#so rough around the edge my merida

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “And by a Sleep, We Hope to End the Heartache”

*** Sorry I’m late with the Sunday re-run this week! I’ve had the cover art made and this story picked out, but just haven’t been able to get it posted past couple of weeks. Anyway, this story was originally written for the second edition of the @csstorybook​ on Tumblr – go check that out if you haven’t, it’s amazing!!  My episode for that project was 5x04 “Broken Kingdom” and I wanted to imagine how Killian might have tried to help comfort a sleepless Emma as she fought the darkness within.  Hope you enjoy!  I’d love – as always – to hear what you think!

This can also be found as a chapter in my one-shots collection “Of Swans and Swords and Hopeful Hearts” on AO3 or on ff.net...

             “Lass…Emma… Love, please, you have to stop…” his quiet voice, vibrating with emotion despite its soothing timbre, still somehow managed to slice through the paranoia, the swirling images, and yammering voices roiling inside her skull.  It was the one thing, other than her son’s hopeful, trusting face, which had managed to do so since she had risen from the ominous hatch in the Camelot forest, alone, confused, and the newest Dark One.  Her stride faltered at his plea, her step finally pausing before the window of the castle suite they had been given by Arthur for their accommodation.

             Looking over her shoulder to find his fraught gaze, Emma turned slightly toward the pirate, a glance half exasperation and half desperate need on her conflicted face.  “What do you want from me, Killian?” she whispered tiredly, her shoulders slumping with a weary defeat he had rarely seen from her.  He had no way of knowing that Emma desired nothing so much as to cross the large open chamber and collapse into his arms, as she had a week ago when they’d first found her in the stone circle about to crush Merida’s heart.  His embrace tight around her, his heart beating frantically just under her palm, those few moments had been the only time the riot inside her head had seemed to cease – when she could think clearly, as only herself.  She needed that relief again, and yet she feared letting down her guard, even for a moment’s comfort.  She was barely keeping all the violent, persuasive urges twining through her consciousness at bay, barely keeping all the raw power tingling under her skin from breaking free.  She could not allow herself the peace of Killian’s embrace; rest might let the horrors loose upon them all. 

             Her pirate watched her knowingly, his eyes gentle, yet seeing and understanding too much as his discerning gaze studied her from across the room.  Those blue pools of his stare took in the way she vibrated slightly, no matter how she tried to hold still.  He saw the tangled, disheveled fall of her hair – usually more a silky sheet of gold – the strange, rough grey duster she wore, still trailing dirt and dried leaves from the forest floor behind her.  This was his Swan before him yet, but she was in distress and guarded once more, in a way she had finally begun to put in her past – and he experienced a disorienting, long rush of despair at how to help her.  He only knew for certain that he must find a way.

             “Come here, Lass,” he finally murmured, half a directive and half an appeal, as he held out his hand to her from where he sat at the edge of the room’s large canopy bed. 

             “Why?” she fired back nervously.  “I’m the Dark One now.  I don’t sleep, remember?”

             The unhinged tone in her voice, as well as the unvarnished bitterness, worried him more than he cared to admit.  Killian hesitated, biting his lip and considering his next words carefully.  His pause only seemed to agitate her further.  Why indeed?  And yet, he could not help but want her near, wish to gather her to his side, run the curve of his hook down her spine, and attempt to soothe her, bring her some measure of comfort, however ineffectual it might prove in the end.

             Heaving a deep sigh, Killian forced his voice to remain slow and even, despite his frustration and his utter anger at the situation his Love had been cast into.  Crooking his fingers in invitation, beckoning her forward while keeping his hand extended to her palm up, he raised an eyebrow slightly in challenge.  “Nor am I trying to force you to, Emma. I have not forgotten what you are battling, but can I not try to aid you in the fight?  Can I not hold the woman I love for a few moments?”

             Her lower lip trembled in response, before she pressed her mouth tightly closed, considering his offer, the longing clear on her face, until she let her swirling green eyes meet his at last.  “Y-you still…you still see me?” she finally whispered, her voice desperately fearful, quivering at the end with hope.

             There was no need for flowery words, only to hold her gaze, give a decided, affirmative nod and answer, “Aye.”

             At that single word, Emma took one hesitant, faltering step toward him, then another, until he could clasp her hand in his questing fingers and pull her against him, sitting at the edge of the rich, overlarge bed.  Mumbling quiet nonsense, Killian tucked Emma under his chin, cradling the back of her head in his palm and rocking them gently from side to side.  “Shh, Love, shh… it’s going to be alright,” he crooned, injecting steadfast certainty he wished he truly felt into his tone.

             Emma’s voice was broken and child-like as she spoke, her words muffled slightly by the leather of his sleeve.  “How can it be?” she asked plaintively.  There was something achingly human about her now, when before she had seemed so steely and impervious – untouchable as she stood at the window like a sentry, proud and strong, but cold and hard as well, looking out over the courtyard into the dark night.  The power within her was a distancing shield, a barrier higher and more impenetrable than her emotional walls had ever been.  Pulling back again briefly to look into the limitless eyes of this man who had pulled her back from the brink, her face was flushed and wet with silently shed tears, as real and vulnerable as he had ever seen her.  “I’m hanging by a thread, Killian.  There’s so much pressing inside, trying to escape, and the voices, the Dark Ones before me, they’re constantly whispering, watching, tempting me and trying to take over.  If I let my guard slip, if they get loose…  I’m terrified of what might happen, what I might do… who I might hurt…” The last words dropped to the barest whisper, her eyes falling to their intertwined fingers anxiously, unable to see the disgust and disapproval that must surely be on the face that had always before been nothing short of adoring.

             However, what she found when she looked up was far from devastating – so tender it made her very pulse still, bringing her up short and blinking in disbelief.  “That will never happen, Emma.  I know it with every fiber of my being, as surely as I know the way around my ship and as clearly as the navigator’s course is marked by the stars in the sky. You are stronger than that demon, Love.  Though I hate that you must fight so bitterly, I have no doubt that you will win.”

             “Thank you for believing in me, Killian,” she bit her lip, the lower one caught by her teeth, and she continued to play with their fingers, again avoiding his eyes to stare at their joined hands.  “But I can’t help worrying.  You can’t know that for sure!  When you found me yesterday evening, trying to take the dagger from Regina’s hiding place, I nearly took your head off!  It was your quick reflexes that saved you, not any restraint of mine.  I wasn’t in my right mind at all.  Wh- what if you had been killed?  What if you had been Henry?  Or my mom with my little brother?”

             Killian sighed, giving a moment for Emma to feel her words had sunk in, gathering her closer still against his chest and pressing his lips to the soft hair at the crown of her head, humming gently against her skin, hoping to quiet her anxious quaking in his arms.  When he did speak at last, his voice was low, a mere warm undertone at her ear.  “Swan, you have already fought back since then.  Think of our ride this afternoon, and that moment of perfection in the Middlemist field.  The Crocodile’s vile echo, any of the others, they were not present then, were they?  Those insidious voices vanished, aye?  Do not grant them a way back in.”

             Emma nodded weakly, burying her adorably perfect little nose into his thickly furred chest, as if it were the softest pillow she had ever rested against.  Killian had never seen her so fragile – his angel of boots and leather and steely resolve – and though his heart swelled that she would finally turn to him in her need, he hated the burden she bore.  It was too much, too much to ask of a woman who had been so strong and carried such hurt all her life.  A little sigh escaped her rosebud lips, the breathe tickling his collarbone, and Killian felt a rush of tension and wild energy drain from her, her shoulders slumping and her slight form leaning against him more heavily for support.

             “So, do you think you can allow yourself a bit of peace?” he asked, smoothing mussed strands of her hair back over her shoulder affectionately, just as he had done almost since their first meeting.

             Emma only muttered unintelligibly against him at first, before she finally put enough distance between them for him to make out her husky voice.  “I’ll lie down with you and try to rest a bit.  You still need to sleep, Pirate.  But I won’t…it won’t work…I’ve figured that out by now.  It’s just the way it is…”

             “Fair enough then, Swan.  I will make do with what I can get,” he assured her, offering a crooked half-smile and scooting back toward the pillows piled at the head of the bed while still keeping her in his embrace.

             She made no effort to distance herself, moving with him and placing her hand over his heart near her flushed cheek as he settled comfortably on the mattress, looking up at the high, stone ceiling above them.  His one hand began to trace idle patterns on her shoulder and arm as they cuddled together, neither drifting into sleep yet, but perhaps finding a bit of respite all the same.

Eventually, when Killian did find his eyes fluttering closed, he began to speak, softly and almost without thought.  He would not leave her alone in her struggle, and so he began to fill the void with words to keep himself awake and with her.  To his own astonishment, what came to his lips were tales he had long forgotten until that moment, memories from when he was but a lad long ago, which no other person had heard – not even Milah or Bae – until that moment.  And he was grateful then for Emma’s warmth and full attention as he spoke, emotions that had needed vent for centuries were now finally loosed – all the pain and rejection of being left alone and afraid in the dark, a child who had started out on an adventure with his papa and instead been thrown rudderless into the heaving waves of a cruel and treacherous adult world. 

His voice dwelt haltingly on his one light – both his anchor and his compass – his Liam.  Once begun, the story of their stolen boyhood streamed from him, the bits and pieces of the beloved older brother who had been his companion and the only family left to him, in a harsh, dark world of slavery and bleak deprivation.  Liam, who had told him stories when he couldn’t sleep for the suffocating pitch blackness of the hold where they were sometimes locked at night merely for the sake of the other crew’s entertainment or for some imagined mistake; the growing young man who had given half his rations to his gangly younger brother whose belly never felt properly full; who had found a way to splint Killian’s ankle when the sadistic bosun on their master’s ship  had yanked and twisted it to keep Killian from scaling the ropes to the crow’s nest where he could hide from the hulking man’s mistreatment; the protective father figure who had curled around his sibling offering body heat when they both shivered in their bunk, one threadbare blanket between them on winter nights at sea, and his hero who had given Killian the one gleam of hope he had possessed in those endless suffering years. It had all been pent inside him for so long that once he began to speak of Liam, Killian couldn’t bring himself to stop until it was all voiced.  Liam Jones had been taken from the world much too soon, and Killian had not allowed himself to grieve – taken to piracy and retribution, plunging headlong down the ages -  until that moment in Arthur’s kingdom with his silently listening True Love.

His deluge of words did not seem to faze Emma; in fact, she appeared to welcome his outpouring, tracing gentle fingertips over the contours of his face and into his hair, the strokes as soothing as his touch had been to her a short time ago.  Killian didn’t know how long he talked and Emma listened attentively, but his eyelids at last drooped closed in the still watches of the night, his voice slowing and tripping sluggishly, exhaustion and flagging adrenaline towing him under until he could not fight sleep any longer.  He thought he saw Emma’s hand wave over him, but then he was lost in slumber. 

 ~~~88~~~

When he woke with the next day’s dawn, the spot where she had rested beside him was still warm, but Emma was no longer there.

 ~~~88~~~

              They set up a reassuring pattern after that.  Night after night, for as long as they were guests in the castle of Camelot, Killian could at least coax Emma to lie down in the circle of his arms and rest her weary body, if not her mind, in actual sleep.  It was better than nothing, and the pirate strove with all he had to stay awake with her, to keep vigil at her side through the lonely grey hours, when she was most vulnerable and her strength might flag.  Exhausted though they both were, it could have been so much worse, and Killian was grateful for what she did allow him to do.  The first time he had fallen into slumber and woken with her gone, his heart had been in his throat, fearful for where she might have gone and what horror could have gripped her and spurred her from their resting place.  However, when he found her where they all convened for breakfast, a tiny, almost light, smile curved her lips upward at the corners when she spied him.  Something in her face let him know that she appreciated what he had shared, that he had allowed her to comfort him, and that somehow in granting her that caring gesture, he had made her feel more human and given her back a bit of herself.

             Those sleepless nights in the broken kingdom of legend’s Once and Future King, when Emma curled into his side and he finally felt the shaking ease from the taut muscles she had held under rigid control all that day, more terrified with each passing one that she might slip and do some terrible magic she couldn’t take back, and he sensed more than heard her say that the hissing demons in her mind had ceased their torment for a while – those nights were when their fragile love, born in Storybrooke over moonlit walks, pizza with Netflix, and interrupted coffee dates, took root and grew into something dauntless, lasting, and True.  From those nights he held her until his body gave up and forced him to sleep, or they both stayed awake and saw the morning paint the sky together, from then on Captain Hook and his Swan Savior were joined in a bond which could not be severed by distance or foe, the Darkness, or even Fate.

             Once they left the land of Avalon, there was further pain and trial.  The fatal cut from Excalibur would have been Killian’s death; he had been resigned to it, had lived much longer than he’d ever been meant to and begged Emma to let him go.  But the threat of losing her pirate – her reason to finally open her heart again and let herself fully live – caused Emma to make a tragic mistake.  The temptation that had finally broken her resistance and blackened her soul after all her desperate struggle and restraint, was made in bending the laws of nature to keep him alive.  His angel fell to the need to save him, to not lose one more person who loved her and allowed her to love – to feel – in return.  And when she crumbled, it drug him into the pit along with her.  Harsh words and rage, bitten into blades that wounded and scarred, passed between the True Loves who then shared the worst Darkness the realms had ever known.

