#no fairytale fixes here lads

[what-inthe-goddamn]

I’ve been going through my rough snippets of writing for Six’s and Vulpes’s interactions throughout her story. Was boring and getting no where until I thought to myself: what if they knew each other before Nipton? Imagine the drama. The distraught. The horror of realizing over time this monster was once a boy you grew up with in simpler times.

[hezzabeth]

"Revati! What the hell are you doing?" Dityaa cried from where she was propped up on the pillows.

"Saving your life! This woman is obviously some sort of serial killer assassin! She's been nothing but dodgy since I met her," Revati hissed, kicking the cocoon with one foot.

"Your sister's right; technically, I am a serial killer assassin," Paulette chuckled ruefully from the floor.

"She's also my lady-in-waiting," Dityaa said with a grand wave of her hand.

"Your lady-in-waiting?" Revati asked dubiously. Paulette, who was trying to chew her way out of the mushroom cocoon, didn't exactly look like a "lady-in-waiting."

"The women in my family have been protecting princesses of the blood for over half a millennium," Paulette said after she gave up chewing.

"And that's me! I'm a princess," Dityaa said with delight before patting the spot on the bed next to her.

"You've been gone for four years," Revati said, crossing her arms. "I tried to send Amma a letter. I've had so many appliances and people try to kill me; I've had to stay hidden! Actually, how did you find me so quickly?" Dityaa asked curiously.

"I don't think she did; I ran into her and her paramour at the telehub," Paulette said.

"Paramour! You?" Dityaa asked, sounding completely shocked.

"Is that so hard to believe? I've had plenty of paramours," Revati shot back.

"Well, you have mud all over your pants," Dityaa said with a small shrug.

"These are my work pants! Before you got here, I was wearing a red sundress and I looked fantastic," Revati replied before turning to leave.

"Ah, are you going to let me out?" Paulette asked.

"You're a serial killer assassin; I'm sure you can figure it out," Revati snapped back.

Brigadeiro was still sleeping when Revati returned. Revati, who had woken up every hour on the hour since the age of six, envied him. Carefully, she crept back into bed, shutting her eyes. Of course, Dityaa was some sort of magical lost fairytale princess. Revati forced herself to close her eyes, breathing in and out. It was a technique she had perfected years ago when trying to block out distant screams.

Sunlight, warm bright lovely sunlight. Revati, who was used to the faint blue mornings of Mars, blinked with annoyance. Brigadeiro was singing from behind a blue door Revati hadn't noticed before. "Will you miss me, little Buttercup? Said a rustic lad one day, I must go away, and I must obey. Come and kiss me, lift your two lips up, There now, dearie, don't you cry, Hear the bugles calling, It is time to say 'Goodbye.'"

Revati slowly stood up and winced as she took in her filthy disheveled state. Carefully, she knocked on the door, and Brigadeiro stopped singing.

"Are you awake?" He asked before opening the door in a cloud of lavender-scented steam.

Brigadeiro, dressed in a smart sky-blue suit with a navy-blue shirt, dreamily walked past Revati, leaning up to plant a kiss on her cheek. Revati touched her cheek, unsure of what to say or how to react.

"I'm filthy, is there a shower in there?" Revati asked.

"Oh no! We don't waste water on hygiene here! The sterilizing clouds take care of everything and the toilet teleporters," Brigadeiro replied as he tapped a section of the floor with his foot. A wooden panel suddenly shot up, revealing all of Revati's clothing hanging on a metal pole.

"You put my clothes away," Revati remarked.

"I hope you don't mind; you always like keeping the tent neat and tidy, and you were sleeping so peacefully," Brigadeiro explained.

Revati carefully examined her wardrobe. Everything was fresh and clean. The red sundress had a fixed hemline and a silk flower on its collar.

"This is new," Revati said with a small frown, poking the flower.

"Sorry about that; our laundry creatrix has a tendency to add flourishes on its default setting," Brigadeiro admitted.

"It's fine; thankfully, I like flowers," Revati replied, grabbing the dress and some clean underwear.

Revati marched into the bathroom that consisted of something that was hopefully a toilet and a shower. The second she stepped in the bath, it filled with jasmine-scented fog.

"Removing clothes," a neutral voice chimed, and Revati shrieked as her sleep shirt and underwear vanished in a pile of black sand.

"Cleaning skin," the fog chimed, and Revati yelled as the fog gently kissed her bare skin.

"Repairing sun damage and fixing oil glands," the voice chimed.

"What?" Revati cried.

"Just relax and go with it," Bridgadeiro called back.

"Washing and grooming hair," the machine chirped, and the steam seemed to massage Revati's scalp. Suddenly, the entire process stopped, and the steam cleared. The black sand was gone, all that remained was Revati's shirt and underwear neatly folded.

"Amazing! This shower is amazing," Revati yelled at Bridgadeiro.

"Really? My mother will love to hear that! She thinks the cleaning pod is super old," Bridgadeiro called back.

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (arranged marriage Au)

Part 1 is here, finally! Title a reference to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 116.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10

Read it on Ao3 HERE

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Vesemir’s slap hit Geralt firmly on the back of the head. Two seconds previously Geralt had been complaining about his upcoming, politically motivated marriage to some nobleman’s son. 

“It’s a good thing, lad. Other witcher schools would kill for something like this,” he said. Geralt knew it was right, legal punishment for those who shortchanged or attacked witchers. It set a precedent, and apparently the earl was very influential. It could change things.

“And there isn’t a fidelity clause,” Eskel said. “It doesn’t have to be more than a sort of partnership.”

“No consummation requirement either,” sniggered Lambert from the other side of the campfire. “You don’t even have to fuck the bugger if he’s ugly.” This earned him a sharp elbow from Eskel. 

“What I don’t understand is what they get out of this,” Geralt said. It had been bugging him. 

“Ah,” Vesemir said, looking uneasy. “It seems that the payment is...taking the viscount off of the Earl’s hands, officially. It seems he’s something of an embarrassment.”

The unease in Vesemir’s voice was subtle, but after so many decades with their teacher, the wolves of Kaer Morhen knew the slight variations of tone and expression. His discomfort was twofold, first, the obvious implication that the Earl was sending his son to live a dangerous life alongside a witcher in order to...deal with him. A death sentence, from father to son. The second was that Geralt, already saddled with a political marriage, was also to be saddled with a nuisance of a husband. 

“But why me?” Geralt knew he was whining like a child, but he couldn’t help it. It was three days to Lettenhove, and then they’d be there at least a week for the wedding and he’d have to act courtly. 

He wasn’t good at courtly.

When he thought about it none of them were. 

“It couldn’t have been me,” Eskel said, a little shyly. He was right. Eskel believed his scars were horrible, made him unlovable and undesirable. Geralt didn’t buy it, but nobles could get a bit stroppy about appearances. And if they humiliated Eskel because of his scarring...no, Geralt wouldn’t let that happen.

“Couldn’t have been me,” Lambert said, mouth full and rather cheerfully. No. It couldn’t have been him either, no manners and no filter, they’d be at war with the entirety of Lettenhove within a day.

“And I’m an old man,” Vesemir said. He didn’t actually wink, but he might as well have. Older though he was, he was still three times the warrior of any young human man walking about these days. But from what Geralt had heard, and it hadn’t been much, the Viscount was young, not quite twenty, and it wouldn’t be kind to marry him to someone so much older than himself. Geralt reflected grimly that he was nearly four times the youth’s age.

Three days of riding passed far too quickly for Geralt’s liking.

Chateau de Lettenhove loomed. It was a fairytale castle built by a man expecting a siege. There were high, rising towers with huge windows and artful buttresses, but to the trained eye of the witchers, it was a fortress. The towers had carved, decorative arrow slits, the windows all had iron grates over them, wrought like lace, and the buttresses could be easily used as defensive positions. All in all, it was a castle that growled, albeit genteelly.

They were greeted first by a footman, and then a line of servants increasing in rank, until a very snobby servant, likely the head housekeeper from the way all the maids scuttled away from her, brought them to an anteroom. At this point courtesy dictated that she bade them sit down on one of the lavish sofas. She did not. She chose instead to turn up her nose and sweep away.

The four witchers remained standing, not looking at one another. Geralt could feel Lambert stewing about the obvious slight beside him. He reached out, still staring straight ahead, and tweaked Lambert’s ear. 

This was about to result in much brotherly retribution and probably a brawl when the housekeeper returned, followed by another woman.

“His lordship the Earl of Lettenhove is attending to vital business,” the housekeeper said, tone of voice implying that the arrival of four witchers who were muddying her nice clean floor were certainly not vital. “I present, her ladyship, Countess Amaria Elizaveta de Lettenhove.” 

The countess curtsied, it was a polite little bob, and she smiled a little dazedly as the witchers all gave their best attempt at courtly bows. A small but significant part of Geralt’s brain was panicking, and it dealt with this new form of terror by imagining that the school of the wolf, seen from the outside plying their newly practiced bows, must look like a line of seagulls vying for a dropped crumb.

Vesemir stepped forward and, in a rather more suave gesture than Geralt had been expecting, took the Countess’ hand and bowed over it. Two bows seemed excessive to Geralt, but since it seemed to indicate that Vesemir would be taking over the speaking for now, he certainly wasn’t about to bring it up. 

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady,” Vesemir said, straightening and releasing her hand. “May I introduce the school of the wolf. Eskel is--”

The countess had waved a limp hand. “Plenty of time for that at the feast, deary,” she said, smiling dreamily. There was something in her eyes that was a little absent, possibly more than a little if her calling Vesemir ‘deary’ was anything to go by. Geralt looked the countess over. He had been given to understand through the brief letters from the Lettenhove estate, that this wasn’t the viscount-Julian, the letters said-’s mother, but rather his step mother. She was a petite lady with mousy hair and rather absent blue eyes. Her dress was obviously of very fine material, rose pink and probably silk, although Lambert would know better than him, but a simpler cut than Geralt had expected. 

His examination, done in a split second, decided that she wasn’t an immediate enemy, but probably not a terrible useful ally. 

“I’m to give you this courting gift,” here she proffered a small but beautifully carved wooden box. “And to show you to your quarters.” She smiled again, and it was warm, but still vapid.

“Custom usually dictates that the fiancé give the courting gift,” Vesemir said, cautiously taking the box.”

“My husband wanted someone else to present it,” she said. “But your grandson can give his gift in person when he meets Julian. Now what...” she trailed off, not even noticing Vesemir’s slight sputter at grandson. “Ah yes, your rooms, right this way please.”

She got lost on the way to their rooms and a shaking footman showed them up to a suite, then kindly took her by the hand and led her away.

They sat, silent, in the nice but not lavish quarters. Four beds in curtained alcoves off to the side, and in the middle a room with a table and chairs, and a sofa and more comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace. It was already blazing and the witchers stared into it for a minute.

“That was strange,” Eskel finally said, and the others just nodded.

“Should I have insisted on giving her our courting gift?” Geralt said after another pause. “I thought they were usually given in person.”

“I think you’re fine,” Vesemir said. “If they broke that tradition they can hardly fault you for doing the same.”

Lambert, sprawled across the sofa, said, “When’s dinner?”

“I think I’m supposed to meet Julian first,” Geralt said. “Someone will probably come get us. 

“When we meet Julian you mean,” Lambert said, sitting up. 

“No, I’ve been thinking about that and I want to meet him alone.”

Vesemir nodded, “Sensible, we don’t know how he will react to one witcher, let alone four.” Then he smirked, although not unkindly, at Lambert. “You will be introduced and have a chance to be nosy later. At dinner perhaps.”

They unpacked their belongings, potion bottles and swords looking out of place along the old but nicely carved furniture. After days of tension on the road as Geralt wound himself tighter and tighter with anxiety for his...wedding, yes his wedding, now this pause was jarring. Eskel tapped him on the shoulder and gave him a look.

Geralt turned around to give Eskel room to work.

On the Path, witchers are rarely, if ever touched. Certainly not in a friendly way if the other isn’t being compensated. It wasn’t therefore, unusual for the wolves of Kaer Morhen to be tactile with one another. Not hugging and cuddling sweetly, but rough housing and wrestling ending in exhausted dog piles. But Eskel had a gift, he had magic hands, literally and figuratively, and he carefully oiled his hands while Geralt took off his travel stained shirt. 

Geralt sunk into himself, half meditating as Eskel dragged the tension from his shoulders and beat the knots from his muscles. It wasn’t a relaxing massage, but it always left him feeling like liquid, if slightly bruised. When it was over and the liquid feeling had left him, or at least subsided enough that his knees could hold him, he stood, clapping Eskel on the shoulder in thanks.

Then came the hard bit.

Geralt needed to be courtly. He scrubbed the bits he could with water and a cloth from a little washstand, but he hoped he could have a hot bath later. Afterwards Vesemir advanced on him and battled the dirt from underneath his fingernails with a stiff brush before attacking his hair with a comb. Geralt sat on the ground like a child, his brothers looking on in amusement as Vesemir sat behind him on the couch and teased the tangles from his hair. He was making faces, he knew, but Vesemir wasn’t gentle, and he hadn’t detangled his hair in some time.

Scrubbed raw, with his hair floating around his shoulders like a silver cloud, Lambert presented him with a doublet. 

It was black, which was good.

That was the only good thing about it. It was most likely a very nice, extremely fashionable doublet. Lambert might take delight in embarrassing Geralt, but he didn’t mess about with clothing. The issue was that it was attention grabbing, it was subtle in a way that seemed to play itself down while actually drawing every eye. It was black, in the same way a raven’s wing was black, every shimmering shade shifting as the fabric moved.

And he would be wearing it. 

He did wear it. 

His hands shook as he buttoned it up. 

He was just examining himself in a slightly tarnished hand mirror when there was a sharp knock at the door. The footman let himself in right after and bowed swiftly. 

“I am to escort the witchers of Kaer Morhen to meet Lord Julian.”

“Just the one witcher,” Geralt said. Vesemir pressed his courting gift, and the little carved boxed nestled on top, into his arms.

The footman didn’t seem to care and simply turned away, leading Geralt through hallways that all looked the same and down two very winding staicases, the second of which was so narrow his shoulders actually brushed the walls. They stopped outside a plain wooden door. The footman bowed and smiled. It looked, Geralt couldn’t help but feel, rather cruel. Then he left. Geralt knocked softly on the door, feeling very large in the narrow, low ceilinged hallway.

Eskel had told him once of a myth he had read, about a beast, half man half bull, hidden away in a maze. Geralt felt like such a beast, too large and rough and probably going to barge in and do everything wrong.

“Come in.” 

It was soft, but not nervous, and Geralt pushed open the door. 

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Oooh I’m naughty for leaving it there, but it’s almost 2000 words already. @llamasdumpsterfire here it is at last, I hope it lives up to expectations.

[seasurfacefullofclouds1]

I have been discovering louis for a year, but now I am addicted to it. Brilliant musician and personality, pure talent. I believe that his tenacity and intelligence will take him far, he is still very young, with room for improvement. I have read and seen something about him during the period of the group, inevitable not to be called back (you very often find Larry fans on Lou's news) of the alleged Harry / lou relationship. I have a question for you. 1/2

2/3 I state that I believe that the two were in love at a young age (it was evident from their way of looking at each other), the relationship with the years has become complex, they have grown, their characters transformed. So I ask, why have people been so obsessed with their story, their love, so much that they want their fairytale happy ending? To force Lou / Harry to be imprisoned in a relationship that no longer exists (at least not as before)? 3/3 Is it possible that they still believe in a “helpless” Harry? I don't understand their tenacity, their relentless obsession. They don't question their relationship, but for me the signs are there. Then maybe they are right, I don't know.

