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autisticcassandracain · 3 years

Text

Braids and Cuts

Fandom/Characters: Batman Comics, Cassandra Cain & Duke Thomas

Wordcount: 1475

Summary: Cass convinces Duke to cut his hair with her, and suggests getting braids. Duke has mixed feelings. The last person who'd done his braids was his mom.

Notes: Written for @duketectivecomics’s Duke Week Day 6: Family Bonding! I tried my best to do my research to be respectful and realistic, but I’m white, so if I got anything wrong regarding natural hair, please let me know! You can read this on AO3 here!

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The Wayne Manor bathroom closest to their bedrooms - because there was more than one, he’d never get used to this mansion no matter how long he spent in it - was still larger than Duke’s old bedroom, which made it easily large enough to drag a truly gigantic standing mirror in there, so they’d be able to see the back of their heads without the hassle of a handheld mirror. Duke laid their guards out while Cass stood in front of it.

“Who’s first?” Cass asked, angling her head so she could see both her sides.

“You, ‘cause mine’ll probably take longer.” Plus, he hadn’t entirely decided whether he’d go through with it. It’d taken quite a while for his hair to grow back this long, and even cutting half of it off was... daunting, to say the least.

When you can’t jump off rooftops, just cut your own hair, you’ll get about the same adrenaline rush.

“I want just one side shaved,” Cass reminded him while she sat back in the chair.

Duke pulled out a clipper and rolled his eyes. “I know, you’ve only said it about three hundred times, but thanks for the reminder.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So, lowest guard?”

The mirror reflected Cass’s huge grin. “Yup.”

It was easier than Duke had expected it to be, but then again, Cass’s hair was straight as a board. The scissors went in almost as easy as the clippers, and before he knew it, half her head was gone and shaved.

And yeah, it actually did look pretty damn good.

Admittedly, Duke had been skeptical when Cass’d first suggested getting dual haircuts. Not just because he’d never done his own hair, but because Cass’s fashion sense was... questionable. Sure, she had strong opinion on how she should look, which was something. It was just unfortunate that none of her opinions were any good. She’d been known to combine every colour in the visible light spectrum in the same outfit, socks with crocs, and just straight up rip off pieces of her clothes if she didn’t like how it looked. Sometimes it worked. Most of the time, it really didn’t.

But she’d come prepared with a photo album of approximately a thousand different tapered cuts, saved sides, and every braid, loc, and twist combo with those you could imagine, and, well. When Duke’d first started growing out his hair again, he’d hoped it would lead to him finally learning how to be creative with it, like his mom was. In practice, he’d done absolutely nothing, except narrowly keeping it alive. Maybe it was time for a chop.

“You sure you don’t want me to do the other side?” Duke asked, fully expecting a no.

Instead, Cass paused, looking in the mirror, angling her head this way and that. Then, she grabbed the clippers from his hand, and raked it through her hair.

“Cass!”

“I’m doing a buzzcut.”

“I thought you said you wanted one side? You were pretty adamant about it!”

“Changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Queer reasons.”

Duke rubbed his nose. “Sure, okay, whatever makes you happy. But can I at least finish it?”

Cass paused, cocked her head a little, then handed him the clippers.

“Thanks. And I hope you’re not expecting me to cut everything off.”

“Nope.”

“Good, because I spent way too long growing it for that.” And with that, he started shaving the rest of her head.

Around the time he was busy trying not to cut her ear off (easy, with the guard, but still), Cass said, “You should get yellow yarn braids.”

Duke threw her an incredulous look through the mirror. “You’re either wildly underestimating how long yarn braids take, or my patience.”

“You like them,” Cass insisted.

Which, yes, she wasn’t wrong, but, “How could you possibly know that?”

“You kept coming back to them. In the style collection.”

And, yeah, he had. Sure, getting yellow yarn braids was about as ironic as writing ‘I AM THE SIGNAL’ on the side of his head, but it was just such a cool look. He could save both sides of his head and keep them long, or shave only one and make them shorter, and both would be amazing.

“I’m not getting them,” he said. He shut the clipper off. “There, how do you like that?”

The only thing left on Cass’s head were tiny, prickly hairs, that she immediately went to rub her hand across. She stood up and twirled a bit in the mirrors, wearing a huge grin. “Love it.”

“Glad to hear that.” He gave her the clippers. “Go wash that, I should probably section my hair first.” She gave him a thumbs up and moved towards the sink.

They worked in silence for a little while, Duke carefully separating his hair with a comb and moisturizing it, while Cass washed and dried the clippers. The sound of running water would’ve been soothing if Duke wasn’t running high on nerves.

“Can I do it?” Cass asked.

“Cass, I love you, but I’d rather die than let you anywhere near my hair.” He gestured towards her hand. “Give me the clippers.”

And with a pout, she handed them over and hopped onto the washing machine to watch.

Well. No putting it off anymore.

He put the clippers to his head and went to work.

It wasn’t as difficult as he’d expected it to be. He slowly worked over his head, making sure to keep his eyes on the mirror, even as he could feel Cass staring at him.

“I could do the braids,” she offered, from atop the washing machine.

“What part of ‘I’d rather die than let you near my hair’ did you not get?�� Duke answered, barely paying attention.

“You used to have braids.”

That made him pause his clipping. “How do you know?”

“Saw pictures at your house.”

“Ah.” He’d taken them down for a while, after he’d come out, but he’d taken a few kid photos with him in foster care, after his parents... you know. It was comforting to hold onto these memories, and over time, it had stopped being strange or embarrassing to see himself look like a little girl. Even a bit nostalgic, in a weird way.

Which might be why he was considering bringing back the styles he’d worn before he’d come out. It made him remember the way his mom used to braid his hair. She was a fast braider, had to be, with box braids being her preferred style. She wore them for as long as she could get away with it, preferring natural looks for her own hair, but gladly braided his with as many beads and bright colours as he asked. He’d never actually been to a professional; braiding had been his and his mom’s little ritual, over the weekend, with Netflix or songs in the background. They’d only stopped when he’d come out and clipped his hair short.

“My mom used to do my braids,” he simply said, and Cass made an understanding noise.

“Don’t you want to learn?” she asked.

On the one hand, he did. He’d always wanted to learn, to be just as fast as his mom. On the other hand, he really, really didn’t. He just wanted his mom to do them for him, forever. Or at least for another few years, to make up for lost time.

Also, on a lighter note, he didn’t feel like sitting still for like, two days, while failing to do his first pair of braids, and really didn’t feel like doing it all alone.

He’d nearly reached the end of his haircut, detangling the last piece of hair to cut before going in for precision clips. It went swift, after that, and in the end, the haircut looked good. Full on the top, low on the sides and back. Mom had always had a full head of hair, but he felt like braids on this style would give it his own twist.

He’d like to show it to her. Maybe she’d even be present enough to appreciate it.

“I’ll do the yarn braids on one condition,” he announced, turning to Cass.

She peaked up. “What?”

“You stay with me the entire time while I do them, and you’re not allowed to get distracted on your phone.”

She grimaced. “You’re mean.”

“You’re the one that wants me to do the braids.”

“Only because it’d make you happy.”

“And because it’d look cool?”

“I’d prefer pink. And orange.”

“Of course you do, you lesbian. Do we have a deal?”

She wrinkled her nose, but said, “Deal.”

It took way longer than he (or Cass, who complained the whole time) would have liked, but two days later, he had yarn braids that ended mid-back, with electric yellow yarn.

He couldn’t be sure, but he thought his mom liked them.

#dukethomasweek2021 #duke thomas #cassandra cain #my posts #my writing #also cass is intended to be a nonbinary trans lesbian but it didn't come up that much

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sunsoothed · 3 years

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hair(care)

remember this post? yes i wrote the fic. with some angst and backstory as a treat! family bonding time and people learning to love. the ao3 summary is "Yohan first learns affection through money, then oil." which i think is really really funny.

word count: 1696

read on ao3

apologies for any errors, and enjoy!

The first time Yohan tries, it is before everything. He’s allowed to err here and there, require an entire braid to be unwound and redone. He’s allowed to experiment with the clips and the ribbons and decide when the act is complete and present his art to his niece and his family. Elijah is rightfully fawned over, cheeks bright and smiles brighter, holding onto her uncle and hiding her face in his shoulder with glee.

That was, of course, before everything.

If Yohan has touched a hair on Elijah’s head since, it is only to make a promise or only in her sleep.

The doctors will take care of you, don’t worry. Samcheon is here. I won’t let them hurt you any more than you already have been.

Midnight, in that agonising few months of hospital rooms and the claustrophobic rehabilitation centre. When Elijah is able to perceive nothing but her breath, Yohan, hands reverent; soothing his own fears through comforting his niece. Things will be okay. We’ll be fine. A few grounding breaths are never enough, not after he learns what those monsters took from his niece.

And when Elijah cries. When she first asks after her mother and father, why they aren’t by her side, why is it just samcheon everyday? When Yohan’s tears ring before hers, for the first and last time. I’m sorry, so is declared. I’ll fix this, so is promised. He holds her as close as he can permit himself to, and vows to burn down this world if she asks him to.

Elijah, once, four years since, on her tenth birthday, asks him, “Can you help me?”

Yohan will pretend like he hasn’t been starved of hearing those words. He follows her to her room, honoured of her trip halfway across the house.

“The girls at school,” Elijah fumbles about, wringing her hands together, “that… they wear their…”

He stands in her doorway, somewhat uninvited, waits for her to finish.

“They wear their hair, kind of… like this,” Elijah mimics some variation of a hairstyle best she can, two locks of her hair held in her hands, the parting off. “I was just…”

Yohan, unfortunately, understands little. “Do you need a haircut?”

Elijah’s hands fall, as does the thin hope upon her features. “It’s nothing,” she dismisses. “I only called you because ahjumma wasn’t in today. It’s fine.”

Yohan blinks. “I can help if —”

“It’s fine,” Elijah hisses. “I was mistaken.”

If there is any chance of that ever happening again, time will have to be reversed. Elijah turns twelve, and things change, and Yohan notes his laptop has been hacked.

He buys her a cake for her thirteenth birthday that finds itself smashed against a wall and a demand for no such recurrence.

Yohan will never disobey her. Not with things that she can control.

So he buys no cakes, but buys her a building and channels the affection he allows himself to feel once a month in an allowance that shocks Ms Ji despite the lifetime she’s spent in this family.

Once, there is a package of hair care products with their usual shipment of essentials, which Ms Ji makes a show of putting in Yohan’s way. When he relents, it only takes a tilt of head to the east of the house for her to get the hint. He never knows if Elijah uses them, but the list goes on to include some products out of the large batch he’d purchased, and Yohan considers buying another building.

On her sixteenth birthday, Yohan asks, “Do you want to have a birthday party?”

Elijah asks, “Who will we call?”

Yohan nods, for that is an apt answer.

When Kim Gaon comes, Elijah hates him more than usual. That, Yohan had expected. What he hadn’t was that this hatred would melt away faster than ice when met with fire.

The frist time Elijah sports a more delicate hairstyle than the usual ponytail, Yohan thinks it’s a trick of the light. But she turns her head when retrieving cereal, and her hair is still parted that way and a short braid runs from behind her ear into the clipped-back hair at the back of her head, and Yohan pauses to stare.

Instead of their noncommittal acknowledgement of each other each morning, he asks, “When did you…” and gestures to the back of his head.

Elijah shrugs, looking over at him impassively for a moment before pursuing her breakfast once again. Kim Gaon slides into view, grin perpetually etched into his face, asks, “Elijah, did it stay?”

To which Elijah smiles back, and now Yohan’s eyebrows remain shot up.

Kim Gaon continues to talk, “It’s experimental. We’ll try a different style tomorrow. Your hair’s long enough to make an intricate bun.”

Yohan ensures Elijah watches him conspicuously eye the both of them.

“Kim pansa,” he says, breaking the moment. “We need to go to work.”

The next day, and the day after that, Elijah wears her hair in different styles. Once it is a high bun with some small braids, once it is a different parting and a new set of clips. Yohan observes critically over breakfast as Elijah holds her head a certain way to ensure it doesn’t fall into her food, and thinks, how impractical.

She catches him looking, so she hoists a sour look, to which Yohan responds with an exaggerated tilt of his head, aiming to mimic her.

“Don’t make fun of her,” Kim Gaon’s imposing voice interrupts. “Elijah looks fantastic today.”

Elijah beams. Yohan is disarmed of a biting reply for he hasn’t seem her teeth take on anything but a stubborn baring of power in front of him. He spends the rest of the day replaying it.

When things so south and north again, when Elijah acknowledges, begrudgingly, that her uncle did not have it out for her father, Kim Gaon mediates harmoniously.

He spends an evening making them both chase the cat around the house.

It’s an inane idea, even Elijah hates it, but he tells them the reason Kkomi starts throwing things off their desks at four in the morning is because she’s understimulated, and that even a cat needs to exercise.

So it’s Elijah’s job to get her rilled up enough to run — in a cat’s terribly comic way — away from them, and Yohan’s to ensure she keeps running around.

He’s insane, is what Kim Gaon is. Elijah’s more than sure this borders on some ethical offense. Yohan sure seems to find some pleasure in making the cat scared for her life.

Gaon congratulates them both with a mid-evening coffee and snack break. Elijah actually, voluntarily, asks for Yohan to pass the plate of biscuits across, and thanks him — thanks him! — when he does.

Before they all retire to bed, after another shared meal, Elijah calls for him from down the hall.

“Yohan!”

He turns, maintaining what he thinks is a smile.

“Can you try and get some coconut oil?”

“What for?”

Elijah scrutinises him, gauging how he doesn’t understand something so obvious. “For my hair.”

Yohan nods, still not on the same page, but very much wanting to be. “I’ll get it,” he assures.

He doesn’t blink twice at the astronomical shipping price.

It’s a tall bottle, imported and primly packaged, that greets Elijah when she returns home from her weekly ice-cream run with Gaon.

She eyes it, suspicious, before their resident busybody stands in her doorway and says, “Oh, bujang-nim actually bought it for you.”

Elijah blinks at Gaon innocently. Yohan does listen to her sometimes.

“Material wealth,” Gaon seems to understand. “We’ll put it in your hair tomorrow, okay? Keep it in for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Yohan voices, having just turned the corner, dressed as he usually is at home.

“What are you doing here,” Elijah mutters, shooting a scowl at Yohan as he stands in her doorway as well.

He scowls back, never one to back down from a challenge, as Gaon goes on about the benefits of oiling hair behind them.

“Don’t pull,” Elijah hisses.

“I’m not,” Yohan insists, but puts less force into his actions nonetheless.

Gaon and Ms Ji are monitoring them, mirroring each other with their arms crossed and leaning against opposite sides of the doorway.

Yohan sections Elijah’s hair into three parts after brushing through it, the fine-toothed comb surprisingly sparse of broken hair.

“Gaon has been helping me take care of it,” Elijah had explained, when he errantly asked. “What, did you think I’m some sort of wild animal?”

Yohan carefully collects some oil in his palms, completely foreign to this, eyes flickering up to Gaon for guidance. Gaon is absolutely no help.

So he trusts his instincts and starts at Elijah’s scalp, rubbing oil in, and ends with oil down his forearms and Elijah’s hair in a thick braid. She’s fast asleep.

“That means you did a good job,” Gaon whispers to him.

Yohan would smile, but such affection hardly suits his face. He pats Gaon’s face with an oily hand, leaves him spluttering, and grins to himself as he tries to wash the oil off.

It barely becomes a routine, because despite Gaon’s somewhat vast knowledge on hair care and what Elijah read online, washing oil out of your hair can be a nightmare. But Ms Ji and Gaon have observed their two sulking overlords interacting with an increasing frequency, even if it is sometimes just to disagree about an arrangement of clips or parting of hair.

Gaon had supposed, somewhat, that his bujang-nim had at least an understanding of style. In his discussions with his niece, though, when somehow colour schemes and draping becomes relevant, Gaon admits he’d underestimated Kang Yohan.

Later Elijah will decide she wants to dress for dinner as well, and Yohan will be the only one diligently obeying the formality. So much so that he will leave a guest in the company of the villainous home to attend to his niece’s requests. No one will ask about the pink bow in her hair, but it’s more than enough for Yohan to know that he tied it up.

#the devil judge #the devil judge fic #tvn the devil judge #kang yohan #kang elijah #kim gaon #is there a tag for the fam #lawful family #(?)#idk #whovie writes

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theficplug · 3 years

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l Sunflower Vol. 6 l Harry Styles l

Harry Styles x Black Reader

Warnings: none , pure fluff

[harry and reader feels like it’s just time to let the world know.]

As Harry was coming to an end of an era with the Fine Line album. Sunflower Vol. 6 was the last of the bunch to receive a visual to the groovy almost psychedelic track.

You remember when the idea of the song came up. You had explained where your nickname Sunflower came from.

-flashback-

He was sitting on the couch in your shared home with his guitar resting gently across his chest playing the same melody and humming sunflower to himself while watching the rain fall down heavily through the cracked window.

The slight breeze coming through blew his disheveled hair around. Harry had been up all night saying that he didn’t wanna forget the cords and the rhythm of the song that was still coming to him.

You quietly walked down the stairs to find him still up humming and tapping along to the beat as he tried to get into the groove.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asks quietly as he sits the guitar aside and opens his arms for you.

“No, but the cold giant you shaped empty spot in the bed did. Tea?” you ask chuckling softly before handing him the mug in your other hand and kissing the top of his head.

You had also brought blankets with you and draped it over the both of you while settling onto his lap and resting your head on his shoulder. You watched as he instantly relaxed and settled back against it at the sound of your voice. Placing a gentle kiss to your forehead he accepts the pink mug.

“Thank you love.” he says quietly to you before trailing his hands up and down your leg gently as he takes small sips of the earl grey.

“I love nights like this. It reminds me of growing up back home. My mama would yell at my dad and me for dancing around in the rain.”Don’t come in here asking me for vapor rub and soup when y’all are coughing up a storm”. She would say with her face all scrunched up. But we knew it was from a place of love because every time she’d end up running out to joining even if only for a few minutes and she had an umbrella. But the deal was that I couldn’t complain about being woken up at 5am to get the hot comb before school. She knew she couldn’t resist dancing to My Girl with us. To our neighbours who were always in our business we probably looked like a bunch of maniacs just laughing and being happy to love and be loved. ” you explained to him and he would chuckle softly and tell you about how he wished he knew you when you were kids.

He swears that he would’ve known then that you were it for him.

“I was 6 years old when I got the name Sunflower. As usual it was my mother, father , and I sitting on the porch. I was just sitting eating sunflower seeds and staring out at the rain. Waiting for my father to set up the radio and put our favourite songs on. We ran out onto the grass and as he twirled me around. My father said to me “you’re my sunflower because you always grow towards the sun and bring such a light to our lives. Becoming your parents was the best day of our lives. Getting to see you grow is the small moments of magic in this life. That’s how I knew you were the one for me. Because he didn’t think anyone was good enough for me, but when he met you and you actually got him to laugh with you and say yes to proposing to me. I knew this was it.” you explain and laugh at his expression.

“Bae, are you tearing up?” you ask as he leaned over to kiss all over his face then peck his lips.

“I’ve just got something in my eye. That’s all. I just can’t wait to share how much I love you with the world. I want them to feel that when they listen to this album.”

“And they will” you reassure him

-present-

After over a year and a half of dating and being engaged you knew that it was time to share it with the world. There was only so much can take after 10 years of speculations. He was more than ready to tell everyone that there was only one woman he wanted to spend his life with.

He’d like to have a meal with a childhood friend without him being painted as a cheater on someone he wasn’t even dating in the first place.

A sigh of relief washed over you both when the video finally wrapped. You remember telling Harry that if you were going to be a part of this video you wanted the entire crew to be black or at least of colour.

“Those are my rules , Harold. I wanna put my people on, and no offense baby but can’t nobody white touch this fro. I haven’t let anyone besides my mother do my hair since I was a little girl. You got me? ” you expressed to him and he nodded because he had already had the idea in mind knowing he wanted to put his money where his mouth is with supporting black creatives.

He began searching social media for black hair stylists, videographers, directors , and everyone else that would be needed to get the project done.

Now it’s less than 24 hours before the world would know about what has been sweetly yours for a little over a year.

From what you could tell a lot of people assumed that his album was about exes or previous relationships but on the contrary he had actually written one song for closure about a past situation. The rest of the entire album was essentially about you,and how he fell in love with your kindness and how much he adored you. Some of the fans who listened closely picked up on the line in Adore You. ‘Your wonder under summer skies. Brown skin and lemon over ice’ . It was about the vacation you two took a few months before the pandemic right after he wrapped on his newest film. He swore that your mahogany skin glowed under the warm July sun and against the cerulean coverup. That man looked at you like someone told him that you were made out of pure gold. Thus sparking his first track on the album, Golden. You two were even papped together while on the beach with your families but of course most just assumed that you were a family friend. It seemed to be a trend when he’s photographed with a woman of colour before but he reassured you that he was single when he asked you on a date the day he met you at the farmers market.

-flashback-

He tumbled over his words while trying to ask you about what kind of jam you would recommend for him to bring home to his mother.

“I’m gonna be at her home for the weekend and just thought that I’d bring a few things for breakfast while I’m there. Yours caught my eye. Are these little sunflowers all over the jars?” he asks as he bends down to inspect them.

“Yeah , you like it? It’s kind of my brand. It’s been a bit of a slow day. I think it’s because it’s gonna rain. Never one to be scared of a little rain. I can tell that this is gonna taste far better than bringing home a jar of Nutella.” you say to him with a small smile on your face.

After grabbing a plastic spoon for him to try out peach, strawberry, and cherry. He ended up purchasing several jars of all 3, but the cherry jam was his favourite and blushed the entire time you scooped the spoon in his mouth.

“What’s it like to be so lonely like this? I feel like it would be difficult to not be able to be out with others because you don’t want them to have to go through all of this.I feel like even though someone’s “famous” you’ve got to at least treat people with kindness and some level of respect. ” you say to him as the people pushed their way over to your boutique once they realized who was standing there.

You didn’t even really know who he was because you hadn’t been into One Direction in their prime. So, you knew he was a big deal from the whispers and people walking up to him and asking him for pictures and practically offering him their entire supply. But you just knew him as the dorky slightly awkward and weird cutie standing in front of you in the giant sunhat and pearls that stuttered while trying to tell you about his time working in a bakery before they came over.

“It’s alright. You kind of just learn to adapt to all of it after 10 years. . I worked there for like a year but we never had anything that tasted this good!” he admitted and you would giggle softly at the complement and give him your number on the receipt. You could see him doing a little shimmy while waving the number in the air.

-present-

You think back to the conversation fondly before Harry’s low and soothing voice snapped you out of your thoughts as he peeks his head into the room to ask if you want to see the finished video.

You followed him to his little makeshift studio in your home and take a seat on his lap so that you both could see it.

Harry had come up with the concept of you being a sunflower and him being like a bee because he swore he was drawn to you from the first conversation you two had ever said.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your side. He was already trying to hide his smile as the video started with you in a canary yellow dress that flowed over your body making you look like a sun goddess as you twirled with the sunflowers in your afro.

You soaked in the sun and swayed to the music before Harry came into focus.

You remember that day his mother and your parents were on set because they were going to make a cameo at the end and both of your mothers had been behind the camera giving you both thumbs up and standing with their hands over their hearts the entire time.

Harry dances across the screen dressed in bumblebee-esque colours with the black and yellow as he danced around you and you looked over at him wide eyed before moving away from him. You followed the script and continued to dance around to the music doing your own thing as he danced around you to get your attention.

“You look so beautiful babe. Look at you! God damn I am a lucky bastard, aren’t I?” he says giddily laughing and smiling like a boy on the schoolyard with a crush.

“Oh stop, but keep going.” you say jokingly as you pat his thigh softly.

“I mean it. You could’ve gone on set just like this with no makeup and wearing this old shirt and looked like perfection itself.” he complements and it was your turn to break into a smile cause this man really was the sweetest little thing.

“Right back at you, sweet thing. I love how they cut your hair for the video. That was probably the best line up you’ve ever had. It was a game changer wasn’t it? You didn’t know black barbers are magicians.” you say giggling as you watch him prance around in the video in the yellow and black suit.