             Yet, after the torture, the fire, and one more crippling separation, they found the way back to each other.  Exhausted, battered, but hand-in-hand, after traveling to the very Underworld itself and defying the lord of that domain, in the end even death could not part the Savior and her captain forever.  When they finally stole a moment upon their return – tripping tangled together up the front steps of the house that Killian and Henry had chosen by the dim light of the stars on a chilly May night in Storybrooke, Emma was so sleepy she was nearly punch drunk in her sailor’s grasp as he barely managed to catch her before she fell onto the wooden porch.  Both of them were chuckling lightly, blearily only half awake, but so glad to be alone together and safe, at least for a moment, that anything else could wait.  It had been a long time coming, and the austere hall and front room were somewhat haunted yet by their distorted alters’ presences and the barbs they had thrown, but they bypassed that silent space – it would keep for the morrow – to finally enter the bedroom they had always meant to share.

             The peace which washed over Emma in that moment they fell together, sinking into the thick, cushy comforter, navy blue dotted by tiny white anchors she had chosen with him in mind, and the joy she felt at the sleep-muted delight on his face on first glimpse of them, was the most comfort she had felt since he stole her away on horseback that afternoon in Camelot.  It seemed lifetimes ago now, though she could still feel the pink petals of the Middlemist flower he had handed her in that green haven and the sun slanting down on their faces as they had kissed.

             She realized then that though there was healing still to be done, they had once more reached the place of hope they had found amidst the dazzling field of blooms and golden light.  There was the promise of forever in that hazy remembered moment, with the white dress and cape, the wind in her hair, the kiss that had swept her up in delight. Though the sky had been their only witness, Emma had felt her heart blend irrevocably with his in that moment, and there in their home by the sea, weeks or months later, so jarring and confused she hardly knew which, as he pulled the sheet and blankets up to her chin before huddling beneath them with her and hoping to banish the world outside, it felt as if they were finally going to enjoy the vow that had been made between them in that fairy tale scene rose-tinted in her mind’s eye. With Killian at her back, arms wrapped around her so that hand and hook could rest upon her skin, and his nose nuzzled warmly at the nape of her neck, at long last Emma finally slept.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615​ @searchingwardrobes​ @kmomof4​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @laschatzi​ @jrob64​ @apiratewhopines​ @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @sotangledupinit​ @anmylica​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​ @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @gingerchangeling​ @gingerpolyglot​ @optomisticgirl​ @tiganasummertree​ @spartanguard​ @therooksshiningknight​ @the-darkdragonfly​ @elizabeethan​ @donteattheappleshook​ @drowned-dreamer​ @justanother-unluckysoul​ @cosette141​ @xarandomdreamx​

[lilyoffandoms]

Open Heart Drabble - Ethan x Merida & Bryce x Olivia & Tobias x Casey

Casey belongs to @jerzwriter and Olivia belongs to @storyofmychoices. Hope you ladies don’t mine me stealing your ladies for this hasty little Friendsgiving drabble.

Warnings & A/N: drinking mention. Wine mention. From this prompt list. It’s rough and a stupid little nothing of a drabble but honestly I’ve written nothing fandom for a month or so now so I’m taking small victories where I can.

“Oh come on. Don’t look so grumpy. It’ll be fun,” she chuckled and grabbing him by the hand pulled him to the door.

“I highly doubt that,” he began his protests again before loud chatter and music drowned him out as she opened the door to the apartment.

“Yay!” a high pitched squeal came from Sienna as she bound towards them, hugging both as she started grabbing jackets, scarves, and mittens from them. “I’m so happy you are here.”

“It’s about damn time,” Jackie smirked as she reached around Sienna and snagged the bottle of wine from Ethan’s hand. “I’ll can take that off your hand,” she winked.

“The expensive ass wine’s here,” she shouted towards the kitchen as a series of hoots, cheers, and clapping sounded in response

“I’ll grab the glasses,” Merida said following Jackie down the hall with a laugh, leaving Ethan standing at the door with Sienna looking up at him.

“That’s meant for dinner,” Ethan called out after them to no avail. “Sorry,” he said as he realized he had shouted right over Sienna.

“I’m really glad you guys could come,” she grinned.

“Well, yes. It was not a problem. Thanks for inviting us,” he managed.

“And by not a problem he means Merida dragged him here and it wasn’t entirely by choice,” Tobias said as he squeezed the door open all the way behind Ethan. Bumping him in the shoulder as he did. Ushering Casey in around them before shutting the door.

“I came of my own accord,” Ethan scowled.

“Of course,” Tobias drew out each word with an exaggerated nod of his head. “And if Merida wasn’t coming would you still be here?”

“Casey,” Ethan nodded and walked away trying his best to ignore Tobias’ teasing as the man followed him further into the apartment.

“Hey,” Casey smiled at Sienna and gave her a quick hug before the two walked into the kitchen ignoring a bickering Ethan and Tobias on the way.

“‘And just what were you two up to that you are the last one’s here?” Merida smirked over the edge of her wine glass.

“Just running late is all,” Casey winked and took her wine glass from Olivia.

“Thanks,” she said to Olivia.

“Late? Is that what you call it?“ Bryce teased.

Casey only shrugged and grinned wider, “What do you two call it?”

Olivia choked on her wine a bit, blushing and shaking her head, as Bryce laughed and pulled her closer.

“Aww, come on Livs. Don’t leave us hanging,” Elijah laughed.

“Give her a few more of these,” Bryce indicated to Olivia’s wine glass, “and she will share just about anything.”

“We have our mission, ladies,” Merida raised her glass towards Jackie and Casey who both readily clinked them.

“I’m out,” Olivia laughed. “I change my mind about this Thanksgiving dinner with you all.”

“Too late,” Merida, Casey, and Elijah said in unison.

——————————

Choices Tag: @storyofmychoices @peonierose

[heart-of-dunbroch]

Hero To All || Maritime Law

@mischievousmarvelousmagicalmaui​

Merida had two people to see at the hospital today.

Maui was the first. He was also the last person that Merida had been with before the world had warped around the both of ‘em, and Merida had felt Maui slip from her fingers-- literally. One moment she was splayed on the ground, her hand pressed over the wound torn through Maui’s flesh, those fingers of hers, normally so steady, so strong, trembling with the rest of her. And the next: darkness. Maui disappeared, the floor vanished, Merida screamed and toppled into a dingy cheap theatre with an insane weasel-faced blonde demon puppet, wearin’ a dress of all things. Maui’s blood had been gone from her hands.

She had thought of Maui though-- she had thought of Dipper, of her friends, of fightin’ her way through the scourge, top hats and musical numbers be damned. She’d managed to slip from the theatre and wander through several other dilapidated Swynlake buildings, searchin’ high and low-- grippin’ her bow at her side, which bless joab, had somehow appeared with the ridiculous dress.

She’d not found him though. Merida had wandered alone until at last the world twisted again and she was spat out onto the other side of it, normal again. She’d rushed to the hospital right away, screamin’ Maui and Dipper’s name. Threatened a nurse or five, made a scene, till someone finally told her that, yes, they were here but she’d have to come back during visiting hours.

And that was now. Merida marched down the hall, nearly steppin’ on the heels of the little lamb of a boy who scurried forth. He took her to the room, opening the door for her…

Merida pushed past at once but stopped just as abruptly. Maui laid in the white sheets, hospital gown laying like paper on him, the above light soakin’ him through and making him look...

“He’s not dead, just-- resting,” said the boy behind her.

She shot the boy a glare. “I know that. I’m not stupid,” she practically barked. The nurse squeaked and took several steps back, and then the bed creaked, and Maui made some kinda grunting noise. Merida’s head snapped back the other way and she quickly stepped to the side of the bed, reachin’ out to grasp at Maui’s forearm. “Maui,” she whispered his name, watchin’ his eyelashes as they fluttered. “Maui, wake up.” They fluttered again. Merida gripped his arm tighter, then felt a spike of fear, like-- what if something was wrong.

“OI, MAUI,” she barked.

[eirian-houpe]

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower - chapter 39

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Grumpy | Leroy, Maurice | Moe French, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Merida (Once Upon a Time), Jiminy Cricket | Archie Hopper, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Le Fou, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Gus | Billy, Huntsman | Sheriff Graham, Mother Trude (Fairytale Character)

Additional Tags: Bookshop On the Corner, slightly AU, Cursed Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Alternate Universe - In Storybrooke | Cursed (Once Upon a Time), Eventual Smut

Summary: Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 39 - Invitation

Even before Belle managed to close the door, Maggie had hurried away down the stairs and was out of sight a moment later. Shaking her head, Belle turned from the door, garment bag in hand and carefully, almost holding her breath, unzipped it fully.

If the dress had been beautiful in the dim light of the stairwell, it was utterly stunning in the full lighting of the apartment, and almost before she realized it, the possibility of attending the Miner’s Festival - which prior to that moment she was almost adamant that she would not - became something real, something desired and something which she truly wanted. What better way, as Maggie had outright told her, to prove that she belonged in Storybrooke, and was more than the mousy little librarian everyone believed her to be.

Before she could second guess herself, and go and change her mind, Belle took the dress through to the bedroom. No harm in just… trying it on, she thought to herself.

She carefully lifted the dress and cloak from the bag feeling the fine, soft fabric against her fingertips as she did. In proper lighting, though the dress at first appeared white, there was ultimately a barely detectable, almost aqua overtone, as if the strands of the woven fabric reflected that color of light. The sequins shone like tiny diamonds and the embroidery was so fine that she could not imagine anyone having done such work, and yet it was unequivocally obvious that it had not been produced by machine.

Then her heart sank with sudden disappointment as she decided there was no way that the dress was going to fit. Maggie was taller and far more slender than she. If she could get the dress to fasten it would be far too long. Still, something in her was determined that she would try it on, and she began undressing to nothing but her panties, and then stepped into the dress and with the practiced ease of someone used to wearing dresses that zipped at the back, pulled up the zipper and then wriggled a little to settle the fine silk ball gown into place. It fit flawlessly, and in her bare feet the bottom edge barely curled against the carpet, which meant that in heels of a modest one or two inches, it would fall just as perfectly. It was as if it had been made for her.

She slipped on some appropriate shoes and turned first one way, and then the other, watching as the full skirts of the dress swished with her movement, and came to settle again. Then, facing the mirror once more, she looked at herself up along the length of the bodice, the way it hugged her curves, ending modestly enough to just reveal the top most hint of her cleavage, and leaving her shoulders entirely bare. There were sleeves though, which were fitted, and yet comfortable - not too tight even beneath the arms, where they joined to the top of the dress. The lower half of the sleeves were overlaid with a fine, sheer lace, almost veil-like that hung to her mid thighs when her arms were bent at the elbow.

It truly was an utterly beautiful dress. She bit her lip, worried that if she went to the festival in it she would be completely overdressed and end up the laughing stock of the town. Then again, she countered herself, she considered Maggie to be, tentatively, a friend, and didn’t believe she would play such a cruel trick on her, besides which, hadn’t Doctor Whale said that everyone dressed in their finest clothes?

“Do the brave things, Belle,” she said softly to herself, and again turned full circle; once and once again, feeling the dress as light as air moving around her. On the third turn, however, she stopped dead as she caught sight of Mister Gold, standing in the doorway. As she saw him - blushing scarlet as she did - his expression turned to one of abject apology, and he began to stumble over an explanation of his presence.

“Uh… forgive me, I…” he began, taking a half step back as though he meant to turn and run. “I… I was passing and I noticed the outside door was ajar,” his voice, though flustered at first, was soft, and grew in confidence as he made his explanation. “I began to worry that something may be wrong, especially as there were no lights on in the library.”

“I… I closed early,” she explained, still blushing.

He nodded, “I realize that now, but… when I came up, your front door was open too,” he gestured behind himself to where the front door was situated, “so I… I promise you, I’m not the kind of landlord to—”

He broke off when Belle covered her face with her hands for a moment, her blush renewing, along with a strange, tickling, pulling sensation, low in her belly.

“Thank you,” she said eventually, before she lowered her hands, finding his explanation genuine and understanding how the doors had been left unfastened, with Maggie in a hurry to return to her brothers, and her own excitement to try on the dress. “It… was good of you to be concerned. I’m simply embarrassed to have been caught… twirling around like a school girl anticipating her first prom.”

He offered her a smile, and then gestured, still a little awkwardly, toward her.

“It suits you,” he said quietly, his voice a little rough, as though with emotion. “Will you be going to the Miner’s Day Festival then?”

“What,” she said in a tone that belied her lingering embarrassment, and attempted to snark her way back to a more comfortable state of equilibrium, “in this old thing?” She shook her head and said, “Not at all. This is the kind of thing I always wear when I’m going to lounge in my apartment all night, reading a book and drinking tea all by myself.”

She gave him a grin then, one he mirrored as though she were suddenly speaking his language, and the two of them chuckled together, the warmth of their shared laughter dispelling the lingering awkwardness.

“It truly does suit you, Miss Marchland,” he offered then, “as if by donning this dress you are… shedding your belief that you don’t belong here - in Storybrooke.”

“Well,” she murmured, “It would seem that there are enough people around that would like me to believe that.”

As she spoke, she smoothed the front of the dress over her, and half turned enough to take one more look at herself in the mirror. Perhaps she had been right after all. Perhaps it was too much.  Her hands twitched as though to reach behind herself for the zipper.