Hi anon,

Larries do, in fact, believe Harry is helpless.

Larries believe that Harry is “helpless” because for them, Harry CANNOT be choosing the scenario where he is phenomenally successful and influential with Sony, but in order to do so, he had to shut Louis’ career down.

Therefore, someone else must be “choosing.”

Who is it?

For Larries, it’s both Louis AND the evil overlords at Sony/ Columbia/ FSM. Louis fixed it so Harry’s career is first, and his is last.

But Sony also fixed it this way! Isn’t it very convenient that they all agree Harry gets the spotlight all the time— do we think Harry, Louis, Irving Azoff, and Rob Stringer had a quick lunch and planned it out?

Do we think Louis planned his career always to be upstaged and overshadowed— day by day, project by project— by Harry’s?

Because wow… that’s what Sony planned too. What a coincidence!

Do we think Louis asked Harry to promote that Euphoria fanfiction scene? Maybe Louis arranged to syndicate Freddie+Louis Lad+Dad articles when Walls recharted at #1 on iTunes worldwide, and Just Like You recharted #1 on iTunes in 2020?

Because hey! Sony did that too! To knock Louis down a few pegs! Just as Louis planned, according to Larries.

Harry, who is one of Sony’s highest selling artists in 2020, had absolutely no say in this, no say whatsoever… because according to Larries, Louis has ALL the power to decide, but Harry is helpless.

That’s the real answer to why Larries are obsessed with Larry.

It’s little to do with romance. Fanfiction, memes, nostalgia etc. all go toward one goal, and that goal has always been about Power.

Maybe most baby Larries don’t think about it, but I’ll bet you a cookie that Big Larries who have been here a while, the ones who come up with these whacky theories DO think about it (since they used to run 1D business blogs).

Money. Fame. Notoriety. POWER.

How to justify Harry’s craving it, selling himself for it, selling his soul and destroying his ex-bandmates for it, burning his bridges and turning on the ones who loved him for it. Aligning himself with a team who sold him the idea that he could be one of industry’s most powerful artists. Wanting power but also wanting praise that he’s “nice” and “kind” while relentlessly, ruthlessly pursuing power.

Isn’t it ironic that Larries believe the exact opposite of Harry? The more that facts point to Harry’s pursuit of power, the more they believe he is helpless, powerless.

[thereluctantinquisitor]

Another Year

OKAY so it is @frenchy-and-the-sea’s birthday and I am HERE with a terrible gift that is just... okay, listen. LISTEN. I had feelings and I just wrote them down and if it is wildly out of character please just pretend it is a really weird AU! 

Aaaanyway, Alex and Tahir belong to the wonderful Frenchy and live in her amazing original work, Seven Cities. If you haven’t already, join me in this glorious rabbit hole and come fall in love with all her characters!

Happy Birthday Frenchy <3

                                  ---------------------------------

If someone had told a young Alex that her life would be shaped like a cradle of wood, set adrift over the ocean chasing fairytales, she would have laughed them out of the room and told them not to bother coming back. Hell, sometimes she felt like laughing herself out of the room when she paused long enough to think about what they were doing. Seven cities. Sitting cross-legged by the Ranger’s bow, her head resting against one of the railing posts, those two words alone were enough to stir something deep and quiet in her chest. It was hard, not to long for answers to unasked questions. Particularly when they had been planted in your head by someone else. Some days, that meeting with Jon, and all the things that followed, felt like a dream. A story that had happened to someone else, a long time ago, that she just happened to overhear at a pub in some piss-soaked harbour town. A story full to the brim of adventure and triumph. Fuller still of mess and mistakes.

“Another year, huh?”

Alex huffed, not bothering to pull her eyes from the waves. “Not sure what you mean. Not sure I care to know, either.”

Of course, she knew exactly what he meant. Maybe at another time, in another place, Tahir might have laughed at her almost dramatic sullenness. But not this time. Instead, he just hovered for a while, before finally lowering himself down beside her with a soft grunt. Exhaling, he tipped his head back. Dark circles framed his eyes, same as hers. There had been some long days, of late, and even longer nights. They wore them about as well as could be expected. “You know, after all this time, I thought you’d soften up to people wanting to celebrate your birthday.” His gaze flicked down, and Alex’s averted just as fast. “It’s a good thing, lad. Means you’ve eked out another year in this mad place. And there’s no one alive who can take that from you.”

“If you’re feeling like waxing poetic, Tahir, there are better audiences for it.”

“Ah, well, Adelina is asleep.”

“Try Duchess.”

The pair exchanged a flat look, like siblings poised to push each other’s buttons. Normally, Alex’s glower was a thing of legend, but this time she felt the corners of her lips twitch traitorously and had to break the contest, masking it by casting her attention back out over the water with a huff. Rather than reveling in his victory, Tahir just allowed a faint smile to spread freely across his face. He was a spot of brightness in the inky dark. Somehow, when she needed him to be, he always was.

The silence lingered until she broke it. “I don’t make a fuss or demand a song and dance because I don’t care about it, Tahir.” Alex wasn’t sure why she started speaking. Normally those kinds of words had to be pried from her like a coin from a miser. “So unless you’ve been spending your lonesome evenings knitting a cape from old hemp sacks and sail rope, best to just treat it the same as any other day.”

There was a pause. “Well,” Tahir began slowly, “I’m not sure about the knitting, but if I’d known you wanted a cape made out of old hemp and---”

He broke off with a surprised grunt as the heel of Alex’s boot connected solidly with his thigh, then quickly caught her foot in one large hand. He raised it slightly, as if to say don’t make me confiscate this, then set it back down on the wooden deck at a pointedly safe distance. “In seriousness,” he continued, one eye still watching for any further signs of attack, “have a drink, at least. Even if it’s just with me or Adelina. Celebrate a little.”

Alex arched a brow. “That an order?”

“It’s a suggestion, Alex. From a friend.”

“Yeah, well…” Alex reached up and ran a hand through her hair. Or at least, she tried it, tangled as it was from the salt and wind. “Consider your friendly suggestion noted. I just…” Her arm suddenly felt heavy. Too heavy. She let it fall to her lap like an anchor to the seafloor. “I just don’t feel in a celebrating mood. Not of late. It’s… there’s so much to do, Tahir.”

“Like what?”

“I…” Alex hesitated. There were things to be done. Of course there were things to be done! There was always something to finish, or begin, or re-do because some half-asleep idiot fucked it up the first time. They were all tired. All drained dry. That meant something was leaking – something that needed to be fixed. Something she needed to fix.

Yet, when asked what that thing was, she found herself at a loss.

Tahir shifted his weight, boot scraping over the deck as he bent his knee and propped his elbow on it. “Sometimes, we have bad weeks. All of us, together, on this ship.” He was looking at her, waiting for her to meet his gaze. When she didn’t, he continued anyway. “None of us blame you for it, Alex. We’ll blame the gods, or the weather, or a bad hand at a tarot reader’s tent well before we’d ever blame you. This is just… how things go sometimes. We can’t change it any more than we can change the tide.”

Finally, Alex turned to face him. “So… what? I’m just meant to accept that sometimes everything goes to shit for no reason? Make my peace with it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because punishing yourself doesn’t make it any easier.”

Alex opened her mouth – to retort? Argue? She wasn’t sure. But once again, she found the will to fight had abandoned her. Or maybe, just maybe, Tahir had a point, and she’d just rather cast herself into the sea than admit it right now. 

Instead, Alex just grunted; a quiet kind of acquiescence, open enough to interpretation that she could stomach it well enough. Tahir, never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, accepted it with wordless grace. They sat in silence for a little while longer, side by side, lulled by the creaking of the ship. Then, there was a rustle of fabric as Tahir reached into his side-pouch and extended a further sign of peace.

A flask.

“What’ve you got in there today?” Alex took the flask and set to unscrewing it with half-numb fingers. The night-chill was starting to rise already. She convinced herself the drink was just to chase it away. Nothing more.

Tahir relaxed back against the rail, stretching his legs out again. “Something you’ll like.”

Frowning, Alex eyed him warily as she slowly raised the flask to her nose. The first inhale was short – a test, of sorts. When she didn’t keel over from a poorly conceived prank by one of the twins, she relaxed and allowed herself a deeper breath. What met her was something rich, lightly spiced, and possessing just enough edge to promise a good, trickling warmth that curled its way to her fingertips. Even without tasting it, she knew one thing for certain: it was good. “When did you even get this?” she asked a little accusingly. Last time they were at port, he’d insisted on staying with the ship while the others enjoyed a well-earned shore leave. 

Apparently not.

As though reading her mind, Tahir quickly raised his hands. “Easy there, Captain. I convinced Davin to take my place for a bit. The Ranger was in good hands.” He hesitated. “Well, reasonably good hands. He was still sober enough to stand.”

It was easier to laugh, somehow, with that flask in her hand. Not just because its contents sent a comforting warmth straight to her stomach, but because it was something she hadn’t known she needed. It was a moment with someone she trusted above anyone else, sitting on the bow of her ship, letting sea and sail carry them towards a distant point of the compass.

Some leaks are small. Barely even noticeable, at first. But god, it feels good when someone takes the time to patch it.

“That good, huh?” Tahir asked eventually, after Alex had helped herself to a third hearty swig. Humming contently, she smirked and held out the flask.

“You tell me.” When Tahir raised his brows, Alex just rolled her eyes. “Listen - given you probably owe Dav a favour now – a thing no man alive would envy – you can at least partake in the spoils.”

Laughing, Tahir shrugged his large shoulders. “Well, when you put it that way, how could I say no?”

There it was again. That smile. The one that reminded Alex that she had her own. And she found it, then, as Tahir took the flask and allowed himself a long, deep swallow. Then another. Then another…

“Hey - don’t go emptying it!” There was a moment of frenzy, Alex grabbing for the flask, Tahir twisting away, keeping her at bay with a frantically extended elbow. Eventually, Alex managed to snatch it back and tipped it up, peering inside as though to measure the precise depth of his betrayal. “You rat bastard.”

But Tahir wasn’t listening. He was too busy laughing, one hand on the rail, hauling himself to his feet (and, more importantly, out of range). Once upright, he swayed slightly, then stretched his back. Cat-like. Content in his flagrant hubris.

 Duchess would be proud.

 “Come on, then,” he said. “Up you get.”

“What?” Alex was still fuming, trying to fish out the last few boozy drops with her finger. Traitor. “Why the hell should I?”

Tahir just grinned. 

“Because the rest of the bottle is with Adelina, and you’ve kept her waiting long enough.”

[whiskynottea]

We’ll rise up

Previously  Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13  Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16

AO3

                                                      ~~~~~~

Chapter 17. La Force Prison

Claire tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. 

La Force Prison. 

If life was a fairytale, this story would start thus: Once upon a time, Henri-Jacques Nompar de Caumont, Duc de la Force, built a wonderful complex as his private residence in Paris. 

But this was no bedtime story. After passing several hands, the war ministry had acquired the buildings before thirty-five years and the Hôtel de la Force got a brand new name and purpose. The past nine years, the proud La Grande Force, was keeping behind its walls all debtors and people charged with civil offences.

“Which building? Do you know where they keep Jamie?” Claire asked Murtagh, frowning at La Grande Force as though the stone buildings had personally offended her.

“Hopefully he’s in the one at the centre,” Murtagh returned, eyes fixed on the airiest building, situated between two yards planted with trees. 

Claire maintained her frown without much effort. “Will they let us in?” she asked, chin pointing at the entrance. 

Her gaze focused on the stocky men who guarded the entrance at Rue du Roi de Sicile and she searched her mind for the most effective arguments that might grant them entrance to the prison.

It took more than half an hour of waiting, followed by a quarter of an hour of being blatantly ignored but, finally, Claire and Murtagh were challenged into bringing forth their skill in eloquent persuasion. 

A tall, lean man had joined the other two. None of them was polite, neither they smiled. They looked at Claire and Murtagh with suspicion, but at last, they granted them thirty minutes to see Jamie.

It was a strange mix of satisfaction and dread that filled Claire’s chest as she followed the wiry man into the prison. Murtagh's wishful thinking regarding his godson’s prison cell remained an unrealised hope -- Jamie was held in one of the buildings stuck at the back, far from the entrance. When they left the main path lined with trees behind, a shiver ran down Claire's spine with the impossibility of getting Jamie out.

There was no warmth inside the building where the guard led them, the stones indifferent and unforgiving around them. They climbed up the dark, damp stairs following the trembling light of the lantern, the sounds of their steps mingling with murmurs from cells they couldn’t see. Men and women, guilty and innocent alike. They walked down a corridor and then another until Claire started to think that it might be a trap and for the sake of the Revolution visitors would become prisoners in the blink of an eye. 

"His name?" the man asked when he suddenly came to a stop and Claire felt Murtagh halt at a hair's breadth behind her back.

Claire looked up at the guard, aghast for a moment before she realised that the name that meant everything to her was so insignificant to him that he'd already forgotten it. 

"Fraser," she replied, voice slightly shaking. "James Fraser."

He turned his face to a heavy door with a narrow barred window at its centre and shouted the name loud and clear, in a voice as authoritative as demanding. The sound bounced off the walls and filled the dirty corridor, thick and heavy. Claire wiggled her fingers and clenched them against her palm as though she could grab the name that reverberated around her and protect it from getting lost in thin air. 

Maybe if she started with the name, she’d save the person too. 

She had no plan to follow, no strategy carefully thought. From the moment Murtagh had found her at St Antoine her need to see Jamie, to touch him and feel his pulse throbbing under her fingers overwhelmed her. She needed to make sure he was alive. Now that this was about to happen, with her heart loud enough to echo in the corridor, an uneasy feeling turned and twisted in her stomach. She had to get Jamie out and fast.

But how?

Jamie must have heard his name because a moment later he was behind the door with an impassive mask fixed on his face. He looked ragged, but his eyes glinted for a tiny moment when he saw Claire outside his cell. It lasted only an instant; the only reason Claire hadn’t missed it was because her eyes were fixed on him, paying attention to every little change on his face. She expected Jamie to smile at her next but saw his eyes narrow instead, and a pinch twisted the skin between his eyebrows.

“Are ye out of yer mind, Sassenach?” he hissed, grabbing the iron bars that kept them apart. “What are ye doing here?”

“Hello to you, too,” Claire deadpanned but a second later she had gone to him, covering his hands with hers. His face softened with her touch, and he shook his head. “The question is,” she said, now trying for a smile, “What are you doing here?”

Jamie sighed.

“You have fifteen minutes,” the guard announced and stepped back.

“Tou said thirty,” Claire objected, Murtagh grunting behind her. 

“Fifteen minutes,” the man repeated before he turned his back to them.

“Won’t you at least open the door?” Claire asked again, bewildered.

“No.” The merciless guard moved to sit on a chair a few feet away, left outside the cell next to Jamie’s.

