#So i dare not play it again.. Shoo-wee

[nostraightgloops]

Something i cant say i like about yinu's fight is In her mini frenzy sections where mamma slams her hand on the stage, if you get hit by a note, it renders you immobile...and you get hit again and again...and it's Really hard to recover....

[feistypaants-archived]

Between The Pipes [Chapter 20]

Rating: M Words: 2130 Pairing: Kristanna Summary: When a new owner takes over the Arendelle Ice Breakers, Kristoff isn’t sure about his future with the team. That is, until a PR nightmare throws the newest member of the media team, who also just so happens to be the daughter of the new owner, right into his arms. Kristoff and Anna can’t even stand the interviews they have to do together… how on earth are they going to fix this mess? Hockey!AU.

[Chapter Index]

Where To Read: [AO3]

Notes: In which Kristoff shows his fondness for children and Anna wants him to Nut With Purpose.

I know I had said there would be smut.... but this chapter was long enough........ So i’m going to add a chapter of their date after this night and there u will have the smut. I also literally just finished this so i hope it’s fine I cba to read it LMFAO.

OKAY. BYE. 

Enjoy!

Kristoff couldn’t lie, the last month had probably been the best of his life. He had bounced back in the game and was playing better than he had in a long time, he had an excuse to do all sort of touristy and cheesy things that he had denied himself in the past, and he had Anna, warm and generous and enthusiastic, burrowing under his skin most nights a week, filling in all the cracks he hadn’t realized were there.

She congratulated and comforted in a similar fashion, her mouth hot on his skin as she brought him to climax. Though sometimes he celebrated or mourned by taking her as rough as she was okay with, his teeth nipping at her creamy throat before his tongue soothed the ache. There was a fire between them that burned brighter with each encounter, raging wildly through their veins with no intention of cooling down.

He knew, each time he left her apartment and felt the small ache of loss in his chest, that this was quickly becoming something more than he was ready for, but he couldn’t risk losing her. Not now. Not when she kissed him with such ease, not when she looked so cute as she struggled to wrap her arms around him in all of his gear, and definitely not when she could fuck him within an inch of his life and still leave him begging for more.

He never stopped flirting with her. He couldn’t. Winks and smirks and kisses below the ear with something filthy whispered as he pulled away had become his norm. He wanted her all the time… and he got her, whenever he wanted her. 

And Anna got him, whenever she wanted him.

This new easiness that came from near-constant release gave him a sort of laser focus he didn’t even know he was capable of. Sven teased him that that’s what happens when you have sex after four years worth of dry spells. A newfound ability to not be distracted by how badly you want to fuck.

Kristoff punched him in the arm, but didn’t really disagree.

Today was the children’s event, where local children’s teams of mites, squirts, and pee-wees came out to play with the team and get some invaluable experience learning from professionals. It was undoubtedly Kristoff’s favorite event. He absolutely adored hanging out with the kids, letting them shoot pucks on him, and playing alongside the mini-goalies who all looked up at him with admiration in their eyes.

He wasn’t lying, about wanting a big family. 

Everytime he looked at them, he felt his heart clenching.

The media team was filming the event for their website, and Anna was running around doing some quick interviews with some of the players before the kids arrived. 

“Babe,” Kristoff hollered, quickly getting her attention. “C’mere.”

Her face lit up and she bit at her lip - he’d never get tired of it - before she came over, camera in tow, and grinned up at him, “Yes, honey?”

Kristoff moved swiftly, scooping her up into his arms as she protested, giggles making her seem way less serious, before skating backwards on the ice, his lovely girlfriend gripping his jersey, and the man with the camera jogging out onto the ice after them. “Let’s do some … on-ice interviews, hm?”

And then he set her down to sit on top of his net, skating just out of her reach, knowing she wouldn’t dare jump down in those heels. 

“You’ll regret this, Bjorgman.”

“I’m sure I won’t.”

After a few of the teammates humored them and interviewed with her sitting on the net - each and every one commenting on how nice it was that she was closer to their eye level now - Kristoff finally shooed them all away and kindly told the cameraman he didn’t need to film this next part, before wrapping his gloved hands around her back, pulling her closer to the edge of the net and pressing a firm kiss against her mouth. “I can not wait to take you home tonight and -“

Anna cut him off with a hand over his lips and laughed, a blush rising high on her cheeks. “I’m mic’d!” 

Then Kristoff heard the meek voice of the cameraman hollering across the ice. “Yeah, she’s definitely mic’d.”

And then he leaned closer to where the tiny microphone sat and said “and fuck your brains out” anyway, causing Anna to shove him away and apologize profusely to the man who had to listen. 

“You’re awful.”

“But truthful.”

“So sorry again, Ryder,” Anna called as she turned off the mic pack and waved to the boy whose cheeks were slightly flushed as he tried to focus on getting some b-roll for the video.

“Yeah,” Anna could hear the sarcasm dripping from Kristoff’s lips as he ducked down to bury his nose against her neck. “So, so sorry.”

Kristoff could hear her shortened breaths and feel her quickened pulse beneath his mouth before her hands pushed up against his shoulders. “We’re at work, Kris, you shouldn’t…” He sighed and pulled back, taking in her rosy cheeks and fond smile. “But… later…”

Yes, definitely later. It had been a few days, anyway. “My place? I’ll make you dinner.”

Anna ooohed as she lifted her hands up to touch his cheeks. “I haven’t been to your place…” and then she bit her lip and he felt his heart hammer against his ribcage. “But dinner? With no publicity? Sounds like a date.”

He hummed, bracing his hands on either side of her thighs. “Probably shouldn’t call it that.”

“Probably not…” She winked and ticked a finger under his chin. “Just fueling up for the … marathon.”

Kristoff couldn’t help the little snort that left his nose as she smiled wickedly. He moved quickly to scoop her up, one arm under her knees as he carried her back to the bench. “It’ll be a marathon, all right. 

Setting her down gently on the ice, Kristoff helped her hop up onto the platform of the floor outside the rink and felt the smile on his face widen as she pulled him forward by the collar and planted one more kiss against his cheek. 

“See you later,” she hummed before turning to head into the lobby, and Kristoff felt his knees weaken just a little beneath his weight.

—

-

—

The kids showed up a little early, so Anna spent some time learning all of their names and where they were from before they got to go out onto the ice. They ranged from six all the way to thirteen, and she could feel her uterus crying out as each of them shook her hand and bounced with excitement. 

Their coaches and parents took them to the locker room to get ready after the Ice Breakers had finished their meeting, and when they came back out, Anna couldn’t help but feel her eyes misting up at the sight of all these kids in full hockey gear. They were too cute. 