“You don’t need to listen to them,” Gold’s soft voice sounded, closer this time, almost at her shoulder. She turned, her hands still half raised, and without thinking gave them willingly to his as he took them into his own. His fingers were warm where they passed small caresses over the backs of her hands. “You should just show them how wrong they are,” he suggested in that gravelly, soft voice of his. “Perhaps you would… do me the honor of accompanying me to the Minder’s Day Festival, Miss Marchland?”

She swallowed hard at the deep, dark invitation in his eyes. “I should be delighted,” she whispered.

[pumpernickelspice]

Oo, what's you're other low-key ship? Owo

Oh boy here we go!

List of low-key ships.

There’s ADIRA x LANCE …It grew on me let’s face it….Wait does that count as an Adira pun?

Chloe x Nathaniel from Miraculous Ladybug.

Back in my Sonic fandom days ( kinda turned into a low-key fan of the series * shrug * ) I thought Rotor walrus and Fiona fox had some good potential and I still do and then there’s Tangle x  Rough cause I saw a piece of art and instantly fell in love with the pairing.

Bastion ( The older design of Flynn rider ) x Cassandra is another ship I low-key frequently because his character looked like such a softie and Cass has a rough around the edges kind of way of affection plus Bastion was a thief that wanted to change for the better I just imagine the dynamic that this ship might offer.

Seraphina x Hookfoot….Nuff said.

I also low-key BROTP Belle from beauty and the beast and Varian because….I mean…These two are so…Alike? I mean they both have hobbies that are seen as weird and peculiar, both are outcasts of they town, both like to read and discover I just think they could have a really good friendship. ( I know this ship isn’t a romantic one but I just couldn’t help myself and not put that up there ) 

Quirin x yet another OC of mine….That I have yet to draw…sorry about that!

Hector and Adira….Brotp?…Make up for past mistakes and get a healthier relationshiptp? Seriously I hope whatever they do with they’re relationship that it doesn’t end badly but that’s the optimism in me talking!

I use to ship Merida x Varian low-key and I still kinda do because potential.

Tinker bell x Terence was an instant ship for me but turned low-key.

WARNING spoilers for Once upon a time underneath.

Hook x Emma and it’s not because this ship strangely gave me more inspiration to finish a comic thing maybe…

Rumplestiltskin x Belle because I think this ship almost made me cry and it takes a lot to do that so bravo.

[moonbeambucky]

Cheers!

Pairing: Bartender!Bucky Barnes x Reader [AU] Word Count: 4305 Warnings: Slight angst, cheating, fluff

Summary: A charming bartender comes to your rescue after a night out leads to a broken heart.

A/N: This is my submission for @marvelous-fvcks 3k writing challenge. My prompt was Bartender AU. Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated! gif source (x)

Natasha smiled as you slipped behind her, checking the mirror to see that your makeup didn’t look awful. You had been out with her all day and didn’t feel like reapplying anything. There was no one to impress anyway considering you were already taken, in a fairly new relationship with your boyfriend Grant.

You watch with an envious stare as the redhead effortlessly applied her eyeliner, painting her lids with a smooth swipe and a simple flick at the ends to make perfect, even wings. Witchcraft!

“It’ll be fun tonight,” Natasha said, her mouth hanging open as she applied mascara. “Clint’s heard them before, they’re pretty good.”

She was referring to the band playing at a bar near her boyfriend Clint’s apartment. With Grant being away on a business trip this weekend you were lonely but thankfully your best friend came through with plans.

You took an Uber to Clint’s apartment, coming upstairs for a bit because he was running late. Clint opened the door clutching the towel around his waist.

“Hey Nat, Y/N,” he said, welcoming you inside.

Natasha kissed him and sighed, “You didn’t even get in the shower yet?”

Clint chuckled. “Nah, I over–”

“–Slept,” she said in unison. “Uh huh, what else is new?” She laughed under her breath and told him to hurry up.

Natasha made space on the couch for you to sit, clearing away clothes and video game controllers, and placing the empty pizza boxes on the kitchen counter.

“He’s a mess but I love him,” she said, plopping next to you.

Within ten minutes Clint was out of the shower and dressed in some jeans, a t-shirt that definitely looked like it had come from a crumpled pile on the floor and a denim jacket over it. Natasha rolled her eyes as she laced her fingers with his and the three of you made your way to the bar.

It was a short walk to The Captain, the bar appropriately named after its owner, a former army Captain. It was a pretty popular place with live music every weekend. You got there early enough to grab a table in the back before the band started.

Heading to the bar with Natasha you squeezed your way in between the boisterous patrons crowding around the high top counter. The bartender locked his eyes with yours, wordlessly letting you know he’ll be right with you though you didn’t mind the wait, not if it meant you could ogle him for longer.

He was tall and broad, with long brown hair falling just above his shoulders and stubble peppering a sharp jawline. Even in the dim bar lighting you could see his sparkling blue eyes. There was no harm in looking you reminded yourself as you thought of Grant.

“What can I get you doll?” he asked, his voice as smooth as silk, leaning over to you.

You’re taken back by his presence, lost in his wide bright smile. Heat simmered on your cheeks as you stood there awkwardly, before remembering your intention of ordering drinks.

“That’s a lot for one person,” the bartender said, grabbing three glasses from underneath the counter.

“Oh, no,” you giggled nervously, “They’re not all for me.”

“I was just kidding,” he said, flashing that gorgeous smile again and winking while you stood there feeling like a complete idiot.

When he turned around to grab the liquor bottles you found yourself in a trance, watching the way his muscles threatened the integrity of his shirt with every movement. A rough tap on your shoulder broke you from your focused gaze, startling you enough to yelp loudly; your scream blending into the loud rock music blasting from the jukebox.

It was Natasha, her face twisted in confusion as to why you look so scared. She held money out to you for the drinks, awkwardly grabbing it as you tried to shake off your nerves before you realized the bartender was chuckling with light laughter having seen the whole thing. As if you weren’t embarrassed enough already.

He placed the drinks on the counter and your nervous hands shook as you paid and tipped him, wanting to rush back to the table as quickly as possible.

Clint was sitting in a booth, rocking his head and air drumming to the music blasting.

“Slide over,” Nat urged and you both sat down.

The drink went down smooth, perfectly made by the handsome bartender, and you were able to relax as you listened to Clint in his attempt to convince Nat to try archery with him.

“Just because my hair is red it does not make me Merida,” she joked, speaking loudly to make up for the large crowd that began to pile around the stage.

Soon the band Star-Lord came on and the place was electric. There’s something about the energy you get from live music, with everyone drinking, dancing and just letting go to have a good time. They played an awesome mix of 70s and 80s music from all genres and you were having the best time.

“If you like Piña Coladas…”

“And getting caught in the rain!” you and Natasha enthusiastically sang.

You finished your drink a while ago but didn’t feel like getting up for a refill as you were enjoying the band. During a slower song you shimmied out of the booth and asked if anyone else wanted something. Natasha and Clint both declined and so you made your way upfront. A smile found its way to your face as you watched the bartender mixing drinks and laughing with the other patrons.

You turned your gaze around to the other side of the bar watching people at the row of pool tables. Seeing an unexpected face caused your smile to drop as your brows knit together in confusion.

You spotted Grant standing behind a beautiful brunette, and even across the room you can see the lustful look in eyes. With a smirk plastered on his face he slowly pushed her forward, leaning over her body leaving no room in between. One hand gripped her waist as the other slowly glided down her forearm until his hand was stroking her fingers between the pool stick.

You can feel your blood boiling beneath your skin as you marched towards them, “Away for work, huh?!”

Grant looked up in shock not expecting to see you, “Y/N. I-I can explain.”

The tall woman beside him looks at you and laughed. “This is Y/N? Ha, wow babe, seriously?”

If you weren’t shocked before this definitely put you over the edge as you felt your heart testing the strength of your ribcage with its furious pounding, “Excuse me?”

“Aida stop,” he said, putting his arm out in front of her before she answered you. “Listen Y/N it just wasn’t working out.”

Your head shook in disbelief. “Since when Grant? Since yesterday?” Instead of responding he simply pressed his lips together into a tight line. “Did you just want to cheat or are you not man enough to actually break up with me?”

Grant’s face twisted with anger. “I’m more man than you’ll ever have so shut your fucking mouth bitch!” he shouted, taking an aggressive step towards you while Aida smirked with sickening pride.

Your altercation had already gained the attention of the people around you but now the bartender had looked up. He quickly got the attention of another man to tend to the bar in his place while he rushed to your side.

“Don’t you dare talk to her life that,” a voice from behind you commanded.

You looked around, surprised to see the bartender next to you.

“Whatever I need to say to Y/N is none of your business so back the fuck off,” Grant snarled.

“Y/N what is Grant doing here?” You turned around to see Natasha who looked just as confused as you first did.

“When you threaten someone it is my business,” the bartender snapped back.

Grant’s jaw clenched as anger soared through him. Puffing his chest up he clenched his fists. The bartender noticed this and took a protective step in front of you in case the idiot in front of him dared to do something stupid.

A blond man marched over, vehemently insisting that Grant leave. “This is my bar and you’re not welcome here anymore.”

He made sure Grant and Aida left without trouble and nodded back to the bartender, asking if everything was alright. The bartender made a face, knowing things were better now that the jerk was gone but as he saw the bewildered look on your face he knew things may not be alright.

“Y/N is it?” he asked gently. You picked your head up from Natasha’s shoulder to look at him. “Are you okay?”

“If by ‘okay’ you mean completely humiliated then yeah, I’m okay,” you sighed. He gave a sympathetic smile in return.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” Natasha asked as she rubbed your back.

No, you didn’t. Sure you were upset and completely embarrassed but if you left you know you would just go home and cry. You and Grant hadn’t been together for long, you hadn’t said “I love you” yet which is good because you didn’t love him, but to be cheated on and disrespected like this hurt all the same. What other option is there but to stay and drink? Drink tonight and cry tomorrow, that sounded like the best plan.

Natasha walked you back to the table, filling in Clint on what happened. “I’ll kill him!” he said. Nat hushed him, knowing you’d rather not talk about it anymore.

He mimed drawing a bow back, adding a swooshing noise as he let go, “Nobody would know.”

Natasha flared her eyes at him and he shut up. “Clint get us a round of something,” she told him.

“Make it strong!” you insisted.

He came back with a full pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea and placed the glasses down on the table. After settling into the booth Clint excitedly rubbed his hands together, anxious to pour the drinks.

“Cheers!” he said, holding his glass up as you and Natasha clinked your drinks together with his.

You sat back in the booth watching Star-Lord continue their set not paying attention to the amount of drinks you had, just refilling your glass almost as quickly as you emptied it. You didn’t realize how drunk you were until you tried to stand up to dance and stumbled back down into the booth laughing hysterically.

You lied to Natasha and told her you were fine, but your heated cheeks and glossy eyes told a different story. She let it go, preferring to see her friend smiling even if it would be short lived as she knew the wicked hangover you were in for.

You took a few deep breaths before attempting to get up again, telling her that you were going to the bathroom. You insisted on going alone despite her protests but promised to be right back.

The walls echoed with the pumping music making every step you took feel more off balanced than you already were. Heading to the sink you ran the cold water, splashing it against your fiery skin feeling temporary relief. You stared at your reflection in the empty room feeling the crushing weight of the emptiness in your life. What’s wrong with me?

Suddenly all of your insecure feelings came rushing in. You pictured Aida, tall, thin and beautiful with big green eyes. It’s like somebody built her she was so perfect, and you, well, you’re not her. Tears stung your eyes as they threatened to drop. It felt like the small room was closing in on you and you needed fresh air. Stumbling out of the bathroom you saw a door in the back leading outside and quickly walked through it.

As soon as the cool air hit your skin you let your tears drop, gently brushing them away as you walked to the side of the building. You were too embarrassed to face the street, feeling as if every passerby would be able to read the details of what happened on your face. You leaned against the building and shut your eyes, hoping that the world would stop spinning before you went back inside.

Natasha was worried when you didn’t come back. She checked the bathroom and even had Clint search the men’s room as she called and texted you to no avail. They searched the whole bar but you weren’t there.

“Hey!” She waved her hands frantically to get the bartender’s attention. “Have you seen Y/N?”

He shook his head no, furrowing his brows with worry. Natasha told him they were going outside to look for you, “If you see her please have her call me!”

He poured drinks with less enthusiasm since your friend told him you were missing, constantly looking past the faces sitting as his bar hoping he found yours. His concern caught the eye of the blond who was restocking some liquor bottles.

“Hey Steve, do you mind if I take a few minutes?” he asked.

“Sure Buck. Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure,” he vaguely responded.

The bartender went through the kitchen doors, rubbing his temples, hoping that you were okay. He headed for the back door to clear his mind when relief washed over him as he saw you slumped on the floor.

“Y/N! Are you okay?”

“Heyyyy issyou!” you slurred. “I can’t get up,” you humphed, raising your arms up over your head.

He helped stand you up, gripping your waist to steady you on your feet. “I’m okay, ‘mokay,” you repeated. “I can’t find the bar, the door moved.”

“You found it doll. Are—” you interrupted him, catching him off guard as you leaned forward into his chest.

“She’s so pretty. How could he do that?” you drunkenly sobbed.

He gently wrapped his arms around you, feeling terrible that you were crying over that asshole.

“Anyone that would treat you that way isn’t worth your tears.”

You wiped your cheeks, and sniffed a few times, wiping your snotty nose with the back of your hand. Looking up at the bartender your lips pulled to a slight smile as you thanked him.

“You’re sooo nice. Wha’s your name?” you slurred again, feeling the alcohol take over once more.