It comes to the part of the video where your parents and his mother both walk into the shot and your father takes your hand and dance with you as the mothers dance together.

Harry glides over to you and asks for your hand and your father puts yours in his.

He twirls you around as the parents look on and you both show your engagement rings to the camera and smile up at each other.

By the end of the video you and Harry blow a kiss at the camera before sharing a moment of pressing your forehead against his and the video ends.

You sniffle and dab at your eyes with a napkin from his desk and he turns to you before leaning into press kisses to your cheeks and lips.

“I love you and you know that there isn’t anyone else I would wanna tell the world about. It’s going to be just fine because I plan on making you happy for the rest of your life.” he reassures you and you nod before kissing his nose.

“What else can I say Harold? You went from being the awkward sweetheart that wrote me love letters and sung me to sleep when we couldn’t be together to someone I could not imagine life without. If people can’t see that there’s nothing but love and happiness here that’s their business. But this is ours.” you say to him knowing that it’s out of your element to feel so sappy but with him you just can’t help it.

The next day the video dropped along with the caption ‘it’s also our anniversary. So be kind or leave. All the love, H.’

The outpour of love and support from his fans and other celebrities was ridiculously overwhelming but well received as you made sure to make a small short follow up video thanking them for all of the love, well wishes, and compliments.

[ a little different for me but i hope you still enjoyed it to the lovely person who requested it !]

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #fanfic for black girls #fine line album

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

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Just A Friend

AO3

Another Sunday, another chapter. Hope it’s a good weekend for you all, despite these uncertain times. I always intended this story to be a bit of fluffy light relief from the real world. Thanks for all the support for it.

There will probably be another 3 chapters after this, depending on how the characters behave. I cant seem to make them do what I want sometimes!

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

Chapter 11: From Marriage to Mackenzie

It’s 1pm and I’m in a hotel room, still in a bathrobe, sipping Buck’s Fizz whilst a hairdresser wrestles with my wayward curls, finally managing to corral them into some sort of recognisable hair style.

Geillis is sitting on the edge of the bed incongruously dressed in tiara and bathrobe, her hair arranged in an elaborate updo. I catch her eye through the dressing table mirror and smile before my vision is obscured by a miasma of hairspray.

A few final tweaks of my curls and it’s done. I am just amazed that my hair can be cajoled into such glossy, bouncy curls, held behind one ear by an ornately decorated comb. With suitable compliments and thanks, Geillis and I bid goodbye to the hairdresser.

The bride stands up and adjusts the belt of her robe. She seems the epitome of calm.

“Are you not nervous, Geillis? You’ll be walking down the aisle in about an hour’s time.”

“Weel, I am a wee bit worried about a couple of things,” she admits. “I dinna ken how ma cousin Janie will behave. She may try tae proposition every man under the age of seventy five. And as fer Dougal’s Uncle Eric—he has been known tae get steamin’ drunk and puke in the rose beds. But about the marrying? Nah, I dinna have any nerves about that. I want tae spend ma life wi’ Dougal and that’s what today is all about. I have nae worries about making that commitment. He’s the one fer me. When ye ken, ye ken. Trust me, Claire.”

The pocket of her bathrobe begins to buzz. She quickly pulls out her phone and reads the message.

“I’d best go. That was Mam, fretting about something or other. Are ye ok getting dressed on yer own?”

“I’ve managed for the past twenty nine years or so. I dare say I can manage another day.” I sigh theatrically.

“I ken. Ye can manage on yer own. Ye always do. But thanks fer being here with me today. It means a lot tae have the people who mean the most tae me around,” she leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “But remember what I said, Claire, when ye ken, ye ken. Dinna ignore it.”

Pausing at the interconnecting doorway, she does a quick body shimmy and grins. “Woo hoo! I’m getting married. Canna believe it’s here now,”

From the adjoining room, I can hear a shouted response. “Geillis Duncan, ye get here now. Yer mam reckons that makeup lassie has done her eyeliner wonky. It looks fine tae me. Can ye come and talk some sense in tae the daft cow?”

“Alright, Da, I’m coming.” Geillis yells back before leaving to deal with her parents.

I sit down and study my bridesmaid’s dress, now hanging on the wardrobe door. I’m getting excited about the day ahead. Probably not as much as Geillis, obviously, but a host of butterflies appears to have taken residence in the pit of my stomach.

I’m truly thrilled for Geillis to be marrying Dougal—they love each other so much. But, also, it’s scary to me. She is willing, eager even, to commit to one person, to base her future life, her future happiness on one man. If they should ever leave…well, I’m not sure I’d be able to cope with that. If you love too hard, you can hurt too much. Trust me on that, I know. People leave you. Don’t give your heart to anyone, keep it hidden away, protected…intact.

The ping from my phone diverts me from this somber train of thought.

I’m downstairs at the hotel. Can you come and say hello?

I quickly type:

Come up to the 2nd floor. I’ll meet you by the lift.

Making sure the keycard is in my pocket, I slip my feet into the hotel’s complimentary slippers and shuffle out to meet Jamie.

I’m already waiting as the lift door opens and he emerges. My first thought is oh wow, as is my second...and third. He has made an effort for this wedding, and it’s certainly paid off. Eschewing the more formal Prince Charlie style, he’s wearing a charcoal grey jacket and waistcoat, perfectly matching the grey in his kilt. A crisp white shirt and burgundy tie complement the secondary colours in the tartan. His sporran is black leather, heavily etched or embossed. I can’t quite make out the detail. Then I feel myself blush as I realise I have been clearly staring at his...er, lower body. I look up quickly.

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to have noticed. He looks me up and down and smiles. “Nice outfit,” he comments drily. “Is the bride wearing white towelling too? What’s the theme? Salon chic?”And is that part of the design?” He points to an orange stain on the front of my robe. I pull a face and tie the belt tighter, trying to tuck the offending piece of material out of sight.

“Must have spilled a drop of my Buck’s Fizz.”

“Drinking already? Dinna be staggering down the aisle.”

He reaches out towards my hair and pauses for a second before making a random circular motion with his hand. “And this…I like yer hair. It’s verra…verra…” he searches for the word. “... asymmetric.”

“Thank you,” I hold the ‘skirt’ of my robe and bob a little curtsy. “That’s totally what we were going for—asymmetric.”

He laughs. “Nah, seriously. Yer hair and yer makeup look grand. I’m sure ye’ll look lovely in yer dress.”

I gesture to my room. “I’d best finish getting ready.”

“Aye, I’ll see ye downstairs.” He presses the button for the lift.

“By the way, you look grand too.” I try to say it in an understated way. It’s true, but I don’t want him to read anything into the statement.

The lift arrives and he steps inside. As the doors close, he fires a parting shot. “Especially the sporran, eh?”

*********

Now in my bridesmaid’s dress, I practice a couple of pirouettes in front of the mirror before hearing a quick knock on the door to the adjoining room.

“Ye ready, Claire? Mam’s jes’ gone down. Only us three left.”

I walk through to the other room to be met by a riot of open suitcases, bags and boxes. A variety of towels, dressing gowns and footwear seem to be carpeting the floor.

“‘S ok,” Geillis’ voice comes from behind me. “It’s no’ ma problem. I’m no’ sleeping here tonight. I’ll be in the bridal suite. This’ll be Mam and Dad’s room.”

I turn to see my best friend now fully dressed and ready. Her father is hovering next to her, clad in kilt and full formal regalia. I always knew she would win that battle.

As beautiful as she looks, the thing that really strikes me is the way her father is watching her, with such love and pride. She returns his gaze and brings her forehead to rest against his cheek.

I swallow hard, fighting the desire to shed a tear. It’s such a precious image, so intimate, but also, I realise that, since Lamb died, I have nobody, no father figure, to share something like this. I feel a momentary pang of, not jealousy, but a feeling of regret over an emotion that I will never get to experience.

And then, just like that, the moment passes.

It always does.

Geillis passes me a creamy white posy tied with a simple ribbon and gathers up her bouquet of peonies, roses and fragrant eucalyptus.

“OK,” she takes a deep breath and breaks into a huge grin. “I think I’m late enough tae get Dougal jes’ a wee bit nervous. Time tae roll.”

*******

The hotel’s orangery provides a perfect setting for the wedding ceremony. Softly diffused sunlight filters through the white muslin drapes at the large windows. A slight breeze wafts the fabric gently, giving tantalising glimpses of the formal gardens outside.

At the end of the room, Dougal and Angus stand beside a large arch of succulent green foliage, staring straight ahead as Geillis and her father begin the procession down the aisle with me following.

Even before he turns to look, I can spot Jamie — his auburn curls are head and shoulders above those around him. He stays still at first, but as we draw near he turns around and grins before doing his funny blink, screwing up his face and closing both eyes, which I have learnt, is Jamie’s attempt at a wink. I return his smile before focussing on the arch getting ever closer.

Dougal appears rooted to the spot, but Angus turns around and watches for a moment before giving me a perfectly executed wink. I smile politely even as I shudder inwardly. The sheer self confidence of that man is beyond belief. Then he disappears from my thoughts as Geillis reaches the arch and passes me her bouquet to hold. The joy on her and Dougal’s faces as they prepare to make their vows is wonderful and I’m so happy to be a part of it all.

***************

They say the sun shines on the righteous. Well, Geillis and Dougal must be exceptionally good, as it’s a perfect summer afternoon. It’s beautifully warm, but not too hot, as all the guests mingle in the gardens, admiring the beautiful surroundings whilst drinking chilled champagne.

The photographer has finished with the formal photographs, so I’m allowed to relax and enjoy a glass or two. I can still spot him wandering around, ready to take more natural, candid shots of the proceedings but nobody seems to mind.

I was initially worried about inviting Jamie to the wedding for a couple of reasons. The first was my friends. Of course, my friends are great, but Anna and Mary can sometimes have an issue with boundaries and I had visions of the ‘conversations’ they might try to have with Jamie — ‘nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition’ unless Anna and Mary are around.

The second reason was that Jamie would literally know only one person at this wedding —me. And that, when I was off doing official ‘wedding stuff’, he would be on his own, billy-no-mates. But, as I look around, I realise I had absolutely nothing to worry about on that score. He has the knack, it seems, to get on with everyone.

At the moment he’s talking to Geillis’s father, laughing and joking like they’re old friends. He notices me looking at him, lifts his empty glass up and points to me. I hold my glass up and nod. He excuses himself and strolls towards the bar.

There’s a slight touch on my elbow. “Hello, dear.”

I draw my attention to the old lady standing next to me—Geillis’ great aunt Frances. I’ve met her on a couple of occasions before and have always enjoyed her company. She’s a straight talker and makes no bones about it. “When ye get tae my age,” I remember her commenting to me “ye dinna have time tae beat about the bush, ye need tae say what ye think.” I like that in a person.

“Hello, how nice to see you.”

“Ye too,dear. I must say ye’re looking awfa bonnie in that dress. It’s a fine colour on ye.”

“Thank you. And you’re looking lovely yourself.”

Frances makes a self deprecating ‘hmph’ sound, dismissing my compliment with a wave of her hand. “Away wi’ ye. Ye do yer best wi’ what ye’ve still got. Which isna much in ma case.”

I shake my head. “Not at—“

But she decides to change the subject and moves on with her next question. “Is that yer young man over there?” She points at Jamie, heading towards us with two glasses of champagne. “He’s a handsome chap, is he no’? Mind ye, that’s no more than ye deserve. Sae, mebbe ye’ll be next?”

“No, we—“

I have no chance to say anything more, before Jamie is by my side and handing me one of the glasses. I take a sip as he notices that Frances has no drink and, without hesitation, he passes the second glass to her.

“Aren’t ye kind… er?” She accepts gratefully.

“Jamie.”

“Weel, Jamie, let me tell ye. It’s been a long while since a good looking young man has brought me a drink. I should make the most of it. Anyway, I was jes’ saying tae our Claire here, how bonnie she looks today. Does she no’?”

She fixes her gaze on Jamie, demanding an answer.

“Aye, she looks lovely.” His eyes meet mine for a second, before I look away and try to change the subject.

“Don’t you think Geillis looks beautiful, Frances?”

But, it seems that Frances has one line of conversation that she is keen to pursue. “Oh aye, she does. But, Jamie, I was jes’ saying tae Claire that mebbe she’ll be next. What d’ye think?”

Fortunately, I’m spared any response as a gong sounds and the maître d’ announces that dinner is served and that everyone should make their way inside to the dining room.

****************

Having narrowly avoided any embarrassment, I am somewhat apprehensive to see Frances at our table. Fortunately, Geillis’ cousin and baby are enough to divert her attention away from any matrimonial prospects that may or may not be on my horizon.

With Jamie sitting by my side, I catch him up on all the behind the scenes activity of my day and we fall into our pattern of easy conversation and gentle banter. From time to time, I can see Frances, opposite, watching us with a look of approval on her face, but she says nothing.

Once the speeches and toasts are over, there’s a palpable change in the guests. Jackets are draped over chair backs, sleeves rolled up and waistcoat buttons undone. I can spot more than one woman moving awkwardly in her chair, struggling to locate the shoes that were eased off out of sight under the table. Cheeks become flushed with an abundance of rich food and tongues become looser with a surfeit of fine wine.

I sip my whisky, savouring its peaty smokiness. Jamie is in a serious rugby related conversation with his neighbour. A rustle of fabric behind me announces the arrival of the bride, a look of frustration on her face.

She greets the table politely before whispering “Can I borrow ye, Claire?”

I make my excuses and follow her into a quieter room.

“What’s up, Geillis? Is everything alright?” I’m concerned that there’s something genuinely wrong.

“It’s his bloody family,” she hisses. “The Mackenzies, if ye give them an inch, they’ll take a fuckin’ mile.”

She takes a deep breath and continues. “Dougal invited his second cousin Gary and his wife tae our evening do. Jes’ the two of them mind. Sae they turn up an hour and a half early and try tae cadge dessert and brandies from the waiters.”

“Where are they now?”

“Och, they’re sitting outside wi’ a couple of spare bottles of wine.” She gestures angrily to the gardens visible through the window. “And they’ll be first in the queue fer the buffet this evening, nae doubt. And what's more, they took it upon themselves tae bring their three bairns too. Weel, I say bairns, but they’re all in their twenties so it’s no’ as if they dinna have a babysitter.”

She finally sits down and lets her shoulders relax.

I take her hand and try to look serious. If this is the worst thing that happens today, that’s not so bad. Although clearly, in Geillis’ eyes, this is a catastrophe. “It’s not going to spoil anything really is it? They didn’t gatecrash the meal or the speeches,” I speak in a soothing tone. “Are you ok now?”

She nods. “Happen ye’re right. I jes’ wanted tae get it off ma chest. And I kent what I was getting in tae wi’ his family. But tae drag Gregory, Alicia and Laoghaire uninvited wi’ them jes’ pisses me off.”

I stare at her. “Laoghaire? Laoghaire Mackenzie?”

“Aye, that’s right. Unusual name, is it no’? Ye dinna find many of them around—thank god.”

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turtle-paced · 4 years

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A:tLA Re-Watch: Fine-Toothed Comb Edition

I thought I could probably do this for a series I love, too.

They won’t all be as dense (and long) as this recap (’The Great Divide’, anyone?), and no set schedule. But I hope someone enjoys reading this, because I enjoyed writing it.

Also, this isn’t going to be spoiler-free. Analysis assumes familiarity with the entire series.

Book 1, Episode 1 - The Boy in the Iceberg

(0:07) The series starts with an intro. It’s a bloody good intro. First, we go through the four elements and the styles, showing Pakku, Azula, and Aang.

(0:19) Then we see a map - and if you know what you’re looking for, you can find a bunch of the landmarks visited or mentioned over the course of the series - while the voiceover starts talking about her own historical knowledge. Before the story properly starts, we get the sense of a character as well as the history. This gives us the setting. Four nations, one Avatar to keep balance between them, but this was “the old days”.

(0:34) “But that all changed when the Fire Nation attacked.” We pan to a shot of Fire Nation soldiers, who we can already tell are industrialised. More to the point, the animation shows the Fire Nation attacking, and they’re attacking the fourth wall. This helps get across the point; though the show goes into detail that the Fire Nation is made up of ordinary people, and the Fire Nation has suffered from the war as well, the war is nevertheless unambiguously wrong. Before we meet a single Fire Nation citizen, before we get a good non-intro look at the setting, the Fire Nation’s soldiers have already shot fireballs right at the neutral, uninvolved viewer.

(0:46) We’re told that what makes the Avatar different is his ability to use all four elements, and we see Roku doing so. We also see Roku vanish. So we’ve got this big, central tension in the setting established. The world is out of balance from the Fire Nation’s war of conquest, and the means of addressing this imbalance is AWOL.

(0:50) This brings us from the old days to the present of the story, where the Fire Nation are winning.

(0:59) We get more information on the character speaking. From the shots of ice and ships, a viewer might accurately guess by this stage that we’re listening to someone from the Water Tribes. Her father and the other men of her tribe left two years ago, leaving her and her brother behind. So this gives us some idea of the immediate circumstances we’ll be jumping into. Including a solid indication that the Water Tribes are patriarchal.

(1:12) Then, the most intimate character detail: the speaker, this Water Tribe girl, has not lost hope that the Avatar will return. We pan over an empty rock spire, up to the sky and the title screen.

This is a bloody good intro because in just over a minute, it’s given us an overview of the political state of the setting and the magic system in use. It gave us the narration, but it also showed the difference between the styles, the lines of the map, the Fire Nation attacking, and the Avatar using all four bending styles. On top of that, it gave us varying levels of detail as to the personal character context of Katara (who’s already got inner life), Sokka, and Aang (by implication, as the missing Avatar).

It took them just over a minute to do all that. Over the course of the series, we’ll see that the writers know how to say a lot with a little.

(2:00) The story proper starts with the siblings in the intro in a boat, in some very icy waters, a long way from anywhere. They’re fishing. We get a name for Katara.

(2:19) Katara grimaces and tentatively starts trying to waterbend the fish into the boat. So we see already that while she’s able to bend, she’s not got a whole lot of skill. We also get Sokka’s name at this point.

(2:40) Sokka ignores his sister in favour of concentrating on his own work and complains about Katara’s bending. He’s already the meat and sarcasm guy! More importantly, from his comments, it would appear that he isn’t able to bend. What’s also quickly apparent is that he doesn’t have all that much patience with Katara’s experimentation, and as a non-bender, does not feel this as a means of connection to his own culture (while Katara does).

(2:59) Sokka’s making muscles at his own reflection shows us early one of the biggest character flaws he’s going to have to work on: teenage insecurity.

(3:31) The show doesn’t go into detail here, but with the boat smashed, Katara and Sokka are in a real bad situation. ’The Desert’ levels of bad situation.

(3:42) Sokka is explicitly sexist here. The fact that he’s so openly sexist, to his sister’s face, is another solid indicator that the Water Tribes as a whole are patriarchal.

(3:49) While this is pretty straightforward ‘Katara gets angry and accidentally waterbends an iceberg into pieces’, look at the movement of the water following the movement of her arms. Specifically, we see waterbending when Katara makes those big dramatic sweeps of her arms, not when she’s making little jabbing motions towards Sokka. Who wants to bet that if Katara were a firebender, the accidental bending would be from the jabs, rather than the arm-waving? The animators put a lot of hard work and thought into the bending and it shows.

(4:29) The fact that Katara’s outburst was a fairly normal sibling disagreement is reinforced by the fact that Sokka immediately puts his arm around Katara to help steady her as they cling to the ice. They might shout at each other, but they’ve also got each other’s backs when things turn more serious.

(4:37) A glowing light appears beneath the water, quickly followed by another huge-ass iceberg. Even aside from the glowing and the vague figures inside it, this is also clearly not a natural iceberg. Far too round.

(5:12) Confronted with a strange glowing figure in a giant ice ball, Katara’s first reaction is “we have to help” and running forward to do so. An establishing character moment that shows her compassion, her courage, and her proactive nature. Sokka, by contrast, is more cautious - he follows Katara, but he emphasises that they don’t know what this is.

(5:37) When Katara breaks the iceberg, a giant beam of light flashes up to the sky, in a giant signal for anyone and everyone in the area, ‘Inciting Incident!’

(5:46) Establishing shot of a metal ship. Despite the hard lines and points marking this out as a Fire Nation ship like in the intro, the ship is all in blue-grey. No black. No Fire Nation colours.

(5:49) Someone else is involved in this inciting incident, too. A young man with red and black armour - so likely to be an antagonist, going by colour-coding - and a nasty scar on his face which can be identified as a burn scar. One shot and we can see that a) this guy is Fire Nation and b) this guy has been seriously hurt by fire. The first thing he says is “finally,” which tells the viewer that a) he’s been looking out for something of this nature and b) he’s been doing this for a while. Two seconds of looking at Zuko, folks. It’s some information-dense storytelling.

(5:54) Our as-yet-unnamed antagonist turns to “uncle” on the deck and asks him whether he knows what this means. Iroh’s first seen playing a game and drinking tea (from a Fire Nation-themed teapot), complaining that he won’t get to finish it.

(6:13) A quick exchange of dialogue and we’ve got Zuko’s name and title. It’s explicitly confirmed that Zuko is searching for a “him” who is incredibly powerful. Iroh, by contrast, is not fully on board with Zuko’s goals and wary of his nephew’s obsession. He’s motivated primarily by concern for Zuko’s wellbeing.

But what I paused here for is this single, throwaway shot, where we get to see Iroh’s game. The Fire Nation is big into fire supremacy, but Iroh’s playing a game where the ‘suits’ of his tiles are represented by all four elements. (The designs are in red, so I’m wondering if this is a colonial game, or whether fire is highest in the suit ranking.) You can see in the corners that there are secondary symbols on each tile representing the previous element in the Avatar cycle, and if you cared to, you could probably work out some of the rules to the game. And as Zuko and Iroh discuss the location of the (air) Avatar, Iroh’s trying to work out where to put his air tile.

This series has so many details like this. It’s nuts. It’s also one of the things that makes rewatching this show really, really cool. And worth it.

(6:25) “I don’t need any calming tea! I need to capture the Avatar!” Zuko shouts. Aside from the joke, this does get to some of the deeper issues here. Zuko’s not calm. He lashes out at people in his anger, which can be provoked by some pretty trivial things. He also considers capturing the Avatar to be a need.

Meanwhile, what’s on the surface the start of a joke about Iroh’s tea obsession is also an introduction to Iroh’s campaign to get Zuko to look after himself. Sit down and enjoy some tea. Sleep. Eat. Get a hobby. Do something that’s not unhealthily brooding about his mission to find the Avatar, and by extension, earning the approval of his abusive dad.

(6:52) Cut to commercial break on Katara and Sokka staring up apprehensively at a glowing, expressionless Aang.

(7:07) Other side of commercial break, Aang collapses down the slope, gets caught by Katara, and poked in the head by Sokka. Tension deflated! Not to mention repositions Aang so that the audience can see his vulnerability.

(7:17) Aang wakes up and stares into Katara’s face. This is a real love at first sight moment. Personally, I never thought the series was going anywhere but Kataang; the question wasn’t so much ‘are they in love?’ but ‘can they deal with their romantic feelings maturely enough to be in a relationship?’ Not until the end of the series, they can’t.

(7:30) Then we get our first idea of Aang’s character as he plays up the ‘tired and wounded’ demeanour, only to grin widely and ask Katara if she wants to go penguin-sailing with him. Mischievous, fun-loving, social. His enthusiasm for animals is also demonstrated.

I also love our first brief look at airbending, which Aang just uses to help him get around on the ice. (The first look we got at waterbending was similarly utilitarian.) Unlike Katara at this point, Aang is clearly a good enough airbender to use his arts almost without thought. Airbending is just something he can do.

(7:43) Meanwhile, Sokka wants to know why Aang isn’t frozen. Speaking of characterisation. Sokka wants to know how this surviving in an iceberg thing worked.

(7:55) We get a name for Appa before we get a good look at Appa. Aang’s rush to Appa and address of his bison as “buddy” establishes that Appa’s not just a pack animal but a friend.

(8:02) And the fact that Appa is not a common animal in the area is first conveyed by Sokka’s spectacular jaw drop.

(8:17) “Flying bison” is our first introduction to the weird and wonderful animals of the Avatar universe. Six legs included.

