#I’m watching desperate housewives and every five minutes I have to turn it off and LEAVE

[crow-n-tell]

I see a lot of comics talking about smut vs fluff reactions but I see no one talk about

Vs

IT HURTS ME

[ateezmakemeweep]

you’re the one that i want (part 5)

word count: 5k

fluff

(part 4) (series masterlist)

tag list: @chogiout​ ; @seonghwaslut ; @psshwa ; @yeocult ; @seongghwaa ; @cherryeonii ; @chaoticbanqtan ; @8teenee ; @nczenniez ; @atinyarmyx1​ ; @mingtopiaa ; @chubsluda ; @myjiminmychimchim ; @mochibabycakes ; @jisungity ; @skz-on-my-mind ; @nlost21 ; @myonlyaurora ; @closer-stars ; @kuaenam3g ; @byungaji ; @floweryjh ; 

when seonghwa doesn't see you down at the beach for the next three days, he can't even pretend not to be worried.

because even if you didn't want to go surfing anymore, he thinks you would have at least been down here at some point. high temperatures and the summer sun was quickly approaching and it seemed as if everyone but you and your aunt were at the beach these days.

"you lookin' for someone?" hongjoong asks, noticing the way seonghwa's eyes have been roaming the beach all day. they had come in from the harsh waves and laid out on their towels and chairs, waiting for jongho and yunho to come down with their food from the diner.

he snaps his head toward hongjoong and away from the other parts of the beach, particularly the parts right in front of your aunt's house, his eyes questioning and jaw slightly tensed.

"what?"

the redhead can only smirk, leaning up on his towel as he looks at his friend. "you lookin' to swim with y/n again?" seonghwa rolls his eyes at the boy, only proving his point further as to why he didn't want them knowing you two had been hanging out.

because after he walked you home a few nights ago, he went back down to the beach and found his three friends still seated around the fire.

"where the fuck were you?" hongjoong asks, his eyes lighting up upon seeing seonghwa but his words slurred and face flushed from all the beers. seonghwa rolls his eyes, pushing the boy over to make room on the blanket.

"told you i was walking."

hongjoong narrows his eyes, him and jongho poking at seonghwa and calling him a liar. they whined over and over for him to tell them what he was really doing, if he was up to something bad or meeting up with a girl.

he huffs and curses lowly at them, moving away to go to yunho who's talking to a few boys from his school. 

"hey, you're back," the boy says, seonghwa humming before nodding a hello at the others. and it's not until they're going back to his house, hongjoong under seonghwa's arm and jongho under yunho's, when he starts getting harassed again.

"you gonna tell me where you went?" yunho asks with a smirk, throwing the two drunk boys on a blanket on the floor; he learned the hard way that when they're this shitfaced, there's a high probability of waking up to puke on the couch.

"you my fuckin' mom or something?" seonghwa growls out, going through the fridge to grab a bottle of water. "you want one?" yunho nods his head and catches it with ease, the two boys plopping down on the couch as they turn the tv on.

"you like y/n," the blue haired boy says simply. 

seonghwa's upper lip curls in disgust and it'd look convincing to just about anyone but yunho, hongjoong or jongho. they know all too well how good seonghwa is at masking his emotions, pretending to feel something else even though he's softer than he lets on.

"i barely know her."

"but you're getting to know her. you were with her tonight, right?"

seonghwa pops his neck to the side as tension fills him, wondering why the fuck everyone is on his ass about this. what is it there business if he's getting to know anyone? why can't they just ignore him instead of asking question after question like a group of bored, gossiping housewives?

"no. i told you guys i went for a walk."

"five minutes after she did?" yunho asks, smirking because he can feel his friend getting irritated; but apparently seonghwa's forgetting about the torture they put him through last year, when he went on a first date with a girl and the three boys barged into the restaurant and demanded a table next to them.

so excuse him for wanting payback, especially when it's so rare for his friend to show interest in a girl.

"fuck off, i don't like her," seonghwa says, ignoring the way his body rejects that statement. "she's got too much..."

"baggage?" a drunken jongho offers from the floor, the dirty blonde kicking the boy in the ribs roughly. "no, you dick," seonghwa snaps, the blonde groaning as hongjoong laughs at him.

"even if she had baggage, she's pretty. i'd hold those bags."

yunho bites down on his lip and peeks at seonghwa who's staring down at them in disgust, trying not to laugh at just how obvious seonghwa's becoming. but he thinks it’s good, that seonghwa deserves someone like you who will open him up and maybe make him feeling something; even though for now, he’s probably gonna keep denying it.

"i told you i wasn't with her," seonghwa grumbles, kicking sand toward the boy as he sits in his chair. hongjoong dodges it though, turning his body before raising an eyebrow at the boy.

"so you guys just both happened to leave five minutes apart?"

seonghwa only shrugs his shoulders and looks away, knowing that if he tries to say anything more, it's gonna make him seem defensive. he watches the beachgoers and finds himself staring just a bit longer than normal at people who look like you, with similar hair and skin tone that always ends up not looking right.

why hasn't he seen you? and why does he care so much?

"all the tourists are already here, that place was fuckin' packed!" yunho says, carrying takeout bags of burgers and fries while jongho balances the drink tray; seonghwa takes one look at the struggling boy and feels himself sigh heavily.

"why does he have the drinks, he's gonna-" and promptly, the cupholder with four drinks topples over and lands facedown in the sand.

"drop them," seonghwa finishes with a groan, the two other boys snapping their heads to see jongho looking very guilty and shocked. "i was so close, you guys," the youngest boy whines, desperately trying to pick up the spilling drinks and shove them in the holder.

"okay, well we're not gonna drink them now!" hongjoong says.

"and?!" jongho exclaims dramatically. "i'm not a litterbug!"

seonghwa rolls his eyes before taking his food from yunho, watching in half annoyance and half amusement as jongho pushes clean sand over the sticky soda mess.

"perfect!" jongho says, plopping down on the blanket as he takes his sandwich out and unwraps it excitedly. "so did seonghwa finally admit to being with y/n last night?" 

the boy in question looks at the blonde with his head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched before he kicks his foot up and knocks the boy's food right into the sand.

"what. the. fuck!" jongho yelps, looking in devastation at his sandwich buried in the sand before whining seonghwa's name. but he only shrugs his shoulders, giving him a stern, unwavering stare that he only hopes will keep at least one of his friends off his back today.

the four of them make their way back to yunho's after eating and another quick dip in the ocean, currently bickering over the shower order as the blue haired boy watches in amusement.

"okay, but i got this gnarly cut on my back from when i fell, i think that means-"

"that you fucking suck. and don't ever use the word gnarly again."

yunho and seonghwa snort at the two boys, the banter between the older and younger always far too amusing. when they make their way on the sidewalk, they see your aunt taking out the garbage with a mask on her face. her eyes catch the boys as she meets them down at the sidewalk, waving at them and saying something that goes unheard.

"sorry but we can't understand you," yunho chuckles out, touching his face to indicate the mask; the woman smacks her head before lowering the blue fabric. "oh god, i'm sorry. i was asking how the water was today!"

her and yunho chat back and forth for a few moments, attempting to include the other boys in the conversation. seonghwa can't help but notice how happy and bubbly she is, her laugh contagious and smile bright.

"alright i won't keep you boys any longer. i should get back to y/n anyway, poor girl," she says. and the woman must see concern cross the boys faces, or maybe one boy's face in particular, because she begins to talk again. "she'd be the only person to catch a horrific cold when it's almost july."

seonghwa's eyes travel to the upstairs window, grazing the balcony and remembering how that room's light flickered on when he dropped you home the other night. the four of them say goodbye before rushing over to yunho's, hongjoong and jongho fighting to get through the doorway and to the shower on the second floor.

"so she got sick, huh?" yunho hums lowly, a smirk on his face. "happens to a lot of people who swim at night."

"yeah?" seonghwa challenges, narrowing his eyes at the boy before smacking him upside the head. "then there goes your little theory. i'm not sick." 

and then just to be a dick, he charges toward yunho's bedroom and locks the ensuite despite the boy's groans of protest. the same groans present three hours later as the four of them walk to tonight's house party.

"maybe if you didn't take so long, we wouldn't be three hours late."

"maybe if you assholes didn't make me shower last at my own house, this wouldn't have happened." yunho side eyes seonghwa who literally wants to be anywhere else tonight, in no mood to mingle or deal with the loud, obnoxiousness of drunk teenagers.

"no one shows up on time anyway," the boy grumbles, rolling his eyes when he hears the music coming from the house; he gives himself two hours before he leaves.

but that was incredibly generous because after just 40 minutes, he is losing his mind. he's been standing in the same corner with the same cold, miserable look on his face, nodding his head when people come up to talk to yunho and hongjoong like they haven't been seeing him for years.

he comes every june, july and august to see visit his mom; or more accurately to house sit. she usually uses her summers off to travel, spending about a week with him before whatever boyfriend she has at the time jets them off to somewhere in europe. 

he'd gotten used to the loneliness of his house, choosing to either go to yunho's or find a girl to spend the night with.

but tonight, any girl that eyes him, he shoots a look that screams 'please do not approach me.' because usually he's doing the very opposite at these events, using his obvious piercing eyes and charming smile to lure a girl over and bring her back back to his house so he can get off in her mouth.

but he's just not feeling all that inspired these days, especially not today when he finds that guilt and blame are weighing him down. when a woman's voice who he'd only met a number of times is ringing in his head.

"she'd be the only person to catch a horrific cold when it's almost july."

except it wasn't your fault, it was totally his doing; persuading you to go in the water and splash around for a good hour despite the whipping winds and cold temperature. but it had been fun, probably the most wholesome fun he'd had in a while. you had only ever seemed scared and wary of him when you hung out but he loved how much you laughed that night.

splashed him without a care and squealed when he threw you down in the water. he wasn't used to the feeling in his chest any time it happened, wanting to hear it again and again and be the reason for it.

but that would be crazy. because, as he so pointedly told yunho, he doesn't know you. he knows some things, that you're forgetful but also thoughtful, that there's someone who's avoiding your phone calls that you really wanna hear from, that you flinched away from him and sometimes act like a skittish, abused cat.

and if there's anything he knows about cats, it's that the skittish ones are hard to deal with. you make progress with them day by day, needing to have patience and a basic understanding of what upsets them or what they fear. but then the slightest mishap or mistake could send them reeling back to the state you found them: terrified and extremely jumpy.

but you're not a cat. you're a living, human being and he knows for someone to act like that, they'd need to endure a lot. possibly in a cycle of abuse, of any kind, that has left them scared and suspicious of people.

he's not quite sure why but a part of him wants to learn more about you. learn about what's happened to make you that way and be there for you in a way he needs someone too; because even though he doesn't really know how, he thinks he wants to try.

"seonghwa, we're doing flip cup. you coming?"

yunho saw the boy was spaced out for quite a bit, his back against the wall as he stared blankly ahead of him. he wonders what he was thinking about to be so distracted but figured if he asked, the boy would just lie anyway. the same way he knows he lies when he says he's gonna head home.

"what, are you sure?" yunho asks, "we just got here."

"yeah, no, not feeling it tonight," seonghwa says, nodding his head toward yunho, as jongho and hongjoong are already deep in their flip cup practice.

"beat those idiots. i'll see you tomorrow." yunho smirks and waves at his friend, the slightest suspicion in his bones that he'll be going back in the direction they came from. 

and for the most part, yunho was right. but seonghwa did make a quick stop first after calling in a favor to the waitress he gave that $10 tip to.

you couldn't believe that after three days, you still felt like shit. your bones were aching and head was pounding the morning you woke up after night swimming, nearly hitting the floor when you got up to pee.

and you only got worse throughout the day, a 101 fever and chills that kept you huddled under your comforter for days. your aunt would come in, clad in a mask and sometimes even gloves, to give you food and keep you company.

