#technically both the boys think she is dead given the time frame this is set in but Jun will get to appear a little bit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

binniesthighs · 4 years ago

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call me babydoll | reader x chan

soooo shhhh this actually a part one shhhh but i’m just trying out writing out different things and getting out some of my ideas outta my head that i’m really excited about, this one being one of them!! for now...just pretend that this is just a regular ol’ drabble hehehehe. this part is the set-up chapter (shhh i mean drabble)

One

Pairing: self insert, female reader x bang chan

Genre: fluff, smut, and angst

Tags: (overall) bodyguard au, moderndayprince!chan, bodyguard!reader, secret agent au, royal au, action and peril, plot driven, running out of time, slow-ish burn, growing feelings, softswitch!chan, hardswitch!reader, some skz side characters, jeongin third wheel and comedic relief LOL, travelling, chan being expensive and having a lil bit of a superiority complex, flirtyyyy chan, bits of mystery, explicit language, mentions of food and alcohol, idk think like 007 vibes hehe

CWs: guns and gun violence, a shooting in a ballroom, mentions of blood

Word count: 4.6k

Parts

ONE | TWO

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here early.”

“Well, expect the unexpected.”

“Don’t turn the motto back at me. I’m sick of hearing it so many damn times.”

“What? You and I both know that it’s true. You’re here early too, so, technically you don’t get to say anything.”

Jeongin straightened his bow tie, then patted down the sides of his perfectly ironed tux with not a crinkle to be found. Knowing him, it was a miracle that he hadn’t messed it up in some form yet. He promptly took out his pocket square to clean off his glasses.

“You’re looking nice. Seems like they don’t mind spending money now on you these days.” He blew off the flecks of dust on his lenses.

“They know that they get their return on their investment. And thank you.”

You smoothed down the sides of your dusty pink dress that nearly went all the way down to your ankles. Had you any other choice, it would’ve been something different, but, dresses were really good at hiding your thigh holster compared to the slacks you usually favored. You didn’t mind the times that you would have to put on a pretty dress, it somewhat reminded you that there was normal life outside of your job. Not to mention, they had started sending you jewelry as well. You always had liked the look of a diamond necklace.

“You do your research for tonight?”

Jeongin nodded, then took from his pocket his phone to read over the details.

“I’ve done a background check on everyone attending, we shouldn’t have any issues. It’s already a low risk event anyway. Charity is never something to get too worked up over, but, you never know with the detail that some of these people come with...who they might be tied to...”

“--The only people we can trust is ourselves.” You nodded with arms crossed.

“Expect the unexpected, I know.” He slid his phone back into his inside suit pocket to adjust his cufflinks.

“--Nervous?” You took note of his fidgeting actions.

“Nervous? No. I’ve been through this before. You know that.”

You flicked your partner right on his forehead strung with his white hair. You had really wished that he had picked a less conspicuous color, but he had strings to pull that you didn’t.

Jeongin cleared his throat, “You do your once over?”

“Do you even need to ask? I did it hours ago and when we arrived. You know that I’ve done this before too.”

“I know. I know.”

Jeongin looked out at the vast circular atrium that made up the center of the hotel. Several stories down under the glass rooftop, you could hear the faint sprinkling of the intricate fountain which smelled of copper. A bit further down, you could see the tips of the tree branches from the indoor landscaping. Across the way, a door slammed with residents tucking in their ties. The two men you had recognized from the roster: a simple thing which made you feel at ease. Your young partner must’ve started to have an effect on you. A sense of unease seemed to quell in your neck. You always listened to your hunches.

“W-what do you think he thinks of us?” Jeongin broke the silence.

“Well,�� From inside the room you had waited outside, you could hear his distant murmuring, so you lowered your tone. “I think that he has yet to trust us. It’s only been a few weeks. He doesn’t seem like the kind to give himself up easy. That, and I’m sure his resentment of his father must have some influence.”

“You think he hates us?”

“I think he hates his father for hiring us. I mean, wouldn’t you? His old security detail, he had them for years.”

“I guess so. But, we’re not like his old detail.”

“No. We’re not. I don’t think he gets that yet. I think he sees us as one more way his father has a hold on him.”

“It’s not like he can do much else about it when his dad’s a kin--”

“--No, no, thank you, really, it’s lovely. Some of your best work. Thank you.”

Chan swung open the door to his room, stopping Jeongin right in his sentence.

“Ah. You’re here already. That’s...punctual.”

As dazzling and showy as ever, Chan looking nothing short of a magazine model. For a prince, he had certain...appearances that he had to maintain. Today, it was a velvety and maroon suit jacket with a white button up. On the collar, two matching brooches had been perfectly placed, and they were silver like moonlight in the shape of English ivy and adorned with diamonds. On his lapel, he wore the royal insignia of the lion and the wolf. Behind him, you could see his slew of stylists cleaning up their makeup kits and obscene assortment of designer dress shoes for him to pick from. You had thought before that he even smelled like royalty: stuffy white roses with a hint of priceless cognac.

Jeongin bowed his head respectfully. “Everything has been prepared for tonight. The rest of your guards are surrounding the building, and I’ll be corresponding with them as needed, your Highness.” He tapped at his earpiece.

Chan drew his attention over to you, giving you a rather lusty glare. Over the past couple weeks, you had gotten used to it. He was a prince to every extent of the word. If there was anything that he had wanted, he simply had to ask. It drove him insane that all he could do was merely look at you. You had wondered if he harbored anything else for you besides the way that he would devour the curves of your shoulders and hips.

“Fox. Bee. You look nice tonight. I like seeing you dressed up. Makes me feel less out of place.”

You couldn’t help but let out a little sound of discontentment over his rather affectionate nickname for you. You and your partner had been introduced to him as F and B. Quickly he had figured out Jeongin’s codename as Fox, considering that he had done a poor job picking out one that wasn’t related to him at all. Anyone could tell that boy was fox-like, and he also just wasn’t that creative when it came to picking out a name for himself. B, or Bee as he had decided, was your name; as in bumblebee. After learning about Fox, he figured that there was an animal theme going, so Bee seemed to fit best in his oponion.

You tested his glare with your best, “Thank you, your Highness.”

Jeongin gulped. “Your assistant should be waiting downstairs with your itinerary. She told me that you should meet her first off.”

“You work too hard F. Have some fun tonight, hm? But don’t...drink too much. You’re responsible for my life remember?” Chan clapped his bodyguard on the back.

Your partner nervously laughed and adjusted his glasses once more: his preferred tic.

“And Bee?” Chan rose a brow to lean into close and whisper. “Stay close, alright?”

“Of course, your Highness.”

Chan let out a little scoff after getting one more proper look at your frame. “Damn. You really are stunning. Just a little too dangerous for me though.”

You rolled your eyes, dishing him outa, “Whatever you say, your Highness.”

Jeongin threw you and annoyed glare before tracing after Chan as he sauntered down the hall to the glass elevator.

“Bee? You coming? Or do you have something better to do?” Chan’s voice called down the hall with an echo and a little teasing gesture of his hand.

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

It had been seven years since you had chosen this line of work, and each time that you had to go to one of these things, you hated them more and more. Not because they were hard to control--they were easy--but you just hated how many superficial and self-absorbed people that they could fit into one room.

The air was filled with the scent of champagne bubbles and too much Chanel No. 5. From corner to corner of the room, and even next to the ice sculpture of the lion and the wolf crest, silk, satin; velvet and the best cotton could be found. Long gloves covered the arms of ladies with wrinkling skin, and tweed vests held in the guts of men who indulged in their food just as much as their mistresses. All this effort just to appear as if they had given one care about the philanthropic efforts of the royalty.

Several neatly dressed waiters passed you with golden platters of hors d'oeuvres made of ingredients so expensive, they would’ve cost the same amount as the generous donations made by the attendees. If you could’ve, you would’ve scooped up as many of them as you could, just to eat all of their copious amounts of money yourself, but, there was somewhere a rule that you had to keep your hand to yourself when you were on duty. The best that you had to look forward too was take-out to eat at 3 in the morning with Jeongin later.

Buzzing chatter filled your earpiece while each of the additional guards gave their hourly report.

“Damn. It’s fucking colder out here than I thought. It’s fucking summer.” One of them joked to the tune of the other guards laughter.

“Stay focused.” Jeongin scolded over the line. “Don’t leave your posts until your shifts change.”

While he was a timid man, Jeongin was not one to mess around. Son of the director, he knew that he had big shoes to fill. After pleading for years for her to admit him into the academy, she had agreed. Everyone knew the reason why she didn’t want him in this line of work. Too many dead. Too many missing. In some ways, he was also yours to look after.

You trailed after Chan who was busy talking to his assistant and his publicist. While he nodded at their words, you knew that he must’ve been barely listening. Chan never really was one for formality, but much rather enjoyed simplicity and pleasure. Jeongin and you had somewhat of a bet going: out of all the guests, you had liked to bet which one he would take with him to his bedroom. Since you had all the profiles of the guests, you liked to bet a little money on which one it would be.

Jeongin had guessed it to be the heiress and daughter of a tycoon who had made a multi-million won donation in the name of his company. It was ironic; his very company was a big-scale pollutor who liked to make nice with the crown. She was conventionally very pretty: long legs, a thin frame, she was educated and looked as if she could hold somewhat of a conversation...not like that mattered to him.

You had predicted it to be the foreign CEO who had just started business dealings with the crown. While she might’ve looked a bit stuck-up and prim, she was intimidating, and a challenge. Chan loved challenges. Chan also had a pension for pretty boys with a bit too much money on their hands--usually inherited--and with nothing much else to do other than dote on him. There were plenty of those attending the gala tonight.

Chan snaked through the crowd, bowing his head at all of the Good evening, your Highnesses and the It’s a pleasure to meet you, your Highnesses. Every few moments or so he would take a bite from a golden plate and then pop it into his mouth. The whole night long, he would hold his glass with him and it would get refilled for him without him even needing to ask. You sometimes liked to pretend that in some places, they must’ve assigned someone to watch him from afar to make sure that he would never need anything before it was given to him. It wouldn’t have surprised you.

“Having fun Bee?” Chan languidly rolled his head back, swirling his glass.

“As much fun as you are.” You quipped.

“Anything that I should be concerned about?”

“Nothing of concern.” You stated matter-of-factly. Had you matched his flirting tone, you knew that you wouldn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the night. “Fox. Report?”

“Nothing that I can see. No one has been tagging you.” Jeongin had staked himself up on the upper balcony of the banquet hall room, and had been watching for as long as you had been following after the prince. “You sensing anything strange?” His voice tickled in your in-ear.

“Just a bunch of the normal crowd.” You kept your tone down low. “He’s rubbing noses with the usual. You’ve seen too?”

He chuckled. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

You followed Chan to his seat nearest the front of the room which had been fashioned into a stage with a clear glass podium in the center. Right in front there was one more crest decorating it. Chan had ensured it to be so: he had wanted everyone to know that this was all for his charity.

“It seems like our bets aren’t working out. He hasn’t talked to either of the...suspects.” Your partner changed his choice of words knowing that the other guards were listening.

From the opposite side of the room both the heiress and the CEO stood with thin glasses of wine in their lithe hands. Chan had in fact walked right past them, and didn’t even notice.

“Tonight is going to be a long night.” Jeongin sighed over the line.

You politely pushed past attendees with a raised hand and a sweet smile. You had found that when you smiled, you had appeared less intimidating.

“Oh wait...what’s this?”

“What?” You whipped your head around after Jeongin’s interjection. “What? Do you see something? What’s the call?”

“Relax! It just looks like he’s approaching someone he wants to talk to. I think both of us are about to be proven wrong.”

“Ah, shit.” You sighed. “Don’t put me on edge like that.”

“I’m only trying to entertain myself.”

“Name. Who is it? You’ve got the roster.”

You partner was quiet for a minute, and you watched from a distance as Chan approached the man leaned over a martini seated at one of the perfectly decorated tables.

“Uh, I think that he’s Lee Minho. Some kind of royalty from somewhere else. Pretty low ranking from the looks of it. I think that he made a donation himself...and it’s...damn, larger than you would expect.”

“Should we be concerned?”

“No. Seems harmless.”

“Thank you for coming,” You made out the words that Chan had mouthed. He drew a chair next to the unknown man.

From what you could tell, Lee Minho was handsome to the full extent of the word: nearly all of his physical features were exemplary and his suit appeared to have been fitted to perfect for him; likely one of a kind. He too wore an insignia on his lapel, but it was one that you hadn’t recognized before. He had immaculately styled hair that had some kind of rebellious and boyish charm to it. The man had a kind of mystery about him too: you had been able to pride yourself in being able to read people, and it had saved your life on more than one occasion. But with him, there was something that you couldn’t place.

“Do they know eachother?” You asked Jeongin.

“Not that I know of. School friend maybe? Seems like all the royals send their kids to the same schools.”

“Hm. That would make sense.”

“Enjoying yourself?” Chan said.

Lee Minho nodded, and rose his glass to clink it with the prince’s.

“Do we think that he’s our...suspect?”

The stranger dipped his head into his hand as he listened to Chan speak. A flirty gesture that you had seen a hundred times or more. Still, the way that he inspected Chan, it wasn’t adoring. Or at least, you didn’t think that it was.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“What the hell are you yapping about?” One of the other guards snapped over the line.

“Um, classified stuff.” Jeongin quickly explained. “Above your paygrade. Don’t worry about it.”

“Fox. Watch out for him tonight.” You snuck over to a corner of the room where you could watch the two of them more discreetly.

“Affirmative....” Your partner paused. “Babydoll.”

“Pffff--Babydoll??” The same guard stifled his laughter. “You call her Babydoll, Fox? Damn, you all must be closer than I thought. Didn’t know that I was missing out on some of the action--”

“--Ever heard of a codename, Three?”

“Babydoll’s her codename.”

A grin crept over your lips. “Expect the unexpected.”

You had almost gotten distracted enough to miss how Lee Minho had leaned over to whisper something into the prince’s ear. After he had done so, Chan laughed out a little, then reached his arm around the other man’s chair comfortably.

“They’re...cozy.” You updated your partner.

“I’m trying to cross-check where he might know him from.”

Chan’s assistant and publicist finally slipped away with giddy little smiles. In many ways, you were jealous of them. They could leave whenever the wanted, eat what they wanted...

Jeongin scoffed. “Well, turns out...nothing. I can’t find anything.”

“Nothing?”

“Negative. I’m not seeing any crossover.”

“So they really are strangers?”

Your partner sighed. “Looks like neither of us are cashing ou--I mean--finding the suspect.”

Under your breath, you wondered aloud, “Who are you...Lee Minho?”

━━━━━━━━━▲━━━━━━━━━

The night drew on longer with the rest of the formalities: the formal dinner, followed by several speeches from important people while dessert was being served. It all led up to the final act: His Royal Highness, Prince Chan’s speech. On several neat notecards marked with the crest, he held them in front of him while he ate his last bits of Mont Blanc Chocolate Pavlova. Even the name of the sweet itself sounded pretentious. Granted, it smelled delicious--as many expensive things did.

You stifled a yawn from your little set up on the edge of the room. At least you should’ve been able to sit, but it turns out that sitting is also against the rules in this line of work. A couple other security and bodyguards had joined you at the edge: some of their heads nodded with sleep, and the others looked as if they had taken one too many energy shots. Luckily, your stamina had been well crafted.

A fancily dressed MC made his way up to the podium and the room filled with applause after the last speaker had said all of their correct mandatory words.

“It is my honor to introduce to the stage, our wonderful head benefactor of this organization, His Royal Highness, Prince Chan of the Crown.

Applause tenfold of before erupted through the whole room and it wasn’t even an afterthought for the every attendee to stand up from their seats in an ovation. It was a force of habit for you, but you found yourself clapping as well.

Chan rose with grace, and re-buttoned his jacket with finesse. A blinding spotlight found him and it made the diamonds adorning his beck wink brilliantly. Even more blinding was his pearl white, and perfectly trained smile accompanied by his wave.

Thank you. Thank you. He mouthed.

“It’s like he’s a frickin’ movie star.” Jeongin groaned.

“Might as well be with the way that they treat him. You know deep down they’re all just terrified.”

Chan made his way up to the stage in all of his regality, and the applause didn’t stop until he cleared his throat. A collective groaning of a couple hundred chairs squeaked when everyone sat back down.

“Thank you everyone, really. I wanted to thank you all for your generous support in your donations to this organization, as well as your association with the crown. I’m sure that all the beneficiaries of your donations are beyond thankful compared to me. Without you, this would not be possible.” Chan spoke with grandiose gestures, as usual, but this time, he had found you on the side of the room. “Listen, aside from being a prince, I’m also just a person. A person who knows what it means to struggle, to--”

“--I can’t listen to this anymore.” You whispered into the quiet room, and to your partner.

“Just a few more hours.” He droned. “I almost wish that something would happen so that we don’t have to sit though much else of this.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

In the corner of your eye, Lee Minho shifted in his seat, but still kept his undivided attention to the stage. You figured he must’ve been just like the rest of them: enamored by the flashiness of the crown--and Chan. He had a way of putting a spell on people: it was the kind of spell that a prince of deception had crafted after years of being kept under lock and key.

“--Anyway, what I’m trying to say, royal or fanciful we all might be, in the simplest way, we’re all just people, therefore this is what connects us all. Thank you.”

Chan was gifted yet another standing ovation that was somehow even more thunderous than before.

“Yeah right.” You scoffed. “People born into money. There’s a difference.”

Chan gave his last waves, then a clamor echoed from the back of the room. At first, it had just sounded like the same raucous laughter you had heard all night, but then it shifted to something different. The sound of laugher turned into shouting, then screams: high pitched and piercing. You had seconds to respond, head whipping around the room to catch sight of the confused prince. In your in-ears, the the sound of gunshots echoed with rapid-fire speed. Machine guns. Shouting commands barked in your ear, and muddled with Jeongin’s string of demands and questions.

“WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OUT THERE? REPORT! REPORT!”

Your heart instantly started beating into hyperdrive, and your legs sprinted as fast has physically possible

“THEY’VE GOT GUNS!” A shrill and cracked voice of an older woman wailed from the back of the room.

Immediately after she had said so, shots fired into the darkened room with sparks, and the metallic sound of bullets hitting the marbled ground followed.

Chan looked around in his panic for you, petrified on the stage. You slung your gun out from your thigh holster and latched onto him with all of your might.

“TH-THEY JUST CAME OUT OF NOWHERE IN THESE VANS. THEY’RE ARMOURED, WE CAN’T--”

“Get the fuck down there and secure the exists!” Jeongin growled into his mic. “B--is the prince secure??”

“Secure!” You yelled back. Using your body as a barrier, you led the cowering prince through the mass hysteria of the crowd.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Shit.” Chan shook under your iron grip.

More shots fired into the room and bodies parted like the sea and fell over each other.

From the balcony, you had caught Jeongin aiming his own gun at the chaos below.

“I’ll cover you! Fuck! There’s so many of them! Get him to the car out back--Three, Six, meet B out there! Three!? Six!? Report!”

“Three and Six are down F!” One of the guards panted. “I can provide cover out back!!”

“Who’s speaking??” Jeongin bellowed, then aimed from above at one of the intruders. Your only focus was on weaving you and Chan out of there, but you had seen one of them in a blur. Each of the men with guns wore dark grey suits with black ties and leather gloves. Each of them wore their own crest: and it was all red.

“Bee?? Bee???” Chan shouted out for you, and jumped every time the crack of a shot echoed in the ballroom.

“I’ve got you, your Highness. We’ll be out soon. Keep your head down and listen to me.” Your arm held to him tightly, and you soon found the exit nearest. There was no telling if there would be more of them outside, but you loaded your gun quickly just in case, and pointed it out.

“Jeongin, get your ass down here!”

“Jeongin? Who the fuck is that??” Chan ducked down to hide himself behind your frame.

His name had slipped on your tongue, but that hardly mattered.

“I’ll be down in a second!!!”

“Don’t fucking waste time up there when I need you down here!!”

“Two! Two Reporting!!” A man suddenly yelled in your in-ear. “I’ve made it out back and I’ve secured the exit. The car is safe!!”

“FOX! Now!”

Your partner heaved, “I’m coming, I’m coming!!”

You kicked open the exit door, gun’s still blazing, however one one else could be found on the other side.

“Thank God,” You sighed.

“Oh shit, I’m gonna be sick.” Chan had turned paler than white, then stumbled in your arms.

“Hey, HEY!” You held him upright. “It’s gonna be alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe. You need to trust me. Your life is in my hands and I’m not giving it up easy, got it?”

“O-okay.” He stammered, then attempted to straighten himself.

“The Prince is outside, repeat, The Prince is outside. Two, are you in position?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

Other than the fact that you had just escaped absolute peril, the evening was unbearably pleasant. Crickets chirped in the summer evening, and the humidity of the night smelled gorgeously of the lake that was near-by as well as the vast array of flowers that had been purposefully landscaped around the hotel. Chan’s uneven steps scraped at the gravel walkway.

Since you had canvassed the whole building well, you had known exactly where the getaway car was, but you were still careful.

“Bee. Bee!” Chan blabbered. “Have-have I told you yet that I-I’m in love with you?”

“No, you haven’t Your Highness.”

“I fucking am. If I die tonight, I want you to know that I am ridiculously in love with you, and fuck, I wanna--”

“--I’m sorry, Your Highness, respectfully, but now is not the time for this and you are not dying on my watch.”

Somewhere off in the distance, frogs croaked, and the splashing of fish in the lake plopped at the surface waters. You turned a corner to finally see Two waiting his his gun raised. He was a bit of a shorter and scrawnier man, but something about him told you that where he lacked in strength, he must’ve made up for in agility.

“I’m out! I’m out!” Your partner gasped, and over the in-ear you could hear his running footsteps. “I’m almost there! I’ll be there in a second!”

“Your Highness,” Two bowed and opened the car door. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. You can call me Two or J. Either you prefer.”

Jeongin came bounding around the corner with heaving breaths and his clothes askew. His glasses which just barely held onto his face had a crack on them and his knuckles were covered in blood.

“Let’s go.” The younger man prompted.

“In the car you go, Your Highness.” You motioned for him to do so.

Chan whimpered like a toddler.

You shoved his body in, “Stop that. Get in the car.”

“I’m in love with you Bee!” He yelled out, “I’M FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU BEE!”

Jeongin slammed the door in his face with a bit of a chuckle.

“He’s delirious.”

“Mm.” your partner smiled. “Sure.”

320 notes · View notes

evienyx · 4 years ago

Note

Wait Wait Wait does Uncle know that Zuko is with the Ember Island Players??? Like, how does that even go down? How many threats does he send them when he finds out?? Does he low-key raze the Earth Kingdom coast first trying to look for his nephew?? Does he give them advice on how to deal with an angsty and traumatized (but won't admit it) teen?? Does he secretly travel to Ember Island with the crew to watch his nephew in a play? I NEED ANSWERS.

Oh part 2, part 2, more sudden questions. Does Uncle secretly travel to Ember Island to take Zuko on a Dragon-Discovery Trip so that he can use rainbow flames while working with the Players? When Uncle is with the Gaang, does he regale them with tales of Zuko as a player? Is he the one who takes them to the production (and later helps them get backstage)??? I NEED ANSWERS AS TO WHAT UNCLE IS UP TO AND WHAT THE GAANG KNOW (imagine they don't find out about Zuko till they defeat the Fire Lord).

- - -

Iroh had just left the fifth colonial town when the letter flew in.

Well, technically, it was two letters. One seemed to be an announcement, the other a note.

The announcement could best be described as gossip. People saying that ‘The Dragon of the West is back,’ and that he was ‘making the rounds terrorizing the Earth Kingdom and colony coast.’

Okay, that was an overstatement.

He unfolded the letter, ready to read the thinly-veiled threat from his brother that it surely was, and felt a shock to his system when, instead, his eyes landed on the familiar scrawl of his nephew.

“Zuko,” he murmured, unfurling the letter much faster now and reading it as fast as he could.

‘Uncle,

‘This is your nephew. I know I probably worried you a lot, because it’s been about two-and-half months. I’m sorry about that. I ended up on Ember Island, and I am staying with the Ember Island Players. If you want to come see me, you can figure out how to they would love to have you.

‘Your nephew.’

It was, by far, one of the worst letters Iroh had ever read. He reread it another fifteen times once he’d finished, and then had Jee set a course for the Fire Nation.

After all, it’s not like anyone banished was on board.

- - -

In all thirteen years of his nephew’s life, Iroh had never seen Zuko so... happy.

Sure, he was happy when Ursa had still been around, but this... this was different. He was laughing, and he bantered with the Ember Island Players, he insulted their acting skills, and though he was obviously trying to hide it, he clearly adored them.

And they adored him, too.

Which is why, when he finally sprung the question, the answer wasn’t much of a surprise.

“Zuko,” Iroh said, looking to his nephew who stood beside him on the balcony. Iroh had asked for some alone time with the boy, and no one had argued. “I have a question to ask you.”

“Yes, Uncle?” Zuko’s eyes were on the ship, docked out in the water, the rowboat that Iroh had taken to the shore sitting on the beach. He was frowning. He looked... sad.

“Zuko...” Iroh wet his lips, looked out at the sea, back at the door to enter the theater apartments, and then at his nephew again. “Would you like to come with me, or would you rather stay here?”

Zuko opened his mouth to answer and then blinked, as if just now realizing what Iroh had said. His eyebrows furrowed. “Stay... Stay here?”

Iroh nodded. “If they’ll have you.”

Zuko let out a laugh, and it was one of the happiest sounds Iroh had ever heard. “I was gonna say you’re gonna have to take me and jump off this roof if you wanna get back to the ship without Ami tackling you to the ground.”

“Ami?” Iroh had memorized the names he had learned, but he had only really talked to the people inside for fifteen minutes before coming out here, so he wasn’t quite sure why Ami was the one who would apparently try to fight him to the death to keep Zuko here.

“She’s the one who found me on the beach apparently. She was the first person I met when I woke up. And she tried to stop him, but Eiko also told me that she stayed by my side more than anyone while I was asleep.”

“Zuko...” Iroh didn’t quite want to ask, but it had been two-and-a-half months, and Iroh needed to know. “How long were you asleep?”

“Five-and-a-half weeks,” Zuko replied, as if it was nothing at all. As if he hadn’t lost more than a month of his life to a burn and a fever.

Iroh felt a tugging in his heart, and he thought back one more time to the light in his nephew’s eyes that he hadn’t seen in that week that he’d been awake after the Agni Kai. “Zuko... do you want to stay here?”

Zuko was silent for a long time, and then he didn’t meet Iroh’s eyes and nodded. “I think I do. Just to make sure they don’t mess up Love Amongst Dragons again.”

“What about the Avatar?”

Zuko’s face screwed up a bit. He said, “Wait here,” and then disappeared back inside. Iroh sat there for a few moments, wondering if he’d done something wrong, when his nephew reemerged, holding a rolled-up piece of parchment.

Iroh felt his stomach drop when he saw it.

It was a royal decree, with a portrait of Zuko on it, a description adding that he should have a giant burn on the side of his face, and a few quick words saying that if he was found in the Fire Nation he was to be captured, dead or alive.

“Takeo and Nori found this downtown about three-and-a-half weeks after Ami found me on the beach.”

Iroh read a bit more, and saw that anyone in the Fire Nation found helping the banished prince would be arrested immediately.

“They... didn’t turn me in.”

Zuko shook his head and waved to the side of his face where the burn was. It looked... a lot better than Iroh had expected it to. The skin was smoothed out, though a bit bumpier than the rest of his face, and a pinkish color rather than a hard red. Honestly, one might just think it was a weirdly-placed sunburn if they didn’t know any better. “Nori said she didn’t need it on her conscious, but...” Zuko smirked. “Ami says she got attached.” He shook his head, and the smile faded a bit. “They taught me to apply makeup to make it look better than it would. It’s... a bit of a process, though, so I tend to not go out too much, just to be safe. The Players do sweeps of the town every few days to make sure there are no new posters with my face for some reason.”