“You shouldna have brought her here, man,” Jamie whispered angrily, now glaring at his godfather. “And she not even covering her face, her hair. They’ll know her everywhere now.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Claire interjected. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You shouldn’t be here.” She lowered her voice to what might be mistaken for a lover’s whisper. “We need to get you out, Jamie.”

Jamie shook his head. “There’s nothing to be done, Claire.” His gaze was unfocused, lost. “I… I’m sorry, Sassenach. This is all my fault. I was careless and distracted and…” His words turned into an empty breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” Claire pleaded and squeezed his hands on the bars.

“We’re getting ye out o’ here, lad,” Murtagh said as though stating a fact.

Jamie’s eyes left Claire’s for a moment to find his scowling godfather. “Ye ken that’s no’ an option, man.” 

“Jamie, don’t give up,” Claire entreated again. Then in a more stable, and forceful voice, she added, “Don’t you dare give up on me.”

“I never meant to leave ye, mo chridhe.”

“Then don’t.” 

“I canna see as I have much choice. The execution will be public, in two days time.”

“Two days?” Claire mumbled. Despair had the tangy and bitter taste of blood in her mouth. 

“I’m a traitor now. I raised suspicions when I defied them during the attack at Comte’s manor. Not a proper Jacques, I wasn’t. They followed me after that, saw me at the wineshop and with Annalise…  They think I am a spy, a merchant who pretends to be one of them to pass on information about the attacks to the noblemen and help them escape. They think I’m behind the Comte’s disappearance.” Jamie’s voice was quiet, that of a sentenced man accepting his fate. 

“But you’re not. If we make them see the truth, if we convince them that you were always fighting on their side --”

“Convince whom, Claire? Which court? Which jury? And who will talk for me? My uncle canna go in public and claim that his nephew was spying for the rebels. Murtagh, they won’t believe. And you, mo ghraidh, you had money once, moved in the same circles as the nobility. I’ll not risk yer safety for a lost cause.”

Claire was shaking her head vehemently. Jamie passed his hand between the bars of the window, reaching for her face. He hesitated for a moment, but the next his calloused hand was soft on her skin. 

“And even if ye tried, Sassenach, ye wouldna change anything. Only the men I talked to could help, the ones that got my information all these past months. And neither of them will be willing to risk their neck to help a man they think might be a turncoat twice over. They’ve seen me with Annalise, and they ken I didna kill anyone in the attacks.”

A silence fell between them, heavy as iron manacles and prison bars. Jamie traced her cheekbones with a finger, then ran his hand through her curls. 

“Promise me ye’ll not try to save me. Promise me.”

She didn’t speak. 

“Claire,” he tried again. His eyes were almost black in the dim light and he fixed them on hers, as though his gaze could burn conviction into her. “I ask that of ye, as a favour. If I mean something to ye, a shade of what ye mean to me, please dinna risk yerself doing anything foolish. Dinna try to change their minds. Stay safe, at St Antoine. Say ye came here because yer father knew mine back in England if anyone asks.” He seemed not to be convinced by the way she was looking at him. “I ken ye’re stubborn as an ox,” she paused and smiled, brushing away the tears that rolled down her cheeks uninhibited. “But some things we canna change no matter how much we wish them different. I wish we had more time, Claire, but the little time we had will be the last thing I’ll think of before leaving this place. And I need to know that ye won’t be in danger. Stay safe for me, aye?”

She didn’t speak. There were no words she could find to reply to this appeal. No solace to offer, no way to challenge his sensible arguments. But she couldn’t promise what he asked, either. 

Jamie leaned forward and cupped her head to bring her to him. Her cheeks touched the cold, filthy iron bars and she winced at the feeling, but a moment later his mouth was on hers, warm, tender, passionate, and alive, so alive that she couldn’t fathom ever kissing these lips cold and lifeless. 

When Jamie pulled away, tears were running free on his cheeks, too. “Last time I kissed ye, Sassenach,” he whispered, “I promised to tell ye what ‘tha gaol agam ort’ means. It means ‘I love ye’, and I do love ye, Claire, wi’ all my heart.”

“I love you too,” she mumbled between silent sobs. 

Jamie kissed her again, first on her mouth, then on her forehead. “Remember that. Always remember that, Claire. I will never stop loving ye. Alive or dead, my soul is yers.”

She felt like choking. 

“Will ye give me one moment wi’ Murtagh, mo ghraidh?”

With a last kiss, one that couldn’t possibly be the last, Claire stepped back. Murtagh and Jamie spoke so softly she couldn’t make out the words they were saying but she kept staring at the way Jamie’s wide lips moved, the way his slanted eyes focused on his godfather, the way the auburn locks of his hair fell on the high, flat forehead. The way his hands clenched the iron bars. 

The guard sat up from his chair and dragged it on the floor. “Time’s up,” he said, moving to stand in front of Jamie’s door. Murtagh stepped back, nodding twice at Jamie’s words. Claire wanted to go to him again, but the guard blocked the way, ordering Jamie to go back into the darkness of the cell. With a last glance at her, full of so much love that it forced all the air from her lungs, he was gone.

She stood still, looking at the door and trying to remember how to breathe. Murtagh’s arm came around her shoulders, pushing her forward, and she wondered how she could still walk, how she could go down the stairs now that she had seen Jamie, now that she knew what the future held for them.

Hope, precious shining hope, had no place in that building. So, prompted by Murtagh, she followed the lantern’s artificial light until she was out under the sun again. The sun that didn't reach the recesses of Jamie’s cell, and he couldn’t feel against his face. The sun that made his auburn hair bright red, the sun that promised a future that would never come. 

Chapter 18

[sugarcoated-eloquence]

The only K. Howard Playlist you’ll ever need:

Hello, lads and ladies and anything in between! I am starting to cultivate all of my music into broader, longer playlists for each queen! This took forever to format, please enjoy!

I am starting with Katherine Howard. This playlist is largely an “in-my-feels” type of setup, mainly because of how difficult Kit had it. Here is my list:

cynical fairytale by egg

comfort crowd by conan gray

everything i wanted by billie eilish

pretty girl by clairo

putting a spin on hey there delilah by egg

fix you by coldplay

lemons by brye

sign of the times by harry styles

angel down (work tape) by lady gaga

nothing’s gonna hurt you baby by cigarettes after sex

circles in the sand from fly by night (off broadway)

flowers by astn

sick of losing soulmates by dodie 

river by ben platt

it’s nice to have a friend by taylor swift

self control by cavetown

better now by blanks 

motion sickness by phoebe bridgers

dead men don’t rape by 7 year bitch

liability by lorde

young at heart by frank sinatra

midnight city by M83

things that make it warm by cavetown

tourner dans le vide by indila 

fallin for u by mxmtoon + peachy!

someone new by hozier

i fall in love too easily by chet baker

a safe place to land by sara bareilles + john legend

golden by harry styles

sofia by clairo

safe and sound by taylor swift

edge of seventeen by stevie nicks

oh ms believer by twenty one pilots

im closing my eyes by potsu ft. shiloh

heal by tom odell

chasing pavements by adele

i need to be alone. by girl in red

who hurt you? by daniel caesar 

the city by ella jane

st. bernard by lincoln

[stahlop]

Not all Treasure is Silver and Gold (sometimes it’s chocolate)

Summary: Killian takes his children on a trick or treat treasure hunt to learn about the town’s history and reflects on his own in the process.

Here is my CS Role Reversal collaboration. Thank you @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713​ for the artwork! It is amazing and inspired the fluffiest story I think you’ll ever read.

A big shout out to @profdanglaisstuff​ for being my beta.

This is probably the fluffiest, sweetest thing I've ever written in my life. Enjoy!

Rated G

A03 link

They turned on to Main Street, the witch and two pirates, carrying with them some of the loot they had already discovered. The witch, though small, was the de facto leader of the group, instructing the small band of characters where to go with the map in her hand.

“The last clue said that we would find the fruit of the Evil Queen where the werewolves lie. That’s at Granny’s and we’re looking for apples,” the witch said matter of factly, as if that were the most straightforward answer. The smaller of the two pirates looked a little wary.

“You don’t agree with the lass?” the larger of the pirates asked. “Do you have a different idea?” He prodded the other pirate. The small pirate looked pensive, as if he had a question he wanted to ask but wasn’t sure how to with his limited vocabulary. The witch put her hands on her hips in a perfect imitation of her mother, not liking that they had to wait when she clearly knew she was correct.

“Daddy?” The small pirate finally asked in a small voice, his green eyes opened unnaturally wide. “The apples won’t put us to sleep will they?” Killian Jones gulped. Oops.

“Of course not, DL. It’s just a game!” Hope Jones, 7-years-old and knower of everything there was to know (obviously), huffed at her little brother. Killian tried not to laugh for DL’s sake. Dylan Liam Jones was only three and couldn’t always distinguish between fiction and reality, or in this case, the past and the present.

Killian got down on one knee to talk with his son, not a small feat as he was in his full pirate regalia, something he only brought out for Halloween nowadays. And they were in the middle of Main Street with swarms of other trick or treaters around them. “You know I would never do anything to hurt you, right DL? The clues are both to help you understand our history and to get candies, sweets, and treasure!” He said reassuringly. The boy nodded, his pirate hat a little too big for his head and falling forward on each nod. Snow had tried to make the costume as close to Killian’s pirate ensemble as she could, but the hat they’d had to buy from a costume shop in town (even after all these years, Emma didn’t quite trust Jefferson to help her out, even though he’d apologized profusely to her once the curse had been lifted and he was reunited with his daughter). Even though Killian didn’t wear a pirate hat, DL had seen Peter Pan quite a few times and wanted a hat similar to that of Captain Hook. Killian had been horrified.

“Can we go now?” Hope said in an annoyed tone. She was impatient when it came to DL and also had the attitude of a teenager, or so Emma had told Killian.

“Are we ready, lad?” Killian asked DL. The little boy nodded. Killian took his hand.

“Finally!” Hope exclaimed starting to run ahead.

“Hope Alice Jones,” Killian said firmly. Hope stopped in her tracks. She knew she wasn’t supposed to run ahead. She turned around and headed back to her father and brother. “Good lass. Now, we have a whole row of houses to procure candy from before we get to Granny’s. Are we ready?” Killian asked.

“We’re ready!” the Jones children shouted.

“Onward then!”

Granny’s boasted all sorts of candied apples. Regular candied, caramel, some with nuts and some with sprinkles, whatever the kind the children were in heaven. Granny was nice enough to cut them into slices to make them easier for the children to eat.

“Might I bother you for a bit of pumpkin pie?” Killian asked Granny as she brought the sugary treats to their booth. Granny nodded and gave him a smile. She still had a soft spot for the pirate and denied him nothing. Even when there were children swarming all around.

The apples came with their next clue. Killian had to hand it to the Storybrooke Town Council, they knew how to get the town involved. The Storybrooke Historical Scavenger/Treasure Hunt had become a town staple over the past five years. It was a fun, yet educational, way to introduce the children to the town’s fairytale past while getting treats and sweets at the same time.

Killian took the card they had been given and read the next clue. “Fill me up with candy and I might explode when you say boo! But don’t feed any chocolate to the cats and dogs that might be around you.” Killian paused and looked at the kids. They looked at him expectantly, caramel and sprinkles clinging to their faces. “Any ideas?” He asked them.

DL scrunched his face up and thought over the clue. “Fill me up with candy and...what was the next part daddy?” he asked. Hope huffed again, annoyed that her little brother couldn’t remember something so simple.

“I might explode when you say boo. It’s a ghost pinata!” She exclaimed. “Like the unicorn one I had at my last birthday party. Remember, we hit it with a stick until candy came out?” Her tone of voice had changed midway through to excited. “But where is the pinata, daddy?” Hope asked.

Killian reread the last part of the clue again. “But don’t feed any chocolate to the cats and dogs that might be around you. Know of any place that might have cats and dogs, little loves?” Hope and DL put their heads together and discussed where they thought it might be.

“The Storybrooke Animal Shelter!” they proclaimed.

After cleaning up their sticky hands and faces, they trick or treated their way over to the animal shelter. Sure enough there were several ghost pinatas waiting for children to come and take a whack at them. The shelter was now owned by Ruby and her girlfriend, Dorothy, who were also running the pinata stations and telling their stories. Ruby talking about how she discovered she was a werewolf and Dorothy telling about her adventures in Oz, both dressed up in Red Riding Hood and Dorothy costumes, respectively. The two also had cats and dogs up for adoption.

Hope and DL delighted in hitting the ghost pinata along with several other children until it finally broke. They gathered up many different types of candy into their pumpkin baskets.

“Can we get a cat? Please, please, please?” both kids whined. Killian and Emma had discussed it this year. Hope had been asking for a cat for the past few years, and of course, since big sis wanted a cat, DL did too.

“I think your mum and I have decided we can get one this year. Why don’t you two pick one out and we’ll pick it up in a few days after it’s had all its shots and everything,” he said, smiling. Killian had never seen bigger grins on his kids’ faces.

The children came out a little while later having picked out the most ‘perfect cat’ in the entire world. Ruby told him to come by the next day to fill out the paperwork and once the cat was fixed, she would be all theirs.

“There is one final clue,” Dorothy said, handing Killian a card. They all thanked Ruby and Dorothy and walked over to a nearby bench to look at the clue.

“When the Savior came and broke the curse, time started to move and things got worse.

But the curse was broken with True Love’s Kiss, come read about these tales if there were any you missed.” Killian paused for effect looking at his two children to see if they understood the clue. He could see Hope recognized where they needed to go in an instant, but DL wasn’t quite sure.

“Good Witch Hope, do you know where we need to go?” Killian asked, so the pressure would be off DL.

Hope gave a sly smile that matched her father’s. She might be the spitting image of her mother, but she had his eyes and his smile. “It’s the library!” she announced.

DL’s eyes lit up wide. “We go to see Auntie Belle?” he asked hopefully. For only being three, DL already had his first crush on Belle the librarian.

“Yes, DL, we go see Auntie Belle. Lead us onward fair witch!” Killian cried.

The trio passed by a few shops that had workers passing candy out front that Hope and DL got to add to their loot. The kids were getting excited the closer they got to the library, DL going on and on about Auntie Belle and Hope running through what the final prize or candy would be once they reached their intended destination.

“I just hope it’s actual candy and not a book. Not that I don’t love reading, Father, but books just aren’t appropriate for Halloween,” Hope said knowingly. She had also inherited his language skills and had recently taken to calling him Father because it sounded more ‘grown up’.

“I’m sure Aunt Belle will have sweets for all of you,” Killian said rolling his eyes and smiling at his precocious daughter.

Belle had completely outdone herself when it came to the library and clocktower. For a place that had once held torturous memories for Killian (fighting an undead Maleficent in the caves, Rumplestiltskin literally holding his heart and almost killing him, leaving Emma in the elevator in the Underbrooke version), it was now a magical place. Happy Halloween banners were posted at the front entrance and on several walls inside, plastic skeletons were hanging everywhere, fall leaf garlands decorated every shelved surface available, and scarecrows that jumped out at you guarded each doorway. In the center of the library was a large craft table that had hundreds of mini pumpkins on it. Next to them were small cups of paint for the children to paint them. Another table in the room next door had a pumpkin carving station for the adults. Belle was in the reading nook where she usually did storytime for the town’s children, wearing a gold dress, reminiscent of this world’s version of Belle (although she told Killian once that she had a dress very similar to that back in the Enchanted Forest, so maybe Disney wasn’t completely off on all their stories), and telling her own tale of Beauty and the Beast.