"you don't have to bring my food, i could come down," you insisted. but you both knew that was a lie, if the way you could barely get up to use the bathroom was any indication. and while you were doing better now, you still felt weak and tired and welcomed the salty breeze that blew through the open doors of the balcony.

the fresh air had been nice but it also made you feel like you were missing out. 

you hadn't been able to talk to seonghwa or yunho or anyone else for that matter but you found yourself wondering if they even noticed; you and seonghwa never said how long you guys were gonna hang out and surf for so it's not like you were indebted to one another.

but still, you don't like the idea of anyone thinking you forgot about them; it's a feeling you know all too well.

your aunt had gone to bed for the night and you just woke from a poorly timed nap, now past eleven o'clock as you lay in your bed watching a netflix series you just started. you lay there watching, thinking about running a hot bath or shower, when you hear something outside. you pick your head up and listen again, only listening to the familiar sounds of waves in the distance.

but then it happens again a few seconds later and you let out a tiny groan, slowly getting up and walking outside. you welcome the cool air on your hot skin, looking out into the yard before another rock comes up and just misses your foot.

"ow," you say softly, even though the rock didn’t touch you. "what the hell?" and then when you look over, you see no other than a smirking seonghwa standing there with a plastic to go bag in his hand.

"hey."

you stare down in shock, mouth slightly agape as you take in the sight of him just outside your window. what is he doing here? and why is he smiling at like that? and oh, my god you haven't washed your hair or left your bed in days and now he's really here looking as handsome as he usually does.

"hi. what- what are you doing here?" you immediately ask, grasping the side of the barrier keeping you from falling right off.

"brought you something, can i come up?"

"um, well, i’m- i'm sick, i don't want you to-"

but he ignores your words and walks forward, assessing the side of the house like he's trying to figure out his next move. you look over and see his face, shaking your head because the last thing you need is for your aunt's friends to see a boy scaling the side of her house; he could also trip and fall and then a surfing turtle knick knack certainly wouldn’t make up for that.

"you can't climb up! you could fall down and get hurt!"

his neck cranes up and he bites his cheek to not laugh, securing the bag on his wrist before bringing his hand to the white trellis on the side of the house littered with red and pink roses.

"seonghwa!" you whisper-yell, watching him smirk before he brings his hand back down. "you can't just scale the side of her house. i'll come down and-"

you watch him roll his eyes at you carelessly before walking over to the other side, your eyes widening and cheeks warming in embarrassment when you're reminded that there is, in fact, a spiral staircase leading up to this very balcony.

you hear his heavy footsteps until he's standing in front of you, your hair messy and knotted while he looks like he stepped out of a magazine; you've been wearing the same pajamas for the past three days and you don't even wanna know how sick and sweaty you smell.

"did you know there was a staircase the whole time?" you asked quietly, your cheeks burning in the cool night air. and then even more when his lips quirk into a smirk, nodding his head at you.

you let out a tiny sigh, overwhelmed with the need to sit as you plop down on the purple patio furniture. he watches you carefully, the way you curl up and rest your head on your arm like walking over had exhausted you.

you can't find it in you to speak as you think about how horrifically ill you must look right now. because your head is still pounding and your body is just aching, probably from laying around for 72 hours.

"how you feeling?" he asks, walking over to sit down next to you. but you quickly scoot away as far as you can. "

i feel better but i could still be contagious," you tell him softly. "i don't wanna get you sick."

"i think it'd be fair if you did," he says lowly, "since it's my fault in the first place." you look over at him with a slight frown on your face, shaking your head immediately. 

"no it's not."

he watches you with a skeptical expression, his eyebrow raised and jaw tight causing you to shrug your shoulders. "it's not...because how come you're not sick, then?" because you're a big, strong man? you're tempted to say but refrain, partially because you don't know how he'll react to teasing right now and because he is, in fact, a big, strong man.

"whatever," he mumbles, still feeling slightly at blame for your current state. but it’s nothing like the stupid nervousness running through his body right now, the plastic bag in his hand a reminder of what he came over here to do. 

but the more he thinks about it, the more creepy he feels. who just walks on to someone's balcony and gives them food without warning?

but it's too late now and he's already half way there, popping his neck to the side before placing the bag down next to you. "your aunt told us before that you were sick,” he says, toying with the straps of the plastic bag. “so i... wanted to bring you this."

your eyebrows pull together, looking at him in confusion before he nods his head toward the mysterious item. you purse your lips to the side and hesitantly peak inside, feeling your hands touch something hot before the smell of chicken broth hits your nose.

he didn't get you...

"it's soup. just chicken noodle," he says, feeling more and more uncomfortable by this exchange; what a sappy idiot he looks like right now, it's really kind of pathetic. "don't know if you like that but when your aunt said that you were sick, i-"

"no," you immediately blurt out, cutting him off as you snap your head to look at him. he looks at you in confusion and you can't help the smile that makes it way on your face. "i like it. i love it. it's one of my favorites. thank you."

he can't help but smile at your words, feeling himself relax slightly at your reaction; he had a feeling you'd be too polite to act upset or offended but it didn't stop the fear and embarrassment from flooding through him.

he doesn't do things like this, he's not thoughtful or considerate of others. he doesn't think to go out of his way for people or surprise them with things for just the sake of them needing comfort. though here he is now, handing you over a bowl of soup he just knew he needed to give you the second your aunt said you weren’t feeling good.

and why? for what? why you?

but then your eyes soften and mumble a quiet, "thank you," rummaging through the bag with a small smile on your lips and it hits him that that is why. he watches you slurp quietly, humming softly as it warms your throat before your smile widens.

"this is good," you sigh out, almost embarrassed by how touched and happy you are over a bowl of soup. "thank you."

"welcome," he mumbles, suddenly finding the view of the beach all too captivating to ignore. you slurp up the noodles and broth beside him, occasionally seeing him turn to stare at you.

"you're a loud eater," he says and you narrow your eyes at him, slurping purposely louder and causing him to lowly chuckle. he turns away so you can finish, biting his lip at the little content noises leaving you.

he hears you fiddle with the bag as you put the empty container away, a few moments of silence stretching between you two. you're still so stupidly touched by the gesture and it really shows just how deprived you are of kind people in your life. but how can you not be happy? it's a summer night and he's spent it bringing you over soup.

"you didn't have to do that, you know," you find yourself saying softly. because as nice as it was and as happy as you are, you would've never ever expected this from anyone.

he looks over at you when those words leave your mouth, resting his arm back against the couch cushions as he licks at his lip. "i wanted to," he tells you.

he wanted to because he feels guilty, you hear that voice in your head say, it has nothing to do with you and everything to do about his conscience. 

“it was my choice to try night swimming,” you say, voice quiet and shaky as you try to calm your facing hart. “it wasn't your fault so you don’t have to, like, feel bad or anything...”

“what aren't you getting?” he asks, the words immediately causing you to swallow nervously and look at him. “anything i do, i want to do. i'm never gonna feel inclined to do something just for the hell of it."

you bite the inside of your cheek at his words, sinking back into the couch defensively. his words and tone aren't mean or biting, more so just blunt and straight forward, but they still make you oddly nervous, nodding your head as a quiet "okay," eventually leaves your mouth.

and maybe it's because he doesn't answer that you blurt out some more things. things you really wish you hadn't said to him.

"it's just that...people normally don't wanna do those things for me." your voice is mousy and shaky and it's such a small thing to say but makes you feel incredibly vulnerable.

you can't help but think about how your parents have never made food for you while you were sick, how even after getting your tonsils removed or when you had a broken foot, they didn't cater to you in the slightest. they still made you walk to school and fend for yourself for dinner most nights, telling you that it wasn't their job to make your life easier.

and it’s not even like you have friends that could’ve done anything for you; most things you just do for yourself, apart from the times you’re here with your aunt.

"well i normally don't wanna do those things for people, so i guess we're both new to this.”

you turn your head to meet his gaze and he’s able to see just how much you really mean those words, your eyes twinged with sadness and confusion like you're trying to figure out what the hell he wants from you; but he doesn't really have an answer for that either, so you’ll be finding out together it seems.

a smile lights up your face before you look down at the cushion, pushing your hand into it and seeing the imprint pop up. "i guess," you say lowly. there's a warm feeling in your chest and a pulling in your stomach that really likes the sound of that, the both of you learning things together.

"now tell me," he says with a smirk, your head snapping up to meet his gaze again. "did you get sick the time you went skinny dipping?" 

your cheeks flush and you giggle into your hand, slapping his arm lightly causing him to smile. 

"is that a no?" he teases, your whine of "stop," causing him to smile.

you both stay out there until you can barely keep your eyes open, staying within safe topics of his friends and what else they like to do in this small beach town. you tell him about your aunt’s friends and how crazy the bingo nights can really get, a lot more sneaky cheaters than one would think.

"i think i wanna come to the next one," he hums lowly, a tired chuckle leaving your mouth as you shake your head. he can tell you’re getting tired by the droopiness of your eyes, a pink flush on your cheeks from the cold and he's half tempted to order you back inside.

but then you tiredly smile at him and he cant bring himself to leave you yet. he doesn't wanna go home to an empty house or back to that party when he could be here getting to know all about the...wholesome activities you do.

"they'll attack you," you mumble sleepily, remembering how all of the widowed woman attacked nancy's ex-boyfriend when she bought him once. "they're not used to men."

he smirks over as he looks at you, your eyes closed and head swaying in your hand before it falls off and onto the cushion. your eyes pop open and your cheeks burn, shaking away the drowsiness as you smile shyly.

"sorry. i shouldn't even be tired. i slept so much these past three days."

he can't help but smile over at you, shaking his head before looking over your cold, tired figure. "maybe you should go to bed."

but that's the last thing you wanna do; you wanna stay out here with him for just a little longer. because oddly enough, even though you haven’t known him very long, you missed his presence.

"no i'm okay," you insist with a smile, attempting to perk up. "unless you're tired."

"i'm good," he smirks, "do you have a blanket though?"

you jump up at the comment, ignoring the pounding in your head and the call of seonghwa's voice as you grab the white throw blanket at the end of your bed.

"here you go," you say, resting the blanket on his lap before sitting back down before you collapse. but then you think you might pass out anyway when he moves closer to you, taking the blanket from his lap and securing it around your body.

his hand lingers on your arm as he covers you completely, deeming you successfully warmed before he pulls back slightly.

"can't have you getting more sick," he mumbles, his long fingers playing with the end of the white fabric. you can only swallow nervously, not daring to move a muscle as his fingers rest on the blanket covering a part of your thigh.

and after a few moments of silence, attempting to control your ragged breathing between him and the cold, you hear him speak up again.

"y/n, it’s chilly, i really think you should-"

"no," you whine, a pout on your tired face as you lean the side of your head on the cushion. you look up at him and see his eyes move to your lips, lingering for a few moments before back at your face.

"you don't even know what i was gonna say," he says, his deep voice low but laced with amusement.

"you were gonna tell me to go inside," you say, quirking your eyebrows up playfully. "and i don't wanna."

"but you should," he hums, his hard gaze softening without his knowledge. 

you only shake your head with a small smile, burying it in to the soft purple cushion as your eyes move to watch the calmness of the beach. he allows himself a few extra moments to look over your face, that unfamiliar pulling feeling in his chest making him wanna reach out an place his arm around you. 

but he only keeps his hand on your leg, his long, ring-covered fingers toying with the blanket covering your pink pajamas pants.

and it only takes a few minutes for your eyes to close and body to relax again, seonghwa feeling a weight on his shoulder while he watches the dark waves crash. he looks down and sees your eyes are closed, breaths slow and even against his shirt and he shakes his head despite the small smile on his face.

he secures the blanket around you, admiring your sleeping face once more before he accepts the fact that, perhaps, you're about to change his whole summer.