Iroh felt his heart sink as he realized that this was not how bad the burn scar looked normally. This was with makeup. And some of the best the world had to offer, too, if it was from the Ember Island Players.

He didn’t think he wanted to see right now. Plus, Zuko had said it took a long time to apply. No need to wash it off when it wasn’t even mid-day.

“You really mean it?” Zuko asked, breaking Iroh from his thoughts. “I can... I can stay here?”

Iroh nodded. “I’ll keep up the ruse that you’re looking for the Avatar.”

The hug was so sudden that Iroh almost fell over. When his nephew pulled away, his eyes were red.

“I didn’t... I didn’t want to write the letter. They... They made me. I was... After I saw the poster...” They both glanced at the parchment with Zuko’s un-scarred face that was now discarded on the ground. “I was... I was so scared. I’m... I’m sorry...”

Iroh said nothing, and just pulled the boy in for another embrace.

- - -

The first letter he got from Ember Island that wasn’t from Zuko (because of course he kept in touch with his nephew, still) came as a bit of a surprise.

There were two more permanent Players that Iroh hadn’t met while he was there, and one of them, a woman named Maru, was the one who wrote him the letter. It was much more professional than any of Zuko’s letters, but it basically told him that they had just started working on a new play that they would put on in a month, and that it had seven roles, and so instead of bringing in only one extra actor, Zuko was going to be filling in instead. His first role. Well, sure, it was a small role, more of a background than even a supporting one, but that wasn’t important.

Iroh was glad he got the message so far in advance because, with a quick check of the date, they would have just enough time to get from the northern part of the Earth Kingdom waters back to Ember Island in time to see the play.

Iroh turned to Jee, and told him to set a course for the Fire Nation, and then went to his quarters to see if he had anything he could use to frame the letter.

- - -

Zuko hadn’t known that Iroh was coming to visit the first time.

Iroh being who he was, was greeted with such honor when he arrived and treated with such prestige that he almost wished that he hadn’t come at all. He reminded himself multiple times that this was for Zuko, and he smiled and nodded and spoke as formally as one would expect from the Fire Lord’s brother (from the man who had been born to be Fire Lord until his world fell apart).

He was given a best seat in the house, a private balcony, with a perfect view of the stage. It had apparently been reserved by a noble couple, but they tripped over themselves as they insisted that he take it instead. Normally, he would rather sit somewhere less... royal, but this was Zuko’s first performance and he was going to have the best possible view to see it.

Zuko ended up being the right-hand man of the main antagonist, a dark spirit, and his scar was painted over black, with a replica over his other eye. He had a total of maybe ten lines, and at the end Iroh’s hands hurt from clapping.

He remembered the way backstage from the first time he had come here, when Zuko had told him where he was, and so he made his way there.

People murmured around Iroh, but they generally cleared the way. Many of them were nobles, and they all knew who the esteemed General Iroh, brother of the Fire Lord, was.

It seemed, though, that while some of the audience members were talking about him, many were also whispering about the play itself.

“A masterpiece, as usual,” one noble said to his wife. “The Ember Island Players never fail to disappoint.”

“I wonder who that new actor was,” another mused. “The young one? Who played the dark spirit’s companion? He was incredible.”

Iroh felt himself perk up a bit at that.

“The playbill says his name is ‘Li.’ What an average name.”

“He looked so young. I would bet he’s not even fourteen. No wonder they grabbed him up so quick.”

“I hope he’s still here next year. I’d love to see him act again. He was so... expressive...”

Iroh had a skip in his step the rest of the way to the backstage area.

When he entered, no eyes went to him. Everyone seemed to busy congratulating Zuko.

“Nice job, kid,” one man, Takeo, said, patting Zuko on the back. He was dressed in a dark costume and makeup as well, playing the role of the dark spirit that Zuko’s character had been working under.

“Ah, you did great!” Ami exclaimed, pushing forward and wrapping her arms around Iroh’s nephew.

“It was a very impressive first performance,” Nori agreed.

“That it was.”

Now all the attention was on him. Zuko’s makeup had already been rubbed off a bit on the side of his face without the scar. Zuko’s eyes landed on Iroh and widened before he breathed out, “Uncle?”

Iroh nodded, a gentle smile on his lips. “You didn’t think I’d miss my nephew’s first performance, did you?”

Zuko just stared, mouth gaping, before he mouthed the word ‘Uncle’ again and leaped forward, embracing Iroh in a single, quick motion. Zuko was sweating, probably from the two or three stunts he had done on stage, as well as the bright lights, and the makeup on his face was already moist and was getting all over onto Iroh’s clothes, and he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He just returned his nephew’s hug and allowed himself to revel in the fact that he had at least done right by one son.

- - -

Iroh went back to visit every few months after that. The second time he saw Zuko perform, his nephew was wearing a mask, so when he went backstage after the show he got a good look at Zuko’s scar for the first time, and he didn’t let the fourteen-year-old go for a good twenty minutes afterward.

He missed a few of the times Zuko was in a play, and sometimes when he was there there wasn’t a performance at all, but that was fine. He wasn’t there for the shows. He was there for Zuko.

He normally stayed for a few days, three to five on average. He stayed for a week each time Zuko had a birthday, because those days were important.

One time, when Zuko was fourteen, Iroh visited and was met on the beach by the sixth and final member of the permanent Ember Island Players, a man named Satoshi.

“The kid’s sick,” Satoshi said. “We would have told you, but it just happened late last night. He just woke up sick. No one knows why.”

Iroh thought of the date that he had seen on the calendar in his room that morning and felt his heart sink as he said, “I do.”

Zuko wasn’t incredibly sick, not like he must have been when Ami first found him, but he was throwing up, and he had a slight fever, and he was crying.

“Zuko.”

The boy turned to him and desperately wiped at the tears.

“Uncle,” he choked out. “I-”

“I know.”

Iroh joined his nephew on the bed, and simply held him as he cried. Zuko had been doing remarkably well for so long. It would make sense that the first time he would truly break down would be on the one-year anniversary of his banishment.

Iroh stayed silent as Zuko cried, as his nephew sobbed into his shirt until there weren’t any tears left, and the old general focused in on the scarless side of his face and wished he could make this child forget.

- - -

It was in the late fall, over three years since the Zuko had been banished (and had promptly jumped overboard to remain in the Fire Nation) when Iroh got the letter.

‘Uncle,

‘I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but it was recently announced that the Avatar has returned. I would like to ask you if you would please go and train him. They are saying he’s around twelve years old and seems to be in the process of learning waterbending.

‘You’re the best firebender in the world, Uncle. You only visit me once every few months, and I’ve still made worlds more progress in the last three years alone than I ever did training back at home. Please, you’re the only one who can do this.

‘Your nephew.

‘Also, I practiced that lightning redirection thing that you showed me last time you were here during the storm last night. I’m grounded for another week, but I would like to let you know that I redirected it successfully. So, thank you for that valuable lesson.’

Iroh reread the letter a few times, wrote back a simple reply of ‘Of course,’ and had the ship set out to the nearest harbor to see if they could find anything about the Avatar’s whereabouts.

- - -

“If anything should happen... I need you to do something for me.”

“What is it, Iroh?”

“Send this letter to my nephew, along with the whereabouts of Aang and his friends at the time that you send it off.”

“Your nephew? The... Fire Lord’s son?”

“Yes. Aang must learn firebending, and I think everyone would rather it not be Jeong Jeong who teaches him...”

“Of course. Why would you think this would even be necessary, though?”

“I worry, sometimes. But I promise, on my honor as a Grand Master of the Order of the White Lotus, you can trust my nephew.”

“All right. If need be, I’ll see it delivered. I presume I would use your messenger hawk?”

“That would be wisest.”

“Of course.”

“...Thank you, Pakku.”

- - -

Iroh wasn’t quite sure how it happened.

Okay, well, he knew how it happened, it was just... hard to process.

It had been pure bad luck (or good luck, for the soldiers) when, on the first day of the Siege of the Northern Water Tribe, he had run into one of the largest groups of firebenders who, of course, immediately recognized him. He was sure there were wanted posters across the Fire Nation’s homeland and colonies with his face on it.

He could fend the troops off just fine, of course, and everything probably would have been all right if another Fire Nation soldier hadn’t managed to sneak up behind him and bonk him on the head.

The next thing he knew, he was waking up on a ship. In a prison cell.

And then there was Admiral Zhao. Agni, Iroh hated him.

“Ah, the great General Iroh, a traitor. I’m sure the Fire Lord will have a special place for you when you get back.”

Zhao had gone on to explain that Iroh was being shipped back to the Fire Nation immediately, on their fastest ship, to avoid any waterbenders or Avatars slipping in and breaking him out. The whole time, up until he left, Zhao had a sickly grin on his face, staring at Iroh as if he was the best prize he could have hoped for.

“Oh, well, maybe the Fire Lord will even give you a merciful death. You may see your nephew again sooner than you thought.”

Zhao let out a cruel laugh, and Iroh was thankful once again that he had sent in that report about six months ago claiming that Zuko had been lost to a hurricane that swept across the Earth Kingdom coast near where they were.

(The truth was, the storm was in the east, and their ship had been in the west, but the Fire Nation didn’t need to know that).

Regardless, Iroh was glad was Zhao was gone.

It gave him time to think.

Agni, he hoped Pakku remembered to send that letter.

- - -

It was the second-to-last day of winter when Zuko got the letter. The Players got two week-long breaks a year, and this was the evening before the first day of one of them. That was probably a good thing, he soon realized.

‘Nephew,

‘If you receive this letter, it means something has happened to me. Either I have been captured or killed during the Siege of the Northern Water Tribe, and a dear friend of mine has sent this letter to you in my stead.

‘You know I would not ask this of you if I did not think it was the only option. Unfortunately, here we are.

‘Nephew, you must join the Avatar and train him in my stead.

‘There are no other firebenders capable. I have traveled with the Avatar and his friends for months, and they know all about you. I am sure you will be good friends. Please, nephew. This is the only way to end the war. You know about the comet. You know that this is what must be done. This is your destiny.

‘You are one of the best firebenders I’ve ever seen. You’re incredibly talented, especially for your age, and you’ve even been blessed by the Masters. You are the only one who can do this. I believe in you.

‘Attached should be the whereabouts of the Avatar and his friends. You must meet up with them. None of this has been explained to them, but I’m sure if you just say I sent you, it will be fine.

‘Say hello to the Players for me.

‘Uncle.’

Zuko felt his heart sink as he read the note again and again.

Finally, he emerged from his room and walked to the living area, where the six Ember Island Players sat. Zuko took a deep breath and then spoke.

“I need to leave.”

Ami was the first one to speak. “What? Why?”

Zuko mouth felt dry and his heart pounded but he replied nonetheless. “My Uncle has been captured and taken into Fire Nation custody. I must now join the Avatar and train him in my Uncle’s stead. I need to leave for the Earth Kingdom by tomorrow.”

There was a glance that traveled among all the Players, and then Nori spoke.

“Well, you can count on us, kiddo. Family sticks together, before anything.”

Zuko grinned, though his eyes burned. “I probably won’t be back until the fall, at least. Please don’t mess up Love Amongst Dragons this year without me there to help.”

“No promises,” Satoshi replied.

Zuko must have been obviously holding back tears, because he soon found himself wrapped in a hug.

He never wanted to let go.

Still, the next day, he found himself on a boat (a fast one, he noted, though small) heading toward a Fire Nation outpost in the Earth Kingdom, the six Ember Island Players by his side. They might not be coming with him on the journey, but they were going to see him through to where it would begin, skipping out on their time to go home, and, to him, that meant more than anything else in the world right now.

So, Zuko, banished prince of the Fire Nation, nephew of Iroh, looked out at the endless horizon that they were speeding toward, and smiled.

#backstage au #ask #ask away #this is why i didnt post anything for like two days #because of this ask #this is gonna be part 2 on ao3 #also i know we didnt see the gaang at all #but you know #soon enough probably

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365days365movies · 4 years ago

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April 8, 2021: Swiss Army Man (and Black Comedy) (Review)

Let’s look at the week’s other black comedies, shall we?

I’m a bit behind on the reviews (and the Recaps, but that’s a little easier to fix at the moment), but I decided to give something a shot. While I’ve still got full Reviews for each of those films, it occurred to me that the ones left to review are the black comedies. The Great Dictator is technically a part of the category as well, but I’m letting it skate by under satire. Plus, I already reviewed it. And, since Swiss Army Man is the last black comedy I’m covering this month, what better time than now to summarize the rest! Again, I’ll be giving more comprehensive reviews in due time. But until then...

Arsenic and Old Lace (1944), dir. Frank Capra: 90%

Wow, I get why this movie is so very loved, by everybody and my mom! Told her I watched it the other day, and she was very happy to hear it! This is a VERY funny movie, and while it is a black comedy, it’s more of a straight-up comedy than any of these other films! The acting’s a little cheesy sometimes, yeah, but Cary Grant is goddamn AMAZING in this movie. It’s mostly his supporting cast that serves the cheese platter (Raymond Massey especially). Plot and writing by Julius and Phillip Epstein are spot-on smooth, but directing isn’t one of Frank Capra’s best in my completely uninformed opinion. Production and art design is great, especially given that we’re mostly only in one place for the whole movie. Still, that place looks good regardless. Finally, the music by Max Steiner is also pretty fantastic, although it’s not going on my playlist anytime soon, to be honest. Editing by Daniel Mandell is also great, and the pacing of this movie’s plot is...mostly perfect. Lags a little when Jonathan comes in, I think. Anyway, highly recommended, and a must-see!

Recap (Part One | Part Two)

Withnail and I (1987), dir. Bruce Robinson: 86%

OK...this one is kind of hard for me. Because I think I was supposed to get more out of this film than I actually did. Maybe that’s because I’m a filthy American and all that, but this film came off as good dramatically, with some ribald humor in it...but not really that funny. But, OK, to briefly go through the points here: Richard E. Grant, Paul McGann, and Richard Griffiths all turn out fantastic performances here, and they’re extremely memorable. Plot and writing by director Bruce Robinson is very good as well, and it’s also autobiographical to an extent, which is interesting. Very wittily written and performed, so no complaints there. Directing is...fine? It’s fine. Nothing to write home about, although there’s one nice scene on a mountainside which sticks out. Same with Charles Lang and his cinematography, although that fares a little more memorable for me. Production and set design is great, and the music (by Adolph Deutsch)...leaves a little to be desired. In that I don’t remember it at all, not gonna lie. Editing by Arthur P. Scmidt is fine!

Recap (Part One | Part Two)

In Bruges (2008), dir. Martin McDonagh: 90%

Take my feelings on the humor for the preceding two and combine them, then make the tone WAY darker than either, and you have In Bruges. And HOT DAMN, I love it! All of the performances are ridiculously strong here, from Colin Farell and Brendan Gleeson, to Ralph Fiennes and Clémence Poésy. Although, Jordan Prentice and Jérémie Renier are mostly just OK, to be honest with you. And that was nothing to do with the writing and directing of Martin McDonagh, because GODDAMN, those are spot-fucking-ON. Seriously, if this movie has nothing else going for it, it’s some fast-paced writing and delivery that’ll knock your socks off. Love it. And Bruges is framed like a painting, and a nice one at that! It’s also a good looking movie, even if the color palette leaves a little to be desired sometimes. Production and art design is...well, it’s the city of Bruges, for the most part, let’s be honest. It looks good. And finally, music by Carter Burwell is...fine. It’s OK, it’s definitely not very memorable for me, to be honest. But, uh, this is a grizzly, dark, rough movie...and totally worth watching again, hot damn.

Recap

Swiss Army Man (2016), dir. Daniels: Well...keep reading!

Recap is here and here!

Review

Cast and Acting: 9/10

These two, Paul Dano and Daniel Radcliffe, are a hell of a pair...kind of. Fact of the matter is, Radcliffe is heavily restrained in his role until the very end of the film, but is also VERY GOOD with these restraints. I mean, is this one of those “disappear into the role” moments for him? I mean, it definitely is for Dano, but for Radcliffe...I was watching Harry Potter. Never didn’t see the boy who lived, ironically. But, that’s not really on Radcliffe at all, to be fair. Like I said, dude is legitimately fantastic, seriously. He does a fantastic job in the role of...well, being a dead body. And Paul Dano’s Hank is a genuinely interesting character, and one that I’d like to know more about, honestly. He does a great job with what he’s given. Oh, and Mary Elizabeth Winstead was there, too!

Plot and Writing: 8/10

Look...this is a weird-ass concept for a movie. I mean, come on, it’s a movie about a guy with intense social anxiety who makes friends with a semi-resurrected corpse that has multiple abilities and is slowly coming to terms with an new life. And yes, there’s definitely some symbolism in here, whether you see this as a story about depression, coming out, coming to terms with yourself, social anxiety, friendship, existential crises, personal development...dead bodies. Yeah, this film can be read in a LOT of different ways, it turns out. And is that a bad thing? No, of course not. But it is a little nebulous as a result, and you end up focusing less on the sybolis, and more on the whole “dead-body-Victorinox” thing. That plot and the writing, both by the Daniels (Daniel Schinert and Daniel Kwan), are well-done and very funny in a lot of instances (MOST instances, to be honest; this is a very funny film), but I can’t say that I think the plot itself is perfect. But then again, this may have just gone over my head.

Directing and Cinematography: 8/10

I mean...it’s good. Both the directing by the Daniels and the cinematography by Larkin Seiple are both quite good. Lighting is usually pretty great, framing is consistently good, I really don’t have any major complaints...or major comments. There are some good shots, to be clear, but I’m not going to say that it’s perfect or anything. To be fair, this is the Daniels’ first feature length film, so that’s interesting. But yeah, like I said, it’s good!

Production and Art Design: 9/10

This is a great looking movie! And that also comes down to the fact that there’s a pretty realistic looking Daniel Radcliffe puppet in here, and I genuinely didn’t notice until after the fact. It’s pretty great, though, and Radcliffe’s makeup is especially good. The setting of the Pacific Northwest woods is fantastic as well, and the whole thing is simply a great looking film overall. Not much comment outside of that!

Music and Editing: 9/10

MY LORD I love the music in this movie! I meant it when I said I’d be putting some of this on my playlist, because it sounds great. And it’s not just Andy Hull and Robert McDowell’s orchestration, but how the score is integrated with the plot and characters of the film! Look...I love it. Go back to my recap and check out the links embedded within to listen to my favorite tracks, if you’re curious! So, if I love the music so much, why not a 10 here? Editing. There are a few moment where the editing is a little weird. Faster cuts than needed, scene with the bear’s kinda weird, that kind of thing. Nothing huge, but it did come to mind when I was rating this section. Still, Matthew Hannam did a great job; just saw a couple spots I thought were weird.

86% for this one! I had a really good time.

This is the last straight-up black comedy I’m covering this time around, and it’s one hell of a film to end on! So, let’s go back to...well, the ‘50s, this time. Let’s start at the most imfluential comedy of the time period. And hey...might as well start with a near-certified banger, huh?

April 9, 2021: Some Like It Hot (1959), dir. Billy Wilder

#swiss army man #daniel scheinert #daniel kwan #daniel scheinert and daniel kwan #the daniels #paul dano #daniel radcliffe #mary elizabeth winstead #comedy april #user365 #365days365movies #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #userhayao #userskashi #classicfilmblr

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lostinfantasies38 · 5 years ago

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Modern AU Sirrastair

Here is more from my modern cop/Carta AU with Alistair and Sirra that no one asked for. Except, it’s NSFW, so there is that! Mind you, it's a WIP and subject to change. But I wanted opinions on how it’s coming along. 💛 @kittimau @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @fluffymabari @sharkapologists @river-of-asgard @schoute @lyrium-lovesong

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Tossing his keys on the ceramic dish perched atop the low bookshelf with a clatter, Alistair sighed heavily as he laid his wallet beside the ring of metal, smoothly locking the door with his other hand. Pushing off the frame, he strode into his kitchen and yanked the fridge open. A trip to the grocery store was desperately needed, but he never had time with the late shifts. Grabbing the last beer, he popped the top on the stout and poured it into a clean glass.

Admiring the foam in anticipation of the first cold sip, he almost missed the slippery scratch of pebbles under someone’s shoe from the deck. Unclipping his holster, he palmed his Glock and ducked into a crouch. Working his way through the edge of his living room, he stayed in the shadows, thumb resting on the safety, itching for an excuse to flick the switch.

Peeking around the sliding glass door, the slightly open door, he froze in shock.

Sirra Brosca was draped across one of his deck chairs, curvy legs in snug leggings propped on the railing, twirling a dark strand of hair around her finger. She glanced up with a bored expression, her lips faintly quirking before settling into a plump pout and patted the chair next to her.

“Hello, handsome. We need to talk.”

Tilting his head suspiciously, he slid onto the deck, gun in hand. “I don’t know whether you are incredibly stupid or stupidly brave to break into a police officer’s house.”

The signature smirk that had haunted his thoughts and fueled more midnight fantasies than he cared to admit bloomed on her heart-shaped lips.

“I’m Carta. That should tell you all you need to know about me and my motives. And technically, I didn’t break in. I’m merely trespassing. I cracked the door to get your attention, that’s all.”

Alistair shook his head while sinking into a chair against his better judgement. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have given me that tip. Thanks for that, by the way. Although, I still don’t know why you would give us that kind of intel.”

“Quite the haul, right?”

He noticed she pointedly did not give a reason for divulging the information that allowed them to intercept 9,000 kilos of lyrium from the port before it could hit the streets. An estimated street value of eleven million Crowns, it was the biggest bust in Denerim’s history.

Tucking his weapon back in his holster, he steepled his hands and leaned closer to the dwarven woman. “Why are you here? What do you want? Is there where you tell me I owe you and I say I don’t help criminals?”

Chuckling in that damnable husky voice, she crooned. “Ooo, a romance angle! Are we star-crossed lovers now? Does that make you Guinevere?”

Smiling despite himself, Alistair snorted. “I think I’d make a dashing Lancelot, thank you very much. A pity the days of knights and codes of honor are dead.”

Sirra shook her head almost fondly. “Not quite. You strike me as a very gallant guy, willing to do what’s right, no matter the cost.”

He leaned back against the chair, creating distance between them, but she followed his retreat. Unfurling her legs from the railing, she pressed forward, dropping her voice to a whisper.

“You know, the Carta has a dossier on every cop in town. Just like you have on us. None of your ‘undercover’ cops goes unrecognized. We see every move you make and it’s why you can’t nail them without an inside man… or woman. It’s why I chose you, Officer Theirin.”

Alistair tensed under her intense stare, held captive when she slid gracefully out of the chair, ankle boots tapping softly against the wood. He noted the fitted cut of her forest green top, drawing his eyes to her ample bosom, watching with rapt attention as she swung her wide hips with each step. Every move was an invitation, and he idly wondered if he would see the killing blow. If he would even care.

Placing her hands on either side of the chair, she caged him in, staring at him under thick, curled lashes and murmured. “Former Grey Warden, exemplary military record. Most well known for clearing an entire school of children as Fog Warriors set it on fire. Against orders. You returned to the conflagration multiple times, carrying out boys and girls covered in ash until the building was empty. I saw the footage, Alistair.”

He shivered at the sound of his name in that raspy voice. “H-How? The footage and the mission were sealed. There is -”

“I have my ways,” she interrupted airily, flicking her dainty fingers. “You are probably the closest this Age has to a knight. You are honorable and good. Maybe a little naïve, but that is part of your appeal.”

Crawling into his lap, she hummed appreciatively to discover how perfectly she fit in it. The man gasped as her thighs wrapped around his, her round ass deliciously close to where he wanted her, yet not close enough.

“Sirra…” he ground through clenched teeth. “What are you doing? What do you want? What is this all about?”

Licking her lips, she held his gaze as she leaned close, veering right at the last second to purr in his ear. “You need me, handsome. If you want to take down my father’s organization, you will need me. And… I need an alibi.”

His hands found her then, locking around her hips like steel as he growled into her curtain of hair. “Why do you need an alibi? Why me? You know what, nevermind, I don’t think I want to know. If you want to be an informant, which, for the record, I haven’t yet agreed to - I can’t be your alibi. And this is hardly keeping our working relationship professional, don’t you think?”

Grasping at straws, raging a war against his own desires, he struggled to find a way to get the dwarven woman off his lap before he did something stupid that involved little to no clothing. Her face filled his field of vision, nose ring flashing in the faint sliver of moonlight, and he had to remind himself to breathe.

“First, I don’t need an alibi tonight, but I know the time is coming when I will need you to cover for me. My father is not the only thing I’m running from. The pit is full of vipers.”

Alistair frowned heavily at that, a dawning realization that she was not doing this just for him. She was escaping, and he was her ticket out.

“Second, I never said this partnership had to be professional… or respectable. We’re both adults here, aren’t we, handsome? Of course, if you want me to get off your lap, I will.”

Gripping her generous curves tightly, he answered in a strained voice. “No, I don’t want you to do that.”

Smirking, she brushed her lips across his in a chaste kiss. “And that’s the rub, isn’t it, gorgeous? You don’t want to want me as much as you do. Because of who I am. Because of my name. Does it hit a little close to home?” Sirra’s teasing smile softened when his hazel eyes darkened.

“Shut up, you damnable siren.”

A large hand wrapped around her neck and pressed her lips fervently to his full mouth, and they moaned in unison as their lips and tongues fell into a natural rhythm. Scooting forward on the chair, he rose, and she locked her legs around his trim waist. Once inside the house, her small hand carefully closed the door behind them as his lips moved down her neck, nipping at the sensitive junction where it met her shoulder. She gasped in approval, bucking against his abs, and he chuckled.

“Wh-where are you taking me, Officer?”

Her dark eyes twinkled mischievously, and Alistair’s chest tightened in a way he didn’t really want to analyze right now. Instead, he smirked, murmuring as he circled her throat with licks and kisses.

“Where I take all naughty women who sneak into my backyard and proposition me with offers too tempting to refuse: my bedroom. Where else would I take you, Sirra?”

“Ancestors save me. You better not take me anywhere else, Alistair.”

He chuckled again, full of promise, and she shivered wantonly as he carried her through the hallway to the master suite. “Oh, I don’t know, I may want to take you all over this place before the night is through.”

They tumbled on the king-sized bed and she claimed his lips urgently. As they parted for air, she scrambled out of her top, revealing her full breasts barely contained in her black bra, and soft curves he needed to get his hands on. Alistair groaned as he kicked off his shoes desperately.

“I hope you live up to that promise, handsome. I want all of you and then some.”

Flicking her leggings absently aside, she froze as he shrugged out of his shirt, bronze muscles rippling in the moon-washed room. Without pausing, he unsnapped his gun, ejected the clip and laid them on his dresser before unzipping his trousers.

She could see the trail of auburn hair that led to what she really wanted, peeking through the elastic band of his boxer briefs. Sirra moaned unintentionally, the clingy fabric of his underwear leaving nothing to the imagination.

Alistair paused and glanced at her then, splayed out like a Satinalia present on his bed. Dark hair pooled underneath her flawless skin, reminding him of marble statues of ancient goddesses displayed in museums. Sex personified as she bit her lip, a flush blooming on her chest, her eyes nearly black as she ogled him.

“See something you like?” he taunted as he stepped out of his trousers. Striding confidently toward the bed, he knew she was drinking him in. His cock heavy and hard between muscular thighs, still hidden from view, but obvious through the thin material covering his modesty.

Exhaling raggedly, Sirra breathed, “You know I do. What about you, gorgeous? See anything you like?”

Reaching the edge of the bed, he shot her a dark gaze full of want. “I see what I’ve fantasized about since that night in the club two months ago, Sirra.”

Her breath hitched at his honest confession, and she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Alistair watched intently as it dragged along her luscious mouth. Snagging her hip, he gently maneuvered her to the center of the bed and hovered over her. His voice was low and raw when he spoke again.

“But what I have before me is even better than I imagined. I am in deep with you already, siren. I have been since I met you.”

Lifting her torso slightly off the bed, Sirra reached around to unclasp her bra, a sultry laugh tumbling from her mouth when Alistair swore at the sight of her pierced nipples.

“Oh, darling, you ruined me that night in the club. And now I plan to return the favor.”