(8:32) Again, because this show is really good, I just want to highlight Aang’s simple advice to Sokka that the bison snot will wash out as excellent early characterisation. Aang’s not laughing at Sokka, he’s clearly aware of the non-effect of bison snot on clothing (implying that he’s been the one to do laundry before when a bison has sneezed on him), and he focused on a simple thing that can be done about the unpleasant situation of being covered in bison snot.

(8:46) Katara and Sokka disagree about whether Aang’s a spy for the Fire Navy. This tells us a bit about how Katara and Sokka each approach situations. Katara’s looking at the person in front of her. Sokka’s thinking of the broader situation and potential implications. And they’re both right - Katara’s correct that Aang is not a Fire Nation spy, her read on him better than Sokka’s. Sokka’s correct that the giant beam of light could attract Fire Nation attention, because as we’ve already seen, it has.

This is actually one of the things that makes Sokka one of the best depictions of “the smart guy” I’ve seen, and one of the things that makes the cast as a whole so compelling. The resident smart guy doesn’t know everything, doesn’t think of everything, and has personal issues (in this case, his untrusting nature) that get in the way of clear analysis sometimes, so he doesn’t just benefit from alternative points of view but outright needs them to be fully effective. Meanwhile, Sokka’s not monopolising the team brain, and the rest of the cast can and do make regular, intelligent contributions to group planning. Everyone gets to be smart.

Also worth noting for the future, Katara sees the Fire Nation as evil, and Sokka does not disagree.

(9:10) With a mighty sneeze and an undeniable display of airbending, we get Aang’s name.

(9:21) While the subtitle “the Last Airbender” is a bit of a giveaway to the viewer that Aang is the only surviving human airbender we’ll see in the series, Katara and Sokka’s lack of immediate recognition of airbending and Sokka’s “pfffft yeah” reaction are the first in-universe indications that airbending, much like flying bison, is not often seen in the area.

(9:25) Sokka also refers to “midnight sun madness”, and indeed, while more than a day passes in these first two episodes, we don’t see actual nightfall. This is actually a bit of an inconsistency. The constant sunshine at the South Pole indicates that it’s summer there, yet as soon as we hit the Earth Kingdom, even the southern Earth Kingdom, it’s winter. So this is a minor error, something’s real off with the hemispheres of Avatar world, or the South Pole is the only thing in the series we see in the southern hemisphere.

This is also the sort of inconsistency I’m more than prepared to forgive, because it’s been done to keep the show’s timeline comprehensible and balanced. The series starts at the beginning of winter and ends at the end of summer. One season per element - water in winter, earth in spring, fire in summer.

(9:42) “The Desert”-style crisis averted via Appa’s presence, even if he’s not flying. Though since he’s got a saddle, the fact that Appa is a means of transportation was already clear.

(10:42) Meanwhile, on the Fire Nation ship, Zuko is out of armour and brooding.

(10:54) Iroh first hints, then openly states, that Zuko should get some sleep. (Sun’s still up!) But yes, again, we’re being shown that Zuko’s pursuit isn’t just an unquiet mind but not healthy, and Iroh’s trying not just to look after him, but to get him to look after himself. This includes outright discouraging Zuko from questing at all.

(11:12) Zuko’s response is a telling one. He’s not this dedicated to the goal out of the simple belief that the Avatar is alive and that capturing him would be good for the Fire Nation. It’s unclear at this point how or why Zuko’s honour could hinge on the capture of the Avatar, but it is clear that it’s a personal obligation to him.

(11:41) Katara knows Aang if he knows what happened to the Avatar. On Katara’s side, we see the importance of the Avatar to her. About all she can do to learn what happened to the Avatar is ask the new guy ‘what happened to the Avatar?’ and this is exactly what she’s done.

On Aang’s side, he still doesn’t know what’s going on - he thinks he’s been in the iceberg for a few days. He doesn’t know that the subtext of Katara’s question is ‘do you know how the war can be stopped, my family returned to me, and my home and culture preserved?’ His most recent experience is that being the Avatar loses him friends and family. So he lies and avoids that particular uncomfortable truth.

Though from the ‘just curious’ we can see that Katara doesn’t have much actual expectation that Aang will be able to give her a useful answer. Plus her non-reaction is used to make Aang’s denial all the more awkward for him.

(12:17) We get a sepia-toned nightmare sequence of Aang ending up in that iceberg. He and Appa were flying along when they got caught in a storm and dragged underneath the waves.

(12:30) Then Aang starts glowing, his demeanour drastically changes, and he waterbends the iceberg. Though it might be obvious from the title Avatar: the Last Airbender, the fact that Aang can use both airbending and waterbending would, per the intro, be a demonstration that he’s the Avatar. The show shows us these things.

(12:46) When Katara wakes Aang up, we get a shot from her perspective emphasising Aang’s tattoos. The meaning and significance of these is not explicitly stated, just highlighted as something outside of Katara’s ordinary.

(12:55) Establishing shot of Katara and Sokka’s village. There’s one decent-sized permanent structure, a low snow wall, and a bunch of tents, many of which aren’t in the best of repair. It’s obviously a barely-subsisting settlement.

(13:02) “Aang, this is the entire village,” Katara says. The entire village is 20 people, according to this shot. Aside from this low, low number of people, the demographics are obviously skewed. No adult men at all. The village is entirely women and children.

(13:08) The village also shies away from Aang when Katara introduces him. Sokka’s wariness of outsiders is the more common reaction.

(13:17) Gran-Gran gives part of it to the audience. Nobody has seen any airbenders for a hundred years. The fact that this coincides with the vanishing of the Avatar a hundred years ago may not be a coincidence. The intro gives this context to the viewers lets them piece things together in part, i.e., the airbenders must have been wiped out very early in the war, and this possibly has something to do with the missing Avatar. Without the intro, Aang doesn’t have that context, and is shocked at hearing that airbenders are apparently extinct.

Being Aang, however, he doesn’t pursue the thought any further. We’ll see Aang avoid things he doesn’t want to deal with again and again throughout the series, but it starts here, when he hears ‘airbenders are extinct’ and doesn’t immediately start asking for more information.

(13:32) Continuing to establish Sokka’s character and the world he lives in - he assumes Aang is carrying a weapon, because of course kids Aang’s age would need and carry weapons. He doesn’t recognise it, so he wants to know what it is. But his inexperience also shows because he just grabs the damn thing. What if it was a weapon? Very safe.

(13:44) The basic mechanics of Aang’s glider are explained by Aang himself telling a bunch of curious little kids how it works. The information asymmetry works both ways. Most of the other characters know nothing about airbending and the Air Nomads.

(14:00) Aang takes flight to the oohs and aahs of the people of the South Pole. We cut back between Aang’s smile, Katara’s smile, and the villagers to show that Aang doesn’t just enjoy flying, he enjoys making others happy.

(14:12) More good Sokka characterisation: he built a watchtower. As well as personal innovation, we see that Sokka isn’t training himself personally, but putting an emphasis on technology and development.

(14:20) Meanwhile, Katara retains her sense of wonder, and she’s not afraid to show it.

(14:32) At this point, Katara does not really identify herself as a waterbender. This goes back to waterbending as a means for Katara to engage with her culture. She can bend water, but she doesn’t have the knowledge of waterbending passed down by her tribes that would help her claim the title of a waterbender.

This also begs the question: why doesn’t Katara have this knowledge, or access to this knowledge?

(14:44) Katara’s lack of training is made clearer here, as she tells her grandmother that she’s finally got a bender to teach her. So we’ve just learned there are literally no other benders at the South Pole, and probably haven’t been for years.

(15:03) Meanwhile, back on the Fire Nation ship, we see something a bit different. Zuko’s squaring off against some opponents while Iroh watches. Earlier we saw Zuko yelling at his uncle. Now we see Iroh taking charge, acting in his capacity as Zuko’s teacher.

(15:14) Power in firebending comes from the breath, Iroh tells us. We’ll see that concept come up again, and reflected in the depictions of firebending throughout the series.

(15:22) Also note the warmer colour palette for this scene, and how the sun has been clearly placed in the frame.

(15:26) Iroh demonstrates his point with a small blast of fire that peters out in front of Zuko’s face. This shows us a couple of things. One, Iroh’s got a lot of control. He’s comfortable aiming that blast at someone. Two, visibly burned Zuko does not flinch when his uncle demonstrates a move with fire in his direction. Given that we learn later that Zuko’s wound was deliberately inflicted by a family member, this reveals a lot in hindsight about how much Zuko trusts his uncle.

(15:33) Zuko demands to learn more advanced techniques; Iroh refuses.

(15:53) Zuko points out that the Avatar has had a century to master the four elements. Again, for the re-watch - Ozai banished Zuko and told him he could come home if this teenage boy could find someone who’d been missing for a hundred years and capture someone who’d (presumably) had the time to master all four bending arts. Heads, Ozai wins; tails, Zuko loses.

(16:01) Another thing that we’ll see throughout the series is Iroh refusing to let Zuko bully him, without actually getting into an open confrontation. Yes, I’ll teach you the advanced moves, Iroh says - after I finish my roast duck!

Off the top of my head, I can only think of one instance of Iroh yelling at Zuko, in a moment of some frustration for Iroh (frustration born out of fear for Zuko, at that). Otherwise, he stays calm in the face of his severely abused nephew’s anger, yet does not reward Zuko’s poor behaviour.

(16:15) Meanwhile, back at the South Pole, Sokka is telling the ‘men’ that it’s important not to show fear when facing a firebender.

(16:22) The joke being that Sokka’s talking to a bunch of kids who must all be around five years old. There are some deadly serious undertones to this joke. Sokka’s speech might be overblown and inappropriate to the audience he’s addressing, but he is legitimately trying to prepare for an attack on his home. He’s a teenager. Why is this his responsibility? Why are there actual kids getting this lecture?

Note also that nobody’s talking about getting the adult women involved in the defence of the tribe. Not even Katara.

(16:59) Within seconds of Sokka’s very serious warrior talk, Aang’s enlisted Appa and grabbed a spear to make a slide for the Water Tribe kids. Just because he thought it would be fun.

(17:09) “What war?” Aang asks.

The fact that Aang Rip Van Winkle’d his way into the show’s setting means that thought he’s not a stranger to the physical mechanics of bending, most of his information about the social and political aspects of the setting is incredibly out of date. Aang has to ask questions about things that other characters take for granted, which is often a pretty graceful way of expositing for the viewer. Plus it’s a source of conflict and tension for Aang in its own right, but I’ll get into that next episode and the episode after.

(17:15) Just like the incident with the extinct airbenders a few minutes ago, Aang ignores the information that there’s a war on to go chase a penguin. (Which have four wings and whiskers, in this universe.) Right here, we’re setting up the reveal for Aang that he napped his way into what is, from his point of view, a post-apocalyptic dystopian future.

(17:52) Katara attempts to strike a deal with Aang to score some waterbending lessons.

(17:58) Aang’s willing, but notes that he’s not a waterbender. (Technically a lie.) This shows us the extent of Katara’s ignorance of the world beyond the South Pole. She doesn’t know how different waterbending and airbending are.

Aang’s return question of “isn’t there somewhere here who can teach you?” shows his ignorance in turn. Like I mentioned before, his information about society and politics is so out of date, and his innocent insensitivity here stings Katara with the reminder of how alone she is and how much her culture has suffered in the war.

(18:11) But in a serious good point of his character, Aang just goes “okay, how about the North Pole, then?” looking for a solution for Katara’s problem.

(18:19) Katara reveals that the Water Tribes are actually cut off from each other, furthering the depiction of the isolation the war causes. As if the distance wasn’t bad enough.

(18:30) Aang is generous enough to offer to give Katara a lift to the other end of the planet. Like Katara just said, it’s not exactly turn right at the second glacier. Aang’s very casual about the distances and logistics involved. Travel isn’t a big deal to him. We’ll come back to this thought. Contrast to Katara’s hesitation.

Meanwhile, from Aang’s perspective, this is also a good way to avoid being the Avatar for a while longer.

(19:23) “I haven’t done this since I was a kid.” / “You still are a kid!” This is an oft-mentioned exchange that gets right to the heart of the differences between the world Aang grew up in and the world Katara grew up in. Aang’s a child and he knows he’s a child. (Again, more on this thought later.) Katara was forced to take on adult responsibilities years ago.

This is one of the most touching things about Aang and Katara’s relationship, though: they have fun together. It’s so simple, but Katara’s life was responsibility after responsibility. Aang’s presence in her life, his insistence on not taking on every single responsibility (at least not right this second), is a healthy way for both of them to make time for themselves and just enjoy life. Including, for Katara, age-appropriate horsing around.

(19:48) Aang and Katara come to a halt in front of something that casts a huge shadow. They stop right at the edge of the darkness the shadow casts, but don’t actually cross the visible line just yet.

(19:50) When we pan out, we see that it’s a Fire Nation ship, run aground on some more unnatural-looking ice. It’s an unmistakeable, unavoidable sign of the war’s presence at the South Pole.

(19:59) Since Aang doesn’t know about the war, he doesn’t have the same wariness Katara does about wandering into an old ship that might be booby-trapped. The dread isn’t ingrained into him like it is for Katara. And with that, they walk into the shadow of the war.

(20:28) We see here that waterbent ice punched right through the metal hull of the Fire Nation ship.

(20:56) Aang looks at the rack of Fire Nation weapons with confusion and dismay, while Katara gives Aang the rundown of how the ship’s been here since her grandmother was young, part of the Fire Nation’s first attacks.

(21:04) This, Aang can’t ignore. There’s a ship with weapons, run aground in not-too-accidental looking circumstances. He starts asking what the hell’s up with all this. In an owww my heart moment, Aang leads off by saying that this can’t be right, he has friends all over the world.

Remember that from Aang’s perspective, this is only a few days at most after the final flashback in ‘The Storm’, an episode that showed the senior monks are starting to get very worried indeed about a war starting.

(21:10) Katara spots the thread and works out that Aang was in the iceberg for a very, very long time.

(21:36) Aang reels at the news that he’s a hundred years out of time and there’s a huge war going on. At this point, I don’t think he’s got a real appreciation of what that means (because that’s something for episode three), but it knocks him on his ass anyway.

(21:44) Likewise, I don’t think Katara’s got a solid understanding of what this means for Aang, but she tries to comfort him anyway. Fittingly for a character whose inner life was illustrated by saying I still have hope, she tries to get Aang to focus on something positive. Aang, who’s also an optimist, says that at least he got to meet Katara.

(21:59) Unfortunately, before they can head back to the village, Aang sets off a booby trap. And why would Aang be looking for booby traps? He grew up in a world where he didn’t have to worry about this sort of thing.

(22:10) The result is to send up a signal flare.

(22:24) And someone is watching. From Zuko’s perspective, he can’t tell how old Aang is, but he can definitely see airbending being used.

(22:45) The pan over to the village, along with Zuko’s line that he’s found the Avatar’s hiding place, emphasises that Zuko poses a threat to the village as well as just to Aang.

(22:50) We get a lot of close-ups of halves of Zuko’s face over the course of the series, and it’s always worth noting which side of his face is being used to convey what, because he’s definitely got a duality thing going on. This time, we cut to the “to be continued” on Zuko’s unscarred eye, i.e., the side of his face where his resemblance to his father is revealed to be unmistakeable.

Given that he’s apparently gearing up to attack an already war-scarred village doing nothing but just trying to get by…fair enough.

#a:tla #fine toothed comb edition

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muddyhippy · 3 years

Photo

A Tangled Problem

Adorable artwork by the ever-lovely @smolghostings

Updated on AO3 here

Lily padded into the common room still quite sleepy but with a single goal in mind. She’d got up out of Jonny’s bunk whilst he was still fast asleep, carefully extracting herself from his cuddling arm determined to get washed, dressed and make a nice breakfast for everyone.

She’d had another bad nightmare and Jonny had stayed up late with her telling stories and singing. He made her feel safe and cared for enough that the nightmares stopped being horrible and scary in her head for the rest of the night so she wanted to let him sleep and make a tasty breakfast. Her plan was going quite well when she washed and dressed but was too excited and distracted by recipe ideas when tackling her locks and then quickly got stuck, literally, when it came to brush her hair.

Lily’s hair was a thick mass of candyfloss-soft silvery tangles at the best of times but last night’s upset had obviously made it ten times worse.

Her brush got stuck and no matter what she did it wouldn’t come free.

It hurt when she tugged and pulled and struggled. Enough to make tears prick her eyes.

So she headed to find the one person who’d be probably best to help.

Without ceremony she headed directly to the person she wanted who was sat on the sofa where they usually were this time of a morning, making use of the quiet, completely absorbed in their music to the point they didn’t notice her approach until she climbed into their lap.

Tim physically startled to suddenly have a lapful of Lily appear between his chest and his guitar and stare intensely at him.

“Um hello Sweetness?” he began, thoroughly on the back foot.

“Tim! Help!” She pleaded by way of greeting, tears already spiking.

He tensed, fully poised to unquestioningly murder the shit out of whatever that had prompted this response.

She pointed.

Tim’s eyes alighted on her very tangled-in-hair brush caught up in her tresses. His eyes ran a quick diagnostic that helpfully returned the report ‘Ouch’.

“Oh.” He considered why she was showing him this and came up with nothing, “Um why—?”

“Because Jonny’s asleep,” She explained simply, “and you’ve got the prettiest hair, you tangle it all up in your goggles but it always ends up nice and untangled again so you’ve got to be good at hair-brushing.”

That, that was an impressive leap of logic he had to give her that.

“But Raphaella…?” He began weakly.

“She has really pretty hair too and it’s even longer than yours but it’s never tangled! Yours does so you’ve got more practice at fixing it. Please?” She sniffed, “I’ve tried and tried and it only hurts more.”

Tim took pity on her, that snarl up did look painful and it was obvious everything she’d tried had made it worse.

Plus, she was doing the look that Jonny warned him about, the whole ‘her-eyes-take-up-half-her-face-look’ that made his insides get twisty and him want to fix whatever the matter was every time she pulled it.

He suddenly understood why Jonny was willing to do as much stuff as he did. Lily was bloody hard to say no to when she looked like a particularly sad octokitten.

“Um, alright then.” He carefully put down his guitar to give the small, miserable child his full attention.

It really was a disaster. Tim considered his approach whilst ignoring the growing warmth in his chest at the idea that the little girl who’d joined them not that long ago apparently trusted him enough to ask for help with something personal that had left her vulnerable. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Probably Bertie. Best not think about that then.

“Okay Sweetness, can you turn around for me so I can get to the brush please?”

She sniffed again, “Okay, thank you Tim,” she pressed a heartfelt kiss to his bearded cheek before turning around obviously utterly convinced that he’d got this and she trusted him implicitly that he’d make this better.

Fuck, he hated Jonny for not being awake.

Tim, not for the first time since Lily joined them, regretted being an only child with absolutely no sibling experience to deal with situations like this.

Ah fuck it, he’d do his best.

Using his enhanced vision, the patience he used when cleaning and repairing his weapons and the comb he kept in his coat pocket but would never admit to, he very carefully, painstakingly, detangled her hair.

After half an hour he managed to free the brush from her head then proceeded to comb all her locks clear so she would be tangle free for the next five minutes at least. Maybe he’d have to ask Ashes to show Lily how to plait properly since he’d seen Ashes wear some excellent styles over the years and their hair length was closer to Lily’s than Raph’s was.

He’d never bothered to learn, he liked having long hair, it was something that was his own rebellion after strictness at school and whilst he was completing his mechanical engineering apprenticeship. It was easy to tuck it up under a cap after all.

He’d tried not to show how heartbroken he’d been when he’d been conscripted and shorn short again. Bertie had known of course and told him he was still just as handsome. During the time in the tunnels his hair had grown out again since no one was really paying attention to uniform rules in the depths of the war.

He’d kept it long ever since. He wasn’t sure if it was out of defiance or as tribute to Bertie who’d never been able to keep his fingers out of it when they were alone together.

Tim mentally shook himself, now was definitely not the time to start down that track. That route led to months locked in the armoury, building non-stop. Or murdering Jonny repeatedly for being a dick (or just being present). Neither of which were viable responses right now.

“Right then, I think we’re done, turn around for me Lily.”

The little girl shuffled around on his lap to face him, she shook her head slightly, smile immediately blossoming across her face. “It feels so nice! Thank you!”

Little arms engulfed him in a grateful hug, enveloping him like the octokitten she masqueraded as half the time.

The master-at-arms was unspeakably relieved he’d not fucked this up, “You’re very welcome Sweetness, now, let’s show you how to brush your hair without it getting all tangled up. Sound good?”

“Yes please! Jonny helps me a lot but he doesn’t know as many tricks.”

“Jonny doesn’t have as much patience, he’s had longer hair a few times but mostly because he couldn’t be bothered to cut it.”

“Did he have hair as long as yours?”

“No. Just to his shoulders.”

“Oh.” She considered, “Mine’s already nearly that long.”

“I had noticed.” He couldn’t help grinning, as she tried assess the length of her hair first by tipping her head forwards to see, realising that wasn’t working then using her hand to feel the end of her lengths whilst trying to look out of the corner of her eyes. Her little tongue poked out of the corner of her mouth in solidarity and concentration.

“I want to grow mine more.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes! So I can be as pretty as Raphaella and you!”

Tim felt both the blush and lump rise.

“That’s, that’s kind of you to say Sweetness, but you’re lovely just as you are. You don’t have to look like anyone else to be better in some way.”

Lily paused and thought about it.

“Well, I won’t be exactly like you and Raphaella,” she conceded, “my hair’s a different colour.”

He couldn’t argue with the statement, she was a lot lighter than even Raphaella, “That’s very true.”

“But I still want it long. I think it’ll be even nicer long.”

Tim couldn’t help but smiling at that very familiar conviction, “Then I best show you how to look after it then shouldn’t I?”

Lily beamed, lighting up the way she did whenever any of them took time to show her something. It was why they all, without exception, took time to demonstrate things to her. They might be immoral, immortal space pirates but none of them were above wanting to feel like a hero for teaching a kid to tie her shoe laces, flip pancakes or make belt holes. “Yes please!”

Which is why Brian walked in twenty minutes later looking for his fellow chef to find Lily and Tim in the middle of a hair brushing lesson, The child sat on the master-at-arms lap facing him, little tongue was back poking out in concentration, a long hank of Tim’s glossy tresses held reverentially in Lily’s tiny hand, her other carefully brushing it through as Tim talked her through the method of working in stages, his hands guiding hers, starting at the bottom and slowly working up to the roots.

Brian cleared his throat

Mechanised eyes zeroed in on the pilot, “This isn’t what it looks like—” Began Tim, colour rising dramatically in his face.

Brian raised an eyebrow.

“Tim’s teaching me to brush hair properly so my brush doesn’t get all tangled up in my hair again because that hurts!”

Tim sighed, utterly defeated.

“You know,” commented Brian, attempting to sound innocuous, “that looks exactly like what’s happening.”

Lily looked puzzled, “That’s because it is.”

“Quite right too,” Agreed the pilot, “looks like you’re doing a good job.” Brian took closer notice of their youngest crewmember, her usually wild mass of waves looked decidedly neat with that glossy sheen that only came with extensive grooming. “Did Tim do yours earlier?”

“Yes! He’s really good! I got my brush stuck in my hair and he got it out and brushed it really nicely! I asked him because he has really pretty hair and is good at getting tangles out of it after he wears his goggles. He’s really gentle and clever at it!”

Brian was amused to watch battle of emotions war over Tim’s face pride, pleasure, embarrassment and fury all crossed his face, clearly annoyed that this moment of softness with Lily was being witnessed.

Brian found he didn’t care all that much for Tim’s comfort, this was more important. Tim and Lily were bonding over something other than guns, completely unprompted. This was good progress. The fact that Tim was obviously trusted enough by Lily for her to ask his help and that he’d clearly given it freely said a lot about how comfortable they were becoming together which wasn’t bad for barely three weeks on board for Lily. Then again, last week her nightmare-stricken visit to Tim’s room that night she couldn’t find Jonny had probably cemented him as a ‘safe’ adult she could go to when the first mate wasn’t available.

Brian hoped the rest of them would become as easy to approach eventually.

It was nice to be reminded that deep under everything, he and his crew, at a push, could remember how to be kind.

