was acting. He had some spunk and iron to him, something all of them knew well.

Voldemort responded he was no man,

"I'll give you that one," Sirius nodded, "you are far less than that."

James couldn't help a muffled snort, just picturing Sirius saying that to his flattened face and what kind of reaction he'd receive.

but agreed this would be done, then instructed Wormtail to turn his chair around. His servant gave a whimper of protest

Lily couldn't bring herself to sound very upset at those lines, thinking that little rat deserved any displeasure he was feeling, this was his rotten choice and she'd happily find him regretting it to his soon dying breath.

but did as told as he came forward and began moving the chair around, almost hitting the snake in the process causing the beast to hiss in protest.

"He'll wish that was the worst thing he has to deal with," Remus snapped.

Then the chair was facing Frank, and he had no time to scream, no time to realize what was being shouted at him as a flash of green light overtook the room, and Frank Bryce was dead before his body hit the floor.

Lily couldn't help but pause. Even if she never met this man and wouldn't have known any better about this before reading that, she still felt a moment of silence was called for. None of the boys said anything either, there was a pitying frown on every face for this having happened, or was going to happen, which ever.

Two hundred miles away, the boy called Harry Potter woke with a start.

"WHAT!?"

None of them could help it, they were far past the point of writing off anything as a coincidence, and the fact that Harry had awoken at that exact moment was truly mind blowing and terrifying. After all, they never had found out why Harry's scar had been hurting him in his first year, but they had realized it had something to do with Voldemort. Now here Harry was, reacting to something else Voldemort had just done!

They didn't actually think it was possible, but that had been the worst way this chapter could have ended! They'd long since realized that Harry's scar had been paining him through the whole of his first year because Voldemort had been around Harry, though not truly there because of his shared body with Quirrell which is why it hadn't been a literal constant pain unless he was practically right on top of Harry. Of course none of them even knew why that happened, but for the book to be saying something like that gave all of them chills they did not want at the implications this meant that Voldemort was near Harry again! Of course it had also just said this happened many miles away, so since that clearly wasn't the case, what the bloody hell was going on now? Why would Harry's scar be hurting, because Voldemort had used that spell? Why though, none of this was adding up.

"Lily keep going," James demanded, trying to peek down at the pages when she kept throwing worried looks at her son.

"That was the end of the chapter," Lily sighed, passing the book to James for his turn.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #GoF #time-travle #James Potter #Lily Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Marauders

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timexistsnow · 4 years ago

Text

my baby (oh my pup)

Chapter 5: a flower (for us)

Techno and Tasha go on a walk and have a pleasant couple of days.

Techno’s hands were ruined for the time being. A while back, maybe two hours ago, he had made the wise choice to wrap them but even that hadn't saved him from a day of hoeing. This was not what he had planned to do in retirement, becoming a farmer, but then again, he never really had a plan. The whole idea was to escape L’Manburg and their governmental control, so farming was close enough.

When he wiped the sweat from his brow he hissed. Even in a biome like this, he was still getting sunburnt. Later he would have to rub some magma cream on it. Either it soothed or burned, he would find out.

Tasha was lying by the fire, leg muscles destroyed from all of the crouching. Techno grumbled, he could relate.

He helped her up, ignoring the tingling in his fingers. The bandages were useless by now and would infect his wounds if he didn’t change them. Just as he had with the potatoes, Techno switched had off of hoeing to planting, cacking his pants, hands, and fingernails in dirt. And Tasha… was not much better off.

Her already clumsy movement coupled with the unsteady ground led to many spills. She got the job done, but it wasn’t a very clean job.

Bath time.

He warmed the water in the fireplace and brought the buckets back upstairs. He needed a better system for bathing and water if this was to happen often. He did have a spare room now, the bathroom could go down by where the dining table used to reside. The purpose of the small cabin was to use every space, and the little alcove was just a place to put a tall bookshelf right now.

Techno… shelved that thought and helped Tasha into the bath. The few inches of water were already turning brown with the clumps of dirt falling from Tasha’s fur. The soap came out, lathered all over the pup. She scooped up a handful of bubbles, watched them pop, and shoved them into her mouth. “Gross.”

“No kidding,” Techno laughed. He couldn’t blame her, when he was a kid he had taken a bite out of the first bar of soap he had come across. And then the next. And the one after that. Okay, it took a while for Techno to figure out that the reason why soap tasted so bad was because it wasn't food. So what if he was dumb, sue him for being new to the world.

Techno… he needed to know, “Did you have fun?”

“Soap? No.”

Techno rolled his eyes, “The potatoes, Tasha.”

“Oh. With. You. Yes.” She averted her eyes, clapping bubbles into the air.

Techno watched the bubbles float around the room, his scrubs paused. “You don’t- We can stop next time. Tasha, you can always tell me if you get bored,” Tasha still didn’t bring her gaze back up to Techno, “I won’t get mad.”

She caught a bubble in a soapy hand and brought it to her face, blowing it off, “Together. Make. Worth. It.”

Techno- he supposed that made sense. He just didn’t think that Tasha would have the same idea. His scrubs resumed, focused on her fingers. The other hand continued to play with the bubbles.

“Missed. Together. In. Nether.”

Swallowing, he tried to say lightly: “You had a together? I… assumed your family-”

“You. Killed. Family.” She said family like it had hurt her. Hmm, maybe not the best simile.

“Oh,” he said. Was he supposed to say sorry? He wasn’t, not even a tiny bit.

In the silence, Tasha chose to barrel on, “Me. Had. Friend,” she tugged on her ears and tusks, a piglin then. “Run. Around. Ride. Hoglin.” Her hands mined two pairs of legs scampering along the lip of the bath. “Miss. Them.”

That… was not good, “Do you want to go back and visit them?” How: he wasn’t sure, but for Tasha, he’d make do.

