#so she left him with our granny. and granny spent years and so much money on him for nothing. he was going to die anyway

[cupuasu]

My granny on dad's sad been getting easily sick lately and like i know shes was gonna die someday but i feel bad for not feeling sad about it

[ijustkindalikebooks]

I recently finished reading all of the books in the Discworld series, the expansive series written by Terry Pratchett that follows a range of characters that live on the same disc? (This was never completely clear, but I assume so?) Our main leads being Sam Vimes, Tiffany Aching, Rincewind and Moist Von Lipwig.

Probably one of the greatest fantasy series of all time, Discworld is makes you cry, makes you laugh, makes you think, and it makes you kind of mad, but all in all, it is a very human experience on a world that is completely incredible (and has a monkey for a librarian, and is there anything better than that?).

These are my favourite books from the series.

Going Postal (book 33) - Moist Von Lipwig is a conman who is then moved into running the Postal Service by Lord Vetinari and what a job to get to be honest. This story is funny and I was laughing out loud several times. The characters are fantastic especially those that work in the post office and it makes for an incredible introduction to the character of Von Lipwig who truly is a great lead character and it makes sense why Pratchett used him in more books.

Monstrous Regiment (book 31) - Truly the story of war? what is it good for? Absolutely nothing. Monstrous Regiment is the story of Polly Perks who is looking for her brother on the frontline and ends up in Vimes' monstrous regiment. The characters are endearing and funny, the plot moves fast and really allows you to invest in everyone in the story and leaves you thinking and that for me is truly the sign of a good book.

Mort (book 4) - I loved this book so much and really appreciated the incredible plot, the amazing characters particularly that of Death. Mort is the apprentice of death and it makes for a good life, freedom to the horse, board and a wage, and it makes for a pretty good adventure too. I wasn't sure if I wasn't going to continue the series at this point, but this one made me keep going and I am so glad I did.

Witches Abroad (book 12) - Granny Weatherwax is probably one of the best characters in this series, and this book is so good. The plot is to stop a happy ending of a prince ending up with a servant girl it really does make for a funny and also a thought provoking read. The quote from Granny Weatherwax in this book:

“Listen, happy endings is fine if they turn out happy,” said Granny, glaring at the sky. “But you can’t make ’em for other people. Like the only way you could make a happy marriage is by cuttin’ their heads off as soon as they say ‘I do’, yes? You can’t make happiness…” Granny Weatherwax stared at the distant city. “All you can do,” she said, “is make an ending.”

Witches Abroad is iconic.

Night Watch (book 29) - I do feel as the series goes on, the better it gets and Night Watch is definitely one of those books where you are left with an incredible array of characters, a story that pulls you in and a way in to a series that you will never want to end. Vimes is probably one of my favourite characters in a series ever, this book is one of the reasons why.

Also this quote is from Night Watch Men At Arms and it's spot on:

“The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money. Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of okay for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles. But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that’d still be keeping his feet dry in ten years’ time, while a poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet. This was the Captain Samuel Vimes ‘Boots’ theory of socio-economic unfairness.”

To take this series apart is a difficult one, even if they can be read separately. I really appreciate how connected these books feel and the different perspectives we get. I like the spotlight we get on people's lives as we move through the series and how even in the maddest of moments there's a moment you can relate to.

I loved reading this series, and it bookslumped me when I finished it, so I hope if you're going to do this and read them all I highly recommend some books to reread you love to save yourself.

GNU Terry Pratchett.

Vee xo.

[salmonjjk]

Though you are the only one who will see this, it is not about you. I promise.

I hope I run into you one day. I hope that anger or fear you feel piled up in one and you run out like you did years ago. When you ran out of a store and claimed I had been there “following” you and left the drama so left the store. Like we aren’t in a town that has one Target within the first 50 miles. I didn’t even know you were there, I never fucking saw you. I hope your Navy man leaves you and breaks your heart. I’ll celebrate in your face like you did our supposed bestfriend when her boyfriend of 1-2 years cheated “finally”. You and another mutual literally danced at the news. Jumped in circles and ran to tell her I told you so for having faith in a man she loved. Some very evil a demented part of me truly can’t let go of the hatred you’ve made me build for you. You got a taste of what you did to her and decided we weren’t friends for the millionth time, and went into the job I got you and claimed I held you check from you because you left me. You don’t get a check when you don’t work, you had no check for me to hold. You called in all week and made me and my father look bad. Maybe that’s where it stemmed from. The millions of times you brought up how lucky I was to have a father. While you knew of her dads death and yours in jail at 15 you had no clue about the other deaths in my life. My poor cousins without their father, my mother without her brother, a granny without her son. I became closer to Liz and somehow that made it hell for us both from you because we left you out like you didn’t leave me out constantly and talk shit on your own friends constantly. I refuse to take shit from you or your dirty ass friends.

One fucked in your bed, cum and all left for you on the mattress, threw up, never showers, and had the nerve to call me a whore after the stories you’ve told me my body count wouldn’t even compare to hers

The other being such a spoiled brat she can’t say thank you for the shit given to her and now works in a gas station. Had the brightest career and now does nothing and pays for nothing.

And you. Treated your mother who worked so hard like shit, spends her money, fucked in her house, let a dog eat her floors and doors in a rented home, spent her money and even threw a fit when you didn’t get a sports car not once but twice and had the NERVE to say she didn’t love you over an iPhone. And told your niece she wasnt loved by her mother who worked overtime every week to provide for her and her daddy as well regardless that they aren’t together. Lord that I ran you off the road in a car I hadn’t owned for a year while I was out of town for a full week.

As much as your mother can get fucked too she deserves such a better daughter than you. You sister deserved a better life than given.

I hope we cross paths, I hope one time I can spit in your face. Though I’m sure one day you may see me but I won’t see you and you’ll run out stating how I’m stalking you.

I know you and your raggedy ass friends will even go as far as to say I had my baby because she did. Who in the right mind would copy someone to the extent of having a child? I’ve been with him for 2 years. I will make sure my child never runs into people like you or kids of y’all’s. How much more can your world fall apart anyway?

Some bitter part of me wants it all apart, another wants to let go. But I’m so hateful at heart. I hope we cross paths, I hope you ask to see her when we run into each other some day, I hope to spit in your face and curse you out for even asking. Or maybe you see me having fun with my family and learn to leave people and their happiness alone for once if you have nothing positive to offer. Your friendship is not positive. All you did was lie and get mad that I caught them all. You’d lie about people who I was always around simply because they were friends with my brother. If you had a sibling close in age you’d know it’s not a dick fest and that I wasn’t even allowed out of my room when they all came over. I hope it all falls apart and you end up back with your mom and humble yourself. I hope your friends pick some fight with me someday. I hope it all tumbles down.

I saw the letters, you had a father, he probably only did what he did to protect you. But you’d rather act like you didn’t. For what?

I wish years and years ago you left me alone. That we never met as children, that you never called me in 5th grade and that you didn’t go to my fucking school later on. That we never rekindled friendship that we had time and time again. You are someone I’ll always laugh in the face of. You entitled, selfish, bitch.

[secret-captain-swan-blog]

Castle on the Hill

English Literature PhD student Emma Swan just needs money to pay for her last semester of grad school tuition. Killian Jones has always dreamed of opening a bookshop but has never been able to afford it. So when the small principality of Misthaven is looking for their lost princess, the pair decide that this might just be the perfect money making scheme.A Multi-chapter Modern Day + Lost Princess (think Rapunzel/Anastasia-esque) + Book Lovers in a Coffee Shop AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 94580/ ?

Prologue (Part 1 + 2) // Ch 1 // Ch 2 // Ch 3 // Ch 4 // Ch 5 // Ch 6 // Ch 7 // Ch 8 // Ch 9 // Ch 10 // Ch 11 // Ch 12 // Ch 13 // Ch 14 // Ch 15 // Ch 16 // Ch 17

Read on: Ao3

--

Killian is reading in the garden when it starts to rain. It’s not a lot, just drops against the thin pages of his book. He’s nearly to the end of Jane Eyre now. He’s honestly ready to be done with the book. Where it had once been enthralling, it now seems tiresome. The pain of the loss of Alice lingers folded in it’s pages.

He’s wondering if he should seek some refuge from the rain, when he looks up to see Emma running across the field. She’s windswept, her hair falling loose from her ponytail. Yet she’s still beautiful, like a Romantic heroine, her dress sticking to her torso. He can tell there are tears in her eyes.

He rises to his feet, striding as quick as he can to her. They meet in the middle. He wraps her in his arms quickly. Something is wrong, he notices instantly, from the slump of her shoulders and the desperateness she clings to him with. Her hands knots in the back of his shirt, holding on to him.

“Emma, love?” He asks into her hair. “Whatever is wrong?”

It must be the statue, he thinks. It must have gotten into her head. He should not have left her there by herself. She had heavy emotions that he should have been there to help her with.

“Killian, I can’t,” she mumbles, her voice half delirious.

“Can’t what?” He prods, fear trickling through his body.

She sniffles and whispers again, “I can’t.”

It’s windy outside, the rain picking up, and he can’t hear her well.

“Come, love,” he says. “Let’s get you inside. It’s getting bad out here.”

She shakes her head against his chest, “No. I can’t.”

He rubs his hands up and down her arms. “You’re going to catch a cold, love. I want to hear what’s upset you, but some place a bit less damp and cold.”

“No, no,” she says. “We can’t go into the castle. I can’t deal with it.”

“Deal with what, Swan?” He asks, slipping his hands down her arms to take her hands in his. He raises them to his lips to kiss them softly. They are already freezing.

“They’re going to tell me that I’m the lost princess,” she whispers. “And I’m not ready for it.”

He tries to process what she is saying. She’s the lost princess. She’s not ready.

His mind flits through all the evidence that he’s been trying to not point out for so long. The uncanny resemblance between the girl in Killian’s memories and Emma herself. The name. The accent. The right history. The scar on her shoulder. Even the chin. Killian’s spent so long trying to get Emma to remember something. For the connection to hold. And maybe, just maybe this visit to the gardens triggered the very thing that Killian’s been dreaming of. Maybe, even after last night’s fight, she has finally had the epiphany that he knows, he’s certain, must be coming.

But maybe that’s not it? Killian doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Reality rushes through him. Maybe the Queen or Regina just think that Emma is the lost princess and they want her to go public about it for publicity. Maybe now they’re manipulating her, asking her to pose as the princess. For what? For Misthaven Morale?

He’s going to need more information. Emma’s given him such few words, but his mind is spinning with possibilities. He knows, he’s certain, that something fundamental, potentially something he’s yearned for, is changing right here and now.

He brushes his hand against her hair softly, like he would a timid animal. She curls into him more, shivering.

What she needs, he realizes, obviously isn’t to go back into the castle. She needs to talk and in more than one way, unfreeze.

“Come love,” he whispers into her hair.

He leads her out of the castle grounds, the statues and winter garden behind them. Looking back now, he’s uncertain why he thought it was a good idea to take her there when she was in a bizarre state from the night before. As they weave down the cobblestone, she sniffles now, looking a bit less anxious. He thanks the gods for that.

There is a little tea shop in the grey stone shops lining the road. Called “The Castle Gate Cafe,” it’s lace doily sort of place. The counter boasts an assortment of cakes. He situates Emma in a table that’s tucked into a bay window off to the side that overlooks a damp patch of garden.

As he orders an Americano, a cappuccino, and a slice of lemon lavender cake, he glances back at Emma. Her face is distant, as if her thoughts are in another world.

When he comes back to join her, he presses a cappuccinos into her hands. She closes her eyes and takes a sip, her shivering subsiding.

“Sorry,” she says, after another pensive sip. “I must have seemed crazy back there. Or pathetic.”

“Emma, love, you seem traumatized,” he tells her.

She swallows, “I think I am a little.”

He takes a bit of the lemon cake. It’s sweet and soothing. He puts a piece of it on a fork and passes it to Emma. She takes the bite and gives him a smile.

“I was really affected by what I saw in gardens. I felt so ashamed for scamming the queen. I honestly couldn’t take it anymore. I was like in a weird trance or something, I swear. I felt like an out of body feeling, I don’t know.”

He takes a bite of cake and nods at her to continue.

She rambles, ”So, I went into the castle and all of a sudden, Mary Margaret was there and I just had to tell her everything.”

Killian chokes on his cake, “Everything?”

“Yeah, about the opera and our old plan and everything,” Emma manages.

He frowns knowing this means risking her security in Mishaven, her trust with the Queen, and the possibility of her returning to the country- and to him. “What happened?”

“She didn’t care. Killian, it’s crazy. She said that it doesn’t make a difference. She loves me,” Emma admits.

He reaches out to take her hand. Killian knows how much this means to her- to get the Queen’s affection and approval, to be loved by a parental-type figure in the way she’s always yearned to be. He knows it because he’s wanted it too. That’s part of why he’s never taken Ruby’s Granny’s generosity for granted. He rubs his thumb against her palm, part of him so understands and is proud for Emma.

“That’s marvelous, Swan,” he says.

She takes another sip of cappuccino, before she presses her lips together, and looks up at him.

“But then all of a sudden, Prime Minister Mills walked in,” she tells him.

He lets an eyebrow lift in place of a question.

“And she said that she took DNA from us both, without either of us knowing,” Emma says.

Killian thinks back to the week before, the suspected break-in. Of course it wasn’t the hooded man, it was the Prime Minister.

“We’re related,” Emma tells him. “I’m Mary Margaret’s daughter.”

So he was right.

He’s been right all along. It’s her. Emma is the girl from his childhood. It was Emma who he used to play games with in the castle courtyard. It was Emma who he used to eat sweets with in the kitchens when the cook would make them an extra treat. It was Emma who he ran across the field with that dark night. It was Emma who saw his brother right before he died. It was Emma who was now his sovereign. Emma.

“You’re the lost princess,” Killian says.

He feels a weird bit of emotion well up in him, a feeling of completeness that now is crescendoing. The girl who disappeared that night has been found. The lost girl who never had a family has been welcomed home.

When Emma looks up at him and sees the emotion in his face, something changes in her too. Tears spring again to her eyes. He quickly moves from his seat to slide in the booth next to her. His arms wrap around her. His lips kiss her hair. He tries to hide his sniffles, but he can’t.

She wraps her arms back around him, burying her face in his chest.

“We found you, Emma,” he whispers. “You came home to us.”

She sniffles.

“Killian, I don’t know how to react to this,” she murmurs back. “You’re crying, Mary Margaret is crying. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t feel like a princess. I don’t feel like my life is changing. I still don’t remember anything. It’s not like a sudden dramatic flashback or anything. All of these people keep looking at me like I’m supposed to be crying, but I don’t even know.”

Killian tries to be attentive to her. He realizes that Emma isn’t experiencing this moment as he is. He needs to be there for her. Princess or not, Emma is his girlfriend. She needs him to support her through this emotionally cataclysmic moment.

“Don’t know what?” He asks, brushing another hand through her hair.

“How to be a princess? How to be a daughter? I’ve only ever been Emma Swan. I’ve only ever been lost or alone or fighting for myself. I just want to go back to Durham and write my thesis. I don’t want to learn how to curtsey or use dumb shrimp forks or whatever people do in those Hallmark lost princess movies.”

“I’m not quite sure what a Hallmark is,” Killian replies.

“It’s not important,” Emma says, sniffling and sighing. “It’s just. I’m not really sure I ever wanted this.”

“Emma, you have a family,” he says emphatically, tears still in his eyes. “You have a real life fairy tale. You weren’t reading Blanche Neige all these years to run away from that. Princess Emmaline Georgette Analise Charmant Blanchard Nolan, I promise this is everything you’ve ever wanted.”

She smiles and sniffles and nods, “Yeah, I think I know that. Maybe that’s what scares me the most.”

He hugs her tight.

“I still don’t know what to do,” Emma says. “I ran away from the Queen.”

“You ran away?” He laughs.

“Yeah, I didn’t know how to react and she was crying and I absolutely couldn’t be in that room another moment,” she says.

“Oh love. Oh Swan,” He says, amused. His voice is still ragged from tears. “I think we should go find your Mum now. She’ll be wanting to hug you too after all these years.”

--

They walk back into the castle. Emma has to fight against everything inside her that says to turn her back, head for the Misthaven airport, and take off for North Carolina. But Killian’s hand inside her own helps, a lot actually. She lets it ground her, stabilize her. He’s still looking at her with tears in his eyes that makes her uncomfortable, but she’s managing.

Queen Mary Margaret and Prime Minister Mills are standing in the foyer when they arrive. She realizes that everyone else is gone- the secretaries, the dignitaries and diplomats, or whoever else might be in the castle. It’s just them.

“Your Royal Highness,” Regina says, “I’m truly sorry for springing the news on you in an improper way. I apologize.”

Emma tucks some hair behind her ears. It’s still damp from the rain earlier, which has now turned into a gentle mist.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’m sorry for running away. It’s an old habit, I guess.”

“Emma,” the queen says finally, her voice choked up.

Mary Margaret takes a step forward, her lips pursed to hold back a sob.

Emma realizes that like it or not, this is her life now. She can keep running from it. Or she can embrace it. It doesn’t mean she needs to give up everything. Those details- her thesis, her livelihood, the dumb shrimp forks- they can be sorted out later. But right now, she’s just found out that this woman who has been nothing but a kind motherly figure to her these last few months is her actual real life mother. The least she can do is hug her.

She crosses the space and steps into her arms. It feels like melting, like comfort. Like a blanket wrapped around you on a cold day. Like turning the doorknob on your apartment door. Like a bowl sized cappuccino made just how she likes it. Like home. Mary Margaret, Killian, Misthaven- this was her home. She has a home. She is home.

“I’ve had a few assistants go out to get some Mamie’s coffee and croissants for you,” Mary Margaret says. “And we’ll call in some take away later for dinner.”

Emma doesn’t say that they just got coffee, because really, she always wants coffee. And it sounds, oh so cozy, to drink more coffee in this castle with the Queen. With her mom.

“I was thinking that I could give you a tour of the castle,” Mary Margaret says. “And then maybe, this is silly, but we’ve got these old home videos David used to take of you as a child. They’ve been too painful for me to ever watch, but maybe, since you’re here- we could watch them together.”

Emma smiles. She could do this. And maybe the home videos might even help her process and visualize and remember.

“That sounds great,” Emma tells her.

“I’ll just see you later then,” Killian whispers from behind her.

“No, no,” Mary Margaret says. “Please, Killian, you are family. Stay.”

Emma turns to smile at him and offer him her hand. “Stay.”

--

It’s late that night when they make it back to Emma’s apartment. After the long, harrowing, revelatory day, the clean white apartment and cozy house plants are the perfect greeting.

Emma is pretty sure she’s never been so tired. The rain and the emotions of the day have left her past drained. She leans on Killian as they walk in.

“Shower,” she mutters, as she stumbles towards the bathroom.

When Killian doesn’t follow immediately, she turns to him, “You too.”

He chuckles, before following her into the bathroom. She turns on the shower and cranks it up as high as it will go. That’s all she can think of right now- warm water and then a long sleep in her bed.

She strips off her clothes. Despite how tired she is, she glances behind her to see Killian’s expression. It’s something of admiration as he takes her in. She smirks and raises her eyebrows, before stepping in.

He’s inside the stream with her, sooner than she expects. The hot water alongside Killian’s arms wrapping around her lulls her and she feels the stress of the day leave her. She lets her eyes flutter closed as she leans back against his chest.

“What did you think of the evening with your mum?” He asks.

Emma smiles at the fact she has a mother. It’s a fact that is going to take a very long time to accept and set in, but for now she’s honoring her personal intention to embrace it.

“It was good,” Emma says.

“You know you can be honest with me,” Killian tells her, his hands moving to rub her shoulders. She realizes all the tensions she’s held in.

“No, I’m being honest,” she insists. “It was like having a family. A very rich, ridiculous family. But a genuine cozy little family.”

Killian nuzzles her hair, before moving to get her lavender aromatherapy body wash. He dabs it on a loofa and begins to rub it all over her.

“It was weird with those videos,” Emma murmurs.

She thinks back to the happy memory from less than an hour ago: of her, Killian, and Mary Margaret piled on a couch in one of the more comfortable lounges of the hilltop castle. They’d had takeaway pizza, which Emma could process now as a gesture from the Queen to be “chill” and let her ease her way into this.

They’d watched these videos of Emma with her family as a child. Baby Princess Emma waltzing with her father. Baby Princess Emma riding around on Prancer in the woods. Baby Princess Emma giggling as she plays tag with Killian down palace corridors. It’s weird to look at that little girl and know that it was her who did those things.

“I guess,” Emma says, as Killian switches from washing to shampooing, “I’ve been thinking for the last months, since I got here, that Princess Emma is this other person. A person who probably hates me for impersonating her. A person who is far more innocent than myself. A person who is probably dead.”

Killian starts rubbing shampoo into her hair and it’s fundamentally soothing. She lets out a soft sigh.

“It’s just weird to think that she’s me,” Emma says. “We are one in the same.”

She turns to face Killian and looks up at him. “You aren’t saying anything. I’m just monologuing here.”

He shakes his head as he runs his finger along the scar on her shoulder.

“I know, love,” He says softly. “I’m sorry. It’s just, I’ve thought you were her this whole time. I know you don’t want to hear it.”

She takes his hand from her shoulder to bring it to her lips to kiss his palm.

“No, it’s fine,” Emma says. “As much as I wanted to deny it, I knew you had your suspicions the whole time. Even last night, you did. And in the end it doesn’t matter, because here we are anyway.”

Killian reaches behind her to turn off the water. He kisses her softly before opening the curtain. He passes her a towel and she wraps it around her shoulders, following him out of the bathroom.

She pulls on a Duke Writing Studio t-shirt and a pair of underwear, before toweling off her hair and crawling into bed. Killian is already there, arms ready to pull her close.

Her eyes flicker closed naturally and she sighs softly.

She supposes that is another good, but terrifying thing about this whole situation: every obstacle of distance that was between her and Killian has faded. Misthaven is her home now.

She knows that she has plenty of thoughts about that to fret over in the future. A tendril of fear and another of anticipation wind in her stomach, but for now the wave exhaustion crashes over and pulls her under.