#sirrastair #sirra brosca #Alistair x Sirra #modern au #modern thedas #dwarfmance #star crossed lovers #cop au #carta darling

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tysonrunningfox · 5 years ago

Text

Ripped: Part 23

Like...here, I can’t do this anymore, I’ve been sitting on the first part of this for forever. Please, join me in...whatever this is.

Ao3

00000

Four thirty-seven in the morning is not time to wake up, but Astrid doesn’t have much of a choice after Hiccup’s side of his bed goes cold and the wheels in her mind start spinning, skating across the last twelve and twenty-four and thirty-six hours. Hiccup exhausted beyond sanity at the hospital, Hiccup sleeping with his head on her lap. Hiccup with damp hair and wide eyes, laying her back on his desk. Hiccup laughing at a joke that could only be funny in the first hours of the morning, sleepy hands holding her close.

“I don’t want it to be tomorrow,” he’d whispered in her ear, voice hoarse and comfortable as he pressed a tired kiss to her jaw, pulling her leg over his hip like if he just arranged their limbs carefully enough, they could feasibly meld into a single person. “Tomorrow’s just going to be more hospitals and decisions and not enough…” He trailed off, palm dragging up the curve of her waist.

“It already is tomorrow, technically,” she’d looked at the clock until he dragged her face back to his, soft thumb on her chin.

“Well sure, if you’re still a stickler for a linear definition of time,” he smiled, bringing her back to her apartment hallway where she couldn’t help but notice he was charming and handsome under the stupid hat. “But cyclically, it’s not really morning until we sleep, is it?”

“We already slept,” she reminded him, difficult just so that he’d narrow his eyes in a cute, shrewd way and kiss her. He went further than that, rolling her onto her back and holding the sheets dramatically above his head before disappearing under them, breath ticklish on her navel as his hands made room for himself between her knees.

“No more of that then,” he’d laughed, kissing her hip, “no sleeping, no tomorrow. It’s a deal.”

The only thing more shocking than how quickly Astrid trusted Hiccup is how quickly she got used to him. As electric as his presence has become, it’s comfortable too, a secondary North her internal compass passively tracks when he’s in range to keep herself in alignment.

She bites her lip and sighs, staring at the ceiling for a ten count before giving up and rolling out of bed.

His closet isn’t a walk-in, but it’s larger than hers, and she finds a soft sweatshirt that smells like him hanging at the back of it. She pulls it on and pauses to touch the cold side of the bed, taking in the silence, as temporary as it is. He was right, there’s a whole day of hospitals and adult arrangements ahead of her, but after how easy and good last night was, nothing seems insurmountable.

She brushes her teeth with her finger again, looking around the bathroom at the old bathmat and Hiccup’s shirt from yesterday balled up in a corner. There’s a trimmer on the counter and auburn stubble in the sink and she finally starts to come around to the idea that sometimes when things seem too good to be true, it might just be because they are that good.

Hiccup wasn’t exaggerating how empty the kitchen is, but she manages to find a glass in one of the old walnut cupboards and get some water. She didn’t have much of a chance to look around yesterday, given she had better things to acquaint herself with, but since Hiccup isn’t back yet she starts scoping out the living room.

It’s a bachelor pad, obviously, old comfortable furniture without a decorative pillow in sight, video game controllers on the end tables and an empty beer bottle next to the remote. The rug is soft though and there are thankfully no Patriots posters on the wall, only two framed diplomas by the front door, both from the Berk Police Department. One is three years old and says ‘Snotlout G. Jorgenson’ in crisp black ink on thick white paper and the other was folded at some point and is starting to yellow around the edges, the name ‘Stoick Haddock’ handwritten in careful cursive script.

The frame of the older diploma is dusty and Astrid tucks her hand back into Hiccup’s sweatshirt sleeve to clean it off, and as soon as she does, it reflects the heavy deadbolt on the old door behind her turning. If months of living at a bona fide murder site honed her reflexes, last night’s uneven sleep dulled them because she freezes, holding her breath and watching the reflection of the door slowly swing open.

A single footfall heavier than any Hiccup would be capable of producing crosses the threshold and her heart sinks as she turns to face whatever she’s being dragged into next.

“Can you take any longer to open a door?” Snotlout’s improbable voice cuts through the sudden silence and he stumbles into the living room.

“The plan was for me to sweep the place,” Eretson follows him, teeth clipping the consonants as frustration pours around the dulled corners.

“Sweep the place? It’s my apartment, what are you expecting to find?” Snotlout throws his arm up and looks around for evidence that Eretson’s concern is unnecessary, but his eyes land solidly on Astrid.

He raises an eyebrow and she jumps, coming back to life all at once and dropping her glass of water on the way to yank down the hem of Hiccup’s sweatshirt.

Eretson doesn’t flinch at the sound so much as he condenses, pulling his gun from the holster on his hip and cocking it with a cold steely click. Then he sees what, or who, he’s aiming at and his grip goes slack, barrel of the gun pointing towards the slowly spreading puddle on the floor as his jaw works soundlessly, eyes wide.

“Good morning,” Snotlout says, slow blooming grin spreading across his pasty, stubbled face as he takes in her bedhead. She almost wishes his eyes would dip lower because if he were being pointedly creepy, she’d have a reason to yell and maybe regain her grip on the situation, but instead she’s wedged under the weight of his obviously amused observation.

“Why aren’t you in the hospital?” The question comes out shrill and she jumps back from the water starting to pool between her toes. The sweatshirt is far too small for current company and she yanks it down again, fisting the fabric beside her thigh and holding it there. Eretson is still frozen, wrist slack and eyes wide and she snaps. “Never mind, I don’t care, can you put the gun away?”

“Apologies.” Eretson directs his startled gaze to the floor and stands up straight, thankfully re-holstering his weapon.

Well, thankfully until the lack of weaponry renders the situation impossibly more awkward.

And cold. Drafty even.

“And shut the door!” Astrid orders, even though she has no authority, and Eretson looks at Snotlout for corroboration.

“Just got shot,” Snotlout looks pointedly at his arm and Eretson sighs, bright red as he resigns himself to shutting and locking the door, clearly weighing the consequences of being on the other side and wishing his lot in life were different.

Something truly awful must lurk outside the door for Eretson to choose to be in this living room right now and Astrid wishes she knew what it was so that she could make her own educated decision.

“Good morning,” Snotlout repeats and Astrid glares, holding the fabric tight around her thighs.

“We already did that.” She steps sideways out of the puddle, daring either of the men in front of her to say something about her state of dress. For once in her life, it’s a fight she wishes she hadn’t picked because everything in Snotlout’s slight grin says ‘good game, Champ’.

“Where’s Hiccup?” Snotlout asks, looking around for another target to embarrass.

“He went to get breakfast.” Astrid does her best to frame the sentence as an insult but Snotlout is unfazed. No, unfazed would be better, he’s a delighted audience.

“That’s my boy.” He’s more than delighted, he’s disconcertingly, disruptively proud and Astrid wishes she could hitch a ride on Eretson’s shoulders as he attempts to sink into the floor.

Her clothes are in Hiccup’s office, where they were enthusiastically abandoned the night before, which she can’t think about with Hiccup’s nearly mortally wounded cousin grinning at her like a proud coach.

They aren’t even her clothes, they’re Tuffnut’s clothes.

She wishes she could ask Hiccup where he is, but of course, no phone. Eretson is so absolutely mortally embarrassed that she half thinks she could ask to borrow his phone to call Hiccup, but she doesn’t have his number memorized. Snotlout probably does, but asking him probably involves details requested in the name of ‘bro’.

“I’m going to go get dressed,” she announces, trying for something official and feeling like an inadequate cat herder.

It’s impossible to set her shoulders and stalk to Hiccup’s office while keeping her ass covered, but she tries anyway, eyes locked dead ahead to give her periphery a chance to reorient. Snotlout follows, lurking in the doorway as she confronts the mess on the office floor.

Or no, not mess. Her clothes and Hiccup’s towel.

Snotlout whistles under his breath.

“Damn, on the desk by all his special books?” He laughs, “that’s like nerdy hot, I’d give you a wedgie if I thought you were wearing underwear.”

“Oh my god!” Astrid snaps, “if I didn’t think you’d bleed out, I’d—“

“Those are your clothes, from the hospital, does that mean Hiccup was in the towel?”

“Snotlout,” she hisses his name, “why the hell aren’t you in the hospital?”

“I’m proud of you two, really.” He nods, more encouraging coach than the creepy opportunist she knows how to deal with. She half expects him to clap her on the ass and tell her ‘good game’. “At the rate you were going, I thought you had another year of hand holding before anything happened. But then you fu—“

“Can you give me a minute?” She grits her teeth and he nods, hand held up in half surrender as he backs into the living room and shuts the door.

She takes a minute to breathe, leaning back against the desk and pressing her knuckles to her eyelids until she sees static.

“Where’s your mop?” Eretson asks, voice muffled through the door.

“What? My floor isn’t clean enough for you? Sorry, I was pretty busy being shot and almost dying, I should have mopped first though, I guess.”

“Just trying to make myself useful.”

She gets dressed with both eyes locked on the door, even though it seems like Snotlout is more likely to interrupt to congratulate her than to catch a glimpse of something he shouldn’t. She briefly thinks that she might not be cut out to be his ‘bro’ if this is the kind of involvement she can expect, but that’s not a train of thought she has time to catch right now, so she pushes it aside.

Last night felt like she and Hiccup were potentially the only two people in the world, or at least the only two that mattered. The only two she had to think about. But now it feels like the rest of humanity is butting its way back into her mind by way of one recently shot idiot and chasing any dregs of that peaceful feeling away.

When she opens the door, Snotlout is sitting on the couch, pouring over his phone. Eretson is lurking by the front door with one shoe on, obviously debating over taking the other off. Astrid’s shoes are next to the couch, vaguely under Snotlout’s legs, approximately where she abandoned them the day before as Hiccup left to shower.

She clears her throat and he doesn’t look up. Eretson doesn’t look away from his mismatched feet.

Snotlout doesn’t look good, that’s the obvious place to start. His face is nearly gray under patchy hospital stay stubble and the circles under his eyes look like bruises. She doesn’t know much about almost bleeding to death, but she’d assume a person should sleep more and move less afterwards and it looks like he’s been doing the exact opposite. He’s wearing sweatpants and a suit jacket that’s so oversized that its sleeve is cuffed above his wrist and his other arm is hidden inside of it, presumably in a sling or something to restrict him from ripping his stitches.

“What are you wearing?” She frowns, trying to place the jacket. It’s familiar somehow but she’s not used to it looking so absurd.

“When is it my turn to ask the questions?” He grumbles and she sighs.

“I don’t think I’m going to answer any of your questions,” she raises her eyebrows at his suit jacket, “and I didn’t realize harassing me required business casual.”

“Shit,” he looks down like he’s only now realizing his outfit might be out of the norm, “I fucking told you I was going to forget to give your fucking jacket back, this is not my fault.” He points a shaky, accusatory finger at Eretson who flushes over an absolutely stoic expression, rolling his sleeves up his forearms.

“You can keep it,” Eretson says, looking somehow larger and also more uncouth without his suit jacket as he decides to put his discarded shoe back on, apparently not planning on staying.

“Who said I want it? It’s itchy as hell,” Snotlout huffs, settling further into the couch and making no move to take the jacket off. “Oh, maybe I’ll need it when I have to sit on someone’s shoulders to pretend to be as freakishly tall as you are.”

“Or for when stripping doesn’t work out and you decide to become a flasher,” Astrid offers, folding Hiccup’s sweatshirt over her arm and pacing slowly, glancing at the door and wondering where Hiccup is. The handle of Eretson’s gun glints darkly and she pauses, turning her glare on him, “and why’d you point a gun at me? What could you possibly have been sweeping the place for, actually?”

“Grisly,” he says dumbly, a kid caught dually red handed next to a broken cookie jar.

“Why would Grisly be here?” She knows the broadest form of the answer even if the specifics are hazy.

Grisly would be here to do awful, nefarious things, and she swallows hard, waiting to be proven right.

“Because he shot Jorgenson.” Eretson squares his shoulders, bracing for an argument even as Astrid’s knees threaten to bobble.

She wishes she were shocked, then she could claim credibility instead of facing the fact that she half believed what Grisly was capable of just because Hiccup said it.

“He remembered?” She nods quietly to herself and Eretson relaxes, glad to not have to convince her.

“He is right here,” Snotlout grumbles, “and he didn’t have to because the idiot informed me that he came to the hospital to ‘finish me off’.” He rolls his eyes like he didn’t just tell her that someone connected with the police tried to kill him twice, “like he learned English from shitty mob movies or something. If Ruffnut hadn’t shown up when she did—”

“Oh my God,” Astrid cradles her head in her hands, staring at the floor and thinking of the day before, staring silent at a closed bathroom door and coaching Ruffnut through trying to do the right thing. If she’d stayed on the phone a second longer or if Ruffnut had turned around in the lobby like she’d threatened, Snotlout would be dead. Hiccup would hate her for making him leave the hospital.

Hiccup would be planning a funeral in his office instead of trying to get breakfast.

Hiccup.

“Where’s Grisly now?” She asks, dread creeping up her spine.

“Have you heard anything strange?” Eretson asks, back in detective mode, and Astrid shakes her head.

“No, but I can’t say I was listening for Grisly.”

“Yeah, you were too busy banging Hiccup on his desk.” Snotlout snorts, still not creepy. Still alive even though someone wanted the opposite. Thrilled to embarrass her, definitely, and so disconcertingly unconcerned with his own mortality that she feels coerced to protect him.

But Hiccup is out there alone, and if there’s even a chance he was right about Grisly, she doesn’t know how she’ll ever forgive herself for not going with him.

“Hiccup—he didn’t have any proof,” Astrid’s brain fills in ‘at the time’ as her eyes flick to the clock yet again. “But umm, he has a hunch that Grisly was connected to…what we talked about the other night. All of it, I mean.”

Eretson’s phone rings and Astrid jumps at the sound, wishing she’d been clearer or that she hadn’t talked at all. She won’t know which until he picks up and the way he’s looking at the caller ID makes her wary.

“This better be important.” He says, curt and responsible, and Astrid wants to snatch the phone away from him and put it on speaker. “A development? Explain to me how there can be a development on my case when I’m not working it.”

Astrid used to be the queen of ‘this better be important.’

For a while, in her teens, it seemed like a magic phrase. A filter that made people rethink before they added their petty issues to her already overfull plate. It felt like one of the only things she could say to make people hear her, to think twice about how many actually important things she must be dealing with to deny their request. And maybe it made her feel important too, to place herself in a position to rate other people’s problems on a scale she got to set.

Then she learned what it’s like when people rightfully push past it.

Important never means good. Important is never better.

“Who is it?” Snotlout asks, tensing on the couch until Astrid offers him a silent hand to help him up. He’s heavy in an amorphous, exhausted way that scares her, like all his weight has shifted to the wrong ends of his bones.

Eretson’s face falls under the weight of the importance he’s about to communicate, his eyes flicking between Astrid’s expression in limbo and Snotlout’s growing frustration, “when? No, take him to my office—it’s still my bloody case—that’s your job then, Johnson—Well, I’m on my way in now, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

He hangs up, exhaling one sharp breath and not so much puffing out his chest as making the most of the space he knows he takes up. It’s comforting, like a doctor trained to deliver bad news, and Astrid glares at him, willing him to spit out whatever it is so that she can shoulder her part of it.

People who hoard information inevitably drown in it and thinking of Hiccup’s books in the next room makes it hard to breathe.

“Is everything ok?” Astrid asks the general question, hoping against hope that it’ll keep the specific at bay. “Is Hiccup ok?” She tries the words on for size along with the lump of heavy concern in her chest that she can’t quite remember deciding to take on.

She did, of course, a long time ago.

It was there in the hospital when Hiccup looked at her for stability while his world spun out of control. It was there when he was too frazzled to function, when he needed to see the city for what it is and not what he wants it to be. It grew from a little seed of trust planted when she followed him into an alley, unsure of what she’d find but willing to take the risk.

Then, it didn’t feel like a risk at all.

“Grisly brought Hiccup down to the station on murder charges,” he says simply, and again, Astrid wishes she were surprised.

For months, she’s been reminding herself that if anything had gone differently, she could have ended up like that poor woman who trusted the wrong man in a dark alley, but because of Hiccup, that reality wasn’t ever really on the table for her. This one was.

“Murder charges.” It’s not a question, it’s another unfortunate sentence to try on, feeling out the edges of yet another situation happening to her without her input. “Who died?” Astrid asks because she doesn’t know what else to do. At this point, she doesn’t expect an answer, but the question was doing nothing useful overflowing inside her head.

It’s not doing anything useful in the open either. It flops on the floor like it’s dead itself and she starts planning for the worst, just in case.

“And all those morons just believe him?” Snotlout huffs, trying to inflate himself but leaking out of a painful, obvious hole.

“Says he caught him in the act.” Eretson looks like he’s lost many races training to win this one and the enemy is pulling ahead in the final sprint. “I’m heading in, it sounds like Grisly has my boss half-convinced to hand the case over to the NWF.”

“Those idiots couldn’t find the big bad wolf if he blew their house down or, I don’t know, shot another cop!” Snotlout gestures at his shoulder, “and yeah, I just called them pigs, indirectly, but I meant it.”

“Which is why I’m going to go deal with this,” Eretson crosses the room and almost gingerly helps Snotlout out of the suit jacket, sliding it back on like it’s bulletproof and he thinks he’s going to need it. Underneath, Snotlout is wearing a scrub shirt with a thankfully dry blotch of red-brown blood on the shoulder above a square of thick gauze taped to the wound. “Get that shoulder re-bandaged at least.”

“No! I’m just going to bleed out on the floor to spite you, specifically.” Snotlout does his best to take the sweatshirt Astrid’s holding but his face goes even paler when he yanks. “I’m coming with you.”

“Jorgenson,” Eretson’s tone would be patient if it were wrapping around any other word, but now it’s ill fitting, chafing at the seams.

“Hiccup didn’t kill anyone, you know he didn’t, I know he didn’t, and I don’t give a shit what that creepy fucker says—”

“He already tried to kill you once, don’t be stupid enough to give him another chance.”

“He already proved his aim sucks once, you mean,” Snotlout is giving up the fight though, clammy sweat blooming across his forehead as he leans back against the arm of the chair, catching his breath. “Oh fuck off, you don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“You shouldn’t stay here,” Eretson checks his jacket pockets and pulls out a Ziploc bag with a handful of white pills in it and hands it to Snotlout who takes it, reluctantly grateful. “Either of you.”

“Oh we can’t stay here? You can’t kick me out of my own place, it doesn’t work like that,” Snotlout swallows one of the pills dry and winces as it sticks in his throat. It must be dry, like Astrid’s, like her automatic functions are on pause, waiting for permission to start working again. “And last time I checked, you still aren’t my commanding officer, so I’ll do whatever the fuck I want,” he says so that no one can say he didn’t.

“He can’t be anywhere on file,” Eretson tells Astrid, obviously done with the pointless argument, and she stands up straighter, glad for even the suggestion of something useful she can do. “Grisly might check there, especially now that he confessed his intentions, Snotlout is a liability.”

“I’ve always been a liability, thanks.” Snotlout rolls his eyes and Eretson’s jaw flexes at the comment. “Maybe we should go stay with Ruffnut, Grisly was scared of her for some reason.”

“No, the twins were suspects too, they gave information at the station,” Astrid thinks, tapping her finger on her chin and trying not to think about Hiccup’s developing penchant for touching her there. “Wait! I’ve got somewhere. Fishlegs didn’t give you his home address, did he?”

“No, would he have a record of any kind?”

“Absolutely not.” The first relief Astrid’s felt all day sweeps away just enough frantic anxiety to make room for dread, and Astrid doesn’t know any antidote for that but action. “Should I come to the station with you?”

“And leave me out?” Snotlout starts trying to stand up again but Eretson responds before he can put too much effort into it.

“You should stay out of it for now.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that?” The idea of backing off, of having less power in this already powerless situation, makes her want to scream. “He was with me last night, there’s no reason I couldn’t go down to the station and say so. I’ve been his alibi before, I am his alibi now. Someone has to listen that Grisly is behind this.”

“Last time you were his alibi, you ended up looking guilty by association,” Eretson reminds her.

“But—”

“And I got suspended and then shot,” Snotlout adds, forever helpful.

“Ok, but—”

“You need an alibi,” Eretson rubs his chin, “there’s no way Grisly won’t ask about you, you’ve been involved from the beginning.”

“She was with me,” Snotlout shrugs one shoulder, deflating a little against the chair, “no alibi like a cop alibi, right?”

“But I wasn’t.” Astrid is surprised to sound panicked, like even saying last night didn’t happen could take it from her somehow. Like lying could take the feeling that Hiccup’s apartment inexplicably feels like home away. That hasn’t faded, if anything it’s stronger, like being surrounded by his space is keeping her sane through the latest insane moment.

“That’s not bad,” Eretson halfway compliments, checking for his gun one more time, “that gives you a reason to leave the hospital too.”

“But I wasn’t with you last night,” Astrid shakes her head, “especially as a ‘reason for you to leave the hospital’ four days after you were shot—"

“Yeah, you were,” Snotlout starts texting someone, “it was super hot, I’ll tell people it was hot.”

“No, you won’t.” She tries to take his phone and he winces when he tries to hold it out of her reach.

“Too late,” he grins, “already told Ruffnut.”

“She won’t believe you!”

“She doesn’t have to, she just has to lie, and she’ll know that since she helped me sign out of the hospital.” He looks seriously at her, “the last thing Hiccup needs is you looking like an accomplice again and linking whatever Grisly says he caught him doing back to three other murders.”

“Never thought I’d say this,” Eretson clears his throat and looks purposefully at Snotlout, “but you’re right. Get somewhere safe, I’ll call when I can.”

“Ok, but before you go can you tell me I’m right again?” Snotlout asks as Eretson opens the door, “and maybe add in that I’m tall and muscular, because flattery is the best medicine.”

“You mean laughter,” Eretson deadpans, expression chiseled in stone as he shuts the door and leaves them in silence.

Astrid steps forward and locks it, trying to weigh whether she feels overwhelmed or entirely disconnected from everything that just happened. Maybe it’s both and that’s worse, and she lets out a breath that feels shaky but sounds slow.

“I’ll be right back,” Snotlout announces before disappearing to the bathroom, the sink turning on as soon as he shuts the door.

She lets herself think, for a second, what the morning would have been like if Hiccup hadn’t left. No less awkward with Eretson showing up here, of course. Then again, Eretson didn’t see Hiccup at the hospital, chances are seeing Snotlout out of it would have reactivated his Mother Hen Protocol and he would have been out of bed fussing, nudity be damned.

Snotlout would probably be furious at Hiccup acting like the wrong ratio of “sexy” and “nurse” while he wanted to be invasively congratulatory. Eretson might have actually combusted from awkwardness.

Grisly wouldn’t have been able to frame him. Or Grisly would have come here next, after wherever he found Hiccup. There’s too many variables missing, the tight setup she familiarized herself with in Eretson’s office sprouting roots and propagating itself into any number of possible outcomes.

The sink is still running in the bathroom and she can hear Snotlout splashing occasionally so she decides that the chances of him bleeding out in there are low, at least until she hears him hit the floor. The utter helplessness of being without her phone or the ability to search for anything on the internet gets the best of her and she grabs the remote off of the coffee table, turning on the TV and fiddling with inputs until she finds cable. Patriots re-runs, of course, and she mutes it before Snotlout can come out and decide it’s time for another of their great bonding marathons.

Like last night, apparently, which she can’t think about without thinking about Hiccup. Hiccup warm and safe, no part of him too far away for her to touch, their bedhead tangled together.

No, that won’t help anything. Getting somewhere safe might help Snotlout, but she doesn’t have Fishlegs’s number memorized or any way to call him. He must be working this morning though, since she isn’t.

If a few missed shifts get between her and safe harbor, she doesn’t know what she’ll do.

She’s looking for the news when she comes across a local channel, pausing when she recognizes Heather in an interview close up on a repeat of some Sunday night in-depth expose on the Grimborn murders.

“…course there’s something really compelling about looking at history through a modern lens, and I’m glad to see this unfortunate string of events connect people to the city’s past,” she says pleasantly while the camera pans up to show the Ripped Tavern’s pre-renovation grimy walls and a rack of Grimborn tee-shirts.

“I understand that the Berk PD has hired you as a Grimborn Expert to consult on the ongoing case?” A reporter that Astrid vaguely recognizes asks and Heather can’t seem to help but look a little smug.

Astrid’s thumb hovers over the channel button, her jaw twitching when she thinks about how happy Hiccup is to teach and learn and how imperious he isn’t, and she’s glad enough to have a distraction deflecting worry for frustration that she doesn’t change it.

“…really discuss that, given that the case is ongoing,” Heather continues with an almost flirtatious grin, like she’s getting a real kick out of keeping secrets only because she knows she’ll get to reveal them later, “but I think at this point in the investigation, the connection is inevitable. Obviously, whoever is committing these murders has not only a big Grimborn knowledge base but also a personal connection that they find motivating, for some reason.”

She thinks of Hiccup, motivated by seeing the city as something capable of surviving trauma and her stomach turns with the contrast to where he is right now.

“Given advances in modern forensics and the assumption that this ongoing string of murders will be solved, what do you think the chances are that it will provide insight into the original Grimborn murders?”

“The chances?” Heather snorts, “I can’t say anything about the chances, but whoever’s doing this really knows their stuff. I’m half tempted to visit their eventual cell and run a few of my pet theories by them.”

The bathroom door opens and Snotlout steps out, a fresh square of white gauze taped to his shoulder as he dries his face with the scrub shirt, pausing on the way to his closed bedroom door to frown at the TV, “Heather?”

“She’s talking about being hired to help with the case.”

“You can’t watch something normal for five minutes while I get change?” He mumbles on the way into his room, struggling with the knob for a second before getting it open and disappearing inside. “Nerd.”

“…paper recently mentioned the Admiral Haddock theory, do you think there’s any present connection to the Haddocks?”

Astrid didn’t know there was more than one. She didn’t know it was a family with a legacy aside from Hiccup and the freshly dusted diploma on the wall. It’s another link of the chain that Hiccup is somehow in the middle of as the noose tightens and she swallows hard, trying to focus on Heather’s words.

If a news channel is showing this as a rerun, that means there can’t be any news.

Except there’s so much that can’t be reported yet, and it’s not the first time recently she’s wished she knew less about the system that has her lying about whereabouts she’d never take back. She wishes she weren’t confronted with this reality, where Hiccup is in trouble and she has to contemplate what her life would look like without him in it.

“That theory is a joke,” Heather’s laugh is a little sharper, willing to lash out at the idea of feeling unheard, “it was the…the flat earth conspiracy of the day.”

“Can you explain what you mean by that?”

“It was…sensationalist and sensationalist on purpose, there’s no way that the Admiral could have had anything to gain from the murders.”

“So, you think whoever is committing the murders now has something to gain from it?” The reporter asks with a little too much interest and Heather is obviously reminded of something by an ear piece she’s not good at hiding.

“I really can’t discuss the current case.”

“Well, the bleeding stopped at some point,” Snotlout comes back out of his bedroom in a baggy black tee shirt that’s stretched at the neck like he struggled getting into it. The color makes him look paler and she almost advises him to change, but if Fishlegs is mad at her for missing work, a little pity might be on their side.

She thinks about asking Snotlout to use his phone to call a cab, like it’s nineteen ninety eight and people get their information from the news, but there are enough holes in this plan already that it shouldn’t matter if they get an Uber to the archives. The driver looks at Snotlout like Astrid is trying to use the first dregs of a zombie apocalypse to her advantage and she attempts to distract them with small talk, wondering how Ruffnut gets drivers to wait outside with a shovel.

It has been the longest few months of her life, and every city block dilates further. It feels like it takes hours to locate the service elevator down to the archives, but all of the lost time recondenses when she’s standing in front of Fishlegs’s desk, a half-dead Snotlout leaning on her shoulder and no miraculous news from Eretson propping her up.