“Bucky,” he said, flashing a smile that was even more stunning up close. “Your friend was lookin’ for you, the redhead.”

A stupid smile spread across your face as you giggled, “Oh yeah… Tasha… Tanasha Ronamoff. Wait… Nasasha…”

As you continued to ramble and butcher her name you pulled out your phone but it slipped from your grasp. Bucky bent down to reach it for you and thankfully the screen hadn’t cracked. He wiped away pebbles of dirt from the front before holding it out to you.

“Natasha?” he guessed, as you stood still, staring off to the side of the building without answering him.

The sound of Bucky’s voice faded into the background as you focused on the uneasy rumble in the pit of your stomach. Your mouth watered uncomfortably as the trembling sensation you felt began to rise to the surface like an erupting volcano and then you emptied the contents of your stomach that burned their way through your body like lava.

Bucky jumped back but not before you had christened his boots with vomit. Despite that, he bravely moved beside you and grabbed your hair, this time avoiding the stream coming from your mouth, to hold it back as your body continued to expunge itself of the alcohol.

You rubbed the tears from your eyes when you were finished and moved to lean against the wall as you struggled for breath feeling the stinging after burn in your throat.

With your phone still in his hand Bucky scrolled to find Natasha in your contacts, calling her a few times before deciding to leave a message since she didn’t answer, mentioning something about Uber. He pulled his own phone out and asked for your address.

The world felt like it was covered in a haze and before you realized it Bucky was ushering you to the sidewalk. His strong frame kept you from stumbling as he got your safely into the car.

“This is my buddy Scott, he’ll take you home,” Bucky said. He leaned in through the passenger’s side window to talk to Scott, knowing he could trust him to make sure you made it home without trouble.

“Get home safe doll,” he said before seeing the car drive off.

Bright sunlight burned its way in through the window, reaching your swollen, tired eyes. You groaned, turning onto your side, barely able to lift your heavy head from the pillow. Opening your mouth was a difficult task as your tongue felt so dry it seemed as if it was fused to the roof of your mouth. Somehow you managed to sit up in bed, hanging your head low as you dragged your hands down your face.

The buzzing of your phone startled you and looking around your bed and nightstand you’re relieved to see a light shining in the darkness of your handbag on the floor. Reaching your foot out you hooked it onto the straps and pulled the bag towards you.

Natasha called you over twenty times and left text messages that seemed like they went on longer than War and Peace. Clint had called a couple of times too, plus there was a voicemail from your Mom and a text from a number that wasn’t in your contacts.

“Hey doll, how are you feeling?”

You responded by asking who it was from, quickly seeing the bubbles of the mystery texter responding back, “Bucky.”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” you said out loud before it hit you, before everything hit you, every stupid and regretful thing you did last night.

The entire night was embarrassing, from finding your now ex-boyfriend cheating on you, drinking too much and vomiting on Bucky, the hot bartender.

You frantically apologized with too many exclamation points. You noticed he was writing back but you were too ashamed to look. Throwing your phone on the bed you jumped off the mattress and headed to the bathroom to wash your face.

“What the fuck!” you screamed, examining the whites of your eyes that now sported a rosy tint to them, with a disgusting broken blood vessel beside your pupil.

Note to self, don’t ever drink again unless you want to become a permanent extra on The Walking Dead.

Popping open the bottle of aspirin you took two pills to the kitchen, swallowing them down with a tall glass of water before shuffling back to your bedroom.

After shutting your blinds you crawled back under the covers, back into the shameful hole you feel that you belong in. Your phone buzzed again with Bucky’s response and taking a deep breath you braced yourself for what his text said.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Don’t worry about it? You vomited on a person, of course you’re going to worry about it!

Remembering to respond to Natasha first you let her know you’re okay but you feel like human garbage. You continued to exchange texts back and forth with Bucky, learning he was surprisingly cool with being thrown up on, a risk he was used to in his line of work. He told you he rinsed his boots off, but you still felt terrible, offering to buy him new shoes. He asked for something else in exchange, coffee.

Your head began to spin and not just because you might still be drunk. The incredibly hot bartender that witnessed the disaster that was your evening, who you’ve thrown up on, wants to go out for coffee. You can’t quite place your finger on how you feel, happy you guess, a little weird, hmm and definitely still drunk. You’ll have to talk to Natasha about this after she undoubtedly yells at you for disappearing.

A few days go by before your meet up with Bucky. You had continued to message each other, quickly falling into a routine where his was the first message you saw when you woke up and the last before you went to bed, often wishing you sweet dreams. Thinking about Bucky definitely gave you some sweet dreams. Natasha had encouraged you to pursue whatever this was, even though you insisted it was only coffee.

You spotted Bucky from across the street, running his fingers through his hair. The sun illuminated his bright white t-shirt, which showed off his bulging biceps. It was truly unfair how someone could look so good in casual clothing. Inhaling a stiff breath you gathered yourself together and crossed the street.

Bucky’s eyes lit up when he saw you and you couldn’t help but to smile from ear to ear.

“Hey Y/N,” he said, leaning in to hug you.

You let yourself enjoy being enveloped by his large frame for as long as you could. His embrace felt like being wrapped in a blanket on a cold winter day, with warmth spreading throughout your body.

“Hi Bucky,” you greeted, not quite making eye contact with him as the thoughts of your last encounter were on your mind.

“You look great.”

You burst out laughing a bit more than you had intended. “Yeah, well, anything is better than when you last saw me. That wasn’t my finest moment.” Bucky laughed at your admission.

He held the door open as you walked inside the crowded cafe. Grabbing a small table in the corner you sat down and looked over the menu, occasionally lifting your eyes to get a quick glance at Bucky whose gaze was staring firmly at you.

His lips were pulled into a smile, one he couldn’t help but wear as he was taking in all the beautiful features of your face that were highlighted by the soft daylight that filtered in through the window. His stomach twisted when he saw the splotch of red in your eye, a remnant from the last time he saw you.

It was understandable after what happened that you wanted to distract yourself by drinking. If that happened at any other bar Bucky would have loved to punch the smirk right off the face of your ex.

He was happy in a strange way, that the jerk who certainly didn’t deserve you was no longer the recipient of your sweet messages. Each time Bucky’s phone buzzed his heart began to beat a little faster in anticipation of seeing your name. The messages were simple, asking how each other’s day was or wondering if you binged the same shows on Netflix. Conversation was easy and Bucky couldn’t wait to get to know you more.

A server came by to take your order of coffee and pastries, taking away the menu you were not-so secretly hiding your face behind to compose yourself. Looking at Bucky was dangerous, knowing the longer your sober mind took in his perfect smile and sparkling eyes the more you would have to acknowledge the fluttering of your heart.

As you waited for your food to arrive Bucky broke the silence and you both opened up, finding out more and more that you had in common. You tried not to let your mind run wild; this was coffee and nothing more, but then again he hasn’t stopped smiling.

The fork slowly pulled out of Bucky’s lips. “Mmmm, this is so good,” he moaned, electrifying your already fragile mind with dirty thoughts. “You have to try it.”

Before you could protest he held his fork in front of you, offering you a piece of his cinnamon roll. You licked your lips before opening your mouth, he smirked watching the fork disappear between your lips, humming in satisfaction as the warm dough and sugary icing deliciously exploded along your tongue.

“Just a sec,” he said, swiping his thumb by the top of your lip to brush away a bit of icing. Your body tingled under his soft touch and you dropped your head down as you felt heat rush to your cheeks.

Clearing your throat, you brushed a strand of hair behind your ears, “I never thanked you for helping me and making sure I got home safe.”

Bucky sat back and smiled deeply. “You’re welcome. It was the least I could do.”

“A lot of people wouldn’t have been as…” you paused for a moment, thinking about the vulnerable situation you were in, drunk off your ass with a stranger, “…Respectful as you were.”

“Decency shouldn’t be a surprise,” he lamented, knowing how many times he’s had to personally intervene when he saw others trying to take advantage of drunk people. “Though I will apologize if Scott started talking to you about his ant farm.”

You burst out laughing, catching the side eyed look of the table next to you. “I wouldn’t have remembered if he did!”

When the server brought the check you insisted on paying, “Bucky, please it’s the least I can do.”

“Fine, but I’m paying on our next date,” he said, cocking his head to the side and smiling.

“Oh, this was a date?” you asked, as sarcasm and hopefulness combined in your tone.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, sporting a coy smile. “Well, maybe, maybe not, but I’d love to take you on a real date Y/N.”

You bit your lip to hold back the full smile you felt forming on your face. Taking a breath to calm your fluttering heart, “I’ll drink to that.”

“Please don’t,” he pleaded, laughing.

Putting your hands up defensively you chuckled, “Okay okay!”

“I’m just teasing,” he said. Bucky lifted his coffee cup up to yours, “Cheers!”

[ravensinflight]

Criminal World

Hard to be a player when you don’t know the game. A semi-Atomic Blonde AU from the lovely Rumbelle Secret Santa prompt by @annagingil: “secret lovers, spies in day.”  Title by Bowie, hot mess by me. Here, have some songfic like it’s 2004. I hope you enjoy.

Rated: M

Word count: 3,983

A03 Link

You never told me of your other faces

You were the widow of a wild cat

And now I know about your special kisses

And I know you know where that's at

I guess I recognize your destination

I think I see beneath your make-up

What you want is sort of separation

This is no ordinary

This is no ordinary--“Criminal World” by David Bowie

Belle grabbed handfuls of hair, twisting it with practice between her fingers. She shoved it roughly but efficiently under a short red wig, lowering the long fringed bangs over the tops of her eyes. She carded her fingers through the rest of the bob to make sure it was lying flat and even. It would be easier with a mirror, but she plans on completing her transformation in the stall of this godawful ladies’ room before glancing at the total effect on her way out.

Boots, impractical but stylish jacket, new earrings and a couple of slap bracelets complete the look. She wants a look that says “party girl” but inconspicuous, so most of her ensemble is black or navy. Everything she was previously wearing, including the flat shoes, blonde wig, professional cut dress, and stud earrings get shoved into the oversized slouch bag covered in heavy leather fringe that she wings over her shoulder like an infantry pack.

Less than five minutes after Belle entered, Lacey leaves.

She hadn’t had enough sleep but she’d had enough coffee. The coffee in this country was dismal; it was so mild she could probably brush her teeth with it, but that made it easier to imbibe large amounts without necessarily intaking food to protect her stomach. Belle enjoyed food a great deal, so it was a source of consternation that her stomach could be somewhat touchy at times. People in her line of work really shouldn’t develop quirks that get you noticed, or remembered.

Or slow you down: she was almost 20 minutes behind her self-imposed schedule. That was still within the range of allowable delay but it didn’t improve her mood. She’d needed the extra time to change hotels, or rather, have Lacey change hotels via payphones at the airport. Then of course she had to become Lacey in that dive of a ladies’ room, and at last she was ready to meet the Stationmaster.

She’d checked her bags in at left-luggage until after the meeting; depending on how competent she assessed this “Mr. Gold” to be, she might need to take further precautions with her belongings for a long-term stay.

Belle internally rolled her eyes at the name Mr. Gold. She’d asked back at Home Office what year exactly did this agent think they were living in? Regina had given her half a smile and said “You’ll have to ask Gold--he’s been Stationmaster so long he may have lost touch with reality.”

Belle reached the rendezvous site 15 minutes before Mr. Gold and 10 minutes later than she wanted to. The discotheque thrummed like a hive of bees from the outside. She found a spot in the shadows down from the entrance, leaning against it in apparent casualness while lighting a cigarette. She balanced the danger of the glare from the tip drawing notice against the suspicious nature of being noticed doing nothing at all, and added the adoption of a bored look while she slouched to clearly indicate ‘waiting for someone and not happy about it, do not approach.’

She was intently scanning the people as they entered and exited the club, but she felt more than heard that something was behind her a moment before the man began speaking.

“Ms. French?” A voice asked in accented English.

She turned her head slowly and controlled, like a snake hypnotizing prey.

“Mr. Gold?” She responded in her own accented English. Which accent she’d chosen for this engagement not quite evident from only those two words.

There was a tapping sound from the shadows behind her, as a man with a cane and a hideous hat emerged from one shadow around the corner of the building to join her shadow. Belle’s internal map told her that he’d had to come up from the river banks and detour around several warehouses to get that drop on her. Not the path she would have taken, but not wholly unexpected.

Belle knew she still looked like a bored party girl and took a slow drag from the cigarette while eyeing the man. Shortish, dressed nicely apart from the hat, cane was a bit ostentatious (necessary?), older but that was too be expected based on the briefing at Home. “You’re late,” she informed him. She’d decided to use R.P. for this assignment for regional neutrality. The reprimand sounded lovely in BBC English.

The man smiled far too widely. “No, I’m not.” Fair enough, In a flash of the headlight of a passing car, she caught sight of the glint of something in his mouth. A gold tooth? Her estimations of this agent were . . . conflicted. He read like something out of  an old spy comic with advertisements for decoder rings in the back. On the other hand, he’d almost gotten the drop on her. Almost.

“Shall we?” Mr. Gold held out his arm for her like an old-time gallant. She threw back her head and gave a drunken laugh, grabbing his arm sloppily while her legs contrived to fall in step with him and not topple her over despite the lack of direction she was apparently giving them. The wool coat covering his arm was warm and expensive feeling. He smelled like woodsmoke. Mr. Gold grinned again, and they started down the street; just a businessman on a Friday night picking up a good-time girl. They disappeared into the shadows together.