Belle and Rumplestiltskin’s son, Gideon, and Snow and David’s son, Neal, were running the children’s mini pumpkin area. Killian thought that was pretty much the blind leading the blind (as they were 10 and 13 respectively), but the other kids seemed to be having a good time. A sign at the circulation desk let them know that to get their final treat for the night they needed to paint a pumpkin and have it examined by the official Pumpkin Inspectors, which also seemed to be Gideon and Neal.

“Ready to paint some pumpkins?” Killian said to both his children. Hope didn’t even answer, just ran off to the station delighted at getting to paint. DL nodded his head and took Killian’s hook (something he liked to do when he wanted to feel calm) and led him over to the station. As much as Killian would like to do the pumpkin carving (he’d won that contest the past two years in a row), he knew DL would get overwhelmed easily with too many paint options. Emma often worried that he was overly sensitive about things, but Killian was sure he’d eventually grow out of it. The town did tend to go overboard with everything and it was a lot to handle for most adults, let alone a 3-year-old.

Hope had already grabbed an apron so she wouldn’t stain her costume and started painting her pumpkin an array of colors. Killian had DL pick out three colors (one for each year he was) that he would use and got him into an apron as well.

When they all finished (Hope having painted a unicorn with the stem as a horn, and DL having made a bunch of purple, green, and black splotches all over his pumpkin), Gideon and Neal, the Pumpkin Inspectors, came over and declared them wonderful pumpkins. All pumpkins would be displayed throughout the library for the rest of fall. They headed over to Belle to hear her story and get their final prize.

Killian had to admit, listening to Belle’s retelling of her love story with Rumplestiltskin made it sound like an epic adventure and not the abusive tale that it had been throughout much of their time in Storybrooke. Even 10 years later, Rumplestiltskin and Killian avoided each other whenever possible, even if Rumplestiltskin was considered a more upstanding member of the town now.

“And now,” Belle drawled with a big smile on her face,” your final treat of the night!” The children started to clap and cheer. She then put her finger to her lips and the children immediately went quiet. Everyone knew to listen to Librarian Belle. “There are actually two treats tonight.” The children waited with bated breath. “You will get to pick out your own Halloween or fall themed book,” she paused before the big reveal, Killian already noticing the look of disappointment on Hope’s face, “And you will also get a scoop of loot from our treasure chest!” Belle moved the pillow off the large box she’d been sitting on to reveal a very large pirate’s chest. She opened it to show it filled with (chocolate) gold coins and candy jewelry. A large cheer went up from the children as they got up and filed into a line to get their treasure, Belle giving them each a large scoop as they walked past. Killian noticed that the scoop pretty much filled up the rest of their trick or treat bags. Then they got to choose a book from the table set up near the back exit.

The small witch and two pirates made their way back to their beautiful seaside home. The denizens of their town were dwindling in number at the (somewhat) late hour of 8:15 (late for most of the trick or treaters anyway). The witch was content to read her book under the street lamps while sucking on a Ring Pop liberated from her loot. The smaller pirate was passed out on the larger pirate’s shoulder, as he’d barely made it out of the library with his eyes open. On the front porch, a beautiful blonde was handing out candy to the last few stragglers. She wore a black dress decorated with pumpkins and a black cat mask.  As the last trick or treaters left the porch, she gingerly collapsed into her rocking chair.

“Mommy, Mommy!” Hope yelled excitedly as she ran up the porch steps. She was not too grown up to continue calling Emma Mommy. “Look at everything we got!” She ran up to Emma and showed her all the spoils from the night. Emma smiled and removed the mask from her face.

“It looks like the town will be having a candy shortage in the coming weeks,” she said, laughing a bit. Then she put on a serious tone. “Are you prepared to pay the candy tax?” She held her hand out for payment. Hope looked up at Killian and he nodded that, yes, she needed to give her mother some of her candy. Hope reluctantly gave her two chocolate coins and skipped into the house.

“I see this one barely made it home?” Emma said, softly patting DL’s arm that was hanging down near her.

“Aye, Swan, passed out right as we were leaving the library.” He shifted DL slightly. “Let me get him into his night clothes and then I’ll come out with you.” Emma nodded in agreement.

It took Killian a little longer than he anticipated to get DL out of his costume. He eventually just kept him in his muslin shirt and forwent trying to wrestle pajama pants onto him, letting him sleep in his underwear. He folded the parts of his costume he was able to get off and placed them on his dresser. He then gave him a kiss before turning on the nightlight DL needed to sleep, and closed the door.

Killian checked in on Hope who had already changed out of her witch costume and put on a nightgown. She was still reading the book she’d received from Belle.

“Did you brush your teeth, little love?” he asked. She gave her patented Emma eye roll.

“Yes, Father,” she said not even looking up from her book. Emma said they were going to hate the teenage years if she was already this dramatic. Killian walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t stay up too late, there is still school tomorrow,” he told her. She grunted an acknowledgment as he left.

He walked outside and joined Emma on the other rocking chair that was out on the porch. Yes, they were a two-rocking-chair-on-the-porch-type people now. Emma had already eaten her candy tax and was now working on one of the fun size bags of Peanut M&M’s that she had been passing out to trick or treaters.

“And how many of those did you eat tonight, Swan?” he asked, snagging a bag for himself from the bowl next to Emma’s rocking chair.

She blushed a little at his question. “There’s peanuts in it. That counts as protein, right?” she asked.

“Ah, is that the excuse you’re using then. Peanuts for the peanut, aye?” He reached over and rubbed her swollen belly. “We missed you tonight,” he said, reaching over to grab her hand and kiss her knuckles.

“Yeah, well, being on modified bed rest for this little one takes priority, I guess.” She took back her hand and put both of them on her belly. “At least it’s only two more months until this little peanut graces us with their presence.”

Killian reached his hand back out for hers, admiring the wedding band that graced his ring finger and the engagement ring and wedding band that adorned hers. It was amazing to think that it had been nine years since that whole ordeal, and here they were, about to welcome their fourth child (and the fact that Henry was married and expecting a babe of his own was a lot scarier to Killian than adding another to their brood). Killian just thanked his lucky stars that life had consented to let this old pirate settle down and be blessed with the greatest treasure one could ever find.

“Let’s go to bed, love,” he said, standing and pulling her up with him. Emma smiled and gave him a peck on the lips.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Please leave comments and reblog! Also, let me know if you want to be tagged in future stories

@profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @mariakov81 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615​ @csrolereversal​ @cshalloweek​

[themechaneer]

romance headcanons.

name: joel forges.

nickname: the mechaneer, j, joe, the mechanic, mr. fix-it.

gender: male.

romantic orientation: pan.

preferred pet names: he doesn’t have any preference really. don’t think he’s ever been in a position to be called any.

relationship status: single 

favorite canon / fandom ship: well joel isn’t actually canon (i cry about it every night) so i can’t say i have any for him yet besides maybe some of the ships that’ve been discussed with friends. for the fandom itself i do ship goldenbridges or rather i ship my narrative of how i see that ship playing out, also goldenmemories (higgsxfragile), and I definitely ship them all as an ot3, I feel like i lowkey ship sam to an extent with almost everyone minus some obvious notps, i ship junk and chiral with marriage counselling, higgs with pizza, sam with rest, amelie with a fucking BREAK or maybe an esc/restart button on her LIFE

favorite crossover ship: i really don’t have any yet tbh, i need development and at least some chemistry before i’ll ship something and sadly im still in the building joel up and telling people about him phase so no actual threading has happened yet uwu SOON THO

opinion on true love: hmm--- i don’t see joel being the type of person to completely write it off but i don’t see him actively believing in it’s existence. that could just be because of his own experience with love. he hasn’t experienced romantic love for himself but when people talk about true love to him it’s always come off like some sort of fairytale concept, like its some sparkly unicorn idealistic thing that only happens to a handful of lucky assholes willing to wait or spend all their time looking for it. the concept itself isn’t at all attractive to joel. whatever love may actually be it’s joel’s perogative that it’s different for every couple, layered, built... people can have their fairytales, he prefers the real thing regardless of how unpretty that may look like. 

opinion on love at first sight: again, he’s sure some people might experience SOMETHING upon first sight but you can’t make him believe it’s love.

how ‘romantic’ are they?: hmm probably less so then what most people would want but maybe a little more so then most would intially think? joel doesn’t have much in the way of experience here other then what he recalls of his parents & their relationship, how they tended to ‘flirt’ with eachother, show love, show affection. it’s not something that i think he does a lot of so much as he does what feels natural to him, and does so perhaps in subtle ways, in quality time, acts of service. give him time though, watch him learn, and perhaps that side of him will grow.

ideal physical traits: he really doesn’t have a preference, it’s not what he notices about people.

ideal personality traits: honesty. facades are things that joel sees through with ease and if he has low patience for anything is bullshit and liars. loyalty. wit/intelligence. don’t gotta be a genuis to get his attention but the lad needs someone he finds intellectually stimulating, needs someone he can talk to on his level, anyone who can make him laugh, banter with him, do deep conversation is someone he could be interested in. grit, nerve, backbone, spirit-- call it whatever the hell you want but anyone who wants to be able to keep up with joel better have some cause he’s got it in spades and it’s a quality he does look for in others. empathy. he doesn’t need someone to be a bleeding heart but he needs someone capable of feeling for people, of understanding where he comes from. self-confidence. independence. joel isn’t the type to be up anyone’s ass all day and expects the same from partners. he needs some amount of time to himself so he does look for that in others.

unattractive physical traits: probably anything that indicates someone doesn’t take good care of themselves be it diet or exercise or hygeine. he doesn’t care if someone looks like a model but someone who looks like they dont care about their phyiscal health as opposed to their appearence is gonna be unnatractive to him. he definitely understands depression and lack of energy having a huge say in this v thing and as long as he’s aware of the person enough to know this about him he’s also pretty lenient in this way to even if he’ll still be concerned for their well-being.

unattractive personality traits: pushover types, drama kings/queens, shallow types, selfishness, being mean-spirited, prone to abuse and use of those around them, lack of empathy, eletism, traitorous or manipulative types, dishonest, ingenuine, materialistic, stupidity, cowardice, flaky, pretentiousness, whiney, hypocrisy, laziness, hateful.

ideal date: to be honest anything that results in some quality time spent is aces in his book be it maybe walk or hike somewhere, a ride, or a drive together, or just time spent together at his place, their place, or his garage even. so long as they’re doing something or together somewhere they’re both comfortable and able to enjoy the other’s company he’ll be happy.

do they have a type?: not really? i suppose he likes people similar to himself? that he can find a level of compatibility with without being so similar that their company is boring. someone that’s capable, reliable. that he can trust. someone he can talk with, can handle him when he’s not holding back verbally emotionally or physically. someone he can talk to but is comfortable with his introvertedness. joel can be social if need be but he NEEDS time to himself and is most comfortable in his own company so i feel like he’d appreciate someone who doesn’t mind that and who he can be alone with comfortably without feeling drained for it. someone who calls him out on his bullshit when they see it. he likes people who speak their mind and can match him in snark to. someone who can match him in a rare bout of spontaneity, keep him on his toes. someone compatible enough there is chemistry but not so much that they’re boring and different enough they challenge him in healthy ways and offer opportunities for him to grow as a person and vice versa.

average relationship length: he’s never really been in a relationship but I feel like if someone managed to catch his interest and put in the work and effort with him to build something that can be termed a relationship then---, it’d last probably as long as it was something they both wanted and were comfortable with.

preferred non-sexual intimacy: listen--- joel’s primary love language is quality time. so long as he can be with them, share space, share thoughts. that’s intimate in itself. more meaningful to him. now if we’re talking physical intimacy-- probably anything that involves touching their hair or their hands. there is something incredibly intimate about both acts with the right person, the right moment.

commitment level: yeah once joel is a part of someone’s life he’s basically a part of it forever even if he’s no longer WITH them in that sense. it takes a lot to get him to a place where he can no longer bare to be with someone or be in their life in any capacity. he’s nothing if not loyal and he’s not prone to giving up on people at all much less those he cares deeply about. if someone breaks his heart however, shatters his trust in them... yeah.

opinion of public affection: can’t say it effects him much seeing it from other people or couples but he’s probably not one to engage in it himself beyond what could be considered platonic gestures. i wouldn’t call joel shy really but he does prefer privacy when it comes to showing his affections. you won’t get him hanging all over you but a stolen kiss or two, hugs, holding hands, if you’re into that he won’t stop you, he’ll likely enjoy it. pushing for more beyond that outside of a very specific mood is probably gonna get you teased for being impatient.

past relationships?:  he’s never really had anything he’d call a romantic relationship. he’s had 1 or 2 rare romantic encounters. but neither of them developed into anything serious enough to call them a relationship. aside from his family he has a few friends, clients, aquatiences.

tagged by: snagged with permission from @goldenmasked​ tagging: @strandsoffaith​ , @arklayruins​ , @carlosexpress​ , @samuelungerbridges​ , @heartshapedstrand​ , @takenpeace​ , ANYONE ELSE WHO WANTS TO DO THIS FEEL FREE TO STEAL IT AND TAG ME SO I CAN READ IT

[phaedrecameron]

House of Fraser Chpt 16 - The First Six Months

Lallybroch – The Holidays

“Fergus, trobhad!”     

Jamie fastened the buttons of his quilted Barbour jacket as he kneeled and clasped a leash to the dog’s collar. Slamming the door of his Da’s ancient Rover, he looked up the small path leading to the stones at Craigh na Dun. Fergus whined as he sat near his owner’s leg.  Jamie scratched his ear, “it’s okay, boy. I’ve finally lost my mind.”  Fergus didn’t appreciate the joke.  

Jamie did, in fact, feel ridiculous. Roaming around ancient stones in search of their connection to Claire? He chuckled to himself thinking of her face when he shared the story of The Woman from Balnain. She was very respectful, listened carefully, but plainly thought it a fairytale – an eccentricity she was willing to accept to be with him. He prayed that’s all it was, but Frank was no fairytale.

He led Fergus slowly around the stones. Nothing unusual, nothing like what he experienced, or perhaps imagined, on Leòdhas. Suddenly, Fergus jerked away. Jamie followed his gaze to a large stone with a cleft. He moved toward the stone, but Fergus wouldn’t come.  Jamie slackened the leash and touched the stone. A sudden vibration.

“Christ!”

Fergus growled and barked, ready to defend them both.

Jamie realized it was the mobile in his pocket. He laughed at his foolishness, but his heart was still pounding when he checked the screen.

STUBBORN SASSENACH Didyou make it ok?

Jamie began to type a quick reply.

“A mhac!”

Jamie looked up to see Brian Fraser cresting the hill. He released the leash to allow Fergus to run to his father.

“Da, what are ye doing out here in the cold? Come, Mam will kill us both.”

“Oh, I wanted to see how yer research was goin’?” Brian patted Fergus’ head. “Any inspiration?”

“What? Och, no much. Let’s go.” Jamie led his father to the vehicles. “Da?”

Brian’s dark features trained on his son, “Aye?”

“Nothin’. Glad to see ye is all.”

London – Winter Date Day

“What was your favorite part?” Claire asked around a large bite of churro.