“Dead.” One of the hands fell off of the lip and into the water, splashing around.

Oh. “What was their na- their word?” There had to be a way to save the conversation. Neither of them needed to deal with all of this angst.

“Never. Told.” The clean hand was put into her mouth but she continued to talk around it, “Scared. Them,” a hand fell into the water, “Warned. Them. In…” she waved at Techno, “Speak.”

“You said something in English. Kiddo, that wasn’t your fault.”

She protested, hand falling, getting back up, and falling again and again. “Should. Known.”

Techno grabbed both of her hands, “No, Tasha, the piglins- they don’t deserve your time. You are so different from them, so much more,” she tried to wiggle her way out, so Techno switched gears, “It was just a mindless mob. Sure, for a moment it might have felt pain but not like you did-” Techno slammed his mouth shut, Tasha clearly being able to pick up what he was referring to and flinching away. He tried for a third time, “You are better than them.”

That was enough, Techno guessed, and Tasha wiped away the stray tear that had escaped. He helped her out and dried her off with a soft blue towel. When she stood awkwardly, he patted her on the head, “Try to not let it bog you down. You don’t want things like that to ruin your fun.”

He let her walk off and refilled the bath with clean water. He always figured that Tasha would have her own trauma, but he never got around how he would fix it. His methods were proven to be… lacking, at the very least.

Spending nowhere near as long as Tasha had, Techno scrubbed himself raw. He might be a pig but he did not like being dirty. With dirt. The blood of the people who had wronged him- he might be able to compromise.

Stepping out of the lukewarm water and into the frigid room, he grabbed the other towel on the rack and dried himself off. He didn’t have any clothes so he opened the door a crack and strained his arm to grab something out of the chest of clothes next to it. It was one of his less frilly white button-downs and a pair of thick pants. Techno was always tempted to get some thigh-high leather boots to complete his outfit, but his hoofs would never allow it.

Leaving the bathroom, Techno realized that in his vanity he had caused the chest to spill out. Tasha, who was seen wiping her snout and eyes in a hurry, sat down at the foot of the mess and started sifting through it. She ended up settling on some of his spare blue wool and fabric.

“Favorite. Color?” All of it was blue, so perhaps…

“No, I like pink.” He sat with her and studied the weight and feel of it. Thankfully it wasn’t all one shade but an array of hues ranging from baby to royal blue. From wool to cotton to silk, from thick yarn to thread, he had quite the collection.

Techno chose the yarn, digging further through the pile for some needles. He had a book hidden somewhere in his library, ah, there it was. The bounty was dropped down in between the two. Tasha flipped through the pages, letting out an oink at the pictures.

She stopped at the first set of instructions and did her best to replicate the hands displayed on the pages. Techno… had no idea what the book was talking about, even as he read the captions. Sewing, he could manage. Knitting? Making something out of almost nothing? Unless it was a war effort, it was far out of his grasp.

All Techno did from there on in an attempt to help her was getting her to a page that told of a simple child’s sweater. She patted his face and set off to work.

That left him to his own devices.

The pile of blue was tempting Techno. “I never planned on getting this much stuff in the beginning,” Tasha nodded absently, “Uh, I guess my… interest in fashion started back when I began fighting.” He ran a finger over his cloak, a staple he had taken from his first win in the Area. “When I would win, I got the first pick of the losers' loot- including their clothes. It was just supposed to be a gag, something stupid I could do to make fun of them, but the pile grew and I wasn’t doing anything with it.

“Throwing it all out felt wrong, like I wasn’t winning for a reason. Eventually, I figured out that I could take the things I liked about each piece and put them together into something decent.” The cloak was a cape an opponent had dropped and the fur came from someone dressed as a sheep. Strange, but look at him now.

Tasha was trying her best to pay attention, but her pace had crawled to almost a stop, so Techno let her work in peace.

Instead, he took out the dress he had taken for Tasha and started hacking at the seams. He had learned a trick where you trace the different pieces of cloth, improve the design, and cut new ones. Techno was relieved to be getting rid of the old villager clothing, and the dress wasn’t that pretty to start with, so Techno got to have some fun.

Out came the ink and light blue cotton, Techno added a waistline and some frills to the bottom edge. A couple of times, Techno stabbed himself with the needle, but he made sure to not get any blood on the new dress.

He must have spent hours on it, because when he looked up, Tasha was done with a sleeve. There were a few stitches that looked a little wonky, but, “That looks really good!” Tasha startled and smiled back at Techno. Her smile was a little lackluster, her eyes drooping. “Come on, it’s bedtime for us.” Techno didn’t bother with staying up, his eyes were starting to itch and the strain the farming had put him through made him almost weep at the thought of staying up any longer.

When he woke, the day started just as the last had, Tasha tucked against his side.

Gathering up his gear, the flower resting on his journal wasn’t abandoned any longer, Techno couldn’t bear to let himself lose it. Into the ender chest it went, filling up the last slot.

“More?” Tasha asked upon seeing him put the dandelion away.

Techno sighed and smiled, “Sure.”

“Get. More. Today.” she decided, nodding to herself.

They did need more wool if Techno wanted to keep making clothes, so, “Whatever you say.” A walk would be a good way to spend outside time without doing labor.

He grabbed his armor after a second of thought. There was a good chance that it was unnecessary, but not a one hundred percent chance.

The food was handed out, Tasha getting the last potato in the chest. Her carrot- Techno paused: did she need gold? He wasn’t planning on taking it away from her, don’t get him wrong, but she was progressively getting more and more aggressive with her chomping as the days went on. Maybe it would be a good idea to get her something more permanent. Something she couldn’t eat.

The first option was a crown- Techno scratched that off immediately, he had earned it. Perhaps a trinket or jewelry of some kind?