(ah, ah, ah)

What a criminal world

The boys are like baby-faced girls

What a criminal girl

She'll show you where to shoot your gun

What a typical mother's son

The only thing that she enjoys

Is a criminal world

Where the girls are like baby-faced boys

Belle lit up a cigarette while scrutinizing photographs.

“I really wish you wouldn’t do that in bed,” Gold said, not looking up from the papers he was reading in the armchair next to the bed. Belle turned her head slightly to give him a languid look while she exhaled a stream of smoke nonchalantly. She sat in the middle of Gold’s ridiculously large bed, wearing only her own lingerie and his shirt. Black and white glossy photographs littered the bed around her. She’d made a good connection in befriending Merida, novice intelligence agent. Merida tended to blunder about and into things, but she took a damn fine shot.

For a moment, Gold looked up at her sternly from the armchair before his face softened in resignment and he looked back down at his papers. He wore a an honest to God smoking jacket without a trace of irony, looking like some ersatz Sherlock Holmes in the overstuffed brown leather chair.

Frankly, everything about Gold’s abode was rather “overstuffed” for Belle’s tastes, yet she found herself drawn here for their trysts more often than not. She’d made sure Lacey kept changing hotels every few weeks, starting out somewhere posh then slowly degenerating in quality, the slow decline of a woman living a little too outside her means for a little too long but who just had to keep the party going.

Belle didn’t really mind the growing inferiority of her base-camp’s amenities; her frustration was with how long this infernal investigation was taking. She should have been further along ages ago. Home needed her to run a traitor to ground, but so far she’d just been running in circles over this Godforsaken city.

“This Hatter character is all over the map,” Belle muttered, tossing photographs into rough groupings in an effort to switch up the patterns they presented.

“Character is definitely the word to describe Jefferson,” Gold said laconically.

“You really trust that guy with your import and export dealings?” Belle asked him. She made a mental note to get better control of her accent. She’d been getting slack around Gold.

Gold grinned wolfishly and she caught sight of the gold even in the low light of his cavernous bedroom. The man was a such a peacock, she thought, but not without fondness.

“I don’t trust anyone, dearie, that’s how I’m still in this game.”

The fondness vanished and she made a mental note to get better control on that as well. She stared at him in silence until the grin faded and he deigned to answer her questions.

“Jefferson might have fried most of his common sense with drugs, but his abilities to focus and execute a plan are quite keen,” Gold admitted. “Plus God knows how he gets across some of the borders he does carrying the things he does.”

Belle made a hum of agreement. “That’s one of the reasons Home Office flagged his file.”

“You know, you can hear the way you emphasize certain things, almost as though they’re titled peerage,” Gold said with amusement. “‘Home Office,’ or my favorite, ‘Stationmaster.’ It’s quite endearingly formal.”

Belle bristled at his tone, like he was describing the tricks of a favored pet.

“I don’t see why calling something by its proper name is quite so funny,” she said coldly, her movements regarding the photographs turning brisk. They’d reached that inevitable point in their interactions when it was probably time to leave.

Moving soundlessly and with ever-surprising grace, Gold left the armchair to push the photographs aside and crawl up the bed to loom above her. She met the maneuver with a cold stare and the quirk of an eyebrow. Better make this good, her look told him.

The smoking jacket belt had come loose and the burgundy silk folds of it were starting to part. Gold took no notice of it as he started to trace a fingertip along the edge of his shirt she was wearing. There was still amusement on his face, but behind it a kind of heat Belle thought boded rather well.

“Forgive an old man his small pleasures,” Gold murmured, his fingertip reaching the slight swell of her stomach and turning into a full palm caress. “When you’ve been at this game as long as I have, you start to grow complacent about the whole circus. Fresh blood is . . . invigorating.” He finished the statement by moving his palm down a few critical inches and then lowering himself enough to start gently mouthing at her neck.

Belle smiled slightly despite herself. “Old Man?” She said mockingly. He grumbled against her neck, moving his mouth down to her décolletage.

“Yes, precisely. Much too old for chasing traitors all around the world whilst trying to keep a woman like you happy.” He somehow managed to to get all that out while never letting up his gentle assault. His hand moved just there and Belle was arching into him.

“I took care of the chasing part, darling, you’ve just got to lie back and think of Home Office,” she managed around breathing that was growing more labored. He chuckled against her, a delightful shiver resulting.

“Ah, the benefits of teamwork-” he punctuated the word with a twist of his clever fingers and Belle wrapped one of her legs around his hips, pulling the smoking jacket completely open as she speared one hand into the locks of his hair and scraped her nails along his scalp. Her other hand was snaking inside the open jacket to press him more firmly against her.

He paused his oral exploration though his hand never ceased moving, if anything growing more intent with its ministrations while he watched her flushed face from atop the length of her body.

“You know a real character to look at,” he said idly. Of course Gold would talk shop while getting her off. She tightened her fingers in his hair which only provoked a Cheshire grin.

“Oh? Who might that be?” She tried to match his disinterested tone but her rapid breathing made it somewhat difficult. She decided sliding the hand inside the jacket into more interesting territory would level the playing field. Gold did so like his little games.

His own face was growing flushed as he struggled to maintain the same nonchalance as before. “Our good friend-” he grunted slightly “-Officer Rogers. A man that turns traitor to his own government to feed our agents information might decide to doublecross us if the price is right.” She gave a little hum of agreement and a particularly good squeeze of her hand. He gave up pretending to be unaffected by removing her panties with a sharp tug and blanketing her fully, hands and assorted fabric barriers being removed in the interest of getting down to business.

Belle turned her self-satisfied crowing into moans. They didn’t precisely keep points in their little tête-à-têtes and the scoring was always up for debate, but she felt certain this round had gone to her.

Belle’s decision to bed the Stationmaster was a conscious one; she found it an extremely enjoyable way to relieve the tedium that often accompanies these sort of drawn-out assignments. She also knew it was an excellent way to accelerate feelings of trust or inclinations to grant favors between an agent and a potential asset. Everyone was a potential asset, even other agents. People were either assets or problems in Belle’s experience.

Not that sleeping with Gold was much of a hardship Belle mused as they moved in increasingly frantic tandem. Man was hotter than sin. She was beginning to suspect she’d been here a bit too long; she was thinking she might even miss this once the assignment was over.

In the languid stillness that followed their coupling, Belle traced a finger down a sleeping Gold’s back in the blue-black darkness of the room. He didn’t even stir from his position, face-down on the bed in the depths of slumber. When Belle realized she’s been wondering on the likelihood of an assignment taking her near this station again anytime soon, she decided it was past time to to finish things here and go back Home.

You've got a very heavy reputation

But no one knows about your low-life

I know a way

to find a situation

And hold a candle

to your high life disguise

You caught me kneeling

at your sister's door

That was no ordinary stick-up

I'm well aware just

what you're looking for

I am no ordinary

I am no ordinary

Because of the rain that started to fall, it was hard to tell the newly forming puddles apart from the pools of blood.

Belle could feel her hair, her real hair, snaking in cold tendrils down her neck and nearly bare shoulders. It was freezing out, but she already felt numb. She spared a thought for her eye make-up, the smoky nightclub look was probably running down her face like a hideous mask that it would take ages to clean-up and hideaway, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care too much at the moment.

Officer Rogers was dead. She’s not sure who else might be as well. Merida? Jefferson? It had all gone tits up.

The Operation had failed utterly, stupidly, it was doomed before it began! Someone had betrayed them, betrayed them all, and they’d set her up, goddamn them. She was well and truly burned unless she found him, the real traitor, and hoped to god Home Office granted her clemency for this spectacular fuck-up.

She heard a noise above the hiss and patter of the rain, a steady tapping on the pavement drawing near her. Her tongue moved unconsciously to the side of her mouth and tasted blood. Gold emerged from the growing gloom, wearing his ridiculous hat and coat, gloved, the rain running off him like some kind of black duck. She tried to muster some surprise, but she’s too exhausted, on her knees on slick pavement next to a dead man with all the fight drained out of her.

“This is it, isn’t it?” She murmured, a voice more suited for Gold’s bedroom and not even sure he can hear her.

One of Gold’s hands was holding his cane, the other was holding a gun. On her. He spared a glance for Rogers’s body and then looked back at her. The part of his face she could make out was unreadable.

“Well, this is somewhat unexpected,” he said mildly. “But yes, I rather believe this is it.”

Belle gave him a belligerent look. “Really? That’s all you have to say?” Anger gave her a false sense of warmth. “Tell me, did you even wait for Home Office to give the burn notice, or will you just let them know it’s handled after the fact?”

Now that inscrutable mask he calls a face registered some confusion. “Whatever are you on about, dearie?”

“I’m finished!” She yelled at him. “We couldn’t deliver the Package to Hatter, I barely got Rogers out alive and now he’s fucking dead anyway because he lost the damn plot and tried to stab me.” She shook her head, almost involuntarily. “I planned this mission, I coordinated the players, I was the only one who could have possibly betrayed us! Home Office is going to think I’m the double agent sooner or later—why the hell else are you here?”

The son of bitch smiled. Belle made a jerking motion that would have eventually turned into an attack but he wiggled the gun in warning and the motion died along with her anger.

“Really? That’s what you think will happen? I didn’t expect so much naïveté from you, sweetheart.” He sounded pleased about the whole thing the smug bastard.

She gave him a cutting look. “That’s the only scenario that makes sense, or will to Home,” she said cooly. “They’ll assume I’m Weaver and you’ll get tea with the queen for killing a turncoat.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Gold replied. “Considering I’m Weaver.”

There was a stuttering of the world, and then it all clicked back into place. She released her next breath shakily, her eyes darting about as all the pieces game back together.

“You never left the Station.”

“Hatter.”

“Home Office was already looking at you.”

“Of course, but they weren’t looking at you. That worked quite well for me.”

“You had me bugged.”

“Several times.”

“Where?” That was probably irrelevant at this point but professional curiosity had not deserted her in her last minutes even if everything else had.

He looked a little shamefaced for the first time that evening. “In your brassieres, primarily. Just a little extra wire.”

She couldn’t help it, she started laughing. She finally started to shake with cold as well as with hysteria as the rain just kept dumping on their strange little tableau. Clever, her brain thought, as she wanted  it to reach for ‘despicable.’

She was hunched over now, staring at the slick cobblestones, enjoying that last fizzle of amusement.

“Alright, get it over with, Gold,” she said without looking up.

To his credit, he stopped playing dumb, and she heard the gun cock dramatically, much closer to her head. She closed her eyes and waited. Then she waited some more.

Finally, with some exasperation, she looked up. Foolish man probably had to gloat or a  deliver a final witticism like a bloody film villain.

His face . . . it was utterly still except his mouth which was twitching like he was trying to bite down on words that weren’t being said. His eyes were wide and anguished. She frowned at him in confusion.

“Gold?”

“ I know what I should do,” he said, almost as though he was explaining it to himself more than her. “I should kill you. I could, right now, and this whole mess would fall into place exactly like you said. And Home would be none the wiser. But the thing is . . . I don’t want to kill you.” He sighed, and to her shock put the gun away, his coat shedding water around them like a fountain. “I’m too old for this, Belle, I’ve been in this game far too long. Because I honestly thought that we were something . . . more to each other. That there was something there.” His smile was back, but it was small and self-loathing. “I know you could never love me, but I thought we were at least friends.” He spread his hands wide, the showman ending the act. “You see? Just an old fool after all.”

Belle couldn’t move. Her mind was racing but her body wouldn’t let her act. His clemency was ludicrous, the man’s an idiot. They stare at one another in silence for long moments. He gives a small shake of his head, and then drops his cane on the ground. Belle doesn’t jump although the movement shocked her. She glanced at it in confusion. Gold whipped his coat off, the same dark wool piece she’d met him in all those weeks ago, and drapes the sodden but warm fabric over her small form. She’s swallowed by it, and while it won’t exactly heat her up much, it was protecting her from the elements a bit more than the tight black sleeveless dress and torn tights she’s currently in.

The rain started to soak Gold’s suit while he picked up his cane.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try and kill me with this,” he said, gesturing with it. “I think that would be a bit pathetic, but since I also don’t plan on just handing over the gun to let you execute me, I’ll understand if things happen.”

“What?” Belle said, and slowly rose from off her knees at last.

Gold gestured impatiently. “You know who I am-what I am. The only way to clear yourself with Home Office is to take me in. Or rather, take me out, as I have no intention of being locked up.” Another wan smile. “Shouldn’t be too hard for you, I know what you can do. Let’s get this over with; you have tea with the queen to get to, after all.”

But, her brain stuttered again. She didn’t want to kill him. She does think of them as Friends. As more?

She’s screwed.

“Are they any other options?” She asked mildly, as though for the time or a cup of coffee.

He gaped a moment, then gathered himself.

“Well, there’s always running,” he replied, a menu item he’s not sure she’ll approve of but offers anyway.

She noddded. She’d assumed that would be the case.

“Alone?”

His jaw worked again. “That . . . had always been the plan.”

She stepped in closer to him. Her legs are wobbly from the cold, the kneeling, the fighting, from life. But they could still support her if she asked them to; they could still run.

He brought one gloved hand up slowly in the rain and traced some invisible line down the side of her face.

“Shall we?” She asked him, and he gave her a shaky nod.