“The King lookin’ like a pompous jackass.” Jamie pulled her close and licked the cinnamon-sugar from her lips. “Lafayette was good too and of course Hamilton was a Scot.”

Claire smiled to herself as they walked through London’s West End. She wasn’t sure Alexander Hamilton was rightly identified as a Scot, but she knew better than to get between Jamie and the love of his country and its people.

“Thanks for skipping work to come to a matinee,” she grinned and grabbed his hand. “Tea?”

Since his return from Scotland, they’d been on four dates. On all four occasions their plans were modified because they ended up having sex before they could get out the door. Her physical need of him was only outpaced by his growing stranglehold on her heart. When she spoke, he listened. He wasn’t thinking about how to refute what she’d just said or what he planned to say next; he just listened. That simple act completely disarmed her.

But today, on their fifth date, Claire was determined to keep to their original plan. She made Jamie meet her at the theater - they could have sex after.

“Are ye sure we have time for tea? Ye said ye wanted to be at the hospital by 5am tomorrow?”

“Well, yes…”

“Because I plan to make ye quiver and scream my name at least twice.” He casually checked the time on his mobile. “And ye struggle to rise even after a full night of sleep, so…?”

Jamie’s Flat -Burns Night

Bloody hell!

Fergus whined in sympathy as he watched Claire stare helplessly in the large saucepan on the stove; pieces of exploded haggis floating to the surface.

She heard Jamie’s key in the door. Shit! Shit! Shit!

Fergus leapt to greet Jamie and provide Claire a minute to compose herself.

“Claire? What are ye….” His dining room table was draped in Grant colors; flowers, candles, and a bottle of whisky in the center.

He found her fashed in his kitchen. She was wearing a tartan skirt in MacDonald colors and a Cameron patterned head band.

“Happy Burns Night,” she blurted as she nervously blocked his view of the stove.

Every time Jamie thought it impossible to love her more, his heart simply grew more chambers for her to fill.  He glanced over her shoulder at the ruined haggis, then gathered her in his arms. “Happy Burns Night to ye.” He brushed ground oatmeal from her cheek. “Dinna worry over the food,” he touched her headband, “yer an ignorant sassenach, ye need training is all.”  

She smiled, “I’m sorry. I wanted to surprise…”

He silenced her with a kiss. “‘Tis perfect, truly. Come, let’s have a dram.”

“I really must love you to drink that battery acid.”

Jamie felt a pain in his chest – another chamber added.  

She wound her hands around his neck, “I love you, Jamie.”

Hospital Lounge - Valentine’s Day

“Is that…it canna be?” Geillis asked in wonder.

Claire brushed the powdered sugar from her chest and held up a pair of scrubs.

“The man sends ye flowers, donuts and designer scrubs?!”

Claire smiled as her fingers traced the soft tartan lining. She grabbed the note, Geillis looking over her shoulder.

Sassenach,

To keep you warm when I’m not with you & to help with your training – these are Fraser colors!

Happy Valentine’s Day

J

Jamie’s Flat -Milan Fashion Week

“Yer sure it’s alright? Marsali or my sister..”

“It’s fine,” Claire pushed him toward the door, “you know I love Fergus. Hurry, you’ll miss your flight.”

“Okay, I’ll call ye when I land.” Jamie pulled her in for a kiss, “once more?”

“James Fraser, I will not be responsible for you missing your own show. Go!”

“I’ll be quick.” His hands dropped to her arse.

She snorted and nipped his ear, “I’m not interested in quick. And here, don’t forget your sketchbook.”

“It’s for ye – the designs I’m showing.”

He’d never before let her see one of his sketchbooks. Claire tucked the book under arm. “I’ll miss you, Jamie. Come back to me.”

“Always.”

Once he left, she curled on his sofa and opened the book. She sniffed as she knuckled away tears. There were dozens of drawings - dresses, trousers, skirts – all in different colors and textures, but always her. She could see the mole on her back, or the smile that broke free when he called her sassenach, her hair in the wind, her crooked pinky finger. She fell asleep, Jamie’s book clutched to her chest, Fergus at her feet.  

Jamie’s office - A Spring Day at HF

“Ssshhh.” Claire’s hand went to Jamie’s mouth. “Someone will hear you.” She ducked back under his desk and between his legs.

“Let em. They all know.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Up, up. I want ye from behind.”

Jamie helped her to stand in her stilettos and flipped her around.

“What do you mean, ‘they all know’?” Claire asked over her shoulder as he kneaded her bottom.

She felt him chuckle against her back as he pushed her thighs further apart.

“Sassenach, ye show up here in nothing but yer wee trench coat, stilettos, and the look of determination on yer face. They all know what yer about.”

“Wot?!” She turned around, eyes to her hairline.

“Come now,” he kissed her nose, “ye know that’s why ye do it – so everyone knows I belong to ye.” He flipped her around once more.  “And I dinna mean for ye to waste yer time doing so.”

She groaned loudly as he thrust home.

“Claire.” Marsali and John said in unison as Claire emerged from Jamie’s office.

Claire pulled the knot tighter on her trench, nodded in response, and causally walked toward the exit.

A few moments later, Jamie appeared. Marsali laughed, rolled her eyes and walked to the back row of computers. John handed Jamie a tablet of new designs, “so does Claire have a brother?”

Speyside Whisky Festival, Scotland – Jamie’s birthday

“We could go to the Seeldh?” Claire pointed to the brochure as Jamie pulled the hired Rover up to their B&B.

“Ceilidh, lass. And that we could.”

She leaned over and kissed him, “ceilidh, huh? Well, you choose – your birthday, my treat.”

*** Jamie smiled as Claire pretended to drink her dram. She was so stubborn. He tried to dissuade her from gifting him a whisky festival for his birthday, but she insisted she would grow to appreciate the drink. Jamie decided to hedge his bets and secreted three bottles of wine in his suitcase.

“I need the loo,” Claire whispered in Jamie’s ear. “Do you want the rest of this?”

“Aye.” Jamie took her dram and watched her arse as she disappeared into the crowd. ***

“Is that yer match? The tall ginger lad?”

Claire turned while washing her hands. A small, mousey brown haired woman stood at her side.

“I suppose he is.”

“Och, dinna worry. I’m no tryin to take yer man, it’s quite clear that would be impossible. I’ve just never seen a matched pair from the same side. Rare.”

Claire took a step back.

The woman’s grey eyes moved to the silver strands at Claire’s temple, “‘tis okay, my cousins are travelers also. Do ye dream of going?  Where is your other?”

“If you’ll excuse me.” Claire brushed past the woman.

“Sassenach, what’s wrong?”  Her skin was cold, her whisky eyes gone drab.

“Too many Scots,” she laughed weakly. “Do you mind if we leave?”

Lallybroch- Summer

Claire’s grip tightened on the strap of her crossbody as she stared out the windshield. Today was the day she was to meet Jamie’s parents at his childhood home. She tried to focus on Jamie’s words, but all she could hear was the thrum of her heartbeat in her ears.

“Claire? Come, ‘tis just my parents. They’ll love ye as I do.”

“But what if…I…Jamie I don’t have a family! What if I do it wrong?”

Jamie reached over to fix the wide collar of her jumper. “They’re easy, ‘tis my sister ye’ll have to prepare for.” He tried to wink and unclipped her seatbelt.

Claire grabbed his hand and followed him up the gravel walkway. Her pace slowed as she took in the enormity of Lallybroch. “You grew up here? Can we see the tower?”

“I’ll show ye round the grounds after. The weather’s nice. I’d like to see yer bare skin against the heather.”

“That’s not what I want to see!”  She began poking him on the side. “You can set your bare arse on some sticky plant.”

“Jamie!” Brian Fraser waved from the doorway.

Claire would be damned if she’d cower behind Jamie. She straightened her shoulders and walked directly toward Jamie’s father. “Hullo Mr. Fraser, it’s so lovely to meet you. Please, call me Claire.” She felt Jamie’s hand on her lower back.

“Likewise, lass. And it’s Brian.”

His handshake was firm and his voice was warm honey, just like Jamie’s. She stood still as he looked her over. He glanced to Jamie and a broad smile transformed his face. In that moment, they could have been brothers. Brian engulfed Claire in a bear hug.

“I’m so very glad yer here Claire. We wondered when…”

“Da! Dinna smother her.” Jamie chuckled.

Brian released Claire. “Sorry, sorry. Come inside.” He turned and went inside.

Jamie touched Claire’s arm. “Are ye alright?  Dinna know what’s gotten in to him.”

She brushed a curl behind her ear, a slight blush on her cheeks. “It’s okay, haven’t you brought home a lass before?” She teased.

His eyes narrowed, “no, yer the first.”

Pleased, she wrapped her arm around his and pulled him inside. They were met by Ellen in the large open living room area.

“Hello, dear. We’ve been waiting for Jamie to bring ye around.”

Claire stared. The resemblance was unmistakable. She was as beautiful as Jamie was handsome. Tall and regal, she reached out and touched the swatch of silver at Claire’s temple. “Ye’ve a long time still.” Claire remained silent. “Yer eyes are remarkable..’tis almost a shame yer bairns will have Jamie’s color.”

“Christ! Mam!” Jamie nervously laughed and tried to pull Claire away from his mother.

Claire wouldn’t budge.

“It’s okay.” Claire reached out and grabbed Ellen’s hands. She was jolted by cold than warmth.

Jamie watched in confusion as the two women seemed to silently communicate.

Brian brought a hand to Jamie’s shoulder, “come son, I’ve somethin ye need to see.”

Jamie hesitated.

“Dinna worry, yer Mam will look after Claire.”

With a backward glance, Jamie followed his father to the attic. He hadn’t stepped foot in the attic since he was wee.

“Give me a hand, will ye? Brian was struggling with a large chest.

Jamie rushed over to help his father pull the chest into the light.

“Da, what…”

“Do ye love Claire?”

Jamie looked toward the attic stairway. “Aye.”

“Ye want to marry her?”

“Da, I’m grown. Whatever talk ye’ve been preparin’..”

“Ken everythin’ do ye?” Brian smiled and opened the chest. He pulled out a plaid, “here, do ye recognize it?”

Jamie ran the well worn plaid across his hands. MacKenzie colors. It was nearly threadbare and the ends were frayed. He moved it closer to his face.  There was something odd about its smell and the color was muted, but not from age, it was as though it had been improperly dyed.

“When yer Mam was pregnant, she would wrap herself in that plaid and sing to ye. When you were born, ye wouldna sleep unless that plaid was around ye or in yer crib.”

“I dinna remember.” Jamie sat down the plaid as Brian handed Jamie a thick woolen skirt. It too was unusual. He checked the seams- it wasn’t commercially made.

“Yer Mam loved to show ye that. I thinks it’s why ye took to clothes.”

“Da?”

Brian placed a women’s corset in his son’s hands. “What do ye see lad?”

Jamie eyes dropped to the garment. It was an accurate representation of stays used by mid 18th century Scottish women of high birth. There were no zippers or metal clasps. Jamie ran his finger along an edge of frayed material. He felt a sharp pain as the whale bone nicked his finger.

Jamie bunched the corset in his hands, denying the truth of it.

“Da, what is this? Where did ye..”

“They’re yer mother’s. She was wearing them when I found her; when she came through the stones. 

[isitgintimeyet]

Letting Go

AO3

Previous

Thanks for your continued support. Hope you enjoy.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge and @happytoobservenolongerdistant

Chapter 3: Should I Stay or Should I Go

Darling you got to let me know Should I stay or should I go? If you say that you are mine I'll be here 'til the end of time So you got to let me know Should I stay or should I go?

Joe Strummer/ Mick Jones - The Clash

By Saturday, Claire had made a plan of action. She was determined to spend all day away from the house to avoid any unfortunate run-ins, just in case this Fraser turned out to be her Fraser (no, not ‘her’ Fraser… the Fraser with whom she had, in the past, been acquainted). Uncle Lamb would be at the university, so she arranged for a full day of flat hunting. She was adamant that somewhere out there was the perfect flat for her and by the end of Saturday, she would have found it!

Claire set out early in the morning to work through the list of addresses saved on her mobile, ignoring the greyness of the day and the continuous drizzle across the city. By mid afternoon, her mood matched the Glasgow weather. On paper, each flat looked and sounded perfect. In reality, none of them was what Claire was looking for. She felt like Goldilocks in the children’s fairytale: the flats were either too modern with small, square rooms; too symmetrical and bland; or too industrial with huge loft-style rooms; too harsh and urban. All her hopes were pinned on the last property on her list -- one of 4 flats in a classic Victorian townhouse.

As soon as she climbed the steps to the grand front door and stepped into the common hallway dominated by the large staircase with wrought iron bannister, Claire knew this was the place. Entering the flat just confirmed her first impression, the large living room was bright and airy with high ceilings and large bay windows. Claire wandered round the rest of the flat, picturing how her furniture would fit exactly into it. The estate agent trailed quietly behind her, sensing a deal was in the offing.

Finally, he spoke up. “It’s jes’ come on the market and I dinna think it will be on fer long. No chain, the owner’s jes’ moved tae Australia. Aye, left everything tae be wi’ his girlfriend, she’s Australian, ye ken. In fact…”

ClaIre interrupted him, his story touching a nerve she thought had long ago been cauterised. “And it’s fixed price, not offers over, then? Well, yes. This is it. Can we go to your office and get the ball rolling then?”

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

Claire let herself in and headed down the hallway to her uncle’s study. She knew that’s where he would be. Knocking gently before entering, she found Lamb in his usual position, staring out of the window at the garden, now pruned and manicured. Several boxes lay around the room, a half-hearted attempt to fill them had obviously been abandoned.

“I’ve bought a flat, Uncle.” There was genuine excitement in her voice.

“And I’ve rented the house out. That couple… they want it. Mr… er… the agent chap rang here to tell us. As soon as possible, he said.” Lamb’s voice sounded hoarse.

Claire tried to raise his spirits. “It’s only for a couple of years, and then you’ll be back here. As if you’d never been away.”

“Yes, but, my darling girl, I feel like I’ve let you down. This is your home… was your home and I’m taking it away from you.”

Claire perched on the edge of the desk and rested her hand on Lamb’s arm. “Uncle, you’ve never let me down. You’ve always been there for me, ever since I was a little girl. And maybe this was the push I needed to move forward. I’ll be happy in that flat, I know I will.”

She looked around the study. “So, come on, no more moping. Let’s get sorted.”

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

The next few weeks were a maelstrom of activity. Paperwork, packing, measuring up, in addition to Claire’s work at the hospital, took up all of her days and a fair few nights as well. She didn't ask the agent or her uncle anything about the new tenants, didn't even glance at the tenancy agreement, and cast aside any troubling thoughts on the reasons behind this reluctance.

The day for the move quickly arrived. Claire and Lamb stood together on the pavement, watching quietly as all their worldly goods were divided into three trucks -- one for Lamb in his university accommodation, one for storage and one for Claire in her new flat. She thanked her lucky stars that her flat had such well proportioned rooms, so that she could use large pieces of furniture from the house.

Finally the trucks were closed up and sent on their ways. Claire and Lamb stood awkwardly, not knowing quite what to say.

“Well,” Lamb broke the silence. “It’s going to be strange, not being together here.”