--

The next morning, Emma tries to fall into her normal schedule. She needs routine and hard work to ground her. She always has. It’s a coping mechanism.

Killian is still sleeping when she wakes. She makes coffee in the French Press before heading to her desk overlooking the park. She pulls the soft grey blanket off the couch and wraps around herself, before opening up her thesis materials. She’s just a happy little Emma in her quaint, minimalist Misthaven apartment enjoying her coffee and working on her PhD.

She doesn’t know much about what the future holds, but it has to hold her dissertation. She’s spent so much time on it. She’s put in so much work. Looking at it now, she hopes that she won’t look ridiculous for writing her thesis on her own mother’s work or specializing in the literature from the country she is now sovereign of. But she thinks that if she can keep the Blanche Neige secret under wraps and she can probably pass off a decent thesis.

She smiles fondly at herself as she starts typing- she can be the first Princess with a PhD. She googles it just to fact check herself. Frowning, she realizes that a Japanese princess has already beat her to it.

A princess , she reminds herself. She’s still processing it. If she’s being honest, she’s probably at a sort of denial stage in the process because she’s feeling pretty chill about it. The shock of it has worn off, but she’s certain that the reality hasn’t set in yet either.

“How is my princess this morning?” A groggy voice asks from behind her.

She turns to see a disheveled Killian leaning against the door frame of her bedroom. He’s just in boxers and his hair is sticking up in all directions.

She purrs, “Come here.”

He walks behind her chair and loops his arms around her. She feels the scruff of his beard on her cheek as he leans down to give her a kiss.

She turns her head to kiss him on the lips, her hands cupping his face to pull him down to her. His body curves around hers to deepen the kiss and pull her close. She feels so soft and delicate, like she’s something so precious to him. She’s grown to like that feeling- like she matters.

Her arms lift to his shoulders and he uses his own arms to lift her. Her legs curl around his torso.

“Sorry about the coffee breath,” she whispers, self conscious.

“Dammit Emma,” He whispers, as he falls onto the couch.

She transitions perfectly into straddling him. Her hands dive into his gloriously disheveled hair. His head lowers to kiss her neck, then her collarbone, before he settles to lick at the base of her throat.

She hums in pleasure. All her thoughts, her worries, her cares are gone. All she can think of is Killian, the man she loves- and it’s bliss.

Then a phone's ringtone strikes the air and the spell is broken.

Emma stumbles off of him to head for her bedroom where her phone is lying on her bedside table.

“Hello,” she asks, not pausing to glance at the number.

“Emma, darling,” replies Mary Margaret.

Her mom. The queen. Blanche Neige. It’s almost dizzying.

“Oh hey,” Emma says, sitting on the side of her bed.

“I was wondering if you and Killian would like to join me and Regina for brunch,” she says. “We have a lot to go over- publicity, citizenship, castles, balls.”

Emma can hear a smile in her voice, but her own stomach churns. The denial phase is slowly slipping away into something else, some sort of reality setting in. She can’t have slow and silly mornings with her boyfriend because she has princess responsibilities.

But she feels, alongside of that, a weird sense of duty well up in her. Of course, she must be at this meeting. She can tell that just like the night before, the Queen is trying to make it easier for her. She isn’t throwing her into royal duties, just inviting her to a casual brunch.

“Yes, certainly,” Emma says. “We’ll be there.”

“It’ll be at my place,” Mary Margaret says. “The Summer Palace. I’ll send a car for you in about a half an hour. See you then!”

Killian pokes his head in and she explains the brunch meeting.

“I’ve actually got work this morning, love,” He explains. “I can skip it, for certain, darling, if you want. I don’t want you to go alone if you are nervous.”

Emma can’t believe she forgot that Killian has a life outside of her. But of course he does. She senses that everything for them is going to change very soon. “Publicity” the queen said. It may be one of the last times that Killian will get to work in peace, or work at all.

“It’s fine,” Emma says, rising to meet him and kissing his cheek. “Go to work, Killian.”

They launch into action, mutually displeased to leave behind their moment on the couch, but both busy with their plans. Emma changes into a pair of black jeans and a sweater, hoping that it’s a nice enough outfit for brunch with the Queen. Her hair, messy and tangled from sleeping it in wet, goes up into what she hopes suffices as an elegant top knot. A spritz of perfume, a bit of concealer and mascara, a peck on Killian’s lips- and she’s out the door to meet the car.

The Christmas decorations are up in their full glory when Emma arrives at the summer palace: fairy lights, garland, and wreaths of evergreen adoring the palace. She exits the car and is greeted by a doorman who informs her that the Prime Minister and Her Majesty are in the Forest Room. Emma nods and makes her way through the palace, trimmed with Christmas cheer, before finding the tea room.

“Emma, darling,” Mary Margaret says, crossing the room to envelop her in a hug.

Emma wants to resist, because that is her instinct. Flashes of Ingrid, of other foster parents flash through her mind. People she thought she could trust, but proved her wrong. It’s hard to believe that there is actually someone here who truly loves her and won’t leave. But it’s true. So she lets her mother hug her and lets herself relax into the hug. A part of her that has always been raw and ragged, now feels soothed.

“Did you sleep alright?” She asks.

Emma nods.

“Well there is fruit and patisserie on the sideboard, coffee and tea as well. If you prefer a hot breakfast, you can just order from one of the footmen,” The queen directs.

Not being fussy, Emma takes some strawberries and a pain au chocolat. She fills one of the dainty mugs with coffee and then joins Mary Margaret and Regina at the table.

“Shall we dive into it?” The Prime Minister asks. “We need to decide when to send out the press release. I’ve already had it drafted and you can review it if you please.”

She pushes Emma a piece of paper with the official Misthaven seal on it. Emma tries to skim it, but her mind is too all over the place to focus.

“I think it’s best to do it as soon as possible,” Regina informs her. “It would be disastrous if the information was leaked from someone else. Obviously there will be a lot of commotion about it at first. This is, afterall, a nearly impossible event to happen- lost princess finds her way home. So I expect that we’ll have a fair bit of international coverage. It’ll be best if you lay low during that time, avoiding reporters and the like. However, once it dies down, you should be fine. Misthaven is too small to have the insane paparazzi that English and Swedish royals face.”

Emma nods. The words paparazzi makes her squirm and want to run away. She thinks about the simple pleasure of drinking coffee at Mamies or sitting, editing her paper, in Killian’s pub. She wonders if she’ll ever get that pleasure again. Or at least how long she’ll have to wait to do that again.

“We’ll hire you security as well,” The queen adds. “At least until the hype dies down and even after, so we all know you are safe.”

Emma nods again. She wishes she brought a notebook to take notes.

“You’ll obviously move into the house in the Southern Valley,” the Queen tells her. “And we’ll have to make plans for the Christmas ball. It’s a bit last minute for a dress, but we can figure something out.”

Emma feels her forehead crinkle, all of it hitting her too fast to process.

“But, I’m leaving Misthaven next Thursday to be back in America for Christmas,” Emma says. “I already bought the ticket.”

The only way that Emma could buy the ticket was through her grant and fellowship. There was no way she could afford it on her own. She couldn’t just buy another one because she changed her mind about when she wanted to go back.

“What do you mean going back to America?” Regina asks, perplexed.

“To go back to Duke and finish my PhD,” Emma explains.

“Well clearly that isn’t important now, is it?” Regina says.

“What do you mean?” Emma says, startled. Her mind races with defensive thoughts. She can’t lose her thesis. “That’s everything. My life’s work.”

“Emma will finish her PhD,” Mary Margaret says. “Of course she will.”

Emma feels her pounding heart decelerate.

“It might be in your best interest, however,” the Queen says. “To take a semester off. See if you can take a small leave of absence. I’m sure it’s understandable, just so you have time to transition.”

Emma wants to say no. She wants to say that she spends Christmas with Belle and her father each year. She wants poinsettias in the green house and presents under the tree.

But then she thinks about waking up on Christmas morning with Killian beside her. A Christmas tree in her own house. Emma’s never even entertained the thought of having a house of her own before because it seemed too impossible. But now she’ll have one and a family of her own to spend Christmas with. Yes, she’ll have to stay. It seems silly now to have even thought otherwise.

“What about my flight home?” She asks. “I already bought it.”

“Don’t take it, obviously,” Regina says. “I’m not even sure why we are talking about this. You’ve just inherited a hundred million euros, I’m not quite sure why you’re hung up on this.”

Oh.

Emma tries to process a hundred million.

She thinks about stealing concealer from the drugstore because she couldn’t afford it and she wanted to cover up the bruises.

She thinks of eating a grilled cheese every other day and sleeping in the library.

She thinks of all the opportunities she said no to- studying abroad, nights at the theater, dinners out with professors- because she couldn’t afford it.

And now she has a hundred million euros.

Emma doesn’t realize she is crying until her fat tears fall into her coffee cup, a sob coming out of her chest.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret gasps, coming over to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. “My dear, what is it?”

Emma tries to breath and chokes on her breath, a hiccup forming.

“I’ve never had money like that,” she says. “Nothing close to that. I’ve always had to scrape and fight for scraps. I don’t know how to have this life now.”

Mary Margaret and Regina exchange a look and the Prime Minister leaves the room.  The queen lowers herself down so that she meet Emma face to face.

“Emma,” the queen begins, rubbing her back as tears tumble from Emma’s eyes. “I am terribly sorry that you’ve lived a life you didn’t deserve. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to experience such horrible poverty and so much financial anxiety. I’m sorry for every moment you’ve been lonely. Every moment you’ve wondered where your mum was. I’m sorry that I couldn’t tuck you in at night and take you on nice holidays and buy you new books. I can’t begin to understand what your life has been like, but I can tell you it’s going to be better now.”

Emma sniffles and looks up at her.

“You’ll never want or fret about money. You’ll be able to help others with that money, make a difference in the world. You and Killian will be able to give your kids everything you didn’t have,” The queen says.

The queen beckons Emma into another hug and she obliges.

“You are going to have a good life now, Emma,” the Queen tells her.

Eventually Emma’s tears lull and Regina returns. They start to make plans for Emma’s move, which is to happen in two days. They take her measurements to send to the dressmaker for Emma’s dress for the ball, which will also double as her public debut. And they pass along a debit card for her new royal bank account. Regina advises she starts updating her wardrobe with pieces that are “couture” and informs her that once her move is finished, a stylist will come to help her look a bit more sophisticated.

The comment makes Emma want to roll her eyes, but she decides that isn’t very princess-like and resists.

It’s overwhelming and totally new. But Emma is trying, with all her might, to shove the walls down. If they come up now, she’ll only hurt Mary Margaret and Killian. She hasn’t worked this hard to turn on them.

As the driver takes her back down from the mountaintop palace, she leans her head against the window. She imagines herself turning into a tree, roots growing deep into the ground, branches reaching towards the sky. She tries to think of herself as being unmoved here, firm of purpose and place. Growing a home here in this place, here in Misthaven.

She has the driver drop her off at Mamie’s, where she gets a cappuccino and reads a book of fairy tales. Emma decides she needs to make the most of her last few days of anonymity. It starts to rain again, the weather decidedly cold now, Indian summer behind them. From Mamie’s, she can see Killian’s pub across the street and across the blustery street she can just make him out at the counter. She sends him a text telling him to come over when he finishes his shift.

As she flicks through her phone, she realizes she has a text from Belle.

Sorry to change our usual plans girl, but Will invited me to Misthaven for Christmas to meet his family. Any chance I can convince you to stay in Misthaven for Xmas as well?

Emma taps back.

Haha I just decided today to stay in Misthaven for Christmas too.

Emma smirks to herself and sips her cappuccino as she waits for a response.

Yes, amazing!! Can you stay with Killian then? Is it okay if Will and I take back his apartment?

Rolling her eyes, Emma replies:

In a huge plot twist, I’m actually getting my own place in Misthaven. I’ll explain more later on facetime when I am not at a coffee shop. Loooong story.

[boushh2187]

Unexpected - RCIJ 2020

Title: Unexpected

By @boushh2187

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairing: Rumbelle

Rumbelle Christmas in July 2020 

Gift for @lotus0kid

Prompt: “I’m doing you a favor”

Word Count: 4053

Rated: PG

Author’s Note: I really hope you enjoy the story, lotus0kid, and that it makes you smile!

Summary: Storybrooke AU. Mr. Gold finds himself on an unexpected trip.

“When you think about it, I’m doing you a favor.”

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” Richard Gold looked up from his seat in Archibald Hopper’s office, his expensive three piece suit a bit wrinkled after all day wear. Dr. Hopper also wore a suit, though one that had seen better days. He looked slightly uncomfortable at being caught repeating the kind of words Gold often used, but only slightly. Perhaps, after a few long chats in this office over the years, Dr. Hopper felt as if they were friends. Gold wasn’t sure he’d go that far, even if Dr. Hopper knew more about Gold’s personal life than anyone in the town of Storybrooke, Maine. He had, after all, just threatened him with eviction for not having this month’s rent, but perhaps Dr. Hopper also knew that it was rather an idle threat. At least, due to the circumstances.

He looked across the room at Pongo. Dr. Hopper’s Dalmatian was resting on top of a comfortable looking blanket on top of his bed. The poor dog was recovering from surgery. His leg was wrapped up in a cast and he was drowsy from the procedure and the pain medicine. Gold had a soft spot for Pongo, and understood that Dr. Hopper had used the rent money and then some for this unexpected procedure.

“It’s the perfect solution,” Dr. Hopper continued, pushing up his glasses and sitting up straighter. I don’t have the money, due to Pongo’s surgery, but I do have this trip I was to go on, and now I need to stay with Pongo. You can go in my stead. It’s all expenses paid. I won it in a contest, so you don’t have to worry about a thing. I can make all of the changes with the company and you can even invite your son.” His smile reached his eyes, and the thought obviously made him happy. Dr. Hopper was one of very few people in this town that even knew he had a son, and how much Gold loved his son, and missed him.

Bae would probably enjoy it, and might be able to find a way to convince his mother to allow him to miss school. “That isn’t a bad idea. I haven’t seen him in months. It would be the perfect reason for his mother to allow him to go away with me.”

Archie brightened even more, if that was possible. “I told you! I really would be grateful if you would take this deal.”

Gold was amused. “I think you might be adapting some of my quirks.” This time, Dr. Hopper grinned and walked over to his small cabinet and pulled out a bottle of scotch. Gold nodded when Dr. Hopper nudged the bottle towards him as an offer. Adapting some of his quirks, indeed. Dr. Hopper poured them both a glass and they shared a moment of silence as they enjoyed the fine liquid. Gold put his glass down. “And I sincerely hope that Pongo mends swiftly. Call me with the details as soon as possible so that I can make arrangements with my son.”

“Will do!” Dr. Hopper was already rummaging through his papers to make the relevant calls. Hopefully, this will turn out to be a good way to reconnect with his teenage son. 

*****

Mr. Gold boarded the plane looking more like he was going to a business meeting instead of a vacation. He had a shoulder bag that held his travel essentials, and he’d checked his other luggage. It took some effort to move through the narrow aisle of the plane with his bag and his cane. He resisted the temptation of blowing his hair out of his eyes. His hair was shoulder length, as he’d worn it since before Bae was born, except that now there were generous amounts of grey along his temples and sideburns. Where had the time gone? He would hopefully be meeting his fourteen year old son at the hotel. Fourteen! In the last picture his son had sent him, Bae looked like he’d grown a foot, and he had grown his hair out like his father, except there was much more curl to his son’s hair, unlike his. He’d taken from his mother in that regard. Gold really hoped that Milah would not resist allowing Bae to take this trip on his own to meet his father.

After what seemed like ages of waiting for people to place their carry ons in the overhead bins, Gold was finally at his seat. This plane had two seats on either side of the aisle. It was quite small, and he had wished he’d convinced the company that provided Dr. Hopper with this winning trip to allow him to upgrade to first class.

The window seat was already occupied, and he looked carefully at his ticket. He did indeed have the aisle seat, which on the one hand helped because he could stretch out his bad ankle if he really needed to, but on the other hand he might have to get up over and over again if he had an annoying neighbor. He took his seat, took the newspaper out of his bag, and placed his bag underneath the chair. He put his seatbelt on and settled in with the folded newspaper in his lap. It read: June 1st, 1983. At least he was able to get today’s paper at the airport.

“Good Morning, Mr. Gold.” He started, and turned in the direction of the voice. The Australian accent was unmistakable. He knew this person. She was from Storybrooke as well. The daughter of the local florist. 

“Ms. French, I didn’t expect to see you here. Good Morning.” He was, in fact, quite taken aback. Truth be told she often took his breath away, especially when he ran into her unexpectedly in town. There were times when he knew he might see her: at Granny’s Diner for breakfast or lunch, at the library where she worked, at her father’s shop, or even in his shop, when she would stop by looking for rare books or tea sets. However, this was something else entirely. He’d never imagined running into here on a plane of all places, and looking as lovely as ever. She was dressed in bright yellow flower patterned sundress, and her sunglasses were perched on top of her head. Her  brown hair fell in waves, covering her bare shoulders.

“Didn’t Archie tell you I’d be going on this trip too?”

“Oh no, he failed to mention that. I… I didn’t realize that the two of you were together.” The last bit somehow made it out of his mouth instead of staying in his thoughts.

“Oh, no… we aren’t.” She reached out and touched his hand, and he tried not to react in any way. “We were just going as friends, since I was there at Granny’s and encouraged him to enter the contest. It was for up to four guests. Ruby and Billy were going to come too, but it didn’t work out.”

“I see… well I’m probably not going to be as good company as your friends…”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Gold. I always enjoy chatting with you.”

He managed to smile back at her. “I enjoy our talks as well, Ms. French.” She smiled back at him and leaned back in her chair. 

“Archie mentioned that your son might be joining us?”

For a moment, Gold was angry with Dr. Hopper for mentioning his son, but Belle was so very sweet in how she inquired that he relaxed immediately.

“Yes, I’m hoping his mother will allow him to make the trip on his own. He’s fourteen now, and I think he can manage. I’m supposed to call them when we land and make sure he will be joining me.”

“Oh I’m sure he will come. He’ll enjoy visiting Disney World too! So many rides. This is my first time visiting, but I did go to DisneyLand once when I was his age. I loved it.”

They mostly spent the flight in companionable silence. She read her book and he read the paper, commenting on interesting things they read. As they left their seats to exit the plane, Belle reached up to retrieve her carry on. Gold thought for a moment, how best to help her with his bad leg hindering him. Before he could come up with a solution, a tall lad reached up and took her bag down for her. She thanked him politely and Gold allowed her to move ahead of him as they exited the plane. He tried not to glare at the young man behind him.

*****

They shared a cab to the hotel and stepped up to different desks to check in. Gold made sure to request an adjoining room for Bae who would be arriving in the early evening as per his ex-wife’s assurances. Belle and Gold parted ways after check in, with Belle heading up just ahead of him. When he arrived at his room, he set up his luggage and looked around. It wasn’t bad. They had set them up at the Contemporary, which was quite nice, and had easy access to the Magic Kingdom park. The rooms were higher end than Gold had expected from a trip that was not paid for by the guests. Gold’s room had two double beds and a balcony with a theme park view. The concierge assured him that they would have a wonderful view of the fireworks. Gold discovered the door to the adjoining room and decided to take a look at Bae’s room and make sure all was well before he arrived. 

He opened the door and nearly fell back into his room. He had to steady himself with his cane. He hadn’t opened the door to an empty room, as he had expected. Instead, he had barged in on Belle, who was unpacking her luggage and laying out her clothes onto the bed. He had, unfortunately, arrived just in time to see her holding up her nightgown, which was practically see through, and definitely more suited for Florida heat than the cooler weather in Maine.

“I’m so… so sorry,” he stammered, as Belle stared at him with a mixture of surprise and what he thought was amusement. He felt flushed with embarrassment, and that never happened to him. She placed the nightgown on the bed, and put her hands on her hips. “I thought this was going to be empty. I had requested an adjoining room for my son…”

“It’s OK, I think I understand what happened.” Belle said, gently. “You need to remember that you and I are on the same vacation. You requested an adjoining room, but the trip was originally intended for a family vacation. One room for the adults, and the other for the kids.” She beckoned him inside. He took a few steps in, feeling very awkward, and hoping he didn’t show it at all. He normally didn’t betray his emotions, but with Belle, it was different.

Belle’s room had a large king sized bed, and the same balcony and view. “I see. So this must be the room they had intended for the adults, and I have...” he turned to indicate the open door to the other room.

“The kids room,” Belle chuckled. “Do you want this room? I don’t mind.”

“No, no. I’ll see if I can change things around. May, I?” he indicated the room’s telephone, and Belle nodded.

After a five minute long conversation with the concierge he gave up.

“No other rooms. Cheerleader convention.” That time, Belle laughed out loud, heartily 

“Bae and I can share my room. It’s quite alright. We have two beds. I had hoped to give him his own room, but this will be fine…”

“Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“Not at all. I’m sorry to have barged in this way. I hope you know that I didn’t intend to interrupt--” he indicated all of the clothes on the bed.

“I didn’t mind.” She smiled at him, somewhat flirty, though Gold was sure that was his imagination. He had imagined that kind of thing on more than one occasion in their past interactions, and he always immediately admonished himself. Belle was not someone that would be interested in him. She was a beautiful, kind, intelligent, PhD student, who could find someone much better suited for her. And someone closer to her age too. He was a good fifteen years her senior. He shouldn’t even entertain the thought.

*****

Belle was done changing into her comfortable clothes for the evening. She had decided to stay at the hotel and order in, perhaps watch the fireworks from the balcony, and then get an early start in the morning. She thought that she might ask Mr. Gold and his son if they wanted to visit the parks together, but she hadn’t decided on whether she would be intruding or not. The thing was that she was quite excited to have found herself in this situation. She had always had a bit of a crush on Mr. Gold, ever since she had arrived in Storybrooke after Grad School. It was over three years already, and while she’d had a couple of boyfriends, no one ever really kept her interest. Of course, she knew he was quite a few years older than her, but she never paid much attention to that sort of thing. She was a grown woman who could go out with whomever she wanted. She was getting ahead of herself. Even though she had a feeling that he returned her interest, she wasn’t certain. Still, seeing how he blushed earlier gave her a little bit of hope. 