“Right well, I’ll leave you to finish. Would you like me to start breakfast Lily?”

The child paused, looking conflicted.

“I am more than happy to.” Brian clarified.

Relief flooded her little face, “Oh um, yes please.”

“Did you have a plan?”

“Scrambled eggs and bacon and pancakes.” She recited her intended feast immediately. Jonny liked pancakes, said his mummy made them for him sometimes when she had the time and they were still his favourite if he had to choose.

Bacon had been a completely new food for Lily, but she loved how the saltiness of the slices complimented the sweetness of the pancakes, she wanted to learn how to make the syrup Ashes liked to go with it too. Eggs were very special because they were a treat on her ship, they had a few sealed cartons that they opened for very special events. On Aurora she could have eggs for every meal if she wanted AND they were fresh! In shells!

Brian had explained gently that eggs were more of a breakfast food and it was better to have them in one meal a day rather than more because she might get bored of them. (Also he was worried how much more omelette/poached eggs/boiled eggs/scrambled eggs/frittata/fried egg combinations the crew could endure with a smile and he really didn’t want to put off their newest member from the job she liked. Thankfully Lily took instruction and hints with equal grace).

“Sounds good to me!” Approved Tim, feeling that she shouldn’t feel all that bad about not cooking one meal.

Brian smile widened, pleased she was deciding to spend more time with Tim, “Me too, right then, I’ll get started, you can join me when you and Tim are done. See you later.” He left the scene as the two continued their lesson.

“Right then, reckon you can do the rest before Brian finishes?”

“Yeah!”

Tim arrived to breakfast on the table, Lily holding his hand, the two looking decidedly neater than normal.

As the others began to gently tease and pass the pancakes Brian looked over the group, his family, and couldn’t help but smile.

#the mechanisms #gunpowder tim #lily of many names #drumbot brian #the mechanisms fanfic #the mechanisms fanart #I've added a bit to this little fic #Happy New Year #Here's a hair brushing fic because I can

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one-boring-person · 4 years

Note

Hey! Absolutely love your stories!! If you could, could you do a poly lost boys story with a female s/o where the s/o loves and is low key obsessed with long hair and a guy with long hair comes up to her and starts flirting, causing the boys to start trying to distract her with their own hair? Thank you!!! 😊

Of course, I hope you enjoy this!😊💛💛(ngl, this request made me laugh when I first read it, so thanks for sending it in!)

Waves Of Gold.

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: very vague sexual themes towards end. (If, as the requester, you want me to remove this, I can do so.)

Masterlist.

I'm transfixed the second my eyes find him.

A tall, lithe man with an athletic build and chiselled face, a somewhat heavy brow overshadowing the two glittering grey eyes peering out into the crowd, his sharp jawline defined and well-shaped, stands a little way away from me, his figure easily standing clear of the people around him, but this isn't what draws me to him. No, it's none of that.

It's his hair.

Thick waves of smooth, gleaming golden hair fall down his back and around his shoulders, framing his face beautifully, the rich lustre of the shining locks catching my eye immediately. It looks unbelievably soft, as if it would be like touching silk if I ever were to get that far, my mind instantly feeling the urge to run my fingers through it, to tease out the seemingly non-existent knots and tangles, and to completely ruin it's carefully casual style. As he turns his head around, the colour shifts slightly as the light hits it differently, becoming a more burnt-gold colouring, the new sheen it seems to have giving him the appearance of some burnished statue, his perfectly aquiline features matching with this perfectly.

It's only when his silvery eyes lock with mine that I realise I'm staring. Blushing, I snap my eyes back to my four boyfriends, trying not to think of the man standing a little way away, aware that the only reason I'm attracted to him is the look of his hair.

"You alright, (Y/n)?" Marko questions me as he notices me fiddling with the hem of my shirt, a light crimson colour still dusting my cheeks as I look up at him with a smile.

"Perfectly, thank you." I reassure him, hoping my embarrassment isn't too obvious.

"Who in the hell is that?" David suddenly growls from his motorcycle, blue eyes turning icy as he looks over my head.

"Who's who?" I question, turning to follow his gaze, only to feel my heart skip a beat when I see who it is.

"Hey there." The guy from before stands a metre away from us, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn blue jeans, a pleasant smile splitting his face.

"H-hey." I respond, stammering slightly at the sight of him, my eyes instantly drawn back to his hair, roaming over the cascading waves of gold with envy, wishing I could touch it.

"I just happened to notice you looking over, and wanted to know if you wanted to get a drink with me." He asks, grey eyes briefly wandering over the four boys around me, "My name's Klaus, by the way."

"I'm (Y/n). I'm not particularly thirsty right at this moment, but that doesn't mean I want you to go. You're more than welcome to stay." I reply with a smile, shaking his offered hand, only to blush when he lifts it to his lips, the tall guy pressing a soft kiss to my knuckles.

"Sounds great." He smirks, taking in my blush as he leans against the wall behind us, running a hand through his long locks, shaking the mass of waves out slightly. I'm enraptured by this, my eyes fixed on the sea of gold on his head.

Behind me, I can hear David grumble something to Dwayne, who agrees and makes his own point, Paul and Marko audibly whining as my attention is turned away from them. I don't pay them any attention, going instead to sit beside Klaus, leaving a space between us, knowing David will have something to say about it if I'm any closer to the newcomer, though I am disappointed that I can't touch his hair.

"You seem awfully fixated on my hair, (Y/n)." Klaus chuckles, lifting an eyebrow cordially as he watches my reaction.

A deep scarlet blush rises to my face, mortified that I've been caught staring, and that he knows exactly what I was staring at.

"Err, well, I guess I just find it very impressive." I cover up, hoping he'll drop the subject, knowing full well that the boys are listening in. No sooner has Klaus pointed this out, however, I notice that the four of them exchange glances.

"Impressive? I've not heard that one before." The blonde laughs, running his hand through his hair again.

"Yeah, well, it's really...beautiful, actually. I'm not entirely sure how else I should describe it." I explain, smiling bashfully at him.

"Thank you. I take a lot of time to make sure it looks decent, but it's an absolute nightmare at times." He informs me, talking with his hands as much as he is with his voice.

"It pays off. You have really nice hair." I compliment him again, looking over at the boys once, just to make sure they're still there. As I do so, I catch sight of Dwayne flicking his own dark locks from his face, near-black eyes finding mine as he notices my attention.

"Thanks. Your's isn't too bad, either." He teases, reaching out to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, something which I know all the boys have seen.

"Why thank you." I grin, trying to ignore the fact that Paul is now messing with his own mop of hair, slender fingers running through the soft locks with ease as he pulls out the tangles, combing strands out with a meticulous care. Biting my lip slightly, I ignore the blonde's antics and focus on the man beside me, hoping to make a new friend out of him, even if he thinks he's getting more out of this.

"You're staring again." Klaus points out, amused as he watches me take in his golden hair once more, something clicking inside him as he watches my eyes snap back to his.

"I'm sorry, I really shouldn't be sta-" I go to start, only to be cut off by Klaus' words a second later.

"Would you like to touch it?" He offers, smiling encouragingly at me as he leans his head closer to me. It's only then that I notice that Marko has stepped into view behind him, curling strands of his blonde hair around his fingers as he makes eye contact with me, mouth pulled into a knowing smirk as he continues to mess about. Swallowing, I reach forwards and touch Klaus' hair, marvelling at its softness and smoothness, the golden waves shifting slightly under my touch, my mind wishing it could stick my face into the tangle of locks. As I run my fingers over it, my eyes unwittingly find David's, who stares me down as he tucks a stand of his own platinum blonde hair behind his ear, briefly messing with the carefully-styled spikes before he retrieves the cigarette from behind his other ear.

"It's so soft!" I blurt out, trying to ignore the rising warmth in my stomach as I try not to think about running my fingers through David, Dwayne, Paul and Marko's hair, knowing I won't be able to think about anything else for hours.

"You think so? I take the time to..." he goes on to explain his routine, but I don't listen, only too happy to watch as Paul and Marko start messing with their hair again, the two of them tossing it over their shoulders, or into their faces, almost as if trying to show off, which I wouldn't put past them. However, when I see Dwayne lift a hand in order to run it through his mass of dark hair, I know full well that there is going to be an awkward cut off to this conversation.

Breaking Klaus off, I interrupt him and remove my hand from his head, smiling pleasantly at him.

"I'm sorry, Klaus, but I really need to use the restroom, so I'm gonna go do that. I'll be right back." I tell him, feeling uncomfortable as I hurry away from them all, heading towards the public toilets just around the corner, knowing they will be free of other people. Reaching them, I let myself in and check that there is no one else there, before turning back to the room, where I let out a yelp of surprise when I notice David standing there, eyes smouldering.

"You having fun out there?" Is all he says voice low and deep as he steps forwards, reaching out to me, hands grasping my arms and pulling me into him, spinning me so that I can see my reflection in the mirror. Naturally, the image is odd, seeing as David's body is not reflected there at all, meaning I don't notice it immediately when he presses a sudden, open-mouthed kiss the the side of my neck. Mouthing at the skin, the platinum blonde moves to hold me tighter against himself, one hand coming up to cup the front of my neck as he licks a stripe up to my ear, breath hot and heavy against my face.

"You're a tease, kitten, you know that? The boys and I could barely control ourselves." He growls into my ear, gesturing with a nod to the other end of the room, where I finally notice the others standing there, Paul and Marko seemingly impatient to get to me as Dwayne just stands there silently, though his eyes betray his eagerness. Moaning at the thought, I arch into him, inviting the others to help him out, only to sigh out when suddenly there are three other mouths and pairs of hands covering my body.

As my hands snake into soft locks of hair, I resign myself to knowing that Klaus probably thinks I've stood him up, seeing as it is unlikely that I will leave the restroom for a while.

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys)#kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys)#dwayne(the lost boys)#santa carla #marko(the lost boys)#star(the lost boys)#request #ask #answer

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writingjoycebyers · 3 years

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Jopper Enzo’s hc

Ohhh a classic!

Jopper - Enzo's

Joyce gets ready at home and takes a nice long bath. She uses the occasion, the feelings of nervousness and excitement, to take a little time for herself: She wants to take care of herself, feel good in her body, ease her mind, make it special.

Hopper is at the cabin, trying to pick a decent outfit cause man, she‘s gonna look great and he does not wanna fuck it up

He pick‘s her up that Friday night, 7 pm, and although the front door is open, he rings the doorbell.

She‘s as good as ready, but not fully ready, when she runs to the front door, throwing her coat over her arm and slipping into a pair of fancy, black shoes she hasn‘t worn in ages. She wears a dress. It‘s black, simple and embraces her curves, and she feels all dolled up. Her cheeks start to match the red of her lipstick when she opens the door and Hopper stands there, dumbstruck, because he wants to greet her, kiss her cheek or hug her, but all he can do is stare.

„You‘re..:“, he mutters and she laughs, and leans up to him for a quick hug. „Hey, Jim.“, she says, and it‘s a gentle whisper.

The drive is short, the music on the radio is decent, and she can feel him stealing a few glances at her whenever the traffic allows him to losen his gaze from the road for just a second.

Enzo‘s is packed when they get there, and he tries to be all gentleman, taking her jacket, pulling the chair back for her. It‘s a weird feeling, she thinks, but she could get used to it.

They share some wine, until Hopper tells her the truth - he wants to order a beer so badly. She finishes the bottle off on her on then, and it makes her light hearted, and giggly, and gets her into the mood for a little walk down memory lane.

There‘s this short moments between conversation, when they look into each other‘s eyes for a second too long, and Joyce‘s heart starts to beat a bit faster, and warmth starts to radiate from her core. For the first time in a long time, she feels light and happy.

The date ends with them walking home, with great food in their stomachs and a little too much alcohol in their veins. They chat, and no one mentions anything supernatural, anything dark.

In front of her house, she‘s about to say good night, he takes her hand and pulls her close.

Lips meet lips, a soft goodnight kiss, a mixture of beer and wine, a mixture of feelings. She holds onto him, kisses back gently and ...feels at home. In more than one way.

Bonus: A chapter from my old, first Stranger Things Fic Back and Forth in Time. It used to be the fourth chapter. Called Friday Night. I took the story down some time ago, because it needs working on, as I said, it was my first fic ever and the writing style can be improved. Nevertheless, the fic had about 25 chapters and if you want, I could post more? Let me know. It was a good mix of flashback chapters to high school jopper and then post season three stuff. It was a bit off canon tho. Loads of fluff, slow build and friends to Lovers. And a good ton of angst x comfort. My fav.

Have this chapter as a sneak peek (there are way better ones though) and...

Let me know what you think. I'd love that...

Anyways, here you go, give it a read under the cut:

Joyce stood in front of the mirror. She couldn't decide whether she should wear her hair up or down. She was just combing it once again, when Will turned up in the doorframe, grinning.

"Down, Mum. Just leave it like that. You look pretty. And plus - Hopper has probably seen you with the most messy hair ever so - you can't do anything wrong tonight."

"Oh thanks, Will!", she said to her younger son. "It's just been a long time since I - well I actually never dated, you know. I met your father in high school and Bob... he was more of a movie night at home person."

"And what kind of person is Hopper?", Jonathan asked as he turned up behind Will. He was also getting ready for a night out with Nancy. Jonathan chuckled. He was obviously a bit amused by the fact that his Mum was driven crazy by the idea of going out with Hopper. He had never seen her make such an effort for a man ever.

"Well ... Hop is... he's a surprising kind of guy. He might not look like an Enzo's kind of person but originally it was his idea and yeah, he's probably in for some dating once he feels better and I mean...", Joyce started muttering nervously, "we're friends of course. Friends can also have dinner at Enzo's together, right?"

Will and Jonathan looked at each other and then started mimicking Joyce: "Hmm we're just friends!". The two boys couldn't stop laughing.

Jonathan was the first one to catch his breath again. "No, Mum, seriously. You picked a really nice dress. Have fun tonight. I'm staying with Nancy at her house, if that's alright? And Will's having a sleepover at Dustin's place. So don't worry about us, just enjoy the evening with Hop."

Joyce felt touched by how much her son cared. She stood there in front of her mirror in a simple black dress, her hair down and some light make up on her face and she could not believe how fast time had passed since her Jonathan had just been a little baby she had to care for.

"Thank's, Jonathan. Take care and you know what I've told you about staying over at Nancy's: It's fine for me as long as it's fine for Nancy. Will - have fun, and if there is anything wrong, tell Dustin's mother or call at Enzo's, alright?"

"Yes, Mum." , Will answered, knowing that whatever would happen that night, there was no way on earth he'd disturb that date by calling his mother in the restaurant.

In that moment the Byers family was interrupted by the ring of the doorbell. For a second, Joyce froze, and her heart skipped a beat or two.

"Hey, Joyce!" Hop said when she opened the door. Joyce noticed that he looked way better than the last time she had seen him. He wore jeans and a colourful buttoned shirt, he had shaved his beard and might even have seen a hairdresser. He even smiled at her.

"You look great, Jim. Shall we?"

The two sat down in Jim's car and talked about this and that during the short card ride to the restaurant. Having arrived there, they were led to their table. They both opted for white wine, so they decided to share a bottle, just the way they used to do it during their last year of high school, stealing alcohol from Jim's dad's wine cellar.

"Just like the olden days.", Joyce chuckled as they were half into their first glass of wine.

"Yeah, it was a nice time back then, you and me. We were so carefree those evenings in my room.", Jim smiled. He loved thinking about those times. They used to sit on the floor in his room, share a bottle of wine and smoke cigarettes. Joyce was to bring the cigarettes, Jim stole the wine. The perfect team. They used to do this once in a while back then, on weekends before all the bad shit happened. The shit none of them liked to talk about.

"Jim, I just wished we could have stopped time. But...", Joyce seemed to be interrupted by her thoughts. Jim knew exactly that she was thinking of the way her life went shortly after. All the bad shit. She quickly changed the subject. "In middle school we used to love playing outside, climbing trees. In high school we exchanged that for cigarettes and wine. That was a fun game too. And then... that one night we danced around your room and your mother nearly caught us."

For the next fifteen minutes, Joyce and Jim took a deep dive into memory lane. Joyce had done this on purpose. She wanted Jim to think of happy times, times that had nothing to do with the upside down and it seemed to work. His old smile was back, he even burst out into real laughter once when Joyce mimicked their old teacher, Mr. Cooper.

"Hopper and Horowitz, detention!", Joyce said, imitating the voice of their teacher when he caught them smoking at school between fifth and sixth period.

Jim laughed until their food finally arrived. Joyce had opted for pasta while Jim had ordered a pizza and a small salad. "You know, Joyce, I'm happy we finally made it here. A real date, I mean, after all those years."

Joyce looked him into the eyes, long and deep. He could see the sparkle in hers. "Me too.", she just said, their hands slightly touching on the table. For the rest of the evening they were in a good mood, both feeling relieved that they were both walking down the dating lane. It had cost both him and Joyce a lot of courage to be ready to turn their friendship into something more.

Joyce loved that evening. She loved having Hop around and she loved talking to him. They had called it a date but she knew she was no easy person. She had anxiety issues and although she was in a fun mood she felt doubts creeping up: Did Hopper see her the same way? They had gone through so much together, in high school and in the past years. Did shared trauma help them fall in love ? Or would it eventually get in their way?

Joyce tried to wash away those thoughts while Hopper was telling some funny story about Flo at the police department. She smiled at him and tried to focus on his story again. No bad thoughts tonight, she thought to herself.

After dinner, Hop felt like he should not be driving anymore. They decided to leave the car in Enzo's parking lot and walk home.

"I'll take you home anyways.", Jim said.

It took them about 15 minutes to walk to Joyce's place. The air was fresh and clear. It was a bit cold and cloudy but still bearable. There wasn't much talking on the way home. Both knew the evening was coming to an end and they were both not sure how exactly it would end.

They shared a cigarette on the way home, but they did not touch each other. They were just kissing through that cigarette.

"I had much fun tonight, Joyce. Thanks for making me.... for stopping my sadness.", Hop said as they stood in front of Joyce's house.

"I just couldn't see you like this anymore. Broken. It made me happy to see you smile again.", she replied. And it was true. The purpose of this date had been fulfilled, although there had also been another reason for them to meet up: She had been wanting that date for years.

Hop pulled her close and hugged her tight. Oh God, how often he had hugged her this way during all of those years of friendship. Friendship and ... Love? Friendship and confusion fitted them better. He kissed her gently on the forehead. "Night, Joycie. We should repeat this.", Hopper said softly, nearly whispering into her ear.

"Yeah, we should.", she sighed, as Hop walked out into the dark night.

#jopper #joyce byers #young jopper #jim hopper #headcanon #Jopper #Chief Jim hopper #Joyce Horowitz #hopper x joyce #joyce x hopper #winona ryder #jopper fic #stranger things #Chief Hopper x Joyce byers #Writingjoycebyers

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austerulous-a · 3 years

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𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 .

1. What does your muse smell like?

Ha, I always seem to ask writing partners this question! Annie herself has a rather keen sense of smell, and likes to be clean. Her body’s natural scent is vaguely sweet but given she perspires considerably during martial training, and hit puberty earlier than most, she became fastidious about personal care at a young age. In the interests of getting as much sleep as possible, Annie tends to wash out of a sink or basin in the morning, and shower in the evening (it’s no accident that this arrangement also means she’s also less likely to have to use communal showers at the same time as anyone else). In Marley, she often retained the scent of the plain soap her father purchased, while in Paradis scented soaps became her secret indulgence. Light, floral fragrances are her favourite, and she likes lilac in particular.

2. What do your muse’s hands feel like?

Having suffered with sensitive, itchy skin as a child, Annie is in the habit of frequently using balm or cream on her hands, which makes them soft and smooth to the touch. That being said, as a result of domestic chores, her silver ring being a permanent fixture on her right forefinger, as well as her military training, Annie’s palms and fingers have some calluses. For as long as she can remember, she has had cool hands (and feet) but inheriting the Female Titan seems to have exacerbated this to the point where they are frigid much of the time. Annie’s hands are dainty, in keeping with a girl of her size and stature, while her fingers are dexterous, slender and deceptively delicate; she is strong, and can deliver a crushing handshake if so inclined (never forget this scene from the Lost Girls OVA).

3. What does your muse usually eat in a day?

Annie has an unhealthy relationship with food, and her eating patterns are disordered; she is the sort to forget to eat or to deliberately skip meals, or to binge when the opportunity presents itself. Given that Annie’s value lies in her physical capabilities, her father was very controlling over her intake, and critical of both her body and her sweet tooth. You better believe Gabe Leonhardt is the kind of man who would slap a biscuit out of his daughter’s mouth. The regular, plain meals served by the military work in her favour then, as they provide some sort of structure and nutritional balance. Of course, her impoverished background (picking mould off fruit and bread was a common occurrence during her childhood, as food close to spoiling was sold at discounted prices) and her appetite mean Annie isn’t a fussy eater. She will try almost anything once, even dishes others might balk at, or consider an acquired taste. Adventurous as she is, Annie carries a great deal of trauma around what she was forced to consume by the Marleyan military, as part of their experimentation on her and the Female Titan. This included cannibalising parts of her fellow Warriors. Living amongst refugees after the fall of Wall Maria, Annie stole food, and would split these spoils – as well as her rations – with Reiner and Bertholdt. Sharing food is one of the easiest and most common ways for her to express affection. Annie does not drink alcohol, her favourite beverage is limeade and she is particularly fond of lavender, lemon and mint flavours.

4. Does your muse have a good singing voice?

Yes, but Annie has little cause to sing, and it would mortify her to be overheard, so she rarely indulges (never underestimate her fear of being laughed at). Sometimes, she will sing in the shower, or while doing chores alone, but she is far more likely to hum quietly under her breath. For the record, I think Misaki Fukunaga’s vocals on Annie’s song (Kanojo wa Tsumetai Hitsugi no Nakade / ‘She Lies Within the Cold Coffin’) is a pretty solid representation of her singing voice.

5. Does your muse have any bad habits or nervous tics?

While she has been raised to be adept at disguising her emotions, Annie does have a number of behaviours that are born out of habit, and can be indicative of her mood – namely cracking her knuckles, or twisting her silver ring. For a time, she had a ‘tell’ during combat where she would blink twice in rapid succession before making a particularly decisive or devastating blow; her father successfully hammered this out of her. While not a habit per se, during her early childhood she suffered from excoriation disorder, and as such would scratch / pick at her skin, as well as pull out her hair and eyelashes. As a young adult, swearing forms one of her more obvious bad habits, along with staring, keeping a wholly irregular sleep schedule and forgetting to eat (or conversely eating too much).

6. What does your muse usually look like / wear?

Whenever possible, Annie will remain in her military uniform both for the impersonality and simplicity of it. Outside of that, she chooses roomy, comfortable and practical clothes in pale and muted colours. Hoodies form her preference (she will pull the hood up when she wants to shut the world out, or to feel alone) but tunics, sweaters and jumpers also appear in her wardrobe – basically anything that’s relaxed in fit, and doesn’t cling to her upper body. She is less concerned with trousers being closefitting, and is content to wear cropped varieties or even shorts in hot weather. Skirts, dresses and more traditional feminine garb usually only feature in her disguises. Annie is tactile and has a strong preference for soft fabrics, partly because for the comfort they offer her touch-starved self, and partly because she suffered with sensitive skin (an issue that inheriting the Female Titan resolved for her). For the sake of practicality, Annie will almost always pull her hair back into her trademark messy bun, and likes a heavy, long fringe to hide behind. Post-crystal, she moves towards wearing her hair down, finding that it helps soften her hard features. Ultimately, Annie isn’t big on experimentation when it comes to fashion or styling, doesn’t wear make-up, and is concerned only with being clean, comfortable and presentable enough to pass inspections.