Claire tried to lighten his mood. “But we’ll probably see each other just as much. Remember days and days can pass without us meeting up, with my shifts and you stuck in your work. Don’t be sad. Just think, you’ll be that much closer to the university archives and anyway, I’m coming round for tea in a couple of days. You can’t get rid of me that easily, you know.”

She hugged him tightly, inhaling the familiar aroma of his jacket, remembering the comfort from his arms wrapped tightly around her as a little girl, the rough fabric of his favourite tweed jacket scratching her cheek.

She pulled away and quickly headed to the taxi. Time to go.

*********

As anticipated, Claire arrived at her new home before the removal men. She wandered across her (her!) own hallway when a head appeared around her front door.

“Morning. Welcome, new neighbour. Wondered if you’d like a coffee… or tea? I’m Mary, by the way. I live across the landing.” Mary moved into the hall and shook Claire’s hand.

“Hello, I’m Claire. Claire Beauchamp. And yes, thanks, I’d love a coffee.”

“Ah, another English interloper, I see. Be right back. How do you like your coffee?” Mary called over her shoulder as she headed out of the door.

“Black, no sugar, please.”

“Ooh, hardcore!”

Mary returned a few minutes later with the mugs of coffee, closely followed by another woman. It was obvious they were sisters; there was a strong family resemblance, and yet somehow the features changed between the two. Only slightly, but enough to make the difference. The newcomer’s hair was just that little bit shinier, her lips that bit fuller, her eyes that bit brighter. She was radiant, Claire decided, even wearing those baggy jogging bottoms and faded t-shirt.

“Hi,” the newcomer spoke. “I’m Anna, Mary’s sister. We’re just across the landing and you’re Claire?”

“Yes, nice to meet you.”

“Oh, wow, poor Mrs Crook.” Anna and Mary laughed.

Claire felt bemused. “I’m sorry?”

“No, sorry, we should explain…” Anna spoke, a hint of laughter in her voice. “Mrs. Crook lives in the flat below you. She’s been here for years and years, a lovely, sweet ‘wee wifey’ and John lives in the flat below us. John’s English, too… so poor Mrs. Crook. Here in the centre of Glasgow, yet surrounded by us Sassenachs.”

An uninvited memory stirred in Claire’s brain… fingers touching copper curls, blue eyes heavy with desire, heated breath on her neck, a whisper in her ear: “Sassenach…”

“Hello, Miss Beauchamp… ye there?” The voice came from the main hallway downstairs. “Can we start tae bring yer stuff up, love?”

Claire pushed the memory back in its box. Clearly, it was all due to the move, stirring up lots of conflicting emotions. Nothing more.

She smiled at Anna and Mary. “Think that’s my cue… now the hard work begins!”

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

Jamie stood for a moment on the pavement, looking up at the house. He had wondered, when Murtagh texted the address, whether his memory had been playing tricks. But no, now he was here standing right in front of his past. He glanced up at the top left hand window, almost expecting it to open and her head to appear, curls blowing medusa-like while she frantically waved.

He took a deep breath and walked towards the front door. It opened before he had a chance to knock. Suddenly he was enveloped in his godfather’s arms.

“Christ, Jamie lad, it’s sae good tae see ye. How long has it been? Come in, come in, I want ye tae meet ma wife, Jocasta.”

Jamie followed Murtagh into the house. “And it’s grand tae see ye too. It’s been ten years since ye upped and left us fer New Zealand. Ye havena changed a bit.”

“Aye well, ye have. Ye were nought but a lad, and still wet behind the ears, when I left. Look at ye now. America obviously suited ye.”

Murtagh led Jamie towards the kitchen at the back of the house. Of course, the furniture was different than he remembered, but the decor had remained the same. He thought of the hours he had spent in this kitchen, sharing drinks and food with her. Laughing and chatting together until late, and then, by silent agreement, making their way up the stairs to that bedroom, constantly touching, always a connection, never wanting to be apart.

A different woman was waiting in the kitchen with the coffee ready to pour and a bottle of Glenmorangie placed on the table. No longer in the first flush of youth, she was still very handsome, and obviously took pains to remain so. Murtagh snaked his hand around her waist and pulled her close to him.

“Jamie, I’d like tae present ma wife, Jocasta… Jocasta, this is Jamie, ma godson, Brian’s lad. We’re no’ the only ones returning tae the homeland, ye ken. Jamie’s jes back from America… been there fer, what? Six years?”

“Eight years, Murtagh. Eight years”

Jocasta pulled away from Murtagh's grasp and gave Jamie a big hug. “Welcome, lad, sae nice tae meet ye. I’ve heard an awfa lot about ye. And yer Da is that proud of ye, is he no’, Murtagh?”

Murtagh, busy pouring generous measures of whisky into three glasses, looked up at the mention of his name. “What? Och, aye, Brian is that pleased ye’re headin’ back tae Lallybroch. It’ll be a big help tae him. He’s no’ the man he was.”

“And ye’ll always be welcome here when ye want tae come and spend time in Glasgow. We have sae many bedrooms here. Weel, too many really. The house is too big fer us, but after the feeling of open spaces in New Zealand, we dinna want tae feel boxed in, ye ken?”

Jamie sipped at his whisky and watched Murtagh and Jocasta -- their loving glances and slight touches filled him with happiness for his godfather, who had been alone for so long before finally meeting Jocasta two years ago.

“Excuse me, I must jes’ use the bathroom.” Jamie began to walk out of the kitchen.

“Would it no’ help if I told ye where the bathroom was? Quite a big house, may take ye a while tae find it wi’out directions.” Murtagh called after him. “Turn left and head down that passageway, second door on yer right.”

“Oh… er… Aye. Thanks.”

On his return to the kitchen, Jamie found Murtagh and Jocasta at the french windows engrossed in conversation as they gazed over the garden, now somewhat neater than he remembered.

“... so we could put a bench over there tae catch the morning sun fer our coffee at breakfast…”

“... and we could have the fire pit over there fer the evenings. But we’d need tae move that swing…”

******

Nine years ago

“You know, when I first moved here after my parents died, this swing was the first thing Uncle Lamb bought for me. I think he wanted to show me this was my home too. I always loved this swing.”

“Sit on it. I’ll push ye if ye like.”

“Jamie, don’t be silly. I’ve not been on that swing in years. I’m not even sure it’s safe… I remember how I used to try and go as high as possible -- do a loop-the-loop. Not sure what would have happened if I’d ever managed it. Just fallen off, I guess.”

“Come on. Have a go. I’ll give ye a push. Ye dinna need tae worry about falling, ye ken, I’m here tae catch ye… always.”

******

“No!” Jamie interrupted more forcefully than intended. “Dinna move the swing.”

Murtagh and Jocasta both turned and stared at him. He felt his face flush.

“Why ever no’ dear?” Jocasta asked. “It’s no’ but a rickety old swing. I’m sure it hasna been used in years.”

Eight years, perhaps, Jamie thought. “I dinna ken. It jes’ feels right there, like it belongs. I’m sure the owner would miss it.” He spoke quietly. “I mean, even though they dinna see it, mebbe they jes’ like tae know it’s still there.”

Murtagh looked at him with concern and cleared his throat. “Jamie, lad, are ye drunk or jes’ gone soft in the head?”

[paralleljulieverse]

This week marks the 60th anniversary of Julie Andrews’ wedding to first husband, Tony Walton in May 1959. Here in the Parallel Julieverse, we generally avoid discussing Julie’s private life as we believe it is…well…private. However, the vortex of media attention surrounding stars like Julie means that the divide between public and private isn’t always easy to discern, let alone respect. The torrent of studio PR, interviews, magazine profiles, biographies, gossip columns and candid exposes that saturate our celebrity-obsessed media push the personal lives of stars firmly into the public limelight and, by so doing, make off-screen knowledge as integral to a star's image or ‘persona’ as their on-screen roles and public performances (DeCordova 1990; Jerslev and Mortensen 2018). 

Like most stars, Julie is no stranger to celebrity culture’s constitutive demand for “the public performance of private selves” (Dyer: 15). Even in her earliest years as a budding child star, she was subject to a probing media inquiry into her private family life. In her memoirs Julie recalls how, at age 12 after the opening night of Starlight Roof, members of the press, eager for a story about the new “prima donna in pigtails,” followed her home, taking photographs as she played in her bedroom and “bombarding me with questions” (Andrews: 80). 

While this scrutiny of the private lives of stars is a common aspect of celebrity media at large, it assumes a particularly pronounced form in relation to female stars. Christine Geraghty (2000) observes that longstanding cultural associations “between women and the private sphere of relationships and domesticity” motivate a widespread, even obsessive, media concern with female stars’ off-screen domestic lives in a way that isn’t typically the case for their male counterparts (186). "Stories of love affairs, weddings and divorces” are the default register for pop media representations of female stars, Geraghty notes––a soap opera-like narrative economy that positions female stars as public figures whose cultural legibility, and possibly even value, is tethered to their private roles as wives, mothers, daughters, lovers (ibid).

It is in this context that we can situate Julie’s 1959 wedding to Tony Walton. Dubbed “the show business wedding of the year” (Marlborough and Court: 5), the event was accompanied by an almost frenzied degree of media attention, making headline news in the UK and reported widely via international news-services around the world. It was the culmination of a long gestating "soap opera” that had surrounded the pair’s relationship and been played out in regular instalments across the pages and columns of the Anglo-American celebrity press.

Throughout her all-important Broadway years as Julie made the transition to international stardom in, first, The Boy Friend and, then, My Fair Lady, media commentators were seemingly obsessed with her “off-stage” romantic liaisons. Interviewers routinely quizzed the star about her love life and gossip columnists linked her with a veritable revolving door of suitors, real or otherwise:

“A boy friend? Yes. Julie has one. He’s a twenty-four-year-old Canadian actor she met in England” (Crane, February 1955: 7)

“Julie Andrews, star of The Boy Friend has a new ditto: Dr Stanley Behrman, a young oral surgeon who treats the perils of such belles as Bette Davis and Bobo Rockfeller” (Kilgallen, March 1955: 16)

“The real Boy Friend in pretty Julie Andrews’ life is a TV actor in Toronto. He calls her from there almost every evening” (Kilgallen, April 1955: 30)

“Julie Andrews and Neil McCallum talking marriage” (Sullivan, November 1955: 27C)

By 1956, the young star was already complaining openly that, “People link you and unlink you. They tie you with this person and knot you up with the next one” (Freudenheim, 11-B). 

Here it is worth recalling the extent to which Julie’s star image in this era was invested in one of the most resonant narratives of popular feminine romance and sentimental domesticity: Cinderella. As star of My Fair Lady, a particularly influential iteration of the Cinderella fable –– to say nothing of the whole framing narrative of rags-to-riches, Walton-on-Thames to New York, star-is-born mythology –– Julie emerged in the 1950s as what Maya Cantu (2015) calls “the decade’s Cinderella ideal” (162). And what is Cinderella without a Prince Charming? 

Small surprise, then, that media tongues were set wagging and public hearts fluttering when Tony Walton, Julie’s childhood sweetheart from Walton-on-Thames, came to New York to visit the star during the early run of My Fair Lady in April 1956. Despite Julie’s protestations they were “just friends” (Freudenheim: 11B), the local press quickly cast the pair as leads in a romantic fairy tale: “Julie Andrews, the Fair Lady leading lady, and her betrothed, Tony Walton of London” (Winchell, April 1956: 4). What followed was a two-year saga of “on again-off again” romantic intrigue played out in the gossip pages:

“Julie Andrews and Tony Walton picking the date” (Sullivan, May 1956: 45)

“Julie Andrews, the dazzler of My Fair Lady is delighted by the visit of her best beau, British artist Tony Walton. But she longs for him to find a stage designing job that would keep in the U.S. for a while” (Kilgallen May 1956: 38).

“It’s been denied on this side of the Atlantic, but London’s theatrical set is buzzing with the rumor that Julie Andrews…is secretly married to British Tony Walton” (Kilgallen, November 1956: 14)

“Julie Andrews tells friends she’s fixing up her apartment for two. Could it be that a merger with Tony Walton is closer?” (Walker, February 1957: 39).

“The British newspapers are crowing happily over the fact that, although Julie Andrews has become a big star in the U.S., she isn’t making the mistake of marrying a Yankee. Julie remains true to her British boy-next-door, young Tony Walton” (Kilgallen, April 1957: 16).

“Is there a wedding in the offing for Julie Andrews?…No, said Julie, from New York last night. But her 15-ear-old brother, Donald told me earnestly: ‘She’s going to announce her engagement as soon as she comes home in April’” (Fielding, December 1957: 2)

Widely reported on both sides of the Atlantic –– indeed, it even received international attention as far away as Australia (“She is Broadway’s ‘Fair Lady’”: 3) –– the brewing romantic soap opera reached fever pitch in the lead-up to the much-ballyhooed London opening of My Fair Lady in April 1958. 

No sooner had Julie touched down at London airport than she was grilled by the waiting media scrum about her relationship with Tony. “Julie Andrews…first hour home was spent denying that she will marry as soon as the show opens,” reported the Daily Express, “I have known the boy I want to marry for 12 years, but we shan’t rush to marry yet” (Lambert: 5). The Daily Mirror made the story its front page news with the declarative headline, “I love him! I love him!! I love him!!!”

“Please clear up all those rumours that Tony and I have had a quarrel….All this business about an on-off romance just isn’t true…We have never quarrelled in our lives, and there has been nobody else for either of us since we fell in love two years ago” (Wilcox: 1).

The fact that the pair were childhood sweethearts from the same small Home Counties village –– as cliched a romantic convention as they come –– intensified public interest in their relationship, while at the same time cementing Julie’s popular image at home as “a nice sensible English girl thoroughly unspoiled by fame” (Wiseman: 10; see also, Nathan: 6).

Even Julie herself was not beyond framing her and Tony’s relationship as a somewhat fanciful storybook romance. In her serialised celebrity memoir published in Woman magazine in May 1958 to coincide with her triumphant return to London, the star drew widely from narrative romance tropes and metaphors to describe the “blossoming” of her and Tony’s love. She even ends the memoir with a fairytale climax where, following the grand London opening of My Fair Lady, the couple are depicted waltzing on the floor of the Savoy Hotel like Cinderella and the Prince:

“At midnight, with Mummie, Uncle Charles, and all my darling family about me, I was at the Savoy and, as I danced with Tony, the orchestra started playing the music from My Fair Lady. The floor cleared and Tony and I were left dancing together, dancing, I felt, in a world of all the dreams and ‘One Days’ come true at last” (Andrews 1958: 51).

Thus, when Julie and Tony finally made public their plans to marry, it came like the pre-scripted climax to a very public fairytale romance, the final chapter in the Cinderella narrative through which Julie’s early star image was so throughly cast: 

“Once upon a time there was a spindly-legged, freckle-faced little girl with braces on her teeth named Julie Wells. She lived with her mother and stepfather and brothers and sister in a little house in the country. Of course there was a boy-next-door. The years went by and she grew into a lovely silver-blonde. By this time she was Julie Andrews…She was called ‘the nicest girl in show business.’ And after My Fair Lady she was one of the richest. But like the princesses of fairy tales, riches did not turn her heart from the lad who loved her…Tomorrow they marry in the little village church at Oatlands, Weybridge…They will, undoubtedly, live happily ever after” (Stix: 11).