(part 6)

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: The Real Housewives of Storybrooke (17/?)

A fic based on this premise here, following the lives of Storybrooke’s elite wives, with all the scandal, bitching and backstabbing that goes on behind the scenes of high society…

This verse is open for prompts!

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[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [Twelve] [Thirteen] [Fourteen] [Fifteen] [Sixteen] [AO3]

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REGINA

“Darling, you look like you could use a drink.”

A tumbler with a generous measure of amber liquid in it floated in front of Regina’s face, the ice cubes tinkling in time with the bracelets on the heavily laden hand that was holding it. She looked up to see Carrie de Ville giving her a sympathetic smile, and she accepted the whisky gratefully. 

Carrie sat down on the steps beside her. Regina had escaped out of the increasingly stuffy ballroom and come out for some fresh air, and once she had sat down, she knew that she wasn’t going to be getting up again in a hurry. Even though it had turned out for the best, the confrontation with Zelena had been exhausting, and Regina, for all she was the soul of the party at the best of times, wanted nothing more than to go home to bed. 

“I understand that there was a bit of a kerfuffle earlier,” Carrie said conversationally. Regina just groaned. “Don’t worry, I was on the other side of the room and it was a very quiet kerfuffle, but Robyn dragging her mother out was certainly a sight to behold.”

Regina sighed. “It’s my fault. I knew that she was going to make trouble, she as good as said that she was last night, but I’m just so sick of accommodating her to make sure that she doesn’t make trouble - and half the time even if I do pander to her then she makes trouble anyway - I just didn’t want to do it anymore.”

“No, I think you’ve done the right thing.” Carrie took a sip of her own drink. “She’s never going to learn if you let her have her own way all the time. She’s very much like a child in that respect. She’ll constantly push against her boundaries. Especially if we don’t enforce them. Still, from what I’ve heard, I think that these events will have put a dampener on her spirit, at least for a little while.” 

“Here’s hoping.” Regina raised her glass in a toast and chinked it against Carrie’s. “I think she might finally stop harassing Belle at any rate. Our little bookworm was absolutely magnificent earlier. I mean, she was magnificent when she was smacking Zelena in the face too, but tonight she was the epitome of calm disdain, I was amazed. You’d think she’d had that speech planned. And we’ve always known that Robyn has a tiny bit of influence over her mother. Maybe that can come into the fore now.”

“Here’s hoping. What was it all about, anyway?”

Regina shook her head. “It’s Belle and Cameron’s private business and not mine to share. I only know because I was in earshot of Zelena’s vitriol, so I’m pretending I haven’t heard until I’m told officially.”

“Ah, I see.” Carrie was grinning her conspiratorial grin, and Regina immediately knew that she’d figured it out for herself. Carrie was one of the Golds’ closest friends after all, and she of all people knew how desperately they wanted to have a child together. “Well, let’s put that away and not let it spoil the rest of the night. I think that the party’s been a great success. How much do you think you’ve managed to raise?”

“Enough to make a difference, hopefully. I should really get back in there, Mary Margaret will be making her speech soon and I promised that I’d be there to prod her in front of the microphone if she gets cold feet.”

“Ah, we’ve got time. How’s the fight going in the council chambers?”

“Really well. It’s almost in the bag, and Victoria Belfrey’s going to be spitting feathers soon. I must admit that it’s been fun watching Fiona try and scramble to save the situation. I wonder when I ought to tell her that there’s going to be an investigation into her taking bribes?”

“Oh, I think that should be a lovely surprise for her when she gets the letter, don’t you think?” Carrie winked. “We don’t want to be giving her any chance to weasel her way out of it all now, do we?”

“Carrie, sometimes I think you’re downright evil.”

“One of us has to be, and my shoulders are broad.”

“How come you get to come and hide out here and I don’t?” 

Regina looked over her shoulder to see Robin peering out of the door. He came over and sat down on her other side, pulling off his bow tie and loosening his shirt collar. As much as she loved it when he got nicely dressed up, Regina did have to admit that she liked it even better when the tuxedo started coming off, as it inevitably did towards this stage of the evening. 

“I was going to call Robyn,” he said. “I didn’t see her come back in after she pulled Zelena out and I was beginning to, well, not worry, but wonder.”

“Yes, probably a sound idea. I can’t say that I blame her if she’s decided not to come back out of embarrassment, but it would be a shame. Robyn likes a good party.”

Robin moved off to the side and took out his phone, and Carrie leaned into Regina’s side. 

“Come on. Let’s go back in and given Mary Margaret moral support through her speech, and then you can slope off home and get your wonderfully dishevelled man just where you want him. If you’re not too tired for that, of course.”

Regina felt like she was dead on her feet, but when it came to getting Robin out of formalwear, she could always find a little bit of energy in her reserves, and she smiled. Carrie gave a salacious wink and stood up, offering a hand to pull Regina off the steps. 

“I can’t bow out early,” she protested. “I’m hosting the thing.”

“Oh, nonsense.” Carrie waved away her worries with her whisky tumbler, amazingly not spilling any. “I can take over for you. You know that Ursula and I will be here to the bitter end, we always are.”

Regina remembered a few occasions when she’d held functions at her own house and Carrie and Ursula had ended up helping to clean up afterwards. She certainly couldn’t fault their dedication to getting the most out of every party.

“I suppose I can rely on that if nothing else,” she said. 

“Exactly. After everything you’ve had to put up with tonight, I think you deserve to take a breather.”

Robin finished his phone call then and came over to them. 

“She went to call Tilly but she’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Shall we go and hear Mary Margaret’s masterwork?”

Regina linked her arms through Carrie and Robin’s. “Yes. And then, it’s time to go home.”

X

MARY MARGARET

Mary Margaret was not used to making speeches, and she had to say that her maiden attempt had gone very well even if she did say so herself. Everyone had applauded at the end of it and no one had broken into giggles or awkward coughing fits halfway through, and there had been no horrible moments of stony silence. Still, it wasn’t an experience that she was going to want to repeat in a hurry, as much as she knew that it was excellent practice for the more hands-on role that she was now taking in her own company. 

David came over as she made her way towards the bar for a pick-up after stepping away from the microphone. 

“I think you did great,” he said. “Now you can put it all away and never have to make a public appearance again.”

It wasn’t going to be quite that simple, of course, not when the Trust was going to be at the forefront of the conservation efforts in Storybrooke; Mary Margaret knew that she had just established herself as the figurehead of the fight against Belfrey Developments. Victoria Belfrey and Fiona Black were both conspicuously absent from the party, and Mary Margaret hoped that meant that the tide of public opinion was turning against them. 

“Well, I can hope so.” They made it to the bar and as tempted as Mary Margaret was to order a quadruple vodka and tonic to lay her out for the rest of the evening, she stuck to wine. 

“Darling, I think that was a triumph.” Carrie de Ville came over and air-kissed her on both cheeks. “It’s almost a shame that the enemy isn’t here to have heard it.” 

Mary Margaret had never quite known how to handle Carrie, who was larger than life at the best of times and even larger once she had several units of alcohol inside her. She certainly wouldn’t want to come up on the wrong side of her and she was very glad that they were united in the stand against Belfrey. 

Regina and Robin had followed Carrie over and waited until she was distracted ordering refills before speaking to Mary Margaret.

“That was really good, Mary. I don’t think you need to worry.” Regina smiled. “Robin and I are going home now. I think Carrie’s decided to take hosting duties upon herself, although if she drinks any more whisky then Ursula might have to take her home in a wheelbarrow.”

Mary Margaret eyed up Carrie’s tumbler dubiously. “Yes, I can quite see that happening. Are you ok? I saw that there was a bit of drama with Zelena earlier but I wasn’t close enough to hear what was going on.”

“Yes, she was just being her usual self, but I think the wind’s been taken out of her sails somewhat now. All the same, it’s been exhausting trying to deal with her, and I think I need to go and lie down and not think about anything for about a week.”

“Well, I think you deserve that. You go and enjoy the rest of your evening in peace. Now that all the talking’s done, I can’t see people hanging around for a lot longer.”

“Oh, I don’t know. There’s still a lot of food available and the queue for the bar isn’t getting any shorter. You know Storybrooke. We may not be a particularly large place but we do love any opportunity for a good party.”

Goodbyes were said and Regina and Robin made their way towards the exit. 

“Do you want to bow out too?” David asked. 

Mary Margaret looked around at the ballroom and the party still in full swing.

“No, I think I’m good to stay for a while. We haven’t had a proper date night for ages. Might as well make use of the babysitter.”

David smiled. “I like the way you think.”

[katladreemurr]

Limes

Masterlist

( By sharksofwrath on Reddit)

When I was sixteen I had a summer job delivering groceries for the local Mom and Pop market. It was 1994, and the AC in my old mustard yellow station wagon was not keeping up with the blistering July heat. After my fifth delivery of the day, I sat in the break room of the store putting my hair up and laying some wet paper towels on my neck. As much I begged my manager not to, he insisted I wear the polyester brown pants and orange polo shirt that was the standard uniform. I tried to tell him that the inevitable pit stains I would suffer at the hands of my sauna of a car would be off-putting to customers, but he wouldn't hear it.

I was just starting to cool off when the boss man barreled in the swinging door.

"Hey Steph, we got another delivery for you," he waved a receipt in front of my face.

I groaned and put my head on the table.

"C'mon kiddo, you could be out chasing carts all day like Robbie. Plus, it's only one item, and it isn't too far."

"Too far" ended up being about 15 miles out of town. The drive only took about twenty minutes, but that's a road trip in small-town time. Sticky beads of sweat were running down both sides of my face, and my throat was burning from the smell of my engine protesting the heat.

I glared at the box of limes in my back seat through my rearview mirror. That was all the customer ordered. A single, goddamn, twenty-pound box of limes. What could possibly prompt someone to order an entire box of limes on the hottest day of the year? They weren't on sale, so that ruled out obsessive "couponers", those housewives who spent their lives trying to save a penny on a gallon of hand soap. And, considering we were a dry county, I doubted it was some sort of last-minute margarita emergency.

After passing mile after mile of cornfields and turnip patches, I turned my car onto a dirt road leading up to what looked like an old ranch that had been out of commission for a long time. It was lined with broken wooden fences, overgrown weeds baked by the sun, and bails of rusting chicken wire were scattered to either side. My car was creating a massive dust cloud, but through the haze, I made out a two-story farmhouse about a hundred yards away. That was when I realized it wasn't just dust I was trying to see through, steam and smoke billowed out of the hood. My engine had finally had it. I turned off my car, glaring at the house.

I hoped the owners could spare a cup of coolant when I got to the door, or at least their phone so I could call my dad. Peeling myself off the vinyl seats and into the dusty heat, I grabbed my citrusy cargo and headed off.

The distance hadn't seemed so bad when I was driving, but now it just looked further with every step. The box just kept getting heavier. The heat was bringing out the oil in the lime's skin, their perfume-like smell hit me in the face, stinging my eyes like they were mocking me. Doesn't everything feel so personal when you're a teenager?

When I finally got to the porch of the old house, sweat was running into my eyes, I dramatically dropped the box and banged on the screen door. A scraggly man, who looked to be in his late 20s opened the interior door. He stared at me with a confused look on his face.

"Y-you're not Robbie," he wrung his hands together.