7. Is your muse affectionate? How much? How so?

There are times when Annie wishes she could be affectionate, but she genuinely doesn’t know how. Her father deliberately kept her isolated, and dominated her formative years as a remote, unfeeling and largely inexpressive disciplinarian. The height of care he showed Annie was silently helping her to wrap her swollen hands and feet at the end of particularly gruelling days, or tending to her when she was sick with fever. His bedside manner was clinical, perfunctory. Where other parents might hold their child’s hand, he would choose instead to grasp her by the wrist, often gripping her tightly enough to bruise. Distance has always existed between them and, prior to the Paradis Island Operation, he placed his hand fondly on Annie’s head only once, and embraced her only once, the traumatic context of both instances sullying the contact. As a result, she watches expressions of affection – mothers dabbing at their children’s sticky faces, friends embracing or tousling each other’s hair, lovers holding hands – with quiet longing and fascination, more often a witness than a participant. Normally only close to others in combative situations, Annie is hardwired to associate proximity and touch with danger and / or pain. It isn’t all doom and gloom, however. With trusted companions or partners, Annie can and will open up, overcoming her concern with boundaries and rejection. Mostly she expresses affection through small, fleeting touches; the brush of fingers, sitting side by side or leaning against those she is comfortable with. Along with quality time, physical touch is one of Annie’s primary love languages.

8. What position does your muse sleep in?

Given the abuse that marked her childhood, it’s no accident that Annie assumes an almost defensive position. Typically she sleeps on her side with her knees drawn up and her hands raised, vaguely mirroring her combative stance. On occasion she will sleep her head under her pillow, or hide her face in the crook of an elbow. While she very often dreams of training with her father, she is usually a deep sleeper and doesn’t move around too much – though the odd slumberous punch or kick isn’t unheard of. Eerily, Annie will sometimes sleep with her eyes open, and she is a frequent sleep-talker.

9. Could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room?

Most likely not. Courtesy of her martial training, which demands she be light on her feet, and her father’s fervent subscription to the belief that children should be seen and not heard (along with his punishment / correction of any behaviours that he deemed irritating or undesirable) Annie learned to move quietly, to make herself as small and silent a presence as possible. Being diminutive both as a child and as an adult, she never experienced the clumsiness that often comes with growth spurts and the shifting dimensions of a maturing body. There is a natural grace and confidence to her movements, but also something soulless and mechanical that has been instilled in her. Play and the raucousness of childhood was not something Annie was permitted to indulge in at home and it shows; even during her youngest years, she carried herself as an adult might, stiffly and precisely. This inherent stealthiness is part of what makes her so well-suited to covert operations, along with the fact that she is plain and slight enough to go overlooked. That being said, when she is especially exhausted or weary, Annie may stumble or move lethargically, and is more likely to be overheard.

tagged by: @oncejaw like a million years ago – I loved doing this, thank you lovely! ♡ tagging: a ton of people were tagged already, so whoever wants to do it.

#✧ headcanon — ❛ go waist-deep in mist / to break the light ice ❜#cw: disordered eating #cw: skin picking #cw: cannibalism

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sillyrabbit81 · 3 years

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Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 4k

Warnings: mention of sexual assault, swearing, smoking, implied smut

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 18 Part 20

Part 19

It took over two hours to get ready. I don't know how celebrities did this all the time. I enjoy dressing up, but not when I know the pictures will be circulated widely, and every time someone types into google "Liam Cross's girlfriend", images of tonight will come up. It freaked me out.

I trusted Liam when he said the dress was right, and I trusted Jen. She had only just started dating Riza when Andy and I got married, so although she hadn't done my hair and makeup, I had seen her work and the brides always looked good. So when I asked her to do my makeup for the premiere, I didn't think twice. I regretted that when Jen took the pins out of my hair.

"Jen, I look like Orphan Annie," I complained.

She just laughed and said, "trust me." She started to work a brush through my hair while humming Tomorrow. I groaned.

But as she worked the brush, the curls started to join together, and beautiful waves appeared in my hair.

"You're a genius," I said to Jen when I finally worked out what she was doing.

Jen blushed and just kept brushing. "I have always wanted to do this to your hair. You have such a timeless facial structure. I knew it would be perfect for you and for tonight."

She did my makeup in a beautiful smokey eye and deep red lipstick. It was not too dissimilar to what I would do for myself, but she added fake lashes, brushed and plucked my eye-brows and did some light contouring. She even checked my legs and arms for marks and bruises, covering any she could find.

Jen helped me dress and double-checked everything, including any visible panty line. I couldn't see how it would be possible to have a panty line since I had gotten the smallest underwear I could find, which was a string attached to a triangle of lace.

When I was ready, I looked in the dressing room's full-length mirror. I almost cried in relief. I felt like I would fit in and not look like I had a face like a dropped pie. Jen had done a fantastic job with my hair, and I looked like a cross between Rita Hayworth and Jessica Rabbit. I adored the old Hollywood style. I thanked her a million times, and she went downstairs to get Liam and Riza.

I paced the bedroom waiting for them to come back. Being alone in the room had allowed my anxieties to creep back in. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, in through my nose and out through my mouth. The dress was tight, and I couldn't quite breathe deeply enough. But I was not going to ruin this night with my anxiety. I was not. My guts didn't care what my brain was telling itself. They churned and flipped in my belly until I thought I was going to be sick.

"Lana," Liam said from the doorway. He was alone. Riza and Jen must have waited downstairs. I gasped as I took him in. The was wearing a black woollen three-piece suit with a black tie and crisp white cotton shirt with onyx cuff links. He had was clean-shaven and had his hair combed down in little waves. He looked like he had stepped off the movie screen. He looked so perfect.

"You look incredible," I tell him.

He laughed, "No, Sweetheart. Not next to you, I don't." He crossed the space between us and took my hands, spreading them wide to get a good look. "You are a vision."

I blushed and said, "I feel sick."

Liam shook his head, "you're going to do great." Liam lead me to the dressing room and stood behind me in front of the mirror. "Sweetheart, look at yourself. Look at your hair," he touched it cautiously, just above my ear, as if scared his feather-light touch would ruin it.

"Do you know how much money some women would pay to have hair as spectacular as yours? And your body, the way it curves and moves with such grace. Your skin is so delicate and as smooth as silk." Liam ran his finger down my neck until I shivered and smiled. "And that smile, my Sweetheart, You don't know what lengths I will go to for that smile. It would make Helen of Troy hang her head in despair."

"Thank you," I said. "I needed that."

"It's true." Liam kissed my forehead tenderly, his lips just barely brushing my skin. "I want to kiss you. But I'm under very strict instructions from Jen not to. But be prepared for an attack after the red carpet." He kissed my neck with as much care as before and sighed. Then he seemed to shake himself off and asked, "are you ready to go?"

I nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Ok, let's go downstairs. Apparently, we have some pictures to take."

The drive to the cinema was short, but the limousines' line was long. I barely remember anything until our car was the next in line. Liam had been going through a last-minute rundown of what should happen.

"Remember, I will get out first and wave a bit. Just wait until I turn around, and I will help you out of the car." I nod, and he continues. "Then we will both stand in front of the car. I might wave again, but you don't have to. Just smile. Once we get past the initial photographers, there will be fans, and then there may be some interviews. Do you remember what will happen there?"

"You will sign some autographs and take some pictures. I'm to follow you. You're going to hold my hand the whole time through that part, right?" I asked.

Liam took my hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss into my palm. "Nothing could make me let it go." He said sincerely. "If there are interviews, they are usually very short, only a few questions. They may ask you who you are, and I'll introduce you, and you smile and say hi. I doubt they will ask you anything other than how you're enjoying the night, but if they do, I'll handle it."

"Ok," I murmured. "I wish I had a ciggie."

Liam smiled, "If you still want one when we're done, I'll find you one. The last part is where the main paparazzi photos will be taken. They will want photos of both of us, but they will also want ones of just me. Usually, they will call out something like "fashion", and that means you can walk to the cinema and some publicists or assistants will take you into the foyer, and you can wait for me there. Ok?"

I nodded and felt bile rise in my throat. I swallowed hard, but it wouldn't go away. My mouth filled with saliva, and I kept trying to swallow it.

"Lana?"

"Air." I gasped. "I need air,"

I put down my window just as Liam shouted, "no, Lana! Don't!"

The roar I heard was like being at a footie Grand Final. I was confronted with hundreds of screaming faces lining the road opposite the cinema. Their eyes were wild. Their bodies bounced and writhed in joy and excitement. They lifted posters and toys, screaming for Liam Cross.

Liam leaned over me and, waving at the crowd, quickly pressed the button to put the window up.

"What the fuck was that?" I yelled.

"Fans."

"You didn't tell me they would be on both sides!"

"I didn't think you would put your window down."

"Your life..." I started.

"Isn't normal." We both finished.

Liam laughed, "on the plus side Lana, you have your colour back. Do you still feel sick?"

I shook my head. "No. Now I'm just terrified." The limo started moving.

I gripped Liam's hand as if we were nearing the top of a roller coaster. He ran his thumb over my knuckles and said, "We can still go home if you want." He cupped my cheek and looked at me. The car stopped.

I shook my head. "Just don't leave me."

He smiled and kissed my neck. His skin felt different, having shaved, but his kiss was still the same. "Never." He whispered.

The door was opened, and Liam got out.

I breathed deeply, trying to calm. The dress was bloody tight. Then Liam's hand was there, and I took it.

His eyes found mine, and I fell into them. He smiled his most beautiful smile, the one where his cheeks and eyes crinkled and his teeth flashed. I found myself unable to stop my smile. How could I not smile when he looked so happy.

As I stood up, his hand came around my waist, and he pulled me tight. He leaned into my ear and said loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd and the shouts from the photographers, "Thank-you for doing this, Lana." He kissed my ear so swiftly I thought I had imagined it.

The procession down the red carpet went as he said it would. The fans were electric and not as frightening as I thought they would be. Some even tried to talk to me, which was awkward because I had no idea what to say. I just tried to be polite and smiled.

Liam was amazing. He never let go of my hand. One-handed, he signed autographs, shook hands, gave hugs and took selfies. He was so charming, looked the fans in the eye, seemed genuinely happy and interested to hear what they had to say. He even blushed when some of the fans oohed after he had run his fingers through his hair. Just watching how much he seemed to love this part of his job made me forget a lot of my own anxieties.

Liam was a bit different with the interviewers, more alert and guarded. But his charm and wit were still there. A few interviewers, mostly the more gossipy outlets, asked about me. The film focussed ones largely ignored me. I hoped I gave coherent responses, and Liam was as good as his word and stepped in when he needed to and took control of the interviews. I couldn't believe how many times he had to answer the same questions, and he answered each with as much enthusiasm as he had the first time he was asked.

Quicker than I thought, we stopped for the last row of photographers. They shouted for Liam's attention and were almost as loud as the fans. When the time came for Liam to do photos on his own, he brushed his lips against my neck and said in my ear, "Lana, you were perfect. Go on. I'll be with you in a minute."

I went to the end and was greeted by the publicists who ushered me into the crowded cinema foyer. I found a quiet corner and waited for about five minutes before I saw Liam practically barge his way through the crowd, his eyes searching until he saw me.

He grabbed my hips and kissed my mouth so hard I thought they would bruise.

"Lana, that was perfect. Thank you for doing that with me."

I smiled a genuine, relaxed smile for the first time in hours and asked, "so it's over?"

"It's over," Liam confirmed.

I exhaled with relief and said, "you'd have to be the only person in the world I would ever go through that for."

Liam kissed me again, softer this time, lips playing against mine, "you don't know how much that means to me." He hugged me tightly before staring at me and smiling at his goofy grin. Then he said, "come on, Sweetheart. I have a few people I'd like to introduce you to. If you are up for it, that is. Do you need more time?" I shook my head, and he led me into the crowd.

Liam grabbed my hand and moved fast through the crowd, briefly saying hi to some people on the way.

I saw Myra come in from the red carpet, and I pointed her out to Liam. Liam waved her over, and she waved back then held her hand up in a 'give me a second' gesture. She went to the corner I had been hiding in and kissed a man I assumed was her boyfriend and brought him over.

I liked her instantly. She was bubbly and happy. It was like she was famous enough to be bored by the goings-on around her, but still new enough that she hadn't developed the jaded 'here we go again' attitude that you would expect.

"Phew! That was crazy tonight. I'd say that's your fault, Liam. No one else here is big enough to pull a crowd that big." She leaned over and kissed his cheeks in the European style. "Thanks for doing it, mate. I mean, it'll be good for Stones but still, it'll help with this movie too."

Liam smiled, "Don't mention it." Liam pulled me closer and introduced me.

Myra smiled widely and pulled me into a hug. She was a few years younger than me, and she was beautiful. She had gorgeous thick dark hair, cheekbones to die for under radiant umber skin, which appeared to be without a blemish and striking sea-green eyes. She was very tall, almost as tall as Liam, but very thin. She felt so delicate when I hugged her back, but it was evident from her speech and body language; she wasn't a shrinking violet.

"Hey babes, so good to meet you. I've heard so much. You look so good. That's from Maticevski, right? Great choice. I love him." I usually cringe when I hear the word 'babes'. I think of Married at First Sight for some reason. However, coming from Myra, it just sounded sweet.

"Thanks. Liam has spoken about you too."

"Yeah, Pop has been good to me," Myra said, throwing a look at Liam that made his eyes roll.

"It's twelve years, Myra, hardly Grandfather territory."

"It's not your age. It's your attitude." She said in a snarky but playful way. "Anyway, this is my Damo. Well, Damien, but nobody calls him that." Damo smiled awkwardly and shook our hands.

Myra wrapped her arms around his waist and said teasingly, "Aww, he's shy." From the look Damo gave Myra, I'd say smitten was a better way to describe him. He's tall like Liam, and though muscular, you could tell it came from physical labour, not a gym. He had a surfie look about him with his sun-bleached shoulder long hair and tanned skin.

"I'm going for a smoke before the movie starts," Damo said to Myra.

"Can Lana have one?" Liam asks. "She has quit, but she said she would like one." I looked at Liam with gratitude, and Damo and I went behind the theatre where a smoking area was set up.

We could still hear a lot of activity going on out the front, but it appeared most of the excitement was over. Damo lit our cigarettes, and I leaned against the wall, relishing the nicotine flowing through me.

Damo laughed, "you look how I feel. Over it."

"Yeah, it's full-on, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's bullshit crazy."

"So, where do you live? How did you meet Myra and get wrapped up in this bullshit?" I asked with genuine interest. He seemed even more out of place here than I did.

Damo told me he was from the Northern Beaches and was in the year above Myra at school. He had asked her to his Year 12 formal, and she accepted, but she had cancelled to go to Melbourne for her first major acting role. "So, I don't hear from her for years, but she finds me on Instagram through old mates from school, and she tells me that I owe her a date."

"That's kinda cute."

"Yeah, surprised the fuck out of me, though. Like, why'd ya wanna go out with a sparky from the Northern Beaches."

I smiled at him, knowing the feeling. "Maybe all this bullshit gets to them, and they want someone real? Someone who doesn't want anything from them except their time and affection."

Damo smiles and nods his head. "I reckon you're onto something. So what's your story?"

I don't tell him all the details but that we met online and I didn't know who he was until I met him. "It was a complete shock when I found out who I'd been talking to."

"Fair dinkum? You met him three weeks ago?" I nodded, "It took Myra five months to convince me to go to one of these things."

I laughed, "Yeah, well, I just thought better get it over with. The sooner people can get over that Liam has a new girlfriend, the quicker I can get back to normal and not worry about it."

Damo nodded and said, "yeah, I hope so too. Myra's life can get pretty crazy."

We finished our cigarettes and went back inside. We had hardly gotten through the door when we were whisked away by our partners because the movie was about to start.

After the movie, there was a small after-party for industry people only. The people who had won tickets or were friends of friends weren't invited. Liam, of course, was invited and had planned not to go. Myra pleaded with him to stay, so when he looked at me asking the silent question, I nodded, already getting the feeling not many people could say no to Myra. Myra bounced around and hugged us both.

Liam introduced me to a few other people, including Boyd, who turned out to be an outrageous flirt and a shit-stirrer. He seemed harmless and just enjoyed taking the piss out of people. He also told me something interesting about Liam that I planned to bring up with him later.

Liam also introduced me to the showrunner Arianna, who was essentially his boss. Finally, I was introduced to Naomi, who was to play Boyd's love interest, and she was also in the movie we had just watched. The Australian film industry is pretty small.

Naomi was the opposite of Myra, friendly on the outside but was one of those people who always seemed to be looking around when you talked to them to see if there was someone more interesting or more advantageous she should be speaking to. She had icy blue eyes, bombshell blonde hair, amazing breasts and a nose that was so perfect it had to have been a nose job.

She flirted hard with Liam, touching his arm, letting it linger that little bit too long. She ignored me mostly, except when she threw me some side-eye. Liam seemed to take it in his stride, polite but not friendly, until she 'accidentally' brushed her breasts against his arm.

Liam seemed to have enough, and his eyes went dark. He put his hand to my back and practically pushed me out, saying we were leaving. His tone didn't leave much room for argument, but I wanted to know why he left so suddenly when things had been going well, and I actually enjoyed the party. I was also feeling bad that I didn't say goodbye to Myra and the others.

Liam's limo was waiting outside, and he ushered me in quickly. Liam texted Myra to say goodbye and to let the others we left. "Myra won't mind. She knows how I feel about Naomi."

I said hi to our driver before turning to Liam. "Is there a history there?" I ask. My voice was small.

Liam scoffed, "she wishes." He sighed and stretched his neck. He took his jacket off, opened his vest and loosed his tie. I looked at him expectantly. He taps the driver on the shoulder and apologises, but he's going to put the screen up.

When the screen was in place, Liam started to roll his sleeves up. It seemed like he was stalling. Eventually, he said, "I suppose I had better tell you. Naomi was cast a couple of weeks ago. The original actress playing her part fell pregnant and didn't want to commit to a series. She comes in for a table read, and I felt bad for her coming in late because the rest of the main cast had a couple of months together already. Myra knew her and said to avoid her, but I thought, well, I have to work with her should get to know her. We had a chat after the read, then she follows me back to my dressing room and long story short, she takes her shirt off and grabs my cock."

"What did you do?" My green-headed monster was in full battle mode. He better have a good and believable answer.

"I threw her out ." He shrugged. "Shit like that happens all the time. What she doesn't know is that word gets around, and soon she will be seen as toxic and won't get hired. Although I think she aims to bag a guy with money and never work again."

I believed him. I was going to have to get this jealousy thing under control. It was new to me. I don't think I had ever been jealous before, even with Andy. I looked out of the window, letting the night beauty of Sydney calm me down.

Liam put his arm around me and rested his chin on my shoulder. "So was it so terrible?" Liam asked dramatically. "The premiere, I mean."

I looked at him, his blue eyes bright again. "Not all of it," I smiled at him.

"What were the good parts?"

I ran my finger across his jaw, his skin was so smooth. I missed the three-day-growth, but he looked just as amazing without it. "I liked meeting Myra."

He smiled, "I knew you'd like her."

"And the movie was good."

"Anything else?" Liam ran a finger across my collarbone

"The free popcorn and drinks."

Liam chuckled, and his finger ran up my neck. "Anything else?"

"They have great chairs in the theatre," he was turning me on. I heard it in my voice. My heart started to beat louder.

"Is that all?" He asked with his rough, horny voice. He lifted my chin.

"The bathrooms were good too."

He traced my lips with his finger. "Is that all that was good about tonight?"

"Tonight's not over. Ask me again in the morning." He slipped his finger into my mouth, and my body was on fire. Even after all I had been through, the stress and panic, my body still responded to his touch. I sucked his finger gently, and his eyes widened.

"You're very naughty, Lana." He said as he withdrew his finger and shuffled in his seat.

"I'm not bad. I'm just drawn that way," I said in my best Jessica Rabbit imitation.

Liam's eyes widened then narrowed. "What did Boyd tell you?"

"Tell me? Nothing?" I tried to look innocent, but I'm not an actress.

"Never mind." Liam blushed.

"Hang on, who is your favourite Disney Princess?"

"I'm not a child, Lana." He looked a little uncomfortable.

I pouted. "Come on. Everyone has one."

"Who is yours?"

"Moana, although I don't know if she counts as a Princess cause she's a chief's daughter. My second is Belle. Tell me yours."

"Ariel." Liam looked out the window.

"Favourite spice girl?"

"I don't like pop music. " I raised my eyebrow at Liam. He paused a long time before answering. "Geri."

"Which one of John Snow's girlfriends was hotter with Ygritte or Daenerys?" I was having fun with it. I don't think I'd ever seen him squirm so much.

"Ygritte, Lana, do you mind?"

"No, no, just one more." I was trying not to burst out laughing. I knew I must have had a huge smirk on my face, "Mary-Anne or Ginger?"

"For fucks sake, yes, ok, I have always had a thing for redheads."

I couldn't hold it any longer, and I burst out laughing. I laughed so hard, Liam eventually had to join in. "I'm sorry." I said, "What are you going to do to Boyd?"

"Unfortunately, Lana, it looks like I will be busy for the next 25 years because I will have to kill him."

Part 20

#original character #original story #original fiction #romantic story #happy ever after

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chilling-seavey · 4 years

Text

Anything But Mine - The Wedding

A/N This was highly requested as a blurb but it needed it’s own full post as it is almost 5k words and it holds a special place in my heart <3

Note: Daniel and Florence’s wedding song is Blessed by Thomas Rhett. Please click the link and give it a listen because it speaks absolute volumes to their relationship and it’s so special to them!

Saturday, October 14th, 2023

Daniel was always good at finding instruments to play in the strangest of places. This morning in particular, at around noon, he found himself in the upstairs hallway of the old historical castle, his fingers dancing delicately over the keys of the grand piano, filling the stone building with a soft melody. He was dressed in a full suit and tie, ironed and styled to perfection down to his shiny black dress shoes, his dark hair combed and styled in a soft part and hair sprayed enough for it to stay put for the rest of the day and then some. A gentle smile was playing at his lips, his blue eyes seeming to catch the warm light of the midday sun that was spilling through the stained glassed window beside him and streaking across the old wooden floors.

Footsteps sounded down the hall and Daniel glanced up to see Corbyn headed towards him.

“I can never lose you. I just have to follow the music.” his best friend tisked, making Daniel crack a goofy grin as he played on. Corbyn leaned over the side of the piano, trying carefully not to crease his own suit. He simply watched him play for a little longer before Daniel dropped his hands to his lap. The final notes died out slowly, echoing off the old stone walls of the castle.

“How are you feeling?” Corbyn asked.

“Antsy.” Daniel said lightly, his leg bouncing restlessly off the side of the bench he sat on. He let his gaze drift out the stained-glass window, the brightly coloured fall trees filling the streets below them making the city seem a bit warmer. “What time is it?”

Corbyn glanced at his watch, “12:10. You still have two hours.”

Daniel sighed deeply, turning back to his friend, “I don’t think I can wait that long, bro.”

“Well you gotta. The girls are still getting ready.” Corbyn chuckled. “But your flower girls are demanding to see you. That’s why I’m up here.”

At simply the mention of his daughters, Daniel broke into a grin and he got up from the piano to start towards the stairs.

“They’re in our room with the guys.” Corbyn said, following him down the spiral staircase. Daniel seemed to navigate the winding corridors with ease – probably since he couldn’t stand still since he finished getting ready at 10:30 that morning – and he got back to their room with Corbyn a mess of confusion behind him.

The rest of their friend group were still in there hanging out after finishing getting ready along with Daniel’s two brothers and his dad. Clementine and Penelope were in the center of the room, demanding all of the attention from the men in their knee length light pink dresses and white stockings, looking no less than the cutest girls anyone had ever seen.

“My girls.” Daniel smiled, as he walked inside, bending down to their height as they rushed over to hug him. “You two look absolutely gorgeous.”

He tugged lightly at the brushed-out ringlets in their hair.

“We got makeup, Daddy!” Clementine beamed, pointing to her eyes where, sure enough, a thin coat of sparkly eye shadow and mascara framed each pair of bright blue eyes.

“Well, aren’t you two all grown up.” Daniel chuckled.

“Just a little.” Penelope said as if to reassure him.

“Yeah.” Clementine agreed with her younger sister. “Mommy said okay but just a little and Auntie Anna helped do it.”

“It looks very pretty.” Daniel said, looking between his two beaming daughters. He stood up from the ground and picked up Penelope to set on his hip and right away she leaned on his shoulder. “What did you need to see me for?”

“Oh!” Clementine ran across the room to the coffee table set up in the corner and she grabbed something from it before running back over to him. She held up a small envelope. “Mommy wanted me to give you this. It was a special mission. Only I could do it.”