There was a knock at her door. Perhaps it was Mr. Gold calling? She opened the door and took a peek through the crack. It was a boy, a teenager, slightly taller than she was, with tousled brown hair. This had to be Bae! “Hello!” she greeted him.

“I’m sorry, I think I must have the wrong room.” He looked down at some wrinkled papers in his hand. 

“You must be Bae!”

The boy looked surprised at first, but recovered quickly. “I like Neal better, actually. My parents just call me Bae. It’s a nickname.”

“For Baelfire, I know. It’s your middle name. Your dad told me. He’s going to be so happy to see you. He’s been looking forward to it so much.”

Neal looked like he was trying to process everything. He was still standing outside the room and he looked like he was trying to peer inside. “Is my dad staying with you?” he asked slowly, uncertainly.

Belle smiled at him and responded coyly, “Yes, and no. He’s next door. I’ll let him explain it to you.” She put her arm on his shoulder and led him toward Mr. Gold’s room. Neal knocked on the door and it was a moment before Gold appeared and smiled so broadly that Belle was certain she’d never seen him look so happy. 

“Bae!”

Neal hugged his father tightly, “It’s Neal now, Papa. Remember?” He was smiling when he pulled away. 

“I’ll let you two get reacquainted,” Belle said. “Have a good evening.”

“Nice meeting you… I”m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“Oh forgive me! It’s Belle. Nice meeting you too, Neal.” She waved goodbye and went back to her room, feeling very happy for Mr. Gold.

*****

“So she isn’t your girlfriend?” Neal asked, for the second time. He was sprawled out on one of the double beds, clicking through the channels on the TV.

“Bae, I’ve already answered that question.” He looked up over the large map of the Magic Kingdom park that he was analyzing. He was determined that his son have a good time on this vacation.

“Are you sure, though?” 

Gold folded the map in half and gave his son an exasperated look. “Of course I’m sure, Bae.”

“Well then, I’m pretty sure she wants to be your girlfriend.”

Gold sighed. This was getting a bit out of hand.

“She likes you, Dad. Mom says I have a 6th sense about these kinds of things. I always know who is going to end up dating at school before they do.” Neal sat up on the bed. “Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

“Of course, but that’s besides the point. She wouldn’t be interested in me, and that’s a fact.”

Neal laughed. “Trust me, Dad. She likes you.”

“Can we please change the subject?” Gold asked, wearily.

“Sure. I think we need to discuss something else. You aren’t going to go to the parks in a suit every day, are you?” Neal pointed at the suits hanging in the closet.

Gold suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He hadn’t considered that at all, but he had nothing else with him. “It’ll be fine, Bae.” He was trying to reassure himself, as much as Bae.

“No way, Dad. I’m going to get Belle to back me up on this one.” Before Gold could stop him, Neal was up out of bed and knocking on the door to the connecting room.

It took all of one minute for Belle to open the door curiously.

“Belle you have to tell my dad that he can’t wear his usual clothes to the parks. He’s going to melt.”

Belle laughed at the colorful expression. “I don’t think he’d melt exactly, but he’d probably be very uncomfortable. You don’t have anything more suitable for the hot weather and for all the walking?” 

She directed the question to Gold, and he shook his head, lamely. She turned back to Neal. “You know what you have to do then,” she said, solemnly. “You have to take him shopping. There are many shops in this hotel, and they all will still be open. Why don’t you two go shopping and before you go we can decide on something for dinner. I’ll order it while you two are out, and by the time you get back the food will be here for you.”

Gold couldn’t deny that this sounded like a good idea, and it made him feel so very good to have Belle helping him navigate this situation. 

*****

Over dinner it was decided that the three of them would go to the Magic Kingdom park together. Gold was dressed in a white t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. Neal had tried to get him into a pair of shorts, but it wasn’t happening. It was going to look odd enough limping around with his silver tipped cane in that outfit. Not nearly as dignified as when wearing a suit. Both Belle and Bae wore tank tops, and shorts, and they slathered on the sunscreen. Belle made sure to give Gold some too, and she even rubbed some on the bridge of his nose before he could protest. 

They spent the day together going on various rides. Gold was glad that Belle was with them. Occasionally, he would sit out on some of the rides and she would go with Bae. They went on Space Mountain, and the Big Thunder Mountain Railroad together. They all went on the Mad Tea Party ride, even though it made Gold a bit queasy. Pirates of the Carribean was amusing, and they were able to ride that one together. Both Belle and Bae grabbed onto him when the ride suddenly dropped in the dark. By the time they went on the Haunted Mansion ride, Neal had made some young friends from the cheerleader convention. Belle and Gold ended up alone in the same car, and Belle held onto his hand the entire time, alternating being thrilled, spooked, and fascinated by the ride. 

By the evening the three of them functioned almost like a little family. That’s what it felt like to Gold, and he would be very sad when this trip was over and they went back to their regular lives. Neal had wanted them to stay in line for Peter Pan’s Flight, but Gold had asked to sit that one out. Belle offered to keep him company while Neal went with his newfound friends. It was getting close to the hour of the fireworks display and the park was emptying out in certain areas, as people gathered to watch the show. Many of the rides had shorter lines for that reason, so he hoped that Neal wouldn’t be too long and they would be able to find a spot to watch the fireworks show. 

Belle led him to a bench near a running fountain. This section of the park was quieting down as the crowds moved towards Cinderella’s Castle. The sound of the fountain was soothing after the long day. They sat together for a bit, and Belle slipped her hand in his. It wasn’t the first time that day, or the second, or the third. Gold had been trying very hard not to read into it, but it was difficult not to. Belle had been very close to him all day. He also had been behaving in a more familiar manner with her. Something was changing, or perhaps it was something finally coming to light.

“Mr. Gold. I have a confession to make.”

Gold swallowed hard.  “Oh?” He tried to sound more curious than nervous.

“I like you very much. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I have liked you for a very long time.”

“I like you too, Ms. French. You’re very good company.”

“Please call me Belle. I’ve asked you before.” 

“Yes, Belle. I’m sorry. Old habits…”

“You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?” She took her hand and placed it on his cheek, making him face her.

“I do, I just don’t quite believe it.”

“I’ve enjoyed this day so much, haven’t you?”

He nodded.

“I want to have more days like this, where we get to spend time together, because I think you like me just as much as I like you.”

She was gently stroking his cheek. “Am I correct?”

He remembered Neal’s words from last night: “She likes you, Dad” and wondered if she’d overheard them. He had felt the connection between them all throughout this trip, but he refused to believe it. He wasn’t going to deny it anymore. “Belle French, I like you very much indeed.” 

She sighed in relief, and smiled. “Mr. Gold, I’d like to kiss you now.”

“Under one condition,” he said, smiling. “You have to stop calling me Mr. Gold.”

“Deal,” she said, and leaned forward. He met her half way and they shared a sweet, gentle kiss. He pulled back, and gauged her reaction. She didn’t seem like she wanted him to move too far, and pulled him back for a deeper kiss.

“Dad! Come on we’re going to miss the… fireworks… show…” Neal stopped in front of them, out of breath from having run over from the ride nearby. His jaw hung open, and it took him a moment to recover. He clapped and pointed at his father. “I told you, Dad! I know about this stuff! Since you guys are busy, is it ok if I head over with my friends? I can meet you back here.”

“You can go on ahead, but not too far, we’ll be right behind you,” Belle said, and pulled Gold up from his seat. She linked her arm with his and they followed Neal as he met up with his friends just up the path. 

“When we get back to Storybrooke, would you like to go to dinner with me?” Gold asked.

Belle chuckled. “Most definitely yes. Maybe we can have some fireworks in Storybrooke too,” she teased, and squeezed his arm. 

Instead of being taken aback this time, he teased in return, “I think it is quite likely after that last display.” She leaned in closer, and the fireworks went off above the castle. The crowd around them cheered, and music played through the speakers around them. They walked arm in arm and found a spot near Neal and his new friends. They were pointing and marveling at the display. Belle leaned against him as they watched, and Gold had a sudden feeling of gratitude towards Dr. Hopper. He really did do him a big favor.

The End.

[xiolaperry]

The Piano - Chapter 7

Summary: Belle French and her daughter arrive in New Zealand to an arranged marriage with Gaston LeGume.  Gaston shows little interest in her or her piano and books. However, Mr. Gold is fascinated… (Rumbelling of the 1993 film “The Piano”)

Rating: E (for smut, dark subject matter and violence)

Also available on AO3

--

Tilly had a hard time getting her mother's attention on the way home.

“Mama, I had fun with Emma today!” ... “I showed everyone my cat!” … “When are we going to finish my wings?” … “Mama?” … “MAMA!”

Her mother finally responded, but Tilly was angry. Her mother always listened to what she said, and she didn't like this development at all. She stomped the rest of the way home.

The change that evening confused Gaston. With a furrowed brow, he listened to Tilly's stories of the day spent at his aunt's house. Belle stared at nothing, and made no attempt to enter the conversation. It was strange at first, talking to a child. He told her some anecdotes about the people she'd met that day, and she was interested. Gaston loved attention, and her childish questions and enthusiasm flattered him.

Belle was industrious the next day, keeping her mind occupied and away from thoughts of Mr. Gold. The garden was weeded, clothes were scrubbed, and the floors were washed. Tilly grumbled at all the work. Belle suggested they make a cake, which brightened her mood in an instant.

Gaston didn't notice her clean floors, but he liked the cake, which Tilly took credit for.

As she lay in bed that night, she could not decide if she hoped for rain or sun.

---

After a breakfast of leftover cake, Gaston split kindling for the stove. Tilly skipped and sang as she stacked it for him. Belle occupied herself in the garden until it was time to leave. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, so Tilly joined her. As they walked, Belle reminded her daughter to thank Mr. Gold for his gift.

Gold was pleased to see them both. He liked Tilly; she spoke to him with a friendliness he had not encountered with other children. And with her here, he had an incentive to keep his hands to himself.

“Thank you for the cat, Mr. Gold.”

“You are very welcome.”

“Nicholas and Ava didn't believe me when I told them you made it for me.”

He groaned. After this, his reputation would be in tatters.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, I'm fine.” There was nothing to be done for it now.

While Tilly frolicked outside, Gold remained seated, not trusting himself to go near Belle while she played. He kept his hands occupied with his knife and a fresh piece of wood.

At the end of the session, Tilly informed him, “There’s a play next week, and I'm in it. I'm going to be an angel with a pretty blue dress and wings. Mama can only come one time next week, she has to help set everything up.”

“Yes, the annual mission holiday play. I almost forgot. Just one day is fine. And you will make a lovely angel.”

---

It was raining. No Tilly today, so there was the possibility of two keys. The anticipation coursing through her was for getting her piano back sooner. That was all. The delicious shivery feeling inside called her a liar.

After tea, she struck two black keys in quick succession, her eyebrow raised in a question.

“Yes, two keys again.”

This time she was prepared for his touch. His hands, gentle on her arms and shoulders, mesmerized her. She reveled in the sensation; it was even more thrilling than she remembered. Events proceeded much the same as the previous time. Until his hands deviated from their earlier route and caressed her breasts.

He tantalized her with the slightest amount of pressure. A butterfly landing on her would have been more forceful, but it reverberated straight down to her core. Her nipples tingled and hardened. How could a light touch be so intense? Did she want him to stop or keep going? She felt his warm exhale on the side of her neck, his nose tracing the shell of her ear. Her breath caught as her body clenched with yearning.

When Gold heard her gasp, he was disgusted with himself. A lecherous beast drooling over a vibrant young woman. She must find him repulsive. He hurried to throw a book on the bench, then busied himself with some tools on the table, keeping his back to her to hide his obvious arousal.

“That's enough for today.” He needed her to leave so he could calm down. He didn't move until the door closed, and her boots thumped down the steps.

Belle's knees trembled with the intensity of the feelings Mr. Gold had called out of her. When she was out of sight of the cottage, she leaned against a tree and closed her eyes.

She had not been with a man since Tilly's father, long ago. He had been her piano teacher, the first man other than her father she had spent any amount of time with, and she was naïve. Her mother had died when she was very young, and a series of governesses had raised her. The last had taught her piano, and her proficiency amazed the household. Maurice hired a piano teacher, and her talent grew by leaps and bounds.

The instructor's attention flattered Belle. He had not forced her; she wanted to please him, thinking he loved her. But the experience was messy, painful, and embarrassing. He had found pleasure in her body, but the act itself disappointed her. When she asked him if this meant they would marry, he quit his post without so much as a goodbye, leaving before Maurice suspected any impropriety.

At first she was heartbroken, then angry. He’d hadn’t loved her, and she’d only been lonely and didn’t love him either. She refused a new teacher; she didn't need one anymore. Her music came from within. And then, to her father's shame, it became apparent that she was pregnant. Maurice threatened to hunt the piano teacher down, but nothing ever came of it.

Was the arousal she experienced when Mr. Gold touched her what sex was meant to feel like? If so, she now understood what all the fuss was about.

---

The rest of her free time that week, Belle helped with preparations for the play.

She spent an informative day with Mary Margaret attaching feathers to sets of angel wings. It was tedious work, and it made their fingers sore. She was certain Cora had assigned them this job on purpose. When Mary Margaret brought out some refreshments, Belle took the opportunity to ask her a question. She wrote her a note: “Why do most people dislike Mr. Gold?”

“Well, David and I haven't had many interactions with him, but I can tell you what I've heard...”

Belle nodded, eager to learn more.

“He owns a lot of property and has tenants. He insists on rent being paid promptly.”

That didn't sound so bad.

“He evicts people with no leniency, charges high-interest rates, and never hesitates to seize the collateral if you can't come up with the money. He'll exploit every loop-hole.”

That sounded worse, but people shouldn't enter a contract without knowing the terms and being prepared to honor them. Exploiting loop-holes was more troubling.

Mary Margaret warmed to the topic. She shifted her seat closer to Belle.

“No-one knows his given name. It's only ever been 'Gold'. Isn't that odd? And he lives out in the forest, alone in that little cottage, and spends more time with the Maori than his fellow settlers.”

Belle understood being odd and an outsider. She didn't consider that a character flaw. She made a motion with her hand to indicate Mary Margaret should continue.

“I was told Mr. Gold used to be like the other translators, making deals with the Maori that worked to our advantage. Now, he always tries to arrange things so the Maori get the better part of the arrangement. Now they won't trust anyone else to negotiate for them. Many settlers feel he should be loyal to his own people, not the natives. David and I think everything should be fair for everyone, of course, but some are very resentful, and think he has too much influence.”

Mary Margaret stirred her tea, considering if there was anything else to add to her story. “And Cora really doesn't like him. She's always polite, but you can tell by the look on her face she wants to strangle him.”

Belle thanked Mary Margaret for the information. She went to bed that night with aching fingers and more curiosity than before.

---

Props were constructed, costumes finished, lines memorized, and finally the day of the performance arrived. Belle wore her best dress, and Gaston wore his finest suit. He looked very handsome, but he should. He'd taken twice as long to get ready, combing and re-combing his hair, polishing his boots, and straightening his cravat.

They carried Tilly's costume. She wanted to wear it right away, but to keep it from getting dirty on the walk, all the children were to get dressed at Cora's home. They left Tilly there to prepare with the other girls. Belle kissed her and wished her the best of luck.

It was strange that the holiday season was warm, she thought as they strolled to the neighboring building, another thing in her new life different from her old one. Tilly didn't care what temperature it was. She loved her angel wings, her friend, and the excitement of stage debut.

Inside, the mission was chaotic. Everyone was here, chatting and laughing while they found seats. Gold put in an appearance each year, seeing it as an opportunity to conduct business or intimidate troublesome tenants. He saw Granny talking to some old acquaintances. He greeted Cora with a smirk. Her eyes narrowed when she saw him, and she said, “Good evening,” through clenched teeth. How he'd enjoyed turning her down when she'd propositioned him after her husband died!

“With your influence of the Maori, and mine over the settlers, the two of us could rule this corner of New Zealand. Think of the power we could have.”

“I'm flattered, but uninterested,” he said, laughing. “Why would I tie myself to a woman who'd rip my heart out the second I turned my back? No, dearie. I'm far better off on my own.”

His remembrances abruptly cut off when he saw Belle. She was radiant, and he could not take his eyes off of her. She was brighter than anything else.

Belle spotted him at the same time. He made his way through the crowd, approaching her and Gaston, and she felt panic. All the air vacated the room. An overlap of the two lives, the one in Mr. Gold's home with her piano and the one with Gaston, was not acceptable nor appropriate. They were separate; they had to be. She was still overwhelmed and confused by the whole situation.

She moved in the opposite direction, sitting down in the first empty seats she found. Gaston followed. Mr. Gold did not take the hint and sat down one seat away from her.

Now she was irritated. How dare he sit there, calm and unconcerned, as she sat here, flustered, between him and her husband? He looked like he didn't have a care in the world. She'd mistaken a man's sexual interest for genuine feelings before. Was that what was going on? At least she knew where she stood with Gaston.

In a fit of pique, she took Gaston's hand in hers, placing them on her lap where Mr. Gold could not miss her display of affection. Gaston looked at her, confused. She patted his hand and gave him her biggest smile, batting her eyes. In her peripheral vision, she saw Mr. Gold noticed her actions, and his face filled with pain. He stayed a few more minutes, then stood and left. She received great satisfaction from her triumph. Until she didn't.

Belle forced herself to focus on the play. Tilly was a natural little actress. Her voice was clear and confident and she didn’t look a bit nervous. Everything else passed in a blur. One person after another introduced themselves. Mary Margaret brought her husband David over, and Granny paid her regards. Cora stopped to make a sniping remark. She was spinning. Why had she reacted with spite? To show herself she had power over Mr. Gold? She knew that already. It was not in her nature to be unkind, and it bothered her. What would happen at their next lesson?

Gaston enjoyed the evening. Everyone complimented him on Tilly's performance. He was told what a pretty step-daughter he had, and how demure and sweet his wife was. He hadn't realized what an asset Tilly could be. She made him look good, and he congratulated himself on procuring such an attractive family. Maybe he'd even let her be in the wedding photo Reverend Hopper would take after the holidays.

---

Gold rode home with a heavy heart. Seeing Belle with her husband made everything real. Why was he tormenting himself this way? She was not his, and she never would be.

He was a fool, but he didn't have to be a villain. He could continue this path with Belle, he could offer enough 'keys' and she might even have sex with him to get her beloved piano and books back. The thought made him ill. How could he do that to her? Why was he putting her in this position? Belle and Gaston looked like they belonged together, even if the man was a self-centered idiot. He was young and strong. He wasn't a crippled, bitter old misanthrope.

And Tilly. She deserved better, too. He'd entertained a fantasy of asking her to help him with his reading, picturing happy afternoons pouring over books. She’d teach him sign language, and he’d surprise Belle with a proper conversation. Embarrassment filled him for his fanciful thoughts. The realization that he was the actual idiot here, not Gaston, depressed him.

He sat and thought long into the night, drinking tea and then whiskey from the chipped cup. When dawn arrived, he knew what needed to happen.

---

Belle was on the path, trudging through the rain to Mr. Gold's house when she came upon the piano carried by Kamira and other Maori men. He gave her a cheeky one-handed salute as they passed. Startled by the turn of events, Belle ran the rest of the way.

Belle burst into the house, door slamming against the wall. Mr. Gold was sitting at the table. Her hands flew, demanding an explanation. He didn't need to understand sign language to grasp the question.

“I have given the piano back to you,” said Mr. Gold, his voice calm. “I've had enough.”

Belle felt dizzy. He had enough? Of what? Her? The music? She made a strangled sound in dismay.

Mr. Gold stood. Disheveled and pale, he appeared to have not slept.

“This arrangement will end with you a whore, and me a monster.” He took a deep breath. “I want you to care for me, but you can't.” He sat back down and poured more whiskey into his teacup. The one she had chipped. “Don't worry. They're returning for your books after they deliver the piano.”

Belle trembled. Her piano was hers again, however her overwhelming feeling was not joy, but rejection.

“Leave.”

She did not move.

“Go on, get out,” he hissed. “And don't come back.”

Belle lifted her skirt and fled.

[iwantthedean]

A New Fall

Graphic courtesy of @atc74.

Part Three: Granny Smith. Tart and crisp. 

Summary: Jensen spends more time around town. Y/N makes an effort to keep the farm in the family name.  Pairing: None … yet. Word Count: 2198 Warnings: Set post-Season 15, which I know makes a lot of people sad to think about. Square Filled: This entire series will fill my proposal square for BTZ Bingo.

A/N: Thank you for the continued support! I am loving writing this series :)

Masterlist

You spent the weekend more or less not speaking to anyone, just baking away your frustration. Jensen’s deceit hung heavy in your mind and sent you through a maze of emotions: sadness, disappointment, anger. Sad because someone was actually going to make an offer on the farm -- one you probably wouldn’t be able to match, let alone beat. Disappointment because, at your age, you thought you were past being played by guys. Finally, anger because the man had swooped in, handsome and charming, but turned out to be a complete fake.

By Monday morning, the anger part of all of that had more or less taken over. You slammed a coffee cup down from the cupboard in the teacher’s lounge. You poured your coffee, then slammed the pot back down onto the burner. Everything was getting slammed around, and you were mumbling under your breath about the jerk who had come to your farm only to steal it away from you.

“Jerk? More like an ass,” you grumbled, turning to leave as you sipped your coffee; you gasped when you saw your friend Taylor standing there, arms crossed over her chest and brow raised.

“Rough weekend, Y/N?” she asked.

You sighed and cleared your throat. “Yeah, a little. You getting coffee?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ve got to go set up for my morning lesson. Meet me in my classroom?”

“Deal.”

You made way for your classroom, and Taylor was only a few minutes behind. She took a seat at the horseshoe-shaped table you used to work with student groups, and you took a seat in your chair across from her while you stapled activity packets.

“I have to sell the farm, for starters.”

“What? You’re kidding!” Taylor exclaimed.