"Um, no, I'm Stephanie. I brought your box of limes, and I was hoping I could--"

"I thought they would send Robbie," he was agitated.

"No, Robbie backed his car into Mrs. Adjimi's mailbox last week, so they took him off deliveries. Also, I was really wondering if I could use your phone."

"My what?" he looked at me wildly.

Looking back, it was definitely stupid to insist that the irate and unkempt man, who clearly did not want me to be there, let me inside his house.

"Your phone, it's just, my car died and I need to call my dad to pick me up," I pleaded.

"You see," he said through clenched teeth, "I ordered this heavy box thinking they would send him for sure. What are they thinking sending a girl out to the middle of nowhere with a twenty-pound box?" His eyes darted around the yard behind me.

"I mean, he gets off work at six, if you wanted to hang with him. Are you a friend his older brother or something?"

That seemed to make him chill out. He held the screen door open, "come on in, you can use the phone."

The house felt too still and unlived in. It was hotter inside than out, and it didn't have that "house" smell. You know, the smell of cooking and cleaning supplies or the general smell people leave when they occupy a space. It was just the dry smell of the dirt and dust that coated every surface in the house.

The man led me to the kitchen and gestured for me to sit at a table that was nestled between the counter and the back door. He picked up the lemon yellow phone off the base on the wall and listened, like he wasn't sure if it was going to have a dial tone or not, then handed the receiver to me.

"What's the number?" he turned his back, his finger poised to dial for me.

"Oh, I can just do it myself," I had known since kindergarten not to give my phone number to strangers.

He didn't move, just stood there, silent. After 30 seconds or so of this awkward standoff, I practically screamed out the number. I was so annoyed. My teenage brain was more embarrassed and irritated than scared. I was obviously bothering this guy. Plus, he was letting me call my dad. The killers on 20/20 never let their victims just call for help.

"I-it's ringing," I looked up and said sheepishly to him.

"Roberts' Manufacturing, this is Joyce, how may I help you," an overly cheerful voice answered.

"Mrs. Bergman, it's Steph, is my Dad there? It's really important," the man was now seating himself across the table from me, watching me.

"Oh sure, honey. Let me get him for you," her voice was muffled as she covered the receiver, "Trey, your daughter is on the phone, she says it's important."

I heard my dad's deep voice, though I couldn't make out what he was saying, just knowing he was there made me feel much better. I realized I was a lot more nervous than I thought I had been. "Hold on honeybunch, he's on a call, it'll be just a minute," Mrs. Bergman's chirpy tone annoyed me; and, before I could argue that my call was more important, she had put me on hold.

The man started to drum his fingers on the filthy table.

"I'm sorry, my dad is on a call, his secretary put me on hold," I tried to smile at him. He just stared at me with his pale blue eyes. They seemed to bore a hole in me. I felt like he was watching me make sure I didn't reveal something to my dad, what that was I didn't know. I couldn't help but feeling like I needed to lie though, I just didn't know what to lie about.

A minute turned to two, or at least it felt that way. I could tell the man felt the same way. He got up suddenly and began pacing the small kitchen. I focused my attention on the table in front of me. Just pick up, Dad, come on, please...

After five minutes had passed I knew my dad had forgotten that I had called, he was probably in the shop and didn't see the little red light blinking on the phone. Mrs. Bergman had to leave early every Thursday and had most likely taken off right after she put me on hold. I was frozen through, I couldn't bring myself to put the phone down. It was like I could see through that little red light blinking in my dad's office. I could see all that was safe. Did that mean that I wasn't safe?

Just as that thought crossed my mind I was suddenly ripped from my chair. The man's bony fingers dug into my arm. I yelled and tried to pull away, but his grasp was too strong. I tried desperately to grab onto anything in the kitchen. I finally turned my head and bit him on the hand as hard as I could. He let go and I fell to the floor. I crawled toward the back door, on the way I grabbed for the cord of the telephone. I maniacally started screaming for my dad, hoping to God that he would pick up and hear me. The man grabbed me by the ankle and pulled, I was on all fours so that caused me to come crashing straight down on my chin. He dragged me across the floor, I was dazed and couldn't even think to kick to free myself.

He stood me up and shoved me in a closet. My forehead banged hard into the coat rack, my ears rang and I slunk down to the ground as he slammed the door shut. I was in complete darkness. I heard the sound of heavy furniture being dragged across the floor, then being forced up against the door. I was trapped. After a few minutes, I heard a truck start up and drive away. I tried with all my might to make that door budge, I thrust my shoulder into the door as hard as I could, over and over again until I heard a loud pop followed by the worst pain I had ever felt. Despite the pain, somehow I fell asleep. I awoke to sirens and men's voices.

I screamed as loud as I could, which wasn't very. My throat was coated with dust, and I was incredibly dehydrated. Thankfully though, an officer heard me.

"Over here!" was followed by the furniture in front of the door being moved.

My parents were waiting outside by the ambulance. When they saw me, my mother broke down in tears and my father began yelling about finding whoever did this. After all, that time had passed, my face had turned into a horror show. I was bleeding from my chin and forehead, and everything was swollen and bruised.

I was laying in my hospital bed when Robbie's mom came rushing in. She had red hair like Robbie did. In my morphine haze, I could only make out every other thing she said to me. She grabbed my hand and begged me to tell her where Robbie was. He had disappeared without a trace. Well, both of us had. We were both off at six, neither of us had come home. When both our parents contacted the store, my manager told them I had gone out to the country to make a delivery. He suggested that Robbie must have met up with me and we were probably off "being teenagers" out on a ditch bank somewhere.

When they saw my car at the end of the dirt road, they thought they would find us both. When they saw no trace of either of us, they came back to town and called the police so they could search the house.

I told them everything I could about the man, about how he had asked about Robbie and was expecting him when I arrived. Everyone was confused. His parents had no idea who this man could be, or why he would have wanted Robbie.

I didn't know why the man hadn't killed me, or maybe he thought he had. Maybe he thought I would die out there, in that hot and dusty house, alone in the dark.

A week later I received my first lime. It was sitting on the front porch when I got home after a much needed day of watching bad movies and eating junk food at a friend's house. I tossed it into the yard, not thinking much of it.

The next one came only a few days after that. It was on the desk in my room. I ran downstairs and told my parents. They contacted the police. The police had already searched the old house, but they searched again. I told them that the man had to have gone back for the box. I knew there was no way he would have risked going into our one and only grocery store just to buy limes to mess with me.

They searched the house and again found nothing. Less than nothing, because I was right, the box of limes was gone.

For months after that, I was tormented. There never seemed to be any rhyme or reason for why he was doing this. I would find them on the hood of my car, in our mailbox, once in a coat pocket. They began showing up rotted and soft. I was able to smell them before I saw them, that overly sweet smell of decaying fruit. Every time I told my parents, they told the police, and nothing was found. Not even a shoe print outside my window.

I tried going to Robbie's parents, but my ramblings about finding fruit everywhere just upset his mother, and his father asked me to leave.

After senior year I attended college in Alaska. I wanted to get as far away as I possibly could from my stalker. One day, during my first Alaskan winter, I received a package from home. Well, from my home address anyway. It wasn't from home. It was from him. Inside, nestled in a bed of fake cotton snow was a black and shriveled lime.

Did you know that there are approximately one hundred limes in a twenty pound box? During the previous year and a half I had probably received about ninety-something. I finally understood his message.

I walked down the hallway of my dorm to the shared phone. My stomach turned sour and I felt bile burn the back of my throat. Luckily, it was late on a Friday and most of my floor was out partying, so I didn't have to wait my turn. I dialed my parent's number.

"Hello," my mother answered, nothing in her voice indicated anything was amiss, but she has a great phone voice.

"Mom, did they find Robbie," my voice was shaky. I knew the answer.

"Oh--oh God, Stephanie, how did you hear about that so fast? Your father just got off the phone with one of his friends down at the precinct. They thought we should know. You're so far away though, honey, you have nothing to--" "It was the limes, Mom. They were counting down. He was letting me know that Robbie was still alive. I could have done something, I could have helped him somehow!"

"No, honey, this is in no way your fault," her soothing voice was just too far away to work.

"I told him when Robbie was off work. I made him let me inside. I could have just left, I could have hitchhiked back to the store and told him some creep was asking about him. I should have called the police instead of Dad--" I was hyperventilating. All I wanted was my mom to hold me, but I had selfishly run away. I ran away instead of trying to find him.

I hung up the phone and ran down the hallway to my room. I curled up in bed and stayed there for days.

It took me twenty-three years to look up what had happened to Robbie. I couldn't bring myself to know what sort of state his body had been found in. What the man had done to him.

Robbie Jensen was found propped up against the door of the grocery store we had worked at. He was wrapped in plastic sheeting. Our old manager found him around 4am when he arrived to work the opening shift. He was missing several teeth. Some had been removed, some were broken. The tips of both his index fingers were gone, one of them was almost healed, the other was fresh. He had been sexually assaulted with foreign objects, likely one of them was a broken bottle. Robbie had also been castrated postmortem. He died from a gunshot to the head.

I never wanted to know all that. Even without all that knowledge rattling around in my brain, I've had to attend years of therapy. They say I have an extreme case of survivor's guilt, as well as the paranoia the stalking left behind.

I never wanted to know. I have to know. Today, my son came home from school and handed me a letter. He said it was in his locker, but it had been addressed to me; probably something from his counselor about his English grade.

Before it reached my hand, I could smell it, that citrusy perfume. The envelope was doused in it. Inside was a receipt for a twenty-pound box of limes. At the top in slanted handwriting was my son's name.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Numb- Epilogue

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10- END

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Genre: angst/ fluff

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sexy times

Word count: 2788

   “She’s not here is she?”    “Buck, they’re just running late, that’s all.”    “No, Steve! She probably has realised what a mistake she’s made and now has run off with the pool boy!”    Steve threw his head back in frustration and grumbled out a ‘you really need to stop watching ‘Desperate Housewives’. “Y/N has not run off, okay? Just… let me call Wanda.”    But right on cue, Pietro whizzed to them, the man’s silver hair dishevelled, while he tried to smooth down the tux, Wanda standing on her own two feet after being carried by the speedster. The navy dress hugged her sides perfectly, her long ginger hair swept over her left shoulder and bouncing in perfect curls.    “You guys need to come.”    Bucky immediately straightened out. “Is Y/N okay? Did something happen?”    “Yes, something did,” Wanda snapped back as she went to talk to the man standing beside the two super soldiers. “So I suggest you run.”    The pair took off in a dead-sprint, eyes of other people following their movements filled with worry. They had just entered the mansion when Steve’s phone rang.    “Yeah, Nat. We’re on our way. What’s going on?”    The brunet couldn’t help the clench in his heart as he saw his friend’s eyebrows furrow.    “Cancel? What?”    Bucky’s head immediately hung, eyes welling with tears at the verbal confirmation of what he’d been fearing for the past year.