Sources:

Andrews, Julie. “So Much to Sing About, Part 5.” Woman. 31 May, 1958: 31-35, 48-51.

_____________. Home: A Memoir of My Early Years. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2008. 

Cantu, Maya. American Cinderellas on the Broadway Musical Stage: Imagining the Working Girl from Irene to Gypsy. London: Palgrave MacMillan, 2015.

Cottrell, John. Julie Andrews: The Story of a Star. London: Arthur Barker, 1968.

Crane, Lionel. “Julie, The Broadway Bombshell.” Daily Mirror. 8 February 1955: 7.

DeCordova, Richard. Picture Personalities: The Emergence of the Star System in America. Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1990.

Dyer, Richard. Heavenly Bodies: Film Stars and Society. New York: St Martins Press, 1986. 

“Fair Lady Andrews Plans to Marry.” Evening Sun. 6 May 1958: 3.

Fielding, Henry. “Julie’s No.” Daily Herald. 11 December 1957: 2.

Freudenheim, Milt. “American Success Startles British Star Julie Andrews.” Chicago Daily News. 19 April 1956: 11B.

Geraghty, Christine. “Re-examining Stardom: Questions of texts, bodies and performance.” In Gledhill, Christine and Williams, Linda, eds. Reinventing Film Studies. London: Arnold, 2000.

Jerslev, Anne and Mortensen, Mette. "Celebrity in the Social Media Age: Renegotiating the Public and the Private.” In Elliott, Anthony, ed. Routledge Handbook of Celebrity Studies. London: Routledge, 2018.

Killgallen, Dorothy. “Broadway Grapevine.” Star-Gazette. 15 March 1955: 16.

Killgallen, Dorothy. “Broadway Grapevine.” Star-Gazette. 7 April 1955: 36.

Killgallen, Dorothy. “Voice of Broadway.” Star-Gazette. 10 May 1956: 38.

Killgallen, Dorothy. “Voice of Broadway.” Star-Gazette. 12 November 1956: 14.

Killgallen, Dorothy. “Voice of Broadway.” Star-Gazette. 12 April 1957: 16.

Lambert, John. “Fair Lady Julie is Home––Marriage? Not Yet.” Daily Express. 7 April 1958: 5.

Lowe, Shirley. “The Boy Friend’s Girl Friend’s Great-Grandmother.” Daily Express. 4 October 1955: 3.

Marlborough, Douglas and Court, Monty. “PictureMail Goes to the Stage Wedding of the Year.” Daily Mail. 11 May 1959: 5.

Nathan, David. “The Last Time I Saw Julie.” Daily Herald. 8 April 1958: 6.

“She is Broadway’s ‘Fair Lady’.” The Sydney Morning Herald. ‘Women’s Section.’ 5 July 1956: 3.

Stix, Harriet. “Rich-Girl Julie Weds Boy Next Door.” Daily Express. 9 May 1959: 11.

Sullivan. Ed. “Little Old New York.” Daily News. 4 November 1955: 27C.

Sullivan. Ed. “Little Old New York.” Daily News. 7 May 1956: 45.

Walker, Danton. “Broadway.” Daily News. 25 February 1957: 39.

Wilcox, Dennis. “I Love Him! Says Julie Andrews” Daily Mirror. 7 April 1958: 1. 

Wilson, Cecil. “Pocket Money Star Stops the Show.” Daily Mail. 24 October 1947: 3.

Winchell, Walter. “On Broadway.” The Post-Star. 26 April 1956: 4.

Winchell, Walter. “Broadway Cinderellas.” Daily Times. 25 June 1956: 4A.

Wiseman, Thomas. “Has Success Spoiled Julie Andrews?” Evening Chronicle. 17 April 1958: 10.

© 2019 Brett Farmer All Rights Reserved

[summervanlife]

27 July

It rained on and off for most of the night and was still lightly raining when we got up. Cian and Clare were first, they started the day with a quick game of badminton! Nia and Jay followed a little later. None of us had bothered taking our sleeping bags out last night based on the previous few days of sweat! Last night however it got cold enough for us to reach for our blankets. Somehow a choir group had amassed on site since last night and began practicing during breakfast. In contrast to last nights thunder, this a cappella group was a little bit of harmonising heaven! We packed up and (maybe even for the last time) said goodbye to the Avon campsite. First a visit to Aldi for lunch provision and then through Fontainbleu and then a general heading towards the south west. We knew we needed to put a few miles beneath us. We also knew we were about to drive through chateau county. Clare did the research, Jay drove, Nia and Cian read books. Clare found our fairytale chateau (we are only going to visit one): Chateaux de Sully-sur-Loire. A few miles deviation meant that we got to see one of the most impressive fortified buildings in the area. Along the route we passed through some beautifully quaint villages and amazing arable farmland. Acres of crops; sugar cane and sunflowers also huge barrels of straw. We pulled over at a massive field of sunflowers and took photos whilst weaving through the freaky flowers and the zillions of bees they were attracting. We also used this as a lunch stop. Jay decided to investigate a squeak that had recently materialised in the lower driver side engine bay. He discovered disaster. A break in the steel bodywork forming the lower section of the suspension turret. The split had separated the sections by about 1cm all around the engine bay. It looked pretty bad. It was pretty bad. The metal above and below the separation broke away in rusty clumps. This was terminal, the welding job to fix this was well beyond the vehicle price. A guy pulled up and asked if we were OK, he looked where Jay pointed under the wheel arch and told us "Bonne chance. Vous avez un grande problème." We ate lunch. Then drove to the chateaux. The chateau was fabulous from the approach. It really was a kind of Disney castle. There was a moat. The moat had shoals of tadpoles. Millions of them. Swirling like underwater tornadoes. We were sold. As many attractions, the entrance and exit were through the gift shop. But even this was exuberant - you could buy a 3 inch plastic knight for 10€! We were in touristville but tolerating it! The building was over 600 yrs old. It had sustained damage during WWII and had been restored and redesigned numerous times. The current decor told a story of the middle aegis to 19th century; both its defensive and pompous stature. The rooms were grand and the architecture amazing (the same guy worked on Notre Dame and the Louvre Palace). The carpentry was unbelievable - 3/4 of the oak roof was original (the replacement only required due to bomb damage). We wandered around the chateaux enjoying the grandeur of the four poster beds and tapestries and then stared down at the moat through murder holes. We reckon this was a good choice to visit. Back at the van we had a look for a parking spot and drove around 6 miles to a car park on the banks of the Loire. Fishermen were in the midst of a large competition and managed to catch a few smaller fish while we were there. Another group of fellas we playing boule on a dusty part of the track. It felt quite nice but a number of the reviews suggested that it got noisy at night with locals on nights out and lads racing on motorbikes. It felt pretty peaceful but it was Saturday and the evening had not yet started. We decided to go elsewhere. We found a municipal campsite at Sainr Benoit-sur-Loire. The pitches were among old woodland along the river. There were only a few other campers and everyone was well spread out. It felt perfect. We chose our spot and swiftly had a session of badminton before setting up the slackline. This time the line was almost at full length; the swing and bounce in the middle made it crazy difficult - none of us managed it, but also none of us hurt ourselves! We practiced and practiced - some improvements we think. Dinner prompted the discussion about our van predicament. We had briefly called into a garage which happened to be closed, but there was a guy working on his motorbike. He did not speak English and our French was not up to this but he was a mechanic. Jay showed him the crack / rust and used Google translate to find out if we could still drive it. He seemed confident that we should be OK for a while if we took it slowly. Therefore three choices seemed available to us: 1. call RAC on Monday and get back to UK thereafter; 2. Set off to drive back to the UK hoping to avoid RAC hassle Or; 3. Continue and see if situation gets worse before bailing out. We shared our thoughts with each other but did not settle on a decision. We like this campsite and will stay here at least another night. We have time to consider the options and make a decision. For now it was time for chocolate and Chinese checkers! By the time games had finished it was dark and almost 2300hr. Teeth, book, sleep.

[myselfinserts]

“No need for formalities here, my friend.”

“INKWELL LOOK! OUT!”

Rare it was for Inkwell to be taken by surprise. He only ever got caught by his darling niece and beautiful wife. The Demonic Ink Demon of Elspie was not one to be taken by the villains. 

And yet, here he lay, just teetering on the edge of consciousness as the world faded to that familiar void he so lovingly embraced when at full power. And try as he might, he succumbed to it’s warm embrace. 

He would not die. No, not here. His inklings would protect him until his heart stopped beating. So long as it kept going, he was safe. And while Skald cared not for his antics, he knew she wouldn’t let a fellow Geode die. 

So Inkwell-no. No, he thought. He was not Inkwell when in this darkness, even if the others called him such. Here, in the violent depths of the abyss, he was only Grigor Alberi. And that was how he’d stay until he awoke in Aurelia’s arms once more.

When Inkwell opened his eyes again, he found himself standing on the coastal shores of Estmund.  He could barely remember what had last transpired. A villain attack perhaps? That would make sense. Instead, he was far from home, in a land he knew almost as well but knew was not where he wanted or needed to be. He took a deep breath and started to walk toward the water, fully intent on swimming back to shore like the stubborn man he was. 

But the waves pulled him back to the shore and kept him from making it too far. 

“So, he sighed. “This isn’t normal. Must have been hit with a quirk.” He glanced around, surprised at how empty the beach was. There was at the very least the local felines on a day like this when he usually visited. Not even so much as a kit remained. 

Deciding that he had no other choice, Inkwell went on towards the castle. He hoped that he’d find answers there.

As he made his way there, he began to notice how blurred the world around him seemed. Almost dream like. He probably wasn’t really there. Was this some kind of mind altering quirk? Is he trapped in a dream?

He didn’t care either way. 

When he arrived at the castle, the fickleness of the reality became more apparent. Opening the door, instead of the opening hall, he found himself in one of the lounge rooms. King Davis was laying on one of the love seats, absorbing as much of the surrounding darkness as he could before sending it out again in a ball of light that floated up and out of the room. Without the shadows, he looking paler and more weak than usual. As though his quick had finally begun to catch up with him. 

He still has those Ace Attorney type suits it seems, he mused to himself. 

Davis sat up when he heard the door at the other side of the room open. A young man in blue came over to him, looking nervous. 

“My liege,” he greeted the king. “To what do I owe the honor of being summoned?”

“Relax,” Davis chuckled. “No need for formalities here, my friend. I simply wish to talk to you about your current employment here.”

“I...I see.” The young man’s fear slowly began to shift to acceptance. “Has my work not been up to par, sir?”

Davis shook his head. “Patricio, your work has been exemplary. You’re one of my finest grounds keepers.” He leaned on the arm of the seat, trying to reassure him that all was well. “There’s just something I wanted to ask about.”

“Of course,” Patricio said. “Anything.”

“What’s your family situation like?”

Patricio was taken aback, but nodded simply. “No family. My brother passed away three years ago, my parents ten years ago, and my sister lives in the Americas with her partner. I’ve never been able to contact her.”

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Really? That’s not what I heard.”

“It’s not?”

“I heard through the grape vine that you have a fiance back in your home town in Spain. Is this true?”

Patricio’s face brightened. “My Alice, yes...”

Davis smiled fondly. “What’s she like?”

Patricio’s face dusted a rosy hue. “She’s the most wonderful woman in the world. Her hair is redder than roses, and her eyes hold summer skies in their depths. She has the most beautiful singing voice, and her hands are strong yet gentle. She works with glass, making the most beautiful ornaments and crystal tableware and mirrors one has ever laid eyes on. Her quirk lets her work with glass easily, and she wants to be able to spend all her time working with it, but keeps insisting she can’t until she gets the training. She’s so intelligent. I would not have graduated school if she had not been by my side. And she loves the snowfall the most of any other season.”

“In the winter times I sometimes stop in the library and watch the snow fall,Imagining she’s here with me. I know she’d absolutely love it here. Her own little winter fairytale home.”

Davis nodded. “And why has she not come with you?”

“She has a little brother who is very sick,” Patricio explained. “She’s Emil’s only caretaker, so she can’t just leave. I came here to find better work and I send a lot of my paychecks home to her to help care for her brother and pay off the debt her parents left her with. Another two years, and I’ll have enough to send for her and her brother.”

Inkwell could feel his heart swelling. This young man he saw as an equal.

“I see.” Davis stood up, giving Patricio a pat on the shoulder. “Well, how about we shorten those two years to two weeks?”

Patricio blinked. “Sir?”

“I’ll pay off the remainder of their debts and send for them at once.” He smiled. “But on the condition that you accept this offer. I need a new head groundskeeper for the summer home. Pays well, you live on the grounds, and it’s close to the doctors so if Emil needs treatment, he can get it. And it’s in the artisan’s historical district, so Alice will be able to train with the masters there. And of course, your home will receive one of our best mousers. And, if you would like, I can see about locating your missing sister. What do you say?”

Patricio stared at him in disbelief. his shock turned to tears and he began to weep. Without even thinking he reached out, hugging the king tightly and burying his face in his shoulder. Davis smiled, holding him gently until he’d shed his last tear. 

“Thank you,” Patricio whimpered. “Thank you so much. You have no idea what this means to me. To us.”

Davis smiled. “I was young and in love once myself, Patricio. I know that feeling all too well. Now, why don’t you head along to my office and Milo will work on the paperwork with you soon. And you can use the phone to call Alice.”

“Thank you, my king. Thank you. Thank you so very much.”

Inkwell watched as Patricio ran out of the room before turning to Davis, who was leaning on the love seat and coughing now that the man had left. Spots of blood dotted his shoes.

“Dammit,” Davis muttered. “I’m running out of time...” 

“What?” Inkwell shook his head. “No, no that’s...that’s not possible. You can’t be running out of time.”

Another man entered the room, bowing politely. “My king. Monsieur Allard and his entourage will arrive at the docks soon. Shall I send for them?”

“Yes!” Davis stood upright. “Send my best carriage for them. And have dinner begin preparations.”

“Of course.”

“And Milo?”

“Yes, my King?” 

Davis looked down sheepishly. “Could you have a clean suit and my dulcimer prepared? I’ll be spending time with the cats until they arrive.”

“Yes of course. Right away.”

Davis stood up straight, taking in as deep a breath as he could muster. Inkwell reached out to him, hoping he could comfort this lad in any way he could. But the world was fading to black again.

“Davis!” Inkwell called. “Davis, over here!”

But Davis didn’t see nor hear him. He walked away, heading toward his room.

“DAVIS!”

Aurelia was asleep by his side when he awoke before dawn. There was the sound of light rainfall dancing on the roof, and a note by his bed telling him what had happened if he were to wake. 

The villain they were chasing had a quirk that could show anyone glimpses of the future. But only once. And it was only fixed points in the timeline. At least, that’s how the villain explained it to Cindra when he was brought into custody. It was harmless, merely knocking the target unconscious while they saw. And so they had brought him home to rest.

He wanted to wake Aurelia. Seek comfort in her sass and embrace. But she looked so peaceful in slumber. He couldn’t bare to disturb her. With a heavy sigh, he lay back down, trying to block out the knot in the pit of his stomach. 

Like hell he was giving anyone the satisfaction of knowing he was terrified.

[captainswanfairytale]

6x21-22 The Final Battle

Well, there were a lot of throwbacks, and a lot of feels, and a surprise ending we all pretty much knew was coming right?

Previously on...is showing clips from the first season, and I'm already emotional.