She leaned over to get closer to eye level, and held out two thumbs up. “Are you guys ready to meet the boys?” They all giggled at the idea of big professional hockey players being called boys, but all started clacking their sticks against the ground as substitution for applause. “Because I know they’re ready to meet you guys.”

Mattias and Sven came up from the ice, gave them all a pep talk, and had everyone organize themselves by position, preparing to partner them up as best as they could. There was almost a one-to-one ratio, but a few of the players would take on two kids at once. Anna gave them all a wave before she headed back out to the bench, sitting and waiting for her next job, watching as Ryder moved around the ice with ease before he settled down to get a good shot of all the tots coming down the runway and onto the ice.

Sven came out first, his voice lowered and booming, and announced them as if they were coming out for a game. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the moment you’ve been waiting for…” The whole team started banging their sticks on the ice. “Your Miniiiii Iiiiiiice Breeeeakeeeers!!!!”

And they came running, all giggling and shaking their sticks in the air, a parade of excited children doing a lap around the ice as everyone applauded them. Then they lined up against the boards, and Sven skated down the line, telling them which player to go meet up with, grinning wickedly as he sent two towards Kristoff. 

Anna watched as one jumped up to hug him immediately, and she literally felt her stomach swoop in excitement. Oh Jesus she wished she could hear what he was saying as he swung the little girl around and smiled brightly up at her. Clearly there was a history there, and she could immediately see why Kristoff wanted so badly to be a father.

He was a natural at it.

He let her go with a smack of his glove over her mask, and got down on one knee to greet the much younger and clearly nervous boy who stood beside them. Kristoff’s smile was bright and inviting as he spoke softly and after a few minutes, he stuck out his mitt, cheering as the little boy gave him a fist bump. 

They skated around for a bit, shot some pucks on Kristoff, let Kristoff shoot some pucks on them, and overall were seeming to have a great time. 

Anna knew she should have been attempting to pay attention to other people as well, but she could not take her gaze away from Kristoff. And when he looked up and caught her staring, the soft smile that pulled at his cheeks stabbed her in the stomach.

There was no way in hell he’d ever be like that scumbag of a father he had.

Never.

Eventually they had some of the kids skate over to her, and Anna did little interviews with each of them, asking them if they were having fun, what their favorite part of the game was, and who their favorite player was. They were all clearly getting a kick out of the feeling of being interviewed like a professional, and Anna absolutely fed into it, talking to the camera like she did during games as she dismissed each kid.

Finally, god finally, Kristoff came up with his kids, bumping them with his hips and skates as they approached, making them giggles as they tripped and moved to right themselves.

“Well hello,” Anna grinned, working hard to tear her eyes away from Kristoff. “What are your names?”

The girl jumped up immediately, grabbing onto the boards and pushing her little purple mask up over her head. “I’m Lily, and that’s Connor!”

“Hi Lily, and hello, Connor.” Anna shook both of their hands and held up the microphone. “Would either of you like to do a little interview?”

Lily, with her lightly dyed pink hair bouncing on her shoulders, could not have said yes faster, making Anna laugh as she reached for her microphone.

“Connor? Would you?”

He shook his head no before ducking behind Kristoff’s legs, and Anna smiled softly. “Well that’s all right. Lily will do all the talking then, right?”

Kristoff leaned down to Connor and grinned. “It’s okay, buddy, I don’t really like interviews either. Anna usually does most of the talking.”

She snorted before leaning over to Lily, tucking her hair back behind her ear. “All right, Lily. When did you start playing hockey?”

Her smile was wide and she grabbed eagerly at the mic, pulling it close to her mouth. “Krissy came to a program I was in when I was like five and he volunteered with us and he taught us how to skate and then he started teaching us hockey things and I” deep breath, “thought it was really fun so I kept playing and he helped me a lot and now I got adopted and my mommy really loves that I have a passion so she let me keep playing and it’s” another deep breath, “been four years and I still really love it and I’m so happy to be playing and it’s all thanks to Krissy!”

“Ah, jeez, Lilypad,” he pushed against her face with his mitt, her giggles muffled by the sequipment. “Don’t embarrass me.”

“Oh, no, no,” Anna grinned, her eyes flicking up to meet Kristoff’s. “Please tell me more about Krissy.”

She watched with intrigue as his tongue ran against his bottom teeth under his lip, as if he was holding back from what he really wanted to say.

Yeah, she was going to wreck him later. She had no more doubts about that.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Missing | 02

Genre: Smut, Romance, Angst, Slice of Life, Fluff

Pairing: Wolf!Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Upon meeting a person there are many ways in which the relationship can go, both positively and negatively. Fortunately, the former applies when meeting a child of the forest who takes a curious liking to the woman initially deemed an intruder.

However, that does not answer the questions about who the youth is nor where he comes from for the files at the police station do not contain his likeness. Perhaps it is better to live in anonymity, forgetful of the past.

Indeed, some things are best left behind.

Or are they?

A collision of worlds leads to entwining paths, bound to find beauty on the horizon despite the storms lurking in the shadows.

Bound to find what it means to be human.

Finding the missing piece of an erased tale.

Previous part / Next Part

Masterlist

Tranquillity never lasts forevermore for the slightest change in circumstances can break it. Be it the weather changing from sunny to a thunderstorm, a person finding a boy growling in the bushes or a mere noise leading to the low padding of paws.

Wolves.

The snarling predators as black as night protecting the forests.

However, so is the young man named Jungkook, if the baby blanket is anything to honestly go by. Immediately, the human wolf leaps to all fours after waking up with a content spark in greyish irises thanks to features being traced by unbelieving fingertips. A whirlwind of dangerous warning snarls goes back and forth between the two parties, messy obsidian locks counteracting every step towards the two of us by baring canines more and snarling in such a threatening manner that a chill runs down the spine despite sitting on the sideline. Nevertheless, for an added sense of safety, the nest smelling of pine and free running is made undone and the blanket used as a warm futile shield against the newcomers clearly not meaning well.

‘Um, what are they doing?’ Crawling back a bit as the beasts come closer, panic makes the heart beat faster than a Darby racehorse. Sweat dampens clammy hands, unease making thinking clearly harder. ‘Jungkook?’

Instead of answering, of course not being able to talk and that not having changed overnight, the new acquaintance rests a slowly rising and falling chests on a nervous lap. Draped arms reach towards nothing but function as a veil to conceal the still bared sharp teeth in the same way strands partially obscure the carefully monitoring gaze.