“Sounds important.” Daniel smiled, taking it from her with his free hand that wasn’t holding the three-year-old. “Do you want another special mission, Miss Clementine?”

“Yes!” she squealed.

Daniel gave Penelope the envelope to hold so he could reach into his inside jacket pocket to pull out his own letter. He passed it down to the young girl who beamed at the sight of it as she held it in her two hands.

“Make sure Mommy gets this. No one else, okay?” Daniel instructed.

“Yessir!” Clementine nodded before running out of the room. The quick clicks of her Mary Janes could be heard disappearing down the hallway.

Daniel looked to Penelope in his arms, as he took the envelope back from her tiny grip, “You want to go with your sister?”

Her little head shake made him smile and he pressed a kiss to her head as she wrapped her arms around his neck and cuddled into him. He told the room that he would be right back before he walked out again, his youngest falling asleep on his shoulder. Penelope seemed to be a sense of calm to him as walking down the hallway felt so much easier with her.

Daniel found a small bench over-looking the garden below and he sat down, leaning against the wall so Penelope could still nap comfortably against him. He kept his arms on either side of the sleeping child to make sure she wouldn’t fall as he held the small white envelope in his hands, the contents inside personally written from the bride.

His name always looked so much nicer when it was written by her.

When he turned it over, a soft pink lipstick mark was pressed to the seal and he smiled at the sight of her sitting by the window over looking the castle gardens in a long white dress and pressing a kiss to that very envelope. He could almost hear her soft giggle at her own ridiculousness.

Daniel slid his finger along the seal in order to pull out the small sheet of cardstock. The black ink scrawled crisply over the high-end parchment and he held it carefully in his two hands as if he was holding priceless artwork.

Penelope shifted against his shoulder and he set one hand on her back securely as he began reading.

My dearest Daniel,

How long has it been that we’ve awaited this day? It already feels like a lifetime. Every day spent with you brings so much brightness to my world and I truly cannot imagine a life without you by my side. You have always been my confidant, my protector, my best friend, and my one true love. You live so passionately yet carefully, thinking through every action before doing and always putting everyone else before you. Especially our girls. Clementine and Penelope are so blessed to be able to call you their father, and I am even more blessed to soon be able to call you my husband. It still sounds so surreal. We’ve been awaiting this day for exactly 5 years now, even if we might not have known it at first. Every obstacle led us here, all the heartache, the tears, the laughter, and the late-night talks – and I wouldn’t change one thing. This is our story. It may have been five years in the making but it starts today.

I love you more than life itself, and I will every day forward.

Yours forever,

Florence

Clementine came skidding into the bridal suite, her dress shoes shrieking against the floor.

“Clementine Ophelia, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Florence tisked, holding out her arm to catch her rambunctious daughter running for her at top speed as she sat at the dressing table getting the finishing touches on her hair.

“I have an important message for you, Mommy!” Clementine said, bouncing on her toes as she held onto Florence’s white dress tightly with one fist, her other waving the envelope in her face.

“Thank you, angel.” Florence took it from her with a cheesy grin and gently pried her four-and-a-half-year old’s hand from her dress. “Now go sit with Uncle Callum and calm down, please.”

Clementine skipped across the room to Callum who was sitting on the couch with Daniel’s mum.

“What’s that?” Anna asked through a teasing smile, pinning the last bit of the soft white flower into her curls.

Florence grinned down at the letter in her hand, “You know what it is.”

“A love letter from my brother.” Anna sang softly as she picked up the hairspray. “Hold your breath.”

Florence closed her eyes gently and took a deep breath, holding the envelope safely against her chest as Anna sprayed at least half the can of hairspray onto her curls. The girls coughed a little together when she was finished, waving their hands in the air.

“Well, my dear, you look like an angel on earth.” Anna said proudly.

“Thank you so much.” Florence sighed, welcoming her soon to be sister-in-law into a hug.

“You’re most welcome. We’ll go downstairs to make sure everything is going smoothly…and you so can read your mushy letter.” Anna said, ushering everyone out of the room.

Florence took a small breath through her wide smile, catching her own eye in the mirror nearby. She hardly recognised herself…but in the best way. Anna really knew what she was doing. Her blonde hair fell in soft curls to her shoulder, side swept to the left with her bangs falling gracefully over her forehead. The white baby’s breath flowers tied her hair together and her light makeup smoothed out her skin perfectly. It was the type of makeover that Florence wasn’t a stranger to from her adolescent years, but the importance of that day had it meaning so much more.

She looked back down to the white envelope in her hand and smiled at the soft cursive of her name, ended with a small heart.

Florence opened the letter carefully, making sure to be cautious of her fresh manicure, and slid the small piece of cardstock out of the envelope. It was heavy in her hands and before she even read it, she felt tears prick at her eyes from the emotion of it all.

My Sweetheart,

We both know the story about how I was that love-sick teenager at the frat party, trying my best to hit on the most beautiful girl there and ultimately failing miserably after I accidentally spilled my entire drunken thoughts about how I was wanting to marry you one day. I bet you didn’t see that actually happening. I probably didn’t either to be honest. I still remember how you looked that night, almost like the image of you is ingrained in my memory forever. A shy young woman, clueless about where life was going to take her. I thank God every day that it took you to me. From the moment we first met, you have been the shining star guiding me wherever I go; saving me when I’m lost and being my biggest constellation when I succeed. Having you by my side through everything is the biggest reassurance and I truly don’t know where I would be without you. Thank you for not only blessing us with our two beautiful daughters, but also for being such a selfless and caring mother. Thank you for pushing me when I feel like giving up, and being able to let me come to you with anything, even if it’s as stupid as losing my keys over and over again. Thank you for saying yes, for promising to love me through all the hardships. Thank you for making me who I am. I’m honoured to soon be able to call you my wife.

It’s always been you.

All my love,

Daniel

Daniel stood at the top of the stairs, biting anxiously at his bottom lip, watching all the guests below make their way into the conservatory for the ceremony.

“5 minutes.” Tyler said, coming up behind his youngest brother and set a hand on his shoulder, “How are we feeling?”

“Really freaking nervous for some reason.” Daniel mumbled, his voice shaking.

“You’re not facing your death, Dan.” Christian laughed, joining them by the stairs as well.

“I know, I know. What if I like…mess something up? Or like…cry in front of everyone.” Daniel sighed, looking back down the stairs at the hallway that now appeared empty, meaning all the guests were seated.

“That’s the whole point of a wedding. You’re doing it wrong if you don’t cry.” Christian scoffed, brushing his hands over his youngest brother’s shoulders, straightening out his suit.

“You look good, bro.” Tyler smiled.

“Boys, it’s time.” Keri called from the bottom of the stairs. “Tyler, Christian, get out there please.”

“Good luck.” Christian winked as the eldest brothers rushed down the stairs and into the conservatory.

“Ready, baby?” Keri asked, sensing Daniel’s hesitation from the flight of stairs that seperated them. Daniel nodded and walked down to her slowly. “You look so handsome.” She smiled at her youngest son, holding his face in her hands. “I’m so proud of you, you know?”

“Thanks, Mum.” Daniel whispered, smiling softly to the dark wood floors.

She linked her arm in his and they took a few steps towards the grand doorway into the white painted conservatory. The large domed skylight was built of stained glass and cast a soft glow around the room, the floor to ceiling windows framed with elaborate white paneling only adding to the sunlight seeping onto the cream checkered tile floor. Dark marble trim lined the conservatory, dotted with many foliage and led to the end of the aisle where the officiant stood in front of the fountain framed in white flowers.

Daniel and his mother took the two marble steps into the sun filled conservatory and all eyes turned to them. It wasn’t a large guest list. The young couple didn’t know many people, but the four steady rows were only filled with everyone in their lives. Daniel couldn’t bite back his wide grin, turning to look at his mother on his arm who smiled up at him proudly. When they reached the altar, he leaned down to kiss her cheek and she sat down in the front row with his father and two brothers. Christian and Tyler gave him two thumbs up, making him chuckle as he shuffled in place. His friends sat behind them, Jack throwing up a heart with his hands that made Jonah smack his arm and shake his head. Daniel stuck his tongue out at them teasingly regardless, his hands held together behind his back, tapping a finger against his palm restlessly. He kept his eyes focussed on the double doors a few metres away.

Barely a minute later – although it felt like an eternity – the band started to play and everyone in the room turned to look behind them.

Anna and Callum walked out first, arm in arm. Anna held a small white bouquet and had on a long light pink gown, matching to Callum’s bowtie over his black suit. When they reached the front, they seperated, Callum standing to the left and Anna finding her place beside Daniel, giving his arm a small squeeze on her way and they exchanged small smiles.

Clementine and Penelope were next, still dressed in their matching light pink dresses and white Mary Janes, sprinkling white rose petals from their wicker baskets as they walked down the aisle with wide grins. The room ‘awe’d at the little girls, Daniel smiling so proudly at his daughters. Penelope ran ahead to him and wrapped her arms around his legs shyly.

He brushed her dark curls from her face, whispering a gentle, “Go sit with Luke, Penny girl.” as he ushered her towards them. Clementine held out her hand and the sisters went to their seats with the Clifford’s.

The room shifted to their feet, everyone turning to the double doors as Florence and Michael stepped down the two small stairs into the conservatory. Daniel could have sworn his heart stopped beating at the sight of her in the long white ballgown, the lace accents sitting softly over her shoulders and the thin veil tucked securely into her blonde hair and falling effortlessly down her back. The moment she looked up at him, her light eyes finding his, Daniel couldn’t hold back his tears, pressing his hand to his mouth in awe by her.

It was if nothing mattered anymore, not worrying about anything but the woman he loved dressed in white, walking towards their future. He couldn’t help but return her smile as he wiped the tears from his cheeks, her eyes already shimmering with tears herself as Michael pressed a kiss to her cheek and passed her over into Daniel’s outstretched hand.

“You look gorgeous.” Daniel whispered, his voice breaking a little as he tried to speak.

“So do you.” Florence chuckled lightly, taking a shaking breath as her other hand fell into his.

They stood together, hand in hand, in front of all their friends and family, as the officiant opened the wedding. Daniel couldn’t take his eyes off of her and Florence was just the same, giving his hands a soft squeeze.

After a quick prayer and introduction, the floor was passed to the bride first for her vows. She took a shaking breath, a small nervous whimper falling from her glossy lips and Daniel smiled at her reassuringly.

Florence met his strong gaze, running her thumbs over his as she spoke.

“Daniel James Seavey, five years ago to this day, I was nothing less than a confused 18-year-old, unsure of what my purpose in life was. I was really at my lowest point. But that goofy, slightly tipsy brunette boy sat himself down next to me and right away things started looking up. From that night onwards, you have taught me so many valuable lessons, from learning how to live joyously, trust honestly, and love passionately. It hasn’t been an easy five years, but I know that after all the tests we have been put through to get here, that our love can survive anything. Loving you is my greatest honour and I promise to love you more and more with each passing day as your wife,” Florence paused a moment, her bottom lip trembling as she held back her tears and her hands tightening on his, “and as your best friend. I promise to laugh with you and cry with you, and to never go to sleep angry. Even if you’re always waking me up in the middle of night when you get a burst of inspiration at 3am and you have to play a new song right then and there.”

The room laughed lightly.

Florence sniffled but continued, “It’s not going to be easy. At least that’s what everyone always told me. But for some reason, standing here with you right now, nothing but the strongest love in my heart, knowing that you’re by my side forever…nothing seems easier than that.”

Daniel cracked a small smile through his silent tears, mumbling a very quiet ‘I love you’ which she returned.

“I wrote mine down because you know I can’t keep my mind in one place.” Daniel said, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a small piece of paper. He unfolded it and took a shaking breath, taking a quick look at his bride and smiling, sliding one hand back into hers before turning back to his vows.

“Florence Margret DiCaprio. My sweetheart. My best friend. There seem to be so many words to describe what you mean to me but none that seem to be enough to truly encompass how I feel. I have been a boy in love since I first laid eyes on you and I knew, although quite naïve at the time, that life wouldn’t be quite worth living if you weren’t by my side. I made many stupid mistakes in my life, especially the first two years of knowing you, but you never gave up on me and you never held that against me. We make each other better people, better parents, and better life partners. I thank God every single day for bringing you into my life, for bringing our daughters into our lives, and for allowing me the chance to live the life that I only could ever dream about. I promise to work through life with you, to be there for you at your lowest at and to celebrate with you at your highest, to cherish you and our children through everything, and to write you so many songs that we could make our own record library.”

Daniel glanced up at her to meet her soft chuckle through her forming tears, her hand gently squeezing his.

He looked back down to his paper, gently rubbing his thumb over hers, he took a small breath, looking back at her as he spoke, “Most importantly, I promise to you love you honestly and truly, with all my heart, until my last breath.”

Florence let a few tears fall down her cheeks, her heart felling like it might beat right out of her chest. How she absolutely adored the man in front of her.

Clementine was ushered over with the little satchel with the rings and Daniel bent down to take them from her.

“Thank you, angel.” he smiled softly, pressing a kiss to her cheek before standing up again. She rushed back over to her seat with a grin on her little face.

Daniel stood back up, following the instructions of the minister. He took Florence’s left hand in his, carefully sliding the ring on her finger, saying “Take this ring as a sign of my everlasting love.”

The minister directed Florence to do the same. She smiled softly at Daniel before taking his left hand and slid on his own ring, “Take this ring as a sign of my everlasting love.”

Their hands fell into each other’s sharing excited smiles, hand in hand, as the minister said his closing remarks and blessings.

“I now pronounce you man and wife; you may kiss the bride.”

Daniel let out a quiet, “Oh my gosh” as he leaned in to kiss her. Florence’s hands went to the side of his neck to keep him close, smiling widely into it, as their friends and family applauded.

They whispered quick “I love yous” heard only to them before they were walking back down the aisle hand in hand.

Photographs were taken on the castle grounds under the trees that were changing colour into a frenzy of oranges and reds. Daniel felt like his smile would never leave his face, staying tucked up nice a close to Florence as if he never wanted to be more then two inches away from her for the rest of time. It was all a bit messy and a tad chaotic, the two young girls getting a bit restless and wanting to jump in the fallen leaves rather than pose for picture and Penelope fell over which got them a few good shots of her bawling her eyes out in Daniel’s arms, her tears staining his suit jacket. But even still, Daniel and Florence wouldn’t have had it any other way.

They still had their moment to walk into the library where their reception was, hand in hand, their small group of family and friends standing and cheering and Florence felt happier than she ever thought was possible in life. Daniel led her to the middle of the dancefloor as the lights dimmed to a soft glow and he pulled her close for their first dance. The music played through the speakers, filling the dark wood library with an indescribable warmth, their eyes on each other’s with Daniel’s hands tucked around her waist and Florence’s hands draped over his shoulders.

It was a love song that Daniel heard on the radio one day and it brought him to tears alone in his car on the way home from class, the words speaking volumes about the deep and unbreakable love he had for this girl, who had overcome so much with him, to find them in that exact moment.

He couldn’t help but lean in to kiss her softly, running his thumb softly over the lace of her dress, smiling as she curled into him, leaning her head on his shoulder as they swayed slowly to their favourite song. Daniel let his eyes close, trying to savour the feeling of that very moment, letting the lyrics fall quietly from his lips as he sang to her as if it was just the two of them. Florence moved back a little to look at him, their noses brushing a little, keeping her arms tucked around his shoulders, pressed up close as if they were one.

Of course, nothing was ever perfect, and Clementine managed to slink out of Christian’s lap and made a beeline for the dance floor, dodging his desperate lunge for her. Daniel reached out to grab her as she ran right for them, keeping one hand on Florence’s waist as he took her small hand in his own and she swayed dramatically to the music the best she could. Florence waved over Penelope who rushed over to them as well and joined into their little circle, spending more time with her arms held up to Daniel to get him to pick her up than anything. Daniel and Florence finished their first dance with their two daughters, Clementine twirling around her mother’s white ballgown and Penelope curled shyly into her father’s neck. They wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The rest of the evening was spent amongst their family and friends, eating their expensive dinner and thanking everyone for coming. Dancing occurred by evening and despite the loud music and lights, both Penelope and Clementine were fast asleep, the youngest tucked up on Christian’s lap with her head on his chest and the oldest sleeping against Callum’s shoulder. The brothers, Callum especially, was set on giving Florence and Daniel all the time together on their special day, meaning he was on toddler-duty all night. Christian didn’t complain in helping out either.

The newly married couple didn’t really get their one-on-one time until the reception came to an end and they were off for their honeymoon. Newly graduated from university and parents of two, all they could afford was a week at a ritzy hotel downtown which is where they found themselves that night. Not wanting to be apart for a moment longer; a bit tipsy from champagne from the wedding and a bit love-drunk, they made the impromptu decision to have a third baby, consummating their marriage in the soft white sheets of the hotel king size bed.

And for the rest of the week.

It was no surprise when they were met with two positive pregnancy tests come the end of November...

#daniel seavey #daniel seavey fanfic #daniel seavey imagines #why dont we #why dont we music #why dont we imagines #why dont we fanfic #why dont we preferences #wdw #limelight #jonah marais #corbyn besson #zach herron #jack avery #anything but mine

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wordlessbabbling · 4 years

Text

The Anya-Margaret (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 1

“I’m thinking of killing off a few characters just to jazz up my autobiography.”

Masterlist

“Can’t catch me!” The young girl fled around the halls of her stately home.

A young maid, who was on nanny duty today, had the misfortune of chasing after the relentless girl.

She ran through halls with ceilings that she would never touch, no matter how much she grew.

The carpet was lusciously red and rich- it tickled her toes which only made the young girl giggle more as she toddled around the home.

The walls had a green design that was bright enough to make the house not seem boring, but dull enough to drive one insane, should they spend too much time looking for a cosmic purpose.

But young girls like her had no time to contemplate philosophy and the cosmos, as girls like her were too busy running with time.

Time ticks fast, but she ticks faster- never letting it overtake her for fear of the unknown.

——

“Oi Tom!” Arthur trudged into the betting shop, “new business in town. Well-not that new-but either way- they ain’t paying for protection, so I propose we go n’ ruff ‘em up.”

Thomas placed his pencil down on the document he was working on. He’d heard about this business, and he actually had plans for them.

“Aye, Arthur.” Thomas nodded, better now than never- it’s not like he wanted to sit at his desk all day- “I’ve got a proposal for ‘em.”

Arthur’s face shifted slightly with minor satisfaction as the thought of letting out some pent up nerves while smashing a blokes face in just made him feel a bit better.

“Who am I bringing then? John-boy? Scudboat? You’re coming too, Tom, ain’t ya?” Arthur was now pacing as his hands itched with anticipation.

Thomas only lit a cigarette with a blank look on his face, “actually, Arthur- it’s just going to be you, John and I visiting. I have a business proposal first.”

——

The streets of Small Heath were grimy and unpleasant, but not nearly as unpleasant as how thick the air became when they stepped closer and closer to the establishment.

“What they done, Tom?” John had his game face on. He was ready to kick ass and fuck up some poor blokes marriage. It’s going to be great.

“Ah, ah. Not yet, boys. I have a business deal to make first, should they refuse, then maybe you can sling their hook. But for now, I just need intimidation.” Thomas almost felt uneasy lighting a cigarette when the air smelt as though he’d had thousands already- but then again, he had to keep up appearances.

The door to the establishment was open, which contradicted the notice on the wall next to the frame that read;

“NO WALK-INS ACCEPTED.

MUST CONTACT VIA LETTER OR TELEPHONE AND PAY UPFRONT BEFORE SERVICE IS PROVIDED.”

“What the hell...” John muttered as he tried not to cough and splutter when entering the hazy room.

The shiny razors sewn into their caps almost seemed dull as the thick smoke clouded the room and clouded their eyes.

From what they could see, the work space was actually rather done up. The walls were a lush shade of rich red and the skirting board was lined with gold paint.

There was little furniture though and the place wasn’t nearly comforting despite its warm colours.

“What is this place?” Arthur grumbled, suddenly feeling a chill as he was overcome with the sense that he was in a waiting room, tapping his feet mindlessly as he waited for an appointment for a cause that did not sit well with him.

“It’s a morgue and cemetery, Arthur.” Thomas quipped quietly. He raised a finger to his lips as he stalked through the corridors that contradicted the atmosphere.

The three rather scary looking men heard giggling sounds coming from behind a door at the end of a long corridor.

Arthur and John glanced at each other, very confused.

The laughter though, was not one of sweet nature that you’d hear from a lady who made sweets, but rather a giggle or cackle that sounded sick and mocking and condescending.

Before Thomas could break down the door, he heard a low voice coming from within that had a thick accent over it.

“I heard this funeral is going to be grave affair, Mr Daniels.”

Thomas noted that the voice sounded a lot like a Russian merchant he’d met before the war.

He knew this business was doing well, but he didn’t expect doing-business-with-the-Russians-well.

Arthur had enough of waiting around and barged through the door.

There was silence for a moment and the clattering of utensils on a metal surface. “What the fuck is this?” He bellowed.

The other two brothers made haste with scrambling into the seemingly smoking room.

The four walls in the rather large room were a steely grey and Thomas wondered if it was actually iron and they were in a cage- it certainly felt like one.

“What-“ John cried, confusion fat, “the holy fucking shit is that?”

Thomas darted his attention to two figures in the corner of the room, one laying down on a high wooden table and another hunched over it like a lion over a deer carcass with an open light bulb hanging over head.

But it was only when Thomas looked closer, did he see the purple fingers of the figure on the table and the top of its nose- so pale and blue.

His inspection of the body was interrupted by the sound of Arthur’s gun clicking as he raised it up pointing at the hunched figure.

“Oi!” He grumbled, “step back from the body! By order of the Peaky Blinders!”

The hunched figure sighed and put down the metal instruments they clutched haphazardly in their fingers.

Thomas stepped forward and put a hand on the top of Arthur’s gun, motioning for him to put it away.

“Miss Florence Kent, I presume?”

The woman in front of them was of average height and had this unruly red hair that looked like it hadn’t seen comb in weeks. Her shoulders were hunched forward and it appeared that she constantly just swayed from side to side on the spot.

She wore trousers that protruded out from her legs, but were tied back together at her ankles brown paper bag style. She also wore a dirty creme coloured top that had long flowing sleeves that, like the trousers, bunched around her wrists. She honestly just looked like she only got half dressed- not in a whorish way, but it clearly needed something.

“Yup. Youse are Shelby’s, correct?” She gestured up and down with her arm to three rather unimpressed men who didn’t like being addressed with such casualty. Arthur was all but ready to put the fear of God into her heart.

Thomas ignored her comment and stubbed out a cigarette; “I’ve been lookin’ through the books, Miss Kent. I’ve noticed that you, a rather successful business, does not pay the protection of the Peaky Blinders.”

The red-haired woman smiled although it seemed more like a grimace, “and why do I need protection? Eh? Is someone going to steal my precious bodies” she put her palms to her cheeks, “oh no! Gah!”

Thomas was nearly at his wits end and John had already grabbed the back of his cap, waiting for Thomas to make a move.

“It’s not just outside enemies you’ll need to watch out for, maybe ones in your own establishment.” He blinked slowly and stood stock still “speaking of other enemies, where is your friend who you were talking to before we walked in? Husband? Business associate?”

The woman’s eyes widened as she gasped at the three men, “you believed that!” She bent over forwards as she cackled into her hand, “oh that’s so perfect! I’m nailing that accent. Woo!” She threw her arms up in the air mockingly.

“Okay, Tom. I’ve had enough of this.” Arthur snarled, but Thomas once again put his arm up to silence him.

“That’s not nice, let you’re brother talk, Tom.” The lady pouted teasingly. Thomas wondered, for the briefest of moments if this woman was clinically insane, but despite that, he’d met worse. He clenched his jaw “Miss Kent I have a proposal for your business.”

The woman with hunched shoulders rolled her eyes at all the formalities, but she never passed down the opportunity for a few dramatics, “alright, and what if I reject your business proposal?”

“Well you might find yourself in a room much like this, except you’d be the one with your guts in a jar?” Thomas tilted his head to the side, matching her teasing tone. If it was a game to her, then he’d play the game just ten times harder.

The woman scoffed and shifted her weight so she was leaning against the table “orright. Go on then- I love a bit of chit chat.”