Fiona made it so that everything wasn't real, all it did was land Emma in the nuthouse for believing in him.

Also Fiona is the mayor and Henry's "mother" in this reality, ohh shit.

"She took you from your wedding to theirs."

Hook waking up with Snowing and Baby Charming and Regina in the EF, in THEIR CASTLE. That just gave me some feels ngl, I always dreamed we'd have them all together there, but of course Emma and Henry are missing.

Fiona suggesting that Emma go back to Boston when she's released, if that day comes, if she burns the book to prove to Henry that she doesn't believe.

They were all able to see Fiona and Emma through the mirror back in the EF. AHHH OMG! THEY'RE SO WORRIED ABOUT HER!

AND ZELENA SHOWS UP! WITH THE MUNCHINS! AND THE MAD HATTERS HAT! WHAT OMG THEY BROUGHT THAT BACK YES THANK YOU!

They use the hat to go into the room with the doors to realms, and Oz is nothing but blackness, and the others are fading, the realms are being destoryed, that's the Black Fairy's plan. OHH SNAP!

All the refugees from the realms in the room. Regina mentions seeing someone from Arendelle, and then Jasmine and Aladdin are there. Hook thinks he knows where to find something to help but Regina wants to do things her way, so of course he sneaks off.

Henry breaking out Emma. OPERATION CUCKOO'S NEST. AHAHAHAHA OMG!

Killian was talking about the beanstalk! He wants to go up the beanstalk again..."Bloody hell, it's taller than I rememebered." Charming followed him and is trying to tell him not to risk making Emma a widow. And Killian tells him he's climbed it before, that it was his and Emma's first adventure. THAT THEY FOUGHT FOR THEIR LOVE AND HE'S NOT GONNA LET IT END THERE. Charming seeing how upset he was and is going with him up the beanstalk, YES I'M CRYING!

Henry trying to get her to remember by taking her to the rooftop, and she does a lil, but then he agrees to help her try and leave...hmmm.

Henry stealing the Storybook from Fiona, and she knows he knows this place is not real.

Fiona just magically pushed Henry down a flight of stairs. WHATTTTTTTTT. ARE YOU EVEN ALLOWED TO DO THAT TO A KID ON TV OMG. I mean I know he doesn't look that little anymore, but still!!!

Fiona faking being upset over Henry's accident to Rumple, haha okay.

Jack and the Beanstalk was always one of my fave fairytales, now we have Charming and Killian very tiny in a very oversized room. Killian saying he should be the one to swing up onto the table, and when Charming aggrees, he's suprised that he's trusting a pirate, Charming says no, his "Son..." and when Killian gives him the eyebrow, the adds, "in law." LOL OMG, AND YESSS, CRIESSSSSSSS, BEST BRO-SON-IN-LAW-OTP EVER. BUT KILLIAN GOT THE BEAN OMG! AND NOW THEY'RE RUNNING FROM A DRAGON!

Emma put the book into the incinorator, just as Charming and Killian are coming down the beanstalk, the darkness is overtaking the EF. As it's buring the book pages are turning and Emma sees the one of Killian, that got her attention, but it's still burning!!!

Charming catching Killian when he was falling, and then he falls anyway!!! And the beanstalk falls with Charming still it, and on top of Killian, who says to Snow..."Hello there, Mummy." Her face, OMG! "There was a wedding." Is Snow's explanation when Jasmine looks confused. David's not there and they need to look for him but Snow tells Killian to take the bean and get to Henry and Emma, YESSSSSSSSS.

EMMA'S BACK AT HER NEW YORK APARTMENT! Which apparently is still hers after 2 years away, lol. Always did love the the script writing on her door.

Emma already gets a call about a bail jumper. And Henry made her a storybook drawn on his own.

Killian taking the bean to Regina, who's upset that she left Snow behind..."She'll find David, she always does." HAHA YES!

Snow found Charming and he wasn't moving or breathing so of course she's gotta kiss him in that state, and of course he wakes up! While the play clips of their first waking up from the curse kiss, awe man these two.

"Snow we're gonna be fine, darkness never wins, it just fools you into thinking it does." AWE

Henry barging into Rumple's shop..."I'm not a customer, I'm your grandson." And Gold as being awake to the curse, again.

Henry asking Gold to help him save his family...OUR FAMILY. YESSSSSS.

Henry wanted Charmings sword, to go against the Dark Fairy himself, Regina was watching and Killian says he's a tough lad, but they need to get further from the curse so they can use the bean and get to Henry and Emma...So Evil Queen is holding them back, nice self sacrifice and atonement moment.

Baby Charming crying as the curse is circling around them all, (what did they do to make that baby cry omg), they are all huddling omg, shit shit shit.

Emma came back, cuz she wants to be the woman that Henry wrote about in his book, EMMA SAYING SHE BELIEVES MADE THE CURSE STOP JUST AS IT WAS GETTING TO THEM IN THE CENTER OF THE CASTLE! AND THEY KNOW THAT MEANS EMMA IS BACK AND BELIEVES! YESSSSS!

Fiona made Belle agoraphobic, SERIOUSLY! SHE DEFINITELY DESERVES BETTER!

Fiona tempting Gold with bringing back Baelfire from the dead, yeah they're trying to fit everything into these last 2 episodes, making sure they don't miss a throwback. Bet they won't mention Graham or Ruby.

Fiona has control of Gideon, and told him to kill Emma, WHOMP, Rumple actually killed Fiona though, damn. Now he's killed both his parents.

BUT NOW EVERYONE REMEMBERS, INCLUDING EMMA! Just in time for Gideon to show up all menacing like to challenge her.

Rumbelle is down in the caves looking for Gideons heart to stop him. She twists her ankle and Rumple has to leave her behind, wtf.

When did Emma stop to put her beanie on when they went outside? Lol. They meet up with everyone in the street, Emma hugs and kisses all over Killian's face.

Regina chooses now to reminisce about the past and how they hated eachother when she first got their and how Emma found a way to make it work, where they were both Henry's mother. And how her Evil Queen saved them all today, having hope that they'll find another way out of this final battle, one where Emma doesn't die.

Rumple is the devil on Gold's shoulder when he finds the heart and needs to make the right choice to save them all. Rumple tries to tell Gideon's heart not to kill Emma, but it didn't work.

"Nobody needs to save me, I'm the savior." Emma giving a big damn speech while being a big damn badass hero. And laying down her sword to die for them all, WHAT NOW!

GIDEON STABS HER AND SHE'S LITERALLY BURSTING OUT LIGHT! WTF!

Henry kneels down and tells Emma he loves her and kisses her on the forehead, so of course it's TLK and he's okay now.

Rumbelle is hugging and all of a sudden Baby!Gideon is back, with Belle's book. THEY GET A REDO! WHATTTTTTT!

Them all standing around the end of the book like...WHAT NOW. And of course Snow is the optimistic one like, we get our happiness, together.

All the realms being restored...Arendelle, Neverland, Wonderland, Agrabah, The Enchanted Forest.

Nice.

The Charmings. Rainboots by the door. They live on a farm. They have a dog.

Emma and Regina walking Henry to school. SUCH EMBARRASSING MOMS. LOL.

Snow teaching, with the bluebird again.

Emma and Killian in the bug, with his Deputy badge on, and them driving off with the siren going.

The Dwarfs fixing Regina's door, instead of "Mayor" it says "Queen.". And Evil Queen got an arrow with a note from Robin.

Rumbelle gets a beauty and the beast dance.

Everybody at Granny's celebrating, including Rumbelle.

Them all sitting at a long made table like THE LAST SUPPER!

And the little girl that was guarding the book in the forest is now on a train bring a new Once Upon a Time storybook to someone else's door...her fathers...a grown HENRY MILLS! Who doesn't remember having a daughter, who looks alot like Violet btw.

SHE SAYS HIS FAMILY NEEDS HIM! AWE MAN! HERE WE GO AGAIN!

[archived--hell]

Ey yo fuckers

You remember how i said i’d make a list of good games n shit right? Well here the fuck it is scoob. PLEASE REBLOG THIS IT TOOK HOURS TO PUT TOGETHER OH MY GOD

Cute Demon Crashers! - Cute Demon Crashers! is a silly little short game that gives a lazy virgin college student a fun and safe space to explore her first sexual experience with a partner of her choice, if she so desires. Warnings: 18+

Desolate village - Desolate Village is a Adventure-horror game developed for the 2016 Pixel Horror Jam. The game deals with a the protagonist name Alex, as he wakes up in a village filled with talk animals villagers that all know who he is. But Alex does not remember who they are or how they got in the village.  Warnings: Gore

Lads in Distress - The whole of Lunar Kingdom is abuzz with excitement and curiosity - Princess Charming is throwing a royal ball to celebrate her 18th birthday, much to everyone's surprise. Invitations have been sent to nobles and royals from all neighboring nations, although Charming and her parents only really care about the princes. After all, everyone knows that the true purpose of the ball is for Charming to find a man suitable as her husband so she can form an advantageous political alliance, or even merge their nations together, to save her kingdom from poverty. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately?) for Charming, the princes may need to be rescued just as much as her kingdom does. Warnings: None

Love Is Strange - In Love is Strange, you play as Max Caulfield, an 18-year-old in her second year at the prestigious Blackwell Academy in the sleepy seaside town of Arcadia Bay, Oregon. Max, who aspires to become a famous photographer, finds herself challenged by the prospect of entering a photography contest hosted by her school. To be able to enter the contest, she has to pick a partner to work with. From there on out, what happens is up to you. Warnings: None (that i’m aware of, it didn’t interest me enough to finish it (not saying it’s bad!!! just not my cup of tea))

Out of sight - When Lina decided to go to the park to finish reading a book she couldn't have anticipated that misplacing her glasses could lead to paranormal encounters.  Warnings: Death

Pretty please - A short game about a lady who goes into a beauty clinic to "fix a few things". Warnings: blood, mildly unsettling imagery

Seduce me the otome - "It seemed like the start of something new. Something that would change." You are a senior in high school along with your two best friends, Naomi Patterson and Suzu Cappini. You are also the granddaughter of Harold Anderson, the CEO and founder of Anderson Toys, a toy company sworn to give children amazing products and give a large part of their profit to charity. One day, you get called home to attend your grandfather's funeral. After the funeral, you learn that you have inherited his large estate. Your father suggests you move in immediately, so the next day, you move out of your parents home and into your estate. When you enter your new home, however, you see five injured, yet very handsome men on the lobby floor. They eventually awaken and make it known that they were attacked by a group of dangerous 'misfits' and ran to find shelter, passing out as soon as they entered your home. You find out that they are incubi, 'demons who consume and use sexual energy of humans to survive'. With nowhere to go and a target on their backs, they ponder what what to do. Out of sympathy, you offer your home as refuge for a while in exchange for minor servitude (it is a big house, after all). They happily agree. What will happen as the incubi get comfy? Why exactly did they come the human world? Who are the 'misfits', and will they stop pursuing them so the incubi can leave? ...Will you WANT them to leave? (it has a sequel, among other things!! very good!!!!!)  Warnings: mentions of blood, guns & other weapons, optional sex scenes

The shadows that run along side our car - The road is long. Two strangers sit side by side as night falls over. The car speeds down the open highway. Without a soul around them, everything seems to slip away. On a journey to no one knows where, all they have is words and time. And that time is dwindling fast. The shadows are chasing. Warnings: mentions of suicide, violence, death, and mentions of zombies (im not sure if they actually show up, ill update this if i see any)

Solanaceae Another Time - After bumping into a strange witch, Sal is told he was once the witch's lover in a past life. Though doubtful, Sal takes a leap of faith and gets his fortune read by the witch. What he learns sends him on a month long journey of self discovery and magical encounters... Warnings: sex (but you can avoid this in the start of the game)

This, my soul - When your ship and fellow crew members are destroyed during a routine mission by space debris, you are rescued by the one laborer-class android who happened to be nearby... Now the two of you must spend an entire three-month journey alone with each other aboard the small, maintenance ship that is taking you back to civilization. Along the way, there is little on board to keep you occupied... save the android. He calls himself Silas. As the situation forces you to get to know one another, you quickly figure out that while he may not have emotions the way WE understand them, he IS a construct designed to learn, adapt, and serve... Warnings: suggestive content

Cinderella Phenomenon - Four years after the end of the Great War and the loss of her mother, Crown Princess Lucette of Angielle is still struggling to come to terms with her new life and step-family. Cold-hearted and bitter, Lucette fails to recognize the suffering of those around her as she is consumed by grief and resentment. But Lucette's life is once again turned upside down when she becomes a victim of the Fairytale Curse.Join Lucette as she goes from riches to rags and journeys to regain her life and break her curse. Warnings: none as of yet, but i’m still playing through

Unfinished games:

What's your sign quiz - In this teaser story, the 12 signs of the Zodiac need your help. But not before getting to know you a little first! This game is a personality quiz where they try to guess... What's Your Sign? With the option of a short or long quiz (12 or 24 questions), there's lots of replay ability with the various responses you'll get. Get to know all of your astrological faves before you begin your magical adventure together! Warnings: none

Date or Die - In this demo, you'll see the opening moments of the game, where you'll be introduced to the cast of characters, find your match, and get an overview of the stakes involved. In addition to containing a completely different script from the original demo, this prologue also features new sprites and artwork for all characters, introduces one or two faces you might not have seen before, and gives you a clearer idea of what to expect when you first open the full game! Warnings: mentions of killing, and treats toward a younger unseen party

Dr.Frank - After being kicked out of both his PhD program (plant science) as well as medical school (Pathology), Dr. Frank had pretty much resolved himself to a life of solitude and science. That is, until a handsome stranger knocked on his door and swept him off his feet. Dominik seemed to be the perfect boyfriend- attentive, caring, and interested in Dr. Frank's work. Maybe too interested. Three months into the rainbow-colored relationship, Dominik runs off with Dr. Frank's lifelong research on resurrection to present at the annual prestigious Hindenberg University Conference, under his own name. Livid, Dr. Frank decides the only course of action: Revenge. Not only is Dr. Frank going to one-up Dominik's presentation by presenting the world's first artificial life form, but Dr. Frank is going to make said life form the world's hottest, most beautiful boyfriend. EVER. Warnings: grave robbing, bad jokes

Paws and Effect My Dogs Are Human! - Charlie's got everything a quirky millennial could want: A new job, an upcoming party, and super-cute Pomeranians. Naturally, it all goes wrong. Charlie's birthday is in a few days and she's looking forward to a quiet, at-home party with a few friends. But a small (read: not small) problem arises when, due to inexplicable circumstances, her two Pomeranians transform into humans! Why did this happen? What can be done? Can dogs be trusted with fingers? With more questions than answers, Charlie finds herself embroiled in a nonsensical adventure with her once-canine companions. As her dogs' many personality quirks hound them in their human lives, how will Charlie cope with her new circumstances? Warnings: none as of yet

The Letter - In the outskirts of Luxbourne City stands a 17th-century English mansion, rumored to be haunted by vengeful spirits. After reading a letter discovered inside on the day of its open house, seven people find themselves trapped in a vicious cycle of madness plaguing the Ermengarde Mansion for centuries. Will they be able to free themselves from it, or will they become another casualty? Warnings: death, disturbing imagery, blood, gore, jumpscares, general horror warnings