Sharp nails ticking on the cool cave floor come to a halt a few centimetres away at a hair’s breadth, similar grey-toned wild eyes scrutinizing the barely composed figure wrapped in a useless guard against the influence of nature. When noticing nothing happens to further the acquaintance, a big nose nuzzles the side of the neck before successfully, it has to be said it is not without effort, undoing the useless guard with teeth and gesture with a tilt of the head to extend a hand toward the powerful animals. Another tilt also yields nothing, too afraid to lose a finger or even an entire palm, and thus the wolf boy bites down on the checkered fabric of the sleeve like on the way here and gives it a firm tug to nevertheless establish what is actually not even dared to be done alone. Lashes firmly close in anticipation of the pain to come accompanied by a crimson spray.

Both of which never comes.

Only four wet noses sniffing the surface and an equal pair of likewise shaded curious eyes observing a calming attitude, finding assurance in Jungkook’s hopeful gleam and happy chuff as if to say ‘See? It’s alright. I got you’.

One is even guest-free enough to allow to be pet, giving a lick on the cheek and continuing to put their head under the palm as a question for more attention when fingers retract. Notwithstanding, after this repeats a few times, nightly black locks have had enough of their sibling’s behaviour and push them away with a mighty head butt.

‘Hey, what are you doing that for?’ The other wolf appears to wonder the same thing, staring just as incredulously at strong arms wrapping around the thighs and resting on them while focus shifts from one member of the present company to the other and back again.

An indignant huff serves as an answer to the inquiry, lips pursed while getting more comfortable and snuggling damp denim beneath stunned digits in a silent request to be pet instead.

But quickly retreating from them at being provoked via a suggestive purr by the sibling which was just chased away. Front legs bent, ready to pounce, a repeat of the sound clearly sets Jungkook off. Henceforth, the two chase each other out of the cave while the sun illuminates the golden dawn outside.

The biggest of the pack of five sits by the entrance overlooking the stream and waterfall, watching the two rampantly hunt each other down and tumbling down the slope to the lake, resulting in a loud splash and a water fight.

‘Are they always like this?’ Still wary of the company, a seat is taken beside the presumed leader and thus we watch the duo continuing to go at it. A sound fairly resembling a sigh like a brother watching a younger sibling playing foolishly comes out of its snout, but a certain protective pride also filters in.

Could it be because he raised Jungkook? Is their mother even alive? Is his? So many questions, so few answers.

However, the stream of consciousness rapidly takes an unexpected turn as the realization dawns it is morning and Namjoon is likely worried sick due to having been missing since last afternoon. And if not him, then likely his boyfriend and my best friend, Yoongi. Though that would never be admitted outright, the cool exterior of the piano instructor forbidding any show of real emotion though the warmth beneath the ice is noticeable to those who can see beneath the surface of the presented exterior. 

Is Jungkook the next to lead the pack should anything happen? Would he forget about me if that is the case? Would he even want to? Funny, how it hurts when I think about our paths separating despite not even knowing each other.

Out of the blue, a great weight crashes in and lets the spine make contact with the ground in a not particularly painless fashion, panting tiny water drops dripping onto a face frozen in surprise. Above and blocking the sun, excited panting irises stare down for a moment before the enthusiasm transforms negatively.

Wolves do not need words to know emotions and thinking patterns.

‘I have to go home.’ The unibrow furrows in confusion or refusal, whining arms strengthening the embrace. ‘Jungkook, I really have to go.’

Trying to wriggle free proves futile, the wolf boy holding on tightly and licking the neck in an attempt at changing a set yet reluctant mind. ‘Let go. I really have to return home. My brother is likely worried to his core and my friend will be, too.’

Stubbornly, there is no change in demeanour nor any opportunity to gain more room for movement. ‘You also can’t come with me. But I’ll be back, I promise. Just as I promised I’d keep you safe against the thunderstorm.’

Once more there is no significant shift in the situation though one of Jungkook’s siblings steps in to nudge the boy as a means to disentangle the smothering hug, clearly sensing the story behind the syllables despite not being able to comprehend them. Withal, the brother does not let go and worsens the circumstances by entwining legs. 

‘C’mon, let me go.’ The subtle gentle soft-spoken tone is useless.

‘Jungkook, let me go. You’re being a very disobedient wolf right now. Bad boy.’ Just as sternness, only yielding a defying chuff.

What works, in the end, is the oldest of the five growling at the young man, biting down on a bare shoulder and trying to drag him away without inflicting any real harm. It results in quite a struggle, but eventually, the elder prevails and drags away a yelping and crying boy. At once, Jungkook tries to return to the hands struggling to get upright, but is blocked by four onyx sturdy wolves preventing him from acting.

When walking towards the little club, the siblings part to make room to allow to crouch down to caress the tears away from wide puppy eyes. ‘Hey, don’t cry. I’ll be back tomorrow and every day if you want me to.’

Until I know who you are. I should ask Joon to dive into the archives again and see if there’s a match. Maybe a cold case.

Big hands grab at thighs clad in sticky uncomfortable denim, squeezing them in the need to stay together. Voluminous whimpers roll from the tongue unable to speak but capable of vividly showing. ‘No, Jungkook. As I said, I can’t stay and you can’t come with me. But we’ll see each other again, so chin up.’ A hand wanders up and runs through long curly locks. ‘You’ll be okay. You have your brothers and I have mine. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

It is with a heavy heart and leaden steps, but languidly a way towards the entrance of the cave is set upon. It might take a wee bit to find the path to the parking lot and grab the car homewards, but Rome was not built within a day. Furthermore, Joon has caused more than enough fuss on multiple occasions by landing in the hospital thanks to working as a copper so he shall have to deal with being given a taste of his own medicine. Yoongi would surely agree with the thought, which makes it two against one.

Behind sounds the busy chorus of conversing snarls, chuffs, something that could only be described as a griggle seeing as it holds the middle between a growl and a giggle, and pleading barks met by wiser lower woofs.

Followed by the padding of bare feet over stone.

The tug of teeth on checkered fabric.

Two big eyes coloured in the shade of a misty night staring up hopefully.

‘Jungkook, what are you doing? Turn back. Shoo, go back to your pack.’

A low bark signifies clear refusal of the command, fingertips looping into the ringlets meant for a belt to use as points of support after using them to pull up the upper body for closer contact which almost results into being pulled to the ground.

‘Shoo! Go!’

‘Woof!’ Another denying bark, lips pursed in defiance. 

‘Jungkook...’ A challenging glint swears to remain stubbornly clinging until the current leader sets the lower-in-command in place again. ‘C’mon, buddy, my brother needs me.’