She clears her throat, trying to remember if she’s ever missed a shift of another job and of course, coming up dry, “Hey, Fish.”

“Astrid?” He looks up, taking his one headphone out and jumping to his feet, “where have you been? I must have sent a hundred texts—”

“Sorry, I don’t have my phone, I know I missed…I don’t know how many shifts I missed but that’s not like me, I promise it’s not.”

“Seems like you’ve been doing a lot that’s ‘not like you’ since you started here.” Fishlegs crosses his arms just long enough for Astrid to freeze up. He looks mad, sure, but worried too and she holds out a placating hand.

“I can explain.”

“No, sorry,” he deflates, patting her shoulder apologetically and seemingly noticing Snotlout for the first time, eyes widening. “I was just so worried, with hearing how it went with the detective and knowing that I told him about Hiccup and the copier and—”

“It’s ok,” she cuts him off, shifting from foot to foot and debating whether she should offer Snotlout a chair or not. If she does, she’s half worried he won’t get back to his feet again, and he’s heavier than he looks, even after the blood loss. “I should explain, before I ask this favor, actually.”

“No, you don’t need to explain,” Snotlout insists, holding out his hand. His left hand, because his right is hanging lame at his side, “Snotlout.”

“Fishlegs.” He frowns at Astrid, “is it drugs?”

“See? He won’t help you if you explain. Do you want some?” Snotlout takes the bag out of his sweatpants pocket and holds it up. “Because if that’s what it takes—”

“Put those away,” Astrid hisses, helping Snotlout sit down in her office chair, “it’s not drugs, it’s—well, he has drugs because he just got shot, but—well, I need your help.”

“Back up, he just got shot?” Fishlegs sits on the edge of his desk, “who is he, again?”

“I just told you, I’m Snotlout.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“He’s a cop,” Astrid tries and Snotlout shushes her.

“Don’t lead with that, a lot of people don’t like cops—”

“We think Hiccup’s getting framed for murder, and we need to lay low, is your spare room still available?” She asks simply and Fishlegs narrows his eyes in his standard ‘more information required’ thinking face.

She tells him everything. Snotlout interjects with details she didn’t know, some of them he must have learned last night when he was evidently helping Eretson with the case. Fishlegs doesn’t ask much, and by the time she gets to this morning, her voice catching over describing how they learned that Grisly has Hiccup at the station for questioning, his frown is set in to the point that she worries she misjudged.

She was forced to trust Snotlout and Eretson and even Hiccup, in a way, if she didn’t want to go through all the hassle of making a formal harassment complaint. From the beginning, she chose to trust Fishlegs and if he throws that back on her now, she’s worried it would snap something tenuous deep inside her. An instinct that could be strong if it just has time to grow.

“Let me summarize. Instead of just taking me up on my offer to stay in my spare room before your apartment became the newest target of a Grimborn copycat serial killer,” Fishlegs pauses to swallow, “who you think is in league with the police, you got even more entrenched in the mystery, and now you’re asking me to essentially harbor two possible fugitives, one of whom was shot four days ago and might still have the well-connected murderer after him.”

Astrid squares her shoulders, “Yes. Please.” One please is just polite, but two is begging and she pauses, hoping she won’t have to and hating that she would.

“I’ll do it,” he nods, “I was just making sure I’m not biting off more than I can chew.”

“You must have a gigantic mouth, dude—”

“Thank you,” Astrid throws her arms around Fishlegs shoulders, effectively cutting Snotlout’s surely very complimentary statement off. “Seriously, thank you.”

“Hey, you’re welcome, no one would come up with a lie that elaborate for missing two shifts,” he pats her shoulder and she sighs, finally able to take an actual deep breath now that someone is sharing at least some of the weight on her shoulders.

“You haven’t met Hiccup,” Snotlout snickers and Fishlegs looks like he’s going to join in on the joke until he catches Astrid’s fallen expression and stops himself.

“I think I need a drink if I’m going to do this,” Fishlegs looks around at the stacks, the dust layers on the books separating stories that ended when they ended and those still growing with everyone who still picks them up. “I’ve never harbored fugitives before, but I think I can justify closing the archives for a day to learn the ropes.”

“That…sounds like the best plan I haven’t pulled out of my ass today,” Astrid laughs but gestures to the clock on the wall, “it is seven in the morning though.”

“Oh!” Snotlout perks up slightly, “I bet I know a place within our budget that’s probably open.”

#ripped #hiccstrid #modern au #serial killer tour guide au #coplout #lemon #for like a second but i don't know how the new rules work #fishlegs showing up at word 6200 and stealing the show #love him

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vfdbaudelairefile13 · 5 years ago

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Misery Loves Company Part 2:

Meet Esmé Squalor:

The city's sixth most important financial advisor, powerhouse fashionista, and fixated on revenge coke addict. Esmé takes no time showing the orphans that she is just as scary and dangerous as Olaf and sometimes they think she is the worst of the two. Esmé has one thing on her mind and that is her precious sugar bowl which she vows she will steal back or she will burn the entirety of VFD down trying.

Esmé has no problem with any of the vicious acts that Olaf suggests. She is down for just about anything he has in mind. Murder? Yes. Very in. Kidnapping? Yes. Completely In. Arson? Yes. The innest thing since aqueous martinis. And making sure a young child is never able to sleep peacefully again? In her words that 'deliciously in'. The children have a new villain to watch out for and believe it or not...shes more unstable than Olaf.

《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》《》

[Trigger warning: subtle and not so subtle hints at Esme and Olafs hideous and devious intentions with teenaged orphans. Please read with caution]

Olaf was driving like an absolute psychopath as he raced from the burning hospital to the rundown carnival in the hinterland. He was angry. He felt defeated. Not only did those three blasted orphans escape his clutches AGAIN, now apparently someone had survived one of the fires...which one? He did not know. But that bastard, Jacques Snicket, seemed so sure of it when Olaf was watching that video. *stupid fucking VFD and their stupid fucking members escaping their well deserved deaths!* he thought as he growled as loud as he could. And to make matters worse while he was driving this way all he could think about was the woman who broke his heart so many years ago and so many times since then because he was driving just like her.

"YOU IDIOTS LET MY PRETTY LITTLE PET RUN AWAY!" He yelled hitting his fists as hard as he could on the steering wheel.

"Well technically boss..." the bald man spoke up. "She didn't *run away* the bookworm rolled her away on a gurney,"

Olaf growled again. "Oh. How I *cannot* wait to obliterate *that* brat! Oh, he thinks I've been brutal before, he hasnt the faintest fucking idea! And if you dont shut your mouth YOU WILL FEEL MY WRATH AS WELL!" Olaf yelled.

Now everyone in the car shifted a little, even Esmé who was unamused at the whole situation but kind of fearing for her life as he drove like a unpredictable madman. But...when I say that everyone in the car shifted a little...I mean *everyone* and even the three secret passengers in the trunk shifted a little especially Klaus Baudelaire who started to shake.

"Klaus...Klaus...you're fine," Violet whispered desperately reaching around for his hand. Once she found it she squeezed his hand tightly trying to keep him in reality with her and Sunny.

"We shouldnt have gotten in this trunk," Klaus whispered back. "He is going to kill Sunny and I...and..." he stopped talking when he looked towards Violet, who frowned. Both older orphans knew what Olaf would do to Violet if given the chance. Hell, both older orphans knew what Esme wanted to do with Klaus if given the chance. They both feared that even Sunny, by now, Had a faint idea of what Olaf was talking about. "Why did....you *make me*... get in his trunk," klaus cried as he began to sob. Sunny turned her head towards her brother.

"Shhhh," Sunny pleaded. "Quiet," she reminded Klaus.

"We're going to die..." he whispered fearfully.

Violet frowned as she held klaus' hand tighter and grabbed Sunnys hand with her free hand. "I got you guys," she whispered. "I'll always protect you,"

"We know," sunny whispered back.

"Can you believe there is a SURVIVOR!?" Olaf shouted and then he screamed in pure anger. "Just when Ithought I was winning! I framed them for my MURDER for fucks sake! I HAD that pretty little brat!" He screamed angrily.

Violet shuddered and Sunny put a comforting hand in hers.

Esme scoffed and rolled her eyes when he mentioned Violet being 'pretty' again. He turned to her. "THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"

"HOW THE FUCK IS THIS *MY* FAULT!?" She asked angrily. "It was YOUR idea to use the girl as bait!"

"But you let the Baudelaires take the Snicket bitch right out the operating theater!"

"YOU SET THE HOSPITAL ON FIRE! I GOT THE FUCK OUT OF THERE!" she yelled. "He was standing right next to YOU. Why didnt ypu do anything!"

"HE WAS HOLDING THE LARGE KNIFE YOU GAVE TO HIM!" Olaf yelled back. "The plan was to use the girl as BAIT! NOT have him actually kill her! She is our key to BOTH fortunes!"

Esme gave a wicked smirk. "Oh...that was the plan? I must've forgot,"

"You pathetic jealous bitch!" He yelled.

"Oh *Im* pathetic? You've lost to these children for MONTHS now!"

"YOUVE LOST TO THEM TOO!"

"If I was in charge of this entire thing, those two girls would be dead and the boy would be our little prisoner," Esme replied wickedly smiling.

This made Klaus shiver and Sunny put her free hand in his the same way she had for Violet.

"You wouldnt have the SNICKET fortune if you killed the Snicket bitch you dumb bitch!"

Esme smiled wickedly at Olaf again. "I dont need Lemony's fortune...hell, unlike *you* I dont need Beatrice's fortune either," she laughed. "No what *I* want is to make *Beatrice's little mommy's boy suffer* " Esme tapped her long nails against her window. "Of course I also want back what's *mine*!"

Olaf rolled his eyes. "*So do I*!" He screamed. "But NOW one or two of them might not be inheritors of ANYTHING! SINCE THERES A FUCKING SURVIVOR!"

"Darling...youre honestly looking at *that* all wrong. I think this is good news," Esme replied

Olaf responded by pushing his foot harder on the pedal.

"How is that a GOOD THING!?" hr asked.

"Well...think about it. Whoever it is. We will get to kill," esme pointed out. "I personally hope its Beatrice. I'd love to kill that sugar bowl snatching bitch...ooooh and we could make her children watch!"

"Or we can torture her children in front of her," Olaf pointed out smiling.

"Who do you think the survivor is boss?" The hook handed man asked.

"I dont know. If its Bertrand...well that's the least exciting option. But Esme's right...if its Beatrice, torturing her or her precious son and daughter would be fun."

"What about Snicket?" The henchperson of indeterminate gender asked.

Olaf pushed hard on the brakes causing everyone to ram forward a bit. His car came to a screeching halt. Violet, who had the misfortune of getting into the trunk first was squished harshly against the end of the trunk as Klaus tried to shift himself away from violet to give her room. Violet had let go of Klaus' hand in attempt to shield Sunny from hitting anything. Olaf turned around to face his henchperson. "I doubt that its Snicket...but...if it is...let's just say when I find his pretty pipsqueak daughter...I will make him watch as I *destroy* her entirely and then I will make her watch as I murder her father agonizingly slow and then I'll murder that stupid fucking bookworm and biting brat in front of her too," he hissed causing Violet to start shaking.

He took a deep breath and began driving again. Esme huffed in annoyance as the hook handed man did his best to hide a disgusted face.

Klaus looked to Vi. "Speaking of that...did he...?"

Violet wiped a few tears from her eyes. "I dont know...while I was conscious, no. Esme kept barging in before he could do more than touch my face or leg. But... when I was unconscious...I dont know. Wouldnt I know? Like...wouldnt I feel different?" She whispered as she began to sob quietly.

Klaus sighed. He didnt know the answer to that. He just gave Violet a small smile. "Yes, I think you would feel different. So if you feel the same then he didnt," he lied as he shifted his arm under her head to give her head some support. He had no way of knowing...and he feared that Violet would never get a true answer.

Violet nestled closer to Klaus and Sunny as she shivered form the cold mountain air that seeked in through the bullet holes of Olafs trunk. Klaus and Sunny could hear her whimpers and shivers. Klaus tried his best to take off his suit jacket from where he laid but he couldnt. Sunny shifted to lay more on Violet to act as a blanket for her. "Violet..." klaus whispered.

"Yeah," she replied back in a hushed tone as she wiped a few tears from her eyes.

"I just wanna say this... if I ever find out that he *did* hurt you or if he ever *does* hurt you like *that*...or if he continues to try to hurt you like *that* **I'll castrate him myself...**" klaus whispered. Violet looked towards her brother and even in the cold, dark trunk of their worst nightmare's car, she could see the dark look in his eyes.

"Klaus...you dont..."

"Oh you're right," he replied. "I'll hold him down and let you do it if youd rather.."

Violet gave a small chuckle to that.

"Darling! I've been thinking about what you said back in crow town,"

"What did I say back in crow town?" Olaf asked confused as he continued to drive like a psycho.

"Well... you said that the boy was much more fun to torture than either one of the girls...and *you're right!*" Esme recalled. "So why dont we just keep him,"

Olaf growled. "Wr are keeping the Snicket bitch! That little tease has another thing coming..."

"We are keeping the boy..." esme demanded in a tone that made Klaus shudder.

"Why dont we just keep who we catch first?" The hook handed man replied. "Besides when we left the hospital the brats were stuck in a utility closet...I doubt they all made it out,"

Olaf snickered at this. "It would be nice if one or two of them burned to a crisp...just like their parents," he began smiling and laughing.

"Well, except the survivor," the henchperson of indeterminate gender replied.

This sent Olaf into another screaming and raging fit.

Esme rubbed her temples. "I just want my sugar bowl...that's it...that's all. I'm down with murder, kidnapping, and making it to where little children cant have another peaceful night of sleep but I AM NOT DOWN WITH THE YELLING AND THE INSANE DRIVING!!!!"

"Fuck off...we are almost to Caligari Carnival. Then we can ask Madame Lulu where to find that little Snicket tease and the two other ugly brats," Olaf replied.

Esme rolled her eyes. *I will kill that fucking brat. Hes not touching any girl related to that bitch Katherine* she thought as she continued to rub her temples.

Esme was not someone who was used to someone telling her that she cant have her way. She was too rich, beautiful, and powerful for *that* bullshit but as she sat in the passenger seat of Olaf's car she was beginning to think that shed have to take matters into her own hands if she was going to get what she wanted. Olaf seemed determined to have the Snicket brat as a captive...and Esme would rather have the infant than the Snicket girl.

"Do we have any wine? I'm parched and I heard wine is very in this time of year,"

"We have some in the trunk. I would be happy to get it if we stopped," the hook handed man replied.

The three children froze. Violet put her arm around Sunny tightly as Klaus put his arm around Violet to hold her and Sunny, who laid on top of Violet hoping to keep her warm, put a loving hand on Violet and her other on Klaus. Their hearts stopped as Olaf stopped the car.

#esme squalor #count olaf #carnivorous carnival #madame lulu #olivia caliban #violet snicket au #violet snicket #violet baudelaire #klaus baudelaire #sunny baudelaire #lemony snicket #misery loves company #asoue #asoue au #the snicket file #sugar bowl

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quinzelade · 5 years ago

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Making One’s Bones (chpt 13)

Chapter List

Porter Gage is in a pickle. Nuka-World needed a new boss and some woman just killed her way to the top. But a pre-war Mafia boss on the theme park's throne? Well...at least she'll have experience.

Hello, everyone! Welcome to my newest fanfic! While this is technically a ‘sequel’ of By No Constraint, you don’t need to read BNC to read this. It can be read as standalone.

Explosive Personalities

The world was a warm, comfortable haze of black. Sarah shifted under the heavy blankets, savouring every moment before she had to open her eyes. Even her aches and pains couldn’t take away the peace she felt. Oswald must have found her. Or she’d died. That wasn’t so bad either. Her body wasn’t hurting as much anymore at least, though she couldn’t say why.

A loud clatter across the room made Sarah jump. Her eyes snapped open of their own accord, and she lay in the bed, staring up at the dingy ceiling. The panels were all loose, revealing a dark hidden world above. A sharp, hissing sizzle cut through the sound of pots and pans being moved around, and a delicious smell slowly wafted over. Her stomach rumbled. Deciding she wasn’t in any danger, Sarah sat up.

The room was bright and airy, the tops of the dead trees just visible at the bottom of the wide, broken windows. The walls were a vibrant red, with pictures of cola bottles hanging in crooked, shabby frames. Sarah glanced around to see various bits of battered old furniture, including a creepy mannequin, an old coffee table, and a yellow metal frame with wires hanging off it. Next to the bed was a wooden wall, blocking off her view of the rest of the apartment, but a big, pretty light fixture with lots of bulbs hung over the bed. Sarah admired it for a moment and then got to her feet.

As soon as she stood up, she saw him. Sitting on a sofa, just across from the bedroom nook, was the dirty one-eyed raider with the greasy mohawk and yellow-painted armour.

Gage.

He glared at her as he chewed on something, his arms folded tight across his chest, looking as if he’d love nothing better than to hit her. Sarah’s stomach tightened and she shrank back. But then the images of the other raiders beating her until she couldn’t walk flashed across her mind, and a hot fury prickled across her skin. So what if he hit her? She’d been hit before and she was still alive.

Sarah stepped out from behind the wall, folded her arms, and glared back.

Gage blinked, his expression faltering. The corners of his mouth twitched, his eye lingering on her, before he turned his head and called, “Boss? It’s awake.”

“Don’t call her an ‘it,’” snapped an oddly familiar voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. She’s awake then.”

Sarah followed Gage’s line of view and saw Mrs. Bossanova wandering over, balancing two plates on one arm and holding a cup in the other. She couldn’t say whether she was pleased to see the older ghoul, as their last meeting had been...strange. But Mrs. Bossanova was a more welcome sight than Gage by far. She set down the two plates and the cup on the coffee table, beckoning Sarah over.

Sarah obeyed, biting back a laugh as Mrs. Bossanova slapped Gage’s hand away when he reached out for the food.

“The fuck?”

Mrs. Bossanova ignored him, pushed the cup and one of the plates towards Sarah as she sat in the closest chair. “There you are, honey. Brahmin bacon and beans, and some warm milk. How are you feeling?”

Both Gage and Sarah gawked at her. Gage recovered first. “The hell are you doing?”

Mrs. Bossanova rolled her eyes and sighed. “Do you have to act like I’ve kicked a puppy every time I make breakfast?”

It was his turn to roll his eye. “Like that’s a big deal.”

“Boy, if I ever catch you kicking a—”

“What, that’s where you draw the line?”

Sarah wasn’t too sure what a puppy was, so she left them to argue and ate her beans. They were very good. Almost as good as her dad’s cooking. The fight became background noise as she slowly made her way through her meal, fear melting away the more Mrs. Bossanova snapped and snarled at Gage. Whatever he thought of Sarah, she wasn’t in any danger while the boss lady was here. As she ate, she noticed a grenade belt on the floor next to Gage’s feet.

Finally, Mrs. Bossanova turned away from him and settled herself down with the other plate, tucking in.

“Where’s mine?” Gage said, sounding wounded.

Mrs. Bossanova tilted her head and smiled. “What did I say to you the other week?” She gestured to an old, broken plate on the floor, surrounded by moldy food. “Clean up your plate and I’ll make you some more.”

His mouth fell open. He looked from the plate to Mrs. Bossanova, his face slowly turning red, and then spat, “I ain’t picking that shit up.”

“Then you can stay hungry,” Mrs. Bossanova replied primly, cutting her brahmin bacon. “Or make your own food for a change instead of scavenging. You’re a grown man.” She turned away from him and looked at Sarah. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. How are you feeling, honey?”

Sarah blinked. “Um...fine, I guess?” And she did feel fine. That was weird. “Do you know how I got better? I remember hurting a lot, but that’s it.”

“We had some stimpaks to spare.”

Gage opened and closed his mouth a few times, glowering first at Mrs. Bossanova, and then Sarah. He seemed particularly angered by her presence, though Sarah couldn’t understand why. She met his eye and stuffed as much bacon into her mouth as possible. Gage’s stomach rumbled loudly.

“God, fine.” He got to his feet, making a big show of stomping around and cleaning up, flinging the broken plate and its rotting contents out of the window. Below there was a shriek and a splash.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Bossanova said pleasantly. “I’ll just finish up, and then I’ll get started on yours. How do you like your bacon?”

“Cooked,” grumbled Gage, dropping heavily back into his chair and wiping his hands on his pants. Mrs. Bossanova didn’t rush, but ate in her own time, which made Sarah smirk behind her mug of warm milk. Eventually though the boss cleared her plate, took Sarah’s with her, and set about at the stove once again.

Sarah and Gage returned to glaring at each other. She was feeling a little braver with a full stomach, and her collar was sticking uncomfortably to her neck. Tugging at the metal band, she said, “I remember you.”

Gage’s eye trailed lazily over her, his scowl making way for an expression of supreme disinterest. He shrugged. “Can’t say I remember you.”

Sarah’s cheeks burned. “You put the collar on me.”

“I put collars on lots of people.” There was a smile on his lips now, revealing his blackened teeth. He seemed to be enjoying her mounting frustration, the twisted grin telling her he knew who she was, but was pretending otherwise.

Sarah wriggled in her seat, unable to keep still. “You’re a nasty man.”

“Yup.”

She hadn’t been as angry as this in a long time. Now she came to think about it, had she ever been this mad? Sarah clenched her fists, staring into Gage’s hateful hazel eye, barely resisting the urge to jab her finger into it. She wanted to hurt him, wanted to make him mad too. “The big raider had to hit you first though. You were scared of him. I could tell.”

Gage straightened up, red slowly creeping up his neck. But to her surprise, he nodded. “Yeah well, kid, it was obey Colter or get my head blown off." He propped his feet on the coffee table, his eye fixed on her. "I would have given you to the Disciples myself to keep ‘em happy. They'd already threatened to skin me that morning. I didn't know ya, and I still don't know ya. So I don't give a fuck about you."

Sarah’s stomach plummeted at the thought of the Disciples and their long, bloody knives. A cold shiver passed over her body, and Gage smirked. Anger and embarrassment shoved fear aside, and Sarah leaped up from her chair and jumped onto the coffee table, kicking his feet aside. She glared down at the startled raider, her hands on her hips. "You're such a—a—" she paused, glanced around the room, and then leaned forward and whispered, "an asshole."

Gage burst out laughing. Raising one finger to her forehead, he pushed her away so she staggered and fell off the coffee table with a bump. He got to his feet. “Yeah, I am. Now fuck off.”

He walked towards Mrs. Bossanova, who had apparently not heard a word of their argument, and accepted a plate of food. Sarah winced, getting to her hands and knees. As she did, her hand brushed against something heavy. She looked down and a smile spread across her face.

Gage had left his grenade belt behind.

It took Gage a whole hour to realise his belt was missing. Sarah was in the bedroom nook, giggling as she listened to him rummaging around and cursing. When she heard his banging footsteps, though, she knew it was time to hide, but before she could get under the bed, Gage came into view.

“Where the fuck is it, you little freak?”

Sarah squeaked in terror despite herself, trying to push herself out of reach, but Gage grabbed her ankle and dragged her out, throwing her down the wooden ramp so she crashed into the coffee table. He advanced, his teeth bared, his fist raised. “Tell me where it is now, or I’ll wrap your legs around your fucking head.”

“Gage!” Mrs. Bossanova came running into the room, her eyes blazing. “What the hell is going on?”

“Teaching the girl some manners.” He turned his back on her, reaching out for Sarah’s head.

Mrs. Bossanova drew her sword and put it between them, the blade close to his body as she held it steady. “Lay one hand on her and I’ll cut it off, Gage.”

Gage rounded on her, batting the blade aside carelessly and stepping towards her. “That little bitch has taken my grenade belt! I put it down for five fucking seconds and it’s gone!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t just leave things lying around.”

He spluttered at this, but Mrs. Bossanova ignored him, turning to Sarah. “Sweetie, did you take Gage’s belt?”

Sarah shook her head dolefully, pushing herself as far back into the coffee table as she could manage. Gage was turning red as a tato.

Mrs. Bossanova returned her attention to him. “There you go.”

“You’re just going to believe her?”

“What use does a ten year old have with a grenade belt, for God’s sake?” She sheathed her sword. “Although at this moment, I’m having difficulty figuring out who the child is here. If it makes you feel better, I’ll buy you a new belt in the marketplace.”

Gage looked as if he was about to explode, but finally seemed beyond words. Or maybe he just didn’t want to argue with the boss. He shot Sarah a filthy scowl and stormed from the room, slamming the door so hard one of the framed pictures fell off the wall and shattered.

Mrs. Bossanova sighed. She crouched down and touched Sarah’s cheek. “Did he hurt you?”

Sarah shook her head.

“We’re going to be out of town for a day or two. Will you be okay here on your own?”

Sarah nodded, then feeling she should say something, cleared her throat. “I’ll be fine, thank you. No one else will come in, will they?”

“No. You’ll be safe.” Bossanova smiled at her. “Want me to bring you back some cola?”

“Yes please.” Sarah licked her lips, feeling awkward. She wasn’t sure if she wanted Mrs. Bossanova to stay or not. She seemed like a nice lady, but something was...off. Oswald wouldn’t have kept someone as mean as Gage around. Pansy and Petey were much better than Gage. Maybe she would be allowed to go visit him.

Mrs. Bossanova made a move as if she was going to do something, but thought better of it. Instead, she squeezed Sarah’s shoulder and stood up. “I’ll be back soon.”

Sarah waited until Mrs. Bossanova’s footsteps died away and then crawled over to a loose floorboard, pried it up, and took out Gage’s grenade belt. She didn’t know why she stole it, or why she lied. All Sarah knew was it felt good to take something from Gage, even if she wasn’t sure of the reasons.

The belt itself was very heavy, but Sarah liked the cold metal against her thin fingers. She ran it through her hands back and forth, an odd sense of power caught in her chest. If she wanted to, she could pluck each grenade like tarberries from the vine and toss them out of the window, killing whoever lurked below. The idea made Sarah shiver—with anticipation or revulsion, she wasn’t sure.

Sarah stood up and tried to put the belt on. It wrapped twice around her tiny waist, and even then she had to add another notch with a kitchen knife to fasten it. The grenades bunched together over each other as Sarah preened, imagining herself like a raider, tough and strong. No one would ever hurt her again.

“Watch what you’re fucking doing!”

A loud clunk followed by a string of swearwords made Sarah flinch. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought Gage and Mrs. Bossanova had returned, until she heard another voice say, “Haze, be more careful. Don’t want this to explode before we’ve set it all up.”

The raiders must have snuck in below. Sarah had seen the entrance to the Fizztop Grille when Mackenzie pointed it out to her during her first few days in Nuka Town. The boss’ lair, and the last place she should ever go. Now she was here, trapped inside, raiders just beyond the door. Without Mrs. Bossanova, she was easy prey.

Sarah gasped for breath, the hated terror gripping her throat. She glanced around the room, looking for a place to hide. The bed was the obvious choice, but might be the first place they checked. She’d also be stuck there until they left again. The panic was making her sick, and she retched silently, before straightening up. The voices were drawing near.

A thought suddenly struck her and she looked up. The ceiling panels she’d seen this morning—they were still loose! But would she be able to reach them?

Sarah made her mind up in an instant. Wiping her sweat-slicked hands on her shirt, she clambered on top of the rickety bedside table against the wall and reached up, taking hold of the wood trim and pulling herself up. The holes in the wall became footholds, and despite her body’s protests, Sarah managed to drag herself up to the ceiling and out of sight. She held her breath as seconds later the door banged open and several sets of heavy footsteps entered the room.

“Not a bad setup this,” said a rough-voiced woman.

“Who cares?” There was a heavy thud of something being placed on the ground.

“Haze, how many times? Be careful or you’ll blow us up, you fucking idiot.”

“Yeah yeah,” said Haze. “When that bitch and Gage get back, the whole place will be fucked.”