As Techno helped Tasha into a clean coat over her new dress (which she liked very much) and got her down the porch steps, he kept thinking it over.

“Techno. Okay?” Tasha pulled on his cloak. She was having to rush to keep up with Techno’s pace. He slowed, allowing her to match his strides with less of hers.

He ruffled the fur on her head, “Yeah, just thinking,” at another tug: “What do you like?”

Tasha grabbed a bundle of his cloak but stopped her tugging. “Techno. Snow. Yellow… Flower?” He supplied her with dandelion and she nodded. Hmm, those were pretty generic things- the voices started screaming at him in rage, appalled at the mere suggestion. Okay! Not generic. If they made Tasha happy, that was all he needed.

Techno… wasn’t used to such simple needs. As different as Tasha was, she was still just a child.

He wasn’t exactly feeling snow or potato, which left yellow flower. Yellow: that was convenient. A little gold dandelion. It could be a pendant on a necklace or bracelet. Techno looked down at her, she was stumbling through the snow, scanning the horizon for a flower patch.

“Up you go,” he warned, scooping her into his arms. After a moment, he put her on his shoulders. Her hands tugged on his ears like they were reigns on a horse.

The needles on the spruce trees were already imposing on Techno’s personal space, so when Tasha was added to his height, she got a mouthful of pine. She sputtered and Techno chewed on his lip, he would try to avoid the overhanging branches. Mostly.

A sharp tug and Techno was about to scold her, even more so when she tugged again. “There!” Tasha squealed. Oh, she was treating him like a horse, steering him to the right. He grumbled but followed her directions.

Through the forest they went, Techno still not knowing how Tasha could see. Of course, she did have the height advantage, but she was only a block tall, if that. Even combined, they weren’t impressive.

Or, just possibly, Techno realized, it could be the fact that he broke his glasses in the process of destroying L’Manburg. Huh. That… could be it.

“Stop! No. Step. On. Dandelion.” Techno halted, seeing a patch of yellow spread out around him. Yup, it was time to fix his glasses.

Tasha shimmied down from his shoulder once Techno crouched down low enough. Nearby, a baah echoed through the forest. “Tasha, find yourself a good flower, I’m going to find the sheep. I’ll be back, I promise.” Tasha scrambled back to Techno from the flower patch. Techno smiled, “Pinky promise, no one can break those,” he held out his finger and waited for Tasha.

A piggy finger wrapped itself around his.

Tasha turned back to the flowers. Techno wandered off.

There were only three sheep when Techno found them. They were hiding around some bushy fur trees and grazing on the exposed grass protected from the wind and snow. Trying not to startle them, Techno placed his ender chest a ways away from the three and brought out his lapis lazuli and iron. A second later and he had dye and shears.

Techno didn’t want to leave Tasha for long, so he only waited around enough for the sheep's wool to grow and be sheared three times each. The blue was a little conspicuous, Techo gnawed at his lip. As long as Tasha didn’t see him killing them, he figured.

He brandished his axe, one mighty swing taking out the first. Then the second. Then-

“Techno!”

Techno abandoned the last sheep and sprinted through the forest, Tasha coming into sight around the branches and trunks. She was- not fine, but alive. “What’s wrong, Tash?” he grabbed her up. She struggled, trying to get out of his grip, “Tash!”

A hiss.

Techno twisted around, shielding Tasha with his body. He held her tight and the explosion blasted snow and pine needles onto his back. His ears rang. After a moment of piercing silence, Techno rolled to his side, still curled around Tasha.

“Came. Back,” Tasha whispered.

Techno scooped her up. It was home time, their walk was over. “The pinky promise never fails.” She stayed in his arms, Techno didn’t want to risk another creeper or an arrow from a skeleton hiding in the foliage.

She shouldn’t have gotten hurt.

Techno shouldn’t have left her, actually.

But, still, piglins were supposed to be neutral with hostile and other neutral mobs. Hoglins were an exception, but creepers? Tasha should- Tasha was different. With it being so soon after Techno had insisted it, he should have listened to his own advice. Even Tasha looked a little… skeptical when he made the claim, he supposed.

They hurried- or rather, Techno hurried- over the roots and fallen tree branches. The forest thinned and the clearing their cabin resided in stuck out over the horizon. Up the stairs, and they were safe.

Tasha’s dress had picked up a bit of snow, so Tasha batted it off before entering. Both of them wiped their hoofs off on the rug and set themselves up at the table. The flower, Techno thought she had dropped it, was set in the middle.

Techno brought down Tasha’s knitting and his notebook and ink. When he came back downstairs, Tasha greeted him with a rumbling stomach. Out came her food: two carrots, as the potatoes were still growing. Just as he had expected, she gorged herself on them.

Into his notebook, Techno went. The page titled with Tasha’s Needs was in need of some updating. Food was checked off, they had finished the farm, all they had to do was regular maintenance and weeding. Clothes for Tasha were not yet completed, but he did want to add a new idea: ,i>matching/blue for Techno. Yes, it would add extra work, but imagine the absolute adorableness… or style that would seep from their very beings. A quick gold dandelion pendant was scratched in at the bottom, almost forgotten. He ignored the rest of the list.

Across the table, Tasha was getting through the second sleeve of the sweater. Her face was screwed up, tongue sticking out and flickering around her tusks.

Techno put a hand to his own tusks, an extra set growing out of his upper jaw. They had always been a point of embarrassment for him, clearly belonging to a feral wild pig rather than the preferred barnyard pig. People always looked between him and the pigs they had in pens, comparing the two and trying to find similarities. The tusks had been a saving grace in those scenarios, functioning as a barrier from him being mocked.

The two tusks poking out of Tasha’s mouth had come from her ancestors, though piglins now used crossbows and swords instead of tusks and hoofs for fighting.

