#the important it's their name on the bank loan they asked when they brought it and on the bills they received every months bf the digital-

[pollyna]

Y'know what fuck it icemav having a mansion as house. Let them have these two stories with three bedrooms because one is for them, one is because they have to fake it until the repeal of the DADT (but it's mostly used as home office) and one for baby Bradley. A cozy place they call their own, and that makes them not afraid to be around each other or to be a family because they had such a shitty childhood that they now deserve everything they want, and that's that. A patio and a garden for every single time they try to grow something, where they fail but it's okay because mistakes aren't the end of the world, and they can learn how to fix them together. And a garage that gets bigger after five years of them living there because their neighbours don't need a piece of their share property, and so they buy it, and Mav goes a little crazy because all that space is his now. A house cat that gives everybody a heart attack for day and walking distance from most places where they can go walking that, at some point, Mav has to dust is bike.

[seasonofthewicth]

A Groovy Kind of Love - Epilogue

AN: It’s here... THE END!!! I’m almost sad to finish this fic off but I have absolutely loved writing it. Thank you so much to everyone who reblogged/commented/sent asks or spoke to me about this fic it means so much to me and I really appreciate you!!

warning: adult content ahead

previous chapter - masterlist - ao3

-- 

~1 year later~

“You need to rip the band-aid right off.”

Rowan could barely hold in his sigh at Lorcan’s pronouncement. He shared a look with Aedion who looked as baffled as Rowan felt. 

“What the fuck?” Aedion shook his head. “This is not the kind of thing you just ‘rip off’.”

“How do you have a girlfriend?” Fenrys’ bewildered voice came from Rowan’s side. 

Lorcan shrugged, unbothered by each of their reactions. “Don’t mess around. Just ask her, simple. Then it’s done.”

“Gods, above,” Rowan muttered. 

“I should never have asked you three, I should have gone to Aelin. Or even Dorian.” Aedion sighed before clasping his hands in front of himself. “Okay, serious suggestions only.”

“That was a serious suggestion.” Lorcan said, not attempting to hide his indignation. 

Aedion ignored him. “Fenrys go.”

The golden haired male took a moment to consider, barely holding back from stroking his chin as he considered the prompt. Of all of them, Fenrys had been in a relationship for the shortest amount of time, he and Dorian had only declared their relationship a few months earlier, even though Rowan knew things had been brewing for far longer. 

It was strange to think that all four of them were in committed relationships, especially as they all still lived in what had been the bachelor pad of their first apartment together.

Rowan would never admit it out loud, but he felt sentimental to the old loft, even with it’s broken window and ever leaking shower. The draughty exposed brick would always remind him of the parkour phase Aedion and Fenrys had gone through not long after they had moved in. They had taken every opportunity they could to throw themselves around the loft without any kind of skill and they had only stopped after their neighbour complained of unexplained banging noises.

The red stain on the hardwood floor, now covered by a blue bean bag chair, would always remind him of the time Aedion had brought home a girl who had–for reasons still unknown to Rowan–thrown a bottle of red wine at his head. None of them had bothered to clean the stain, in fact Lorcan had posed for a photo with it and Fenrys had framed it on their refrigerator where it had stayed for years. 

His main memory of their loft however, would always be their front door. The slab of wood, with it’s peeling grey paint and the lock that often stuck shut unless it was jiggled just so, would always remind him of Aelin. Rowan knew he wore a ridiculously soft smile at the thought, but he would always be grateful for the loft for bringing him to Aelin. Or more accurately, for bringing Aelin to him.

He swallowed the sly smirk that threatened at the memory of the time he had taken her against the door. She had wrapped her long legs around his waist as he had pounded into her and her nails had clawed his back as she had moaned in his ear. He had buried his teeth into her neck, savouring the salty and sweet taste of her skin on his tongue. He hadn’t been able to leave the loft without getting semi-hard for weeks. 

“What are your first memories of Lysandra?” Fenrys asked eventually, somehow pulling Rowan’s thoughts from Aelin. It was a difficult task, even over a year into their relationship Rowan was still completely enamoured. “If you want to go big you could do something to do with that, girls love sappy shit.”

Rowan smiled as Lorcan nodded solemnly, finally appearing to take Aedion’s request for help seriously. His best friend seemed to consider the suggestion, crossing his arms over his broad chest and surveying the three of them where they sat before him. 

“That could work.” He said slowly. 

“Great.” Fenrys grinned. “We need to brainstorm. What are your big moments with Lysandra? Like when did you and Lys first meet?”