Sarah poked her head out from the gap in the ceiling. Below her were five raiders—two women and three men. The women looked much meaner than the men, even though all of them wore bright clothes and body paint. The one Sarah thought might be Haze—with purple hair and a blue vest—gave a large package on the floor a little kick. “Now let’s set this baby up—”

One of the raiders—a woman with a green mohawk—punched Haze in the face.

“How—many—times? Stop—manhandling—the—bomb!” She punctuated every word with a strike until Haze submitted, raising his hands in defeat. She snorted and kicked him away. “Get out. We’ll deal with this.”

“But—”

The woman punched him again and Haze scrambled to his feet and bailed. She watched him go, sneering. “Mason won’t give him the credit for this. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“To be fair, it was his idea,” cut in the other female raider.

“Not anymore. We can handle this without him.”

Sarah ducked out of sight again. She waited a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. In the far corner she could see a sliver of light that looked like it led to the outer corridor the raiders had come in from. If she was quick and quiet—and most importantly of all—lucky, she might escape without being spotted. But the raiders were clearly trying to kill Mrs. Bossanova and Gage. Sarah didn’t much care what happened to Gage, but Mrs. Bossanova had made her breakfast. She had been nice.

Sarah shifted in her spot, glancing down as the grenades at her waist gently clinked together. An idea blossomed, unhindered by the fact she only vaguely knew how grenades worked. Sarah tugged one free with difficulty and crawled over to where the voices below were loudest. Carefully she pried away one of the panels, paused to make sure no one had heard her, and then moved to observe.

The raiders were setting up their bomb. Even if they hadn’t been talking loudly about it for the past ten minutes, she knew what a bomb looked like. The comics Wiseman had given her contained everything she needed to know about bombs and how to disarm them. All you had to do was cut a wire...except she wasn’t too sure which wire to cut. Maybe instead…? Sarah glanced at the grenade in her hand and then to the light at the far end of the crawl space. She’d have to be fast.

Sarah shuffled back closer towards her escape route, as close as she dared. Then she took a deep breath, and with some difficulty, pulled the pin from the grenade.

Terror erupted through her as she froze. What was she doing?

Sense kicked in at the last second. With a squeak, Sarah flung the grenade away from herself, watching it bounce and disappear down through the ceiling, before whipping around and scurrying away.

“Did you hear that?”

Her sweaty hands slipped as she crawled, her breath escaping in panicked pants. The exit was just within reach.

“Is that a fucking grena—?”

There was a split second where Sarah realised she hadn’t made it. The panels ceiling rumbled as a deafening noise ripped through her eardrums. She felt the heat, saw the lights, and then the floor surged from beneath her, sending her flying forward. Her head hit something hard, and she knew no more.

A/N: So, gonna be totally honest with you. I have zero motivation to keep posting these chapters.

I am going to, because they're done and NOT posting them would feel like a massive waste of the two years it took to write them.

But yeah. My motivation comes from the enjoyment of my readers. And from what I can see, very few people are enjoying this, let alone actually reading it. It doesn't help I'm in the middle of a depressive episode right now, and mustering up the energy to format these chapters on Ao3, FFnet, and tumblr when I know I'm essentially throwing my words into the void is just...eh.What's the point?

I'll be making sure this story is updated to completion. After that though, I'm going to have a long think about whether or not I'm going to bother finishing writing the sequels. It seems like a pointless exercise at the moment, and I'm too tired and too sad to keep banging my head against a wall for nothing.

#fallout #porter gage #fallout 4 #nuka world #mob #Making One's Bones

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looselucy · 6 years ago

Photo

Introduction

August 29th A week had passed since my birthday, and my neck and everything else was relatively back to normal. Louis stood at the other side of the counter, inspecting the bruising carefully, noting the markings that still remained. “Looks loads better.” He mulled.

“I know! It doesn’t hurt anymore, but I went for a check-up yesterday and they said I need to keep the brace on a little bit longer.” “Well, put it back on then!” He demanded, as I attacked it back around my neck. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, but I have to admit, I’m a little bit disappointed to be working again.” I owned a wine shop in the centre of our tiny village, and due to how small the place we lived was, Louis was the only person I needed to hire to help me run things. Rosebury was pretty idyllic, so on top of local regulars, people would visit from surrounding areas to stroll down country lanes and drink beside the river that ran through our home, shop in vintage stores and thankfully, buy rare and overpriced wine from my store. I meant that two of us were earning enough to live a pretty comfortable life, and whenever we needed some time off, all I’d have to do was print a tiny notice and stick it in the window. “Yes, I do work you to the bone.” I nodded, sipping on the cup of tea I’d just made. “I’m really run off my feet.” Louis joined the joke, shrugging and picking up his mug. “So what about those self-defence classes? Libby was telling me about them.” “Yeah, they start tonight.” I shrugged. “I’m a bit… apprehensive.” “How come?” “Not sure. Just feeling… weird, about it.” I was hesitant to admit that a part of me was still a little bit convinced that the guy running the classes was the one who had hurt me in the first place. I knew I was just being silly, really, and that it wasn’t likely, but I didn’t trust the timing of it all. I was intrigued by how the evening would play out, but I definitely wasn’t looking forward to it. “I bet it’s really good for ya.” Louis continued. “Some peace of mind. It’s good to know this stuff, too.” “I guess so.” I was hoping to benefit from the evening in some way, whether that was learning how to successfully knock a man out cold, or if I was going to come face to face with the bloke who’d hurt me and figure out how to knock a man out cold on the spot. I still wasn’t feeling fully myself since it had happened. I was perfectly fine and things had just gone on like normal, but there was something going on at the very back of my mind that I couldn’t quite shake. On top of that, things with Sam hadn’t cleared up, either. He kept turning up at my flat, and idiotically, I kept letting him in. My head was a mess. The bell sounded, and we both whipped our heads towards the front door, Niall having bounced in with so much energy, I knew he’d have a story to tell. “Afternoon, Niall.” Louis grinned. “I’VE GOT A DATE!” He threw his arms in the air dramatically, before clapping his hands together and dancing over to us. “I’ve finally got a real date and I cannot wait.” “That’s sick!” I smiled. “Who is he?” “His name’s Neil, and he’s coming over from Yorkshire… for me.” “Wow you must be such a catch.” Louis beamed vividly. “Shut your mouth, Tomlinson, I am a catch.” Being from such a small place, Niall didn’t ever have much luck when it came to men. There was an unfortunate lack of options available to him, which was a shame given how romantic he was. “Niall and Neil.” I grinned. “I hope it works out just for the name combination.” “So, I’m grabbing an early evening meal with Neil-” “Niall and Neil grab a meal.” Louis sang. “-and then I was thinking we should all go to the pub and I can update everyone, and then kill Louis.” “Sounds good.” I smiled. “Me, Chloe and Libby are going to some self-defence class, and we can meet you afterwards.” “How ya feeling?” Niall moved closer. “How ya been?” “I’m good.” I shrugged, plastering on a smile. “I’m fine.” “You sure?” “Yep. Never better.” “Are you back with Sam?” “Noooooo. No.” I shook my head, maybe with a little more animation than was needed. “We’re just…” Louis looked across to Niall with dead eyes, that were soon returned to him, the two of them judging and rolling their eyes and acting as though I couldn’t see everything they were doing. I placed my mug down on the counter and put my hands on my hips, watching them both shake their heads and tut. “Pathetic.” Niall muttered. “Alright, alright.” I walked around to the other side of the counter, ready to shove him outdoors. “If you’re not going to buy anything, piss off! You’re both the worst.” “I am going to buy something!” He cried as I pushed him. “I’m going to buy a nice bottle of wine for Neil!” “Oh shit, you can stay then.” I immediately dragged him back. “What’re you after?” “A nice red.” “Okay, let’s go.” I took him over to the section I felt was exceptionally under-priced for just how good the wine was, showing him a few of our best bottles and ones I knew would impress the elusive Neil. I was hoping all our evenings would work out for the best.

Chloe checked over her appearance in the grimy window outside the building we were waiting to leak into, surrounded by excited women all in their early forties or older, who had also decided to attend the new classes that would take place every Wednesday. We were at the back of the short queue that had gathered outdoors, Libby with her arms folded, me with my hands in my pockets, and Chloe leaning so close to her reflection to see if her mascara was still intact I thought she might stumble forward and smash the window. “M’dreading this.” I groaned. “Well, don’t!” Libby argued. “This is gunna be good for us. I’ve always wanted to know how to like… strangle someone.” “I don’t think he’ll be teaching us how to strangle people.” Chloe groaned, leaning back and turning to us. “I think it’ll be more technical than that.” “Or it’s just another creep who wants an excuse to be around women, just like the last guy was.” I added. We heard the faint sound of a door opening, and almost instantly, the line began to shuffle forward, the women ahead of us all bickering excitedly between themselves. I suppose this was as interesting as a Wednesday night got in Rosebury. “Well let’s go find out.” Libby beamed. We followed slowly, through the thin door and then up a slim and creaky set of stairs that went to the second floor of the old building where the sessions were taking place. Everything was dusty and old and perfectly in-keeping with the old buildings that surrounded the one we’d found ourselves in. But all of that changed when we actually walked into the gym. It was clearly all brand new, and it was obvious that this guy had sunk some money into creating the perfect environment for his lessons. The light laminate floors bounced beneath our feet, one wall covered entirely in mirrors, and the wall at the far end of the room opposite the reflection had numerous punching bags hanging from the ceiling. It was clean and professional and it felt like a totally different place to the corridor that was just mere feet away. We walked cautiously into the room, people finding their spots across the floor, and I kept my eyes on the boy at the front, waiting to see his face. He was down on the ground, crouching in front of a set of speakers and flicking through his phone, silent as we all gathered ourselves. The three of us found a spot, pretty central, and I watched him the whole time, eager for him to turn around so I could finally have an answer to the question that had been burning at my mind. I knew the second he turned around that it wasn’t the man who had stolen from me and bruised my throat a week prior, but he still managed to completely take me by surprise. He was tall, almost obnoxiously handsome, his short hair held back by a tattered bandana and his frame so broad I felt my breath hit the back of my throat with a force I hadn’t been expecting. The guy who’d ran the previous sessions was much older than us, but this new guy must have been around our age. I’d half been expecting yet another weird middle-aged man to be running the sessions, but this boy certainly wasn’t like that. He smiled softly as he looked around the room, clearly just about to introduce himself and present what was going to happen, until he spotted me, and his smile dropped. “You alright?” He directed specifically to me. “Huh?” “Your neck.” “Oh! Yeah… I… Yeah, I’m fine.” He gaged me a little further, licking over his lips with thin eyes, before ticking his head back and signalling for me to step towards him. I moved from my spot, cautiously approaching him. “Uh, can everyone just do a few basic warm ups?” He addressed the room as I closed the gap between us. “Anything from star-jumps to lunges will be fine, just get yourself ready.” I was with him in seconds, my hands gripped down at my side and my nerves rising by the second. I stopped ahead of him, and being so close meant that I was completely unable to ignore just how gorgeous he was. He had bright green eyes, lightly tanned skin and the beginning shreds of facial hair that looked soft and was clearly an adorable attempt to grow both a beard and a moustache. I felt like I couldn’t take my eyes off him, no matter how nervous I became beneath his tender gaze. “What’s ya name?” He asked quietly. “Alfie.” “Alfie, this first one is gunna be mainly exercise work and it’s gunna put some stress on your body that I’m not sure you’re quite ready for yet.” “Honestly, it’s fine!” I tried. “I don’t wanna risk it.” He shrugged. “I’m happy for you to stay and watch, and I won’t charge! But I’d feel much more comfortable if you sat this one out. That okay?” To say I’d been dreading going ever since Libby told me about the classes, I felt weirdly disappointed that I wasn’t going to take part. Maybe it was just because I finally knew that the guy running them wasn’t who I thought he might have been, or maybe it was because he was so enchanting that I immediately wanted to learn from him. I wanted to listen to him speak and hear what he had to say and experience the lesson he had planned fully. I sighed, nodding slightly. “That’s fine. I’m still gunna pay though.” “You don’t have to.” “No, I want to. My neck is fine though!” “The brace says different.” He grinned. “Sit yourself down, relax, okay? You seem tense.” I nodded, mumbling a quiet thank you before I scuttled off to the side of the room and plonked myself down with my back against the wall, the girls shooting me looks before I pointed at the neck brace, and then they seemed to quickly catch onto why I was having to take the first lesson from the side-lines. Once I was settled, he stepped forward once again, whistling to grab the rooms attention and bring the rather poor attempts at warming up to a standstill. “Uh… Hi, I’m Harry, and thank you all for coming to my first class.” He began, his soft exterior seeming to vanish the more he spoke, and how he was now choosing to hold himself. “I appreciate you all being here, but there are some things I need to make clear before I start things up.” He began walking around the room, weaving between women who all kept their eyes on him at all times, gazing at him almost wistfully as he sauntered around the room, and he owned every single one of us in those moments. With minimal effort and barely any words shared, we were all his, entirely. “I don’t provide average lessons. I don’t work by a formula. I don’t tell you what you should expect and what you should fear. I want to work as a team, with all of you, and figure out the threats you feel and face in your day to day life and build these classes around you. Your wants and your needs.” I wondered briefly, if that was what he did. We knew he was new to Rosebury, and I wondered if he spent his life moving from one place to the next and holding these sessions in different environments, different places and maybe even different countries, holding classes that were exclusively catered for the people who were there attending them, and the location in which they lived. I wondered if he’d just come from a city, somewhere where the threats must have been much higher than what we all experienced in our lives. I wondered if that was how he worked, and that we would be his team until we all felt his work was done, and then he’d pack up and leave and take his sessions to a new group of women and work with them, and work to their needs. “I want you to tell me what you want, and no matter what it is, I will do my best to teach you the skill you’re after.” He continued, jaw tight and eyes searching confidently across eager faces. “I don’t just teach you how to defend yourselves, I can teach you how to fight. I can teach you how to kill, if that’s what you want. So if any of you aren’t comfortable with that, you should leave now.” There was a slight grumbling that echoed around the room for just a few moments, but everyone stayed put, even though I spotted one woman, Betty, who I knew was around 70 who definitely looked a little hesitant, but she stood her ground and stomached it. Harry moved back to the front of the room, eyeing up literally everyone there one by one, his hands behind his back. I gave myself a moment to admire his broad frame. The tight t-shirt he had on gave everyone a clear view of the toned body beneath it, the dark cloth clinging to his abs. He had an abundance of tattoos running up his left arm, a few scattered across his right, and I was already well aware that myself and the girls would end up gossiping about how gorgeous he was as soon as the session was done. “I’m going to start an exercise routine that will last exactly an hour, with no breaks.” He told us. “All you need to do it follow my lead. It’s not easy, and whenever you need to stop, please do. That’s part of what this exercise is. We’ll do the same thing, every few months, and I want you to get a little bit further in the exercise every single time. So, if and when you know you’ve reached your limit, lift your hand, and then go sit down with…” He turned to, waiting for me to announce myself, being the one and only person who was already sitting it out. “Alfie.” I grumbled nervously, telling him my name once again. “Take a seat with Alfie.” He nodded. Everyone mumbled their understanding of the setup, Harry nodding with a smile to them all before going back over to the speakers on the ground and pressing play, opening up with The Chain by Fleetwood Mac.

I had watched the entire routine, witnessed the women dropping like flies, one by one. The last woman left standing was Chloe, but even she hadn’t managed to complete the workout he had set up. There had been jogging, star-jumps, press-ups, boxing, Zumba-esque periods, and basically enough to make me tired just from watching. Chloe had done 45 minutes, meaning she’d very almost completed the entire routine, before she raised her hand and practically collapsed on the floor. Harry was at the front when that happened with a huge smile on his face, barely looking like he’d broken a sweat despite the fact he’d done the whole thing with twice as much stamina as anyone else. It was impressive and almost infuriating and the whole thing had looked so intense I was half tempted never to return there again just in the hope of not going through that workout. He wasn’t just going to teach us how to defend ourselves, he was going to work us to the damn bone, that much was clear. Once everyone had caught their breath, and after a brief scare of little Betty almost passing out, Harry had said thank you and that he hoped to see us all again the following week, and we made our way out of there. I waited behind a little, shuffling awkwardly on my feet as everyone spilled out of the room, wanting to just catch our new tutor on his own for a moment. As soon as the door clicked into place and it was just the two of us, I spoke, taking his attention away from his phone. “That was great, by the way.” He whipped his head up to me. “Oh.” He seemed baffled. “Thanks.” “I just wanted to say… I’m fine. It’s just some bruising, so… next week, no matter what hideous workout you have planned, because that looked painful,” He sniggered. “I’d like to join in.” “Um… It’s kinda my responsibility to look after you when you’re in the room, so-” “Tell that to Betty! You almost killed her!” He laughed again, his brows lowering but keeping his eyes on me. “Yeah, and that was a scary fucking time for me!” He cried. “I’ll be the judge of it next week.” “Fine.” I rolled my eyes. “Is that why you’re here?” “Huh?” “What happened to your neck. Is that why you’re here?” It was clear that Harry had been doing those classes for a while, even though that was his first class in Rosebury. He seemed too comfortable and too sure of himself for it to be his first lesson. I wondered how many injuries he had seen in his time. I wondered how many frightened women he had come across who had experienced much worse than me and gone to him seeking guidance and strength. I looked to the floor momentarily, feeling low. “Yeah.” I grumbled. “Some… guy- Yeah. Yeah, that’s why I’m here.” “Are you alright?” “I’m fine. And… everyone knows everyone’s business here, so I think that’s why there were so many people here today. It only happened last week, and I think everyone’s feeling a bit… on edge. So, you’re welcome for the packed-out room.” I tried to joke. He didn’t seem amused, taking a few small steps in my direction. “M'gunna try and make you feel safe again, okay?” He spoke so directly, so solemnly, that the humour I’d been using as a guise disappeared, and instead tears filled my eyes and I nodded, because that was exactly what I wanted. “Thank you.” I mumbled, backing away from him. “I’ll see you next week.” He didn’t say another word as I walked out of the room, he just watched me go, gathering myself quite quickly so by the time I was out on the hall it didn’t look as though I’d just been crying, just in time for the door to shut and for Chloe to punch my arm with quite some strength. “OW!” I cried. “What was that for?” “Did you ask him to come to the pub tonight?” She put her hands on her hips, eyes wide. “What? No. Why would I do that?” “Chloe thinks he may be her future husband.” Libby sighed, eyes in the back of her head. “We need to befriend him!” Chloe continued, looking genuinely annoyed that I hadn’t already been miraculously aware that I should have invited him to the pub that evening. “He’s new in town, he’s probably lonely, he looks our age, and yes, maybe I have already started planning the wedding, what of it?” “Well then you go ask him!” I befuddled. “You should go, you’ve already chatted to him.” “Chloe-” “Nope, go on!” Libby grabbed hold of the handle as Chloe started pushing me back inside. “Off you pop!” “Are you losing your fucking mind?” I stumbled. “Be nice!” I practically fell back into the gym and the door was slammed behind me as I found my balance and spun around so I was facing him, immediately noting the look on his face, somewhere between confusion and horror. “Hi!” I blurted. “Y’alright?” “Sorry, yeah, we were just wondering if… maybe you wanted to come to the pub tonight?” He didn’t say anything, he just looked more confused. “Um, like I said, everyone knows everyone’s business here, so we know you’re new and you’ve come here on your own. I think?” “Yup. Just me.” “Well, there’s a group of us, I think we’re around your age, and we’re all pretty decent people. So… I dunno, if you’re looking to make friends, we’re gunna be in The Tin Mouse at like nine tonight. Sorry, I know this is weird.” “Nah, it’s not weird.” He shook his head. “That’s really nice, I’d love to come.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” He nodded. “It’s… a scary thing, moving somewhere new and kinda… trying to build a life. I really appreciate the offer.” “Okay, good! Well, we’ll see you later then.” I swiftly began my exit. “Hold the door, I’m leaving now anyway.” I scuttled off towards the exit, opening up and stepping out into the hall, being grilled within a second. “IS HE COMING?” “Shh, woman!” I hissed at Chloe, jolting my head back in his direction as I held the door for him. Thankfully, she caught on quite quickly, all three of us watching him swing his rucksack over his shoulder and follow me out into the hall, a puzzled smile perking his lips. “Y’alright, girls?” He greeted. Libby giggled like a child whilst Chloe just stared at him with her mouth agape, and all I could think was how he was probably praying it wouldn’t just be us three at the pub that night because they were acting so bloody weird. I couldn’t believe that it was me of all people who was managing to keep my calm and not drool at the bloody sight of him. He locked up behind himself as we all trailed back down the corridor and down the stairs leading us outdoors in complete silence, feeling sort of awkward because it was clear the girls were ready to burst and quiz me and find out what he’d said in the very brief time I’d been in that room. Once we were outside, the three of us gathered as Harry locked the second door, sort of lingering for some reason, like we were waiting for him, which probably made him feel even more awkward. “So… I’ll see you in a couple of hours then.” He smiled. “Yeah, see you soon!” I returned, the girls still just bloody staring at him. He gave us a friendly grin before turning his back to us and turning the street corner, the three of us watching him like hawks and almost collapsing when we saw him jumping onto the back of a motorbike, attaching nothing but a glittery helmet to his head and then revving up and taking off, zooming down the previously quiet country road. All stood in a row, we watched him go, and I swear he was already the most interesting thing that had happened to our tiny village in a long time, despite recent events. “My vagina is literally tingling.” Chloe exhaled.

#time to meet the man himself #lets gooooooo #can't wait to hear your thoughts #HBS3 #1DFF

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douxreviews · 6 years ago

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American Gods - ‘Moon Shadow’ Review

"Fear is order. Fear is control. Fear is safety."

Season two of American Gods wraps up. It was... a little confusing. The episode, not the season. Well, actually also the season.

Much like 'Donar the Great' a few episodes back, 'Moon Shadow' had a lot in it that felt very Fuller-esque. So again, I ask myself how much of the planning for this was already underway before his exit from the show. Quite possibly none, and it's just the result of a DP or one of the designers having a similar artistic taste, but it seems to carry across all the elements of design, from sound to shot composition to the visuals.

Take, for example, a moment that I've seen now in a couple of places questioned as, 'What the hell was that about?' I refer of course to the gorgeously framed close up shot of the snails on the side of the burial vault. Fun side-fact, I had to look up what exactly those above ground stone things that Shadow was lying on were called and was informed that they were very common for Egyptian Pharaohs. Nice detail work there, set designer or whoever made the decision to have them in Jaquel and Ibis' cemetery.

Now, the contrasting image of Shadow sleeping on top of the Vault, then waking to find Laura sleeping on the adjacent one is a very nice, if not overly subtle, 'in life we are in death' visual. Particularly given the characters involved. But then they up their game and open the morning shots with that close up of the snails clinging to the side of the stone monument. This is a great shot for a few reasons, but it's there for a very Fuller reason. It's a stark visual of gross, complicated, uncomfortable life clinging on in the face of cold, unalterable death. It's the same message as Shadow lying on the thing put in a much more confrontational way.

But I appear to be waffling in the little details instead of looking at the big picture, so let's look at that big picture.

There are a few ways to wrap up a season finale, but two of the most popular are either by building to a spectacular reveal of something that changes our entire understanding of what we've seen before, or arriving at a climactic plot development. Both of these can either be something completely out of left field or the final realization of something that's been slow burning for a long time and is finally paying off.

Wednesday's reveal as Odin in season one's finale would be one of those slow burn examples of the former. Easter's decision to join Wednesday and unleash her power starting the war was the slow burn example of the latter.

This finale kind of attempts both, and while there's a lot I like in this one, neither of those threads feel like a complete success. Perhaps looking at the two of them individually will help me parse out how I feel about this episode, because, honestly, seven or so paragraphs in and I'm still not 100% certain that I know.

So, clearly the big reveal here is that Shadow is Wednesday's son and has some sort of powers. This is, to be fair, a huge reveal. But the problem is that they've sort of half revealed it at least three or four times this year, and so the net result is not unlike when your sassiest friends comes out of the closet to you and your first reaction is 'Oh, did we not already know that? I thought we were already clear on that.'

Side note: that's not a helpful thing to say to the friend in question, should the occasion arise.

Since almost the beginning of the series fandom has been more or less convinced that Shadow is Odin's son Baldr. Or Baldur, or Balder. Old Norse didn't have a strong written component outside of a limited set of runes, and the written forms we understand of it today were almost entirely imposed on it later. Thank you for indulging me with sharing that. Orthography is one of my favorite things. Orthography and assembling flatpack furniture.

Ahem. Fandom has long believed that Shadow is going to turn out to be Baldr. That's a nice, big reveal to end the season on, but by the time we get to Wednesday openly confirming it at the end of this episode we've already heard him talking to young Shadow in flashback while Shadow's mom is dying and been nearly beaten over the head with the implication of Shadow's paternity during the discussion of his presumably half-brother Donar.

On the other hand, we have the plot development of Mr. World officially commencing what we might call the counterattack in the war by using the newly resurrected New Technical Boy to facilitate New Media in calling the entire world down on Shadow, Wednesday, and for some reason, Salim. It was clever of them to publicly use not just the bank robbery in Chicago, but also the massacre of the cops back in 'Lemon Scented You' and the alleged 'chemical attack' in Kentucky which was of course really Easter's taking back the spring. That all gave it a nice sense of all the multiple plot threads coming together organically, and was tied together well by New Media finally speaking to Shadow in the same way old Media did. That's the first time she's really felt like a continuation of the same character for me, and I'm down with New Media now.

That's all great. But it's tied in, in fact it's the entire impetus for, Shadow's big character transformation in which he learns to use what powers he has. Specifically, he seems to alter reality by reaching into his own memories to clear the police and SWAT units from the funeral home's vicinity. From what we hear over the news, he didn't change things so much that the cops aren't still looking for them specifically, but did make them 'un-know' where specifically they were hiding.

The problem is that I think more than a couple people will have read that last sentence and thought to themselves, 'Huh. so that's what was happening,' and therein lies the episode's real problem. I think the blame really can be laid to Yggdrasil in this case. Having Shadow dragged into the tree, on top of all the flashbacks and intercuts between dream and reality so that he can metaphorically and literally hatchet his way into the god-space, is just an overly complicated and muddy way to visualize that. And that muddiness really hurt the reveal that they were trying to make the big exclamation mark at the end of the season. Instead of coming away thinking, 'Wow, I can't believe what just happened!' the viewer leaves thinking, 'What the hell just happened?' and that's not a great note on which to end a season.

No Yggdrasil! Bad Tree! Put the nice man down!

Quotes:

New Technical Boy: "Hello, old friend."

Laura: "I am not my mistakes, Shadow."

Burial Vault Inscription: "She hath done what she could." That is just an incredibly depressing final memorial.

Mr. Xie: "Science is the closest we come to wrestling god." New Technical Boy: "Why would you want to…?"

Laura: "Planning on kissing me again? Cause I’ve had kind of a day." Bilquis: "My kisses have been known to improve a day."

Laura: "You don’t like him either." Bilquis: "Is that what your intuition tells you?" Laura: "No, I just know an I’d-like-to-punch-that guy-in-the-mouth-look when I see one."

Salim: "Sorry, I’ve never purchased liquor before. It’s for a friend. He’s a leprechaun. He died." Cashier: "OK."

Bilquis: "I’m a great believer in frankly assessing one’s situation."

Salim: "I don’t know what we are going to be, but I want you to know that I don’t regret any of it. You have taught me how to love."

Jinn: "You know me. Eyes of fire, shit for brains."

Bits and Pieces:

-- I suspect that Nancy and Ibis' conversation over the chess game is going to reward re-watching after all is said and done and the whole story is told.

-- I still don't entirely understand whose side Bilquis is on or what her goals are. She's certainly all right with Laura killing Wednesday and actually seems to consider the offer to join her. No Ruby Goodchild this week.

-- The first ten minutes with Mr. World and the 1938 War of the Worlds broadcast is hands down my favorite thing this show has ever done. A beautiful exploration of the interrelationship between fear, belief, and objective reality. Crispin Glover was born specifically to deliver that monologue.

-- I've come to realize that the most useful way to watch this series is to assume that whatever happens was the outcome wanted by someone, and then work backwards as to who would want that outcome and why. That also works for Agatha Christie books, by the way.