An uncomprehending whine tells of the likewise being true as well, the young man wanting the girl met by accident to walk besides him too. To emphasize this fairly blatantly, obsidian locks rest themselves on the damp leaves littering the forest ground, knees bent and hands raised like a dog asking for a belly rub. Gazes remain locked, though one softens at noticing the cheeky expectation in the other and lowers itself to provide a playful caress of the stomach.

So is the plan, but the youth swiftly sits upright again before the gesture can be even performed and vigorously licks the right cheek while once more holding on to crouched thighs.

‘You’re a cheeky bastard, aren’t you?’ A kiss on the forehead is received with a grateful purr, containing a satisfied undertone as if to show off to the siblings standing by the entrance to the cave, as seen from peripheral vision. ‘I guess you won’t give me a choice. Alright, fine, you can come with me. However, you’d be leaving behind the woods, your family. Of course, we can drop by whenever, but is this really what you want?’

A meaningful glance is exchanged between family members, not meant for outsiders to understand. All that can be interpreted likely without fault is the sagely nod of the head of the pack which clearly illuminates the happiness in big doe-like rather than predatory eyes. A brightness hardly contained when staring back at a woman apparently having adopted a wolf.

‘I’ll have quite some explaining to do, but the boys will just have to deal with it.’ Shoulders turn towards the older sibling standing a little ways away, bowing respectfully for the powerful beast. ‘I promise to take good care of Jungkook and come by regularly so he won’t lose his connection to you nor the forest.’

The oath is answered by a similar wise nod before the leader motions for the others to follow them inside. Withal not before the parting family member is said goodbye to with a long howl filled with wishes of good luck and always being welcome whenever in the area.

Thus, dark Timberlands even further deepened in shade thanks to the downpour find themselves being led to the parking lot by a wolffish boy biting down on untucked carmine checkered fabric.

Clumsily helping the guide into the station wagon, but thoroughly enjoying the sight of clear delight created by simply hanging out of the window and freely submitting to be the wind’s plaything.

An expression that will warm the heart many times over in the future on the journey of discovering what it is to be human yet also live with a double identity.

We both learn.

Under a shared roof.

In our own little pack.

Our family.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

More Mute please? Happy holidays everyone!

Previous parts can be found: HERE.

Mute Part 8.i - Leaving Leoch:

Sliding his hand along the soft expanse of Claire’s leg, Jamie let the gentle sounds of the tweeting birds pull him awake. Still sleepy and half intoxicated he remembered the events of the night before.

Their wedding had been an incredible thing. It was supposed to have been small and intimate but the moment that Mrs Fitz took over things had gotten out of hand. Not that he minded of course, anything to show his love for Claire publically and without apology wasn’t something to be sniffed at but he’d seen the stress alight on Claire’s face as the day had worn on.

They had said their vows first thing, pledging themselves to one another with Murtagh translating Claire’s signs for the priest and from there on out most of the day was a blur of food, liquor, conversation and dancing. For the most part the inhabitants of Leoch had let their guards down in relation to Claire. Watching her dance, her head neatly lain on Jamie’s shoulder as the piper had played well into the night, his notes as flawless as the bards singing, each and everyone of them saw nothing but love emanating from the newlyweds.

Even Dougal had kept his hands to himself, thank goodness.

But Jamie got the feeling that their stay at Leoch was about to come to an end. With Dougals’ continued interest and Claire’s growing fatigue, Jamie sensed that it might be nearing the time to take Claire back to his home by birthright. There, at least, he could properly investigate gaining a pardon as well as surrounding Claire with a more familial warmth.

Slipping her legs apart, Claire gasped soundlessly as Jamie’s hands roamed freely. He was lost, she could tell, to the drunk haze that surrounded them both but she was hyper aware of him. Rolling her hips backwards, she thrust her naked behind against his groin using her foot to link through his calf - pulling him closer still.

Licking her lips she felt him slip between her thighs, his hard flesh suddenly anchored solidly between her legs. But she didn’t want it like this, not on the first morning of their marriage. She wanted to turn herself around, lie flat and pull him over her but the weight of him beside her, pushing her deeper into their homemade cot, stopped her from being able to. Unable to voice the words required to wake Jamie and have him move with her, Claire opted for rocking them to and fro, her hands keeping Jamie firmly against her as she tried to use the motion to pull him from his slumber.

She could feel his hot breath on her neck as his fingers gripped her hips. It bordered painful, but just as the sensations began to drag Claire under, Jamie would magically calm loosening his hands as if compelled to do so.

Claire was on the brink. The maddening sensations of Jamie thrusting unconsciously between her legs leaving her desperate and wanting whilst *nearly* tipping her over the edge. Opening her mouth, she turned her head to the side, gripped him with as much force as she dared to use and silently cried out as she used his body to aid her own climax. Her heart was thrumming in her chest by the time she realised her release had -finally- pulled Jamie from sleep.

Gathering her up in his arms, Jamie gently turned Claire over, moving himself over her as she let her legs flop bonelessly against the thick straw bedding beneath them. “Morning, mo nighean donn,” Jamie whispered, no need to raise his voice in the dim morning light. “Good morning...my wife.”

Cracking her eyes open as much as she could, Claire read his lips as he rolled his groin against hers. She was sated, shattered from her own surprise orgasm but the sight of him above her, his eyes trained solely on her as she shook involuntarily beneath him, brought her round a little.

“Ye can rest longer,” Jamie sighed, nudging his nose against hers in a cute motion that made Claire smile softly.

She shook her head, her thighs keeping Jamie pinned in place as her skin prickled with goosebumps. ‘No.’ She mouthed, running one hand along the length of her supine body as the other brushed through the short stubble that had arisen on Jamie’s face through the night.

“Canna leave me wanting, lass?” He returned, adjusting himself so that he lay poised and ready.

Claire let her head tip to the side, her smile widening as she nudged him on with the base of her foot against the roundest part of his arse.

“Jamie!!” The mad knocking on the door made Jamie twist his head as he grasped the bedclothes tight, thinking that at any minute he might need to cover Claire.

“What is it Dougal, can I no’ have the morning wi’ my wife?”

Lying calmly beneath Jamie, Claire ran her hands over the length of his taut stomach, waiting patiently for him to shoo away whoever was disturbing them. She could feel the distinct rumble of irritation run through Jamie as he spoke with the invisible visitor but she wasn’t about to give up on their amorous morning joining just yet.

“I think ye’ve had enough time wi’ that one, aye? Collum has asked for us. Get yer lazy arse out of bed and up to his rooms...and fast lad!”