You nodded. “Yeah. The money’s just -- it’s not a good situation. Anyway, after our half-day, I was going to do some work around the place, and this handsome stranger pulls up. Tall, sandy brown hair, green eyes. A little older than me, probably. Anyway, he tells me he’s just visiting and wanted to check out the farm. So we went apple picking and went to the pumpkin patch. We had all these flirty moments and cute looks --” You paused to groan at your own stupidity. “-- and then I went inside to get him a bag for the apples he picked, and Mr. Kemp pulls up in the driveway because this ass was there to see the farm to potentially buy it!”

“And he didn’t tell you? What is that about?” Taylor frowned. “We could figure out where he’s staying, get into his room, and … I don’t know. Do something … horrible.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “You know, T, I bet if I give you enough time, you could maybe finish that plan.”

“Shut up,” she said, laughing along with you. “Look, don’t let him get to you, okay? The more important thing, it seems to me, is how you’re going to keep the farm. Let’s focus on that. Have you talked to the bank?”

“Yes. Mr. Kemp helped me get all the paperwork I need, and I take it all to the bank tomorrow after school. I won’t get a decision right away, which means I’ll be anxious as all get out until they give me an answer.”

Taylor nodded. “What did your dad say?”

You licked your lips and sighed, stacking the finished packets in front of you. “I haven’t called him yet. I will when I have more concrete information.”

“Maybe he could help …” She trailed off when you shook your head before the sentence was even done. Noting the first bell was going to ring soon, she put a hand on your arm. “Just keep your chin up, okay? Everything’s going to work out. I know it.”

You gave her the ghost of a grateful smile. “Thanks, Taylor. Go ahead, get to class. I’ll talk to you at lunch.”

“I’ll try to have a plan to get back at Mr. Handsome by then,” she teased, winking at you as she left the classroom.

* * * * *

For the third day in a row, Jensen was visiting The Farmer’s Stand. Just as planned, he had stopped there after leaving the orchard and purchased a jar of applesauce. He went back the next day for apple butter and a package of cookies that hadn’t been on the shelf the day before, as well as a loaf of homemade bread. Today, he was here for another jar of applesauce.

There was only one on the shelf, so he snatched it up before anyone else could. He perused through the market, also selecting a loaf of pumpkin bread marked from Y/N’s farm. At the register, Ms. Kitty rung up his items with a kind smile.

“Are we going to be seeing you every day, Jensen?” she asked. He appreciated that she remembered his name, though he would venture a guess that she remembered just about everybody who came through the market.

He chuckled. “Keep selling all this yummy stuff and I probably will. You know, food at the hotel is pretty good, but is there anywhere else you’d recommend in town?”

She nodded earnestly. “Midge’s Cafe, over on Ninth. Today’s beef stew day, actually -- comes with mashed potatoes and a freshly-baked roll. Their pie is great too, but I think you’ve got plenty of sweets here.”

“That I do,” Jensen agreed. “How much do I owe you?”

Ms. Kitty gave him a total. “Have you visited the apple orchard yet?”

Why did that question feel like a trick? “I have, yes. Met Y/N while I was there.”

The older woman sighed. “Such a shame she’s got to sell the place. This town was two-bit until their family came in and planted the orchard. They were plenty well off, but they started the pumpkin patch so the kids could have somewhere in town to go on field trips -- not because they had any need.”

Jensen took the bag of things he had purchased from her. “She said she’s the fourth generation to own the place.”

“She wasn’t lying. I’m sure you would have guessed, but I went to school with her grandfather, and my kids went to school with her father. Let me tell you -- that whole family is as sweet as Y/N. Every single one of them. Honest, hard-working, kind. When my son took over this place after my husband passed away, he wanted to stop doing business with them, for whatever reason.” She waved her hand, not worried at all about the particulars of that situation, it seemed. “Anyway, I wouldn’t allow it. You just don’t do that to good people, and Stephen doesn’t understand that. Whoever takes over the place, we’ll see if they want to continue to do business with us, I suppose.”

“They’d be crazy not to,” Jensen offered. “Thanks for everything, Ms. Kitty. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She smiled and waved goodbye. Jensen enjoyed visiting with her, but today, he was happy to get out of there. Hearing about Y/N’s family and how much they meant to the town only made him feel worse about potentially buying the place. Nevermind that he couldn’t get the glare Y/N had given him out of his mind -- a look he well-deserved.

As he drove over to the diner, he passed the elementary school. He smiled a little as he watched the kids play while he waited at the red light. This town was idyllic, a simple respite from the hustle and bustle of the last fifteen years of his life. His smile faded some when he spotted Y/N supervising the playground. She was zipping up the jacket of a little boy who was grinning wide while she talked to him. Once his jacket was zipped, the little boy hugged her leg before running off to join his friends again.

The driver behind him honked his horn; Jensen snapped his attention back to traffic. The light was green, so he proceeded through the intersection toward the cafe.

* * * * *

You honestly weren’t expecting an answer from the bank until the following week, so when you saw a missed call from them after school ended on Thursday, you heart immediately began to race. The message from the bank manager was asking you to come in and see her, so you went straight there once the parking lot cleared out.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” she smiled, motioning to the chair across from her. Please, have a seat.”

Sitting. That was good, right? That meant you’d be there for a while, potentially. Going over loan documents and signing papers, maybe? Oh for Heaven’s sake, Y/N. Just sit down.

“I’ve gone over all of the documents you brought over, and I spoke with Bartholomew Kemp -- he spoke very highly on your behalf.”

“He’s a very good friend to our family.”

She set her elbows on the desk. “Unfortunately, Y/N, you simply don’t have the financial background we like to see in our loan candidates. I even tried for a smaller amount, the minimum of what you would need to keep the farm for a while longer, buy you some time -- but it was a no-go.”

You forced yourself not to cry in the bank office. “But … I don’t understand. We’ve been banking with you all for years. My first auto loan was through this bank. My father kept my college fund here. My grandfather --”

The bank manager held up a hand. “Let me stop you there. Your family has history in this town, I’m well aware. And, if this was fifty or sixty years ago, maybe that would hold. It just doesn’t work like that anymore.”

“I understand,” you replied quietly. “Thank you, for the update. I’ll -- okay. Thank you.”

You took a deep breath, put your jacket back on, and shouldered your bag. In the car, you told yourself it was okay to cry, but you couldn’t even force the tears. You were just … numb. If you couldn’t get a bank loan, you didn’t know what else you would do, or could do.

“Guess it’s time to call Dad,” you sighed. As soon as you got home, you dialed the number and settled on the front porch swing to break the news to him.

* * * * *

Jensen sighed and hung up the phone. Bartholomew Kemp had just called to let him know that the owner of the farm was taking offers, and if he would like to place one, he just needed to email it over to Bartholomew. He wasn’t the only one making an offer, so if he was going to throw his hat in the ring, he needed to do it soon.

His lawyer sent over the written offer; Jensen printed it in the hotel’s business center, and walked it into Bartholomew’s office himself.

“I know you said to email it, but I wasn’t doing much anyway,” Jensen explained, letting go of a nervous chuckle. “So, is -- is Y/N pretty upset?”

Bartholomew looked up, brow raised. “Uh, yes, I suppose she is. Rightfully so.”

Jensen nodded and thanked the other man for his time. He left the office and sat in the car for several minutes, contemplating his next move.

The front office staff at the elementary school was kind enough to tell him how to find Y/N’s classroom, and informed him she was on her lunch break. No doubt the modest bouquet of Autumn flowers piqued the secretary’s interest, but he just made his way out of the office and down the hallway.

She was sitting at a table in the room with another teacher, and her eyes grew wide when she spotted him just inside the doorway of her classroom.

“Um, hi. What are you doing here?” The greeting and phrase fell out of her mouth in a panic as she stood. “Oh, um, this is Taylor. She teaches here, too. And she’s my friend. Taylor, this is Jensen Ackles. He -- yeah. This is Jensen.”

“Nice to meet you,” Taylor greeted, giving him the kind of tight smile that told him Taylor knew about his omission of the truth when he first met Y/N.

He cleared this throat. “This all seemed like a better idea in my head, honestly, but since I’m here … um, I am trying to learn from my mistakes and I thought I would come here, offer you the flowers to apologize for not telling you the entire truth when we first met and also to … let you know that I made an offer to Mr. Kemp today.”

Her surprised expression transformed to the anger he had expected. She took the flowers from him and set them on the table. “Well, thanks for the head’s up, I guess.”

“Yeah, I thought you should probably know, in case I’m around the farm again, so it doesn’t take you by surprise.”

“Great.”

Y/N sat back down and resumed her lunch. Taylor kept her back to Jensen. The silence was uncomfortable. He stumbled around his words for a few more tries, then exited the room. He sarcastically and silently congratulated himself for such a smooth interaction.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Whole Shebang: @illisea @ashleymalfoy @busybee612 @mrswhozeewhatsis @sherlock44 @ravenesque @feelmyroarrrr @atc74  @theplaidshirtmadness  @blacktithe7 @moonlessnight14 @kitchenwitchsuperwhovian @smoothdogsgirl  @melbrandes  @xtina2191 @spnbaby-67 @emoryhemsworth @goldenolaf25 @gabriels-trix @applesugar88 @rainflowermoon @deansgirl215 @thisismysecrethappyplace @calaofnoldor @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @sleepylunarwolf @chances-and-miracles

Jack Attack: @tiffanycaruso @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk

Two for the Money: @jayankles @akshi8278 @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @supernatural-jackles @adoptdontshoppets

A New Fall: @marilynnlew @backseat-of-deans-67chevy @traceyaudette @ellen-reincarnated1967 @maddiepants @littlewhiterose @tftumblin @monkeymcpoopoo @pinknerdpanda @thatgirl1456 @deangirl7695 @foxyjwls007 @woodworthti666

[magnoliasinbloom]

The Midwife - II

AO3 :: Previously

II

The walls of Castle Leoch loomed before me. I trudged through the muddy yard in search of the head steward or housekeeper. I hoisted the bundle that held a spare set of clothes, a medicine box of dried herbs and tonics, some money, and a letter of introduction. Jamie’s pearls were sewn into the hem of my skirt. The thought that he was near spurred me on.

I spotted a blonde waif of a girl, carrying a basket of eggs. I approached her with a cautious smile. “Good evening. Might I ask, do you know where I might find the head housekeeper?”

“Aye, mistress, she’s my grandmother,” she responded courteously. “Are ye selling something?”

“No, child,” I said. “I’m a healer. I wondered if perhaps there was need of my services here.”

“Perhaps, but ‘tis the laird makes these decisions.” She pursed her lips. “Follow me, mistress, we’ll see if aught can be done.”

I walked behind her to the castle kitchens. Inside, it was warm, a welcome respite from the early spring chill in the air. Setting the basket carefully on a table, the girl went in search of her grandmother. I looked around; the kitchen was large and extremely clean. This seemed like a good sign. A few girls lingered in the corner, kneading bread and giggling.

“Ma’am?” The girl was back with an older, stout lady with grizzled hair in tow. “Here’s Mistress Fitzgibbons, my granny.”

“Och, dearie, ye can call me Mrs. Fitz like everybody else. My granddaughter says ye’re a healer. Are ye a Beaton?”

“Pardon, a Beaton?”

“The Beatons are a long line of distinguished and rare healers. One of them, Davie Beaton, bided here, but he passed away recently. Lockjaw—nasty thing.”

I cleared my throat. “I am not a Beaton, but I have recently come from an apprenticeship as a healer, in Paris. I am skilled in midwifery as well. If you would care to present the matter to the laird directly.” I felt a cold sweat break out underneath my dress.

“I think he’ll be glad to have ye, lass. The Gathering is near, and I cannot manage the food and the cleaning as well as tending to all the folk that need care.” Mrs. Fitz gestured for me to sit. “After Davie’s death, we have Father Bain to rely on to heal bodies and souls, but he’s all the way out in Cranesmuir. Ye’ll have passed through the village?”

I nodded. The village had seemed small and drab, all muddy lanes and leaning houses. “I’ve never traveled this far north in Scotland.”

“All I have are home remedies and old wives’ lore, and that does for a turn. In the woods…” here she lowered her voice to a whisper. “There’s a wise-woman, ye ken? She has medicines too—but only if ye’re desperate enough.”

I shivered. “I hope no one will be desperate, now that I’m here. If the laird will have me, of course.”

“Aye, I’m sure he will! Here, lass.” Mrs. Fitz set out bread and cheese for me. “I shall return presently with an answer.” She bustled away, pulling her shawl tightly around her shoulders before stopping abruptly and turning. “Silly me, dearie. I never asked for yer name!”

“Beauchamp. Julia Beauchamp.”

* * *

Sister Madeleine had found me an hour or so after Malva disappeared. She had warmed me up with mulled wine and a dry shift. I told her what the evil salope had done with Mother Hildegarde and myself. The sister had apologized profusely for leaving me alone; but I knew that Malva would have bided her time for the perfect opportunity. I was lucky she had wished to make it seem like a natural death—she could have just as easily stabbed or strangled me.

We realized that Mother Hildegarde and I had not had smallpox at all; we had never broken out in spots. The symptoms of the illness corresponded to typhoid. In the panic of the epidemic, we had just written off the disease as smallpox. Slowly, gradually, I regained my health. My recovery was sluggish but steady. I spent weeks rebuilding my appetite and strength; I nagged the nuns so much eventually they relented and allowed me to care for a few patients for short periods.

My heart ached fiercely for Jamie. I wrote to him, letters that would likely never make it to Scotland. Few messengers went there, but most went through Jared—and I knew I could not trust him for the world. By the time I could stand without becoming dizzy, it was the end of January. I wondered what Jamie was doing every hour of the day, every moment. The hurt was always present, like a wound that would not heal. I missed my courses that month, but thought nothing of it; I had been ill and undernourished, which was cause enough. I would not think the unthinkable—that I was alone in Paris, with child, and without my husband. There were no other symptoms. I did not dare hope.

At first I thought Jamie would come back for me soon. Surely, he would not let his uncle keep us apart. He must have escaped at the first opportunity. It was obvious what I was up against: the might of the Fraser and MacKenzie clam, who did not approve of our marriage and who had ruthlessly taken Jamie away from me. So I lingered in Paris, uncertain of what to do next. I worked at l’hôpital, picking up the pieces the smallpox epidemic had left behind. The city woke up piecemeal, but soon recovered most of its bustle and vibrancy. Weeks passed, but Jamie did not return. My courses did, once I had regained some of the weight I had lost. There was no child then, nothing to tie me to Jamie but memories and a string of pearls that were almost as precious to me as Jamie himself.

Mother Hildegarde had called me into her study, stout and imposing once more. It was impossible to imagine the convent and l’hôpital without her. I sat with a cup of tea poured by the abbess herself.

“Ma chère, qu’est que vous faites ici?”

“I am working, finishing the apprenticeship,” I said cautiously.

“I meant, why have you not gone to your husband?”

I felt a twinge in my chest and looked down at my idle hands, chapped from the vinegar and constant washing. “A woman traveling alone—”

“That had been your mother’s fate, and yours until you came here. You are more than qualified to make your way in the world, with your husband by your side. God gave James Fraser to you, and you to him. Go, seek your husband.”

Seek the red man.

Mother Hildegarde gave me a purse of money, part wages and the donation Jamie had made on the day we parted. You’ll have need of it, she said. I booked passage on a packing boat down the Seine, and journeyed to northern France. At Le Havre I sailed across the channel on a larger ship. Safely tucked into my bag was a letter of introduction Mother Hildegarde had written for me, should need arise – I had a feeling it would.

Bordering the coast of England, we stopped briefly at certain ports along the way. I acted as the ship’s physician as soon as I had proven myself competent. I made friends with a young lad called Elias Pound.

We were only a few years apart, but we bonded quickly, each of us lonely and yearning—Elias for his mother, myself for Jamie. Elias’s company provided certain protection as well from unwelcome advances by rude sailors.

We made landfall at Inverness. I bid Elias goodbye, with instructions to eat green things to prevent scurvy. He squeezed my hand and with a reverent Godspeed, Mistress Beauchamp, we parted. I breathed in Scotland, its green and rolling hills dominating the view. This was the landscape that held my husband’s heart, and I could see why for myself now. The pure air was so different from the scents of Paris. It was now the end of April.

I joined a caravan of entertainers, mummers and musicians, who welcomed me heartily upon learning my trade. They would travel to small towns, including Cranesmuir near Leoch—I had asked specifically, heart pounding. Jamie was so close. During the journey north, I had delivered a healthy boy for a performer’s wife, and had joined them in a dram of whisky to celebrate. That had been weeks ago.

I finished my food. Mrs. Fitzgibbons returned at length, and heated up a basinful of hot water for washing. She lent me a brown ribbon for my hair. “You’ll want to look presentable for dinner in the hall,” she said. Would Jamie be there? I hoped so. I didn’t dare ask for him by name, not even to Mrs. Fitz—it wouldn’t be seemly to ask after a man, until I knew the lay of the land.  

We made our way to the hall. At the appropriate time, Mrs. Fitz pushed me gently forward, and I heard my new name as I was introduced—Mistress Julia Beauchamp. I walked the length of the hall, my knees shaking but my back straight. Dougal was tall, almost as tall as Jamie, with a fierce countenance that brooked no disobedience. This was the man that had separated us. I met his stare steadily, even as I curtsied. Defiance.

I rose, eyes boring into my back. My neck prickled and my heart seemed to sink and rise at once. I turned my head and met his sapphire gaze. Jamie.

[ineffablecolors]

The Wife [15/?]

The Wife || Ch 15 ~ 5.2k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10Ch11 C12 Ch13 Ch14 || FF.NET&AO3

Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

A/N: Some further work on that M rating aka they touchTM.

When he wakes barely any light is coming through the bedsheet. The bedsheet confuses him for a moment, before he becomes fully aware of the warm body laid half on top of him and snoring lightly. Killian smiles and closes his eyes again, even though he knows it’s unlikely he will be able to go back to sleep – they should probably get out of bed today and do something marginally productive but he feels no urgency crawling up his spine or snipping at his heels the way he usually does.

For the last two days, he has experienced the almost forgotten phenomenon of sleeping through the night, except for the incident of Emma’s nightmare. The memory makes him duck his head and press his lips lightly against the crown of her head but he is careful to remain otherwise still, loath as he is to wake her.

He is not a stranger to nightmares but hers made his throat close up worse than his own did and he tries to carefully assimilate and accept the fact that he very much hopes she will not wish to return to her own bedroom and be alone the next time something like that happens.

*****

When she wakes the world is bright and freshly washed but, in her cocoon, it is dulled to a gentle lightness and softness that almost immediately settle the torn edges of her nerves. She wipes the hair out of her face, feels her eyes a bit swollen and her nose stuffed, but she is warm again and when she moves, she feels Killian’s arms tighten around her.

She carefully dips a foot in the depths of her consciousness but the image and feel of the man of her past dragging her away from her present and future seems to have become – much like him – a mere ghost that can’t do more than make a shiver run down her spine when she turns back to look at it. And Emma has no reason to look back.

She’d also like nothing better than to ignore the existence of a world outside this bed for another day but she thinks it might be a bit of a push for Killian after years of early rising and constant desk duty. That and she feels in need of a bath.

Regina’s collection of powders and perfumes was overwhelming and probably downright poisonous but she rarely had a bath more than once a month and Emma finds that she has quickly gotten used to Ruby preparing a tub of warm water in her chambers at the end of every week.

“Good morning, my queen.”

She feels an entirely new kind of shiver skitter down her spine when she feels Killian’s breath under her ear and she unconsciously traps one of his legs between her own.

“I believe we must deign the household with our presence, unless we wish to have a mutiny on our hands.”

She hums and walks her fingers over his chest, feeling him suck in a breath as the sheet rustles around them.

“Have you ever had a mutiny on your hands?”

“Why, you don’t think too highly of my person, if you are asking me that.”

“On the contrary.”

Her eyes meet his and she feels something shift inside her at the tenderness in his gaze – something that gives her almost the exact same feeling as the arms and blankets wrapped around her.

“Are you alright?”

She nods wordlessly and surges up to press her lips to his in a firm, closemouthed kiss. When she pulls away she feels lighter, while Killian’s eyes seem to have grown darker and much less focused. She suppresses her grin with some effort.

“We should venture downstairs for breakfast and you can spend some time with your letters and papers while I discuss the menu for the next few days with Mrs Lucas, but then… I think I wish to have a bath.”

Killian’s eyes widen a little and he grins widely, raising his eyebrows at her.

“My, you are feeling commanding today.”

“It’s what queens do.”

“Indeed. Are you sure you don’t wish to have your bath before breakfast, your Majesty?”

She swallows and gathers air enough for a few breaths and all the boldness she had to keep in check when she was young and finally feels like she can let out now.

“I was thinking… we could save Ruby some trouble and… share.”

Killian’s face goes slack for a moment, something heady and intense passes through his eyes and then his eyebrow is almost lost in the hair falling over his forehead.

“That’s one way to tell your husband he stinks.”

“It’s a way to tell him some other things as well.”

This time he is the one that swallows carefully and seems to gather a generous amount of air before he replies shortly.

“I see.”

*****

Breakfast is an interesting affair. Granny is almost civil – or as civil as Granny gets while made to serve a late breakfast, and for the first time since Emma set foot in this house, the old woman seems incapable of meeting her eyes. Ruby, on the other hand, has no such trouble. The pretty maid’s eyebrows could give Killian’s a run for their money and Emma finds herself choking on her scone twice in the span of only so many minutes. Killian’s earnest and concerned expression and the way he sets his hand lightly on her back only make Emma blush harder.

Really, she should not be made to blush over spending a night in her husband’s bed, or two nights, or however many nights he wants her there. She tells herself that every time she sees Ruby’s lips twitch in what is clearly a very conscious effort to only appear as if she is suppressing her smile. Emma narrows her eyes and just barely resists sticking her tongue out at the other woman.

Instead she tries to focus on the man beside her and delight in the fact that he still looks like he hasn’t completely shaken off their conversation in bed. Which is perfectly fine by Emma. While she greatly appreciates that he asked for his correspondence to be left on his desk and has given her and his cup of tea his full attention for now, she is perfectly aware that once he sits down to all the work that must have piled up, he will be lost to her.