Techno shifted in his seat, running a hand over his list and the matching/blue for Techno. They weren’t that different, he supposed.

Tasha was an innocent version of Techno.

Techno would keep her that way.

#technodad au #c!techno #technoblade #timexistsnow #my writing #ao3 #dream smp #myct #my baby (oh my pup)

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years ago

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Arya and Weasel - sending your inner child off into the woods

Weasel is an orphaned, traumatized girl of around two years of age whose story is absolutely heartbreaking. We meet her in A Clash of Kings and she accompanies us for the span of three Arya chapters, which takes place over just about a month, most of which takes place off page.

We meet her at the end of Arya III, she has her first interaction with Arya in Arya IV and then tags along with Arya, Lommy, Hot Pie and Gendry in the woods until she runs off into the unknown at the end of Arya V.

I’ll follow the story and try to give some sense of time and location to justify my time estimates, simply because GRRM chooses to be so vague.

Gods, Arya’s chapters in ACOK are among the very finest in the entire book series.

Warning: Long. As always, excessive use of quotes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ACOK, Arya III (chapter 9)

Yoren and his gang have been traveling the Kingsroad since King’s Landing. She beat Hot Pie bloody in Arya I and they had a tense encounter with goldcloaks looking for Gendry in Arya II. Now they change course westward of the Kingsroad close to the beginning of the chapter.

“We’re not far from Gods Eye,” the black brother said one morning. “The kingsroad won’t be safe till we’re across the Trident. So we’ll come up around the lake along the western shore, they’re not like to look for us there.” At the next spot where two ruts cut cross each other, he turned the wagons west.

Here farmland gave way to forest, the villages and holdfasts were smaller and farther apart, the hills higher and the valleys deeper. Food grew harder to come by.

They spend an unspecified amount of time, likely about two weeks, traveling and living off the land. Enough for two days delay to still matter but long enough to form habits, see landscapes change, have hunting adventures.

Outside a holdfast called Briarwhite, some fieldhands surrounded them in a cornfield, demanding coin for the ears they’d taken. (…)

The next day Koss came racing back to warn Yoren of a camp ahead. (…) “Might be one side, might be t’other. If they’re hurt that bad, likely they’d take our mounts no matter who they are. Might be they’d take more than that. I believe we’ll go wide around them.” It took them miles out of their way, and cost them two days at the least, but the old man said it was cheap at the price. (…)

Arya saw men guarding the fields more and more when they turned north again. (…) At one place, she spotted a man perched up in a dead tree, with a bow in his hand and a quiver hanging from the branch beside him. (…)

A day later Dobber spied a red glow against the evening sky. “Either this road went and turned again, or that sun’s setting in the north.”

Weasel’s tragedy begins when her village is put to the torch. The blaze is enough to light up the night sky from half a day’s travel away. Judging from what we see in Arya IV, the violence was likely unspeakable.

By dawn the fire had burned itself out, but none of them slept very well that night. It was midday when they arrived at the place where the village had been.

It’s butchery and desolation. Yoren goes to investigate the destroyed holdfast.

When they finally returned, Yoren had a little girl in his arms, and Murch and Cutjack were carrying a woman in a sling made of an old torn quilt. The girl was no older than two and she cried all the time, a whimpery sound, like something was caught in her throat. Either she couldn’t talk yet or she had forgotten how. The woman’s right arm ended in a bloody stump at her elbow, and her eyes didn’t seem to see anything, even when she was looking right at it.

I knee-jerk assumed the woman to be Weasel’s mother, but that is never explicitly stated in the text. For all we know, they aren’t related at all. They are not shown to interact, and even if the woman was Weasel’s mother, she is too far gone from her severe injury to be coherent, let alone care for the child.

She talked, but she only said one thing. “Please,” she cried, over and over. “Please. Please.” Rorge thought that was funny. He laughed through the hole in his face where his nose had been, and Biter started laughing too, until Murch cursed them and told them to shut up. Yoren had them fix the woman a place in the back of a wagon. “And be quick about it,” he said. “Come dark, there’ll be wolves here, and worse.” “I’m scared,” Hot Pie murmured when he saw the one-armed woman thrashing in the wagon. “Me too,” Arya confessed. He squeezed her shoulder. “I never truly kicked no boy to death, Arry. I just sold my mommy’s pies, is all.” Arya rode as far ahead of the wagons as she dared, so she wouldn’t have to hear the little girl crying or listen to the woman whisper, “Please.” She remembered a story Old Nan had told once, about a man imprisoned in a dark castle by evil giants. He was very brave and smart and he tricked the giants and escaped . . . but no sooner was he outside the castle than the Others took him, and drank his hot red blood. Now she knew how he must have felt. The one-armed woman died at evenfall. Gendry and Cutjack dug her grave on a hillside beneath a weeping willow. When the wind blew, Arya thought she could hear the long trailing branches whispering, “Please. Please. Please.” The little hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she almost ran from the graveside.

I almost inserted a long paragraph about the textual parallels to Lyanna and Sansa here. But I refrained because this is merely meant to document Weasel.

The woman and the child (and the murdered men I didn’t include in my quotes) are Arya’s first direct confrontation with the vicious of this war. She and Hot Pie are so humbled in the face of it, they forget their original enmity, their posturing. They become children again. They admit their bone-deep fear.

The human suffering is an unbearable horror and Arya, understandably, tries to block it out and get away from it.

So this tiny little girl Weasel has just watched every person she has ever known being murdered by scary, angry strangers and then spent that night and half a day among the charred ruins and the bodies. Hungry, thirsty, scared. No one shows up to comfort her until another stranger picks her up and carries her away.