“Collum willna mind if I’m a wee bit late. Bugger off, Dougal. Leave us be. I’ll be wi’ ye in a few hours. Whatever is it, it can wait.” He cooed, turning and leaning in to kiss Claire, a long languid kiss that assured her that he wasn’t getting up to leave any time soon.

“Fine, laddie. But on yer head be it.” Dougal grumbled, leaving the pair alone once more.

As Jamie turned, Claire slid her hands down to rest on his arse and pulled him flat against her, not wishing for the moment to be interrupted again. It was quick; Jamie set a punishing rhythm as soon as he entered Claire, his hip bones hitting the inside of her thighs over and over as he lost himself to the joint sensations of lust and love racing through the blood in his veins. He wanted to go slow, to watch and feel as her whole lower half rose up to meet him but there was something primal about the way she’d brought him to and he couldn’t hold back.

With a short sharp cry, Jamie came apart, his hands almost tearing the thin sheets apart as he shook. Claire, still half-sated beneath him, wrapped her arms around him and brought him to her chest slowly, basking in the heat emanating from him. She knew that once he woke from his post-orgasmic haze he’d have to dress and go and find out what Collum wanted from him. But for now he was hers.

“I haveta go, mo nighean,” he panted, falling to the side as he peeled his left eye open and smiled softly.

Claire nodded, her hand coming up to rest gently against the slope of Jamie’s face.

| ‘Come back soon though, alright?’ | She signed with her free hand knowing that he probably couldn’t understand most of what she was trying to communicate.

But he had, at least, gotten the gist of it.

“I’ll be home soon, promise.” He whispered, forcing himself from their cot and dressing (purposefully) very slowly, giving Claire a very clear view of his bottom as he re-pleated his kilt.

Unwilling to brave Leoch on her own, Claire pottered around their self-made home above the stables, making sure everything was clean and tidy. She knew that there was always the surgery if she needed another task to keep her occupied but the space was sullied now by the various assaults on her person. Hopefully, though, now she was actually married to Jamie he would leave her alone but until she’d been assured of that, she would keep out of the way.

Making her way down into the stables themselves, Claire grabbed the broom and continued her housekeeping with the horses as company. She found some small pleasure in their musty smell and by the time Jamie marched back inside, Claire had cleaned out every stall and made sure each mare had been groomed thoroughly.

| ‘What’s the matter?’ | She signed, seeing Jamie’s distress the minute she looked up to take him in.

“Claire,” he began, taking hold of her hands and rubbing her warm fingers softly, “I have to leave for a wee while.”

Claire’s mouth gaped open, her pulse racing all of a sudden at the thought of Jamie not being by her side.

| ‘But we’ve only just been married? Did Collum say you *had* to go?’ |

“I have to, Claire. If there was any way out of it I’d have spoke up, ken?”

She nodded sadly, her eyes filling with moisture.

“Murtagh will stay here wi’ ye, alright? He’ll take good care of ye lass, him and Mrs Fitz. Ye can stay out here or go back to the castle for yer lodgings should ye wish no’ to be alone at night.” He continued, bringing her their joined hands to his lips and kissing them reverently. “The only blessing is that Dougal is leading the party, aye? It means he willna be left here to cause ye any distress.”

Feeling her stomach settle a little, Claire clenched her jaw. She wanted to pull her hands away and rant and rave at how unfair it was that Jamie was to be taken from her at such short notice, but it would do no good. That and she was enjoying the last close comforts she might have for a while.

| ‘How long?’ | She mouthed, unwilling to take her hands from his.

“Dinna ken,” Jamie returned, paying attention to her mouth and deciphering her soundless words, “hopefully no’ too long but it’s best to plan for at least a month.”

Claire shook her head violently and ripped her hands from his as she stormed wildly up and down the small aisle of the stables. She was furious, her hair flying about in the wee breeze that filtered in through the gaps in the slats. Stomping her feet and grinding her teeth she fought the urge to scream.

A pair of strong arms wrapped around her from behind, twisting her around and surrounding her in warmth and Jamie tried to quash her irritation. Whispering directly into her ear he tried to speak clearly so that she might hear his voice. Sensing that she needed something more than physical contact to calm her ire.

“I’m always wi’ ye, Claire,” he sighed, “in yer heart. I ken what terrible timing this is, but I love you...so much.”

Pulling back a little, Claire looked up at Jamie with tears in her eyes.

| ‘When do you have to leave?’ | She signed slowly.

“As soon as I’m ready.” He replied sadly.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Claire let the tears fall as her nose and cheeks begun to turn a sorrowful shade of maroon. The overwhelming urge to scream and shout had lessened but she still wanted to race to Collum’s quarters and plead with him not to send Jamie away though she got the distinct feeling that it was some sort of test of his metal. Collum hadn’t actually objected to her presence but nor had he castigated his brother or punished him for his wayward behaviour towards her. And aside from their one run in during the conflict resolutions in the grand hall he had barely acknowledged her at all. But she was still English and now she’d married his nephew.

| ‘Be safe, please?’ | She asked, hiccuping as she pulled herself fully from Jamie’s grasp and mouthed across at him. Wrapping her arms around herself now she rubbed her suddenly cool arms and ran her feet across the incredibly clean floor.

“I will, my Sassenach. Look after yerself, aye?”

Nodding, Claire waited until Jamie was safely away before falling to the floor and going thoroughly and completely to pieces.

[cannibalisticshadows]

can you write a scene with mr. gold and regina? fluffyness? i'm an evil queen fan <3

Mr. Gold’s Personal Assistant - Chapter 5

(Six days ago [the day after Mr. Gold employed Belle])

~.~

A beautiful, middle-aged woman lounged back in her luxuriously black office chair. Her impeccably kept eyebrows knitted together in a vexed manner, honeyed brown eyes glaring at the document before her.

To Whom It May Concern:

I, Mr. Gold, take full ownership of all legal documents, notes, bonds, titles, and such-and-suches of Storybrooke, Maine. A debt-swap deal has taken place upon the primacies of Miss Isabelle French’s home, witness by Maurice Moe French and Gaston Rose. Our contract states that I, Mr. Gold, shall fix the corruption and bankruptcy brought about by Ogre Loan & Co.. In exchange I have taken Miss French as my permanent personal assistant.

R. Gold

“Damn him,” she cursed, sliding a document off to the side. “Damn that imp.”

“Damn him indeed, dearie.”

The woman’s breath hitched in surprise as she spun around, eyes widening in shock. “If you think you can just come in here—“

“Or you’ll do what, Your Majesty?” her uninvited guest tittered, emerged from the shadows of her private office. Instantly, the woman relaxed with a soft sigh of relief and slumped back against her chair. Damn him, again!