She grins a little to herself and hopes that she has at least provided enough incentive for him to come back before too long.

*****

“We need candles and soap and— oh, perhaps you can have Ruby take me with her when she goes to the confectioner next.”

“As if you don’t consume enough sugar as it is,” Granny mutters under her breath but it’s not tart enough to be disagreement or even proper displeasure and Emma just hums in shameless semi-agreement.

“Oh, sugar as well actually.”

“Naturally.”

“And cocoa and butter.”

“Emma.”

The use of her name startles her – not because of any impertinence or impropriety but because of how personal and almost entreating it sounds. She looks up to find Granny staring at her as if she can read all of her innermost thoughts through her skull and Emma sets her pencil down to give her her full attention.

The cook doesn’t have much to say but what she does feels to Emma almost like a blow straight to her chest.

“He has had his heart broken one time too many.”

She takes a moment to regain her equilibrium, to look the old woman straight in the eyes and hope that she knows a truth when she hears one.

“And I’m going to make sure it’s never broken again.”

Granny scrutinizes her for a long minute but Emma doesn’t sweat or fidget or look away and the brisk nod and almost-smile she receives at the end feel like the last door of the house being unlocked for her.

*****

By the time she has completed her lists and made her arrangements to go shopping with Ruby, replied to Mary Margaret’s letter and written one to Alice in which she is careful to not forget herself and yet communicate her excitement and satisfaction that Killian has agreed to let go of some of the company’s workload, Emma sits down in the library and sees that the clock’s arrow is just slipping below 4.

She takes one of the prettiest atlases and spreads it on the floor in front of the fireplace, deciding to give her husband at least another couple of hours before she begins her ambush.

*****

Killian is finally getting some bloody work done.

For the first hour he spent in his study he must have caught himself staring sightlessly out of the window at least a dozen times. There wasn’t much to see outside – just fallen leaves drenched in last night’s rain, some branches hanging limply and barely holding on to the trees and the sky spreading cloudless but still somewhat muted above. It was not a pretty day, then again Killian was not really admiring the landscape. The images that kept flashing through his mind were much prettier.

He finishes reading the protocol before him, adds the last bit of relevant information he managed to extract from it in his ledger and tosses it to the right, in the pile of documents he has managed to go through. It’s bigger than the pile still waiting for him but not by much.

Killian groans, wishing himself done with all this. Of course, that thought leads to what will hopefully follow once he is done and that leads to some other interesting thoughts. He tries to shake them off, truly he does. He has little faith in human nature but plenty in human willpower and that is what he tries to draw on now. Only, it’s hard to feel any measure of satisfaction when he manages to shake the images of water gathering in the hollow on Emma’s sharp collarbones, the tips of her hair darker and her nipples hard and visible just above water.

“Devil woman,” he mutters under his breath and grabs another piece of paper from the never-ending pile on his left.

*****

She finds her drawing beaches and palm trees before the crackling fire. Her languid and careful movements are in complete contrast with the furious scribbling that is going on at the other end of the hallway and Ruby can’t help but admire the contrast for a moment.

Emma seemed lost to Ruby from the moment Regina’s carriage stopped in front of the Jones household and then she seemed lost weeks later after being shown all around the house. So Ruby just assumed that was part of her – just like her green eyes and her almost translucently pale hands. Now she knows better.

Now she can see that Emma Jones wasn’t born full of melancholy and resignation. If she had to make a bet – and secretly, Ruby loves making bets, no matter how many times Granny has told her how inappropriate a past time it is for a young woman – she would wager that once upon a time Emma was full of hope and curiosity and even a little mischief.

It’s not really a blind guess, Ruby has started seeing some of it peeking out recently, she can almost feel it shimmering around her now.

“Captain Jones said he’ll dine in his study.”

Mrs Jones doesn’t pout or scowl, she just inclines her head to the side and looks as if she is arranging some puzzle pieces in her mind.

“Would you like the table set or—“

“No, no, you can just bring me a plate.”

“Of course. Anything else?”

“Could you have a bath ready in the Captain’s room? Say, in two hours?”

“Of course.”

“And a bottle of wine. No glasses.”

Ruby ducks her head a bit to hide her grin.

“Of course,” she says and tries to make her escape.

“Oh, and Ruby?”

“Yes?”

“Please, stop trying to make me choke to death at the breakfast table.”

Her laughter spills just as she slams the door shut behind her and Ruby shakes her head against the hard wood. In her head, she admits herself bested. Emma Jones has much more than a little mischief in her.

*****

He finishes adding up the numbers in front of him before he answers the light knock on his door.

“Thank you, Ruby, I have everything I need.”

The door opens anyway and he looks up with a heavy sigh.

“I can stoke my own fire.”

But it’s not Ruby in the doorway. It is startling and downright terrifying how quickly the sight of his wife makes his thoughts scramble again and something warm bubble up inside him.

“That’s a pity.”

“Emma, love, just another—“

He glances at the clock to find it already inching towards 8 in the evening and looks back at her in surprise.

“You’ve been patient.”

“I was taught that ladies shouldn’t beg for attention.”

She saunters toward his desk and Killian’s feels his Adam’s apple go up and down slowly. He would have never described her as predatory before but it’s the only word that comes to mind right now.

“And you should certainly never have to.”

He reaches his hand toward her and when she takes it, Killian tenses in preparation as his brain easily conjures up an image of her slipping into his lap.

But Emma circles behind him instead and lets go of his hand, settling both of hers on his shoulders, and Killian tries to bring some discipline into his wildly improper thoughts. It’s little wonder that all day he has struggled to keep focused on any task or idea that didn’t involve her in some way.

The feeling of her fingers digging into his flesh do little to help him pull himself together though they do wonders for the tension in his muscles and he can’t help leaning back and into her touch for a few minutes.

“You’ll be pleased to know, you have been a terrible distraction all day.”

Her hands stop their tantalizing movements and he almost curses himself.

“But I haven’t disturbed you at all.”

“Aye. But it would appear the phrase “out of sight, out of mind” does not hold as true as one might hope.”

“I-I’m sorry.”

She is still behind him and it takes him a second to realize that she sounds genuinely contrite and a little guilty. Killian turns around and tugs on her hand to bring her face to face with him. Her upper teeth are firmly imbedded in her lip and she looks very much like she expects a scolding.

“Oh, love, I was merely joking,” before he can think better of it, he pulls her forward until she is standing between his legs and reaches up to cup her cheek. “It is certainly the truth but I am certainly not upset about it.”

He laughs a little, watches her face and posture relax, and shakes his head.

“The idea of it.”

“That I can be a distraction?” she asks, the teasing slowly seeping back into her voice.

“That I can be upset about it,” he replies seriously and rises slightly so he can kiss her.

That doesn’t go quite according to plan – not when Emma’s hands find his shoulders again and she leans down, pushing him deep into the leather of his chair and her tongue deep into his mouth. After a minute and before he has managed to prepare at all, she is sitting in his lap, two layers of skirts bunched up around them and making it frustratingly impossible for him to get his hand on anything but her back. Thoroughly dissatisfied with this, his fingers quickly and somewhat clumsily start tugging at the laces they find there.

“I suggest you don’t start unless you intend to undo them all the way,” she says, her lips brushing his on every word.

Killian’s groan rumbles through the both of them, seeming to extend and change pitch as it mixes with Emma’s giggle.

“I have two more of these.”

He sets his wooden hand on top of his desk with a little bang, somewhere in the vicinity of the last protocols he has to go through.

“Should I leave you to it then?” she pulls back and when she bites her lip this time the message is completely different.

Killian glances furtively between the woman in his lap and the papers on his desk a few times. He is just about to close his arms around her and stand up with her still glued to him, when Emma’s face softens and settles into a calm understanding.

“I’ll wait upstairs,” she kisses him quickly on the forehead before he can protest and stands up, trying to smooth her skirts and hair into some semblance of respectability.

She is almost at the door, Killian still torn between finishing his work so he won’t have it weighing on his mind later and just rushing after her, when she turns around and points her finger at him.

“If the water turns cold, you are getting in it alone.”

He almost tips over his inkwell in his hurry to get pen and paper.

*****

When she hears the door open, Emma crosses her ankles and nonchalantly lifts her feet in the air, the skirt of her shift pooling around her knees. She doesn’t turn around but listens carefully as Killian takes a few steps inside and then stops abruptly. It takes every bit of willpower she has to not get up and face him as the seconds tick by. Then she hears the sound of the buttons of his vest being undone, the heavier fabric rustling against his shirt as he shrugs it off and then tosses it on the bed. That seems to be as much as she can take.

Emma rolls over and props herself up on her elbows.

“You’re in a hurry,” she says lightly as she watches his fingers work on the top buttons of his shirt while his eyes slide from her toes to her eyes.

“You seem to have made considerable progress in undressing, love.”

She slips to the end of the bed and hops off nimbly.

“I was getting bored.”

“My apologies.”

She reaches him in a few strides and her fingers brush his lightly.

“Would you like some help?”

He seems to hesitate for a moment, his eyes flickering between hers, making Emma frown slightly in confusion. She doesn’t wish to disparage his intelligence but she thinks the nudity included in bathing is only now fully dawning on him. But after a few seconds, he drops his hand to his side and Emma feels a surge of triumph and tenderness in her heart.

Each button reveals more skin and some black and grey hair that seems to conveniently pave the way for her. By the time she undoes the last one it has started to narrow and lighten and her fingers brush the top of his trousers, feeling him suck in his stomach. She slides her hands back up, marveling at how impossibly hot his skin feels against hers, and moves to slide his shirt off his shoulders. His hand instinctive reaches for it when his left sleeve catches on the contraption that holds his wooden hand in place but Emma pulls it over with ease and tosses it somewhere behind her. By the sound it makes, she assumes it doesn’t land on the bed but she cannot possible be bothered right now.

Her palms run shamelessly over his exposed skin and then halt and go slowly, carefully over his left side again. She feels Killian stiffen slightly and his right hand settles on her elbow, whether to pull her away or keep her there she doesn’t think he has even decided yet.

It’s one decision that she is willing to make for him as she gently runs the pad of her pinkie finger over the deep gorges in his flesh – their edges are raised slightly, while some patches of skin around them feel unnaturally smooth. There must be at least a dozen of them, scattered from the top of his ribs to his waistline. Half of her is grinding her teeth in anguish but the other half is somehow still wondering if there are more hidden lower down.

“It was an explosion.”

His voice is slow but it startles her from her trance of exploration and her hand clamps onto his side unconsciously.

“I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t really hurt anymore, love. You can squeeze as hard as you want.”

She squeezes his flesh experimentally, watches him take two breaths in quick succession and tries to reign in her sudden desire to tear the rest of his clothes off without delay. Emma has never imagined that she will have so little control in a situation like that – not because someone else is in control but because she can barely hold the reins of her own impulses.

But there is still a tenseness, an apprehensiveness about Killian that does a better job of cooling her down. So instead of moving south, she goes east and lightly skims her fingers over the leather straps and buckles of his brace before she looks at him – questioning, imploring.

Killian doesn’t so much hesitate as he seems to embody hesitation itself – his eyes run rapidly all over her face, skirting into her hair when that becomes too much, his breathing is a bit deeper, as if he is consciously controlling it, and his left side is absolutely still. She can sense his turmoil but she wouldn’t have little evidence of it, if it wasn’t for the light trembling of his right hand.

All that considered, she expects him to say no and she knows she can’t push him on this, no matter how much she wants to prove that it’s not any sort of obstacle to anything but his own peace of mind apparently.

So when he gives her a quick nod she doesn’t so much hesitate as she jolts with astonishment and a sense of awe that she’d never experienced for a human being before she met Killian Jones.

When she undoes the first buckle, his hand slips to her waist – to steady himself or her or, most likely, both. After all the tension she could feel building up inside and around them, the task itself takes her mere seconds.

It’s after – after she has pulled the straps down and gently taken the brace off his forearm and set it aside – that Emma takes her time, frowning at the indents that are left behind from the rough leather and rubbing her thumb over them thoughtfully, counting the little wounds similar to the ones on his side – only deeper, longer, and the spots that are smoother and different in colour.

This time her fingers don’t move with lust but with reverence and she feels them tremble slightly at the thought of how close he must have been to not being here at all.

“Emma—“

She moves closer, her hand taking his stump like she would his hand, her front pressing fully, firmly against his arm until she can drop her forehead against his shoulder. It’s when her lips press against his skin that he turns to the side and wraps himself around her.

“It’s alright.”

*****

And for the first time since he woke up in a whirlwind of fire and water and some men screaming for their lives while others screamed for death, Killian actually feels like he is. Alright. He doesn’t feel torn in half, he doesn’t feel like that half is still left there – to be drowned or lost or at least hidden. He is all present. He cannot be anything but. Now that she has given him her permission – more, her acceptance, her care, her love he is starting to think, starting to believe – he can’t conceive of not touching her with every part of him, not being here with every part of him.

He didn’t think he still could. And yet – here he is – fully here, glad to be here just as he is, bloody overjoyed by it.

Her cheek feels like flower petals against the bark of his arm, he ducks his head and kisses hers, moves lower still to press his lips against her shoulder in return before his nose slowly pushes her sleeve of her shoulder. He pulls his stump from her grip, feels like the damaged skin knits further together at her reluctance to let go, and uses it to push the fabric off her other shoulder, making her shift fall in a heap at their feet.

He likes to think that the blush on her cheeks is only half shyness and half the delicious and absolutely torturous anticipation that he can feel pumping his own blood faster. She doesn’t pull away or make a move to cover herself but just lifts her shoulders lightly, as if to say “well, this is it.”

And, frankly, Killian feels like he is a young lad again, gentleman in him having taken flight as his eyes roam shamelessly over her pale skin, the gentle curves of her breasts and her hips, the hills of her collarbones and her lower ribs, the light silver lines on her hips and the fine blonde hairs on her arms and legs. He licks his lips and starts to bend his knees when her hands reach for the ties on his trousers.

This time he helps her and quickly kicks away the rest of his clothes.

“Oh.”

Her eyes are wide – surprise and interest and a touch of apprehension as she peruses the rest of him and Killian coughs at the strange combination of embarrassment and gratification lodged in his throat before he settles his hand and forearm on her waist and starts slowly guiding her backwards.

“I think you made a certain point about the water getting cold.”

She nods wordlessly and lets him maneuver her beside the tub. He urges one of her legs over the edge and then the other and watches her sink in to her neck, the sound she makes somehow simultaneously piercing his heart and his groin.

He couches down beside her and gathers her hair in his hand, the ends of it already a few shades darker just like he imagined them, and lets it spill over the edge of the tub.

“Are you going to share, love?”

She smiles and draws her knees up to make space for him.

Killian lowers himself in slowly, making sure the water doesn’t overflow and feels her legs reach out to spread on top of his almost immediately. It’s probably not a perfect fit but that’s exactly what it feels like.

He looks to the side, he laughs when he sees the small table beside the tub, equipped with washcloths and soap and a tall bottle of red wine.

“Ruby’s forgotten the glasses.”

“No, she hasn’t,” Emma reaches for the bottle, dripping some water onto the floor, and takes a dainty sip before she sends him a challenging look. “I thought we were sharing tonight.”

“We are married, sweetheart, we’re always supposed to share,” he shoots back and steals the wine in one bold sweep. “She brought up the good vintage as well. We should thank her tomorrow.”

He takes a generous gulp and passes the bottle back to Emma, reaching for one of the washcloths.

“Would you like some help?” he echoes her question and reaches under the water, sliding his left forearm under her leg and lifting it up to rest her heel on his shoulder.

Emma’s eyes grow deeper and darker at the stretch and she scoots a bit closer, her other leg starts to run lightly up and down his own, making him lose his rhythm whenever it slides over the inside of his thigh and repay her by dipping his hand under the water and over the curve of her own.

For a few minutes they manage to walk the thin line over which they exchange the washcloth and the bottle of wine and actually get clean. It’s when he turns his back to her – her legs on either side of him and her hands dropping all pretense of washing him as they slip around him and down the wet hair on his torso.

“Emma.”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to—“ he coughs when her hand moves lower still, his thoughts fluttering around like scared – or overexcited, pigeons with no sense of purpose or direction.

“But can I?” she whispers, settling her chin on his shoulder and nudging behind his ear with her nose.

“O-of course, but—“

And then her hand wraps around him and his ability to ascertain or protest is unceremoniously shot, along with all the pigeons.

“Can I make you feel as good as you made me feel?” she asks curiously, innocently, and all he can do is groan and nod.

Her hand has started moving and it has been way too damn long since he has felt anyone’s touch but his own. Ages. Ages since he felt one he wanted to. Ages since he wanted to at all.

“Can you tell me how?”

He groans again, squeezes his eyes tightly shut because the sight under the water would certainly end this much sooner than he wants it over, and leans back against her, turning his head to the side to find her mouth.

She is right there – warm and willing and smiling against his mouth the way she did the first time.

“Tell me.”

She licks his bottom lip and squeezes him a bit tighter and he cannot wait to teach her – about his body, about hers, to have her teach him, but right now he can’t gather his brains enough to tell her anything but the truth.

“Emma, it’s been— Bloody fuck,” his eyes snap open but she just grins mischievously at his slip, certainly more delighted than offended. “It’s been way too long since I’ve…”

“Done this?”

He nods.

“Do people do this?”

He leans his head to the side and smiles at her before she makes him swear again.

“Aye. If they… well, if they enjoy… each other and things like this.”

“Do you?”

He nods again.

“And because you haven’t done it, it’s… better?”

His laugh is choked and breathless, she doesn’t stop her movements as she performs the Sex Inquisition on him and he loves her for it. He loves her as he buries his face in her wet hair and kisses her warm flesh and comes into her soft palm. He loves her all the moment before and all the moments after.

He takes a few seconds – to bask in a number of things.

“It’s easier for me to feel… the way you felt, when it has been awhile.”

“But it was awhile for me too,” she says, a thin trail of embarrassment in her admission that he kisses away languidly.

“I don’t think it works quite the same way. I think we should research the matter further.”

It takes them another minute or two to realize Ruby forgot to leave them towels.

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[believingispowerfulmagic]

“The Christmas Cottage” Chapter 6: Christmas Eve

Regina climbed out of the cooled bathwater, wrapping a fluffy towel around her body and shrugging on the soft bathrobe provided by the hotel. She then wrapped another towel around her hair before pulling the plug, watching the water swirl down the drain. It had been years since she had treated herself to a bubble bath and she felt quite refreshed now.

Her limbs no longer ached liked they did as well. The wedding party had spent the morning with Eudora, rehearsing Mary Margaret and David’s first dance over and over until it was perfect. Almost everyone involved was sore by the end and Regina felt bad for the bride and groom, who had to stay behind to practice their dances with their parents. She hoped Eudora went easy on Ruth Nolan and Leopold Blanchard.

She wandered back out into the main part of her hotel room, laying on the bed. Ariel had mentioned taking a nap and she considered doing just that, knowing she wanted to be well rested before the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner that night.

Just as her eyes closed, her phone buzzed. She groaned as she reached for it and groaned again when she saw it was Gold calling. Regina sat up, moving the towel so she could press the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“What are you doing?” he barked. “I’ve been emailing you all day.”

“I’ve been busy with wedding preparations. What’s wrong?” she asked, feeling her chance to nap slipping away.

“I need the work I asked you to complete. Now,” he said, annoyed.

Annoyance filled her as well, knowing this was at least the fourth task he had suddenly demanded immediately. “You can’t keep changing my deadlines,” she protested.

“I absolutely can,” he told her. “Are you a senior partner?”

She bit the inside of her cheek before replying: “No.”

“Right. And you won’t be if you keep complaining about changing deadlines. They change. You adapt. Or you quit,” he told her.

The call ended at that point and she let the phone drop to the mattress. She laid back down on the bed, covering her eyes as she tried to remember why she became a lawyer.

Because you wanted to help people, a little voice told her.

Then why did she go into mergers and acquisitions?

Because you the part of you that came from your mother worried about money and went with security over everything else, the little voice continued.  

She sighed, knowing that it was the truth when it came time for her to consider what she would study in law school. Regina could’ve easily decided to study aspects of the law that would allow her to become an advocate but she got caught up in the allure of money. Part of her always believed she would be able to switch to advocacy after building up enough money to live comfortably.

It just never seemed to be enough.

Her phone rang again and her stomach clenched, worried it would be Gold. Surprise filled her when she saw Mal Draco’s name on her screen instead. Pressing the green button, she held the phone up to her ear as she said: “Hello?”

“Regina? It’s Mal Draco,” the senior partner said.

“Yes, hello. Is something wrong?” Regina asked, confused. Given how Mal had fought Gold back in the office, she doubted the partner was calling her to also lecture her about pulling her weight on the case.  

“There are many things wrong, but nothing really with you,” Mal assured her. “I heard Gold reaming you out and wanted to check on you.”

That surprised Regina. “You did? Why?”

“I could say it’s a sisterhood thing, that women need to stick together. And it’s partly that. But you’re also a great lawyer, Regina, and I worry about you burning out,” she replied.

Regina frowned. “You do?”

“I see it happen all the time,” Mal continued. “It’s sometimes the nature of the beast. But most times in our firm, it’s because of Edgar Gold. He holds everyone to the same ridiculously high standards he holds himself to and it makes him feel good when everyone but him ultimately fails to live up to them.”

“So it should get better if I make partner?” Regina asked, considering that possibility. After all, Gold would be her equal and not her manager.

Mal was silent for a little bit. “I’ll be honest with you, Regina, I wish I could say yes. The pressure is always there. We want to be the best and that means making sacrifices. I also told this to Zelena and I am telling you—how much are you willing to sacrifice to make this work? Other partners have sacrificed marriages, relationships with children and other family members, friendships…hell, I can’t tell you when I went on a proper vacation. And that’s okay with me. You need to decide if it’s okay with you.”

Regina processed everything Mal told her, a knot tightening in her stomach. “I understand. Thank you, Mal.”

“You’re welcome,” Mal replied. Her tone then grew lighter. “Oh, and feel free to tell Gold to shove it more. Remember what I told you back in the office—you don’t have to play by his rules.”