She took hold of his whole arm, and they leaned against each other under the weight of the world. His cane tapped softly as they moved away from the alley, from the body, from their old lives. Who knows how long this will last--they may kill each other tomorrow. Or maybe they’ll kiss, and it will be one with all the layers of who and what they are stripped away and she’ll find out if there’s something there after all. Time would tell.

Tonight, together, they run.

(ah, ah, ah)

What a criminal world

The boys are like baby-faced girls

What a criminal girl

She'll show you where to shoot your gun

What a typical mother's son

The only thing that she enjoys

Is a criminal world

Where the girls are like baby-faced boys

Inspiration:

Atomic Blonde. Directed by David Leitch, performances by Charlize Theron, James McAvoy, Eddie Marsan, John Goodman, and Toby Jones, 87Eleven et al., 2017.

Johnston, Anthony & Hart, Sam. The Coldest City. Oni Press, 2012.

Lockhart, E. Genuine Fraud. Delacorte Press, 2017.

[little-ol-disney-collector-blog]

Dolls I'm Looking For/Hope For

I've only started collecting Disney dolls recently, but there are those I would LOVE to add to my collection, and like other collectors there are ones I hope they make!

Current ones I'm looking for:

-Rags Snow White: she's so lovely, and she looks so unique in dress design. Plus she is a fairly more affordable than the other ones out there

-Malificent: she looks elegantly evil and she would go perfectly with a couple other dolls I have

-Ariel: though I'm not the biggest fan of the tail design, she is still quite lovely and she would likely have some neat posing options

-Winter Beast: though I would prefer the fancier Ball one, that is WAY to much for my tastes. Besides, this one has the cape I've come to really love seeing him in and he still looks regal!

-Winter Belle: though she's a bit pricey, she has such an elegance to her and she goes perfectly with Beast!

-First Release Moana: I loved Moana, and her first LE doll just nailed her look. Though it is lacking in the more overdesigned look of most LE dolls, it has lots of great little details that really sell it for me

-Rapunzel: now this one is the least likely for me to get, with as pricey as it is, however she has a fantastic design that blends her casual look with a more regal feel, leading to her becoming a doll I would love to add to my collection (if I can get a more affordable price XD)

-Cinderella (Animated): I've always loved Cinderella's design, and the doll made for her not only represents it nicely, but adds details to make it even lovelier!

-Jasmine (first release): while it isn't her classic look entirely, I find the additions and color changes to be a nice fit for Arabian style and it works great with Jasmine!

-Merida (stand alone): when I think Merida, this is exactly what I see! A tough yet somewhat royal look. Truly a princess who seeks adventure and looks great while doing it!

Those I would like to see as future releases:

-Olafs Frozen Adventure Anna and Elsa: these designs are amazing! I fell in love the instant I saw them and right away I knew I'd have to have them in doll form! And thankfully sources indicate they are definitely going to be made, so hooray!

-Briar Rose: while Aurora's dress is certainly lovely (I have the blue one after all) I adore her look when she was Briar Rose. So simple yet it stands out. Thankfully I'm in talks with a customizer in fixing this!

-Blue dress Tiana: I will say the Tiana that has been released is nice, but i much more prefer her blue dress look. It just works for her and still makes her look like a true princess!

-Jessica Rabbit: while Tonner took a really nice swing at her, I think Disney designers could do even more with this lovely woman to make for an incredible doll!

-Megara and Hercules: these two kinda speak for themselves. I'm thoroughly impressed with how they've done prince dolls and there isn't a doubt in my mind that they could make a fantastic Hercules! And who better to release him with than the ever sassy and beautiful Megara! Just imagine what they could do with her outfit!

-Jane Porter: while I doubt they will make her, since losing the license for Tarzan, I think the designers could nail Jane's initial outfit and make her into a worthwhile doll

-Rapunzels Mother: with the hit Tangled the Series is turning out to be, I would hope Disney would expand on the Rapunzel dolls a little (they didn't even make Eugene for crying out loud!) and Rapunzel's mother would be a perfect doll to make, as she has such a regal look, with some of the cute facial features that Rapunzel has

Mulan: do I even need to elaborate?

Pocahontas: Pocahontas (Disney's version that is) is such a great character, and she has a rough and tumble look that could be added upon to make for a lovely doll! I just hope they don't overdo it if they do eventually make her

Live Action Beast: I absolutely adored the live action take on Beast. Still rough around he edges and animal like, but with an intellectual side that really helped him feel more relatable, and his design sooo cool! I know it's probably a long shot at this point but I would certainly pay a pretty penny for a doll based on this Beast! Plus he'd go great with Belle :)

Wow, that is a lot more than I expected to write, but it's how I feel!

What dolls do you guys want to get or see be made? :)

[thegreenhorseman]

This week we are celebrating a lot, it’s a long post but fun so I hope you’ll find the time to join me.  No educational research stuff today, just fun.

For one, it’s National Pet Week.  The week was designed for vets mainly to help raise public awareness for veterinary medicine and to encourage responsible pet ownership.  Either way it’s always fun to show off our pets!  You can show me yours by visiting my Facebook page The Green Horseman’s Facebook; the me see those happy animals!

Including our two fosters The Green Horseman is owned by 12 animals now.  The horses: Warrior’s Blade, Zeno Bay, VaiVia.  The dog: Bardi. The cats: Kain and Shadow “Miss.”  We also have the 5 hens (at one point had names Pink, Rihanna, Brittany, Merida, and Grace) but we can no longer tell them apart based on the original names)  and “Jack” the roo.  Jack was originally Jillian until he started looking like a boy.

Our second celebration…

Today marks our one year anniversary of having Bardi as part of our family.  Bardi is a five-year old Icelandic Sheepdog. I met his former owners at Tractor Supply and mentioned that I was planning to adopt a dog soon.  I really wanted a border collie and planned to start my search by looking for one.  The people I met mentioned they had a dog that really needed to be rehomed because they had two dogs (of four) that weren’t getting along very well.  Of course I had to consider it!  We met Bardi (who ironically has similar markings to a border collie and some people mistake him for one) at Tractor Supply to get a first introduction.  After talking Zac and I agreed to take Bardi on trial to see if he’d fit in well at home and to help restore peace to the home.  After a few weeks it was clear he stole our hearts.

One year ago I picked this sweet dog up and brought him home.  We had a couple rough weeks as we all had to take some time getting used to each other.  Bardi’s life was flipped upside down, Zac had never had a dog before, and I hadn’t had a dog since I was a high-schooler.   We made it work though.  Zac never pictured himself loving a dog (and agreed to it to make me happy) but he admits he adores Bardi as much as I do.

Remember Overdue Update Part 4?

One year later and he is by far the best dog I’ve ever known.  He’s incredibly loyal, smart, kind, and…I’ll say it….perfect.

He gets excited but he also knows how to chill.  He runs after birds but his recall is fantastic.  He takes amazing care of the chickens.  I can train him to do a new trick in 10 minutes.  He adores being with us but puts himself to bed when he’s sleepy.  When I hack around the property he sticks around within eyesight.

I can’t express my gratitude enough for this amazing little dog.  It was a difficult choice for his other family to re-home him but we live nearby and I hope they take comfort knowing that he’s happy and loved (and very spoiled).

Finally, we have a THIRD celebration this week.

Vai Via turned twenty one on Tuesday.  Twenty ONE!

This little horse is something special.  He has a small little frame and a delicate refined face.  His body may be smaller but it’s put together well.  His legs are clean, hooves are nice, and he maintains his weight very well.  He suffers from aural plaque in his ears but he has also become less ear shy with me over time.  Just as long as you halter him with the crown-piece!

Vai Via had his soul broken at one point.  Shattered.  Mentally he lacked confidence, was on edge, and was very anxious.  He clung to Zeno Bay as a safety blanket.  Zeno’s sagely wisdom comforted Vai Via and helped pick up the pieces. Zeno restored some of V’s confidence and even let V push him around a little bit.

Through observation I realized quickly Zeno was in fact the leader but he let “Little Man” get away with things; V began to transform into his own new character.  They continue to be best friends but V doesn’t worry anymore when they get separated.

Vai Via was born May 7th, 1998 at a farm in Virginia.  His dam, Cormorant’s Fable.  His sire, All Gone who won $247,716.

V’s breeder is listed at Contention Partnership of which I can find no useful information.

Vai Via made his debut as a three-year old in race 6 at Aqueduct Race Track on the cloudy March 15, 2001.  One mile on the dirt.  This was a maiden special weight race and V didn’t do very well.  He was owned and trained by Clarke Whitaker.

For the rest of 2001 V didn’t do much better.  He traveled to Pen National and Delaware Park and came away with a handful of placements.  In fact, it wasn’t until his 22nd start that Vai Via finally broke his maiden.  On a clear July 5th 2002 Vai Via ran one mile on the dirt faster than the rest during Race 6 at Penn National.

He took a couple races at Meadowlands in October and November and returned to Penn National where he was most familiar.  Then, between March and April 2003 Vai Via was changed hands to David Petten with Clarke continuing as trainer.

In May Vai Via had a brilliant two races.  Both races were slightly over one mile and V ran to victory.  The streak didn’t stick.  In August he moved the Charles Town where he would race until the end of his career.  Clarke Whitaker didn’t move with them so Dave Petten was listed as trainer until he was claimed by Donald Demeza on October 2, 2003 with James Williams as trainer.  Two races later the owner became Triple Z Racing (Demeza) and the trainer was switched to John Smith.

The only win photo I have is Vai Via’s final win January 1 2004.  This race was 1 1/16 miles on the dirt during race 9 at Charles Town.  Four more races later and V retired March 14, 2004.

During his three year career Vai Via raced 47 times earning $40,165 with 4 wins, 6 seconds, and 10 thirds.

After his career Vai Via’s history goes blank.  I have been unable to dig up anything else on him; everything I’ve shared is searchable using Equibase.  Last year I had a thought that perhaps he had been cast to pasture for the last 16 years since at the time he seemed too green to have been a riding horse.  Today I don’t think that’s the case.

All we do know is that someone let this sensitive soul down by someone in a major way.

Vai Via was found in a Pennsylvania kill-pen marked for slaughter in February 2018.  A number of incredible people rallied with Unbridled Thoroughbred Foundation to save his broken soul.  After quarantine he spent most of his time in Maryland with Zeno Bay.  Both boys came to me in September.

Vai Via was very anxious when he came.  When he was with Zeno you wouldn’t have noticed but on an individual level he concealed a lot of emotions.

I began both horses by doing mostly groundwork.  This helped me get to know what they were afraid of and how their manners were.  Vai Via took a lot more time to desensitize; he was afraid and wanted to flee.  Using my body cues and patience I have been able to show him I mean no harm.

Since V has painful aural plaque in his ears I refrained from bridling him (yes, I know I can detach the crown for easier bridling).  I used a halter and clip-on reins to start.  I sat on him bareback.  At first V did not take well to any of this.  The slightest pressure on the reins created anxiety and the mere touch of my calves triggered a flight response.  He would not walk, he’d hustle.  He would not lower his head he hustled as a giraffe.  I spent 10-15minutes per session just getting on and “walking.”  Once he began to relax and drop his head, once he started to walk, I would dismount and return him to pasture.  I often got on him and allowed him to graze.  These small outings were meant to establish the idea that riding isn’t always a bad thing for him.

I let the horses rest most of the winter.  If it wasn’t icy the ground was too hard and rutted for safe riding.  I only managed to get on when we had some fresh snow to provide better footing.

Last month we had a nice day and I was able to hack all three boys.  I first took Zeno barebacking with a halter.  We walked around the property then up the hill and through woods.   We came back down and I asked him to cross the small stream that cuts our property in half.  He refused.  Next was Blade.  We did the same. He also refused the stream crossing.

I had no intention of taking Vai Via out that day but he SPOKE to me.  He told me “I’m ready.”  While grooming he was relaxed.  I got on him bareback with his halter and he was still relaxed.  His ears were up, neck relaxed, and he WALKED.  We walked around the house.  Even while the boys were out of sight V continued his happy state.  We went up the hill and he happily bushwhacked through the woods.  We came down the hill and WITHOUT SECOND GUESSING he crossed the stream.

A couple weeks ago we had another nice day WITH NO RAIN.  I took the opportunity to saddle up.

I rode everyone in my western saddle, a lightweight synthetic by Big Horn.  We started with only 20 minute or so rides since we are ALL out of shape.  Everybody happily walked, trotted, and cantered; including Vai Via.

Recently I also decided to take out my bow and arrows.  Unfortunately I don’t know when we will actually be doing mounted archery as a group again, but last year Blade was doing quite well with it.  I picked a day that was clear but soggy from all the rain we’ve been getting.

I took Blade out and grazed him while shooting arrows on the ground.  On this particular day he had forgotten everything we had done last summer.  Every thwack, every jostle of the quiver, even the passing cars bothered him.  I shot over and over again until he was at a better place mentally and returned him.  There was no sense doing any more with Blade that day.

I was curious so I took Zeno Bay out and as I suspected he barely even noticed anything I did.  I rubbed him all over with the bow and the arrows.  I made noises, I shot from the ground.  He grazed.  I got on and we walked bareback and I tried shooting a couple arrows.  He also didn’t care at all.

I was never nervous about Zeno because despite a few feisty bucks he’s quite trusting and trustworthy.

I never would have guessed Vai Via would be ok with bow and arrow.