It goes on:

“No fire tonight,” Yoren told them. Supper was a handful of wild radishes Koss found, a cup of dry beans, water from a nearby brook. The water had a funny taste to it, and Lommy told them it was the taste of bodies, rotting someplace upstream. Hot Pie would have hit him if old Reysen hadn’t pulled them apart.

We’ll return to this lovely image.

Arya encounters wolves as she relieves herself in the woods at night. They do not harm her, but she is clearly shaken by everything that has happened.

The crying girl travelling alonside her and the wolves prowling the woods. Two sides of Arya.

She tells Yoren she doesn’t care. She just wants to go home. The chapter ends on:

“Go to sleep, boy. Hear me?”

She did try. Yet as she lay under her thin blanket, she could hear the wolves howling . . . and another sound, fainter, no more than a whisper on the wind, that might have been screams.

Followed by a lovely thematic transition at the beginning of Davos I.

The morning air was dark with the smoke of burning gods. They were all afire now, Maid and Mother, Warrior and Smith, the Crone with her Pearl eyes and the Father with his gilded beard; even the Stranger, carved to look more animal than human. The old dry wood and countless layers of paint and varnish blazed with a fierce hungry light. Heat rose shimmering through the chill air; behind, the gargoyles and stone dragons on the castle walls seemed blurred, as if Davos were seeing them through a veil of tears. Or as if the beasts were trembling, stirring . . .

Arya is about to enter the warzone for real.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ACOK, Arya IV (chapter 14)

We open not too far from where we left Yoren’s merry band. They have reached the river flowing straight south from the Gods Eye.

It seemed a peaceful place . . . until Koss spotted the dead man. “There, in the reeds.” He pointed, and Arya saw it. The body of a soldier, shapeless and swollen. His sodden green cloak had hung up on a rotted log, and a school of tiny silver fishes were nibbling at his face. “I told you there was bodies,” Lommy announced. “I could taste them in that water.”

He tasted them in the brook, this is a river. Usually brooks flow into rivers, not the other way around. But not too much travel time can have passed for Lommy to make that remark. A day? Two days?

We get a location.

It was midday when the others returned. Woth reported a wooden bridge half a mile downstream, but someone had burned it up. Yoren peeled a sourleaf off the bale. “Might be we could swim the horses over, maybe the donkeys, but there’s no way we’ll get those wagons across. And there’s smoke to the north and west, more fires, could be this side o’ the river’s the place we want to be.” He picked up a long stick and drew a circle in the mud, a line trailing down from it. “That’s Gods Eye, with the river flowing south. We’re here.” He poked a hole beside the line of the river, under the circle. “We can’t go round west of the lake, like I thought. East takes us back to the kingsroad.” He moved the stick up to where the line and circle met. “Near as I recall, there’s a town here. The holdfast’s stone, and there’s a lordling got his seat there too, just a towerhouse, but he’ll have a guard, might be a knight or two. We follow the river north, should be there before dark. They’ll have boats, so I mean to sell all we got and hire us one.” He drew the stick up through the circle of the lake, from bottom to top. “Gods be good, we’ll find a wind and sail across the Gods Eye to Harrentown.”

We don’t know what hour the sun sets but it’s early autumn in Westeros and I’m guessing they’re about 7 to 8 hours from the south shore of the God’s Eye, at wagon and donkey travel-speed.

We have our first mention of Weasel among a heartbreaking instance of Arya’s remaining faith in humanity.

Hot Pie was being silly; it wouldn’t be ghosts at Harrenhal, it would be knights. Arya could reveal herself to Lady Whent, and the knights would escort her home and keep her safe. That was what knights did; they kept you safe, especially women. Maybe Lady Whent would even help the crying girl.

Sadly, we don’t hear who has been taking care of the little girl since her mother died. Arya makes no mention of it.

They reach the deserted town.

The black brother left ten to guard the wagons and the whimpery little girl, and split the rest of them into four groups of five to search the town.

There are no boats, they decide to spend the night at the holdfast. Lots of descriptions of the holdfast and the town. No mention of the little girl. Seriously, who is minding this little toddler?

When the food was ready, Arya ate a chicken leg and a bit of onion. No one talked much, not even Lommy. Gendry went off by himself afterward, polishing his helm with a look on his face like he wasn’t even there. The crying girl whimpered and wept, but when Hot Pie offered her a bit of goose she gobbled it down and looked for more.

Ah, at least someone is feeding her. Thank you, Hot Pie. Weasel is hungry, she wants to live.

Hot Pie went off and let her alone and Arya curled up on her pallet. She could hear the crying girl from the far side of the haven. I wish she’d just be quiet. Why does she have to cry all the time?

Getting some sister parallels in here.

Jeyne Poole had been confined with her, but Jeyne was useless. Her face was puffy from all her crying, and she could not seem to stop sobbing about her father.

"I'm certain your father is well," Sansa told her when she had finally gotten the dress buttoned right. "I'll ask the queen to let you see him." She thought that kindness might lift Jeyne's spirits, but the other girl just looked at her with red, swollen eyes and began to cry all the harder. She was such a child. (AGOT, Sansa IV)

Don’t like others crying around you when you’re scared, Stark Sisters, do you? There’s a Robb parallel, too.

"Rickon needs you," Robb said sharply. "He's only three, he doesn't understand what's happening. He thinks everyone has deserted him, so he follows me around all day, clutching my leg and crying. I don't know what to do with him." He paused a moment, chewing on his lower lip the way he'd done when he was little. "Mother, I need you too. I'm trying but I can't … I can't do it all by myself." His voice broke with sudden emotion, and Catelyn remembered that he was only fourteen. She wanted to get up and go to him, but Bran was still holding her hand and she could not move. (AGOT, Catelyn III)

They tend to have other characters reflect their inner emotions. That crying, overwhelmed child that they are trying to ingore: themselves.