“Thank you, Mal,” Regina said, chuckling.

“I’ll let you go. I hope to work with you, Regina, but I understand if you decide you need to do something that works better for you,” Mal said. Had Gold said that statement to her, Regina would’ve felt as if he was disappointed in her and that she should know there was nothing better for her. Mal said it as if it were perfectly normal for Regina to want more from her life than to be chained to her work.  

And it was, she realized as she ended the call.

She sat on the edge of the bed, debating her next steps. Part of her knew she had spent so long building a career that it seemed foolish to throw it all away because of one stressful project. Yet the other part thought of everything she had told Robin the day before when they were making cookies. Did she want to sacrifice all of that for her career?

Or did she sacrifice her career in order to actually live her life?

Knocking interrupted her musing and she walked over to the door, opening it a crack. “Yes?”

“Regina?” Granny leaned over so that she appeared in the crack. “Is this a bad time?”

“No. Your timing is actually impeccable,” Regina said, opening the door and inviting her grandaunt into her room.

Granny looked over her state of undress and raised an eyebrow. “Did I interrupt you getting dressed?”

“Work did,” Regina said, closing the door. She walked closer to her grandaunt. “Can I talk with you?”

“Of course you can, sweetheart. You always can.” Granny sat down on the bed, patting a spot next to her.

Regina collapsed onto that spot with sigh. “I’m confused, Granny.”

“About work?”

“About a lot of things,” Regina confessed, “but work is currently at the forefront.”

Granny nodded. “What is bothering you about it?”

“Everything,” she replied with a sigh.

“Well, that certainly is a lot,” Granny said. “Let’s try to unpack it into smaller bits, okay?”

Regina nodded, feeling the lump return to her throat. “You know I wanted to study law to become an advocate but I decided to go into corporate law instead, right?”

“I remember you talking about it,” her grandaunt replied. “And I remember when you made your decision. I worried that you were compromising your dreams due to your mother. But you did seem to enjoy corporate law.”

“I did…at first. But now…Now I look at my life and I don’t really like it, Granny,” she admitted, tearing up.

Granny’s eyes widened and she hurried into the bathroom, returning with the box of tissues the hotel kept there. She handed them to Regina as she sat back down, hugging her. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I keep telling myself that once I hit certain goals that I’ll finally have enough time and enough money to do everything I want,” Regina said. “But I’ve done nothing.”

“Okay. Then change it,” her grandaunt said.

Regina nodded, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “But can I give up everything I’ve worked for? Then I’ll truly have nothing.”

Granny shook her head. “That’s your mother and fear talking. But if you take a step back, you’ll see you won’t have nothing at all. You’ll have your fiancé and your friends. And you’ll have us here in Storybrooke.”

Tears filled Regina’s eyes as she nodded. “Thank you, Granny.”

“You’re welcome,” Granny said. “I also know you will land on your feet, Regina. And no matter what you set your mind too, I know you will succeed.”

Regina smiled. “So do you think I should quit?”

Granny took her hands. “I think you should do whatever you think is best for you. And you should do something that it sounds like you haven’t done in a long time.”

“What’s that?” Regina asked.

“Listen to your heart,” Granny said, tapping Regina’s chest. “It won’t steer you wrong.”

She nodded. “You always give the best advice.”

“I try,” Granny said, trying to hide her smugness. She then patted Regina’s hand. “I’m always a phone call away.”

“I know,” Regina said, hugging her.

Granny then stood. “I’ll see you tonight at the rehearsal dinner. But maybe you should try to get out of this room. Get some fresh air. That will probably help too.”

“Sounds like a good idea,” Regina replied. “Thank you, Granny.”

Her grandaunt left and Regina took a deep breath as her conversation the previous day with Robin replayed in her mind. She knew then what her heart wanted and now was the time to start making the changes she needed to move her life forward. The air felt fresher and room seemed brighter now that she knew what she had to do.

Regina stood, sitting at her laptop. She opened a document and began typing.

Continue reading on FFN, AO3 and Wattpad

[bryonysimcox]

Cutting, calling, sticking, sitting, subtitling: Week 15, Spain

With future certainty and concrete plans nowhere in sight, this week’s blog post is in praise of the mundane. Seven days of everyday life.

When prepping for this blog entry, I started panicking. What’s the overarching message? The big-picture mood of the week or the lesson I’ve learnt? Well this week, there isn’t one. It’s been seven days of everyday life and I reckon that’s worth celebrating too.

We’ve been pitching for some exciting work this week.

I can’t talk about the specifics, but it’s heartening to be actually planning and quoting for real-life projects that could bring in real-life money and real-life experience. We pretty much work on Broaden as a full-time venture anyway (regardless of if it makes us money), so when prospective clients reach out to Broaden to ask us to do more of what we love, then that’s a bonus.

I guess that’s the beauty of filmmaking, it’s so broad and its potential is so great that it can be valuable for a whole lot of people. I also think in the coming ‘new normal’ as countries, cities and communities come to adapt life around Covid-19, that the role of video and online streaming will shift, and perhaps become a more central element in our lives.

I’ve also been working away at editing the video we started filming last week about Economics for a more just and equitable world. It’s starting to take shape, though there is a lot of refinement needed (I’ve cut 150 minutes down to 30 minutes but still have a fair way to go!). Working on this video is also bringing about a newfound challenge of how we make videos like this visually stimulating, when they predominantly feature digital interviews and we can’t film footage out and about due to lockdown. It’s forcing us to get more creative with motion graphics, which is no bad thing.

In what is the culmination of a longstanding project, we also interviewed Rich Evans about The Foundations in New South Wales this week.

‘The Foundations’ is a truly extraordinary project/place in Portland, a tiny town about two-hours inland from Sydney. I first discovered the project when I worked in Australia, and the company I worked for, RobertsDay, was involved in a masterplanning process. Portland was established around a cementworks which went on to not only be the driving economic force behind the town, but also the backbone of the community. It was a source of civic pride (cement from Portland famously went to Sydney amid the building boom, coining it the phrase ‘The Town That Built Sydney’), and also helped establish social infrastructure like the swimming pool that is still a celebrated destination in the little town today. Sadly, as the cementworks decreased in scale and eventually closed in the nineties, it had a huge impact on the town.

(images) Scenes from January 2019 when we started filming at The Foundations, Portland NSW.

Back at RobertsDay, I had the pleasure of working on the masterplan and placemaking work for the next chapter of the cementworks, and I immediately fell in love with the place. Not only was it this incredible place of industrial heritage, but the owners actually wanted to transform the site into something really special - a tourist destination, an asset to the community, and a revitalised part of the town. From its current state - fenced-off, closed, and perhaps even an eyesore, the owners wanted to introduce artwork, markets, community gardens, museum collections, fishing and camping, weddings, concerts and a whole host of other things.

It was obvious that there was a story about The Foundations that deserved to be told, and so in January 2019 George and I spent a weekend there, filming local residents, business owners, and the wonderful Rich Evans, ‘Chief Reactivation Officer’ from The Foundations. This was before we’d even launched Broaden, but we were passionate to use filmmaking to document the transformation that was taking place there. However, over the course of 2019, other things took centre stage in our lives and we never got around to editing the final film.

And so, in lockdown here in Spain, we decided it was finally time to close off this story. Just this week,we called Rich over Zoom and asked him all about how things have progressed since we last visited Portland. Rich is a larger-than-life character who had so much good stuff to report (an artist in residence, growing market attendee numbers, new custom-designed public furniture, and the renovation of a central historic building which involved the removal of 1000s of bees!).

In a strange way, I’d originally thought of this hiatus as a weakness for our film, but it now has added another facet to the story: giving Rich a chance to reflect on progress at The Foundations and show viewers how much is possible in the space of a year.

Making collages serves as respite for the mind.

I return to my collage practice as a meditative practice, and a restorative one too. It’s something I do when I want to clear my mind, and use a different part of my brain from the video-editing-zoom-calling-analytical-planning side of my brain.

That said, the last few paper collages I’ve made have felt like a bit of struggle, and I’ve felt rather uninspired. The collages are never meant to be a forced thing, but instead something visceral and playful, but in recent times they’d stopped being that.

Until this week! This week, inspired to make a collage for my mum’s birthday, I started getting my boxes of magazines and compiled sheets out, stuck my ‘Making Collage’ playlist on, and somehow just found my groove. Shapes and forms shouted out to me, and I was more preoccupied with the mood of the pieces than perfection and precision. I was drawn to more ambiguous textures and the way that they could be layered, and what started as one collage ended up being a series of three (the other two of which I’ll later publish this week).

(image) The collage I made for my mum’s birthday, ‘Flirtatious Textures’.

Whilst I’ve feel as though I’ve found my swing with collage-making again (and have been also considering embarking on some critical writing about my creative process using academic texts for reference), this week I had a piece rejected. I’d made it to enter into a competition, and when the rejection email landed in my inbox this week, the usual heart-racing pangs of inadequacy entered my mind. Not only had I lost money on the entry fee, but my work was ‘unwanted’. I’ve spent some time facing those demons these last couple of days and reminding myself that I make my work for ME.

So if that’s the cutting and sticking, and the zoom interviews were the calling, what’s the sitting and subtitling this week’s post refers to?

We’ve been doing a lot of sitting. Sitting and staring, sitting and watching the sun set, sitting and reading books, sitting and checking Instagram, sitting and feeling guilt for sitting, sitting and swatting mosquitoes away (it’s rather hot all of a sudden), sitting and eating crisps, sitting and calling friends, sitting and laughing, smiling, frowning, thinking.

(images, left to right) Everyday scenes from the cottage, cutting and sticking, and a lot of sitting (as demonstrated by George!)

It feels totally bonkers that as we face a global health pandemic, all I’m drawn to do (or able to do) is sit. And George and I have certainly discussed the guilt, lack of motivation, boredom and soul-searching that’s grown (and comes along with sitting!) in recent weeks. I’m not sure if there’s some grand benefit to all this sitting, but it has called for the enjoyment of many a good book, and also a good phonecall.

One of the most joyful moments (spent sitting!) this week was surely the video call I had for my Granny’s 80th birthday, between my mum, my brother, my aunt and my Granny herself. There were laughs and cheers, ridiculous filters used and lots of talk of birthday booze and plentiful cake. But after the call, there were also moments of reflection and of gratitude; that we are able to celebrate together (albeit digitally) for the momentous milestone that is my wonderful Granny’s eightieth birthday, as she sits alone in her house in Scotland, is a blessing. Of course, I would have loved to have seen her in person, but I am so bloody grateful that we can connect to her even if just through the airwaves.

Birthdays in May seem to be a common occurrence in my family, and this week saw my Mum’s birthday too. Again, there was a sense of loss that unsurprisingly, I couldn’t be with her due to coronavirus (a fact made worse by the fact I don’t think I’ve been with my Mum on her birthday for about five years), but we were also able to chat and videocall. And I was also able to go back through my photos, reflecting on wonderful times shared across the years.

(images, left to right) Looking back at memories with mum - as a child in a sling, on our trip to Sri Lanka in 2018, and at the exhibition opening of ‘Talking Sense’ where one of her sculptures was displayed at the Portico Library last year.

Access to computers and the internet, free time to sit and chill, and family who are safe and sound is not a privilege everyone shares. And I am so aware of that.

I continue to think of the inequalities this pandemic is highlighting, and the gaps it is widening. Access to the fundamental elements for a just and equitable life are basic human rights, and yet as BBC newsnight’s Emily Maitlis reminded us, 'The disease is not a great leveller'. If while I’m sitting this week, I can at least read, watch, learn and share ideas about how we can tackle these gaping inequalities, my sitting was perhaps not in vain.

As our fifteenth week on the road drew to a close, and looked ever less like life actually ‘on the road’, I decided to take on the task of subtitling The Hundred Miler.

Initially, the only motivation to create comprehensive subtitles for Broaden’s thirty minute documentary was so that we could enter foreign film fests. And even then, we’d have had it professionally subtitled if we weren’t looking for ways to save money!

And so I naively embarked on what was to become a two-day odyssey involving Artificial Intelligence transcript detection, manually correcting the script, learning about timecodes, downloading .srt files and working to integrate them with YouTube.

The long and short of it is that The Hundred Miler (which also hit a whopping 100,000 views this week) now has complete ‘closed caption’ subtitles which you can use and enjoy on YouTube! But more than that, through conversations with others I realised the importance of subtitles from an accessibility perspective, as a critical tool to help deaf and hard-of-hearing people, as well as those for whom English isn’t their mother tongue. It was a refreshing reminder that we exclude people without meaning to, but that we can also actively include them if we take certain measures.

So that’s it, Week 15 in all its mundane glory. To those of you who are still here, reading my reflections on these strange and tumultuous times, thank you. Maybe this week you’ve been cutting, calling, sticking, sitting and subtitling too, and for that, I salute you. 

[hinabes]

Nagashi Somen’s Backstory

A story of lies, companionship and incompetency.

Noodle Shop

“One somen plus one onsen egg!” “Gotcha!” “Granny, where’d you get this kid? A hard worker, this one!” “Hehe, isn’t he! Lil’ ol’ me just had a stroke of luck.”

Granny passed the bowl of noodles to me, and I served it to the customer on a tray.

“Your somen and onsen egg’s great!” “Thanks!”

I wiped the sweat off my brow, taking another tray off Granny’s hands.

“Granny! You take a break please, I’ll handle it!” “Don’t sweat it, lil’ ol’ me can handle some bowls! Hey, watch it! Did’ya get burnt?”

I blew on my hand, the red patch of scalding from soup becoming increasingly visible. But Granny didn’t scold me, instead retrieving a wet handkerchief and pressed it against my hand.

The day I met Granny, she was alone in these mountains with a basket, picking some wild greens. The slopes weren’t steep, but nevertheless quite treacherous for the elderly. When she almost tripped, I couldn’t help but move forth to brace her.

Granny’s an empty nester, her son always away and traveling. Always hanging around the mountains, I was considered a child of Granny’s.

“Kiddo, you’re a good boy, but you’re so impulsive!” “Ain’t it ‘cus I’m worried about Granny, hehe.” “Your hand alright?” “It’s alright! Can’t let the customer wait!”

A frequenter of the restaurant looked in our direction with interest, making me smile with embarrassment.

“You two’re so close, you’re almost exactly like Granny’s son was.” “That so! What was Big Bro Hui like?” “Real energetic, that boy!” “As if he can compare to Nagashi Somen here! That kid learnt himself some skills and ditched, I can count the days he’s at home in a year on one hand!”

Even though Granny mocks her traveling son, the wrinkles in her eyes show her pride deep down.

The village wasn’t very big, and ours was the only restaurant here.

Granny’s a really great person, she always makes a few extra bowls after closing shop, distributing them to the orphans and lonely elderly in the village. Big Bro Hui naturally inherited this kindness too, studying medicine under a teacher. And the time he spent at home lessened.

But even so, it wasn’t anything bad. It’s what the smiles of Big Bro Hui and Granny are telling me.

I love this lifestyle, just like I love this village, this restaurant, and Granny.

Go or Stay

Even in her old age, Granny ran the restaurant. She often said with a smile, that if Big Bro Hui ever returned, she’ll make him a bowl of his favorite noodles.

In the eyes of Granny, Big Bro Hui was strong, brave, witty; any positive trait you could think of, he had it. That’s why he won’t hesitate to put himself forward if his help was needed.

Having endured through harsh times, Granny knew that in times of despair, the helpless wish for only the guiding arm of strength to take them by the hand. That’s why Granny didn’t hold Big Bro Hui back when he decided to leave.

But lately, I couldn’t help but remember his words to me when he left. “Do you really have to go? Granny’s getting old…” “So you think I’m in the wrong too?” “‘Too’? Who else is there?” “Myself…” “Why are you still leaving then?” “I want to be by the side of those who need my help.” “But…” I wanted to tell him that “Granny needed you too~” The lights in Granny’s room only go out late in the night after he returns, even when she has to open the restaurant early next day. Can’t he tell? No, surely he knows… Why else would he look so sorrowful?

“Don’t worry, I’ll write home often. Don’t look so sad, I’m just going to be a military medic, I’ll be alright.” Master Attendant fastened his luggage, turning to leave. “If only the wars will end…”

Came the faint mumbling of his voice, though it was crystal clear in my memories. Even his silhouette vanishing in the distance filled me with fear.

But why? I’ve hardly seen that silhouette, yet I felt like I won’t get to see it ever again……

“Nagashi Somen, what’s wrong? You don’t look too well.” Granny dried her hands on her apron, standing beside me, worry written over her face.

“...No, it’s nothing, just a tad tired.” Nothing has changed, yet Granny looked really uneasy as well. “Big Bro Hui, no letters from him today either?”

“That kiddo’s always been like that, must’a forgotten.” Granny said with a smile. “Right, let’s close shop early today, take it easy at home! Granny’ll make you yer favorite dishes!” “Ok!”

I pinned this feeling of unease on Big Bro Hui’s missing letter. Only when that wounded, sorrowful man came to our doorstep did my premonition come to fruition.

Lie

Silence settled over us as we made eye contact. With confusion and disbelief, my gaze focused on the white envelope and sack of gold coins in his hands. The man lowered his head with remorse, thrusting the sack of coins to me. This man, imposing and soldierly, crumpled before me in tears.

“If it weren’t… If it weren’t to protect me, he wouldn’t have died to that fallen angel…”

Uncomfortably settled into a daze of grief, I was snapped back by the words “fallen angel” and widened my eyes in shock.

“What! Fallen angels?! What happened to ‘everything will be fine’! Weren’t there the protection of other Master Attendants and food souls?!” I stepped forward, gripping the man’s shoulders.

“Yes…” “Then how…!” “... But there were too many enemies.”

Seeing his expression, I knew I couldn’t put the blame on anybody. Neither having stopped him from going nor went with him to protect him, I wasn’t in any position to speak. But Granny? If Granny heard about this, how would she feel?

Forcing myself to calm down, we pieced together the full story from both of our views.

Big Bro Hui wasn’t a simple military medic as he told me. He went onto the battlefield, and even though it wasn’t against fallen angels, the dangers of a sudden ambush were still present. Yet he didn’t allow me to go with him, having pondered it, he decided I should stay with the village, where I’m more needed.

Compared to himself, he’d rather have the safety of the village. Compared to Granny, he’d rather go to distant lands to save more people. He once told the man, that it’s precisely due to my presence that he steeled his nerves to go. Is it so that I can accompany Granny? But to Granny, we’re worlds apart.

When Big Bro Hui left, I wondered many times, was there truly no other choice?

“Hui told me at the end, please don’t let his mother know.” The man said suddenly. Only then did the issue plaguing me all this while resurface. Having awaited the return of her son for so long, will Granny be able to take it?

“I’ve thought long and hard, and I still think it can’t help to hide it from her, so I came to tell…” “Don’t! Please, don’t tell Granny about this, at least for now…” “Eh?” “I’ll tell Granny in your stead.”

Seeing Granny smiling gently in the restaurant, my grip on the bereavement money and the condolence letter tightened. I had to find a suitable time, a time when I won’t hurt Granny. Seeing the man vanish into the distance, I made up my mind.

“Who was that just now? Not a customer?” Granny came to my side and asked.

“Nope, nothing to it, just a lost traveler.” I hid the money and letter behind my back and smiled.

“That so, you gotta remember to offer him some water next time, weather’s hot…”

Granny didn’t see through my panicked facade, and I heaved a sigh of relief. Only then did I realize, with one lie came innumerable more.

Misfortune

Everything went smoothly, and Granny didn’t suspect a thing.

Every morning, she opened up shop and prepared the ingredients for the day. After sundown, we cleaned up after the last customer leaves. Granny beaming smile always washed away the exhaustion of the travelers. Once she finds out about Big Bro Hui’s death, that smile will surely fade. That’s why, even one more day…

My decision was right… right?

The days went by without disturbance. Sometimes I’d find Granny sitting at the doorstep, gazing up at the sky.

But, good thing is, I found out she was just worried about the ongoing war and I let go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

I went to a neighboring village to stock up on ingredients, and I returned to not Granny, but rather a worried frequenter.

Once he spotted me, he dashed towards me anxiously.

“You’re finally back Nagashi Somen! Granny got a letter and headed to the town outskirts with all the money in the counter! Go check on her!”

Hearing that, I dropped everything and ran towards the outskirts.

At the border, I found Granny with her back arched, pleading at the officers.

“Look Mr. Officer, this is all this old woman here’s got… Please, can’t you just… please…” “No! Don’t think of seeing your son if you’re missing so much as a penny!” “Mr. Officer… Please, he’s my only son…”

Seeing Granny kneeled before them, I rushed forward to brace her and hold her hand.

“Granny! What is this!” “Nagashi Somen! Hui, Hui’s committed war crimes, he owes a lot of money, or else he’ll be executed! Please help me convince this officer!”

“How can it be! Master Attendant’s…” I didn’t know what crimes they were speaking of, and neither did Granny, presumably. But I knew that they were lying. I wanted to reveal the truth, but my words were caught in my throat. Seeing Granny so anxious, I didn’t know how to put it.

The two officers kicked Granny aside and counted the money. I wanted to take the money back, but Granny wouldn’t let go of me. Whilst I held my tongue, their words struck me with grief.

“Heh, didn’t think a dead guy was gonna fetch us this much.”

Hearing that, Granny’s eyes widened and pushed forward to grab the officer.

“What dead guy? What happened to Hui?” “Why don’t you ask that food soul there! Hahahaha!”

Their cackling sent waves of ice tumbling over me. I wanted to square with them, but my legs were frozen under Granny’s distraught gaze.

“Nagashi Somen! Tell me! What’s going on!” “..........” “Hahahahaha, your son’s LONG DEAD! Bet that food soul you’ve been raising has been hiding that from you and hasn’t even given you the bereavement money!”

“No, I…” I couldn’t believe I was about to defend myself. I lied to Granny.

“Old fart, I’d recommend you get that money from him soon, that’s what’s left of your son’s life! I’ll take this as payment for telling you that! Hahahaha…”

No! I had! All the bereavement money swapped out for loose change, and put it in Granny’s stash bit by bit! This isn’tー

Yet Granny couldn’t hear my wails anymore…

I should have known sooner, that once a lie is told, innumerable more follow. I can’t consider it a fluke, making myself think that there was a way for Granny to not hurt.