Aedion shrugged again. “I knew of her for years through Aelin but I only remember meeting her properly when Aelin moved in.”

Fenrys’ enthusiasm was rapidly gaining momentum. “Right, and any special memories from then? Any big gestures you could make as a throwback?”

Aedion’s eyes widened before a burst of laughter sprung from his lips. Rowan shared a look with Lorcan who shrugged. 

“I told her I’d marry her then,” Aedion said, shaking his head and running a hand through his shoulder length hair. 

“What?” Rowan barked his disbelief.

“You’re not serious.” Even Fenrys seemed bewildered.

Aedion only laughed again. “I said ‘girl, imma marry you’.”

Rowan groaned as he lifted a hand to cup his forehead before dragging it down over his eyes. 

“You’re no better than him.” Fenrys said with a shake of his head as he gestured to Lorcan who did nothing but smirk back at him. 

Aedion flipped him off. “I don’t come close to his level of inadequacy, at least I can actively take steps towards relationship milestones. Have you even brought up moving in with Elide to her yet?”

Lorcan scowled, before muttering, “don’t change the subject.”

Aedion took a sharp intake of breath, reading himself to speak, and Rowan dragged his hand away from his eyes. There wasn’t time to let those two get into it.

“Not to in any way agree with Lorcan but I think he could have a point,” He said quickly. “You love her and want to marry her, tell her that. Down on one knee with the ring, I doubt she’d say no.”

Rowan knew his words were the truth. He had known Aedion for a decade now and he had never seen his best friend as smitten as he was with Lysandra, nor had he seen him so secure. Aedion and Lysandra played off each other, she settled him and he excited her. 

Rowan knew Lysandra would say yes but he understood Aedion’s need to over-prepare. While it was standard for Aedion to mull over the details, his mind was one for strategy and weighing-up the risks and it was part of what made him so good at his job, and Rowan knew that while this wasn’t a risk, it was important to his friend to get it right.

Proposing to Aelin was a thought that had drifted around the edges of Rowan’s mind for a while. From the start Rowan had known Aelin was it for him and he knew he wanted to marry her at some point in the future but the pressure of how to do it right, the way to make it right for Aelin was a task he knew he’d work hard on. 

He knew Aelin would say yes even if he asked her over a mouthful of food at their kitchen counter but he also knew that she was a princess at heart with a taste for finery and he wanted to spoil her. It was a luxury in itself for Rowan that he could. Since taking over the bar, even with the large loan he had taken out, his bank account had a healthy level of cushioning that he loved using to take Aelin for weekends away or to fancy restaurants. 

There was a savings account that he and Aelin threw money into every month for whenever they felt ready to move out of the loft, but there was also a separate savings account that Aelin was unaware of that Rowan was saving for something shiny. 

“Thanks,” Aedion said, shaking himself somewhat. Rowan nodded, amused at the level of detail and reassurance Aedion appeared to need.

“You need to relax,” Fenrys’ chimed in, voicing Rowan’s thoughts aloud. “You’re overthinking it.”

“He’s right.” Rowan swallowed. “Just tell her the truth. Tell her you love her, how much you want to spend the rest of your life with her and how much she makes you smile every day. Tell her how you want to be eighty and still holding her hand, or how you hate the thought of going a single day without her.”

“Gods,” Fenrys scoffed as Lorcan snickered. “You’re making me want to marry you.”

Rowan narrowed his eyes. “You’re welcome to take notes.”

“Thanks, but I don’t need to.”

“Really? Not thinking of getting down on one knee for Dorian?”

Fenrys smirked. “I get on my knees for Dorian plenty, but no.”

“Why not?” Rowan asked, ignoring the comment and daring to bite, knowing he’d likely regret it.

“He’ll be the one proposing to me,” Fenrys explained as if it were obvious.

Rowan laughed, Aedion and Lorcan’s laughter echoing his own.

“I don’t know why you’re laughing,” Fenrys turned to Lorcan. “Your proposal skills need some serious work.”

Lorcan shrugged, unfazed as ever. “Maybe I’ll let Elide propose to me too.”

Rowan snickered at the image of the tiny woman on one knee before his giant of a friend. He sobered when he paused to consider it, Elide probably was the kind of woman who could propose to Lorcan, she had him wrapped completely around her little finger. 

“I can see it.”

“She takes what she wants, it’s hot.”

Rowan laughed again. “You could take her name too, Lorcan Lochan has a good ring to it.”

