Challenge Fic: Five Times Ted Tonks Fell In Love (1, 237 words)
Tentatively, I submit this for the imitation challenge. It is (allegedly) written in the style of Richard Brautigan, a lesser known beat, who wrote the first book which changed my life, Sombrero Fallout, which I was presented with when I was seventeen by an inspirational madam who was trying to teach us English Lit. I fully blame my current obsession with Ted Tonks on orlanstamos and communiquills.
Five times Ted Tonks fell in love (or there is more to pretty girls than meets the eye).
rated: R
He liked to separate out the separate syllables of her name, an-drom-ed-a like a song. He loved her before he knew her. Love doesn't need a reason; like a weed, it blossoms in cracks.
Ghost.
The castle was like a fairytale. The castle was like something that an eleven year old boy would have dreamed of, if he had been starved of all things fantastic up until that point, if he had grown up in a world of semi-detached houses and neat gardens and corner shops. His parents did not believe in castles. His father liked to watch the football and tinker with cars. His mother dreamed Coronation Street dreams. And there he was. He was an eleven year old boy. This might have been a dream that he had had. He was the first person in his family to come so firmly to the brink of a new life.
Waiting in the hall, waiting to be sorted, he felt full of butterflies. He was a small boy filled with butterflies. He was short for his age, constructed entirely out of shuddering wings. When he turned around, she was standing behind him. She was cold and beautiful. She was cold and beautiful and he could see straight through her, like fog. She was like looking at a morning in December.
"Who are you?" she said to him. Her voice was like the wind blowing in a cold place.
"Ted Tonks," He said. He was eleven years old. He didn't understand that beautiful women speak a different language. "I mean, it's Edward, but everybody calls me Ted."
"How funny," she said, and disappeared. When he was called to the front of the room, he went. He was eleven years old. He remembered her for his entire life, though he only saw her briefly, from time to time.
Black.
He was never afraid of anything. He was never brave but he never thought about being afraid which meant that he did stupid things, sometimes. He could think about nothing but her. He was sixteen years old. Sixteen year old boys are simple, wicked things. Sixteen year old boys only have one thought in their heads at any given time. He had only seen her from a distance, but it didn't matter. He had studied her like a textbook. He had learnt her completely by heart. He liked to separate out the separate syllables of her name, an-drom-ed-a like a song. He loved her before he knew her. Love doesn't need a reason; like a weed, it blossoms in cracks.
When she came to her dorm room window, he was standing on his broom, arms out, balancing against the wind. He was barefoot, kicked his boots off for balance. He was waiting for her.
"Ted Tonks, what on earth are you doing?" She had known his name. Suddenly, a name seemed worth having after all.
"Will you go out with me, Andromeda?"
She had closed her shutters on him, but, before she did that, she smiled.
Perfect.
The first time he touched her breasts, he wanted to cry. They weren't the first breasts he'd ever touched, but they were perfect beyond belief and all of his life, he valued perfect things. She was utterly perfect. If she had flaws, she hid them from him. She presented herself as flawless, but she softened when she laughed. At first, she was ice, but she melted to it him in moans and kisses. Her levels rose like the river after heavy rain. He wasn't old but he was honest. She was good at directions; she left herself signposted. She wanted him; more than that, she wanted him to take her. She wanted to leave her family behind, and when he pushed into her, she believed. Then, she couldn't have said what it was that she believed in, other than he made it possible to believe in something. And that was what made her love him. That he made everything possible.