Really, I’ve always been afraid of myself. But I’ve let myself forget… No matter the intent, lies can only bring misfortune.

Nagashi Somen

After that, the wandering Nagashi Somen met Raindrop Cake’s master attendant by chance.

This human was just like Big Bro Hui, an optimistic and passionate person. He brought Nagashi Somen, still scared out of his wits, back to his house, drying his hair with a towel.

“You’ll fall ill like this!” “......”

Under the care of Raindrop Cake’s master attendant, Nagashi Somen slowly regained a bit his vigor. Raindrop Cake’s master attendant, on the other hand, had learnt from word of mouth from his village of Nagashi Somen’s past that he so desperately wanted to forget.

Once upon a time, someone he knew left this world because of a lie with good intentions. To maintain this lie, he told more lies to others.

As if to mock him, others used this same lie to hurt the old lady who always took care of him. Unable to take the shock of her son’s death, the kind old lady passed away too.

At the sight of the lifeless old lady, Nagashi Somen took a harsh blow. He knew lies weren’t going to change a thing, yet he still lied to the old lady.

If he hadn’t told the lie and told the old lady the truth in the beginning, she wouldn’t have learnt of his master attendant’s death in such circumstances. The old lady wouldn’t have died so tragically before him either.

After that, Nagashi Somen no longer donned his carefree and joyful smile, he clenched his fist, eyes wrinkling with sadness. “I’ll never tell a lie, even if I have to stay silent, I’ll never deceive others again…”

Hearing this, the smile on Raindrop Cake’s master attendant’s face complicated for a moment. But he couldn’t come up with a reply.

Under the care of Raindrop Cake’s master attendant, Nagashi Somen began helping him run his business. In contrast to the quiet Raindrop Cake, Nagashi Somen quickly picked up everything about the business. Busy with work, he slowly pulled himself together.

Afterward, he returned to his village. For Granny, for his master attendant, he wanted to protect the favorite village of theirs.

He occasionally visited Raindrop Cake’s village too and chatted with Raindrop Cake’s master attendant. They were like brothers, keeping no secrets from each other. It’s then that his buddy asked him for a favor, to cheer up Raindrop Cake.

It’s for that reason he always tells that to the ever-melancholic Raindrop Cake. “Even though it’s said that Food Souls exist to battle Fallen Angels, but our abilities are still limited, that’s why we just have to give it our all doing what we can.”

Nagashi Somen chose to stay optimistic, wishing that his present life won’t be shattered by lies no matter what.

Nagashi Somen’s smile and words moved Raindrop Cake. His smile overlapped with his master attendant’s for a moment, an extremely touching scene.

As he hoped, Raindrop Cake found the will to move forth. Raindrop Cake’s master attendant was delighted when they talked about the change in attitude as well.

“Everything’s improving.” Even though Raindrop Cake’s master attendant was getting thinner from always traveling, he was inclined to believe the words of the energetic and optimistic man before him.

He won’t tell a lie. Nagashi Somen believed firmly. Then he won’t witness another tragedy…

He thought his peaceful life would continue. And when everything shattered, it felt unreal.

It was raining and Nagashi Somen had open his red oilpaper umbrella, not unlike an old friend visiting after years, arriving at the little village deep in the cherry blossom woods.

But the chaotic mess that remained of the village left him petrified, and he dashed to see if they were safe, if he could just find them a moment sooner.

When he found the man he was looking for in the ruins, he was collapsed lifelessly in the mud, Raindrop Cake by his side. Those empty, distraught eyes; Nagashi Somen could never hope to forget the very expression Granny held.

A feeling of unease welled up. Nagashi Somen tried many times to question the dazed Raindrop Cake, but he just kept repeating himself.

“How did this happen! What happened?” “I… I killed Master Attendant… I killed everyone…” “That can’t be! You couldn’t have killed everyone! What happened to him! He was fine before, how could he… how could he…”

No, was he… really fine before? The details he missed flashed in his mind, yet no connections formed. He wanted to know just what he missed, just what caused this cold, lifeless corpse to be all that remained of the man. His unease and terror told him something must have been missed. But he could tell that he wasn’t going to get the answer from Raindrop Cake.

Sadness, anger, dissatisfaction; All sorts of negative emotions burst out of Nagashi Somen, all melding together. He understood more than anyone how Raindrop Cake felt, at the same time unable to forgive him, unable to forgive the Raindrop Cake spiraling into a pit of self-blame, unable to forgive the Nagashi Somen who told the lies back then.

Trying his best to regain control of his emotions, his carefree smile no longer showed as he gripped Raindrop Cake’s collar tight and glared at him coldly.

“Look at me! Tell me! Just what happened?!” No matter how much Nagashi Somen yelled, there came no response from Raindrop Cake. “He would never want to see you like this! You know that! Answer me!”

“.........”

“Next time we meet, I hope we can have a proper conversation.”

Seeing the soulless Raindrop Cake, Nagashi Somen’s past flashed before his eyes. He wanted Raindrop Cake to pull himself together, yet he found himself trapped by his own demons too. At that moment, he realized he was unable to save Raindrop Cake, who had sunk into the same pit he did.

The storm beats down on the ruins. All that remains is the soulless husk of Raindrop Cake, along with a red oilpaper umbrella meagerly attempting to shield him from the rain.

[sharbat-jaan]

Azalea Honey (Chapter 1)

Series: Naruto

Pair: Multiship, endgame sasusaku (,,,will likely not be monogamous,,,)

Genre: Drama and Angst, we’re out here exploring the dark realities and dubious morality of actual kunoichi work. This is definitely not one for the kids. 

Fic Status: Incomplete

Chapter: 1/?

I just can’t stop thinking about how fucked up ninja politics is!! 

Naruto knew he was the golden-boy of Konoha; he knew the combined guilt over his childhood mistreatments paired with his current habit of saving the world from apocalypse ever few years or so, had  landed him in a favourable public light. Everyone owed Naruto something, and that debt was all the more important precisely because he wasn't the type to ask for a favour to be returned. So when the Hidden-Leaf prodigy put in a good word for Sasuke Uchiha, clearly guilty of repeated treason, mass-murder and conspiring to literally destroy the world, Naruto knew his good word weighed heavier than any other argument. Naruto felt guilty, using everyone's good will towards him to make sure they settled on the verdict he wanted, but he'd feel guiltier if he dragged Sasuke back to Konoha just to seal his chakra and let him rot in a cell. And so, with a miraculously light sentence, the last surviving Uchiha was yet again roaming the village that had taken away so much from him, cautiously rediscovering his home.

"Stop slurping so damn loud, you idiot," Sasuke grumbled, pulling Naruto out of his thoughts. Naruto took a fresh mouthful of the noodles, slurping and chewing as loud as he could to irritate his friend.

"That's how you're supposed to have ramen you bastard, how else is my man Ichiraku going to know I appreciate the delicious labour of his efforts?" Naruto shot the chef a thumbs up, and Ichiraku returned it without missing a beat. Turning back to Sasuke, Naruto continued to egg him on, taking on a tone of authority.

"I thought you'd have more class than that actually, can't believe you're letting your pride get in the way of proper, ramen-eating etiquette," he said, punctuating his sentence with yet another loud slurp. The last noodle to be suctioned into his mouth whipped around on its way up and Sasuke flinched back, avoiding the spray of broth as Naruto's facade of credibility broke off into muffled laughter.

It felt good, laughing like that, and Naruto let himself indulge in the feeling. This is what it was always supposed to be. No traumatic moral crisis, no divine prophecy, definitely no loss of limbs; just two fools keeping each other good company over good food.

"Don't get too pissed, man," Naruto grinned at his companion. "I'm enjoying the moment."

All that's missing is Sakura.

And suddenly, the air around them grew frigid.

"She isn't missing," Sasuke stated, face carefully blank. "She's at the hospital, and clearly didn't want to come."

Sasuke picked at his bowl, as the barest frown formed on his face, gaze growing distant. Naruto felt his heart drop, landing somewhere between lungs and diaphragm, pulse growing arrhythmic. Not this. The cold new void in his chest sent chills to his fingertips, guilt like a lead blanket smothering him. Not more of this.  

Of course he'd felt it; the chasm that was suddenly evident between them. The way she'd been feigning eye contact by looking at the space just between their eyebrows, keeping conversations short and pleasant and meaningless. The smile on her lips and the tensed muscles of her neck. She hadn't spent more than five minutes with them since Sasuke's pardon, always excusing herself with half-hearted apologies and promises to make it next time, all unfulfilled.      

"Hey," Naruto retorted, scrambling for words to warm them back up. "Don't be like that. You know Sakura's busy right now, with all her rehab patients and setting up the clinic. You should have seen her before. All she could think about was the three of us together again, like old times."

Like it was before they'd been forced to age decades in the span of a few years; when the worst of their fallings-out lasted a week at most, easily -if reluctantly- reconciled by offering to pay for a meal. Walking side by side through forests, chasing animals for old ladies, laughing at Kakashi's dead-pan humour. The sun that shone in Naruto's memories washed everything a soft pink.        

Sasuke scoffed, and shot an incredulous look at Naruto.

"What, so she could watch us fight over ramen? Maybe we throw it back a bit and beat each other up?"

"Hey," Naruto shrugged, "its dinner and a show. You know how Sakura is about bargain deals."

"No, Naruto. I don't. I was batshit insane for three years while you two figured out how to be friends." Sasuke's frown was clearly present on his face now, and fishing the required bills out of his pocket, he left the money he owed next to his half eaten bowl. " I don't know a thing about Sakura. And I think she'd like to keep it that way."

Naruto grabbed Sasuke by the shoulders and leaned into him with the weight of his arms, holding his friend in place. It was maddening, finding the balance between anchor and shackle. "Hey," he started softly, relieved to feel some of the tension leave Sasuke's body.

"You're a bigger dumbass than I thought if you feel like Sakura doesn't want you here."

When Sasuke turned his gaze away, Naruto followed, keeping their eyes locked. The trepidation on Sasuke's face was a new addition to short list of expressions Naruto had seen him make since the end of the war. He didn't like it.

"She has every reason to hate me," Sasuke rued, and the weight of his words were suffocating. "She just can't say it to my face."

Naruto knew Sakura's tears flowed freely. She was generous with them, and they were full of love and frustration. She'd cried on everyone's behalf, feeling pain for them when they couldn't, and burdened herself with a piece of everyone's troubles, shouldering as much as she thought she could. He'd seen it when she thought nobody was paying attention; after long shifts at the trauma center, after shedding the persona of stability and support she put on for the orphans that visited her for therapy. The solitary grief, and the resolution to go back and do it all again.

She'd held Naruto countless times, playing with his hair and whispering soothing words to him when the weight of everyone's hopes and expectations clutched him by the throat and squeezed, tears glittering in her eyes like exposed minerals in cracked ore. But Naruto had never seen her weep with such devastated love and grief for anyone but Sasuke Uchiha, determined to pull as many of his traumas onto herself as she could, all of them even, if only she knew how.      

"Trust me," Naruto laughed, giving Sasuke a playful shake. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he teased, "That's impossible. She had every chance to let you bleed out, but here you are, you ungrateful prick. She'll come around, when she's less busy. And if not, we'll just have to take her schedule into our own hands. Granny owes us for saving the universe, so I'm sure we can get a few strings pulled."

Sasuke sighed, resigned, and leaned into Naruto's hold, who in turn obliged his friend's rare request to be supported. Nothing could breach the silence that enveloped them, as the din of the eatery faded away until the only thing Naruto could hear was Sasuke's steady breath.

"Naruto," he whispered, drawing the boy's attention back to their conversation. "She won't let me fix things. Everything's fucked and I don't know how I'm supposed to fix it."  

Just stay here, this time.

Breaking from his usual guise of positivity, Naruto spoke frankly.

"She needs us, Sasuke, just like we need her. Nobody's gonna understand how fucked up we are but us."

And Naruto knew that was the truth. He knew that her scaffolding of constant occupation was weakening, that there was only so far she could run before the absurd weight of it all caught up, and Sakura was overdue to collapse any time now. He also knew that this time, they'd be there to pick her back up. And maybe, they could put the pieces together better this time. Make things lighter, mend a few fractures.  

"Give it some time," Naruto consoled. "It'll fix itself."

[121distractions]

22- BANLIEUE (housing estates)

My years in college are of no use to me. I do not like what I am learning, I do not like the people I am learning with and I do not understand what I am doing there. All I want is to fuck, dance and get well dressed. I let others decide for me and I ended up with an economy bachelor’s degree and now I am trying to learn law. The law (except the history of law) and the economy, are boring me to death. I like to draw women’s shoes, pants or hats; but even for that, I do not take myself seriously, it is a hobby, it is not a job. One must do law when one do not know what to do because it leads to everything. Lawyers, clerks of notaries, bailiffs, they are characters from Balzac novels, it is not my future. The students, there, behave like fascists and are homophobic. They are surprised that I do not want to do “military preparations”. They spend every weekend at the barracks and when they will do their military service, they will already be officers. No, I will not be a just a stupid soldier, because my military service, I will not do it. The faith in which I grew up forbid to do military service, non-violence was basic. Objectors of conscience must spend twice as much time in prison as they would have spent in military service. When a “brother” went off to do his two years in prison, there was a farewell party, gifts and a lot of prayers. We were all very proud. Some made the effort to visit them in Fleury-Mérogis and had to share their experience on the stage with the microphone at the desk. Even if the speech was spontaneous and would not be judged, it was necessary to pay attention to the gesture, the contact with the auditory and the construction of the message. The prisoners’ letters were read in front of the whole congregation. New prayers would follow. I have never been to Fleury, I was too young. Faith has become superfluous to me, but disgust for the primitive male universe has remained. The uniforms are beautiful and the adventures of Jeff Stryker in prison are very exciting but nothing works, I would do anything to be discharged, P4, psychologically disturbed!

The lesson is really too annoying, Nathalie offers to go to her home to listen to records. Nathalie was Catherine’s best friend at the Émile Dubois High School. They wanted her to repeat her 11th grade so her parents put her in an expensive private school. Catherine partied too many with me and did not get her baccalaureate; I had it in extremis and so did Nathalie. We are now together studying law. Nathalie’s world is very different from Catherine’s. She also lives in a recent building of the 13th arrondissement, but not in a project. It is a residence with intercom. Nathalie uses only her particle for her name but on the bell, there is her full name “Brugerolle de Fraissinette” It does not leave much room for first names. I finally understand why sometimes she initials with a BdF. I never dared to ask. So chic! The apartment is huge but with low ceilings. It is dark, the Venetian blinds are just slightly open, Chinese furniture in black enamel occupy all the space. Nathalie’s mother is Eurasian of Vietnamese origin. She is very typical. Very skinny with a lot of very black hair, she is doing her nails with a small YSL bottle. She really looks like Eartha Kitt! She does not get up to say hello, she does not want to ruin her nail polish. Nathalie teaches me the word “quadroon”, Nathalie Brugerolle de Fraissinette is very proud to be quadroon. For me it sounds more like a descendant of Crusaders knights, but it just means she is a quarter Asian. Nobody could imagine it. Nathalie is a little round and very white, there may be in her eyes a little sign of bridle but you really have to know. The father is an engineer on an oil platform in Abu Dhabi and is never there. We head giggling down the hall. Eartha Kitt understands right away that it is not today that her daughter will finally have a boyfriend. Nathalie’s room is tiny, but she has, for herself, a compact Philips Hi-Fi with record player, FM radio and “auto-reverse” cassette player. She loves “Mad World” from Tears for Fears. I had the feeling that last week when I told her that I did not have the money to buy it, that she had never heard of it, I am intrigued. Will she offer it to me? No, she offers me to share her “Ham-mashed potatoes.” There are so few, I leave her the only calories that she is allowing herself. It is time to go to the Luco. I say it is a good idea but what is the Luco exactly? I keep that silly question for myself. “Au revoir Madame”. Eartha Kitt has a nail that worries her a lot and launches a “Goodbye, Philippe” without lifting her head. We prepare our orange cards, the metro pass for the zones 1 and 2. We have “the ticket chic and shock” as the advertisement says and we leave for the garden of the Luxembourg; the “Luco” in student lingo.

The cheapest orange card is always zone 1 and 2. Zone 1 is Paris “Intra Muros”, zone 2 is the very near suburbs. I know that the real Zone is Malakoff and everybody in the suburbs are zonards. Less than 50 years ago, the former site of the fortifications of Paris was a gigantic wasteland covered with shantytowns. The border of Malakoff had nothing to envy to the Brazilian favelas. I read Celine’s “Journey at the End of the Night” (but in the edition of the Pleiades) and the hell he describes is my suburb, it is Malakoff, gloomy and sordid. Malakoff is in Zone 2, what a luck, nothing differentiates me from real Parisians. Zone 3 is too much of shame! Zone 4, it may be well if you live in Versailles or Le Vésinet but zone 5 is again the horror. Anyway, I also know that leaving Malakoff means having to provide for myself, and I am not ready for it yet. I must still endure the stepfather.

In zone 3, there had been the year before Gilles. Gilles was only 16 years old, and I was not adult yet, we met in The Broad. He lived with his parents in Noisy-le-Sec. We waited until nine in the morning to have no one at my house in Malakoff. I was super tired but Gilles was very cute and a slut in bed. It was worth staying awake, three hours of fucking before having to go off again. I just had a single bed and it is in pretty jolly mood that I was driving Gilles in the big parental bed, the ultimate blasphemy. A bed made of rosewood with floral inlays, a legacy of Granny, the stepfather’s grandmother. After adding positions to the Kama-sutra, the sheets were not always very clean. We were leaving to the bathroom looking for a sponge, hot water and a hair dryer and it looked like nothing happened. It made us laugh so much. Gilles adored me, I think I was his first love. After a few weeks of our insomniac loves, I had to meet his best friends in Noisy. It was far but how to resist the curiosity to discover his home. Arriving in his housing estate, I had already the feeling that despite our identical proletarian social origins, our environments were very different. The north of Paris was much more “violent” than the south. My religious education had been very strict but had been an education. I had learned to read, alone, in conversation or in speech before an assembly, I had a vocabulary. Having read the Bible three times from top to bottom had eventually changed my view of the world. The representation of the blinds of Jericho by Nicolas Poussin in the Louvre, that was fascinating for me. Gilles’ 5 friends listened to rap that I never heard, … in French. They had looked at me, dismayed, I was just clean on me and a little classy. They wanted to shout, “Shit, what are you doing with a bougie?” but had only asked how we had met. It had not been a question, it had been an accusation. Gilles had tried to come out with me, but it was not going as planned. I had seen their universe collapse before their eyes, their childhood friend had just become a fag. Only the curvy girlfriend seemed a little interested in my presence and ready to adopt me. I had invented an excuse to slip away, … forever. It was really too complicated. If I had decided to disappear from Gilles’ life, he had not said his last word. I had found him back recently, more beautiful than ever, successively at the door of The Broad and then of Les Bouchons. He had seen me, talked in a low voice with the other bouncer and left a little while before allowing me to go inside. Was I dreaming? Another time, while Yves the door guy was alone, he told me he liked me but that I had not been nice with Gilles at all. He had been kicked out of his house after coming out, tried to reach me but I ignored him and he had very difficult moments. Now everything was better, but he was mad at me for it. I did not know yet that it would go even further. Two years later, he would have the main role in Jean-Daniel Cadinot’s new X movie “Under the sign of the Stallion” with, as a commercial, a beautiful picture of him in bleached blonde. I would watch the movie, but I would not recognize his cock, it was as if he had a stunt for the sex scenes. I knew his cock well enough! Later, he would die of AIDS, like everyone else. I DID NOT KILL GILLES! The suburbs killed Gilles.

Malakoff is still communist but more and more annexed by the capital. The Theater 71 is supposed to attract all the Parisian intelligentsia, the National Institute for Statistics has the largest building since 74 and the law section of the famous medical school Paris V is overflowing since 1976. Yes, I find myself in college 10 minutes walk from my home. Each train of the Métro delivers its hundreds of beautiful speakers apprentices but I arrive from the other side. I did not cross the ring. I hate not being Parisian. Jimmy Sommerville sings: “Run away, turn away, run away …” But how to survive? I think I am a suburbanite but I am wrong, I am already the worst Parisian. I suffocate as soon as I see these lamentable little pavilions and want to throw up in front of the projects. That is why, Gilles was not possible. My world is civilized, I do not get thrown out, it is me who decides when I go!

The stepfather, he works for TF1, the national television, in Paris rue Cognacq-Jay. He is a kind of a storekeeper. One day he brings back an ad from the collective notice board. A film director exchanges an independent room, not under the attic, in the 15th arrondissement for some hours of babysitting. Mom does not cry, Mom never cries, but she is sad. She did not see much of me anymore, but I was still living there. The former communist woman was so proud to have a son who was studying. Jimmy continues to sing: “You leave in the morning with everything you own in a little black case, Alone on a platform, the wind and the rain on a sad and lonely face”. I am not on the platform of a train station, but on the Métro platform and I am leaving only 3 kilometers away. I will come back for the Friday night dinners, those with the snails and the beautiful porcelain.

[theonceoverthinker]

OUAT 3X13 - Witch Hunt

Hey! What’s Zelena’s favorite food?

A sand-WITCH, of course!

...Got it. Shutting up. Review’s below. Read it, bitches.

Press Release

Emma arrives in Storybrooke with Henry and reunites with her friends and family, only to discover that no one remembers how they were transported back - or the past year they had spent back in Fairy Tale Land. But Emma is sure that someone in town is responsible for this new curse and teams up with Regina in an attempt to uncover their identity. Meanwhile, in the Fairy Tale Land that was during the past year, Regina, with the aid of Robin Hood, attempts to break into her castle, which has been overtaken by the Wicked Witch.

Main Thoughts - Characters/Stories/Themes and Their Effectiveness

Past

Regina and Zelena’s first meeting is just straight-up iconic! The buildup to it is incredible, with little hints scattered all around the episode that the two are related and that Zelena’s power is a completely different horse than Regina’s, even down to the color. But there’s this sense of relation because of how sassy the two of them are.