Arya, likely through warg power, wakes up to warn the others of the imminent attack. Amory Lorch’s riders are putting the town to the torch. Arya is watching from the holdfast parapets.

Something bumped against her leg, and she glanced down to discover the crying girl clutching her. “Get away!” She wrenched her leg free. “What are you doing up here? Run and hide someplace, you stupid.” She shoved the girl away.

No room for soft feelings when you have to function to survive.

Lorch is not inclined to spare Yoren on account of being with the NW. They attack and throw torches, the barn has a secret tunnel and Yoren orders them to escape. But the barn is already on fire.

As they were running toward the barn, Arya spied the crying girl sitting in the middle of the chaos, surrounded by smoke and slaughter. She grabbed her by the hand and pulled her to her feet as the others raced ahead. The girl wouldn’t walk, even when slapped. Arya dragged her with her right hand while she held Needle in the left. Ahead, the night was a sullen red. The barn’s on fire, she thought. Flames were licking up its sides from where a torch had fallen on straw, and she could hear the screaming of the animals trapped within. Hot Pie stepped out of the barn. “Arry, come on! Lommy’s gone, leave her if she won’t come!” Stubbornly, Arya dragged all the harder, pulling the crying girl along. Hot Pie scuttled back inside, abandoning them . . . but Gendry came back, the fire shining so bright on his polished helm that the horns seemed to glow orange. He ran to them, and hoisted the crying girl up over his shoulder. “Run!”

In this moment of absolute mortal danger, Arya decides to take charge of the traumatized toddler to ensure her survival, stubbornly, violently even. Just like Yoren did with her. Hot Pie would have left her. Ouch. Gendry soon takes over, luckily.

The open trap was only a few feet ahead, but the fire was spreading fast, consuming the old wood and dry straw faster than she would have believed. Arya remembered the Hound’s horrible burned face. “Tunnel’s narrow,” Gendry shouted. “How do we get her through?” “Pull her,” Arya said. “Push her.” “Good boys, kind boys,” called Jaqen H’ghar, coughing. “Get these fucking chains off!” Rorge screamed. Gendry ignored them. “You go first, then her, then me. Hurry, it’s a long way.” “When you split the firewood,” Arya remembered, “where did you leave the axe?” “Out by the haven.” He spared a glance for the chained men. “I’d save the donkeys first. There’s no time.” “You take her!” she yelled. “You get her out! You do it!” The fire beat at her back with hot red wings as she fled the burning barn.

Even having grabbed the little girl and knowing there is a path to escaping, Arya cannot simply flee. She hands over the charge of Weasel to Gendry and proceeds to save the lives of the three captives from the black cells. Because Arya doesn’t just let people die. Not unless she wants them dead herself. A force of nature.

She gets the axe from outside in the battlezone, walks back into the blazing barn, throws the axe into the wagon and dives down to safety. The chapter ends thus:

Arya rolled headfirst into the tunnel and dropped five feet. She got dirt in her mouth but she didn’t care, the taste was fine, the taste was mud and water and worms and life. Under the earth the air was cool and dark. Above was nothing but blood and roaring red and choking smoke and the screams of dying horses. She moved her belt around so Needle would not be in her way, and began to crawl. A dozen feet down the tunnel she heard the sound, like the roar of some monstrous beast, and a cloud of hot smoke and black dust came billowing up behind her, smelling of hell. Arya held her breath and kissed the mud on the floor of the tunnel and cried. For whom, she could not say.

So that went from dire to catastrophic.

I love how this chapter was structured. It starts out quiet, the unease builds in the empty town, they create a moment of respite eating dinner in the perceived safety of the holdfast, but even there they have doomed themselves by lighting the cookfire. Then it escalates, the howling of the wolves, the phony negotiations, the blaze they saw in the distance the chapter before now comes to them, and everything sinks into cacophony, until the last second of dubious escape. Arya’s helpless tears are such a well-earned release of panic and tension. There is no safety, only momentary escape, only confusion. It’s monstrous.

She cries, like Weasel cried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ACOK, Arya V (chapter 19)

We open to Arya high up on a tree observing a village on the Western lakeshore.

Someone’s there. Arya chewed her lip. All the other places they’d come upon had been empty and desolate. Farms, villages, castles, septs, barns, it made no matter. If it could burn, the Lannisters had burned it; if it could die, they’d killed it.

They have been traveling in the woods a while since the night of the blaze. Arya remembers them returning the next night, burying Yoren and joining up with three survivors. The route is North along the Western lakeshore.

Cutjack opened the door at Gendry’s shout, and when Kurz said they’d be better pressing on north than going back, Arya had clung to the hope that she still might reach Winterfell. (…)

To the east, Gods Eye was a sheet of sunhammered blue that filled half the world. Some days, as they made their slow way up the muddy shore (Gendry wanted no part of any roads, and even Hot Pie and Lommy saw the sense in that), Arya felt as though the lake were calling her. (…)

North along the shore, past a number of deserted rural settlings.

At the end of the day she would often sit on a rock and dangle her feet in the cool water. She had finally thrown away her cracked and rotted shoes. Walking barefoot was hard at first, but the blisters had finally broken, the cuts had healed, and her soles had turned to leather. The mud was nice between her toes, and she liked to feel the earth underfoot when she walked.

This process will have taken some time. A few weeks.

From up here, she could see a small wooded island off to the northeast.

While the Isle of Faces is not truly small, there is no mention of other wooded islands on the lake. This would place Arya less than halfway up the western shore of the lake. This would match the wagon travel speed of a few weeks from the kingsroad to the holdfast on the south shore. They are slow because they avoid roads, trudge through vegetation and mud, and because they are encumbered by injury and a toddler.

The food situation is not great.