-- I liked the old Technical Boy better. He had much more personality. And while I get that they were going for fiber optics with the new costume, it ends up coming across as Green Lantern. Was that a Michael Green nod?

-- The echo of the opening War of the Worlds monologue sprinkled throughout New Media's on-air rant was very effective at bringing everything together. Nicely scripted.

-- I love the wall-size bas reliefs of Bruce Langley's head on the walls of Xietech. I need them in my home.

-- The NRA logo on the opening film card leading into a discussion of how creating fear allows you to control people was an inspired touch.

-- Here's hoping that Laura's running away with Mad Sweeney's body means that we haven't seen the last of him. Even though they're both dead, I'm still 'shipping them super hard.

-- The Jinn chose to protect Salim by taking him away, even though it means facing consequences for disobeying Wednesday. That's very touching. I assume we'll learn in season three why the Jinn is bound to Wednesday. I very much hope it doesn't involve rubbing a lamp.

-- It's very in character that Wednesday's entire role this week was 'Go out for dinner and watch the pieces fall into place.'

-- It's strange that they went out of their way to remind us in the pre-credit sequence that Sweeney had sent the spear into the Hoard, and never got around to addressing that this week. Setup for next year I suppose.

A mostly enjoyable season finale with some very high highs and some very low lows, which sums up season two in a nutshell. Still, any series that gives me this episode and 'Donar the Great' in a single season deserves to go on for many, many years.

Two and a half out of three graveyard snails.

P.S. please bring Chris Obi back next season.

Mikey Heinrich is, among other things, a freelance writer, volunteer firefighter, and roughly 78% water.

#American Gods #Shadow Moon #Mr Wednesday #Laura Moon #Neil Gaiman #American Gods Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

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princesstreaclefanfic · 6 years ago

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Chapter Three

19 pages, 6,967 words - enjoy!

Disclaimer - All recognisable characters belong to their original owners. I do not make a profit from writing this; I simply do it for my own amusement. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Three

Black’s

“When are you going to tell her?” Jake asked as she put a few glasses away under the bar.

Emmett shrugged, “I don’t know. I’ll have to tell her soon, she’s going to find out.”

“She’s going to go apeshit, you do realise that?” Emmett nodded. He was not looking forward to it, and judging by the fire he was beginning to feel in his veins, she had just found out.

It was only mere minutes later when Emmett heard her truck pull up outside, her door open, her sneakers land on the ground and the slam of the door as she stomped her way into the bar

Jake simply raised his eyebrow at Emmett and left the bar, claiming he had to go to his office.

Emmett braced himself.

“You brought my fucking house?!” Rose screamed the second she walked into the bar and saw him there. “Why the hell would you do that?” her cheeks were tinged with red and there were wisps of her blonde hair framing her face. Emmett thought she looked glorious. “Do you think that this means you own me or something?”

Emmett hadn’t said anything yet. He was waiting for her to finish ranting at him before he explained himself.

“I really thought we were getting along, but clearly you’ve decided to go back to being an asshole!” Rose pressed her hands into his chest and shoved as hard as she could. Emmett didn’t move.

After a few seconds of quiet, Emmett crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you finished?”

Rose’s nostrils flared.

“I bought the house because I know how much it means to you, I know that you love that place and how bad you feeling that you had to sell it. Now you have the money to find Bella and you don’t have to leave. You can stay there as long as you want.”

“What - and be indebted to you? I don’t think so.”

“You don’t owe me anything Rose. I paid for that house fair and square.”

“I’m not going to live there mooching off you!” Rose exclaimed. She was angry - angry that she had found out once she had signed the papers who was buying the house; Emmett had used a ‘representative’. But a part of her realised how silly she was being, how nice the gesture actually was.

“Where will you live then? Rent out some crappy little apartment infested with rats? Spend every day wondering if Bella has come back to the house looking for you? I’m offering you a ticket to live in your home, without having to worry about anything Rose. Don’t be so stubborn - accept it!”

Rose was taken aback by Emmett’s outburst. Over the last few months, they had cultivated a friendship. Emmett had been there for her when they scoured the woods looking for Bella; he’d put her in contact with several different PI’s to try and find her, and he’d even gone with her to the morgue one night when they needed her to identify a body (thankfully it wasn’t Bella). Emmett had seen her collapse with tears and exhaustion when she was convinced she would never find her, he’d seen her angrily turn on customers in Black’s who had assumed that Edward had killed Bella. He’d seen her at her strongest and at her weakest. And he’d never left her side.

“I won’t live there rent-free,” she told him quietly, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I don’t want your money, Rosie.”

The blonde shook her head. “I’ve always paid my way Emmett, I’m not stopping now.”

The vampire nodded begrudgingly, “Very well, we’ll set up a rental agreement”. 50c seemed like a reasonable price to charge her.

“Thank-you, Emmett,” Rose mumbled after a few seconds before tears welled up in her eyes. Emmett had her wrapped up in his arms in a matter of seconds. Now she had stopped being angry, she was actually relieved that she didn’t have to leave her home. She hadn’t wanted to sell the house; it was where she had grown up - but Rose didn’t think she had a choice. Emmett had just given her one.

Rose wrapped her arms back around Emmett and held him tightly as she buried her head into his chest and allowed herself to relax.

“I’m so tired,” she whispered. Everything had been taken its toll on her. Getting the house ready for selling, looking for Bella and pulling more shifts at Black’s so she could afford everything.

Before Rose realised what had happened, Emmett had placed a hand under her knees, swept her up into his arms and ran outside. Without a second thought, he jumped into the air and began to fly Rose back to her home.

“Emmett!” Rose squeaked as she clutched at his neck and hid her face back into his chest.

Emmett chuckled. “Don’t be afraid, take in the view Rosie.”

It took Rose a few seconds and she cautiously pulled her face away from his chest and peered at the town underneath them.

“Woah,” she whispered. It was stunning. The lights from the houses were twinkling below and the trees were green and lush. “I never realised Forks was so beautiful.”

Emmett glanced down at her. She was the real beauty.

The rest of the ‘flight’ was quiet, with Rose taking everything in as Emmett flew them steadily back to her home… or ‘their’ home as it was now.

He landed gently on the ground, placing Rose next to him and making sure she was steady before he let her go. She turned and blushed as she smoothed out her shift and pushed her hair back from her face.

“Thanks. Do you want to come in?”

Emmett risked a smirk. “Technically it’s my house now Rose, I don’t need your permission to come in ever again.”

Rose rolled her eyes and walked up the porch steps, stopping to wait for Emmett as he chuckled quietly behind her.

They both entered the house and Rose flicked the light on, breathing in a sigh of relief when she again realised that she didn’t have to leave.

“I think I’m going to redecorate,” Emmett mused, his eyes surveying the house. There was nothing wrong with the way it was decorated, it just needed a little updating and a fresh coat of paint… and some new flooring… and some new appliances.

Rose turned around to face Emmett. “You can’t redecorate Bella’s room - or Grandpa’s. They have to stay the way they are!” Emmett could see, hear and feel the panic that encompassed Rose as she thought about changes being made to those rooms.

“I won’t,” Emmett reassured her, seeing her body visibly relax. “I won’t do anything to their rooms; I’ll just have someone come in and clean them, keep them fresh. For when Bella comes home.” Emmett was one of the few people who believed Rose when she said she didn’t think Bella was dead. Edward, Jake, Nessie, Carlisle, Jasper and Esme believed Rose, but everyone else in the time seemed to think she was. They thought Rose was holding on to false hope. They thought she was being naive and stupid. They gave her pity.

Rose smiled as she realised just how grateful she was to him. “I’m going to take a shower.”

Emmett resisted the urge to ask if she needed someone to wash her back.

When Rose emerged from her ensuite fifteen minutes later, Emmett was sat on her bed looking around the room.

“What are you doing?” Rose asked as she pulled the towel tighter around herself.

“I’m working out what I can fit in here… I’m thinking we up your bed to a super king size, add a jacuzzi bath to the bathroom (if it’ll fit), add a mirror above your bed and a tantric sex chair.”

Rose was speechless. Emmett grinned boldly at her.

“What?” Rose finally asked, her brain running at a mile a minute.

“Just because I’ve brought your house Rose doesn’t mean I won’t stop trying to get into your bed.”

Rose was silent before a blush covered her cheeks and her body heated up. “You’re such a dick!” Emmett just laughed.

***

Forks

Esme sighed as she gently bounced Ethan up and down. He was teething and struggling. She’d given him some medication, tried the herbal remedy Maude had suggested and even gave him a teething ring she had placed in the freezer, but nothing seemed to be working. She desperately wanted him to calm down, not only because she hated knowing he was in pain and uncomfortable, but because she also had to do some grocery shopping and she knew Ethan was in no mood to sit in a shopping cart whilst she browsed the aisles.

Ethan had been awake most of the night and had slowly been growing more crabby as the day went on. He’d woken up grumpy and hadn’t wanted to go to Maude’s, and when she picked him up he was very unhappy. He hadn’t napped, hadn’t eaten much and had been very clingy.

“I know baby, I know,” she gently told him as she rocked him and held him tighter. Ethan whimpered and clutched at her shirt.

There was a knock at the door and Esme walked over and opened it, surprised to see Carlisle stood there, wearing a nice sweater, jeans and smart shoes and holding a bouquet of pink and white flowers.

Carlisle smiled at Esme before frowning when he heard Ethan whimpering and saw him cradled against his mother's chest.

Then Esme remembered.

“We were meant to have a date tonight!” she felt awful. Esme had completely forgotten. Ethan had kept her awake last night and she had been worried about him all day. “Carlisle, I’m so sorry.” Guilt washed over her. “Ethan’s been suffering with this teeth and I’ve just completely forgotten.”

“Esme don’t worry,” Carlisle quickly assured her. He understood that Ethan was her first priority and he would much rather she looked after him than anyone else.

Ethan began to fuss once more and Esme turned her attention from Carlisle to the other man in her life.

“Hush my sweet boy,” Esme gently told Ethan, adjusting him so he was sat up in her arms.

“What’s going on little man?” Carlisle asked as he placed a cool finger against Ethan’s cheek and gently stroked the hot, red skin.

Ethan leaned into his cool touch and for the first time since last night, he seemed to relax. He then reached out his hands and made fists towards Carlisle.

“Up,” he mumbled, wriggling away from his mother.

“Swap you,” Esme teased as Carlisle took Ethan from her and then handed her the bouquet of flowers. Esme smiled and raised the bouquet to her nose, inhaling deeply as Carlisle stepped inside, shutting the door behind him.

As Carlisle gently held Ethan and used his cooling finger to soothe the pain, Esme unwrapped the flowers and put them into a vase.

“These are beautiful, Carlisle,” she placed them in the middle of the dining room table.

“Has he been suffering long?”

Always a doctor, Esme thought as she walked over to them.

“Since last night - nothing seems to be helping,” Esme gently stroked Ethan’s arm and he turned to face her, his eyes watery.

“Unfortunately, there’s not much you can do.”

Esme knew this already but it was nice to hear it from a medical professional.

“I am so sorry I forgot about our date, Carlisle,” Esme told him once more.

“Don’t worry about,” Carlisle really didn’t mind. “I was only going to suggest we take a walk through the park. Nothing special.”

Esme disagreed; spending time with Carlisle was always special.

“What were your plans for tonight - other than standing me up that is?” Carlisle ended with a wink so she knew he was only jesting.

Esme gently elbowed him. “I need to go grocery shopping, but I don’t want Ethan to be too miserable.” she studied her son for a few seconds. “You’ve calmed him down.”

“Why don’t we all go shopping?” Carlisle suggested, amused by Esme’s eyebrow-raising.

“When was the last time you went food shopping?”

“A long time ago - and even then, it was just to have a look at the store.”

“Alright,” Esme conceded. “Let me just grab his diaper bag and my purse and we can go.”

“Ready when you are,” Carlisle responded as Esme stood and went to get the different bags. Ethan was leant against Carlisle’s chest and he enjoyed the weight of the small boy. As a human, Carlisle never had any children (that he knew of), and so didn’t have much practical experience. Ethan was teaching him a lot. Like his inane ability to need his mother at the most inopportune moments (such as when they were making out).

Esme returned a few moments later, the diaper bag over one shoulder and her phone and purse in her hand. She smiled at Carlisle and together they headed out to her car. Carlisle had recently bought himself a new BMW Series 6, but it was easier to take Esme’s car as Ethan’s car seat was already fitted (and even though Carlisle was quite an old vampire, the idea of fitting a car seat into his car was daunting - he’d head the stories).

Carlisle opened the boot for Esme and the gently placed Ethan in his car seat. He made sure he was fastened, handed him a truck to play with and then opened Esme’s door for her before getting around and into the passenger side.

The drive wasn’t too long and Esme and Carlisle spoke about their days (or nights in Carlisle’s case). Esme told him how work was going at Black’s, Jake hadn’t hired another waitress since Bella had gone missing, Rose had protested before Jake even had a chance to voice the idea (she’d heard it in his mind). That meant that during the day it was just Esme, Rosalie and Victoria, although Victoria didn’t do much work so it was just Esme and Rosalie. Nessie helped out with the night's shifts as much as she could, but it was still pretty hectic. Jake was thinking about hiring a busboy to try and take some of the pressure of the girls… and technically he wouldn’t be a waitress.

Carlisle told Esme how his work at the hospital was going. He was working in the ER; one of his favourite places to work, the other being surgery. There was a young man who had come in the other night have cut his arm on a glass pane (he had been drunk and tried to jump through it). He and Carlisle got talking as Carlisle stitched him up and it came out that Carlisle was a vampire, at which point, the young man had mentioned how it was ‘cool’ and asked if Carlisle had wanted a sip… the vampire had refused of course.

When they got to the store, Esme had climbed out and gotten Ethan out of his car seat as Carlisle grabbed the diaper bag out the boot and slung it over his shoulder. Placing his hand on the small of her back, they walked towards the store.

Carlisle found them a shopping cart to use and Esme attempted to put Ethan in it, but he didn’t want to play ball. After almost having a meltdown, Esme conceded and held him as Carlisle pushed the cart and put the things in that Esme wanted. This worked well until about halfway around the store, Ethan decided he wanted to be held by Carlisle. A quick swap and everything was alright once more.

Thankfully, Ethan had tired himself out and spent the rest of the outing fairly quiet. Once the shopping had been paid for and put in the car, the trio headed home. Ethan’s eyes were drifting closed as Esme drove and she smiled at him. Carlisle smiled seeing Esme smile.

When they got back to Esme’s house, Carlisle unpacked the shopping as Esme got Ethan ready for bed; he and Esme had been dating for long enough that he knew where everything went. She got him dressed in his onesie and gave him some medicine for his teeth. Usually, he would have a bath but he just looked so tired so she put him straight to bed, grabbing the baby monitor and taking it into the kitchen with her.

“All done?” Carlisle asked from where he was leant against the counter.

Esme nodded. “He’s in bed.” she looked at Carlisle from under her lashes. “Come here,” she demanded, smiling as Carlisle walked towards her and enveloped her in his arms. She wrapped hers around his neck and their lips met.

“I’ve missed you,” Carlisle whispered before he pressed another kiss to her mouth. Esme tightened her arms around his neck; the feeling was mutual.

Their kisses grew heated. How could they not? Carlisle resembled a God in looks.

Carlisle slid his hands under Esme’s jumper, his fingertips skimming her smooth skin. Not breaking the kiss, Esme began to walk backwards, leading Carlisle towards the bedroom as she grabbed the baby monitor and clipped it onto her jeans.

Carlisle willingly followed her. He’d been in her bedroom before, they had done some pretty heavy petting and made out like teenagers, but that was all. Something told him that that was going to change tonight.

When they got to her bedroom, Carlisle gently shut the bedroom behind him before Esme pulled him away and he fell on top of her on the bed.

They kissed for a while, soft, slow, heavy and hot. They wanted each other so much.

Esme closed her eyes when Carlisle kissed her neck, his cold lips leaving a trail of fire. He gently pulled her jumper off and unclasped her bra before making the descent and wrapping his lips around a nipple. Esme wound her fingers in his hair and help him there, trying her best to stop her hips from grinding into him.

His tongue flicked the nipple and his teeth gently pulled, moulding it into a tight tip as Esme keened and rolled her hips.

Deciding that Carlisle had too much clothing on, Esme’s hands ambled down his back until they got to the hem of his sweater and she pulled it up as far as she could. Reluctantly, Carlisle released her nipple as she pulled it over his head and her hands went straight to his jeans.

With deft fingers, she undid the button and pushed them as far down as she could. Once they were down, Esme traced the outline Carlisle’s thick erection through his boxers, her insides fluttering when Carlisle let out a groan and his head fell forward, hips dipping to meet her hand.

“You don’t play fair,” Carlisle gritted out, loving the way her hand felt so warm. He could only imagine what it would feel like to be inside her.

Esme giggled and then gasped as Carlisle flipped her over so she was on top. He pressed a hand to the back of her neck and urged her down to press a hard kiss to her lips.

As his tongue swept the inside of his mouth, his hand dipped into her jeans and into her panties. His thumb found her clit and he gently pressed it, causing Esme to pull away and gasp once more.

She let out a whine and rotated her hips to make sure that Carlisle applied pressure to the right places. Carlisle happily let Esme writhe and wriggle on top of him as her round breasts swayed in front of his face and her lips parted and she sighed.

When he felt her pleasure burning through his veins, he placed his lips upon her nipple again and wrapped his free arm around her waist to bring her harshly down on his erect cock.

Once, twice, three times was all it took before Esme flew over the edge, her juices coating her panties and his finger, her own fingers wrapped in his golden locks.

As Esme came down, Carlisle felt smug.

When Esme could feel her legs again, she shakily got to her feet and dropped her jeans, underwear and kicked her shoes off, her eyes staring hungrily at Carlisle’s pale body.

He needed no more encouragement and used supernatural speed to rid himself of his jeans, underwear and shoes before once again sitting on the bed, waiting for Esme to make the first move.

Slowly, partly because she was entranced by the sight of his naked body, and partly because she needed a minute to fully come down, she sauntered over to him and sat astride him, her lower curls pressed up against his and Carlisle wrapped his arms around her back, spreading his hands to feel as much of her skin as he could. Esme placed both arms around his neck once more and they kissed. Despite the heat in the air between them, these kisses were slower, a reassurance to one another that this was more than just sex.

As the kiss naturally ended, Esme reached between them and grasped Carlisle’s cold, hard cock in her hand. Both of their eyes looked down as Esme rubbed the glistening tip at her curls, Carlisle hissing as the coarse hairs kissed his skin.

Their eyes briefly met before Esme inserted him into her, resulting in a collective groan as Esme’s eyes fell closed and Carlisle’s head fell backwards.

Carlisle gave her a minute to adjust, checking her heartbeat and her feelings to make sure she was alright.

Esme opened her eyes and took a mental snapshot of the sight of Carlisle buried within her for the first time; it wasn’t something she wanted to forget.

Slowly, Esme began to rock on top of him, her head lolling back as his cock stroked her insides and lit a fire between her legs.

“Jesus,” Carlisle choked out and tightened his hold on her. He latched his lips onto her neck, kissing and sucking both sides as Esme picked up the pace and began to pant faster.

She felt like heaven; warm, wet and beautiful - what more did a man want?

“Oh, Carlisle,” Esme moaned as she revelled in the feeling of being in his arms

Carlisle, smiled against her skin when he heard her moan his name and carefully pulled her forward as he lay back on the bed, causing him to sink deeper into her.

“Oh!” Esme cried out, her hand clutching the sheet next to his head as her fingernails on her other hand dug into his neck.

The blonde vampire pressed a hand on her lower back and directed her movements, pushing her down on his cock, rotating his hips a few times and then peeling her back before starting again.

Esme relished the feelings as her lower stomach began to tighten. She bit back a moan and turned her face to Carlisle’s, kissing him harshly as the heat seemed to build to a crescendo.

“Carlisle!” Esme called out as her orgasm ripped through her, making her insider's quiver and her nipples tingle. The feeling rolled over her and caused her hips to lose their rhythm as she chased her high.

Feeling Esme clench around him sent Carlisle over the edge. Her inner muscles squeezed and contracted around him and when he smelled and felt her arousal, he knew he was done. He thrust hard into her, his hand on her lower back holding her hips still as his come spurted within her.

When he was done, Carlisle let out a moan and held Esme close. He’d had sex before; he was over two thousand years old and he wasn't a saint; and whilst he had had some pretty phenomenal sex, nothing compared with what just happened. With Esme, he didn’t just have a physical connection, he also had an emotional one too.

Esme lips kissed his cheek, the side of his mouth and then his lips as she propped herself up on his chest, his cock beginning to soften inside her. Her hand gently stroked his cheek as they smiled at one another.

“Will you stay the night?” she whispered.

“Of course,” he responded, pulling her down for another kiss.

They were both sated, tired, and even though it was early days, in love with each other.

***

Black’s

Since the day Jake’s pack had left him, Jake and Nessie had fallen into a routine. She would come to work in the evenings, they would chat, he would close up and they would spend the next few hours enjoying each other’s company. This worked well for the first few weeks, but as it went on, Jake found it harder and harder to see Nessie as just a ‘friend’. He was beginning to realise the little things about her; the fact that she loved it when children smiled and giggled at her, she really hated the smell of fish, and even though Victoria was horrible to her, Nessie was never mean back.

The nights were having a toll on him, and not in a good way. It became harder and harder to keep his eyes off her, harder and harder to not touch her. Any time he could, he would; a friendly hand on the shoulder, a comforting hand on his back. It was like his own personal hit.

“Any plans tonight?” Jake asked as he locked the door of the bar. Nessie raised on eyebrow at him.

“When have I ever had plans? And besides, we have plans.”

Jake smiled.

“How’s Edward? It’s nearly been a year since Bella disappeared.”

Nessie sighed. “He’s acting like he’s alright, but I know he’s not. I can see it on his face.” She was silent for a few moments. “And he doesn’t like being King. But the Volturi have backed him into a corner.”

“Good old vampire politics, eh?” Jake joked as Nessie shook her head. He knew how she felt about them - putting it plainly, she didn’t like them, and she wasn’t best pleased to learn that the vampire world was just as political as the humans one. Jake wandered over to the bar, resting himself against it as he watched Nessie tidy up.

“How are you coping?” Nessie asked; she and Jake had spoken about the pack leaving, but she was always worried he was holding something back or hiding the way he felt.

Jake shrugged his shoulders. “I’m coping - they made their choice, I made mine.”

Nessie reached out and placed her hand on Jake’s arm that was crossed over his chest. She squeezed lightly. It was only meant to be a comforting touch, but when Jake looked down and saw her pale hand against his tan skin, he swallowed hard as images of them together flooded his mind. Her lithe body writhing against him, her hair in his hands and his lips on her body.

Nessie could feel the air change and she watched Jake swallow as his heart sped up and his eyes met her, the dark brown iris’ seeming black.

Jake stood stock still, unable to move for fear of what he would do if he did. But Nessie moved, she placed her other hand next to the one that was on his arm and slowly ran them up until she had one placed on each shoulder. She stepped closer until they were chest to chest and before she could think too hard about what she was doing, she leaned up on her tiptoes and placed a soft kiss on Jake’s lips.

It was like a flutter, gentle and quick. Jake remained frozen as Nessie sunk back down on her feet and shyly looked at Jake.

“You just kissed me,” he whispered.

“I’m going to kiss you again,” Nessie responded, reaching up on her tiptoes again to place another kiss against him. She lingered this time and pressed her lips harder against his.

Just as she pulled away, Jake’s large arms came around her and wrapped around her waist, pulling her close. He placed a finger under her chin to make sure she didn’t look away.

“Are you sure?” His question held so much weight but Nessie didn’t want to stop.

Instead of answering with words, Nessie kissed Jake again, and this time he reciprocated.

They kissed tentatively; Nessie having never really kissed anyone before and Jake not wanting to scare her away by showing her just how much he wanted her.

Nessie slid her hands into Jake’s hair and grasped it as she parted her mouth and Jake’s tongue caressed hers, sliding over it and teasing her.

As their kiss turned more passionate, Jake’s hands wandered down to her backside, gripping the firm flesh and using it to pull her close and press himself into her, letting her feel his rising cock as pleasure flooded through his body.

Nessie gasped and pulled back, looking in between them at Jake’s evident passion. Jake froze, worried he’d done too much or moved too quickly for her. But, he had nothing to fear, seeing Jake react like he did sparked a fire in Nessie.

She pushed against him and their frenzied lovemaking began.

Jake picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her to his office. Nessie drew her lips away from Jake’s and trailed them down his jaw and kissed his neck, sucking the tan skin into her mouth, feeling the blood pulse beneath her tongue.

Kicking open his office door, Jake placed Nessie down on the couch as he climbed on top of her and ground his hips into hers, thankful that he had worn jeans due to the friction they provided him with.

Feeling something scrape sharply against his neck, Jake pulled back. When Nessie realised that Jake had stopped she realised why.

With a gasp, Nessie brought one hand up to her mouth, hiding the pointed tips of her fangs.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, mortified. “I can’t control them.”

Jake didn’t move. “That’s alright,” he told her. “They don’t bother me.” And that was the truth.

Jake leaned down and kissed her again, tracing his tongue against the pointed tips before he ventured further and sucked on her own neck, drawing the skin between his teeth and lightly biting down.

Nessie let out a moan and clutched at Jake’s back, clawing at his t-shirt as he tried to pull it off. She only managed to get it as far as his shoulders as Jake refused to move his lips from her neck. She was like a forbidden fruit.

Realising she couldn’t get the shirt up anymore, Nessie turned her attention to his jeans. Her small hands pushed the button through and unzipped the denim, her hand lightly brushing his erection as it sprang free; long, hard and proud.

Nessie looked between them as gasped.

“What?” Jake asked, looking down at his erection. Nothing seemed out of place.

“I’ve… well - it’s just… I’veneverseenonebefore,” Nessie hurriedly explained as her unique blush covered her cheeks and (much to Jake’s delight), spread down her neck and chest.

“What?” Jake asked, now thoroughly confused as to what was happening.

Nessie took a deep breath. “I’ve never seen one before,” she murmured. And just to make sure that he fully understood her meaning, she gestured to his appendage that was standing to attention in between them.

Jake felt the clogs fall into place in his brain and he pulled back. “Nessie? Are you a virgin?”

Nessie blushed harder and nodded.

Jake shot off her and sat next to her. “We shouldn’t be doing this - not like this.”

“Why not?” that was not what Jake had been expecting to hear. He thought Nessie would agree, but here she was questioning why he wouldn’t sleep with her.

“Because, your first time should be with someone you love, somewhere romantic and something you won’t regret.”

“I won’t regret this, Jake,” Nessie told him quietly as she moved closer. “And I care about you - and your office is better than the back of a car.”

Jake laughed at that statement.

“So, if we sleep together, you won’t ever regret it?” He wanted to make sure.

Nessie placed a hand against his face and shook her head, eyes shining with honesty. “I’ll never regret it, Jake - I want this badly, I want you badly.”

And just like that, Jake was back on top of Nessie again, kissing her as if she held the answers to all the secrets in the universe.

With strong and steady hands, Jake ridded Nessie of her clothing, groaning when he saw the innocent white panties that she wore. With small but just as steady hands, Nessie did the same to Jake and smiled shyly when she saw him completely naked.

Jake slid his way down her body, licking the tips of her breasts, kissing her belly button and biting the inner of her thighs. When he got to her pussy, Jake gently blew over her engorged clit, delighting in the cry she let out as she clutched at the cushions on the couch.

Jake carefully leaned forward and placed a kiss to her clit before he licked her top to bottom, chuckling as Nessie tried to clamp her thighs around him.

“Oh!” she cried as Jake lightly pushed his tongue inside her, groaning as her musky smell and womanly taste overwhelmed his senses.

He continued probing her with his tongue before bringing up a finger and gently inserting it inside her, curling it up to tickle her walls as she arched her back off the bed and cried out in pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” she whimpered, her eyes closed as she writhed.