   “How long?” Steve questioned further and that made Bucky frown. Usually, when you call off a wedding it’s permanently.    “Ok,” Cap replied, “we’ll be right there.”    “What? What is it?” Bucky’s body flushed with fear at the thought of anything bad having happened to Y/N.    “She’s locked herself in the bathroom and won’t come out. She threw water on the floor and zaps anybody that even tries to come close.”    The two men walked into what was Y/N’s room to find the rest of her bridesmaids all ready to go without the bride herself.    “Finally,” Nat stood up and sauntered into the hallway. “Get your girl in check and call us back when things are on track. I have no desire to walk in these heels with my toes fried off.”    Bucky quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t question it, turning his full attention to the locked white oak door, where Y/N had barricaded herself in.    “Doll? It’s me. Can you let me in?”    There wasn’t a reply, only a soft sob, indicating that the woman was crying.    “Darling please, talk to me. Why do you want to cancel the wedding?”    Suddenly the door sprung open to reveal a dishevelled Y/N. Her makeup was completely smudged, black mascara and eyeliner running down her cheeks and across her temples, her hair was a mess, having come undone from the beautiful braids that had been pinned to her scalp in a bun. The white hotel robe was tearstained and with dark smudges from her eyeshadow, while cream lipstick adorned the collar. “Because everything is ruined.” Y/N threw her body at Bucky and he easily caught her, his strong arms enveloping the woman in a warm embrace.    “Shh, nothing is ruined, honey. Everything is perfect.”    “No, it’s not,” Y/N pulled back from him.    “See that?” the woman pointed at what looked like a giant ball of white lace. “That was supposed to be my wedding dress. Now it’s ripped in half! It was Tony’s mother’s dress! And it’s ruined! I ruined it!” Y/N cried harder remembering how Pepper had been rummaging through Tony’s old storage units and stumbled upon the beautiful vintage gown. Diamond beads hung from the off the shoulder neckline, her fingers trailing the intricate design. She had immediately known that it would be perfect for Y/N. With a little bit of tweaking here and there, it would entwine the modern of the twenty-first century and give life to the olden days. Once Tony had found out about Pepper’s discovery they had given it to Y/N as a wedding gift.    “Those were my shoes,” she pointed at the off-white pumps. Well, a pump as the other one was clearly missing a heel, in fact, the whole sole had been ripped open.    “But best of all- the engagement ring is missing! I’ve scoured every inch of this place and it’s gone! Buck, it’s gone! Everything has turned to shit and this was supposed to be our special day! And it’s all my fault.”    Bucky glanced at her ring finger on which for a year had sat a beautiful silver band with a little diamond rectangle in the centre of it. Yet now there was nothing, only her skin in a slightly lighter shade than the rest of her body. The man still recalled how nervous he’d been when he had uttered those words.    He hadn’t planned it, though the little black box had been sitting in the back of one of their drawers for a good five months. It had been a simple evening, the rest of the team were out bar-hooping, while the two lovebirds stayed inside, having come back from a three-week long mission and wanting nothing more than to sleep and cuddle.    Y/N’s eyes had drowsily followed along the story of ‘Stardust’ and it was right at the end when Yvonne shone so brightly it obliterated the old witch, Bucky knew that there was not going to be a perfect moment, no matter how hard one tried to make it. There was only now. So with his nose still hidden in Y/N’s Y/H/C hair, he uttered the little phrase that sent her heart reeling.    “What?” with wide eyes she looked back at him, now fully awake.    “Marry me,” Bucky cupped her cheek.    “Y-you’re serious right now?”    He was looking over her features trying to decipher what was going on in Y/N’s mind, but he couldn’t, seeing only disbelief. “I've never been more serious about anything in my life.”    The girl had looked at him for a long minute without uttering a word, Bucky didn’t think she was even breathing, but then her lips crashed against his and the heavy make-out session turned into the most mind-blowing sex he’d ever had.    Only when Bucky felt his brain go back to normal, the stars disappearing from behind his lids as well as the haze from his thoughts, with very wobbly and shaky legs did he stand up, and went to retrieve the ring. He was almost unable to open the drawer as he had to lean against the wardrobe from being a bit lightheaded.    He had returned back to their bed, Y/N laying on it still completely naked, her eyes closed as her body spammed one last time from the best orgasm she’d ever had. She slowly looked to her left and felt how Bucky pushed the little silver circle on her ring finger. It glimmered in the moonlight and the soft smile that appeared the man’s face as he looked down at her was the best companion to it.    “I love you, Bucky Barnes,” Y/N leaned in and deeply kissed the Avenger before hugging him tightly and stroking his sweat-covered back. They had fallen asleep like that, in one another’s arms, and now, seeing the woman so broken, so frustrated in what was supposed to be their happiest day, his heart hurt with her.    “Y/N it’s alright. We’ll figure something out. We don’t have to cancel the wedding.”    “Are you kidding me?” she looked up at Bucky. “And what am I supposed to wear? My ‘Ninja Turtles’ pj’s and Sam’s ‘My Little Pony’ blanket as my veil? Should I wear Wanda’s barbie pink flip-flops as well? I was supposed to be walking down the aisle twenty minutes ago. I was supposed to be your wife by now.”    Bucky felt his heart speed up at the word ‘wife’, especially with how defeated Y/N looked.    “Listen,” he sighed and picked the woman up, placing her against his chest while he himself sat down on a plush chair. Instantly she curled up into his side, the man’s arms stroking down her arms and things. “I don’t know if this is going to help at all, but in the morning, I was ready to call it off as well. I couldn’t find my socks, I looked everywhere, I checked all the bags and there was nothing. My mind kept telling me that if all the little things are not in place, it’s not worth it to even try. But then, when I looked down and saw that they were already on my feet I realised I had panicked about nothing. Because it doesn’t matter if things are perfect. When you’re with the right person, they will be no matter what. I love you,” he brushed away a stray tear that slowly rolled down Y/N’s cheek, “and even if I had to stand in front of everybody in my boxers I would. If that made you happy, I’d do it. I’d do anything. So if you wanna call off the wedding, we can, but I just want you to know, that it doesn’t matter to me if you have the most expensive dress and the most outrageous jewellery. You’re mine and I’m yours. No matter what.”    “Yeah,” Y/N whined out, “but the difference is that you actually have clothes to wear. I have nothing. All my makeup is ruined and so is my hair.”    Bucky was just about to reply when a panting Natasha burst into the room.    “Barnes, get out. We have a bride to prepare.”    Wanda barrelled in next followed by Maria and Nakia, all of them carrying different items.    “Leave and wait by the altar. She’ll be ready in half an hour. And if you’re not there I’ll rip that metal arm of yours off and shove it down your throat so far,  you’ll be shitting vibranium for the rest of your life.” Nat spoke up before pulling Y/N out of his lap.    The man chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to her lips, barely avoiding the kick Hill sent to his butt.

   Bucky fidgeted with the cufflinks until music fluttered through the air, his blue eyes immediately going to where Y/N stood at the end of the aisle. His breath hitched in his throat when he saw her. The ivory dress was light, the pretty much non-existent winds still managed to make it flutter through the air. Her hair was down from the bun and now freely went over her shoulders, a beige flower tucked behind her ear. The smokey eye was nowhere to be seen, her makeup barren and natural, accentuating her already beautiful features. Bucky instantly recognised the gown as Pepper's as she was going to wear it on the second day of the wedding, though now, seeing Y/N in it, there was no doubt in his mind, that this was the dress.    Her hand was linked through Tony’s as he led the woman towards who was going to be her husband. Her feet were bare, and soundless making Bucky think, she was an actual angel that had decided to stay on Earth, leaving heaven behind only to be with him.    He didn’t hear a word the priest said, his attention fully on Y/N. In a way, he was terrified he’d miss when the ‘I do’s’ were gonna have to be said, but Bucky didn’t spare a second once the question was asked, a blinding grin adorning his face when he heard Y/N reply as well.    Wife. She was his wife and he was her husband. He just stared at her, unable to stop his smile and the warm feeling floating through this body. Until he heard snickering and snapped out of the daze. The guests were giggling as was Y/N. Bucky’s brows furrowed in confusion, but then he felt a soft tug on his jacket.    He looked back and saw Dominic, the boy clearly trying to suppress laughter as he held out the little pillow on which two golden rings sat on. Bucky had watched the boy grow up to be good, nothing like what his mother was. His father had kept in touch with the super soldier allowing him to explain why Katrina was locked in a prison, why she had been forbidden to contact him and when Dom had grown up enough to understand the error of her ways, he forgave the woman, yet told Bucky he didn’t want to have any sort of communication with her.    “I don’t want to have her in my life when she hurt you. For no reason at all.”    “Dom, you’re young and whatever happened between me and her, it’s our business. She’s still your mom.”    “If she truly was, then she would’ve realised how important you were to my me. And how much you cared for Y/N. You made me happy when things were bad, so I wanted you to be happy as well. But what she did made you completely opposite. She's not my mom. Just somebody who pretended to be.”    Bucky chuckled as he took the ring and turned back to Y/N. Once the engagement had been announced, he invited both Dominic and his dad to the wedding, asking the boy to be the ring-bearer.    “You know, if there was anybody I thought who could possibly lose a ring, I thought it would’ve been him,” Bucky pressed a kiss to Y/N’s knuckles. “Wife.”    “Hush,” she shushed him, but the smirk never left her face. Her fingers delicately slipped a copy of her own ring onto Bucky’s finger, the little loop clicking in place when it found the spot. T’Challa and Shuri had specifically designed a new arm for him so that when they married the band wouldn’t slip and fall. So that it would become one with the limb. Like Y/N would become one with his soul.    “…. I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the b-“ but the priest didn’t get the chance to finish the sentence when Bucky’s lips were already on Y/N’s, hands woven around her waist and pulling their bodies flush together. And she could reply with nothing else but the same passion.

   The newlyweds themselves had slipped away a while back. They sat in one of the swing sofas by the ocean under some palm trees, Y/N’s legs thrown over Bucky’s. His shoes were discarded in the white sand while the jacket covered her shoulder, keeping the girl warm from the gentle winds.    “I love you” he whispered, cupping Y/N’s jaw and bringing their lips together as the morning sun peeked it’s head over the water, painting the world in pinks and oranges and yellows.    “I love you too,” she replied once Bucky allowed them to come up for air. “And I’m sorry. For this morning. I shouldn’t have said that I wanted to cancel the wedding. It was the last thing I’d ever want to do.”    “ ’S okay. What’s important that it all worked out in the end.”    Y/N hummed and looked out in the distance “I guess it did…”    The unsure response made Bucky look down and he saw the woman chewing on her lip absentmindedly. “What’s wrong?”    “I don’t- I,” she huffed, “it’s just that I feel bad for overreacting, but also I have been dying to tell you something and I’m terrified of how you'll react.”    “Doll, you know that you can tell me anything. Nothing you say will ever make me stop loving you. Besides, a) we’re married, so breaking things off would be kinda hard and b) I don’t wanna repeat what happened last time when we held on to our feelings.”    Y/N snorted and gazed up at Bucky, her palm pressing against his cheek. “No, nothing like that. It’-umm- it’s more important than that.”    “Nothing’s more important than love.”    The woman smiled and took his hand, placing it on her stomach. “I think taking care of a baby is.”    Bucky was stunned looking up and down from Y/N’s eyes to her belly. “A baby?” he managed to get out through a sob.    “Yeah,” her lips quirked up. “A baby.”    And this time it wasn’t the girl having a full on mental breakdown. But Y/N wasn’t afraid that Bucky didn’t want to have a kid with her, in fact, she was happy as he pressed his lips against her skin, whispering ‘thankyouthankyouthankyou’ in her chest. Yet little did they know that in eight months time there wouldn’t be just one mini-Barnes running around, but two, making both adults wish they hadn’t quit the Avenger’s life when Y/N started showing, feeling like saving the world had been easier than tying your shoes. Though for now, they basked in the incredible feeling that was love and their new-founded family.

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A/N: and this ride has come to an end! thank you for sticking through and I hope you enjoyed it :))

P.S. if you wanna be tagged in future stories or have any requests, drop a message :)

P.S.S. feedback is always appreciated

P.S.S.S. please, don’t repost without credit :)

[monsterfanfic]

Chapter 14: Kissing

        3rd  Perspective

“Aye, come here Babygirl.” Tone’s voice rung through the master bedroom of the Hamptons home smoothly as he sat on the king size bed, fully dressed, waiting on Eva to finally finish her make up for the two of them to enjoy their last day of the small city and her “Fall Break”.