“Despite my shortcomings, I’ve made something of myself.” This whole scene perfectly characterizes Zelena. Regina has been a force of antagonism for a lot of people, but no one has had the strength to truly do something about it. The most that could be done is a level of subduing her or having Henry tame her. But now, an interesting balance was struck. Zelena is more powerful than Regina and puts her on the prowl with that sense of antagonism BUT there’s also another layer to it. She allows for the integrity of Regina’s character development to stay intact. Because her beef is with something Cora did and pointed at Regina for superficial reasons -- that of being born (And holy crap, I just noticed a parallel between this and the Daniel incident and that’s a topic for another day), Regina is still able to be a hero without coming across as torturing someone she already hurt. Mix this in with that gorgeous green all over Rebecca Mader’s body and various pieces of iconography and you have something truly cool!

Present

I really like the handling of the confusion and paranoia throughout the town.

Leroy (The embodiment of the town’s voice at large) as well as the rest of the “rabble” blaming Regina make a lot of sense to me. As I pointed out last time, while our mains have bonded with Regina and understand the depth of her love for Henry, the rest of the town hasn’t had those experiences. They’ve just seen her as the woman who cursed the kingdom and threatened them at nearly every public appearance she’s ever made. And seeing Emma and Regina aware of that and using it to their advantage was utterly fantastic! It’s a really methodical approach that speaks to how self aware they’ve become.

It’s such a clever plan too! The only thing that holds it back from being a straight-up success is their lack of knowledge about Regina and Zelena’s relation. And seeing everything play out is satisfying!

Insights - Stream of Consciousness

-Wicked always WIIIIIIIINNNNNNSSSSSSS!

-”A family could live on what this is worth. And she just left it all behind.” That begs the question: DID she leave that stuff behind? I mean, Regina dressed very differently in Storybrooke than she did in the Enchanted Forest, but why leave the jewels?!

-I like how Zelena uses magic for all the things that a normal person would use it for. Getting dressed is a pain? Use fucking magic for it!

-ROLAND! The precious baby!!!

-”I’m ALWAYS thinking about Henry.” Awwwwww!!!

-Go Mama Mills! Monkey’s flying at an adorable kid and Regina swoops in and saves him! Noice!

-Damn, Regina! That is a high quality toy you made!

-I love how whether they read the story or not, everyone just KNOWS that Snow can talk to birds.

-”Smart money’s on yes.” Why yell at him Snow? He’s not wrong! Pessimistic, maybe, but that’s literally in his fucking name!

-”He’ll show up Swan. He always does.” I really wish this line was said in good faith, but Killian’s eye roll makes me think it’s ship war nonsense. Dude! Neverland’s over! Let’s be done with the machismo!

-”The bookworm’s right.” Look at that little side eye.

-”Oz? That place is real?” Aww! Cute Snow/Emma parallel for later when she discovers the Wicked Witch is real.

-”We we cell mates.” Ginny’s freakin’ tone during that exchange! Yes, you, Mary Margaret, in your most preppy-prep school voice and manner, were definitely in a cell! XD

-Dude! That Regal Believer exchange was just the saddest thing in the world! Regian can hardly move, so much so that Emma basically has to usher her out to not cause even more of a scene.

-As a side note, I love Regina’s Storybrooke outfit in this episode!

-Emma and Regina’s exchange in Granny’s alcove is just so amazing! Emma’s not without her reasons to distrust Regina and makes that clear and Regina’s aware enough of that but not without reservations of her own to Emma’s accusatory nature.

-How much you want to bet Granny recommended the crossbow to Little John?!

-Okay, so I am a total carnivore and I laughed my ass off when that arrow missed! XD

-I love how Rebecca Mader is dressed so down that a shot and a music swell is needed to show off who she is.

-”Who knew an Evil Queen had a soft spot for children?” You pressed the Henry button, Robin. You shouldn’t have done that.

-”I may have done bad things in my life, but at least I own it.” Regina, NONE of that works the way you think it does. For one thing, a good portion of your time prior to the curse (As well as after it), you denied you were the Evil Queen. For another, admitting you’re bad doesn’t do anything to lessen the effects of the bad things you do. Regina, Reggie-kins! You were doing so well!

-”I inadvertently put her in harm’s way during a job.” I love how freakin’ vague this line is. Like, I feel like there was a “Murder Most Foul”-esque red herring twist -- even more so than the one we got -- that would gel with a Robin flashback (Which was desperately needed).

-I love how this is framed as Henry not being himself because he’s not reacting to baby stuff, but he’s a freakin’ kid! I’d be telling her to buzz off as well!

-”Baby’s are stronger than you think.” Did you enjoy that double entendre, Jane? XD Because I did!

-I like how magic has a scientific element to it occasionally. For just as much as it’s a matter of talent or an ability by birth, magic can be learned and some of the strongest practitioners got to where they are by studying their asses off. There’s a diversity to it that reflects the diversity of skills.

-”I know just who to tell.” Yes, Regina!!! You told the embodiment of the town at large!!! Awesome decision!

-Nurse! Stick the fucking syringe in Little John! Yeah, he’s acting weird, but he’s not attacking just yet, so get a move on!

-”I’m a doctor, not a vet.” We REALLY need to get a magical vet on staff. I feel like Storybrooke has way too many animal problems to not have one.

-I love Regina and Emma’s conversation about stakeouts! It’s so subdued and domestic and FUNNY! XD

-Aww! Henry has friends! I wonder if said friends are wondering what the hell happened to Henry. Like, are there fics akin to “Stand By Me” where his friend group goes looking for him? Does Henry still text them? There’s a fucking story here!

-“Enough with the martyr complex, Regina. Try growing up without a mother.” ...She has a twinge of a point there, Regina.

-”They’re both dead.” I love how Rebecca Mader plays off learning that information. Like, her facial expressions there are divine!

-Has anyone ever written a fic where Zelena DID make the time traveling spell and used it on her terms?

-”Someone to destroy.” OMFG! Lana’s face! I fucking love it!

-”Why’d she tell you all of this?” Dude, she said two pieces of info that are the most general topics in the world when dealing with kids.

-”Maybe we can stop for ice cream.” BAD IDEA!

-”He took on simian form with the added bonus of wings.” A touch redundant, Killian.

-”Seriously? She’s real too?” I love that adorably innocent way that line is given! It’s so cute!

-OMG! I love the Rumple reveal! First, we see some straw. Then we see a male’s hand. Finally, we see his rugged and haggard face! That was so small, but so good!

-Rumple’s poor floof! It’s all gross!

-Rumple’s cage outfit looks more Weaver than Rumple! XD

-Okay, seeing Rumple not in makeup and acting crazy may quite possibly be the scariest thing in this series!

Arcs - How Are These Storylines Progressing?

The Wicked Witch - Damn! Rebecca Mader plays Zelena playing a midwife flawlessly! It’s up there with Pan as just amazing! Also, Zelena is freakin’ clever as hell! She takes full advantage of her knowledge of the people of Storybrooke to get exactly what she needs. And as I mentioned before, the flashback scenes perfectly characterize her. She’s sinister, has greater depth to her, and is just so cool! And speaking of cool, while the player (Zelena) is revealed to the audience, there’s a great element of mystery still going on, keeping the season from just feeling like a waiting game. Why is everyone being turned into monkeys vampire-style? What happened during that year? Who knows!

Regina’s Redemption - Like with the past few episodes, I really enjoy Regina’s character development. We’re starting to enter the payoff stage of her redemption as she further grows on better terms with everyone and protecting not just herself and Henry, but others too.

Killian’s Redemption - “Is he alive?” I love the way that Killian’s eyes just show that it’s something he’s genuinely concerned about. Absent is the snarkier, less mature version of himself and here, we have a Killian who recognizes that a good person’s life is in jeopardy and genuinely just doesn’t want him to be dead.

Favorite Dynamic

Regina and Emma. Who fucking else? The friendliness between these two set up by Regina’s fake memories and her means of stopping the curse perfectly allows for the niceness between the two of them to fit like a glove! It’s not full on best friend niceness, but it’s a niceness that reflects what they did for each other in “Coming Home” and reflects well on their history.

Writer

Here we have Jane Espenson flying solo as the writer of this episode! She did a fantastic job. The stories throughout the segments are very simple, but the complexity is allowed to shine through the intricacies of the characters. The dialogue and thought processes of everyone are exceptionally well handled and there’s a lot of comedy that just works so well!

Rating

Golden Apple. While I normally reserve a Golden Apple for something with a bit more of a thematic resonance, the execution of the stories here is so good that it doesn’t need a theme in that way. The story and writing are exceptionally good here, playing it simple, but smart and allowing the nuances to speak for themselves. There’s a lot of great elements and great and iconic moments here. It’s a fun step on the journey of this new arc.

Flip My Ship - The Home of All Things “Shippy Goodness”

Swan Fire - For all of the worrying that Neal does for Emma, it’s really heartwarming to see how much she worries about him!

Outlaw Queen - I feel like for purposes of full disclosure, I should preface this by saying that I’m not a super strong Outlaw Queen shipper. That said, I want to like them (As I want to like all things), and I’m really liking them in 3B (I liked them the first time around in my initial watch of 3B too)! Lana and Sean have good chemistry and the writing gives them a nice bit of banter. You get the feeling that while they don’t despise each other, they’re not on good terms and that trust has to build between them. And because this is early on in Robin’s existence, he’s allowed to be a simpler character. The love story between them starts out simple and to the point, allowing for it to be a great romance story.

Swan Queen - You really see the developed faith and trust between Emma and Regina and it’s so nice to see them being much more open with each other. Look at their dialogue in the office and how honest and kind they are to each other and it’s night-and-day compared to Season 1, but so well built! And look at those gentle smiles! It’s so sweet!! The payoff here is just so good!

-----

I’m so glad I was able to get more in-depth about this episode! Thank you all for reading and to those fabulous folks at @watchingfairytales!

Next time, we’ll see another looming presence that towers over our heroes. ;)

Season 3 Total (126/220)

Writer’s Scores: Adam and Eddy (39/60) Kalinda Vazquez (17/40) Andrew Chambliss (27/50) Jane Espenson (20/30) David Goodman (20/40) Robert Hull (20/40) Christine Boylan (20/20)* Daniel Thomsen (20/30) * Indicates that their work for the season is complete

Operation Rewatch Archives

[shinkookiefanfiction]

SHE'S MY NOONA

Chapter 13

1 year went by slowly.

Things changed alot. Seung gi got married with his love and became the son in law of the rich billionaire while Cha eun woo just became the known C.E.O in his company.

Go ara found a living after BTS left, she got married and became a house wife with Lee soo hyuk a street model while Shin hye, Min ah's other friend just continued working hard for her family.

And BTS? Ooh they were international boy band their songs were big hit

Min ah's p.o.v

As for me i was able to pay for my granny's surgery that i was relieved but i managed to get the money by working at the big hit company. This wasn't what i was planning but they were willing to help me since i was close to the company and it could pay big time.

I didn't expect to be given a job as black pink assistance manager also counted as an errand girl since thats what those evil girls are doing especially that Jennie she treats me badly as if i ever did something bad to her, i really hate her.

It was break time

I had to meet up with my friends as we were busy making stories. "So Min ah i heard you are still being harassed by those blackpink." Shin hye cried having a coffee.

"It was bad luck i told her." Go ara cried as i remember telling her it was a secret that i was having a bad time. "Just leave the job it's not your thing, find something descent." She cried

"True i wish to give up but i wanted to see someone before i leave." I said as my friends stared at me confused wanting to know but i couldn't tell.

"She is always like when i ask her who is it." Go ara cried "yah, Min ah you're the only one of our friends and other classmates who hasn't gotten married till when should i arrange a blind date for you?" The fancy Shin hye would cry.

"Yah!, i'm done dating, i can just be a nun." I said as i laughed at my friends who were busy remarking on what i said. "Yah i won't be your friend if you won't marry." Shin hye cried as Go ara hit her after making such a remark.

"Yah Min ah is having a tough time right now and i don't think it is the right time for her to hook up with a random guy." Go ara supported.

"By the way you said that night you were with your dongsae, where is he you never introduced him to us." She cried "aah, he went abroad so i can't get intouch with him." "Really? Then why did ara tell me you were hidding him if you weren't dating!?" Shin hye was being persistent even after i told her that Seung gi cheated on me she almost destroyed the wedding.

I split the coffee i was drinking landing to Go ara choking onto what Shin hye spoke. " yah shin hye it wasn't like that, he's just not used to speak to other people." I lied not realising it was too much.

"But that guy looks so familiar like some cel-." I managed to interrupt the talkative Go ara by stuffing alot of cupcakes in her mouth.

I then got a call from my boss who was the evil witch Jennie ordering me to hurry back to the company.

"Let me guess the evil Jennie." Shin hye guessed referring to how i saved her. "I have to go guys." I excused myself living my two friends.

End of p.o.v

Jennie's p.o.v

I was so tired after a long time rehersal as my manager kept on correcting me all the time. "Excuse me when is that girl bringing my coffee i'm so dry." I cried as i saw the girl come running carring the damn coffee.

"Mianhaeyo i got stuck bit managed to run." She smiled handling me the coffee what's with the fake smile i know she hates me i too hate her. The coffee she bought was warm but i didn't want it.

I managed to open and spilled in infront of her as some landed on her shoes "its warm i wanted it hot." I smirked "are you still going to smile?"

The next thing she did was still smile "Mianhaeyo the coffee didn't suit your test." She said as she left.

Meanwhile in the US

Bts were in their rooms finishing to pack their stuffs. "I can't believe we are going back it felt like forever!" Jin cried as the others complimented.

"Should we atleast celebrate our last before leaving." Jimin asked as they all agreed. Jungkook seemed to be happy and moving on but his friends knew he had changed much he would seduce girls with his charms and get a temper on a small little thing. He was not the little innocent Jungkook they knew.

"Yah should we call or go to the strip club?" Taehyung cried as Suga and Jin shrugged not agreeing with their dongsae but the others agreed even the young maknae agreed to go there.

As the other hyungs left first Suga and Jin pulled the maknae back "yah Jungkook you know you don't have to go." Jin cried as he clutched him.

"Yah hyung what are you doing,we've been this through alot why not?" He cried "if its because of that bet along time you shouldn't do it." Jin kept insisting to who was not paying attention.

"Then are you trying to shutter away your old self because this isn't you." Suga smirked.

"Aniyo i've just matured." He said hearing a spark of anger. He decided to leave but Suga was still persistent not forgetting Jungkook's anger issues.

"Wae?, is it because of her that you changed this much?" Suga cried making Jungkook stop as he clenched his fist,"stop."

"That's right it must hit the spot." Suga continued asvhe tried to stop the two "you guys." "Stop talking about someone i already forgot." He cried "then why anger why move on like this it's not like you two were dating." Suga had gone too far making Jungkook angry that he punched him hard to his mouth making him nosebleed.

"Guys stop it!, Jungkook you aren't in your right mind you've really changed." Jin cried hurrying to support Suga.

Jungkook suuddenly came to the point of realization and left to join his other hyungs. He would just drink that night realizing it was hard to forget Min ah even if he tried to his hurt won't just accept he wanted to get wasted that night.

Back to Korea

Shin min ah was in the washroom cursing at Jennie quietly, she thought she was having a bad day. She just wished something nice would happen to her for once.

Thats when some employees entered in the washroom gossiping about celebrities " hey did you hear BTS are expected to be back by tomorrow morning isn't that great!" One of them cried making Min ah shocked by the news.

"It still hasn't been published but i overheard Jennie and director talk about it." Another said "sheesh i really don't like that Jennie girl she's so bad i just can't believe Jungkook dated her secretly with that attitude." "Mwo!!" Min ah and the other girls who didn't know she was listening cried.

Min ah's p.o.v

I secretly overheard their conversation, i was so fluttered and excited that BTS were coming back i smiled as i stared at the black braclet on my hand. I still haven't forgotten how we spent our memories together but i must be looking too greedy for a noona.

I was right i shouldn't be swayed by his charm i kept looking at his image that was charming and adorable smile that i missed.

But then continue hearing their conversation took my breath suddenly my heart was beating like crazy. I suddenly felt down "why am i like this must i be sick i felt my heart race.

"Why do i feel empty wherever i hear their music and - Andwe Min ah come to your senses." I hit myself

Later

I managed to get out when i saw Cha eun woo in his new black car. He was there smiling at me so i decided to get the lift since it won't hurt to take an offer.

"So did your boss promote you with a new car too." I smiled at him who just chuckled back. " ne by the way i wanted you to be the first person to treat." He cried

"You are going to treat me out?!" I happily cried since i was so hungry "yeesh you are really that hungry then lets go it something like a date." He cried reminding me the promise i once made to Jungkook, i felt really bad.

We then went over to eat. He took me to a fancy restaurant that i didn't expect since everything was expensive. "Yah Eun woo why here do you know it is expensive." I whispered to him "don't worry i just wanted you to taste something new for your menu." He smiled as he started eating using his fork and knife. " i have a new job

I stared at the beef on my plate "Jungkook also loved beef." I muttered not realising i was speaking my thoughts out loud.

"What is it, something wrong?" He asked me as i continued to eat, sincerely it was sweet "i guess its nice." He cried as he cut another slice and gave it to me.

Cha eun woo's p.o.v

I gave her my remaining slice as she just smiled at me making my heart flutter "kumaoh." But i didn't like how she kept bringing up that guy no matter how he left i just had to make sure i tell her cause this was my only way to win her before another person gets in the way.

I then took her home as she still continued to address me friendly i really hated it but i was still scared that i would loose my friendship with her but i then decided.

"Min ah..." she turned to look at me.

....................................................

That night

Shin min ah's p.o.v

I couldn't sleep or eat even after what happened in the car i couldn't bare to believe it was Eun woo to do that.

Flashback

"Min ah do you always see me as your friend in everything we do?" He asked thinking of it as a joke "Yah eun woo what stupid question is that?" I cried but he grabbed my hand making me to face him as i just wondered what happened to him all of a sudden.

"Min ah mianhaeyo i was not there for you during your breakup." He cried thinking he reacted this way because he felt sorry. "Its okay i was fine." I said to him. "You should leave." I continued as i turned to leave but he again grabbed my hand "i'm not done." He said gently pulling me for a kiss.

My heart was beating so fast out of shock but something else happened this action brought back some memories i didn't want to remember. Thats right a kiss i shared with Jungkook who didn't tell me. I managed to hurrily back out and ran out of embarrassment

End of flashback

Oh God! Ottokye i cried opening my computer to play games but i decided to enter a site where you can ask question about love and get help.

So i made a fake name and logged in as i typed my problem.

'Dear helper i heard your advices help can you also help me?' It didn't take long before she answered 'yes i'm of great help and you made a right decision coming so state your problem.' She typed 'I don't know about this but what should i do when i realize that i kissed my close friend when i got drunk and what do you think that person thinks of me if he hasn't told me.'

It took long enough for that stupid answer till i gave up. I then opened their pictures unluckily to see Jungkook's picture, i just kept staring at him he looked so perfect just sitting there smiling like a bunny. I realised i was lost when i calmed myself "aniyo don't get fooled he just left obviously running away from me." I cried as i went to sleep only making it worse still thinking about the two kisses but how can Eun woo just do that not thinking of how it will affect our friendship.

I just decided to go outside for a walk outside still thinking if the boys were doing okay and if they would arrive safety.

The next day

Alot of fans were at the airport very eary in the morning waiting for their idols. "Ommo, they are coming I've missed their handsome faces." "Especially my kookie i heard he's become more mature and sexy." Some fans cried as most reporters came pushing through the crowd soon after they arrived wearing cool clothes with their face masks.

Fans busy crying their names out and showing and expressing their love as they got into their vehicle. "Wow Army have gone really crazy they love us." Tae cried staring outside as screams got louder. "Stop doing that you never know what they'll do." Jin always worries

"Welcome back boys." The driver cried taking them to their company. "We should visit our parents soon I really miss them." Jimin cried telling his members.

Jungkook's p.o.v

Suga hyung and I were not in good terms since yesterday night, I didn't want to get reminded of the past since I vowed to forget it and the only way to do it I had to change since they all treated me like a child. I wasn't the innocent person they knew. I was different I could do and get everything a man needed all the girls that I desired I decided not to think lowly of myself maybe this was the other side of me.

We finally arrived as we hurriedly got out of the van and entered the company where we were greatly welcomed. We didn't care we just walked up to when the director came to congratulate us I realised they had arranged a welcome party for us.

I was so happy everyone wanted to know about our journey every staff surrounding us till when black pink came to us welcoming us back again. "I knew you guys would come so I prepared a funny entertainment for you guys." Jennie cried

"You can come out now!, she's my new assistance manager for the one year but she's a big fan of you so I had her prepare you something.

Then a thin young person wearing a tuxedo with a fake mustache she looked nervous But still familiar. She started dancing funny. Everyone was busy laughing till i soon realized it was her Min ah after hearing it from the manager "isn't that Min ah wasn't Jennie supposed to go on stage?" He cried as some of my hyungs also overheard as they stared at me.

I was taken aback i couldn't stop looking at her. I couldn't think mu mind went black even my heart began to flutter even if i got over her.

I just wanted to be by side, i just wanted to love her, i just wanted to kiss her, hold her or make love to her but what am i thinking Jungkook your just lying yourself its all a delusion she'll never see me even right infront of her she still sees that jerk, she never even remembered our kiss cause it's nothing to her.

Shin min ah's p.o.v

I was on stage embarrassed after Jennie trying to embarass me but still i was happy for the boys they were all back . I felt relieved but I suddenly realised someone was staring at me it was Jungkook but i turned away. I wanted to ran upto him and hug him, i must have missed his support and comfort.

Even if i was trying to bring myself to him how would i face him after breaking our promise and yet the damn kiss i couldn't remember and this was not how i pictured appearing this funny infront of him

I couldn't remember cause i was drunk i wish i could explain but he looked mad and with no reaction. He looked all matured and not the little innocent Jungkook i once knew, could i be wrong could he still remember me? I thought getting off stage.

After all he's someone international now would he talk to me again?i really miss him bogoshipeo.