Regina Mills, Storybrooke’s “queenly” mayor, scowled at the imp who sauntered before her desk, smiling puckishly. He had not changed since the last time she saw him last week – svelte and wiry, the crocodile-skinned mage stood with all the arrogance and confidence of a haughty royal; though, the thick dragon-leather he sported around in spoke of something much darker than royalty. The mayor watched as the mid-afternoon light, filtering in through the window behind her, cast a grayish hue and golden glittery-ness to the imp’s complexion once the sunlight hit him just right.

Her lips thinned into a tight smile. “Rumplestiltskin.”

“Regina,” the imp trilled, his more-or-less hidden burr slipping out a tad. “So lovely to see you again. How is wee Henry?”

The mayor’s lightly vexed expression turned into an eye roll at the mention of her son. She pushed her chair back and stood up elegantly. “He’s fine. You did see him last week,” she sniffed. “So, Rumple. Wish to explain this?” Regina held up the fancily written document and waved it around.

“Hmm? Means what it means, dearie.”

Scowling harder, Regina set the paper back and walked to her make-shift bar where she fussed over a crystal decanter containing a fine mead. “I thought I made it very clear that I don’t need your help.”

Rumpelstiltskin snorted. “Well, clearly you do, dearie. Some slip of a girl had to be the one to tell me of your and the town’s insolvent. Trying to keep my very existence a secret didn’t work out so well in the end, aye?”

The woman clenched her jaw. Regina could feel the imp moving around the room, no doubt watching her like a hawk; she could hear the scrunching of his leather garb, creaking thickly. Although greatly disturbed by his sudden arrival, Regina couldn’t say that she found his presence in itself disturbing – she was beyond used to it, after all. She saw the imp every damn week. But it pissed her off that he suddenly thought it all fine and dandy to abruptly take over as town landlord.

“Why don’t you go die in a hole?” she barked with remarkable poise for such poisonous words.

Gawking, the imp mimed a gesture of hurt and touched his heart. In a shrill voice, Rumpelstiltskin said, “Tsk! I thought I raised you better than that – trying to shoo me away so soon? Not even one kiss for Daddy?”

“Daddy?” Regina echoed crossly as she poured a glass of mead for them. “You are not my father.”

Tutting, he uses the snarky quip, “But Henry calls me Grandpa!”

Once again, Regina growls and miraculously manages to not strangle the imp. Instead, she walks over and hands him a tumbler of mead. Rumpelstiltskin happily takes the offering and then insolently sprawls himself on Regina’s sleek black couch. She fought the urge to roll her eyes at him before she gracefully seated herself down in her personal armchair. Daintily sipping her own drink while she glowered at the imp who was busy studying her black and white office, with its forest-in-winter printed walls and a magnificent horse sculpture atop the mantelshelf, and a small steady fire going in the grate.

When Rumpelstiltskin’s reptilian eyes finally landed on her, Regina straightened her back and glared over the crystal rim of her tumbler. She lowered it to her lap. “Why are you going around making deals in my town, Rumple? Where did the urge to play landlord all of a sudden come from?”

He sniffed. “You know my game, Regina. When someone wants to deal, we deal. I haven’t approached anyone who hasn’t summoned me first. You have little Miss French to thank for that.”

“This, this French girl – that’s the librarian, isn’t it? Henry loves her, you know. Keeping her all to yourself will make my son quite upset,” she said, crossing her long legs clothed in a suave suit pants.

The imp swirled the contents of his tumbler before speaking again. “I am well aware she’s the librarian. But, and I’ll say this again,” Rumpelstiltskin smirked, “she summoned me.”

Regina furrowed her brows and stiffened. “How the hell did she even get the means for that? Have you—“ she paused with a dark thought. “Is Henry involved in this?”

“Hehe, no, missy. Henry hasn’t a clue and has loyally kept his mouth shut. But not everyone is oblivious to my existence, you know! It was so cute of you to convince everyone that I’m just a dusty old fable to scare children into not misbehaving.”

“Do you want something? Or does butting in my territory amuse the living hell out of you and you simply have nothing better to do? I told you – don’t need your help.”

Shaking his head in a childish manner, the imp countered, “I’m not butting in anywhere, and I’m not, per se, helpingyou. I’m helping Miss French. She made the deal with me. She paid the price fair and square.”

“This is my town, Rumpelstiltskin. I’ll do what I damn well please,” the woman declared disdainfully. “You had absolutely no right to get yourself involved in my business.” Standing up, Regina put away their empty tumblers with her temper flaring.

“Well, it’s all done now. Might as well get used to it.”

“Whatever. Where are you squatting down, anyway? So far only the florist and his daughter’s fiancé have reported your arrival.”

“The pawnshop…” Rumpelstiltskin begun to frown seriously as he watched her move about. After a painful moment of silence, he finally asked, “Why do you prefer the ogres over me, dearie? You know me; Henry trusts me. I taught you everything you know – I even changed your diapers, for Hades’ sake! What’d I do to become dead to you like your dear mumsy?”

Upon the mention of her mother, Regina gripped the tumbler so tight that it shattered. Snapping, she shouted, “Don’t you dare talk about my mother!”

The imp shot up, glaring. “You are being quite the brat today. Here I am, coming to you so nicely and all that, both of us knowing full and well that I can fix your town from bankruptcy, yet all you do is whine about it like a spoiled and hapless bairn!”

“How dare you speak to me like I’m a child! I’m the mayor of this town, not you!”

“I’m ah no’ wantin’ to be mayor!” he groaned, “I’m saving your godforsaken hide so it doesn’t get thrown in prison, or better yet, into an ogre’s belly! What in gods’ name is your problem!?”

Regina, still fuming, stormed across the office with the imp at her heels. “All you ever do is nag me down, and I refuse to be inferior to you in my own town!”

“Inferior?” Rumpelstiltskin echoed her, snarling as the woman snatched a sheet of paper out of a drawer. “I was your sole guardian for the better part of your wretched childhood. A little respect would be much appreciated!”

“Oh, get off your high horse!” Regina shouted back, plucking a fountain pen from her desk before roughly dropping herself down in the chair. Rumpelstiltskin hovered behind her as she furiously began to scribble something down. “I am not a little girl anymore. I am a grown woman, a mother, and a mayor, and I will not put up with you flaunting about in the spotlight with me in your shadow—“ abruptly pausing, Regina muttered quietly, “I suppose you’ll be using barter with most of your tenants? Considering everyone are my peasants.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you—And I don’t want you mucking up my plans, damn it! Stay to your business, and I’ll stay to mine! I swear to the seven layers of hell, Rumple, if you so much as put one boot in my space again—“

“Yes, yes, yes, you’ll throw your reign of terror and all. It taks a lang spoon to sup with a fifer, dearie.”