“I’m almost done. One more second.”

“I ain’t talking’ bout no damn make up, Eva. Come here.” Antonio responded with, repeating himself as he stared down at the famous black and teal colored Tiffany and Co. jewelry boxes. He brought the gifts with him from New York planning to present them as Thanksgiving gifts, however the day didn’t plan out as so and he was left to keep them for another day.

Today

“Whatever. Every time we get ready to go somewhere you are rushing my makeup process.”

“Cause you don’t need it.” Tone mumbled, opening the top cover as she stepped to his now incredibility still frame.

“Wow,” He heard Eva’s sudden gasp. The sound sending chills down his spine. He was nervous. This could be a huge mistake and maybe even Eva could sense that coming from his posture.

“I kept this shit throughout the drive down here. Told Jay bout this shit and even asked God for guidance with this shit. Do you wanna know the last time I asked that man for guidance, Babygirl? I’ve been doing shit my way for the longest and then you come ‘round here and I got me thinking, trying not to fuck up again with you. I know you remember me walkin’ in all bloody and pissed. You wasn’t supposed to see that shit, Eva. But I don’t regret not covering myself up. Not cleaning myself up. Ion regret not apologizing bout the shit, ‘cause you need to see me for me. Not some damn fairy tale, savior, Prince Charming. I ain’t your love story, Babygirl, and I hope you don’t go running for the hills knowin’ that now, ‘cause I hate to track you down and drag you back into my misery,

I brought this because I want you to understand, I’m not ready for marriage and quite frank, neither are you, but did again this ain’t no damn promise ring, wearing my necklace shit either. It’s the closest thing to a ring that I can give you. ‘Cause I don’t wanna lose you and yeah, I’ma fuck up. A lot. But never too much and never doing shit you can’t handle. But I ask that you kept it together. Keep that smile, that damn laugh that I’m addicted to. Keep talking yo’ shit so I know that I finally got somebody to answer to. So, with all that said, Eva, will you take my Thanksgiving gift to you? Showing my gratitude, how thankful I am for you being here.”

The silent tears rolling down her face wasn’t hurtful, nothing close to dreadful and Tone appreciated it. For once, he felt like he was doing something that his heart wanted him to do. Something that made him happy, even if it did come at an expense.

“I love you, Antonio.” The small words left her mouth freely as Tone stood behind her petite frame, clamping the fasteners of her new pieces of jewelry.

“Don’t say it unless you mean it.” He responded, his lips finding her neck and kissing her softly in random spots as he finished the short job of finishing her attire for the day.

“I wouldn’t have said it unless I meant it.”

———————

“Before we go, I made a promise to Jayson, I’ll stop by his spot and grab something.”  Eva’s attention seized from her neck to the man standing before her. The two of them had been in Crystal Mall for the past forty minutes and hadn’t picked up anything besides food from the centered court of the shopping area. In true nature, neither of them was big on Black Friday shopping, and Eva let it be known the entire time they were in the shopping plaza.

“Do I have to get out?”

“It would be respectful considering I don’t know how long I’m gon’ be in there.”

Eva contemplated his response. She’s trying to understand Jayson and Antonio’s relationship. Tone says he’s a father figure and she know that’s important to anyone who experiences it. She on the other hand, didn’t, but won’t rain on his parade about her issues or her beliefs against Jayson. Besides, the quicker the easier she can get back to NYU to the note her mother had written her.

“Okay but remember Housewives of ATL come on at nine and I want to be back in time to catch it on time.”

“Girl, that fake ass reality shit.”

“Excuse you, sir. That fake ass reality shit host some of my favorite celebrities.”

Antonio laughed at her responses, wrapping his arm around her waist as they went backwards towards the parking lot on the east side of the building.

“Well reevaluate your favs, love. I hate to see you suffering from them.”

Shrugging from his touch, Eva looked over her shoulder at Antonio, the words coming from his mouth being the last thing she expected to her from someone who is so “unjudgmental” as he claims. Besides, not to throw him under the bus, but Tone is the last to give evidence on role models and watching or matching one’s growth. Eva may not know Jayson the best, but she knows one thing, once a monster, always a monster. Jayson isn’t letting up this lifestyle, regardless of what Antonio may say or even believe.

“You’re not going to pick up some dead body to get off his hands, are you?”

Eva’s question cut through their silence on the ride back into the small town which Antonio’s home was. They’ll soon be approaching it actually, but she knew better. Jayson had to live closely by where they were staying.

“You think, I’ll put a body in this car?” Eva looked around at the Telsa she would usually drive to and from classes as of lately. No, she didn’t think so, honestly. But it’s worth questioning.

“Probably not....”

“No, Eva I wouldn’t. Besides, you’re here and Jayson has his girl over there too.”

“His girl?” Eva asked, the surprise shining through her voice as her head turned towards his slanted body in the driver seat beside her.

“Jayson is grown, Babygirl. He can have a girlfriend.”

“It’s not that, jackass,” Eva said, slightly punching his side in her own defense. “Just the fact a woman would love him or.... nothing.”

“You said you loved me,”

“I said, I love you. Thanks.” Eva’s quick-tempered response made him laugh aloud, his eyes narrowing, as he turned to her.

“We might need to pull over and get a quickie in before we get on this road, ‘cause this snapping and attitude you have is steaming from something deep in you.”

“Look, Antonio, I’m just saying, you’re no Jayson.”

“And if you asked either one of us, you’ll learn that in fact I’m a lot damn worst than Jayson, Babygirl.”

Tone pulled into the driveway of what Eva figured was Jayson house. The two-story home sat in front of a lake-front, a brick circled driveway in front of two-sided heavy wood brown doors of light gray bricked home. Classical and yet modern, she could tell from the clean-ness of the driveway the man didn’t stay here much.

“Come on,”

“Yes! You two finally made it.” The young brown-skin girl standing in front of Eva and Tone made her almost take a double look. She’s gorgeous and regardless, of what she may have pictured or thought moments ago, this young girl had a natural innocent glow around her. Nothing that Jayson deserved honestly.

“What’s up, Lex?” Tone’s hands left Eva’s temporarily as he wrapped the young woman in his arms, giving her the most genuine hug Eva’s ever witness him give someone. It’s almost like jealously running through her in the moment watching them.

“Lex, Eva. Eva this is Alexis, Jayson’s girl.”

“Nice to meet you, Alexis.” Eva went to reach out for her hand, implying for a proper hand shake, but instead the small petite frame in front of her was soon wrapped around her body, matching the hug she had just given Antonio.

“Come, come. East, Jayson is back in his study on the second floor. Go on, let me talk to Eva.”

Antonio looked at Eva, placing a sweet kiss on her cheek before disappearing up the stairs of the luxury home.

“You want some wine, Eva?”

For a slight second, Eva watched Alexis float around the grand kitchen, her bare feet moving as if this was natural and home to her. Eva noticed her moving to the flute glasses inside of a glass-door cabinet on the top shelves, pulling out two matching gold flutes.

“Yes, anything would be nice.”

“You’re really beautiful, Eva. Antonio always speaks so highly of you whenever he’s around. I told him numerous time to bring you around for us to hang and get to know each other.” Eva watched carefully as Alexis pour the wine into both glasses, going back to the refrigerator to replace the bottles and then handing over one to Eva.

Eva’s eyes stared at the young girl before her. Alexis wasn’t old, nowhere near. Actually, she and Eva looked and appeared to be the same age.

“You would befriend me?”

The question seemed to surprise Alexis. The shock expression on her face followed by a low grin as she stepped to Eva. 

“You’re amazing. I can tell just from your aura that you have a strong spirit. Of course, I would befriend you, Eva. Anyone my fiancé let’s into his home is worth trusting.”

Jayson trusts me. 

“Of course,” Eva nodded. Her head shaking in disbelief. “How long have you and Jayson been together.”

“About five years now. On and off, I was like you in the beginning. Not able to wrap my head around the man who had such interest in me. The things he did. The stories I heard,” Eva couldn’t ignore the slight shutter in her voice as Alexis spoke. “But eventually I noticed my role. Not to be scared but to ease his mind and tame his damaged soul. The sooner you realize that, Eva. The better off you are. Tone is desperate for you. Trust me.”

“I guess maybe we should hang more.” Eva said, her eyes floating to the glass over wine in front of her before taking a sip.

“You’ve been around for 5 years, Alexis. Any dirt on the man you claim needs me so desperately.”

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT Rewatch: 1X01 - Pilot

Who says you can’t go home?

The “Pilot” of Once Upon a Time is almost divine in how adored it is. I write this intro just as I prepare to press play on it, and I feel an undeniable tension in my heart. Is there anything that can be said about this episode that hasn’t been said a hundred times before? Am I able to say hello again so soon after saying goodbye?

Only one way to find out. *Presses play*

This gets a little long, so I’m going to be a good Tumblarian and stick my thoughts below the cut! Hope you give them a read!

-Press Release There’s no actual press release for the “Pilot,” but let’s be real, we know the deal. Emma Swan, a bail bondsperson has one hell of a 28th birthday when the son she gave up for adoption 10 years ago - Henry Mills - comes to her doorstep. A trip back to Henry’s hometown introduces Emma to an assortment of townspeople and an even more uncanny story of heroes and fairy tales. Meanwhile, in the past, we see Snow White and Prince Charming cope and fight for their love and family as the Evil Queen threatens them with a curse most vile.

-General Thoughts For a series that needs to weave a central theme around at least two separate plots, simplicity can be one’s best friend, and the “Pilot” is the epitome of that. The plots in and of themselves are simple - a war against a tyrant with a major threat in the flashback and a woman who has never had a family now dealing with one being thrown her way. However, it feels so much bigger, and that’s because hanging around our mains are characters and settings that you just know are going to grow in addition to our mains and transform these simple realms into something greater, something epic. Surrounding Snow and Charming during their discussion in the war room are a set of dwarfs, a fairy, and a cricket, and those same characters show up in our world and at the very least, Archie and Graham hold a promise of a larger role if for no other reason than their professions. We are being promised a more epic story without ever taking away time from the main story, and that’s simply incredible. I feel like there’s so much to gush about when it comes to performances, and because I don’t want this to be super long, I’m just going to highlight some of my favorite moments from each actor and actress in a single sentence. Jennifer as Emma walking towards Ryan like she was the God damned Terminator made me laugh hard and it characterized her as someone cool and confident, allowing for later scenes to paint more of her nuances by showing her vulnerabilities and desires for people in her life. Lana as Regina has a commanding presence during the wedding scene and shows off just what kind of threat she will be to all of those in her way going forward. Ginny as Snow giving up her baby and eternally coining the line “her best chance” is heartbreaking in such a profound way and allows the tragedy of their 28-year separation to subtly play out here and more overtly carry weight throughout the rest of the series. Jared as Henry’s pleas to Emma to listen to him convey a sense of innocence and vulnerability that can bring one back to the most frustrating moments of their childhood. Josh as Charming’s determination as he rides upon his steed in those opening moments allow the audience to feel every bit of intensity and immediately give his relationship with Snow - however obvious the turnout will be - some stakes. Finally, last but certainly not least, Bobby’s chilling performance as Rumple in the jail cell - from the movements of his long fingernails toe the sickly sweet way some of his lines come across - make him suo mysterious and scary as well as give Granny’s lines about him owning the town added weight. Finally, on a funnier note, I’m not gonna lie, but I always wanted an episode that would canonize the “prettier than I” line. Come on - throw Leopold in there, we get a bit more nuance into their relationship as well as see the effects on Regina of Leopold’s neglect for her needs over Snow’s and make a Regina/Snow present plot and there could’ve been something cool!