I took V out to graze.  I let him stand on a long line and shot one arrow to my target.  V’s head raised, slightly startled.  What he did next surprised me.  Vai Via came closer to me…the one making the strange sounds.  He stood by my side grazing while I shot the next arrow and never lifted his head again.  This made me proud to think that he would seek safety by trusting me.  He was so good, in fact, that I also was able to get on him bareback and fly a couple arrows at a walk.  He was attentive but relaxed and never afraid.

It all comes to yesterday (Wednesday) which ended up being 60°F and sunny.  I took the opportunity to clean everybody’s willies and ride.  I rode Zeno.  Blade’s headshaking was pretty bad so I let him graze. I also tacked up Vai Via.

If you read Blade Chronicles: Springtime Exercise you may remember my goal for V is to get him riding more relaxed.  This ride I decided to try a bridle.  It took 30 minutes to get him to realize I don’t want to hurt his ears but we got the bridle on.  I also used my English saddle on him this time.  He went well in the western but I feel I can ride better in English.

Vai Via took some time relaxing this time with all the new things (most likely not new to him but new to him and I as a team).  We trotted around and around, and before too long he was dropping his head and relaxing his stride.  We spent most of our ride doing walk/trot transitions and direction changes in order to encourage relaxation.  He listened incredibly well and I was impressed.  By the end of the ride V was taking the bit and giving to pressure more than I expected for this session.  I wasn’t worried about head carriage I only wanted him to relax.  It seems if I stay consistent (and get back to riding lessons) he’ll be progressing a lot faster than I realized.

We also took the opportunity to canter.  He has a wonderful flying lead change that I wasn’t prepared for; I lost my balance and almost fell off. He was wonderful all the same.  His right lead is a lot sloppier but when cantering the left lead he collects on his own but with a tilted head.  His canter is smooth and dreamy!

Vai Via is blossoming and loving his life here.  He and I are always learning new things about each other and I’m always trying to find him a new favorite treat (treats seem foreign to him).

Vai Via almost didn’t make it to see his 21st birthday and I am so grateful to Unbridled and the incredible donors who saved his life.  These people have made his life possible and I feel I’ve made a lot of progress in making it even more meaningful…and I hope you feel that same!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY “LITTLE MAN” VAI VIA!

  Celebrations This Week and V’s Big Story This week we are celebrating a lot, it's a long post but fun so I hope you'll find the time to join me. 

[iamsickofthiscrap5669]

I asked my little sister what Disney Princess she thought she was most like and she thinks it's Belle from Beauty and the Beast. And I see it. She likes to read, she's stubborn, strong, wants more out of her life, all that. Me? I'm probably more like Merida from Brave. (At least she thinks so lol) I'm stubborn, rough around the edges, constantly had to deal with someone trying to change me and live up to their expectations, wanted to run free, and most likely to swing a sword at my bed post out of frustration. What you think? Good fit so far? #disney #belle #merida #gaston #beautyandthebeast #brave #princess #witch #fanart #disneyfan #disneymagic #disneyprincess https://www.instagram.com/p/Bv6F4l3ntNa/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=1rhm37aresic

[snowbellewells]

Self-Promo Sunday: “And by a Sleep We Hope to End the Heartache”

(This story was originally written for the second edition of the CS Storybook on Tumblr – go check that out if you haven’t, it’s amazing!!  My episode for that project was 5x04 “Broken Kingdom”, and within that framework, I wanted to imagine how Killian might have tried to help comfort a sleepless Emma as she fought the darkness within. The title is taken from a line in Shakespeare’s Hamlet. Hope you enjoy!  I’d love – as always – to hear what you think!)

“And by a Sleep We Hope to End the Heartache”

by: @snowbellewells 

           “Lass…Emma… Love, please, you have to stop…” his quiet voice, vibrating with emotion despite its soothing timbre, still somehow managed to slice through the paranoia, the swirling images, and yammering voices roiling inside her skull.  It was the one thing, other than her son’s hopeful, trusting face, which had managed to do so since she had risen from the ominous hatch in the Camelot forest, alone, confused, and the newest Dark One.  Her stride faltered at his plea, her step finally pausing before the window of the castle suite they had been given by Arthur for their accommodation.

            Looking over her shoulder to find his fraught gaze, Emma turned slightly toward the pirate, a glance half exasperation and half desperate need on her conflicted face.  “What do you want from me, Killian?” she whispered tiredly, her shoulders slumping with a weary defeat he had rarely seen from her.  He had no way of knowing that Emma desired nothing so much as to cross the large open chamber and collapse into his arms, as she had a week ago when they’d first found her in the stone circle about to crush Merida’s heart.  His embrace tight around her, his heart beating frantically just under her palm, those few moments had been the only time the riot inside her head had seemed to cease – when she could think clearly, as only herself.  She needed that relief again, and yet she feared letting down her guard, even for a moment’s comfort.  She was barely keeping all the violent, persuasive urges twining through her consciousness at bay, barely keeping all the raw power tingling under her skin from breaking free.  She could not allow herself the peace of Killian’s embrace; rest might let the horrors loose upon them all.

            Her pirate watched her knowingly, his eyes gentle, yet seeing and understanding too much as his discerning gaze studied her from across the room.  Those blue pools of his stare took in the way she vibrated slightly, no matter how she tried to hold still.  He saw the tangled, disheveled fall of her hair – usually more a silky sheet of gold – the strange, rough grey duster she wore, still trailing dirt and dried leaves from the forest floor behind her.  This was his Swan before him yet, but she was in distress and guarded once more, in a way she had finally begun to put in her past – and he experienced a disorienting, long rush of despair at how to help her.  He only knew for certain that he must find a way.

            “Come here, Lass,” he finally murmured, half a directive and half an appeal, as he held out his hand to her from where he sat at the edge of the room’s large canopy bed.

            “Why?” she fired back nervously.  “I’m the Dark One now.  I don’t sleep, remember?”

            The unhinged tone in her voice, as well as the unvarnished bitterness, worried him more than he cared to admit.  Killian hesitated, biting his lip and considering his next words carefully.  His pause only seemed to agitate her further.  Why indeed?  And yet, he could not help but want her near, wish to gather her to his side, run the curve of his hook down her spine, and attempt to soothe her, bring her some measure of comfort, however ineffectual it might prove in the end.

            Heaving a deep sigh, Killian forced his voice to remain slow and even, despite his frustration and his utter anger at the situation his Love had been cast into.  Crooking his fingers in invitation, beckoning her forward while keeping his hand extended to her palm up, he raised an eyebrow slightly in challenge.  “Nor am I trying to force you to, Emma. I have not forgotten what you are battling, but can I not try to aid you in the fight?  Can I not hold the woman I love for a few moments?”

            Her lower lip trembled in response, before she pressed her mouth tightly closed, considering his offer, the longing clear on her face, until she let her swirling green eyes meet his at last.  “Y-you still…you still see me?” she finally whispered, her voice desperately fearful, quivering at the end with hope.

            There was no need for flowery words, only to hold her gaze, give a decided, affirmative nod and answer, “Aye.”

            At that single word, Emma took one hesitant, faltering step toward him, then another, until he could clasp her hand in his questing fingers and pull her against him, sitting at the edge of the rich, overlarge bed.  Mumbling quiet nonsense, Killian tucked Emma under his chin, cradling the back of her head in his palm and rocking them gently from side to side.  “Shh, Love, shh… it’s going to be alright,” he crooned, injecting steadfast certainty he wished he truly felt into his tone.

            Emma’s voice was broken and child-like as she spoke, her words muffled slightly by the leather of his sleeve.  “How can it be?” she asked plaintively.  There was something achingly human about her now, when before she had seemed so steely and impervious – untouchable as she stood at the window like a sentry, proud and strong, but cold and hard as well, looking out over the courtyard into the dark night.  The power within her was a distancing shield, a barrier higher and more impenetrable than her emotional walls had ever been.  Pulling back again briefly to look into the limitless eyes of this man who had pulled her back from the brink, her face was flushed and wet with silently shed tears, as real and vulnerable as he had ever seen her.  “I’m hanging by a thread, Killian.  There’s so much pressing inside, trying to escape, and the voices, the Dark Ones before me, they’re constantly whispering, watching, tempting me and trying to take over.  If I let my guard slip, if they get loose…  I’m terrified of what might happen, what I might do… who I might hurt…” The last words dropped to the barest whisper, her eyes falling to their intertwined fingers anxiously, unable to see the disgust and disapproval that must surely be on the face that had always before been nothing short of adoring.

            However, what she found when she looked up was far from devastating – so tender it made her very pulse still, bringing her up short and blinking in disbelief.  “That will never happen, Emma.  I know it with every fiber of my being, as surely as I know the way around my ship and as clearly as the navigator’s course is marked by the stars in the sky. You are stronger than that demon, Love.  Though I hate that you must fight so bitterly, I have no doubt that you will win.”

            “Thank you for believing in me, Killian,” she bit her lip, the lower one caught by her teeth, and she continued to play with her fingers, again avoiding his eyes to stare at their joined hands.  “But I can’t help worrying.  You can’t know that for sure!  When you found me yesterday evening, trying to take the dagger from Regina’s hiding place, I nearly took your head off!  It was your quick reflexes that saved you, not any restraint of mine.  I wasn’t in my right mind at all.  Wh- what if you had been killed?  What if you had been Henry?  Or my mom with my little brother?”

            Killian sighed, giving a moment for Emma to feel her words had sunk in, gathering her closer still against his chest and pressing his lips to the soft hair at the crown of her head, humming gently against her skin, hoping to quiet her anxious quaking in his arms.  When he did speak at last, his voice was low, a mere warm undertone at her ear.  “Swan, you have already fought back since then.  Think of our ride this afternoon, and that moment of perfection in the Middlemist field.  The Crocodile’s vile echo, any of the others, they were not present then, were they?  Those insidious voices vanished, aye?  Do not grant them a way back in.”

            Emma nodded weakly, burying her adorably perfect little nose into his thickly furred chest, as if it were the softest pillow she had ever rested against.  Killian had never seen her so fragile – his angel of boots and leather and steely resolve – and though his heart swelled that she would finally turn to him in her need – he hated the burden she bore.  It was too much, too much to ask of a woman who had been so strong and carried such hurt all her life.  A little sigh escaped her rosebud lips, the breathe tickling his collarbone, and Killian felt a rush of tension and wild energy drain from her, her shoulders slumping and her slight form leaning against him more heavily for support.

            “So, do you think you can allow yourself a bit of peace?” he asked, smoothing mussed strands of her hair back over her shoulder affectionately, just as he had done almost since their first meeting.

            Emma only muttered unintelligibly against him at first, before she finally put enough distance between them for him to make out her husky voice.  “I’ll lie down with you and try to rest a bit.  You still need to sleep, Pirate.  But I won’t…it won’t work…I’ve figured that out by now.  It’s just the way it is…”

            “Fair enough then, Swan.  I will make do with what I can get,” he assured her, offering a crooked half-smile and scooting back toward the pillows piled at the head of the bed while still keeping her in his embrace.

            She made no effort to distance herself, moving with him and placing her hand over his heart near her flushed cheek as he settled comfortably on the mattress, looking up at the high, stone ceiling above them.  His one hand began to trace idle patterns on her shoulder and arm as they cuddled together, neither drifting into sleep yet, but perhaps finding a bit of respite all the same.

Eventually, when Killian did find his eyes fluttering closed, he began to speak, softly and almost without thought.  He would not leave her alone in her struggle, and so he began to fill the void with words to keep himself awake and with her.  To his own astonishment, what came to his lips were tales he had long forgotten until that moment, memories from when he was but a lad long ago, which no other person had heard – not even Milah or Bae – until that moment.  And he was grateful then for Emma’s warmth and full attention as he spoke, emotions that had needed vent for centuries were now finally loosed – all the pain and rejection of being left alone and afraid in the dark, a child who had started out on an adventure with his papa and instead been thrown rudderless into the heaving waves of a cruel and treacherous adult world.

His voice dwelt haltingly on his one light – both his anchor and his compass – his Liam.  Once begun, the story of their stolen boyhood streamed from him, the bits and pieces of the beloved older brother who had been his companion and the only family left to him, in a harsh, dark world of slavery and bleak deprivation.  Liam, who had told him stories when he couldn’t sleep for the suffocating pitch blackness of the hold where they were sometimes locked at night merely for the sake of the other crew’s entertainment or for some imagined mistake, the growing young man who had given half his rations to his gangly younger brother whose belly never felt properly full, who had found a way to splint Killian’s ankle when the sadistic bosun on their master’s ship  had yanked and twisted it to keep Killian from scaling the ropes to the crow’s nest where he could hide from the hulking man’s mistreatment, the protective father figure who had curled around his sibling offering body heat when they both shivered in their bunk, one threadbare blanket between them on winter nights at sea, and his hero who had given Killian the one gleam of hope he had possessed in those endless suffering years. It had all been pent inside him for so long that once he began to speak of Liam, Killian couldn’t bring himself to stop until it was all voiced.  Liam Jones had been taken from the world much too soon, and Killian had not allowed himself to grieve – taken to piracy and retribution, plunging headlong down the ages -  until that moment in Arthur’s kingdom with his silently listening True Love.