Her breaths came out faster and Jake could hear the sound of fabric ripping, but he was so focused on Nessie he didn’t care. Her stomach undulated as her pleasure rolled over her in a cascading wave and sent her careening over the edge.

When Jake lifted his head, he shook his head at the sight of a pillow on the floor torn to shreds, and Nessie laid back, satisfaction radiating from every pore.

Tasting her on his tongue, Jake growled and stood, sliding his body along hers as he lay on top of her, kissing life into her boneless form.

Nessie returned the kiss enthusiastically, grinding up in Jake as his erection rubbed teasingly along her thigh.

Jake pressed forward, the tip of his erection teasing the opening of her folds.

“Are you sure?” he whispered breathlessly, for the last time “No regrets?”. If she ever regretted this then it would turn out to be the worst decision of his life.

Nessie trailed her hands down his back, feeling the muscles ripple as she stroked his russet skin. “If you don’t do something, you’ll regret it!” she growled menacingly.

That was all the encouragement he needed and cautiously, he pushed forward, grinding his teeth as Nessie’s body welcomed him inside.

Jake pushed until there was nowhere left for him to go, and then he chanced a look down to Nessie. She had her eyes closed and was biting her lip, one hand grasping at his shoulder as the other laid on his back.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

Nessie nodded. She was. She’d heard horror stories about girls losing their virginities, and whilst it wasn’t the most comfortable, it wasn’t the burning pain she was expecting. Maybe it was because she was a vampire, but Nessie’s body accepted Jake’s cock willingly. She opened her eyes, pulled Jake’s mouth down to her and kissed his harm, wrapping her legs around his waist as she urged him to move.

Jake thrust his hips, one hand keeping himself up on the couch whilst the other grasped Nessie’s thigh and pulled her closing, using it to help piston himself into her.

Despite being a vampire, Jake swore he could feel heat radiating from her pussy, making him delirious with pleasure.

As Jake thrust, the pleasure built for both of them, Nessie throwing her head back and whimpering as Jake pressed his head to her chest and lightly licked at her nipples.

“God, I’m close,” Jake moaned, feeling relief when Nessie nodded in agreement. He wanted her to come but didn’t know if he could last much longer.

He ground his hips into hers, his pubic bone pressing into her clit.

“There!” Nessie screamed, her fingernails digging into his back, drawing blood as she raised her hips to crash back into his.

Jake grounded into her four more times before she clenched violently around him, her spasms causing Jake to bury his face in her breasts and ejaculate into her with more force than he had ever done before.

As the aftershocks subsided and the heat began to fade, Jake placed a kiss to each of Nessie’s breath, smiling into the skin as she gently pulled her fingers through his hair.

“No regrets?” he asked into her cold skin. He couldn’t quite bring himself to look at her.

Nessie placed both hands on his face and brought it up so she could look into his eyes.

“No regrets.”

***

1 Year since Bella’s Disappearance

Rose looked around the living room. Carlisle was sat with his arm around Esme as Ethan played with a toy on her lap. Nessie and Jake were chatting with Edward; probably about something to do with the royal duties Edward now had to do. Rose didn’t miss the way Jake and Nessie would look coyly at each other. Everyone knew they were sleeping together, but they were just ‘friends with benefits’. Nessie claimed she didn’t want a relationship, but Rose suspected differently. Dating someone was hard, sleeping with them was easier.

Jasper and Jessica were bonding over some idiot who had come into Emmett’s club dressed up as a vampire hunter. They had had great fun that evening demonstrating that holy water, in fact, did not affect them.

And speaking of Emmett, he was sat next to Rose on the couch, hand draped over the back of it and fingers lightly brushing her exposed shoulder. Since Emmett had brought the house, in a very short period of time, he had renovated it in its entirety, including a fresh coat of paint on the exterior. He’d added some changes that Rose didn’t approve of, mainly the mirror above her bed, but most things she’s agreed to. He’d also kept his promise and Bella and Grandpa’s room remained untouched but clean.

They’d argued over the amount of rent she had to pay him; 50c was not enough. Eventually, she’d agreed to a higher amount, but Emmett had told it was that or he would accept her payment in naked photos. He was always thinking about sex.

Emmett had not only renovated the house but he had moved in too. There were several bedrooms spread throughout the house and Emmett had claimed the one closest to Rose, made it light proof and promptly declared himself as her new housemate. He wasn’t too bad if she was being honest.

“I think someone needs his diaper changing,” Esme exclaimed as she stood from the couch, placing Ethan on the floor as Carlisle handed her the diaper bag before she grasped Ethan’s hand in her own and took him into the spare bedroom to change his diaper.

Rose smiled at Ethan as he passed her, his returning smile lighting her heart.

“Thank you all for coming,” Rose muttered quietly. She was so grateful they were here tonight. It was the one year anniversary of Bella’s disappearance and Rose couldn’t have coped without them… well, she probably could have coped without Jasper or Jessica, but it was still nice for them to make the effort to come tonight.

“You don’t need to thank us, Rose,” Jake told her. “Bella was our friend too and we’ll do anything to help you.”

“He’s right,” Edward began. “Bella-” before he could finish, Edward let out a deep groan and clutched at his chest, a familiar sensation flowing through him.

“Edward?” Nessie asked as she stepped closer and placed a hand on his elbow.

“What’s wrong?” Carlisle questioned, standing to go and tend to his youngest son.

“I can feel, I can feel… it doesn’t make sense,” the vampire mumbled as he tried to work out what was happening. There was fear, shock and happiness coursing through him - and none of those emotions belonged to him.

“Edward?” Nessie repeated.

“Bella, I can feel Bella,” Edward choked out, the strings that pulled them together forming as he felt her slipping into his blood.

“What?” Rose asked, standing at the sound of her cousin’s name.

Edward opened his mouth to explain but just as he did, a familiar scent washed over every supernatural creature in that house and they all turned towards the kitchen.

Rose followed their eyes as she heard the back door open.

“Rose - you are not going to believe what happened!” Bella exclaimed as she walked through the door, looking exactly like she did a year ago.

Everyone froze, Bella not quite wondering why there seemed to be gathering in the house, and everyone else shocked to see a missing person breezing into the house as if she had been on holiday.

“What’s happened to the house?” Bella asked, taking in the new furniture and decorating.

Nobody responded.

It was Jasper who eventually broke the silence and he turned to Edward who had yet to take his eyes off Bella.

“Well, I guess you really didn’t kill her.”

Thank-you for reading.

#princesstreacle #princesstreaclefanfiction #out of the coffin #out of the coffin sequel #out of the coffin: the coven #ootc #ootc:tc

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shalebridge-cradle · 7 years ago

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Unholy Wrap-Up

I have spent far too much time thinking about this lesbian vampire fanfiction. Here’s several walls of text about it.

I would advise reading the fic if you want any of this to make sense.

Breakdown

(Rough) Alliteration Count: 185

Least Favourite Chapter to Write: 12 (Do you know how long I spent trying to find a picture of an 80s heart monitor? Too long. That, and it’s hard for a character to wield their new-found confidence and inner strength when they’re stuck in a hospital bed, but that’s on me.)

Favourite Chapter to Write: 8 (It turns into a fucked up Scooby Doo mystery a third of the way through, and that’s great. Also, something fluffy happens to warm the reader’s (and my) heart, because I was going to rip it out next chapter.)

Favourite Line: “Fuck off, Dracula”

Least Favourite Line: “Fuck off, Dracula”

Notes from Chapters that didn’t get their own post

Chapter 2:

The correct answer to Chandler’s question of “How many people are at that table?” is two, not one. Hi, Betty.

Chapter 4:

Chandler was originally going to put her fist through her mirror as a reference to a scene in the film, but I decided that she’s already broken one glass item of furniture, better not do that again. Besides, why take out your anger on your possessions when there’s a perfectly good person to use instead?

Chapter 6:

Hi, Betty.

Jason Dean is involved in the plot again. Everyone welcome back this well-intentioned murderer.

Chapter 7:

This chapter exists for two reasons: to establish Betty is dead, and for the Fuckbois to disappear. And so Ram’s pick-up line has some payoff. Three reasons, actually.

Duke made Veronica cry, so she takes V’s place in the ‘no-killing’ experiment. Still fucked up, but slightly less fucked up than straight up killing her. Or moreso, depending on your opinion.

Chapter 8:

Duke overheard something about about the expedition, and brought Chandler along with her so she could get V and H.Mac in trouble (and maybe distract everyone from how badly she fucked up).

I left it deliberately vague on what H.Mac and V were being chased by because I hadn’t finalised Kurt and Ram’s look yet.

Hi, Betty.

Chapter 9:

“Heather is done for come 3 P.M.” HA HA HA HA HA.

I chant, I pray, but God’s not there/so Steve, I’m ending our affair

Meta

There was a conscious effort to blend the worlds of the movie and the musical. Doing that opened up a few more avenues for minor characters and certain elements of characterisation (Duke not being completely unsympathetic, for one). The prime example of this is Schrodinger’s Betty – she either appears for a short time to provide insight into Veronica’s character, or is removed from reality and her personality incorporated into Martha Dunnstock. I had it so she did exist in the world, but wasn’t around for whatever reason.

The fic was originally called ‘Renfield’, with the tagline ‘real life sucks losers dry’. It’s still sort of present in the earlier references to Veronica’s questionable mental stability (“A record of her spiral into insanity”, “Clearly, she was going crazy”), but using either would have given away the first major twist. For this reason, puns on the phrases ‘this sucks’ or ‘this bites’ were also out. I went with ‘Unholy’ instead, and stuck some vague religious references in there to justify the decision to myself.

I was deliberately vague about whether or not this was set in the modern day or in 1989. You would not believe how happy I was when I found out Halloween was on a Tuesday in both 1989 and 2017. Pick whichever time period suits you.

There’s a lot of threes in this work. I have a habit of listing three things (adjectives or events), Veronica is accepted by her third college preference (Harvard, Duke or Brown) and I tried to have it so something significant happened every three chapters (3: HC kills a man, 6: HC and V start their relationship, 9: HC dies, 12: the two are reunited, and Betty appears).

I am from a country that uses British English. I cannot convince Microsoft Word that this is the case. No matter how many times I change the default language, it switches back to US English when I’m not looking. It doesn’t pick up Grey/Gray, however, and that’s why it’s spelt with an ‘e’ all the time.

The Curious Case of Heather Chandler

I was picking and choosing different parts of vampire mythos, like many authors do, but I took primary inspiration from Victorian vampire fiction. Ya boi Dracula is certainly there, but most of it was from works that predated Bram Stoker’s.

One of the more important sources is Varney the Vampire, who is one of the first examples of a sympathetic bloodsucker (still the antagonist, though). He isn’t weakened by sunlight, rather, he is strengthened by moonlight. He has no aversion to garlic or religious symbols, and tends not to react well to normal food and drink.

The no sleeping thing was mostly me, though. It’s possible you’ve read or heard the phrase “Sleep is like death without the commitment”. Well, if you can’t die, you can’t sleep either. Them’s the rules.

The next issue was to justify to myself how exactly she was turned in the first place. The most likely culprit, goth boy Jason Dean, was out, because 1) it would mess with the whole vampire hunter vibe I was planning for him later on, and 2) because he has absolutely no reason to. Since Eastern European folklore indicates that anyone who dies an unnatural death is at risk of rising again, so I went with a combination of Romanian ancestry and the fact Heather Chandler technically committed suicide. That keeps that theme of the original work in there. Sort of.

The Players

Colour symbolism is getting its own section.

The key here was character motivation. Since the story is primarily character-driven, knowing why the characters do what they do is paramount. The main motive for everyone is as follows:

Chandler wants to be in control of herself, the school, and everyone in it. This is abandoned after she gets shot, and she suffers an identity crisis for some time afterwards.

Veronica wants to help people. This shifts over time to helping Chandler specifically.

Duke wants to be in Chandler’s position, or at least out from under her thumb.

JD wants to be with Veronica, and for the bad influences in both of their lives to be gone. In his defence, he tries to do this non-fatally after chapter 6, but gives up pretty easily.

McNamara wants everyone she cares about to be safe. Everyone else can go fuck themselves.

Martha wants people to go back to like they were in kindergarten – when everyone was friends with everyone.

Betty wants to help Veronica and Martha. The question with her was how she could achieve that goal, when one of the two couldn’t see or hear her.

Everyone else’s characterisations were taken primarily from the lunchtime poll section of the movie. I love that story device like my firstborn child.

It is important to remember one thing – ALL of the characters are intended to be sympathetic to some degree. Chandler obviously gets the most attention in this regard, but both JD’s and Duke’s actions are well-intentioned, if nothing else. JD wanted to free people from the influence of a vampire, and Duke wanted an end to Chandler’s bullying. JD’s decision to solve his problems with blackmail and murder, and Duke’s decision to frame Chandler, is what puts them firmly in antagonist territory.

In the same vein, all of the characters have flaws. There is no purity in Heathers – Betty is self-sacrificing to a fault and has a nasty passive-aggressive streak, and Martha is living in a dream for most of the fic. Almost all of them get better (or die), with one notable exception.

Colour-coding

Tumblr user deanesque has already done a pretty good guide to most of the colours present in the film, so I’m including a link to their post on the matter. Since there are some shades that aren’t included in that list, here’s a comprehensive guide.

Chandler – Red (passion, confidence, leadership), changes to grey (anonymity, lack of emotion, loss), then purple (nobility, creativity, magic, mystery, red and blue combined).

Veronica – Blue (intelligence, trust, stability, intuition), changes to red.

Duke – Green (wealth, ambition, growth, illness), changes to blue.

Martha – Pink (femininity, naivete, passiveness, tenderness), changes to white (purity, hope, peace, detachment)

JD – Black (secrets, intimidation, power, death).

McNamara – Yellow (happiness, caution, enthusiasm, loyalty).

Betty – White and grey.

That’s probably the last of it. If anyone has any specific questions, you are encouraged to send asks.

#unholy #fic explanation #the cradle will write #heathers #chansaw

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edream93 · 7 years ago

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I’m Hooked On All These Feelings (Harry of Auradon AU) Part 3

Hello, hello! Back with Part 3 of the Harry of Auradon AU (here’s the link for Part 1 and for Part 2)? Enjoy and of course let me know what you think either on here or on AO3 or FF.net. Likes are great but comments, even in the tags of reblogs are always appreciated.

Uma was not a morning person, but often having to be the one to open and close her mother’s shop trained her body rise before the sun’s first light even touched land. On the Isle, Uma thought it was a curse. Here in Auradon, as she silently dressed, making sure to wake neither the sleeping beauty nor the sleeping dragon, Uma thought of it as her saving grace. Though they may share the same mission of obtaining the wand, that did not mean that Uma wanted to be in their presence any longer than she had to be.

Uma grabbed her bag, ignoring the beautifully stitched together turquoise dyed jacket that Evie had presented to her weeks ago. The olive branch of a gift was still wrapped in the dark blue gift bag it had been given in. Instead, Uma reached for the almost threadbare brown jacket she had taken from Gil after his first growth spurt years ago. Even though it had been years since the boy had been able to fit it, it still managed to dwarf her small frame and stop just a few inches above her knees and the sleeves always needed to be rolled up twice to not cover her hands.

Once Uma had successfully made it out of the dorms, she immediately began to make her way to the library, one of the few places on campus that would be open this early. It wasn’t the most exciting place to be, but it was quiet and no one really bothered her there. It was a place where she could just enjoy the serene silence that could never really be found on the Isle. That was one thing she liked about Auradon, she supposed. If she searched for it, there were moments where it was easy for her to forget that she wasn’t the only person in the world. That she wasn’t the daughter of the most feared sea witch in existence.

The library made it easy to forget that Mal was breathing down her back to come up with ideas to steal the wand, asking question after question about why Hook’s son was always around her. It was easy to forget that Audrey was watching each of them like a hawk, just waiting for them to slip up so she could run to that overstuffed Fairy Godmother and send them all on a one way trip back to the Isle. And most importantly, it was easy to forget that the last thing her mother had said to her before sending her here, wasn’t even a grudging goodbye but a warning:

“Once you get there, you better take out Maleficent’s brat, get the wand, and take down the barrier so I can finally get revenge on that foolish Triton and the rest of those fools of Auradon! But, if you fail, do me a favor”, Ursula had hissed, pulling her briefly away from the limo and shoving a small vile into Uma’s hand that she instantly without looking knew was poison from Yzma’s shop, “ and turn into seafoam so I never have to see your worthless pathetic face again!”

Though Uma had sixteen years of her mother’s verbal and physical abuse as evidence to prove that she shouldn’t be surprised, it still hurt to know her own mother would rather want her dead than have her fail.

Uma huffed at the thought, hands going up to collar of her jacket to keep out the early morning chill. She paused when her hand brushed against the warm chain around her neck. Alone with only her thoughts, Uma couldn’t help but let a silly little smile twist her lips up as she pulled the chain and the object attached out from underneath her shirt. In her hand was a small blue and green conch shell with some splatterings of gold that created unique patterns along the smooth surface that she had been given the other day when she was with Harry.

“Pixie dust ,” Harry murmured close to her, pointing out the gold splatterings on the smooth surface just before much larger, warmer, and callous hands gently placed the small trinket into her hand.

Uma lifted the shell up into the light, dazzled by how the shell made rainbow colors dance across her skin in.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Harry grinned next to her, enjoying the breeze from the lake as the sail boat they were in rocked gently on the water. It wasn’t anything like sailing on the sea but the coast was about three hours away, too far for last minute sailing. Another day, he thought already planning a sailing adventure that she would sure to enjoy.

Uma nodded, still entranced by the patterns the shell made. “I didn’t even know these existed.”

Harry stretched his arms above his head before smoothly placing his arm around her shoulders. Uma snorted at the contact but didn’t push him away, leaning into him slightly as he explained the process that led to pixie shells.

“Long before Benny-Boy’s dad and Fairy Godmother placed restrictions on magic and created the bridge between Neverland and the mainland, excess pixie dust from the fairies’ deposit in Pixie Hollow would run into the rivers,” Harry explained, watching the way her hardened mask melted away into a look of wonder. “Eventually, it would trickle out into the water surrounding the island and embed itself into the shells in the surrounding seabed. Doesn’t happen to all shells though nobody knows why. Part of the reason they’re so rare. Not even those on Neverland can get ahold of them easily.”

Uma hummed softly, absentmindedly playing with the thin chain that was attached to the shell. “Then how did you get this one? Steal? Flirt with one of Neverland’s pretty little mermaids to get you one?”

Harry snorted. “Ye’ve never met a Neverland mermaid if yer callin’ em pretty. This,” he said taking the necklace away from her only to unclasp it and put it around her neck. For a brief moment, Uma felt weightless, her attention on his little lopsided grin and how she liked it better than his cocky overconfident one he usually wore around others. “This belonged to my mother.”

Suddenly, the weightless feeling was gone and Uma pulled away from him, protest on her tongue as she reached to take off the necklace but something stopped her. She looked down and found that he had laced their fingers together.

“Keep it. Never-shells are for protecting,” he said raising both of her hands to his lips to press lingering kisses to their intertwined fingers.

She pushed him away with a frown set deep on her lips, storms brewing in her eyes. “I’m not some pastel pink princess needing to be saved. I don’t need you to save me.”

Harry chortled, getting up, but not before tugging her braid teasingly. “Ye must not have heard of my sisters if you think that’s the type of lass I’d seriously court.” He grinned to himself, adjusting the sails, when he saw how her cheeks darkened at his not so sly admission. (He considered it a good sign that she didn’t seem repulsed by the idea of him courting her.) “I’m not doubting that ye can take care of yourself. I’ve seen ye sneak into the gym after hours and work on yer swordplay with Gil. Anyone would be a right fool to underestimate ye.”

“Still though,” Uma insisted, ignoring her warm cheeks and getting up to her feet to adjust the rudder as he had taught her an hour or so before. “I can’t accept some dead woman’s jewelry I’ve never even met.” The ‘ I can’t take the only thing you have of her,’ was left unspoken though understood.

“Well you’re wearing your ma’s necklace,” Harry pointed out, nodding towards her mother’s old necklace. “So technically you’re already wearing some dead woman’s jewelry.”

Crossing her arms, Uma did not look amused.

“Okay, okay,” he held up his hands. “How about this then.” He gently took her hands in his, staring intently into her eyes. “Keep the necklace and I’ll take it back after ye cheer loudly for me at the Tourney game coming up, where I’ll have a little surprise for ya” he winked. “And for a fair exchange, ye can give me something that I’ll return back to ye as well.”

Though not looking completely pleased with the situation, Uma unhesitatingly reached around her neck and unclasped the necklace that once belonged to her mother. Harry’s hands instantly went to her waist to hold her steady as she balanced on the balls of her feet to clasp the necklace around his neck.

Harry’s fingers dug slightly into her hips as he felt her breath fan onto his cheek. He wanted to bottle this moment and keep it with him until his dying breath.

“Fair is fair, I suppose. Don’t lose this, sailor,” she said softly one hand idly playing with the hair at the back of his neck while the other one placed itself on his rapidly beating heart.

He smiled, his forehead leaning against hers as they let the lake gently rock the boat. “Aye, aye, captain.”

The strange fluttering warm feeling in her chest that Uma felt yesterday on the boat still flared up when she thought about him. And surprisingly, it was becoming a little less strange and almost something she looked forward to. Didn’t she deserve to be happy for once?

“Looks like someone is having a nice happy thought. Mind sharing?”

Uma nearly jumped, spinning around to come face to face with a grinning thief, leaning against a nearby tree as if he had always been there.

“Jay,” she murmured in acknowledgment, making a move to continue on her path when a tanned arm wrapped around her shoulders, steering her away from the library and in another direction. “What are you doing?” Uma frowned though she didn’t make too much of a struggle to get out of his hold. At the moment, he wasn’t being hostile and they were technically allies in this strange place (though she kept tabs of where his hands were at all times).

“What? Can’t go on an early morning stroll with an old friend?” the boy questioned with a grin.

“We’re not friends,” Uma finally pulled out of his hold but still walked along with him. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him as Jay allowed her to put several inches of space between them.

“Ouch! That hurts Uma!” Jay teased with an overplayed pained expression, his hand gripping tightly at his vest over where his heart was for a few seconds before he broke out into chuckles. Uma rolled her eyes, already fed up with whatever game he was trying to play. Jay may act the part but he wasn’t a fool.

“Spit it out! What do you want Jay?” Uma sighed stopping.

Jay stopped as well, his expression serious as he got straight to the point. “What’s going on with you and the Hook kid?”

Outwardly, Uma was expressionless. Inside panic began to spread. Possessive whispers in the back of her head growing louder into a chorus of “Mine! Stay away!”

“The same thing that we’re all trying to do,” she lied smoothly. “Find a way to get the damn wand.”

Jay looked at her in that way that she always hated even when they were little, when they could have once considered each other friends, like he was observing her, taking note of every opening in order to get the best steal.

“It wouldn’t be surprising if it was Evie but I never expected you to take the seduction route,” he circled around her once before stopping, looking as if he was seeing her in a new light. It made Uma uneasy. She really didn’t want to be alone with him right now. “You really think Hook can get you to the wand?”

“ No,” Uma thought to herself. In all honesty, she had given the wand very little thought, either busy with her potions or...with Harry. But instead she answered, “Yes”.

“Really?” Jay murmured, a hint of disbelief in his tone. “Because it looks like you have a soft spot for the guy.”

“That’s the point,” Uma snorted, crossing her arms and praying to anyone listening (maybe her grandfather if he even gave a damn about her) that her voice came out even. “What are you trying to imply?” she snapped.

Jay briefly looked away and for a moment, it looked like he had a pained expression on his face, like he was struggling to say something before he turned back to Uma with his usual smirk.

“Just giving a warning, babe,” he winked, moving closer as he reached out, tugging one her braids lightly. Uma’s hands turned into fists at her side, trying to hide the way they shook. It wasn’t affectionate like when Harry played with her hair. If anything, it made her skin crawl at Jay’s close proximity. “You have one day to end whatever you have with lover boy or I tell Mal.”

“Is that a threat?” Uma narrowed her eyes, neither noticing how the sky suddenly became darker as the rising sun was covered with ominous looking grey clouds. The forecast had predicted clear sunny skies for the day.

Frowning down at her, Jay’s expression was serious and maybe, just a bit apologetic. “It’s a warning, Uma. You know you’re currently at the bottom of the Isle food chain. But this, this could raise you above all that Shrimpy bullshit. You, even Gil...you would really be one of us again...just like how we used to be.”

Thunder and lighting cracked the sky, raining pouring down but neither of the two teens moved for cover. “Like how we used to?” Uma chuckled darkly, eyes hard as the thunder boomed loudly above them. “Like we fucking used to?” she roared highlighted by lightning as she shoved Jay and his hand away from her. “You mean like when my best friend humiliated me and covered me in rotten shrimp?” she asked pushing his shoulders hard, catching the boy slightly off guard with her strength. He wobbled to gain his balance. “You mean like how everyone else, all of my friends and alliances, except for Gil, turned their back on me because they were afraid of some spoiled brat tattling to her mommy? How you just stood there?” She shoved him again, this time making him stumble back and lose his balance where he landed in a muddy puddle.

Despite his completely soiled appearance, Jay looked up at the girl through the rain, his expression bordering pleading. (But that couldn’t be right...It was just all part of his game, Uma thought. To make her look weak and gullible like Mal did when they were ten.)

“Uma,” Jay said slowly, carefully. “If you’re against Mal you’ve basically put a noose around your neck. Ya gotta think carefully about this. My hands will be tied if you go on like this. There’s only so much looking out I can do for you and your sailor and that little side potions business that you haven’t really been doing a good job hiding before Mal finds out. Is this pretty boy even worth it?”

Uma sneered down at him. “Don’t pretend to look out for me, Jay. Because no one’s looking out for me. It’s just me. You made your decision when you allowed Mal to torment and humiliate me for the past six years on the Isle. I already know where you stand though,” Uma laughed cruelly. “You pathetic little street rat.”

Jay’s pleading look faded, his face turning hard and unreadable. “One day, Uma. End it,” he said getting up to his feet and pushing past her, “before I let Mal end you.”

Uma held her ground for several minutes, until she was sure that Jay was no longer around before she fell to her knees, ignoring the mud that began to seep through her jeans, and pretending that it was just the rain that was running down her face.

---

Harry spent the night after talking to his sister struggling to find sleep. He spent hours into the morning in bed, mind filled with every possible scenario involving Harriet meeting Uma. His father meeting Uma…

He sighed, as he listened to the rain pounding against his window. Memories of the other day sailing with Uma managed to brighten up the gloom of his thoughts. He had just gotten out of his bed, scrubbing tiredly at his face, wondering if he should just get up and try to burn off some restless energy before seeing if his sea goddess had holed herself up in the library again when he heard a knock at his door.

“Harry?”

Instantly, he made his way to the door, nearly tripping over his own feet twice in his haste. When he pulled open the door, he wasn’t expecting to see her.

“Mal?”

Maleficent’s daughter smiled brightly up at him, twirling a purple lock around her finger. “Hi Harry! Can we talk?”

#huma #harry hook x uma #disney descendants #uma descendants #jay descendants #mal descendants #uma #harry hook #neverland #descendants fanfiction #descendants au #edream93 fanfic #edream93 fanfiction #what if harry was born in auradon #i'm hooked on all these feelings

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melonoverlord · 7 years ago

Note

Val for all the ABCs asks

A: Aptitude

1. what are your oc’s natural abilities, things they’ve been doing since young?

She’s been tinkering as long as she can remember. Her early childhood is a little fuzzy but she knows she’s been building little robots out of scrap metal and letting them run around town.

2. what activities have they participated in?

She’s the chief technician on the Freedom Vessel and also technically was a spy on Biomia but she was spying for herself rather than an organization.

3. what abilities do they have that they’ve worked for?

Learning how to talk to people. She’s only had her sisters and her eventually girlfriend on Biomia, but now there are people who love her that aren’t like seven and fourteen, so it’s a strange feeling being able to talk about herself without taking care of them.