-Insights Here’s something I noticed during the wedding scene - The necklace Regina wears is the same one that Samedi brought to her in 7x12’s flashback. See “Flip My Ship” for my feelings on that, but I will point out that this gives us new insight as to when Facilier and Regina first met, although as she’s seen wearing it as the curse hits, it’s safe to say that at least one, if not both, of them could be replacements. Another thing I noticed shortly after that I just found funny was how during Regina’s speech to the Charmings, a lot of the guests weren’t cowering as much as gently averting their gazes. While watching the war scene, I couldn’t help but contrast it to the one in the finale. Snow lacks all manner of optimism in the one in the premiere, but by the finale, she’s the epitome of optimism! The wolf always seemed really weird to me, and now that I’ve seen its full schtick throughout the seasons, I gotta say, I’m not impressed. At first, it seems like the wolf was supposed to be a protector of Storybrooke, acting as an agent against Regina. But we’ve only seen it a handful of times and it’s acted like more of a MacGuffin than anything. And MacGuffins are fine, but this one was clearly supposed to mean something and it never really did, not even really in relation to what one would think would be its focal character (Graham).

-Arcs It’s hard to do a segment for arcs when a series has just begun because, well - every arc, in essence is beginning! And honestly, they’re all good, so I’m just going to write out the arcs that have been introduced here. Emma journey of belief Snow finding Charming The power struggle against Regina

-Favorite Dynamic Emma and Regina. I wanted to point this out somewhere, but the framing of their dynamic works so well. Parents who adopt children are more parents to a child than the parents who gave them up for adoption (Unless of course the birth parents died). This is something that we (should) fundamentally understand, especially in a case like this. Regina’s lines about changing diapers, enduring tantrums, and the like are true, and we - as well as Emma - sympathize and agree with that. Her position as mayor as well as the mother of a runaway boy also asks us to question our own feelings towards Regina throughout the episode. The animosity also doesn’t happen from the moment Regina and Emma meet. However, the conflict between them is not so simple. Due to both Regina’s harsh attitude and her actions in the Enchanted Forest, there’s an unease as we watch her, and while Emma’s situation in this matter is far from ideal on any level, we trust her and believe in the bond between her and Henry because while there is harshness there, there’s also an understanding. It’s such a nuanced conflict and knowing now where it has ended - in such a state where both mothers can co-parent Henry and enjoy each other’s company - allows for me to enjoy experiencing it again and appreciate the intricate steps taken making their relationship what it was.

-Writers As you all know, this was Adam and Eddy’s first episode, and it’s pretty freakin’ good! Unfortunately, until I’ve examine more of their episodes, I don’t have a lot to say here. The one thing I do want to point out is that - just like Regina in today’s episode - they are really good at making a strong entrance!

-Culture What made the “Pilot” of Once Upon a Time so popular? I didn’t watch this episode during its initial airing, but what I do know about the time it was released was that a lot of the dramas that were released tended to be gritty. There were exceptions like ABC’s Desperate Housewives, but it was a turn for the edgy in media. And then a show like OUaT came out, one that not only promised hope, but actually allowed for a payoff in the first episode, no matter how small it was in terms of plot. The score especially sells it. While there’s a tone of sadness to it, it’s overarching theme is hope, and that come off so clearly as it plays when the time on the clock changes.

-Rating How can I give it anything other than a Golden Apple? For those that didn’t read my intro, that’s essentially 10/10 with an * for it being truly something else. This episode is marvelous from top to bottom and its barely existent weaknesses are naught but nitpicks. Not only that, I feel like it left me with so much. I just wrote two and a half pages about this episode and I still feel like I’ve done a disservice to it. I didn’t talk about how just relatable and charming and magical everyone is. I touched upon performances, but there’s still so much to be said about everyone. How is it that Robert Carlyle wasn’t even on screen for five minutes and still left one of the biggest impacts of anyone, even some of those more featured than he was? I still have loads to say about Henry and Emma’s dynamic (I was tempted to cheat and put them up there too). I could talk into eternity about the parallels and the setups and the goofy moments in the background. I could speak to how even in episode 1, Storybrooke becomes more not of a place, but a character. I want to read all kinds of things into the line “There’s not a lot of things I’m great at in life.” This episode is so great that it makes me feel guilty for not glorifying it enough, and that’s what makes it worthy of a Golden Apple.

-Flip My Ship Shadow Queen - HE HAD HER PILOT NECKLACE!!!! OMG! MY SHADOW QUEEN SHIPPER HEART IS JUMPING FOR JOY! Snowing - Snowing’s connection throughout this episode was just awe inspiring. You feel the connection between them in every word they spoke and every exchange of expressions they held. It’s demonstrated the most clearly when Snow asks Charming to go and see Rumple. Just the way that she says “him,” and with a look, you just see how he gets it. At the same time, they’re not without conflict and distinctions between the two of them. They have disagreements and act on their own, but are still unmistakably meant for each other. There are many relationships on the show that attempt realism, and even Snowing itself in Storybrooke will encounter that, but moments like these paint Snowing as fantastical and paint a picture of romance here that becomes iconic. Swan Queen - I love me some FoeTP’s and their’s was one hell of a start! The ambiguity of Regina’s intentions and motives as well as sprinkles of selfishness and coldness with and on Emma’s part make their chemistry truly delightful! I reflected on what I liked about them above in my “Dynamics” section, but everything there works fully down here too.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

And that about covers my thoughts on the premiere! I promise you that future posts won’t be nearly as long (Fingers crossed. This took quite a few hours to put together). Hope you liked them and thanks once more to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales for putting this rewatch together! Season Tally (10/220) Writer Tally for Season 1: A&E (10/70)

[celebritylive]

Sunday’s episode of The Real Housewives of Atlanta appeared to capture the tense moments that led to the end of Kenya Moore and Marc Daly’s two-year marriage.

The episode, filmed in September, followed the now-estranged couple at a benefit event thrown one day before they announced to PEOPLE exclusively they were going their separate ways. 

At the benefit — held by Daly in honor of the Black Man Lab, a charity that inspires young black males by presenting them with examples of successful black businessmen — Daly was cold toward Moore, shutting down her opinions and refusing to publicly thank her for the contributions she had made in planning the event.

He was later caught in several hot mic moments complaining about Moore and RHOA, telling a partygoer that he hasn’t been enjoying the ride that comes with being married to a television star.

“I hate it. I hate it. Everybody knows that,” Daly said. “Save me from the drama.”

“It’s invasive,” he told Moore of the cameras, before yelling at a producer to stop filming the party. “Tell them that’s it. They can’t film forever. Tell them they got to wrap. … I’m giving you five minutes and then I’m gonna take care of it. If I come back down here it’s going to be ugly. I don’t give an F. End it.

“They’re never gonna see me again after the event,” he said.

RELATED: RHOA‘s Kenya Moore Reveals Why She and Husband Marc Daly Didn’t Sign a Prenup Before Their Split

Daly’s lack of affection toward Moore was something her costars noted, including Moore’s longtime rival, NeNe Leakes.

“Every time I’ve seen Mark and Kenya together, I’ve never seen them lovey-dovey,” Leakes said. “It’s almost like, he’s standing over here and she’s standing over here. It’s almost like it’s an agreement.”

Moore herself agreed, later complaining to audiences about the way Daly was treating her.

“I am well-connected in Atlanta and I have put everything in place to help Marc pull off this event. … This is the time to tell the entire world how much you value your spouse. And it’s crickets,” she said. “I love standing behind Marc as Mrs. Daly, but I always want to be appreciated at Mrs. Daly and as a partner.”

“All of the couples seem to be happy. Just enjoying each other so much. I’m just really disappointed,” Moore added. “I miss the fact that that’s where we used to be. It was caring and love and everything that anyone could ever hope for looking for a mate. Looking at where we are now, it’s hurtful to see that we’re not where we used to be.”

RELATED: RHOA‘s Kenya Moore Says Co-Sleeping with Infant Daughter Led to Intimacy Problems with Husband

Earlier in the episode, Moore lamented to costar Cynthia Bailey about their behind-the-scenes battles.

It wasn’t the first time she’s complained about Daly this season, but things had gotten so tense between the two of them, Moore said, that she had settled on not engaging with him.

“Marc is the type where either it’s an all-out, blow-out fight or either he’s being withdrawn, I feel like right now, it’s just a matter of avoidance,” she said. “It’s almost like I avoid anything that might make him upset because I don’t want to fight.”

Though Moore had told PEOPLE when they wed that their bond was nearly instantaneous, she now said to Bailey that she felt like she was still learning things about Daly.

“I still don’t know all of Marc’s triggers,” Moore said. “You feel like you’re crazy. Why is he upset? That is what’s scary. Because you are in a union with someone that’s suppose to be forever, and you doesn’t know what this person is.”

“It’s difficult for him to admit that he does anything wrong,” she continued. “The nearly three years that we’ve been together, I can remember this man apologizing to me one time.”

“Marc and I are in desperate need to have some intimacy,” Moore told audiences. “I’m not just always talking about sex. You know when your husband is acting differently. You notice when he changes his cologne. You know when your husband changes his habits, the way he speaks to you. All women have the innate sense of what is going on in their relationship.”

Asked if it scares her, Moore said “yeah.”

“There are a lot of things that we’re going through that I did not anticipate. If you can’t fix the things that are wrong, it’s just going to create this crack,” she said. “I don’t want to be single, but I want to have my fairytale that I had. I feel like, you know, I definitely want to make it work. But I’m not sure .”

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RELATED: Kenya Moore Turns 49, Says Daughter Has Been a ‘Light in My Life’ amid Split from Marc Daly

Moore and Daly wed in June 2017 and are parents to daughter Brooklyn Doris Daly, born on Nov. 4, 2018.

Since they went their separate ways in September, the pair have continued to co-parent Brooklyn. Moore has also been open about the fact that she’s hopeful the two will find a way back together one day.

“I didn’t get married to quit,” Moore told PEOPLE in October. “I love my husband. I don’t doubt that he loves me. Let me be clear, I took my vows seriously. I believe in for better and for worse and I believe in trying it all before you walk away, especially when we do have a child and we are a family.”

It seems to be working. “We’re in a good place right now,” Moore said on Bravo’s Watch What Happens Live with Andy Cohen in February. “We’re trying to figure it out now. We had a beautiful brunch today and it is great.”

The Real Housewives of Atlanta airs Sundays (8 p.m. ET) on Bravo.

from PEOPLE.com https://ift.tt/3anoICT

[johnbizzell]

Goodbye, Dolly

Ocado sent me a 20% discount voucher in the same month that David died. It felt like fate was telling me never to go out again, so I didn’t. It’s not the grief, I joked, it’s the means. He left me the flat and some very successful investments – and honestly when you can have a boneless organic chicken thigh delivered straight to your door, why risk getting your hair wet?

He loved this flat. He used to say he loved me, Barbra Streisand and the flat, mostly in that order, but Barbra and I were interchangeable if I’d forgotten to put the rubbish out or if she really hit that high D5 at the end of A Piece of Sky. It’s a recording, I’d say, she hits the same note every time. Yes, he’d say, but sometimes I just feel it more.

The flat is on the top floor of Ben Jonson House on the northern edge of the Barbican estate in London. It has two rooms, side by side, each with a barrel ceiling. From the inside the rounded white roofs make you think you have more space than you really do. From the outside I like to imagine it looks like two sleeping giants cuddled up under a duvet.