“—Disrespect me one more time, Rumple. I dare you, I dare you!”

“Dare!”

Regina growled in fury, writing at an alarming rate, before violently jotting her signature down. Rudely offering the pen up, she shoves the freshly written document toward Rumpelstiltskin who does the same, blotching the paper from the force of his writing. The imp snatched the paper up and tucked it into his waistcoat’s inner pocket.

It was a document stating that the mayor consented for Mr. Gold to be the new landlord.

“Yir the most infuriating besom Ah knae’,” Rumpelstiltskin quipped with a thick Scottish accent.

“Good. If there’s another, send her my way. We’ll start a club.”

“Pfft. Good to see you too, Regina,” The imp rolled his eyes as he prepped to magick himself away. Pausing, he turned back toward the mayor. “Did you really risk getting eaten by repo ogres just so ye’ could avoid dealing with me, or are all those Friday dinners with you and Henry hallucinations? Your nae’ trying very hard to avoid me, if that’s the case.”

“No. I wanted to do my job without your judgment. Would you have ever let me live my neediness down had I been the one to tell you about the bankruptcy?”

“Probably not.”

“Mhmm. Thought so.”

[trishbsblog]

It is never too late to be what you might have been ̴ George Eliot Reasons for and against giving up the glitzy, glamorous world of flying: Pros: 1. No more cleaning up other people’s sick. 2. No more 2 a.m. wake-up calls, jet lag, swollen feet/ stomach or shrivelled-up skin. 3. No more tedious questions like, ‘What’s that lake/ mountain down there?’ and ‘Does the mile high club really exist?’ 4. No more serving kippers and poached eggs at 4 a.m. to passengers with dog-breath and smelly socks. 5. No more risk of dying from deep vein thrombosis, malaria or yellow fever. 6. No more battles with passengers who insist that their flat-pack gazebo will fit into the overhead locker. 7. No more wearing a permanent smile and a name badge. 8. No danger of bumping into ex-boyfriend and his latest ‘I’m-Debbie-come-fly-me’. Cons: 1. No more fake Prada, Louis Vuitton or Gucci. 2. No more lazing by the pool in winter. 3. No more ten-hour retail therapy sessions in shopping malls the size of a small island — and getting paid for it. 4. No more posh hotel freebies (toiletries, slippers, fluffy bathrobes etc.). 5. Holidays (if any) now to be taken in Costa del Cheapo, as opposed to Barbados or Bora Bora. 6. No more horse riding around the pyramids, imagining I’m a desert queen. 7. No more ice skating in Central Park, imagining I’m Ali MacGraw in Love Story. 8. Having to swap my riverside apartment for a shoebox, and my Mazda convertible for a pushbike. ‘Cabin crew, ten minutes to landing. Ten minutes, please,’ comes the captain’s olive-oil-smooth voice over the intercom. This is it. No going back. I’m past the point of no return. The galley curtain swishes open — it’s showtime! I switch on my full-beam smile and enter upstage left, pushing my trolley for the very last time ... ‘Anyheadsetsanyrubbishlandingcard? Anyheadsetsanyrubbishlandingcard? ...’ Have I taken leave of my senses? The notion of an actress living in a garret, sacrificing everything for the sake of her art, seemed so romantic when I gaily handed in my notice three months ago, but now I’m not so sure … Be positive! Just think, a couple of years from now, you could be sipping coffee with Phil and Holly on the This Morning sofa … Yes, Phil, the rumours are true … I have been asked to appear on Strictly Come Dancing. God only knows how I’ll fit it around my filming commitments though. Who are you kidding? A couple of years from now, the only place you’ll be appearing is the job centre, playing Woman On Income Support. This follow-your-dreams stuff is all very well when you’re in your twenties, or thirties even, but I’m a forty-year-old woman with no rich husband (or any husband for that matter) to bail me out if it all goes pear-shaped. Just as everyone around me is having a loft extension or a late baby, I’m downsizing my whole lifestyle to enter a profession that boasts a ninety-two percent unemployment rate. Why in God’s name, in this wobbly economic climate, am I putting myself through all this angst and upheaval, when I could be pushing my trolley until I’m sixty, then retire comfortably on an ample pension and one free flight a year? Something happened, out of the blue, that catapulted me from my ordered, happy-go-lucky existence and forced me down a different road … ‘It’s not your fault. It’s me. I’m confused,’ Nigel had said. ‘I don’t understand,’ I said, almost choking on my Marmite soldier. ‘What’s brought this on? Have you met someone else?’ ‘No-ho!’ he spluttered, averting my gaze, handsome face flushed. ‘But you always said we were so perfect together …’ ‘That’s exactly why we have to split. It’s too bloody perfect.’ ‘What? Don’t talk nonsense …’ ‘I don’t expect you to understand, but it’s like I’ve pushed a self-destruct button and there’s no going back.’ ‘Self-destruct button? What are you talking about? Darling, you’re not well. Perhaps you should get some help …’ ‘Look, don’t make this harder for me than it already is. It’s time for us both to move on. And please don’t cry, Em,’ he groaned, eyes looking heavenward. ‘You know how I hate it when you cry.’ I grovelled, begged him not to go, vowing I’d find myself a nine-to-five job so we could have more together time, swearing that I would never again talk during Match of the Day — anything as long as he stayed with me. Firmly removing my hands from around his neck and straightening his epaulettes, he glanced at his watch, swigged the dregs of his espresso, and said blankly, ‘Good Lord, is that the time? I’ve got to check in in an hour. We’ll talk more when I get back from LA.’ ‘NO!’ I wailed. ‘You know very well that I’ll be in Jeddah by then. We’ve got to talk about this now. Nigel … Nigel …!’ For three days I sat huddled on the sofa in semi-darkness, clutching the Minnie Mouse he’d bought me on our first trip to Disneyland, as if she were a life raft. I played Gabrielle’s ‘You Used to Love Me’ over and over. I wondered if Gabrielle’s boyfriend had dumped her without warning, leaving her heartbroken and bewildered, and the pain of it all had inspired her. If only I had a talent for song writing, but I don’t, so I channelled my pain into demolishing a family-sized tin of Celebrations chocolates instead. Cue Wendy, my best friend, my angel on earth. We formed an instant friendship on our cabin crew training course. This was cemented when she saved me from drowning during a ditching drill. (I’d stupidly lied on the application form, assuming that it didn’t really matter if I couldn’t swim, because if I were ever unfortunate enough to crash-land in the sea, there would surely be enough lifejackets to go round.) ‘Look, hon, this has got to stop,’ she said in an uncharacteristically stern tone, a look of frustration on her porcelain, freckled face. (As a redhead, Wendy has been religiously applying sunscreen since she first set foot on Middle Eastern soil as a junior hostess twenty years ago; whereas I would roast myself like a pig on a spit in my quest to look like a Californian beach babe.) ‘Okay, so it’s not a crime to scrub the toilet with his toothbrush, but who knows where that could lead? You’ve got to stop playing the victim before we have a Fatal-Attraction scenario on our hands.’ ‘Eight years, eight years of my life spent waiting for him to pop the question, and now he’s moving out to “find himself”. I think I’m entitled to be a little upset, Wendy.’ Prising Minnie out of my hands and hurling her against the wall, she straightened my shoulders and looked deep into my puffy eyes. ‘I promise you that, in time, you will see you’re better off without that moody, selfish, arrogant …’ ‘I know you never thought he was right for me, but there is another side to him,’ I said defensively. ‘He can be the most caring and sweet man in the world when he wants to — and I can’t bear the thought that we won’t grow old together,’ I sobbed, running my damp sleeve across my stinging cheeks. ‘Come on now; take off that bobbly old cardie. I’m running you a Molton Brown bath, and you’re going to wash your hair, put on your uniform and high heels, slap on some make-up and your best air hostess smile, d’you hear?’ she said, pulling back the curtains. ‘And while you’re in Jeddah, I want you to seriously think about where you go from here.’ ‘But I want to be home when Nigel …’ ‘You always said you didn’t want to be pushing a trolley in your forties, and how you wished you’d had a go at acting. Well, maybe this is a sign,’ she said gently, tucking a strand of greasy hair behind my ear. ‘It’s high time you did something for you. You’ve spent far too long fitting in with what Nigel wants.’ ‘It’s too late to be chasing dreams,’ I sniffed, shielding my eyes from the watery sunlight. ‘And anyway, I just want things to go back to how they were. Where did I go wrong, Wendy? I should have made more effort. After all, he’s a good-looking guy, and every time he goes to work there are gorgeous women half my age fluttering their eyelashes at him, falling at his feet. He can take his pick — and maybe he did,’ I whimpered, another torrent of tears splashing onto my saggy, grey jogging bottoms. ‘Get this down you.’ Wendy sighed, shoving a mug of steaming tea into my hands as she frogmarched me into the bathroom. ‘And don’t you dare call him!’ she yelled through the door. Perhaps she was right; she usually was. She may be a big kid at heart, but when the chips are down, Wendy is the one you’d want on your flight if you were struck by lightning or appendicitis at thirty-two thousand feet. For the last year or so, hadn’t I likened myself to an aeroplane in a holding pattern, waiting until I was clear to land? Waiting for Nigel to call, waiting for Nigel to come home, waiting for Nigel to propose, waiting until Nigel felt ready to start a family? Yes, deep down I knew she was right, but I was scared of being on my own. Did this make me a love addict? If so, could I be cured? Jeddah, Saudi Arabia ‘Hayyaa’ala-s-salah, hayya ’ala-l-falah …’ came the haunting call from the mosque across the square, summoning worshippers to evening prayer. It was almost time to meet up with the crew to mosey around the souk — again. Too hot to sunbathe, room service menu exhausted, library book finished, alcohol forbidden, and no decent telly (only heavily edited re-runs of The Good Life, where Tom goes to kiss Barbara, and next minute it cuts to Margo shooing a goat off her herbaceous border), the gold market had become the highlight of my day. Donning my abaya (a little black number that is a must-have for ladies in this part of the world), I scrutinised myself in the full-length mirror. No wonder Nigel was leaving me; far from looking like a mysterious, exotic, desert queen, full of eastern promise, it made me resemble a walking bin liner. I read the fire evacuation drill on the back of the door and checked my mobile for the umpteenth time, then cast my eyes downwards, studying my toes. I know, I thought, giving them a wee wiggle, I’ll paint my nails. It’s amazing what a coat of Blue Ice lacquer can do to make a girl feel a little more glamorous, and less like Ugly Betty’s granny. As I rummaged in my crew bag for my nail varnish, there, stuffed in between Hello! and Procedures To Be Followed in the Event of a Hijack, was an old copy of The Stage (with another DO NOT PHONE HIM!! Post-it note stuck to it). Idly flicking through the pages, my eyes lit up at the headline: DREAMS REALLY CAN COME TRUE. Former computer programmer, Kevin Wilcox, 40, went for broke when he gave up his 50k-a-year job to become a professional opera singer. ‘My advice to anyone contemplating giving up their job to follow their dream, is to go for it,’ said Kevin, taking a break from rehearsals of La Traviata at La Scala. That was my life-changing moment; an affirmation that there were other people out there — perfectly sane people, who were not in the first flush of youth either, but were taking a chance. That’s what I’d do. I’d become an actress, and Nigel would see my name in lights as he walked along Shaftesbury Avenue, or when he sat down to watch Holby City, there I’d be, shooting a doe-eyed look over a green surgical mask. ‘What a fool I was,’ he’d tell his friends ruefully, ‘to have ever let her go.’ Hah! But revenge wasn’t my only motive. Faux designer bags and expensive makeovers were no longer important to me. I wanted the things that money can’t buy: like self-fulfilment, like the buzz you get on opening night, stepping out on stage in front of a live audience. Appearing through the galley curtains, proclaiming that well-rehearsed line, ‘Would you like chicken or beef?’ just wouldn’t do any more. Inspired, I grabbed the telephone pad and pen from the bedside table, and started to scribble furiously. 1. Apply to RADA/CENTRAL any drama school that will have me. 2. Hand in notice. 3. Sign up with temping agencies and find part-time job. 4. Sell flat, shred Visa, store cards, cancel gym membership, and Vogue subscription (ouch!). From: academy@ads.ac.uk To: m.mouse@gmail.com Subject: Audition Dear Emily, Following your recent audition, we of The Academy Drama School are pleased to offer you a place on our one-year, full-time evening course. We look forward to meeting you again at the start of the autumn term, details of which are attached. Sincerely, Edward Tudor-Barnes Principal Whey hey! It was reckless, irresponsible and utterly mad, but I was tired of being sensible or doing things simply to please others. Ever since I’d played the undertaker in a school production of Oliver! I’d wanted to act. Okay, so I may be running twenty-five years late, but now nothing and no one was going to hold me back. * * *