The first time he saw her naked, he wanted to cry. An empty room, begged or borrowed. He had arranged all of this. He'd done his best. Miraculously, that was enough. That day standing on his broom, dancing reckless sarabands with the wind, he'd taken her by surprise. He took her by surprise when he touched her breasts with both hands; she'd never expected him to be so confident. He touched her constantly, like he couldn't bear to lift his hands, like he didn't want to stop touching her. Her body was a new world. He was afraid to take a step back in case he wasn't allowed to go back. Andromeda's breasts were the exact right size for the palms of his hands. He whispered secrets against her skin, footnotes to her moans where were like a poem. The sounds that she made turned him on, made him breathless. He was used to Ravenclaw virgins, who made faces like bunny rabbits with orgasms, who turned their faces straight into pillows after. Andromeda did none of these things. She rose to his hands and she moaned as he pushed his fingers through her hair and plucked at her with his lips. Once, before she came for the second time, he bit her on the slope of her breast, gently but hard enough that she made a sound like birds taking flight from a steeple. He liked that sound. He used to coax that sound out of her as often as he could.
When they finally lay together, her hand between his legs but her orgasms done, they were quiet. They had to be quiet - it was unbelievable that the world should go on as normal, after the sex which they had had.
That was the first time that he touched her breasts.
Bike.
'Ted? Ted...'
'Yes?'
'What are you doing, Ted?'
'I'm looking, Andy...Just looking.'
'Again?'
'Yes. Again.'
'Would you like a cup of tea?'
'That would be nice.'
Other than his wife, the bike was the single most beautiful thing that he had ever seen.
Baby.
When they couldn't take the baby to take the breast, Andromeda was broken hearted. How am I supposed to be a mother, she demanded. It's not the things that you do, he told her. It's just something which the world knows. And secretly, he was pleased because everybody knows that there's no better time to be a father than in the middle of the night. He walked the house with Dora on his shoulder in the middle of the night. It is amazing how something so little could make him feel so strong. If she cried, he rocked her. Softly, he sang to her, those songs which daddies known - football chants and lullabies and love songs, too-rah-lee. She was the most perfect thing which he had seen since that night when he saw her mother naked for the very first time. She was perfect in her every part. She was a quiet baby, but sometimes the quietest baby has to make some noise and he walked her through it, and talked to her, and loved her.
He was there, on his own, the first night that she changed. Cradled in her lap, she sneezed and changed. He kissed hair gone bright pink like bubblegum.
It was the easiest miracle that Ted Tonks had ever seen.
N.B
In short, he fell in love with them about a thousand times a minute.
In other words, there is more to love than meets the eye.
Five times Ted Tonks fell in love (or there is more to pretty girls than meets the eye).
rated: R
He liked to separate out the separate syllables of her name, an-drom-ed-a like a song. He loved her before he knew her. Love doesn't need a reason; like a weed, it blossoms in cracks.
Ghost.
The castle was like a fairytale. The castle was like something that an eleven year old boy would have dreamed of, if he had been starved of all things fantastic up until that point, if he had grown up in a world of semi-detached houses and neat gardens and corner shops. His parents did not believe in castles. His father liked to watch the football and tinker with cars. His mother dreamed Coronation Street dreams. And there he was. He was an eleven year old boy. This might have been a dream that he had had. He was the first person in his family to come so firmly to the brink of a new life.
Waiting in the hall, waiting to be sorted, he felt full of butterflies. He was a small boy filled with butterflies. He was short for his age, constructed entirely out of shuddering wings. When he turned around, she was standing behind him. She was cold and beautiful. She was cold and beautiful and he could see straight through her, like fog. She was like looking at a morning in December.
"Who are you?" she said to him. Her voice was like the wind blowing in a cold place.
"Ted Tonks," He said. He was eleven years old. He didn't understand that beautiful women speak a different language. "I mean, it's Edward, but everybody calls me Ted."
"How funny," she said, and disappeared. When he was called to the front of the room, he went. He was eleven years old. He remembered her for his entire life, though he only saw her briefly, from time to time.
Black.
He was never afraid of anything. He was never brave but he never thought about being afraid which meant that he did stupid things, sometimes. He could think about nothing but her. He was sixteen years old. Sixteen year old boys are simple, wicked things. Sixteen year old boys only have one thought in their heads at any given time. He had only seen her from a distance, but it didn't matter. He had studied her like a textbook. He had learnt her completely by heart. He liked to separate out the separate syllables of her name, an-drom-ed-a like a song. He loved her before he knew her. Love doesn't need a reason; like a weed, it blossoms in cracks.