She had broken her fast on some acorn paste and a handful of bugs. Bugs weren’t so bad when you got used to them. Worms were worse, but still not as bad as the pain in your belly after days without food. Finding bugs was easy, all you had to do was kick over a rock. Arya had eaten a bug once when she was little, just to make Sansa screech, so she hadn’t been afraid to eat another. Weasel wasn’t either, but Hot Pie retched up the beetle he tried to swallow, and Lommy and Gendry wouldn’t even try. Yesterday Gendry had caught a frog and shared it with Lommy, and, a few days before, Hot Pie had found blackberries and stripped the bush bare, but mostly they had been living on water and acorns.

The kids are on their own. Kurz the poacher was kind to them and gave them some survival training. But he died four days after they set off from an infected wound. The other two adults abandoned them directly after. Echoes of Dany with Drogo and the khalasar. Up and gone when he died, leaving behind the weak and the slaves.

Maybe Tarber and Cutjack figured they would stand a better chance without a gaggle of orphan boys to herd along. They probably would too, but that didn’t stop her hating them for leaving.

This is horrific. Four children between 14 and 9 years old, plus a little toddler. Sneakily abandoned by the two remaining adults. The Hansel and Gretel vibes are strong. Like Hansel and Gretel, they will be captured looking for food. Like Gretel, Arya will free them using cooking as a weapon, eventually. But that’s for later.

Very much of Arya’s chapters echoes Dany, actually. All from opposite sides. The violence, the abandonment, the eventual enslavement, the starving. The comparison to sheep. It all shows the bottom side of Dany’s war at Drogo’s side, and her travels through the desert with the baby dragons. Even Vaes Tolorro mirrors the Gods Eye town. Food and rest, and visitors that will lead them to another large settlement, eventually. But back to the kids in the woods.

Arya rejoins the others and we see Weasel again.

At the sound of her voice, Weasel came creeping out from the bushes. Lommy had named her that. He said she looked like a weasel, which wasn’t true, but they couldn’t keep on calling her the crying girl after she finally stopped crying. Her mouth was filthy. Arya hoped she hadn’t been eating mud again.

“Did you see people?” asked Gendry. “Mostly just roofs,” Arya admitted, “but some chimneys were smoking, and I heard a horse.” The Weasel put her arms around her leg, clutching tight. Sometimes she did that now.

So Weasel is all cried out. It’s been a month or so since she lost her family after her village was set ablaze, followed soon after by another such violent, fiery attack. She went from a stationary life in a vilage with her family, meal time, bed time, cuddles and playing, to a life of being scared, confused, hungry, dirty and constantly on the move.

Like Arya, Weasel stopped crying, like Arya, Weasel doesn’t mind mud in her mouth.

“If it’s a fishing village, they’d sell us fish, I bet,” said Hot Pie. The lake teemed with fresh fish, but they had nothing to catch them with. Arya had tried to use her hands, the way she’d seen Koss do, but fish were quicker than pigeons and the water played tricks on her eyes. “I don’t know about fish.” Arya tugged at the Weasel’s matted hair, thinking it might be best to hack it off. “There’s crows down by the water. Something’s dead there.” “Fish, washed up on shore,” Hot Pie said. “If the crows eat it, I bet we could.” “We should catch some crows, we could eat them,” said Lommy. “We could make a fire and roast them like chickens.”

I love these kids. They are hungry and grumpy and irritated and listless, in their way. They have no clue what to do and injured Lommy is the most anxious of them all. His leg was wounded and infection is setting in. He is the most helpless, and it makes him the most annoying of them. Yield, he says. Yield.

Like Yoren did to her, Arya contemplates hacking off Weasel’s hair. Matted, tangled. Like a bird’s nest, perchance?

A lovely parallel highlighting the role of privilege, with another taumatized orphan cared for by a Stark daughter:

Alayne smoothed his hair. Lady Lysa had never let the servants touch it, and after she had died Robert had suffered terrible shaking fits whenever anyone came near him with a blade, so it had been allowed to grow until it tumbled over his round shoulders and halfway down his flabby white chest. He does have pretty hair. If the gods are good and he lives long enough to wed, his wife will admire his hair, surely. That much she will love about him. (TWOW, Alayne I)

Arya is trying to care for this child, for her inner child, but she does it listlessly, no practice, no plan. She doesn’t talk to Weasel, at all. Numb.

“Whoever it is, you should yield to them,” Lommy whined. “I need some potion for my leg, it hurts bad.” “If we see any leg potion, we’ll bring it,” Gendry said. “Arry, let’s go, I want to get near before the sun is down. Hot Pie, you keep Weasel here, I don’t want her following.” “Last time she kicked me.” “I’ll kick you if you don’t keep her here.” Without waiting for an answer, Gendry donned his steel helm and walked off. Arya had to scamper to keep up. Gendry was five years older and a foot taller than she was, and long of leg as well. For a while he said nothing, just plowed on through the trees with an angry look on his face, making too much noise. But finally he stopped and said, “I think Lommy’s going to die.”

Ah.

Gendry is the “adult” in the group and he’s definitely going through his own “Rickon in tugging on my leg” phase, and presenting Arya with a variant of an offer Dany gets from Xaro in Meereen later: Abandon this doomed, starving lot and take your chances elsewhere. Unlike Dany, Arya is not actually responsible for any of these children, not even little Weasel. Unlike Dany, she is not even close to tempted.

“I’m sick of carrying him, and I’m sick of all his talk about yielding too. If he could stand up, I’d knock his teeth in. Lommy’s no use to anyone. That crying girl’s no use either.” “You leave Weasel alone, she’s just scared and hungry is all.” Arya glanced back, but the girl was not following for once. Hot Pie must have grabbed her, like Gendry had told him. “She’s no use,” Gendry repeated stubbornly. “Her and Hot Pie and Lommy, they’re slowing us down, and they’re going to get us killed. You’re the only one of the bunch who’s good for anything. Even if you are a girl.”