She lit another cigarette and waited for Thomas’ long dramatic pause to end.

“You know what we do. You probably read the papers-“

“Kindling.”

Thomas sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. In any other circumstance, he would have shot her where she stood, but he really needed this business deal to go through- God, he hated being dependant on people. Especially the insane ones.

“So you know bodies are being found, and are being traced back to us when they get picked up from the cut?”

The woman stood up straight again and took the bud of her cigarette and mashed it into the side of the dead mans face who was still on the table. Thomas internally cringed and could have sworn that he heard John gag.

“And you want me to ‘sort out’ all the bodies the coppers ‘find’?” She used air quotes as she strolled around the other side of the table. “Also, can you tell your brother, yeah, to put down that feeble gun. It’s not very polite, y’know? Besides, it would be like shooting a gravestone if went for me.”

“What the fuck’s she on about, Tom? What are you on about, lady? You pulling some smimey witchcraft on us? I don’t like her Tommy, we can’t trust her. We don’t need her, we can deal with them bodies ourselves.” John was getting violently panicked, “we’re the Peaky fucking Blinders— she can’t do shit.”

“You’re right, John. I can’t do shit, but there will be no satisfaction in killing me. Go on, Johnny-” She spread her arms wide and tilted her head back. She shook her hands like she was dancing to jazz music, expecting an encore for her performance, “-lay one on me!”

“Fucks sake!” Thomas, who was clearly antsy and agitated, slammed his fist down on the table “we want you to be our body burner, right. Can you do that?”

“Jesus Christ, Sir.” She pottered around the room, moving jars and opening up cabinets that lined the wall vertically and horizontally.

The silence hung in the room for a while until Florence shifted on her heels, “so uh... what do I get for all this hassle?”

Thomas lit another cigarette. Something about this room and it’s pungent smell just put him on edge and made him uneasy.

“You get protection by the Peaky Blinders.” He stated plainly.

The woman shot him an unimpressed look, “if I wanted protection, I would have paid for it. Besides, why the hell would I care for your protection? Eh? The monsters gonna come get me, Shelby? Are you the monster? Why are you a monster, Thomas?” She tilted her head and squinted.

“Definitely insane” Thomas decided.

“Sure. The monsters. That’s not the point though. With this deal, you’ll be affiliated with the Peaky Blinders, therefore making you a target.”

“I still don’t want your protection. I’ll take the deal, but I don’t want youse lot just fuckin’ breaking and entering. Anyway, you weren’t too good at it either. I heard you all the moment you stepped through that door.” She opened different mason jars and took all sorts of herbs out and laid them out on a cloth.

After examining the stalks of which, she put them in a cement bowl and started grinding them down, “you’re lucky that I was curious to see who would have the balls to come here so I didn’t waste ya as soon as you stepped through.”

John scoffed, “sure you did, love.”

Florence continued to smash and squish the herbs into a dry green powder that looked not at all appetising.

The three men just stood and watched—not for any reason probably, maybe just intimidation and curiosity.

Thomas watched as she strode around the table with a heavy sway which made him wonder if the woman was shit-faced drunk.

When she walked in front of him, instead of alcohol like he was suspecting, he smelled something acute to salt and flowers, a strange combination. She walked with her toes turned outwards, almost like she had a limp in both feet and it was clear she genuinely had no regard for appearances to the three dangerous men.

She dumped the heavy cement bowl onto the table next to the pale blue and white body that made everyone but her in the room feel queasy.

“Are you boys gonna stick around to watch me slice this man open or do ya want to get the fuck out of my working space?” She picked up an instrument, not too dissimilar from a knife you’d see on your kitchen table, just this one had a bent head.

Thomas stood stock still but the other two men looked at each other with confused and pleading expressions. They could take ripping people a part limb from limb, but this... this was insufferable.

With the others gone, all that was left was Thomas and Florence, and the body.

“If you’re gonna stay, you can at least help me?” She said with a snarky tone. Thomas didn’t do shit for anyone so instead he just lit another cigarette and watched.

The woman took her bent knife—that was probably genuine medical equipment, but if Thomas was bored enough, he could most likely fashion his own—and dragged the knife across the corpses abdomen, just under his diaphragm.

“Lucky for you, I’ve already bled this one, so hopefully you don’t feel like disembarking your dinner.” She took the bag of ground up powder and put it into the top of a funnel with a tube attached to the end.

If Thomas was being honest, he felt sick to his stomach, he’d rather quit drinking for the rest of his life rather than sit and watch this—hell, he didn’t think he’d be able to consume anything for a week after this—but he had to keep up an appearance.

To be fair to him, it worked alright- Florence was slightly impressed by his devout need to prove himself to everyone.

He did falter though slightly when she jammed the end of the tube of the funnel into the line of the mans abdomen. He inhaled sharply when she took a jug of water and poured it into the funnel so it mixed with the powder, creating a thick gooey clear substance.

She held the top of the funnel in front of her face and shifted her weight so the front of her hips were resting against the tall table.

Thomas wondered if this woman could stand up straight.

She cast her gaze to the side to Thomas who had his eyes locked onto the slice in the mans abdomen as the goo passed through achingly slowly.

He moved his head up so they met eyes now from across the room. Maybe if it was a different setting, the scene would have been romantic, had they not been in a morgue and she not pouring goo into a dead mans carcass.

The room was supposed to be tense, it usually is when Thomas decides to enter with his dramatic bitch face. But for some reason, this woman wouldn’t let him affect her. At first Thomas thought it was fear; next he thought it was insanity; then he considered that maybe this woman just didn’t give a flying fuck about who he was and what he was doing there.

He hated that, just as much as he admired it.

“I’ll return another time to discuss business agreements.”

As the rather threatening man walked out of the door, Florence wondered if he too, was only just pretending to be human like herself most of the time.

——

“I hear you’re in partnership with the Shelby’s.” The Irish accent that seemingly appeared out of nowhere startled the red haired girl.

Not because she didn’t hear him, just that you didn’t hear other dialects in this shit-hole of a city.

Florence didn’t look up from where she sat, examining the pages of a book. She took her index finger and held it up to the mans face as a silencing motion. “What’s you on about, Mister?” The woman answered finally.

She was curled up in a very uncomfortable looking dining room chair (even though there was no dining room) with a book in her knees and hunched shoulders.

“You we’re visited by the Peaky Blinders today, and you made an agreement with them, Miss Kent.” The man with the thick grey moustache snarled.

“Yes I did. You’re sounding a bit resentful there, Chester.” She didn’t move her head, but her large eyes shifted to where the man stood stiff with two officers behind him. Coward.

“I see they’ve told you about me.” He nodded smugly.

“No, actually. I just find these things out for myself.” She focused back on to the page and tuned out whatever the man who looked like he had a stick up his arse was saying.

“Why did they decide to initiate contact with you?” He asked plainly.

“Business.” She states in the same manor.

“Why didn’t they discuss business with your husband or superior?” He leaned in slightly.

“Because I don’t have either of those. This is my business and you clearly didn’t read the sign outside.” She yawned and sniffed quietly. She reached for her cigarette tin and lit one up.

“We are royal officials. Your sign does not bypass the need for law and order. Besides, your reports will not be acknowledged, so there’s no need- I have friends in high places.” He stated condescendingly.

“Yeah? Well I’ve got friends in low places.”

Campbell slammed his fist onto the wall next to him, which probably would have been more intimidating, had he not hissed in pain and the wall not had been made out of brick. “Why did you agree to business with those scum of the Earth rats!” He bellowed.

Florence didn’t flinch. She only sighed and put down her book, cigarette still resting in her mouth, “because I do business with people who offer money. Good money. Don’t take it personally, but take it all the same.” She folded her hands on her stomach and interlocked them with a dull look on her face.

“And what if I offered you your life for information on the Peaky Blinders?”

“Okay, lets get this straight. I don’t want shit from you. My death will not and does not burden me. I won’t give you information on the Peaky Blinders, because I can’t be arsed to listen to them. So go on, have at it!” She abruptly stood up and stalked to the door on the other side of the room, but not before turning round with a grin on her face, “oh, and by the way, Chester. Please do take this very personally... Man up soldier- oh wait.” She cackled and didn’t miss the inspectors fists clenching as his brow tensed.

Without another word, Inspector Campbell left the premise. He knew that he’d see to it that this arrogant, harlot woman would see consequences of her blind confidence.

——

Okay. A lot of things are really slowing down here and I have no idea when the next chapter will be up.

So sorry for the lack of continuity, but hopefully you can understand that everything’s a bit intense atm 😅

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

#tommyshelby #peaky blinders story #peakyblinders #thomas #thomas shelby #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby x oc #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelbys a dick #The Anya-Margaret #peakyblinderstv

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ashes-and-ashes · 4 years

Text

Something really quickly before I go to bed :)

The house looked exactly the same as it did the night he left. The same hallway - the cabinet pushed up against the right wall, the closet door with it’s floral screen, the paint dark and dull. There was a vase on top of the cabinet, full of some sort of faded silk flowers - Remus can’t tell what colour they originally were, can’t see past the thick layer of dust on top of the petals.

Memories. That’s what this house was full of, memories and ghosts and the whispered echoes of actions long done.

He hated himself for coming back, running to his parents like he was at their beck and call. He couldn’t stop himself though - it was ingrained in him, that fatal sort of loyalty that kept him coming back.

He closes his eyes. The house felt suffocating, the walls and the windows, drips of golden amber and he was the fly that was caught in it. Remus takes a deep breath, holds it, tries not to pass out.

There’s a warm presence at his side - he knows without looking that it’s Sirius. He loses a small breath, opening his eyes to stare into Sirius’.

“Hey,” Sirius says. “Listen to me. We can go home. We can go home right now if you want to.”

“This is home,” Remus whispers. Sirius’ face tightens.

“Back then. We can go back. Those pieces of shit don’t mean anything any more.”

Remus swallows hard. The message had come a few days ago, on that rose-scented paper that his mother had always used. He couldn’t even get past the first line, her handwriting so familiar it hurt.

Dear Re,

Would you like to come over for dinner...

He couldn’t. His parents were flames and he was a moth - no matter how hard he tried to escape he couldn’t. He envied Sirius sometimes, his utter lack of regard for his parents. He wished he could do the same.

Remus grits his teeth. He allows himself a moment, just a moment to catch his breath, to lean into Sirius’ side before opening his eyes. “I’m good. I’m fine.”

Sirius nods, stepping back. Beside him, James slings his coat over one arm, eyes unusually cold.

He couldn’t do it alone. Sirius and James had agreed to come with him at once, to this house of silence and memories. He didn’t think he could bear it otherwise.

With a sigh, Remus tugs at his hair. James at least had made an effort - he’d combed his hair, dressed in a nice sweater and a button down shirt. Remus wore something similar, his jumper too scratchy and his shirt too tight. Sirius though hadn’t bothered to do anything - he’s in his ever-present leather jacket, his hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck.

Remus had asked him about it, before they left. Sirius just gave hiom a vicious smile, one that let Remus know that tonight wasn’t going to be easy.

“I don’t actually give a shit about your parents,” Sirius scoffed and that was that.

Light filters in from the kitchen - Remus can smell things cooking. With a sigh, he pushes the door open revealing the dining room.

It was exactly how he remembered it - wallpaper and china cabinets and that glass chandelier. Remus swallows the lump in his throat, looks down at the floor.

When he sees it, he actually flinches, so hard that Sirius grabbed his wrist. He ignores it though, the pain shooting up his arm as he stares at the rug, the gold and the red, the flowers embroidered on the side.

For a moment he can hear his father, the whistling of the belt and the snap of impact. He can see the keys dangling in his hands, disappearing into his pocket, mockingly close and so far out of reach.

James shoots him a concerned look and Remus opens his mouth - to explain or to laugh or to scream he doesn’t know when -

Sirius goes tense, every muscle in his body going rigid. Remus lets out a slow breath, drags his gaze upwards reluctantly until he locked eyes with his father.

They stand like that for what feels like eternity - his father’s stony gaze, Remus’ empty one. For a brief moment, Remus wonders if he’ll ever end up like his father - stagnant and unrepentant, forever left longing the things he could never have.

Lyall looks awkward. He shifts his weight from one foot to another before finally coughing. “Remus.”

“Dad. Where’s mum.”

“Kitchen.” Lyall drags his gaze up, holding out his hand. “I see you’ve brought guests. I’m Lyall. Remus’ father.”

Sirius snorts, rolling his eyes. James quickly cuts in before Lyall can say anything. “Hi. I’m James. I go to Remus’ school.”

Lyall nods, turning to Sirius. “And you are?”

“Oh please.” Sirius’ voice is cold, utterly blank and full of rage. He doesn’t make an attempt to calm the fire in his eyes, the utter loathing coursing through his body like blood. “You know who I am.”

“Sirius.” Lyall’s voice is disapproving. “Remus’...friend.”

“Dad,” Remus says. Fear floods his body at the look Lyall gives him. He lifts his chin though, refuses to look down. Sirius is grinning at his side, a manic, emotionless smile, the kind of boy who delighted in tearing others down. “Dad, we’ve been over this.”

Lyall doesn’t say anything, just takes his seat. There’s a clattering in the kitchen - Remus’ eyes widen as a woman rushes into the room.

She’s wearing an apron, her hair styled in a careful bun. There’s a large covered dish in her hand - she sets it carefully down on the table before taking her seat. “Hi. I’m Hope. Remus’ mother.”

Sirius turns that manic grin on her as well and she flinches away.

“So,” Lyall says, clearly trying to cut some of the tension in the room. “How are you doing today?”

Sirius cuts in before Remus can say anything. “Absolutely horrible thanks. My day just got shittier and shittier when I found out I had to come here.”

“No one is forcing you,” Lyall says, his voice like ice. “In fact, I’m surprised Remus even approved, seeing his questionable group of friends.”

The barb hits home, sliding underneath his skin like a knife. Remus shakes his head, glaring at his father. “Lay off.”

“Don’t talk to your father that way,” Hope says. Remus ignores her.

“Don’t make comments like that. We’re not stupid. We know what you’re trying to do.”

“And what is that, Remus?”

Remus looks down, at the stone floors. He can feel the memories, barely submerged underneath him.

The whistling of the belt, the cold stare of his mother, the way he dug his fingers into the rug at his feet -

“Looks like you finally got all the blood out of the carpet then.”

Lyall whips around, eyes like ice. Remus holds his gaze, refuses to drop his glance. This only seems to infuriate Lyall more.

“What are you - “

“Blood?” Sirius throws back his head and laughs. “Try Utcunque. Great for those nasty stains.”

“Young man,” Hope says. “What exactly are you trying to - “

Sirius just snorts. He’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up, exposing the scars carved into skin. “It looks like you and my mother would get along.”

Lyall stares at the scars for a bit then shakes his head. “I have no idea what you are talking abut.”

“Don’t you?”

Hope cuts in. She turns to James - perhaps thinking he was the least hostile in this explosive mix. “So. How did you and Remus meet?”

James glares back at her. Remus doesn’t think he’s ever seen him like this, all empty and cold, eyes like stones set into his face. “On the train. To Hogwarts.”

Hope waits but James doesn’t provide any more answers. With a sigh she turns to the covered dish in the center of the table. “Alright. Re...I cooked your favourite...”

Remus watches with a sinking feeling as she scoops out macaroni and cheese onto his plate. He glances around the table - everyone is sitting rigidly in his chair except for Sirius. Sirius is slouched, arms flung over the back, head tipped up towards the ceiling. Lyall clears his throat a few times to no avail.

“Stop,” Remus says. He realizes that his hand’s clenched firmly around the prongs of the fork, the metal cutting into his skin. “Stop this. Stop pretending everything is okay.”

Lyall and Hope exchange cautious looks. “Stop what, Remus?”

“This.” Remus waves his hand, indicating the House, the room, them. “This...subfuckery. This idea that we’re some perfect family.”

Lyall shakes his head. “Remus, look - “

“Dad.” Remus cuts him off. “You are - “

“Did you know,” Sirius cuts in, eyes flashing in the dim room, “That I’ve seen Remus’ back? It’s beautiful really, all threaded with scars and cuts. And you know what else? Some of those marks match the ones on my own back. And God, I do hope that’s not what’s happening. Still, I don’t know how a werewolf can leave a mark so clearly in the shape of a buckle in the middle of someone’s shoulder blades.”

Lyall is shocked into silence for 3 whole seconds before turning on Remus furiously. “You told - “

“Oh yes,” Sirius says. “Well. We figured it out.”

“You disrespectful - “

James shakes his head, setting his cutlery down. “Disrespectful? Us?”

“How dare you come into my family’s home - “

“Oh it’s not my home,” Sirius laughs. “And Remus ran? Remember?”

Dread floods through Remus’ gut. He reaches out - Sirius’ hands are balled into tight fists at his side, nails cutting into skin. “Father - “

“How. How could you let - let him know about - “

“That what?” He can feel the anger now, coloring his words, adrenaline pulling him up into the clouds. “That I’m a Werewolf?”

A clatter makes him jump - Lyall had knocked back his chair in fury, eyes bulging. “Shut your mouth. You - “

“And an example of the extreme anger demonstrated by Lyall Lupin,” Sirius says and James lets out a low laugh. “See Remus has told be quite a bit about you. Including your temper.”

“Until you become a parent - “

“My parents tortured me, Lyall. You think I can’t recognize another one in a heartbeat?”

Remus swallows hard. Lyall levels a hate-filled glade at him. “How could you tell this - this whore that - you’re - a “

“And who’s fault was that, Father?” The anger is coming now, in waves of white hot fury that made him want to puke. “If you hadn’t criticized Grayback - “

“He deserved it!”

“That’s what you said about me. I deserved it. Didn’t I?”

Lyall’s eyes burn a hole right through him. “You were always an ungrateful brat. Coming into my house with this - this fag - “

“Don’t,” James says quietly, “Ever call him that again.”

“How could you tell a random - “

“He’s not random!” Remus spits, his vocal cords so tight he thought he’d rip them to shreds. “I’m in love with him!”

Hope gives a faint faint of gasp. “A...it’s just a phase - “

“No.”

“Re.”’ Her gaze was pleading. “Pleas. You’re already making it so hard by being a...a werewolf. Why must you make it harder for yourself?”

Remus laughs, low and wicked and brutal. “Father stared it when he challenged Grayback to prove one thing he had that Father didn’t. I can’t, Mum. I can’t live in this lie.”

“You,” Lyall says, “Will come home. We will enroll you in summer programs - “

“Like what?” Sirius spits. “Conversion camps?”

Lyall’s gaze is steady. “If that’s what it takes.”

“No.” Remus stands, chucking his napkin on his untouched plate with the same motion. “No. We’re leaving.”

Lyall just points at the door. “Get out.”

Remus flips him off and stalks out of the dining room.

#wolfstar #wolfstar angst #wolfstar fanfic #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius black angst #remus lupin angst #sirius black fanfic #remus lupin fanfic #james potter #lyall lupin #hope lupin #marauders #marauders era #marauders era fanfic

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detroitbecomeyandere · 4 years

Text

The Unquiet Grave

Ahhhhhh okay so I was re-watching Penny Dreadful on Netflix and wanted to do something with the same dark romantic feel. And after talking to @confessions-of-a-yandere-freak I got the idea to do a Frankenstein thing. Thank you so much CoaYF (follow her she is amazing) Thank you @birooksun for talking with me about it and figuring out more of a direction to go in. And thank you @tara-the-quiet-bookworm-2016 for beta reading for me! Love you guys so much.

Italics are flashbacks

Summary: Markus creates his monster

Warning: Medical procedures, kind of gory

Word count: 1.6k

The storm was moving in much slower than Markus would have wanted, the entire ordeal taking a greater toll on his mental state than he had anticipated. Even in his own laboratory the anxiety of being caught before his experiment could even truly begin was eating away at him. Hearing thunder off in the distance Markus made a short walk to the window to glance out, hoping to calm his nerves but only able to think of the illegal act he committed not even a day ago.

The shovel was a familiar and comforting weight in his hands as he made the trek through the cemetery, having only the cold light of the moon to illuminate his way.

“A lamp will only bring attention” Markus had told himself, being caught and sent to prison was not something he wanted to experience. Walking as swiftly and quietly as possible he made his way to his destination, a fresh grave.

A flash of lightning in the sky brought him back to the present. Turning to his experiment he made his way across the room quickly, retrieving the tools of his trade.

“There’s still work to be done.”

He placed the tray full of sterile medical equipment next to the body, briefly he mused if using sterile tools even mattered when the patient was already dead. Pushing the amused smile off his face he set to work. The body was in a relatively decent state, no noticeable decay had set in. The eye he had to replace looked almost normal, needing proper healing for it to settle in. As Markus worked on opening the body for the internal examination his mind started to drift again.

The grave was easy enough to find, with the burial being just that morning. The earth still fresh and slightly damp, the soft spoil making a satisfying “thu-sh” sound as he began the task of digging. It should have been a morbid task this grave digging, something that would have made those with true morals shudder at the thought of defiling a final resting place of the departed. To Markus however it was nothing more than a necessity, though maybe it was because he had already buried those thoughts deep within himself this morning as he watched the body laid to rest. It’s in the name of science, surely the poor soul who was under this dirt hadn’t wanted to die so young. A whole life was head of them, a life he could restore.

“Thunk”

The sound of metal scraping against wood snapped him out of his small moral crisis. Tossing his shovel out he moved as much to the side as he could and pulled the lid back.

Rain started to fall against the windows, causing Markus to realize just how little time he had to finish the examination. Truthfully he should have done the exam before now but his work at the local surgery had kept him busy much longer than he would have liked. Then the task of having to find a replacement eye hadn’t been easy, he thanked his stars when he went to the morgue and found a fresh body. He moved swiftly in removing the left eye, it was a different colour than that of his specimen but he supposed a heterochromia wasn’t all that strange. In a way it made it feel more personal to him, almost as if his creation would be more like him.

Attaching the eye into the socket was a simple enough task for someone trained as he, Markus found himself wondering what had caused you to lose an eye at this age. You couldn’t have been more than 23 years of age, he found himself thinking of his childhood stories of pirates and their eye patches. He laughed as he thought of someone as soft and young as you battling at sea, the more likely explanation was that you had simply gotten an infection in your eye causing it to be removed.

A simple incision was made, skin and muscle tissue peeled back, ribs cracked carefully to reveal the chest cavity.

The heart looked healthy enough, no tears or clogged arteries that needed repair. Kidneys and liver fine, intestinal tract intact, reproductive organs healthy. The lungs had a bit of scarring and upon further inspection they looked slightly damaged.

“Consumption, that must have been how you died. A painful death of drowning in your own blood, a shame.”

Inside the casket laid what Markus could only describe as an angel. Your skin almost porcelain in appearance, most likely due to the lack of blood, your hair carefully combed and styled in an appropriate way for a funeral. The only thing that gave away the body before him as deceased was the fact that there was no rise and fall of the chest. Upon closer inspection of the face he could see the left eyelid was slightly caved in, clicking his tongue Markus thought it a pity that a creature such as yourself had to live a life damaged in any form.

“You will do.” Quickly Markus scooped up your body and laid it in the tarp he had brought with him, mindfully wrapping you up for an easier journey home.

Finished with the examination and pleased with the results he set to placing your ribs back and stitching your chest cavity up. Sutures was one thing Markus had always prided himself on, even in medical school his professors admired him for his steady hand and his tight stitching. Snipping the thread after the final stitch Markus had nothing more to do than to wait for the storm to grow closer.

Standing to admire his work he was once again struck with anxiety in his stomach, what if this didn’t work all his hard work would be for naught. His sins would weigh upon his soul forever, surely he would be damned to whatever Hell there was for robbing a grave if this did not work. Perhaps even if it did work God had already damned him for trying to do what only the divine should do.

Markus thought back to his adoptive father, the anguish and emptiness he had felt when Carl passed. If he could prevent other hearts from breaking like his own then surely the eternal damnation in hellfire would be worth it.

Cradling your bony cheek in his hand he begins to imagine what will become of the creature he creates.

“What shall your life be I wonder. Will you know the pain, happiness, and sorrow that life has to offer? Who will you become, a heartless demon of a person like my brother, or someone kind and soft as my father. What wondrous heartbreak is in store for you my dear one, I will be sure to guide you for as long as I can. Be by your side in all your trials and tribulations, documenting them all.”