David started renting the flat when he was studying at the Guildhall School of Music, or Downstairs as he always called it. When the owner sold up in the early nineties David had to buy the place because he’d filled it with too many records to move. 1423 records line an entire wall of the living room in orange crate shelves. They are mostly original cast recordings of musicals in all the languages of the countries he visited. Only sixty-seven of them are by Barbra, but she does have her own crate. I got my own crate in 2006. Well, it was a drawer. David was twenty years older than me and everyone assumed I was more in love with his south-facing balcony in Zone 1 than with him, but I would have moved into one of his orange crates under the Hammersmith flyover if he’d asked. Me, David and 1423 records living happily ever after. Or, in the end, about twelve years.

The Barbican estate was built over the wreckage World War II left of this part of London. David loved that it was someone’s vision of optimal living realised on such a large scale, that from a bombsite they thought they could rescue the future. His balcony overlooks the entire complex, the terraces and tower blocks, the mewses and the museum, the Arts Centre and its plazas. From that angle all the odd shaped buildings and covered walkways form an insane Escher print. When I’d go out there to water the plants he would wrap his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder, and let his hand trace a path for some new adventure across the cityscape. With all there is, he’d sing in my ear, why settle for just a piece of sky?

Even then I used to think it all depended on the piece of sky you were looking at.

I haven’t been out on the balcony since he died. I’ve barely opened the curtains. Half of the plants dropped their leaves over the side like desperate passengers jumping from a sinking ship. The half that couldn’t reach the edge just curled up on the floor. David left me the flat and the money and the records and the plants, but do you need me to tell you he took away more than he left? Because I can’t be bothered to go into it – actually, that sums it up: David died and I couldn’t be bothered anymore.

***

When anyone remarked on the twenty years between us, and anyone often did, David would rush his hand to his cheek as though he’d been slapped. I was born on the 26th June, he was born on the 27th. There were nineteen years and 364 days between us. It never mattered to me, but since other people seemed so keen on numbers he liked to make sure they got it right.

On my birthday, the first thing he’d do was fling the covers off and crow about how young he felt. On his, the morning after, he’d play the ancient crone. Of all the time we had together, those twenty-four hours in between were often our happiest.

Sometimes we never left the flat. Sometimes we never left the bed. Once, on the day I turned thirty and he’d failed to cook the chicken for long enough, we spent most of it in the bathroom. He claimed it was because he’d heated it on the dying embers of his forties. If you can find a man who makes you laugh after giving you food poisoning, he’s the one.

David’s warmth evaporated time. Today, those same twenty-four hours yawn with their lack of promise. I am now thirty-eight and I’ve woken up alone in our bed for nearly a year. The same bed that it felt so decadent to stay in as the turning of the world notched up another number for me then him. There’s nothing decadent about staying in bed all day when you have nowhere else to be. Or nobody to share it with.

I get up at 7am and shower. I realised quite early on that it was easier to get rid of time at the start of the day. Also, for all of the talk about optimal living, the walls between the Barbican’s flats are thin enough that I know when my bedroom-side neighbour Bianca has had an overnight guest – because I hear her shower going twice, not because she’s a screamer (though the guests sometimes are). With the noise of her, possibly plus one, and Pete and Soph on the living-room side all getting ready for work in the morning there’s really no point in trying to lay in.

I eat breakfast and get on with my Big Job of the day. There’s only ever one. If you don’t work or even leave the two rooms you live in, your To Do list is minimal. The art is to spread it out over the course of the week: one day for cleaning, one day for washing, changing the bed gets a whole day of its own because it usually takes everything I have. One day I throw things in a casserole dish. Everything tastes the same anyway and one bucket of stew will last me all week. That’s unless Soph is away and Pete comes over. But if it runs out I usually eat cereal for dinner. Or nothing.

By 9am everyone in bothering radius will have left the building. If I put on one of David’s records I’m either feeling brave or the exact opposite. Usually I stick to some quiet, measurable task: today I will knit fifty rows of this scarf or today I will read two-hundred pages of Persuasion or today I will open at least three of the letters that continue to get forwarded for David and try to forgive the writer for existing in a world where he is still alive.

At 6pm I heat up my dinner. If any of my neighbours are going to knock to check that I haven’t made their lives awkward by killing myself, it’s usually now. If they don’t, I put on David’s ancient headphones that are attached by a spiralling wire to a radiogram thing on a shelf above the bed. I lay down and listen to a crackling Asian radio station that could be broadcasting cricket scores or prayers, but that completely drowns out the sounds of Pete and Soph making their evening meal together or Bianca laughing into her phone on the balcony as she lights another cigarette. I’d take the sounds of endless morning ablutions over their easy early evening chatter and hopefulness.

It’s meditative, listening to a language you don’t understand. After long enough you can hear the music in it. Music that doesn’t remind you of anyone.

He would’ve been fifty-eight tomorrow.

***

My dad and I get on fine, thanks for asking, though we joke that he threw me out at eighteen. He just wanted me to want more than the generic comfort of middle class Bristol. He stays because it makes mum happy and he loves her. He’s a doctor who wishes he’d been a sculptor or a fashion designer or a maker of anthropomorphic miniature ceramics – it all depends on what documentary he’s watching at the time. I was quite happy pulling up weeds and laying turf for the housewives of Clifton Village, though I was well aware that I didn’t want to lay anything else for them. I applied to art college for him really. And, fair enough, to sleep with someone other than the barman at the Queenshilling.  

My mum was more comfortable with my lack of ambition. She called it being an old soul. When they dropped me off at Ravensbourne she gave me a backgammon set and enough tinned soft fruit for a lifetime of untroubled dentures. Following a succession of diabolical paintings and haircuts, a Duke of Edinburgh Award in navigating my way home from a different part of London every other morning -  before the advent of Google Maps - and absolutely no backgammon, I graduated and got a job as an estate agent.

The most creative thing I was doing was arranging the pictures of other people’s homes in the window. I told my parents I was having a fabulous time and they believed me. I told myself that too, but it was less convincing.  

***

Pete is on my balcony sweeping up rotting leaves and quite a few of Bianca’s discarded cigarette butts. He does this whenever he comes over for dinner since I never go out there now. He has a broom in one hand and his phone in the other, into which I hear him shouting to his wife Soph that he’s about to eat one of Dolly’s famous one-pot wonders. I am Dolly. I am microwaving a five bean chilli I made using only two kinds of beans and the entire last jar of fucks I had to give. I’ve barely moved from the sofa in five hours, but have only been trying to ignore Pete’s questions for the last fifteen minutes.

Pete was already David’s neighbour when I moved into the flat. At the time I had a quiff that my friends used to say was maintained by all the comments that flew over my head. I was twenty-five, I’d been passed around London’s vibrant gay Soho like a tray of unwanted cakes and I was finally getting bored of butching it up and dumbing it down. Maybe it’s different now that kids have to build a personal brand online before they’re old enough to drink, but back when I was fresh meat it wasn’t what came out of your mouth that guys were interested in. I met David in the toilets at the Green Carnation – don’t worry, it wasn’t as seedy as it sounds. We were standing side by side looking in the mirror wearing matching Joe 90 glasses; me tall and dark, him short and bald. He said we looked like Dolce and Gabbana. I looked down at my designer-imposter daps and his wide-fit loafers and said we were more like Dolcis and Garden Centre. When he laughed it felt like someone had heard my real voice for the first time. I came back to the flat with him that night and four months later I lived here.

Dolce having instantly become Dolcis then became Dolly. That’s how he introduced me to Pete. Say hello to Dolly. Pete had been a DJ on the rave scene in the early nineties and still shouted everything inches from your ear like he was trying to be heard over Josh Wink’s Higher State of Consciousness. He smelled so straight and alien, like weed and the hot plastic of a Gameboy. It was the forbidden smell of someone’s older brother’s bedroom and on reflex I stayed silent in case I got kicked out. He looked into the tops of my boxes and asked me if I played backgammon then, with no response from me, reached in and pulled out a Prodigy CD. He waved it triumphantly in David’s face, delighted to finally have a neighbour who might play something other than Color Me Barbra through the wall. David was unfazed. Neither then nor at any time since has there been a CD player in the flat.

Now of course we can instantly play whatever we want to hear on our phones, but Pete and I are both at an age where eating two bean chilli at Prodigy speed could cause intestinal woe for days. He comes in from the balcony and selects a record to put on. It’s Je m’appelle Barbra, the original 1966 Colombia LP. Side two, track six: I’ve Been Here.

We were going to knock on your birthday but the lights were out, says Pete. And on his too. Then, after a deep breath, he tells me that Bianca has told Soph who has told him that she’s been doing some PR for the promoters who put on summer concerts in Hyde Park and that she’s heard that this year Barbra Streisand will be doing one of them and she could get us all tickets and we should go. VIP entry, away from the crowds. It will be the first time she’s performed in the UK for years and might be the last. David wouldn’t have missed it. David would’ve been there in a Fanny Brice sailor suit.

Over on the record player Barbra is assuring us that she is not a frightened dove.

I say I’m not ready.

The record finishes and there’s only static to fill the silence. Pete takes our half-empty bowls and puts them in the sink, where he stands as the whispering record turns and turns and turns and turns.

I need to go Dolly, he says. And I don’t know if I can go without you.

David and Pete had both done a lot of drugs, though it was never part of David’s work like it was for Pete. David travelled – he’d been a singer and then an internationally renowned vocal coach – but when he was home, he was home. Ask Pete if he ended up with a drug problem because it’s hard for a DJ to draw a line between his professional and private life, he’ll tell you that he doesn’t know because he never even tried. He was having a brilliant time and getting paid a lot of money. He got a mortgage for the flat next to David’s in 1999 with the advances from a series of Millennium gigs that he wouldn’t end up playing. Instead he went on what he now calls the Bender Of Destiny. His bookings disappeared. He went from sucking MDMA off a model’s nipple to sucking fag ash from the footwells of Mondeos at a car valeting service. He could barely afford enough speed to get him through the weekend. When he finally got so desperate that he sold his speakers, David knocked on his door. This was years before I'd met David, years before Pete met Soph. At the time they may not have had much in common except a very thin wall, but David was probably the only neighbour in the world who had a problem if you weren’t playing music. Pete’s existence had descended to skirting board level and the flat was basically empty. The highest vantage point was a stack of unopened post. Recently Pete must have fallen off or into or in front of something or someone and there was a dried trail of blood weaving back and forth between the two filthy airless rooms. David sat down on the floor next to Pete anyway and put his arms around him whilst he cried.

David took Pete next door and ran him a bath. He washed his clothes and his bedding. He cleaned Pete’s flat, he cooked for him. He sat with him every night, made him tea whilst he opened all the terrifying post, sorted out his payment plans. He helped him find some furniture, a job at a friend’s recording studio, a reason to go on. He played him the 1964 Original Cast Recording of Funny Girl and the 1970 soundtrack to On A Clear Day You Can See Forever and every single studio album Barbra had ever released. When you can afford your own speakers again we can listen to what you want, David would say, until then let’s have something ageless and evergreen.

Pete gave the eulogy at David’s funeral. I couldn’t speak. He said that David had saved his life. He chose all the music too. People kept thanking me afterwards and telling me how perfect the songs were. I tried to say that Pete had chosen everything but he said it didn’t matter. He took me home and said I didn’t need to explain anything to anyone. I didn’t need to see anyone or speak to anyone if I didn’t want to.

Pete takes Je m’appelle Barbra off of the record player, returns it to its sleeve and its place on the orange crate shelves.

There’s seven months until the gig, he tells me, we’ll start small. He opens the balcony door and steps outside, then he turns back and holds out his hand for me to join him.