His deluge of words did not seem to faze Emma; in fact, she appeared to welcome his outpouring, tracing gentle fingertips over the contours of his face and into his hair, the strokes as soothing as his touch had been to her a short time ago.  Killian didn’t know how long he talked and Emma listened attentively, but his eyelids at last drooped closed in the still watches of the night, his voice slowing and tripping sluggishly, exhaustion and flagging adrenaline towing him under until he could not fight sleep any longer.  He thought he saw Emma’s hand wave over him, but then he was lost in slumber.

~~~88~~~

When he woke with the next day’s dawn, the spot where she had rested beside him was still warm, but Emma was no longer there.

~~~88~~~

            They set up a reassuring pattern after that.  Night after night, for as long as they were guests in the castle of Camelot, Killian could at least coax Emma to lie down in the circle of his arms and rest her weary body, if not her mind in actual sleep.  It was better than nothing, and the pirate strove with all he had to stay awake with her, to keep vigil at her side through the lonely grey hours, when she was most vulnerable and her strength might flag.  Exhausted though they both were, it could have been so much worse, and Killian was grateful for what she did allow him to do.  The first time he had fallen into slumber and woken with her gone, his heart had been in his throat, fearful for where she might have gone and what horror could have gripped her and spurred her from their resting place.  However, when he found her where they all convened for breakfast, a tiny, almost light, smile curved her lips upward at the corners when she spied him.  Something in her face let him know that she appreciated what he had shared, that he had allowed her to comfort him, and that somehow in granting her that caring gesture, he had made her feel more human once again, given her back a bit of herself.

            Those sleepless nights in the broken kingdom of legend’s Once and Future King, when Emma curled into his side and he finally felt the shaking ease from the taut muscles she had held under rigid control all that day, more terrified with each passing one that she might slip and do some terrible magic she couldn’t take back, and he sensed more than heard her say that the hissing demons in her mind had ceased their torment for a while – those nights were when their fragile love, born in Storybrooke over moonlit walks, pizza with Netflix, and interrupted coffee dates, took root and grew into something dauntless, lasting, and True.  From those nights he held her until his body gave up and forced him to sleep, or they both stayed awake and saw the morning paint the sky together, from then on Captain Hook and his Swan savior were joined in a bond which could not be severed by distance or foe, the Darkness or even Fate.

            Once they left the land of Avalon, there was further pain and trial.  The fatal cut from Excalibur would have been Killian’s death; he had been resigned to it, had lived much longer than he’d ever been meant to and begged Emma to let him go.  But the threat of losing her pirate – her reason to finally open her heart again and let herself fully live – caused Emma to make a tragic mistake.  The temptation that had finally broken her resistance and blackened her soul after all her desperate struggle and restraint was bending the laws of nature to keep him alive and at her side.  His angel fell to the need to save him, to not lose one more person who loved her and allowed her to love – to feel – in return.  And when she crumbled, it drug him into the pit along with her.  Harsh words and rage, bitten into blades that wounded and scarred, passed between the True Loves who then shared the worst Darkness the realms had ever known.

            Yet, after the torture, the fire, and one more crippling separation, they found the way back to each other.  Exhausted, battered, but hand-in-hand, after traveling to the very Underworld itself and defying the lord of that domain, in the end even death could not part the Savior and her captain forever.  When they finally stole a moment upon their return – tripping tangled together up the front steps of the house that Killian and Henry had chosen by the dim light of the stars on a chilly May night in Storybrooke, Emma was so sleepy she was nearly punch drunk in her pirate’s grasp as he barely managed to catch her before she fell onto the wooden porch.  Both of them were chuckling lightly, blearily only half awake, but so glad to be alone together and safe, at least for a moment, that anything else could wait.  It had been a long time coming, and the austere hall and front room were somewhat haunted yet by their distorted alters’ presences and the barbs they had thrown, but they bypassed that silent space – it would keep for the morrow – to finally enter the bedroom they had always meant to share.

            The peace which washed over Emma in that moment they fell together, sinking into the thick, cushy comforter, navy blue dotted by tiny white anchors she had chosen with him in mind, and the joy she felt at the sleep-muted delight on his face on first glimpse of them, was the most comfort she had felt since he stole her away on horseback that afternoon in Camelot.  It seemed lifetimes ago now, though she could still feel the pink petals of the Middlemist flower he had handed her in that green haven and the sun slanting down on their faces as they had kissed.

            She realized then that though there was healing still to be done, they had once more reached the place of hope they had found amidst the dazzling field of blooms and golden light.  There was the promise of forever in that hazy remembered moment, with the white dress and cape, the wind in her hair, the kiss that had swept her up in delight. Though the sky had been their only witness, Emma had felt her heart blend irrevocably with his in that moment, and there in their home by the sea, weeks or months later, so jarring and confused she hardly knew which, as he pulled the sheet and blankets up to her chin before huddling beneath them with her and hoping to banish the world outside, it felt as if they were finally going to enjoy the vow that had been made between them in that fairytale scene rose-tinted in her mind’s eye. With Killian at her back, arms wrapped around her so that hand and hook could rest upon her skin, and his nose nuzzled warmly at the nape of her neck, at long last Emma finally slept.

Tagging a few who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @hollyethecurious @searchingwardrobes @effulgentcolors @winterbaby89 @resident-of-storybrooke @ilovemesomekillianjones @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling @blackwidownat2814 @bmbbcs4evr @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @spartanguard @laschatzi @drowned-dreamer @ps1473-4 @let-it-raines 

[lovecanbesostrange]

RUBY LUCAS and DOROTHY GALE. hi.

Hallo there! And OMG I’m back to tumblr for 30 seconds and you go for the guilt, right? XD So, for the meme and Ruby Lucas:

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life | OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR WHO DESERVED ALL THE STORYLINES yeah, well, love her very muchhotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would banghogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuffbest quality: well, the reason I put her into Hufflepuff, it’s this combo of loyalty and kindness. She can never leave a stray outside and is willing to put her life on the line for the happiness of her friends.worst quality: Doubting her own worth and maybe caring too much what other people think?!ship them with: ALL THE LADIES ALWAYS!!! *rolls out 180 page essay* the top 5: Belle, Regina, Mulan, Snow, Dorothy brotp them with: Charming (the wolf and the shepherd, has to be!!), but also I liked her scene with Victor and am very much here for them laughing about the past and supporting each other now needs to stay away from: Rumple, because that goes for everybody???????misc. thoughts: ugh, so many, look at all the tags I’ve written about this woman... the show has many, many problems, but how they completely wasted the potential they had with werewolf lady “guardian of the woods and protector of the royal family” is just... how could they throw it all out? OMG BELLE YOU HAD THE PERFECT BEAST RIGHT THERE!!!

And then there is Dorothy, who exists mostly in my head, because we have like 10 minutes of canon and there is this one story I need to finish... so, so very sorry I’m so terrible at finishing things...

general opinion: fall in a hole and die | don’t like them | eh | they’re fine I guess | like them! | love them | actual love of my life hotness level: get away from me | meh | neutral | theoretically hot but not my type | pretty hot | gorgeous! | 10/10 would banghogwarts house: gryffindor | slytherin | ravenclaw | hufflepuffbest quality: will fight for everybody who can’t fight for themselvesworst quality: seems to be always on guard, which comes off as judgmental, also I see potential trust issues (I headcanon she is even worse at warming up to people than Emma was)ship them with: Ruby, everything is canon and fine and I’m dead... (but also there is the ultimate OT4 of Dorothy/Merida/Mulan/Ruby and I have this whole ‘verse for that)brotp them with: Regina, sssshhhh, hear me out, Dorothy HATES witches, so naturally I want to see her having to deal with a witch and Regina’s sass is something she appreciates, plus there is this fun dynamic of “your sister is my nemesis”; but also GRANNY!! CROSSBOW-BUDDIES-FOR-LIFEneeds to stay away from: bulletsmisc. thoughts: As frustrated as I will forever be about this bait’n’switch we have had with Mulan/Ruby, I support Dorothy/Ruby until the ends of the world. While the episode Ruby Slippers is horribly rushed, looking at the individual steps of their first meeting, initial dislike, fierce confrontation, sharing emotional scars, realizing the other isn’t bad all up until “if you trust me, you’ll let me turn into my wolf form and hop on” “OMG I’M IN LOVE”....... it is a pleasure to know that this exists and I can always go back to that. Dorothy was presented as bitter and rough around the edges, and I wish we knew more of her time in Oz after Zelena and how come she isn’t all sunshine and rainbows and it’s fun to imagine that within Team Snow.

[alisiaburgoyne-blog]

10 Certain Indications Of Being Cursed

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[gencottraux]

There is a real cat credited as a writer of murder mysteries–Sneaky Pie Brown, who pens the Mrs. Murphy mysteries with her human, Rita Mae Brown. Mrs. Murphy is a crime-solving cat who works with a Corgi partner, in case you thought she was a human Miss Marple type.

Sneaky Pie Brown with Rita Mae Brown.

I think cats would make natural murder mystery writers. There always seems to be an implied “I could kill you but I won’t” message underlying the looks many cats give us humans, and sometimes dogs, and sometimes other cats.

You know this cat is not thinking good thoughts about you.

There is a book about this, How to Tell if Your Cat is Plotting to Kill You.

  Maybe that’s what started me on playing the game, what author would that animal be? Or maybe it was that time I went to a reading and book signing by the author T. C. Boyle and thought he looked like a Borzoi. It turns out that Boyle, author of one of my favorite books, The Tortilla Curtain, is actually partial to the dreadlocked Puli, which is pretty cool.

  Puli dogs

  I’ve only done this with dogs and cats so far, but I am sure you can play it with any type of animal if you can match up their personality, looks, and likely literary style with a human author.

My own companion animals were pretty easy to match up.

Sara, my 19-year old brown tabby cat, would clearly be one of the classic older ladies of the English murder mystery genre. Perhaps Agatha Christie, but I think really of a writer who had a bit more edge, like Ruth Rendell. Much darker things happen in Rendell’s books than Christie’s, and even thought Sara is an affectionate cat, she is a cat, and was also quite a hunter in her day.

Dame Agatha Christie, creator of the aforementioned Miss Marple.

Dame Ruth Rendell, author of dark mysteries under her own name, and psychological thrillers under the name Barbara Vine.

Misty, our 6-year old Turkish Angora who was rescued from kitty death row, where she was placed for having a personality disorder that made her “unadoptable”, would be a perfect Gillian Flynn,  author of the disturbing books Gone Girl, Dark Places, and Sharp Objects. Misty is beautiful, but beware what lurks in that brain. I call her the Ferocious Beauty for good reason!

Scary, each and every one of them.

Marble, the new kid on the block, is hip and eccentric and a little wild, so I am picking Dave Eggers for him. Maybe Eggers, perhaps best known for A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, is a dog guy. I don’t know, but Marble would be a good hipster author who can be funny and profound and will always do things a little differently. And sometimes follows you around like a dog.

And then there is Einstein. Einstein is not named for his staggering genius, but for his unruly fur. I think he should be a humorist, and I know Dave Barry likes dogs because he has written about them frequently. And his bangs hang in his face, like Einstein’s.

Of course, I have to delve into memories of pets past as well. Our dearly beloved Ben, the classic orange tabby with a heart of gold, would be Calvin Trillin, winner of the 2013 Thurber Prize for American Humor. He’s a classic himself.

Then there is the dynamic dog duo, Bingo and Sadie. Bingo was a ham, always taking credit for Sadie’s work. She was a lovable free-spirit.  If we took them to the beach and threw sticks in the water, Sadie would swim out to retrieve them, but as soon as she got to shore, Bingo would grab them from her and run over all proud for having supposedly retrieved them himself. Obviously, to me, they are F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald.

Bingo, left, with Sadie.

F. Scott with Zelda.

I can go on like this for hours. Now I’ve started matching up animals at the shelter with their literary doppelgängers.

When I first saw Mordecai the mastiff, his stateliness made me think of Charles Dickens, the venerable author of so many icons of English literature. But I have revised my opinion lately to thinking he is really John Steinbeck, the venerable author of so many icons of American literature. Steinbeck, by the way, wrote a lovely book about his Standard Poodle Charley.

Dickens

Mordecai

When I saw scrappy little dachshund mix Facebook, I immediately thought of Alexander McCall Smith, prolific author of the series The Number One Ladies Detective Agency, The Sunday Philosophy Club, Portuguese Irregular Verbs, and Scotland Street. He has an infectious personality and his books are light and fun.

Facebook

  I picked David Foster Wallace for Joey, mostly because for some reason he just looks like he’d write some of my favorite essays like Consider the Lobster and A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again. Joey will not follow in DFW’s footsteps in terms of early, self-inflicted death. Joey will live to be a grumpy old man cat with a sense of humor.

Joey

      I’ll just do one more. Like I said, I could do this for hours. I read a lot, and I see a lot of animals in the course of my day.

Another of my favorite writers is Anne Tyler. I don’t know why it took me a little while to realize she would be my recent foster cat Merida. There is a sweetness to Tyler’s books, along with a faint melancholy, and always a theme of family and relationships. Merida is a sweetheart, had a rough start in life, is looking for her forever family, and could easily be the central character in a Tyler book if Tyler wrote books about cats.

Maybe some day I’ll actually write and publish a book. I hope so. I have a great author photo ready to go–I look serious and moody.

And then maybe someone will pair me up with my animal doppelgänger. I’m hoping for a sleek, dignified beauty, like an Irish Setter.

But I won’t be surprised if it is a roly poly kitten, either.

Meow!

Literary Pets (Cats Who Write Murder Mysteries) There is a real cat credited as a writer of murder mysteries--Sneaky Pie Brown, who pens the Mrs.