When she came to her dorm room window, he was standing on his broom, arms out, balancing against the wind. He was barefoot, kicked his boots off for balance. He was waiting for her.
"Ted Tonks, what on earth are you doing?" She had known his name. Suddenly, a name seemed worth having after all.
"Will you go out with me, Andromeda?"
She had closed her shutters on him, but, before she did that, she smiled.
Perfect.
The first time he touched her breasts, he wanted to cry. They weren't the first breasts he'd ever touched, but they were perfect beyond belief and all of his life, he valued perfect things. She was utterly perfect. If she had flaws, she hid them from him. She presented herself as flawless, but she softened when she laughed. At first, she was ice, but she melted to it him in moans and kisses. Her levels rose like the river after heavy rain. He wasn't old but he was honest. She was good at directions; she left herself signposted. She wanted him; more than that, she wanted him to take her. She wanted to leave her family behind, and when he pushed into her, she believed. Then, she couldn't have said what it was that she believed in, other than he made it possible to believe in something. And that was what made her love him. That he made everything possible.
The first time he saw her naked, he wanted to cry. An empty room, begged or borrowed. He had arranged all of this. He'd done his best. Miraculously, that was enough. That day standing on his broom, dancing reckless sarabands with the wind, he'd taken her by surprise. He took her by surprise when he touched her breasts with both hands; she'd never expected him to be so confident. He touched her constantly, like he couldn't bear to lift his hands, like he didn't want to stop touching her. Her body was a new world. He was afraid to take a step back in case he wasn't allowed to go back. Andromeda's breasts were the exact right size for the palms of his hands. He whispered secrets against her skin, footnotes to her moans where were like a poem. The sounds that she made turned him on, made him breathless. He was used to Ravenclaw virgins, who made faces like bunny rabbits with orgasms, who turned their faces straight into pillows after. Andromeda did none of these things. She rose to his hands and she moaned as he pushed his fingers through her hair and plucked at her with his lips. Once, before she came for the second time, he bit her on the slope of her breast, gently but hard enough that she made a sound like birds taking flight from a steeple. He liked that sound. He used to coax that sound out of her as often as he could.
When they finally lay together, her hand between his legs but her orgasms done, they were quiet. They had to be quiet - it was unbelievable that the world should go on as normal, after the sex which they had had.
That was the first time that he touched her breasts.
Bike.
'Ted? Ted...'
'Yes?'
'What are you doing, Ted?'
'I'm looking, Andy...Just looking.'
'Again?'
'Yes. Again.'
'Would you like a cup of tea?'
'That would be nice.'
Other than his wife, the bike was the single most beautiful thing that he had ever seen.
Baby.
When they couldn't take the baby to take the breast, Andromeda was broken hearted. How am I supposed to be a mother, she demanded. It's not the things that you do, he told her. It's just something which the world knows. And secretly, he was pleased because everybody knows that there's no better time to be a father than in the middle of the night. He walked the house with Dora on his shoulder in the middle of the night. It is amazing how something so little could make him feel so strong. If she cried, he rocked her. Softly, he sang to her, those songs which daddies known - football chants and lullabies and love songs, too-rah-lee. She was the most perfect thing which he had seen since that night when he saw her mother naked for the very first time. She was perfect in her every part. She was a quiet baby, but sometimes the quietest baby has to make some noise and he walked her through it, and talked to her, and loved her.
He was there, on his own, the first night that she changed. Cradled in her lap, she sneezed and changed. He kissed hair gone bright pink like bubblegum.
It was the easiest miracle that Ted Tonks had ever seen.
N.B
In short, he fell in love with them about a thousand times a minute.
In other words, there is more to love than meets the eye.