4. what things are they bad at?

Following orders. She escaped her own quarantine when she was shot four times in the back because she was bored and wanted to celebrate Castor’s birthday with him.

5. what is their most impressive talent?

Definitely designing tech. She worked on B3rT13, Phoebe (the bot, not her sister), Ciri’s tear ducts, Ravi’s arms and legs, and Nivviah’s trident.

B: Basics

1. what is their hair color?

Brown

2. what is their eye color?

Brown, a little darker than her hair.

3. how tall are they?

5′0

4. how old are they?

5. how much do they weigh?

185 lbs

C: Comfort

1. how do they sit in a chair?

One leg over each side of the chair, leaned back, arms crossed. She’s a definite manspreader.

2. in what position do they sleep?

In fetal position, hugging herself, sometimes hugging Phoebe as well. If she’s dead tired she’ll just sprawl out anywhere and usually B3rT13 will eventually carry her to bed.

3. what is their ideal comfort day?

Snuggled up to Ciri or Castor, her favorite siblings, and watching old horror movies in their pajamas. Anytime Val can get away with not wearing a bra, she will.

4. what is their major comfort food? why?

Strawberry ice cream. It was the first food she was given when she was in the hospital after she tried to commit suicide. It was really when she and Tam became drinking buddies because he said “I know eating food probably will hurt for a bit, so I brought you ice cream.”

5. who is the best at comforting them when down?

B3rT13, actually. Ciri’s the best for the physical comforts and reassurance, but B3rT13 is there to say “Hey, you made me and I’m amazing, so fuck you for thinking you’re not amazing too. And if anyone says that you aren’t, I’ll hit them with my hammer.”

D: Decoration

1. how would they decorate a house if they had one under their name?

A lot of natural light since she’s a vent gremlin who only gets artificial light from lamps, an entire floor dedicated to being a workshop so she can separate work from home and let all the upstairs be places for her to call her own, including a guest room. She’d also have pictures of her family and friends set up everywhere, even someone silly like the bathroom.

2. how would they decorate their child’s room?

More blankets and pillows than a child probably needs, a shit ton of plushies that she finds online (and some from Who), and a mini fridge to store enough snacks so that even if something happens to her, her child will never have to go hungry.

3. how do they decorate their own room?

Val’s room on the Freedom Vessel is a #mess, because half of it is split into her workshop. On her side, she shares her bed with Phoebe and at times B3rT13 when he decides to sleep in her room. She also has the only stuffed animal she brought from Biomia, which is a ratty stuffed pig she calls Rumplepigskin.

4. what type of clothes and accessories do they wear?

She usually wears jeans and a baseball tee, but when she needs to be dressed up, she’ll wear slacks and a blouse. You’d have to tie her down to get her into a dress. But she also wears the beanie that Ciri made her.

5. do they like makeup/nail/beauty trends?

Nah, she usually doesn’t wear makeup or do her nails because when working with metal, paint is easily chipped.

E: External Personality

1. does the way they do things portray their internal personality?

She is very meticulous about the personality she portrays which is a carefree, somewhat lazy, girl who just happens to be one of the greatest technophiles of the age. If she’s currently dealing with her trauma, those feelings will slip out but for the most part the persona she puts on isn’t who she really is.

2. do they do things that conform to the norm?

Valerie Anne Read has never conformed to the norm and will continue to break away from the norm until the day she gets blown up on some backwater planet.

3. do they follow trends or do their own thing?

Val never really cared what the trends of the time were since they tended to shift every couple months or so. She only tends to follow trends if she enjoys it herself.

4. are they up-to-date on the internet fads?

It took her a while because technology is a little behind on Biomia, but once Percy introduced her to the internet, she is on it and catching up as fast as she can. Right now she’s very into space twitter.

5. do they portray their personality intentionally or let people figure it outon their own?

There are about fourteen different layers to Val that she lets different people figure out. You’d have to know her for a long ass time before she let out everything to you. Even her sisters didn’t know everything about Val’s true feelings.

F: Fun

1. what do they do for fun?

Crawl through vents, play nerf guns with Castor, Ravi, and B3rT13, and teach B3rT13 different swear words and lewd gestures. Right now his favorite word is “cunt”

2. what is their ideal party?

Lots of wine, chocolate, and a nerf gun fight with everyone on the ship. She’s already working on her power poses. She doesn’t super love giant parties, but she’s welcome to one if it has all her friends.

3. who would they have the most fun with?

Her favorite sibs, Castor, Ciri, Flor, and Percy.

4. can they have fun while conforming to rules?

Nope. Nearly every rule that the Freedom Vessel has, she has broken. Luna had to make a specific set of rules for Val just because she kept breaking the main ones. One of them is “Stop putting food in the vents even if they don’t expire”

5. do they go out a lot?

She hasn’t gone on a lot of missions (the Therion mission was actually her first one ever), but she went out a lot on Biomia to at least look at the clubs even if she never went in. But she’s very interested in the casino on Helios and is ready to lose her money.

G: Gorgeous

1. what is their most attractive external feature?

She has a beautiful soft butch aesthetic which includes a rad pixie cut that perfectly frame her large brown eyes.

2. what is the most attractive part of their personality?

Even in the tensest of situations, Val can manage to light up a room with her jokes and keep everyone at east. She also has a nice thing to say about everyone, even if it hidden in a joke.

3. what benefits come with being their friend?

You won’t be caught dead without cool tech. Val’s given electric tridents, a sassy robot, electricity-absorbing suits, arms and legs, and yes, she is working secretly on Ravi’s rocket knees. Just don’t tell Ciri. She’s waiting for his ninth birthday.

4. what parts of them do they like and dislike?

Her hair is one of the softest you will ever see and you will want to run your fingers through her hair for hours. She also loves her chub and makes shabby chic look like a snack.

5. what parts of others do they envy?

That they don’t have to hide pretty much everything about themselves and can have honest relationships.

H: Heat

1. do they rather a hot or cold room?

Cold room. If her room gets to hot all the tech starts to malfunction. It’s easier to heat up tech from the inside than to cool it down.

2. do they prefer summer or winter?

Winter. She hates being hot since the summer on Biomia can get sweltering and she had to live outside on a hot metal rollercoaster cart.

3. do they like the snow?

Not really. The only snow she was around was slush, and slush looks nasty, especially with all the dirt on the street.

4. do they have a favorite summer activity?

Cannonballing into the pool and getting water all over Tam because he complains that his hair’s going to frizz up.

5. do they have a favorite winter activity?

She loves building snowpeople. She’s only seen a heavy snowfall once on Biomia where there was actually enough snow not to turn to slush, and she loved building a snowman with Isa and Phoebe. They gave it a carrot dick.

I: In-the-closet

1. what is their sexuality?

Harold, she’s a lesbian.

2. have they ever questioned their sexuality?

Biomia’s one of the planets that still restricts by sexuality (at least in the legal code), so it was expected that she would have to be with a man. It didn’t take her long to realize that she was much more comfortable being with women.

3. have they ever questioned their gender?

Nope, she’s always been comfortable in her gender. She does tend to dress more masculine than feminine though. She’s a soft butch.

4. would/was their family be okay with them being LGBT?

Her sisters never cared about her sexuality, and both of them probably queer as well (though both were too young to act on anything), but all they cared whether about if they were safe and if Valerie was happy.

5. how long would/did it take for them to come out?

She told her sisters when she first starting dating her girlfriend, but really only had to formally come out once, which was a little after she turned sixteen.

J: Joy

1. what makes them happy?

Tinkering in her workshop, eating oreos, crawling through the vents and scaring people, drinking wine and watching trashy TV with Percy and Flor.

2. who makes them happy?

Ciri, Castor, Flor, and Percy. All her favorite brothers and sisters.

3. are there any songs that bring them joy?

‘Young Volcanoes’ by Fall Out Boy, ‘Miss Jackson’ by Panic! at the Disco, and ‘It Don’t Mean a Thing’ by Ella Fitzgerald

4. are they happy often?

She hasn’t been happy in years. But she thinks she’s on her way to happiness now that she has more friends.

5. what brings them the most joy in the world?

B3rT13 and knowing that her inventions are having positive outcomes.

K: Kill

1. have they ever thought about suicide?

Yes, and attempted it when she was 17.

2. have they ever thought about homicide?

Absolutely. She’s still itching to get back at Biomia for taking her family away from her.

3. if they could kill anyone without punishment, would they? who?

Honestly, the entire Council of Nine, her ex-girlfriend, and the bitches who shot her in the back on Therion. It’s a good thing Percy and Flor crushed them.

4. who would miss them if they died?

She’s hoping everyone on the Freedom Vessel, but she thinks Ciri, Castor, Flor, and Percy would probably be the most heartbroken.

5. who would be happy they died, anyone?

Pretty much everyone who had a hand in her sisters’ murders.

L: Lemons

1. what is their favorite fruit?

Strawberries. She loves strawberry anything.

2. what is their least favorite fruit?

Pomegranates. For some reason her mind always goes to spider eggs.

3. are there any foods they hate?

Pickles are still un-fucking-valid, no matter what anyone says. And that’s the tea.

4. do they have any food intolerances?

Dairy. Does it stop her from eating dairy? Absolutely not.

5. what is their favorite food?

Strawberry short cake.

M: Maternal

1. would they want a daughter or a son?

She already kinda had two daughters, so she’d be chill with any kid.

2. how many children do they want?

No more than 2 or 3. She doesn’t know how Ciri has like fourteen kids.

3. would they be a good parent?

She doesn’t look it, but Val did a great job raising Phoebe and Isa, a few mistakes regarding trust aside.

4. what would they name a son? what would they name a daughter?

A son, she’d probably name it after Castor or Perseus, but she could also see him being called Roman (after her name of Valerie). For a girl, she would definitely start with Phoebe or Isabella, but could also see naming her kids after Ciri or Florina.

5. would they adopt?

Absolutely. She knows what it’s like to be an orphan. Also there’s no way she’s having sex with a man.

N: Never Have I Ever

1. what would they never do?

Betray her friends or family.

2. what have they never done that they want to do?

She’s not going to lie, she really wants to sky dive. Flor promised to take her once by literally carrying her up and then dropping her before swooping down and catching her again, but Luna has always shot the idea down.

3. is there anything they absolutely can’t believe people do?

Actively like the capitalist, imperialist, and fascist qualities that Genesis has and try to uphold them. Also she can’t believe that people like eating fucking pickles, Castor.

4. what is the most embarrassing thing they’ve done?

When she first joined the Freedom Vessel, she completely trashed her room and broke pretty much every breakable object, and then Nivviah calmly asked if she would help her clean up and Val had to watch through tear streaked eyes as Nivviah patiently and silently helped clean up the room Val trashed.

5. have they done anything they thought they’d never do?

Join an international revolution.

O: Optimism

1. are they optimistic or pessimistic?

Optimistic, though she honestly doesn’t believe most of it. She usually says it so she can hopefully believe her own words in the future and to instill hope in others. She is very pessimistic towards herself.

2. are they openly optimistic, throwing it on others?

She tends to be optimistic around people just because she can’t stand to see other hopeless, but only really does it if they’re looking for inspiration. If they want to stew in their own sadness, Val will usually let them.

3. are they good at giving advice?

She’s probably given the most advice on the ship, mostly for relationships which she still doesn’t understand because she’s single as a pringle and her one and only relationship ended in two people dead. She is pretty good at giving advice though because it works out if people listen to her.

4. is there anyone in their life that throws optimism on them?

Ravi and Crumb, her sisters, and Percy.

5. were they always optimistic?

She was never really optimistic, except for her false optimism now. As a kid she was much more pragmatic and realist.

P: Personality

1. what is their best personality trait?

She is a ride or die loyal friend. If you get on her good side, she has shown that she is willing to risk her life for you and treats you as a sibling. If you’re her friend, there is close to nothing she wouldn’t do for you.

2. what is their worst personality trait?

*Alicia Keys voice* This girl is a liar! Because of the trauma in her life and what she feels guilty or scared about, she will never give a straight answer and you will have to unravel several layers to find the truth. Even her own version of the truth is skewed because of her own self-deprecation.

3. what of their personality do others love?

Ironically Ciri loves her honesty (at least when it comes to people not Val), her willingness to drop everything for her friends and family, her supportiveness, and her creativity.

4. what of their personality do others envy?

Ciri envies her ability to use humor as a deflection and her ability to say things that other people might be thinking but don’t want to say.

5. do they hate anything about their personality/about other’s personalities?

She hates that the personality she has now is a result of her trauma and wishes she could go back to how she was around five years ago.

Q: Questions

1. do they ask for help?

Only as a last resort. She wants to be able to show that she can do things by herself and will only ask for help if there is literally no other way she can solve it herself.

2. do they ask questions in class?

She asked a lot of questions about the Freedom Vessel, mostly to Nivviah, once she was comfortable to talk to people after she first arrived. It wasn’t even full on talking to her, but she wrote at least fifty questions in her notebook and gave it to Nivviah to answer, and to the best of her knowledge, Nivviah answered all of them. The questions ranged from “Where did Luna get this ship” to “Why is Oberon like that”

3. do they answer questions that make them a little uncomfortable?

Nope. She will change subjects, ask back an equally uncomfortable question, or just lie flat out. She hates answering questions about herself.

4. do they ask weird questions?

Oh definitely. She once asked Icio whether Theuthidans’ dicks were smaller fish (she may or may not have been drunk) and once bonded with Juniper on that month when everyone was on Theuthida where Dryads had tree vaginas (she was definitely sober and the question had been on her mind for those two months).

5. are they curious?

She’s a Ravenclaw, she’s got that curiosity that either gets herself killed or people freaked out.

R: Rules

1. do they follow rules?

Not in the slightest. She gives Luna and Nivviah a heart attack every time she breaks a rule.

2. would they be a strict or laid-back parent?

She was a pretty strict parent to Isa and Phoebe in the sense that they had to be back home by sundown unless they had specifically a “mission”, but was laid-back in the sense that as long as they stayed smart and safe, they could pretty much do whatever they wanted.

3. have they ever been consequenced for breaking a rule?

She was bedridden for a full day after she was shot in the back despite her protests, and now because of her suicide attempt, is forbidden from going into the infirmary alone and must be accompanied by an adult.

4. have they broken any rules they now regret breaking?

She does regret breaking her family’s rule of “everyone has to like your friend before they can come over” because she thought that she could trust her first girlfriend and ended up being stabbed in the back.

5. do they find any rules they/others follow absolutely ridiculous?

It shouldn’t matter that you’re lactose intolerant, you should be able to drink milk if you really want that milkshake. Also she hates that people still think that slavery’s an alright thing to do.

S: Streets

1. are they street-smart?

Yes. As she was a short, physically weak girl growing up on the streets, Val never was able to play hard, but instead play smart. Steal this, Valerie. Trick this person Valerie. Sneak into this place, Valerie. She had to stay two steps ahead of everyone else just to get a foothold in society.

2. would they give money to someone on the streets?

She never got enough money on Biomia to give it to those begging. And there wasn’t any people on the streets on Biomia. People either had apartments or the orphans lived outside the city limits, usually in the slums outside or in Val’s case, the abandoned amusement park.

3. have they ever gotten in a fight on the streets?

Just once, when she was twelve. She was trying to sneak into a hospital to get some medicine for a sick Isa and a guard (known to the orphans on Biomia as a Child Snatcher since they take children on the streets and send them to orphanages) tried to apprehend her. She was able to get away, but not before he got a few good punches in, and she got a well aimed elbow to the temple.

4. has anything happened to them on the streets?

She and Isa were once cornered by a couple of Biomian military agents for the Council of Nine, but for some reason was able to escape, despite them being the only ones there. Whenever she tries to think about it, she just knows that eventually their attention was drawn elsewhere.

5. are they cautious when out?

Val straddles the line between “I don’t care if I die” and “What if I die?” On Biomia she definitely kept an eye and ear out for everything, but now she keeps an eye out just enough that her friends aren’t attacked.

T: Truth

1. are they honest?

Val and Luna are tied for keeping the most secrets. Unless you take special care to get her to trust you completely, there will always be something about her life kept secret.

2. can they tell if someone is lying?

She can tell if someone’s lying to her but finds it difficult to actually pull out the truth. She usually lets subjects drop if she thinks they’re lying and don’t want to talk about it.

3. is it obvious when they’re lying?

She’s gotten lying down pat. Girl’s got a +7 to deception. She’s also lied to people’s faces (like in-game) and hasn’t been called out on it yet.

4. have they lied about anything they regret lying about?

No, she’s actually a little more open than she wants. If she could take her past and the trauma’s she’s faced to the grave, she absolutely would.

5. have they told truths that have been spread against their will?

She once told her ex-girlfriend about her work and then it spread to the entire Biomian government.

U: Underdog

1. have they been bullied?

She’s been verbally roughed up a bit by guards at different establishments, but she always managed to run away before it got worse than that.

2. have they bullied anyone?

She playfully bullies Ciri, Tam, and Castor just because they know that it’s all in good fun and because she knows that they can take it.

3. have they been physically attacked by a bully?

Thankfully no, mostly because no one cared enough about her family to attack them.

4. have they ever been doubted?

She was an orphaned who lived in an abandoned roller coaster. No one really expected Val would be as smart as she was.

5. have they surprised people with being good at something?

When Luna heard about a seventeen year old genius in Biomia, she expected someone strong, self confident, and mature, not a short, insecure child with a death wish the size of Earth.

V: Vomit

1. do they vomit often?

No, she’s seen enough stuff in the vents to keep her food down.

2. do they get lots of stomach aches?

She used to, but got so used to things in the vents that she has a stomach of steel now.

3. are they good at comforting someone ill?

She’s pretty good. Isa got sick a lot as a kid and would always try to make sure she was as comfortable as could be. She would forego all the blanket space so Isa could have most of it, and tried to get food for her.

4. what do they like as far as comfort goes?

Just being held and having her head pat.

5. do they burp, cough, or hiccup most when nauseous? when vomiting?

She hiccups, but mostly she just cries. She doesn’t like vomit in the slightest. It brings back to many memories.

W: Water

1. do they drink enough water?

Unless someone puts a glass of water in front of her (which usually is Ravi, Crumb because they’re the doctors or B3rT13 because he cares about his human and humans need water to live) she will not drink water.

2. have they learned to swim?

Nivviah and Luna taught her to swim when she joined the Freedom Vessel, after she was able to do things on her own.

3. do they like to swim?

She likes floating in the pool more than actively swimming, but she really likes doing handstands or cannonballs in the pool.

4. can they dive?

She can only do it from kneeling position, but once she tried from standing and landed in a belly flop.

5. can they swim without holding their nose?

Yeah. It took a long time for her to learn how to do it without getting water up her nose, but she’s fine now.

X: Xylophone

1. what is their favorite genre of music?

The one thing she can say she likes about Biomia is their music, and really loves jazz music, especially the ones that played at the speakeasies she would sneak into.

2. do they have a favorite song?

‘Young and Beautiful’ by Lana Del Rey

3. do they have a favorite band/artist/singer?

She has and will always be gay for Ella Fitzgerald.

4. can they sing well?

She doesn’t have the best voice, but she can sing decently. It was Isa who was the star of the family. She sang and danced on street corners while Val and Phoebe pick-pocketed.

5. can they rap?

She’s actually a pretty decent rapper and can keep up with most beats.

Y: You

1. how old were you when you created them?

I believe 17. My powerpoint for her novel is dated back to 2015.

2. what inspired you to create them?

I was writing a novel about lesbian space pirates that never got finished, and Val was one of the main characters.

3. were they different when they were first created?

Definitely. I accidentally gave her Phoebe’s personality when I made her a campaign character as novel Val is much more controlled, shy, and misunderstood (and went by Valerie). But I love both of them the way they are. It was sort of explained why Val now acts more like how Phoebe did, but it will be explained more in depth later.

4. do you enjoy writing them more than other characters?

She and Luna are my two favorite npcs of the campaign. I love all the love interests, don’t get me wrong, but Val owns my entire fucking heart.

5. what’s your favorite thing about them?

As a STEM major who feels the imposter syndrome very bad, I love that Val is a proud engineering girl who never feels like she’s not as good as she is. What gives her anxiety about her work is not whether she’s not good enough, it’s the unintended side effects of her invention. Also she’s chubby and gay.

Z: Zebra

1. what’s their favorite animal?

Platypuses. They just look like they’re not meant to exist and honestly, big mood.

2. do they like animals?

She has a hard time connecting to living things (both human and animal) and prefers to work with robots, but she thinks they’re cute.

3. cats or dogs?

Dogs. She’s afraid of bigger dogs, but she likes medium sized ones or the small ones.

4. what’s their dream pet?

She once saw a Tasmanian Tiger in one of the free zoos on Biomia and thought it was one of the coolest animals she’s ever seen. But a couple years later she went back and it was gone and hasn’t seen it since.

5. do they have any pets at the moment?

Technically Phoebe is a pet, but she prefers to think of the little bot as her daughter. And then B3rT13 is her asshole son.

#imaturtlebug #my characters #Valerie Read #genesis campaign

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longforgottenunofficial · 7 years ago

Text

There Goes The Bride

Let's wrap up our current tour of the attic. Don't worry, we'll be back. Consider the following scenario: A razzle-dazzle new ghost is installed at the DL HM attic, with high expectations, but the effect is basically pretty simple, achieved simply by clever manipulation of light projection. Alas, the figure is too close to the track for the effect to be truly convincing, and the Imagineers fiddle unsuccessfully with the new figure, trying to get it to look right... Sounds like you-know-who, but of course I'm talking about Constance. The only thing missing is the part where they give up and take it out. There isn't much to say about how the Constance effect works. It's the old "Leota effect," a projected movie on a white dummy. The problem for many fans is that it looks like what it is, a two-dimensional projection. The arms in particular are unconvincing. There's evidence that the Imagineers are aware of the problem and have experimented with ways to improve the look. Compare these two shots of the mannequin under regular lighting.

If anyone wants MY free advice, I'd say the secret is to go fuzzy. Her arms should be nothing more than white, blurry shapes, just thick cloudy hoses. You could sharpen up the hands and hatchet when the hatchet appears, but only for a second. Murk it up, boys, murk it up. By all counts, the WDW version looks and sounds better than the DL version. Even in photos you can see the difference. Here's DL Connie:

And here's WDW Connie:

(pic by Jeff Fillmore)

Definitely better, but we're still not at the "Gee whiz, how do they do that?" stage for anyone over 11. Hate to sound harsh, but there it is. Is she better than what she replaced? For ease of comparison, here are three nice 3D's, showing the three basic bride types over the years.

Let's talk about something else. Let's talk about the other razzle-dazzle effect that came into the attic with Connie: the wedding portraits. Here the verdict is much more positive. When they're working right, they are impressive, very much in the coveted "how do they do it?" category.

So how do they do it? You may have noticed that when people don't know how a Mansion effect is achieved, and they want to sound like they doknow, so as impress their friends, they mumble about "fiber optics" and "holograms" and sprinkle the word "digital" around like oregano on a pizza. Most of the time they overshoot, spinning out elaborate explanations when the reality is some ridiculously simple trick. Like so many other effects in the HM, this attic-portrait effect is essentially pretty simple. You have a painting on a thin, translucent fabric, and another painting underneath it. There's a spotlight on the front and a sort of light box behind. Actually, it's a little more technical than that, but I'm going to spare you the details. It's all digital fiber optics, and other things you wouldn't understand. Anyway, when the light box is dark and the frontal spotlight is on, you see the front painting with the guy's head on. When the spotlight goes out and the light box in back goes on, you see the headless version behind it. That's because when the back one is lit up, you see it through the translucent front painting, which is now unlit and essentially invisible. It's the old scrim trick, not different in principle from the ceiling in the stretching room.

You can most easily figure out how it works when it isn't working! It is extremely important that the spotlight fade in and out in such perfect coordination with the fading in and out of the back lighting that you don't notice any difference in overall luminosity. Sometimes they're out of whack, and you can notice the picture brightening and fading in synch with the disappearing head. The following two shots are grabs from the same continuous video. Note how the frame is illumined when Reginald's head is visible, but not when it isn't. It's not supposed to be like that.

The other reason the effect can be figured out is because it's been done before, more or less. Sherman, set the Wayback machine for Paris in the 1890's. The Montmartre section of Paris saw the invention of the fully-themed nightclub during the late Victorian era, including costumed staff, elaborate decor, and theatrical floor shows. Some of them had otherworldly themes and put on ghost shows. One of the most successful was the Cabaret du Néant ("Tavern of Nothingness" or "Tavern of the Dead"), where the theme was death and decay. In the first room, the waiters dressed as undertakers and you sat at tables that looked like coffins. In the second room they had a first-rate magic stunt in which volunteers from the audience would stand in a coffin and turn into a skeleton (and back again; sorry, it's the law). In yet a third room the volunteers would sit onstage while ghosts that they could not see (but the audience could) made them look like perfect fools. By that point you were pretty drunk and thought this was the funniest thing you'd ever seen. And I dunno, maybe it was. We'll go back to the intriguing C du N sometime later, since it is undoubtedly a source of inspiration for the Haunted Mansion, but for now I want to point out a special effect in the first room, which room looked like this:

Like the chandelier? Anyway, the walls were covered with normal-looking paintings that changed before your eyes into gruesome scenes. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? You would think such a subtle effect would not be picked up under the harsh lighting necessary for 1890's photography, but not so. In the photo above, note the large painting on the left with a skeleton in it and another, smaller painting up in the right hand corner with nothing showing on it:

In other photos of the Cabaret, the skeleton in that left hand painting is halfway or nearly gone.

Conversely, in other photos the smaller painting has a skull in it. Here's a side-by-side:

You're looking at the direct predecessors to the changing portraits in the Haunted Mansion, kids. But how did they do it back then? The gullible masses may have been baffled, but not Albert A. Hopkins. No, siree. "Around the walls of the room are placed pictures to which the spectator's attention is called by the lecturer. Seen by the light of the room these pictures are ordinary scenes, but a new aspect is given to each when the lights directly behind it are turned on; the figures in it appear as skeletons, each picture being in fact a transparency giving a different effect as it is lighted from the rear or as seen simply by reflected light."

The main difference between this effect and the HM wedding portraits is that the Cabaret du Néant pictures were evidently paintings on both sides of the same thin cloth, while the Disney version uses two separate paintings on top of each other and more sophisticated lighting so as to make use of the scrim trick. Still and all, the similarities are greater than the differences. [Edit: I now think Hopkins got it wrong.] There's an interesting footnote with regard to these changing attic portraits. They were installed in May 2006, but more than a year before that the pictures in the changing portrait hall were replaced with fancy new ones with a more impressive lightning-flash effect. These work the same way the attic portraits work, with two layers and backlighting. That was in January 2005. A few months before that, something very weird happened in the portrait hall that is little-remembered today because it didn't last long. One day in August 2004, the stretch room doors opened and guests found themselves in a noticeably lighter portrait hall, with out-of-place looking Art Nouveau-style light fixtures by the doors, a more lurid, bright green EXIT sign over the chicken exit, and a row of light fixtures along the wall under the portraits, illuminating them. As usual, Allen Huffmann at Disneyfans (an invaluable resource) got some photos.

Everyone thought these abominations had something to do with "safety" and muttered unkind things about Disney lawyers and OSHA inspectors. When the EXIT signs returned to sane levels and the goofy lights were gone, the whole business was quickly forgotten. I don't think the mounted lights under the portraits had anything to do with safety. I mean, come on, were people bumping into the wall? What I think the Imagineers were doing was experimenting with frontal illumination for the hallway portraits. If the lighting could be successfully controlled so that the front could gradually come up while the backlighting went down, these paintings could have been as sophisticated as the wedding portraits. If this surmise is correct, the experiment must have failed. The changing portraits have no special frontal illumination. This means that in order for the back-side portrait to be visible, it has to be very light and the front portrait much darker, so that backlighting alone can do the job. It's a cruder effect. That's why the changing portraits in every case flash to a secondary image that is all white.

Originally Posted: Monday, June 7, 2010 Original Link: [x]

#long forgotten #haunted mansion #attic bride #constance #changing portraits

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