As he spoke Markus’s hand drifted along your body, down your neck, along your collarbone, further down until he reached your chest. Lightly ghosting his fingers over it he imagined what your skin looked like when it was flush and alive, a loud crash of thunder made him realize that image may soon come to fruition.

Working quickly as the storm grew stronger Markus moved your body into the tub of chemicals. Markus then pulled the lever to open the sky light in the ceiling, running the lighting rod through the opening and anchoring it in place.

Careful not to slip he runs to the switch, there he waits for a strike. Rain pours over his head and soaking him to the bone, suddenly the air filled with tension and the arm on his arms stood up on end.

“CRASH”

Bright white electricity runs it’s way down the rod and into the tub, Markus pulls the lever down and the electronics surrounds the vat glow a bright blue. Sparks shoot from the devices causing them to short circuit, shutting the whole system down.

Frantically Markus moves to the tub, watching as the liquid bubbles and churns around you. His heart beating against his chest so hard he’s sure it would be out of his chest. Lighting a small lamp he watches you closely for any sign of life.

5 minutes

10 minutes

The longer time goes by Markus fears his experiment is a failure, heartbroken and on the verge of tears he closes the sky light. Exhausted, he walks to his desk to write down his notes and failures. As tears roll down his face as he sorrowfully writes down what happened. Markus knows he will try again in the future, but that brings him no comfort in this moment.

Slumping in his chair he absentmindedly watches the ink dry, his silent tears turn into body wracking sobs and wails. So caught up in his disappointment is he that he misses the sound of water moving. He misses the small gaps for breathe as you emerge from the tub. He doesn’t miss the sound of a body slamming into the floor. Alarmed Markus stands his chair falling and ink spilling, whirling around he seeing you. Shivering, cold, trying but unable to stand on your legs as if you are a new born fawn. As he moves toward you he sees you shrink into yourself and look at him with wide mismatched eyes, reminding him again of a fawn.

Shrugging his coat off he drapes it over your shoulders, your pale shaking hands wrap around it and pull it closer to him. Kneeling in front of you he places his hands on your shoulders.

He had done it, Markus was on par with God Himself now.

“Hello, I’m Markus Manfred. Your creator”

#detroit become human #detroit become yandere #dbh markus #markus manfred #victorian era universe #frankenstein #dbh #long post #mod beau #original writing #ye #i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i do

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turtle-paced · 4 years

Text

GoT Re-Watch: Fine-Toothed Comb Edition

This post is also available on my wordpress.

Everyone ready for the very definitely final battle with the very definite ultimate enemy of the series? Yeah, me too!

8.03 – The Long Night

(2:00) I hope people may be able to forgive me for somewhat sparse commentary this episode. So much of it is fight scene, and so little of it is visible.

(2:44) Sam’s going on a West Wing-style walking tour of Winterfell. The main action’s in the back, and this isn’t the worst way to survey the exposition – watching Lyanna Mormont mobilise, learning that the enemy’s visible from the west wall, hearing the call for the gates to close. No story can show everything, there are points where we need the exposition, and this is more dynamic and better connected to the upcoming action than people standing around a table expositing. Or watching a flashback and expositing.

The visual handover from Sam to Tyrion here still makes me think of this as a relay race, though.

(3:49) The darkness and the tight shots are supposed to be atmospheric, but they fail in one key way – they don’t let us know what’s actually going on. You see a guy with a beard, that guy could be almost anyone, ‘cause you can only see about a quarter of his face, dimly. Shot selection tells me that this guy sure does have hands, though, so…I guess it’s not Jaime we’re looking at. (I think it was the Hound.)

(4:31) Peering through the pitch darkness of the cinematography, we can more or less make out the Unsullied getting into position for some serious Hollywood tactics.

(4:37) Looking at these teeny tiny little braziers in front of the catapults reminds me of something. Nobody’s mentioned fuel for fires this season as far as I can recall. We’ve had discussions about food for winter, but…firewood is appearing out of nowhere. Nobody’s talked about fuel as a resource, especially when it comes to fighting ice monsters. Nobody’s talked about the desirability of light for night fighting yet, or the need to keep people warm. There are all these ways the writers could have introduced real challenges for the main characters, let them show off how clever and thoughtful they are, and instead…

(5:03) This shot of Gray Worm here is the first of these shots of ranked soldiers that gives us a sense of the geography – look, you can see Winterfell and its walls in the background. Yay for giving us a visual cue of how these people are deployed, a necessary precondition of a conflict that is more than “smash the armies against each other!” Boo for stationing the Unsullied outside the freaking walls.

(5:29) First line of the episode! Thanks Edd!

(5:48) A rare sighting of the elusive direwolf.

(6:32) Wait, where are Dany and Jon watching this from? If that’s Winterfell, all lit up in the background there, then they made it a pretty good distance from the crypts to outside Winterfell’s walls in quite possibly hostile territory – ah, fuck it. Like we didn’t already know the show’s going to sacrifice worldbuilding, theme, and even character for individual “that looks cool” moments.

(6:55) Of course, the other big problem with not being able to see what’s going on is that the tension generated by fear of the unknown turns into “I’m just sitting here staring at a blank screen, aren’t I?” There’s a dark shape moving around out there, but damned if you can tell what it is. There’s nothing to look at, nothing much to hear. Hasn’t been for some minutes now.

(7:28) It turns out to be Melisandre, who’s here for some deus ex machina. Both in the sense that her presence is deus ex machina, and that she’s here to provide deus ex machina.

(7:37) Melisandre asks Jorah a simple yes or no question here. It takes Jorah three seconds to nod.

(7:43) Melisandre issues a simple instruction to Jorah here.

(7:57) Jorah follows that instruction here, fourteen seconds later. It’s too dark for us to see the expression of doubt working its way across Jorah’s face, and the directors actually pull back so his emoting is even less visible. Twenty seconds to get through this exchange. The action is just rocketing along.

Oh, and incidentally, what this shot does actually make clear is that there is no visible Dothraki leadership, just a few guys we vaguely recognise standing in the front ranks. The white guy has to take charge of their armies for them. Compare and contrast with Grey Worm, indisputably in charge of the Unsullied, but also the only Unsullied we know and recognise.

(8:19) Note that even though Jorah didn’t raise his voice, there are Dothraki several ranks back raising their arakhs. Best hearing on two continents.

(8:41) The moment when every viewer said “Praise R’hllor!” for we can finally see.

(9:17) The drama with Melisandre lighting all those swords ends here, with Jorah acknowledging Melisandre’s service and turning towards where the enemy will be approaching from.

(10:37) Melisandre and Davos exchange dialogue here. Because we wouldn’t have understood a) that Melisandre was let into Winterfell and b) Davos was unhappy about it without the full minute and a half of Melisandre riding to the castle walls and Davos hurrying down the steps to meet her.

There’s nothing extraordinary about Mel’s short little ride inside. Nothing extraordinary about Davos’ trip (and we can still barely see the emoting, because it’s too dark). Nothing that justifies ninety seconds of film here, not outside a moody character drama with these two in more important roles. Here, in a series where we’re about to start an apocalyptic scale battle (allegedly), have already been kept waiting ten minutes, and where these two are secondary characters at best, we need to keep it moving along. We have to prioritise. A shot of Mel riding towards the keep or entering, a shot of Davos’ angry face and him turning to go meet her, cut to the actual meeting. There we go.

(10:55) Melisandre stares meaningfully at Arya. Oh boy. It’s almost unbelieveable that thiswouldn’t be the worst writing of the entire series.

For context, these two last met back in season three. They shared one scene. Exchanged maybe three lines of dialogue. Melisandre has not mentioned Arya since, but focused her efforts on Stannis and Jon. Arya’s mentioned Mel a few times, mostly in the context of Gendry-related trauma. In seven and a half seasons of television, that’s one scene and half a dozen lines where these characters’ arcs have intersected in any meaningful way.

We are currently thirty seconds from what has been built up as the most important battle of the series kicking off in earnest.

You better believe I will have more to say on this later.

(11:45) Whatever you say about the tactics (because you cannot say anything good), this is much better use of light and darkness here, establishing the flaming swords as a visual representation of the army’s movement.

(13:05) And the subsequent dying of those flames as a representation of the army’s defeat, without having to show us every detail of the failure of the charge. Gee, who could have guessed a frontal charge by an inferior force into pitch darkness and snow might not have worked out so good? Certainly not our very clever main characters.

I find myself thinking of the Two Towers movie and the cavalry charges that marked the climax of the Helm’s Deep battle.

The other issue, which I’m not quite sure how to address, is the mass death of the Dothraki. Right here and now, at this point in the show, the Dothraki are the only culture not European-inspired and not played by white people. And also not covered up by armour all the time, see the book!canonically racially diverse Unsullied (and we’ll talk more about how they’re depicted by the end of the season). It’s the old ‘black guy dies first’ trope taken to horrible extremes. An entire polity and culture killed off because they served no further purpose in the plot (a plot where we’ve still got a pretty damned large cast, and yet only two people of colour with speaking roles). The only idea for “resolving” the challenges this group pose politically is to kill them off. That’s what this looks like right now.

Yet what we’re going to see over the next few episodes are the Dothraki randomly reappearing. The show got incredibly sloppy in its final season – I haven’t had a high opinion of the show since season five, and I’m finding it hard to believe how sloppy it got – but this is boggling. The writers kinda forgot they killed off the Dothraki, I guess.

So I’m not entirely sure how to critically approach this moment, beyond concluding that the writers just weren’t thinking about the role of the Dothraki in their own worldbuilding, and aren’t showing much in the way of broader sensitivities regarding killing off almost all characters of colour.

(14:13) Some survivors are galloping back, in complete and total silence. Nobody has anything to say about this, nobody’s inconveniently panicking at the state of the survivors. None of the survivors themselves are inconveniently panicking, or even trying to report any information. Every extra knows they can’t say a word in case it drowns out a main character speaking. It doesn’t feel real that every person on this battlefield would have the exact same reaction to the tension. Again I find myself thinking of Helm’s Deep, where a) the pre-battle silence didn’t last fifteen goddamn minutes and b) right in the middle of it, you had Gimli and Legolas with a moment of comic relief.

(14:30) Dany moves to act and protect the people who followed her all the way from Essos from being slaughtered by zombies. You know, I’ve just got a bad feeling about her intentions. Seems pretty suspicious to me.

(15:28) Finally! We finally see some zombies in this zombie apocalypse showdown! For a given value of the word “see”!

Mind you, if you’re here for my commentary, this might not be the best thing, because a lot of this episode is “and there was more zombie fighting, and there was more zombie fighting, so on, so forth…”

(16:10) The power of Jaime’s love for Brienne gives him enough fighting skills to assist her in combat despite missing his dominant hand. Essentially, a few training sessions with Bronn resolved Jaime’s physical difficulties arising from missing his fucking hand. Book!Jaime has trouble lacing up his clothes, rolling up letters, climbing ladders, crawling, things like that. I’m having trouble remembering similar from show!Jaime since, what, season four? And absolutely no trouble remembering the use of Jaime’s prosthetic hand as a gag mid-fight scene.

(16:17) Dragons first show up here. This is shown in closest proximity to Jaime, who had a bit of a run-in with Dany and Drogon last season. In a better structured show, this becomes a moment that shows how Jaime’s opinion of Daenerys and her use of power has changed over the course of that intervening season. Something that shows that even if the physical circumstances are very similar, the context of being in the middle of a battle with a woman spraying dragonfire on the ground has changed.

(16:47) Also in a better-written show, this moment where Sansa and Arya watch the dragons effectively barbecuing huge numbers of wights is where they realise “oh, holy shit, we really would have been fucked if Daenerys didn’t decide to help us.” Note that this is not exclusive of the realisation that Dany could do serious damage to a city or opposing army of regular human beings the exact same way.

(18:18) A wall of white fog advances over the battlefield. This is bad, as it further reduces visibility. Also something something Night King.

(19:55) Dolorous Edd is the first of the second-string cleanout to die.

(20:05) Sansa enters the crypts here, and we follow her through the darkness for fifteen seconds before getting a shot of, you know, the room she’s looking at. Sansa’s back isn’t doing much emoting. This is not like the shot of Dany’s back in 6.09, where the fighting in Meereen in the background gives context to the facial expressions we’re not seeing, generating tension for when we do actually get to see her face and the details of her reaction. This is just fifteen seconds of a woman’s back in a hallway too dark to see much at all. We don’t need to see every step Sansa takes in the hallway to understand she’s walking through the hallway. This can be, and should have been, tightened up.

I hate that I keep saying it, but it keeps fucking happening. Edit your show!

(20:41) In a similar vein, we don’t need thirty seconds of Sansa walking through the room and Tyrion walking through the room in order to establish that these characters are going to meet and exchange information. The actual ten-second unspoken exchange between Sansa, Tyrion and Missandei works well, though, and it’s something that works specifically because of the skill of the actors.

(22:55) Tactical situation – retreat into Winterfell itself. After most of the ground forces have been smashed. Flippin’ genius. Dany and Jon are flying through some icy fog and undead dragon noises.

(23:08) This aerial shot of the Unsullied protecting the retreat with their unsurpassed discipline would have been much more effective if the subject matter was visible. I am watching this in a darkened room, face inadvisably close to my computer, and I still can’t really tell what’s going on beyond movement in unison.

(23:28) Ah, you see, Jon calls out for Dany in the midst of battle, but Dany is focused on her goals. Another worrying sign. Everyone make your firebreaks!

(26:59) Tactical situation – trenches unlit. Nothing’s going to make the tactics any better here, and I don’t think the showrunners are even trying to balance the Rule of Cool with tactical plausibility, but they can string together action scenes. While those actions scenes inevitably reflect an ethos of “we’re going to make this as awesome as we possibly can” rather than “we’re going to use the rules of the setting we’ve established to make an awesome scene,” the only thing the fight scenes are suffering from are the fact that I don’t care about these characters any more. And that’s not a problem with the fight scenes.

(28:45) You know, if it was possible for a Watsonian character to be a Doylist MVP, I’m nominating Melisandre just for lighting the episode for us.

(30:02) “At least we’re already in a crypt.” I think that might have been the first joke of the episode! Seriously, though, it’s been half an hour before we had any gallows humour.

(30:37) This is actually related to my problems with Sansa this episode, and the marked contrast between her now and her back in season two. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that she’s as bad as Cersei was during the Battle of the Blackwater by any means. Nevertheless, the writers seem to think that Sansa’s grim appraisal of the situation is clear-eyed and praiseworthy. As she says, “It’s the most heroic thing we can do right now, look the truth in the face.” (At 31:05.)

What Sansa got better, even in “Blackwater” (written by GRRM), was the importance of keeping up morale. Sansa here is not a comforting or inspirational figure. It’s a bit of a slap in the face that this character, who was so good at giving small bits of comfort to others when she had nothing else to give and because there was nothing else she could do, has gone backwards.

(31:44) Missandei points out, quite rightly, that without Dany’s assistance this battle would already be lost. In spite of being right, and clearly so, this doesn’t actually provoke any re-evaluation of attitude. It’s just a one-liner. It doesn’t mean anything.

(32:51) This Theon and Bran scene, seriously. Alfie Allen has been consistently Too Good For This since season three, and here he is in a scene with a character directed to show minimal emotion. It’s not a good contrast.

Related problem: it is incredibly hard to relate to a character who is totally unaffected by sitting out as bait for the unkillable superzombie while his family are fighting and potentially dying and the world potentially ending.

(33:54) More than half an hour into this final battle, we’re at last seeing the Night’s King and the zombie dragon.

(36:09) Tactical situation – zombies are now charging the walls. Dragons intermittently swooping around but largely ineffective.

(38:55) We’re even past most of the dodgy tactics, now, and we’re seeing our characters on the losing side of the fight. The show’s doing a good job of conveying this right now. Like I said earlier, I’m finding these scenes unsatisfying because the character development earlier has resulted in me honestly not caring very much.

(39:55) I didn’t comment on the first shot, but now it’s a bit more prominent, I’m also glad that the showrunners remembered that Sandor has fire-related trauma. As in, this isn’t a matter of cowardice, this is a matter of being overwhelmed by PTSD.

(41:39) “We’re fighting Death! We can’t beat Death!” “Tell [Arya] that!” I’m going to be generous and count that as foreshadowing, or at least intentional dramatic irony. Guess what this makes this statement! That’s right! The FIRST bit of foreshadowing directly and in hindsight unambiguously related to Arya’s defeat of the Night King. (No, Melisandre’s “eyes” speech is not foreshadowing that meets that criteria. That’s a blatant retcon.) 42 minutes into the episode where she kills him.

(42:10) Lyanna Mormont is the second of our second-string cleanout to die. It’s slow, painful, and gruesome. You can hear the cracking. This show certainly is edgy.

(42:57) Hey, my favourite shots of the episode! After a lot of murky flying through icy fog, the dragon chase breaks into the clear moonlight above the clouds. It’s just nice to look at, and a good way to kick into the actual dragon fight. Reorients things effectively.

Just…try not to pay attention to how neither Dany’s nor Jon’s hair is moving much in the breeze.

(44:03) Arya starts sneaking through the wight-infested halls of Winterfell here.

(46:26) Some of Arya’s blood drips on the stone floor. The zombie hears that. Just to establish the level of senses we’re talking about.

(48:33) And four and a half minutes later, scene change. No dialogue. No idea how this affected the broader tactical situation except in Arya’s continued survival. While I understand the value of having a tense scene of a main character sneaking through the halls of their own home in fear for their life and increasingly unsure how long they can keep it up, four and a half minutes? That’s about half the amount of time as we spent watching the fight outside of Winterfell.

The cut to the crypts establishes that the fighting has reached the entrance of the crypt.

(49:50) And for contrast, that scene watching the characters in the crypt realise that the fighting had come to them took a minute and a half. Again, no dialogue, but there were more characters whose reactions we could see.

(52:11) You know, with the sheer number of wights it was established the defenders were facing, and the apparent disintegration of the defending forces, I’m kind of wondering why there are so many empty rooms about the place.

(52:30) Third to die in our second-string cleanout is Beric Dondarrion, who was stabbed a few minutes ago in a do-not-pass moment to save Arya and Sandor.

(53:36) Melisandre here retcons the eyes speech to mean that Arya will kill the Night King. 52 minutes into the episode where Arya kills the Night King. There was never any reason to think of that speech as relating to the Night King until right this second. It is a blatant retcon.

This is bullshit. Or tripe, but whatever it is, it came out of a bovine’s digestive system. More when the moment itself comes, but for the moment let’s focus on how this affects Melisandre’s characterisation.

Again, since she mete Arya in season three, her storyline has been focused on Stannis and Jon. Once Stannis failed, she brought Jon back from the dead. Last season, she showed up to Dany’s plot basically to say “hey, Jon’s important, the relationship between Dany and Jon is important, and I’ll see you all for my death scene next season!” And now it turns out, on the strength of one interaction, more than four seasons ago, Melisandre’s story was actually about Arya? Without any sort of emotional reaction from Melisandre, to boot. If you’re thinking this isn’t playing fair with character development…I think you’re right.

(54:03) “What do we say to the God of Death?” “Not today.” That is the only good thing the show does with that. The only thing. And even that, I think, is laden with a misunderstanding of the evil the Night King represents in the book – the Others of the books are slavers who force humans and animals alike to do their bidding even after death. Which is how Dany maintains a thematic connection to the primary threat of the series even when she’s not on the same continent as the action. Her work in Slaver’s Bay is prep work for the end of the series.

(54:56) The fight now arrives at the godswood.

(55:13) Here we see undead!Viserion’s fire blast through the walls of Winterfell.

(56:21) I haven’t mentioned it for a while, but it is seriously nearly impossible to see what’s going on. Vital, climactic dragon fight, and we don’t actually get to see it.

(58:04) The Night King tanks a full on blast of dragon fire. He can do this because reasons. And these reasons are “the showrunners wanted to subvert expectations.”

(59:03) Well, now that a faceful of dragonfire has failed for reasons unknown, it’s time for Jon to step in. Okay, that makes a good amount of sense. Jon’s entire storyline has dealt with the threat of the White Walkers. Hell, Jon and the Night King even had their staredown back in season five. So clearly it’s time for Jon to take on the Night King directly.

(59:46) Nope! Jon does not fight the Night King. Instead he gets surrounded by garden variety wights.

(1:00:00) This little breathing space where everyone the protagonists have managed to kill stands right back up again does work well as a darkest hour.

(1:01:31) Meanwhile, in the crypts, nobody has apparently realised that the dead bodies there might also be raised. Also nobody down there has any idea how to fight or any weapons on hand, so this was well thought through all round.

(1:04:22) Jorah Mormont out of fucking nowhere to rescue Dany.

(1:07:10) Ramin Djawadi here starts his bid for the real MVP of the episode. Though we all know that he’s the MVP of the entire season.

(1:09:01) Try to ignore how Jon’s ducking behind stone pillars to avoid Viserion’s fire, despite this exact fire blasting through those exact walls fifteen minutes ago.

(1:11:21) Alfie Allen, still too good for this.

(1:12:57) Jon comes face to face with zombie Viserion. Ah, okay! So if he’s not going to kill the Night King, he’s at least going to take out a zombie dragon, right? Well. Not happy with that as a culmination of his story, but, you know, still damned impressive.

(1:13:02) Jon ducking behind this little ridge of rubble here isn’t quite as bad as Indy hopping in that fridge…but it’s getting there.

(1:13:25) Fourth to die in the second-string cleanout is Theon.

(1:15:31) Oh. So Jon’s only going to scream at Viserion. Not fight him. Um. That’s…not at all a satisfying conclusion to Jon’s arc vis a vis the White Walkers. Not remotely.

Seven and a half seasons of buildup, and what Jon accomplishes in the fight itself is roughly equivalent to the achievements of any given surviving named character who participated in the battle. I don’t like “the main characters do everything,” but the main characters have got to do something. In particular, when a main character spends the entirety of his arc focusing on the one context, it really does feel unfair to the viewers when he doesn’t play a meaningful part in the resolution of that plot.

I will say this much: my expectations were certainly subverted. I expected the writers to play fair with storytellling conventions of setup and payoff.

(1:15:41) So. The wights could hear a drop of blood fall from across a room. The White Walkers can’t hear a girl running and screaming halfway across a forest. And this is honestly one of the least of the problems here.

(1:15:52) And so Arya kills the Night King. Arya. Who has had no meaningful story connection with the fight against the White Walkers. She was the last member of House Stark to return to Winterfell and the least involved in the preparations to fight. This comes perhaps a little bit out of left field.

The showrunners later stated that they chose Arya to kill the Night King specifically to subvert expectations. Meaning that they set up seven and a half seasons of other people being more involved with this plot and Arya not being very involved with this plot only to throw it away for a “fooled you!” While I’m sure it was satisfying to the writers, it’s not very much fun for a viewer. When we invest years in watching characters realise the extent of their problems and seek to solve them, having the writers yank the payoff away right at the very end with a “nope! Someone else solved it!’ is not a good return.

Plus, while “wow, wouldn’t have picked that!” is the end result, it’s not the “I wouldn’t have picked that!” which comes from creative use of foreshadowing and careful structural and thematic development so that everything falls into place in an unexpected yet logical way. This is the “I wouldn’t have picked that!” which resulted from there being nothing to pick at all. It’s a plot twist divorced from the plot.

(1:17:46) Fifth to die in the second-string cleanout is Jorah Mormont. Emilia Clarke doing her damnedest, as well. In a scene where everyone’s standing around like stunned mullets, Dany’s open grief is quite the contrast.

(1:18:59) I like the shot of the dawn here, which really helps to convey that yes, this is over and done.

Structurally, should it have been over and done? Almost certainly not! You could definitely do some scouring of the Shire, the post-action action which demonstrates the effects of the central conflict on our leads, but in terms of plot, this should have been it. There is no conflict greater in scale than this. The fight against the White Walkers should not have been a distraction from the fight over the Iron Throne. The fact that it was is just….did the showrunners read the books?

(1:19:45) Sixth and last to die in the second-string cleanout is Melisandre. Which closes out the episode.

Next time, the season starts to go really off the rails.

#anti got #fine toothed comb edition #season eight

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