I am cutting out the following super hilarious exchange around revealing her identity, along with the horrible description of the village with the gibbet and the “SS rounds up the villagers for questioning and deportation” imagery.

Gendry gets himself captured and hauled into the warehouse with the other prisoners. Arya will leave no one behind. Arya will defend her pack.

Lommy and Hot Pie almost shit themselves when she stepped out of the trees behind them. “Quiet,” she told them, putting an arm around Weasel when the little girl came running up.

Hot Pie stared at her with big eyes. “We thought you left us.” He had his shortsword in hand, the one Yoren had taken off the gold cloak. “I was scared you was a wolf.”

She has her arms around Weasel, trying to comfort the child, keeping in touch with the last of her innocence. It’s her final interaction with Weasel. They thought she was a wolf. She will be.

Hot Pie glanced at Lommy, at Arya, at Lommy again. “I’ll come,” he said reluctantly. “Lommy, you keep Weasel here.” He grabbed the little girl by the hand and pulled her close. “What if the wolves come?” “Yield,” Arya suggested.

Iconic, badass quote. Heartbreaking context. Their rescue mission is unsurprisingly doomed before it truly gets going. Hot Pie “yields” at the first instance and Arya receives a terrible blow to the head. They take Needle. They are made to lead guards to Lommy and Weasel.

The man with the torch searched around under the trees. “Are you the last? Baker Boy said there was a girl.” “She ran off when she heard you coming,” Lommy said. “You made a lot of noise.” And Arya thought, Run, Weasel, run as far as you can, run and hide and never come back.

Hide, inner child. Run and hide, like Nymeria. Like the wolf.

So that is the last we see of little Weasel.

Realistically, she will be dead within days. Exposure, poisoning, injury, starvation unless she has absorbed enough from the others to gather enough bugs for herself. Or eaten by wolves. Plus the fear, the feeling of abandonment. It’s a grim picture. It becomes unbearable when you try and picture any toddler you know in the place of Weasel.

I am going to headcanon hardcore that Baby Weasel is going to be found by loving people and taken away to safety, wrapped up warm and fed and gently raised. Alternatively, she is kindly raised by the giant wolf pack. And somehow not freezing to death. *hands over ears* Lalalalaalalalalaalalala!

We end the chapter with one more death, one that we will see avenged four books later:

“Can you walk?” He sounded concerned. “No,” said Lommy. “You got to carry me.” “Think so?” The man lifted his spear casually and drove the point through the boy’s soft throat. Lommy never even had time to yield again. He jerked once, and that was all. When the man pulled his spear loose, blood sprayed out in a dark fountain. “Carry him, he says,” he muttered, chuckling.

The echoes are beautifully done.

"Well," she said, "I don't know how you'll get there, then." "You'll need to carry me." See? thought Mercy. You know your line, and so do I. "Think so?" asked Arya, sweetly. Raff the Sweetling looked up sharply as the long thin blade came sliding from her sleeve. She slipped it through his throat beneath the chin, twisted, and ripped it back out sideways with a single smooth slash. A fine red rain followed, and in his eyes the light went out. "Valar morghulis," Arya whispered, but Raff was dead and did not hear.

(TWOW, Mercy)

On the one hand, it’s poetic justice. On the other, it screams out that Arya is basically a child concentration camp survivor but the war is not over. She has had no peace, only ever more hiding, no play, only ever more working, no recovery, only ever more killing. She is in exile, still. But she will return home. And she will one day recover. But she will never ever forget.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In Arya VI, she chooses a new name herself for the first time. The concentration camp vibes are strong. Just read the chapter.

“Some farmer’s whelp, are you? Well, never you mind, girl, you have a chance to win a higher place in this world if you work hard. If you won’t work hard, you’ll be beaten. And what do they call you?” Arya dared not say her true name, but Arry was no good either, it was a boy’s name and they could see she was no boy. “Weasel,” she said, naming the first girl she could think of. “Lommy called me Weasel.”

Lommy and Weasel. Injured and young. No use. Dead and gone but not forgotten.

Ramsey names his dogs for the girls he killed. Sansa and Jon each want to name her future children for the family they lost. Arya names herself for the women and girls she cared about. Weasel. Cat. Nymeria, Nan. Even little Beth Cassel. Her kill list is one part of her. But the list of names that truly matters is another. She takes up their cause not in a hope for a peaceful future with personal happiness like Jon and Sansa but in the here and now, within the broiling whirlwind of injustices. But the very first name is for the little girl, for herself, essentially.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In conclusion:

Little Weasel is, to me, a personification of Arya’s inner child, as she struggles with her loss of innocence and the abandonment by adults. Because she shows up when they encounter their first hardcore warcrime scene. Arya tries to ignore her wailing and pays little attention to her, but attaches her to her hopes for help from Lady Whent and her Knights. She doesn’t take charge of Weasel until their adult caretakers, such as they are, become unavailable by way of being horribly murdered in battle. She is not really equipped to care for her, but she tries and she is determined not to abandon her. When she has disappeared, Arya doesn’t despair, she wishes her well, she has some remnant of faith and she attaches it to Weasel. Off into the wild, to escape certain death, perchance to survive, like she sent off Nymeria.

It is no accident that Arya names herself Weasel when she enters the concentration camp hell that is Harrenhal, and it is a truly briliant stroke that her only direct memory of Weasel after that is when Arya enters service in the House of Black and White in AFFC, Arya II, which seems more empowering but draws up many comparisons in her mind to Harrenhal. The inner child has run off, but her spirit remains hovering over Arya, never quite fading.

#asoiaf #arya stark #weasel #war crimes #inner child #gendry waters #hot pie #lommy greenhands #yoren #ACOK

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