Fenrys’ howl of laughter from his side brought a grin to Rowan’s lips as he looked to his friend who’s eyes darkened at the ribbing. 

“Lorcan Lochan,” Aedion repeated through a laugh. “Please, I’d pay money to see it.”

Rowan smiled as his friends continued their teasing and his mind wandered through the possibilities. Aelin had a number of surnames already but he quite liked the sound of Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius. 

-- 

“You are not allowed to move in here.”

The panic in Lysandra’s green eyes as she hurtled around the corner was almost comical. 

“Why not? What’s wrong?” She demanded.

Aelin ran a thoughtful finger along the sleek, oak mantelpiece admiring each of the twisting lines running through the wood. To the side of the fireplace sat a tall window, letting in plenty of warm daylight that reflected off the shining hardwood floors and crept into each of the corners of the large room. The archway Lysandra stood under led to the open plan kitchen-diner with it’s sleek marble countertops and extended dining table that could seat their whole group of friends. 

“If you move in here I’ll be too jealous.”

Lysandra slumped in relief, leaning a shoulder against the archway as she smiled. “He’s done well.”

“I didn’t know Aedion had this in him,” Aelin said with a snort and Lysandra waved a hand. 

“He has spent months putting it together,” her friend admitted and Aelin smirked. 

“How much did he let you choose?”

Lysandra winced. “It was fifty-fifty.”

Aelin waited. 

“Forty-sixty.”

Aelin only cocked her head as she waited a moment longer. 

“I won’t go any lower than thirty-five. And I picked the paint for the bathroom walls.”

Aelin’s poker face cracked at her friend’s admission. She knew her cousin wanted their house to be perfect but he had taken his attention to detail to the extreme. The number of interior design magazines that were littering the coffee table in the loft was well into double figures and Aelin had been dragged on multiple trips to a number of shops to offer her opinion on almost identical shades of paint and patterned wallpapers. Lysandra had been content to sit back and let her boyfriend take the reins, confident that Aedion would choose well. 

He had. The house was beautiful, and the dedication her cousin had offered was obvious. Each room had a multitude of tiny details that revealed the love Aedion had poured into the house, in the kitchen it was the large window that overlooked their garden, offering a glance at the wildlife that flocked to the numerous native plants Aedion had selected. In the living room it was the stuffed bookshelves, housing almost anything from Aedion’s old college textbooks to Lysandra’s abundance of romance novels. 

Aelin’s favourite was the study her cousin had decorated for Lysandra to house her newly developed modelling agency. Lysandra had chosen more recently to take a step away from posing in front of the camera and had opted to manage a small group of models. The office was bright and welcoming, with splashes of soft green accents that suited Lysandra. The office sat next door to a room that was carefully neutral, but Aelin knew it wouldn’t take much work for it to be converted into a nursery. 

Aelin took another glance around the living room they stood in, Aedion had truly curated a home. She could see herself and Rowan curled up on the loveseat in the corner with Aedion on the armchair by the fire and Lysandra perched in his lap. She could hear the sounds of Fenrys rummaging through their fridge as Lorcan barked orders from his space on the sofa. 

Aelin was going to miss having them all under one roof, even if it meant her and Rowan having the loft to themselves. But she knew that as quiet as the loft would feel without the others, she was excited to make the space their own. And to get some much awaited privacy. 

Lysandra watched her with knowing eyes as she surveyed the space. “You’ll all be welcome any time to come and visit.” 

Lysandra plopped down onto the plush couch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she settled into the pliant cushions. Aelin took the seat opposite, throwing her feet onto the footstool set carefully in front of the sofa. 

“Just make sure your doors are locked at night, I think Fenrys could take your open door policy a little too liberally.”

Lysandra shook her head. “I’m not sure Aedion would mind, he’ll pretend he won’t but he’ll miss having the guys around. He’ll give them all a key.”

“What about me?” Aelin gasped, pressing a dramatic hand to her chest. Lysandra rolled her eyes as she settled further into their couch, it was an agreement that didn’t need to be stated that Aelin would get her own key to the new house. “I’m glad you’re not living with Blackbeak anymore.”

Lysandra’s eyes stayed shut as she laughed. “She’s really not that bad. You’d know if you ever bothered to get to know her the entire time I lived with her.”

“Lys, she’s awful. She’d strut about as if she was the queen or something whenever I came around. Making sly comments to… I don’t know,” Aelin waved a hand, searching for the words. “Assert her dominance or something.”

Lysandra cracked her eyes open to level Aelin with an unimpressed stare. “And you wouldn’t?”

Aelin shrugged, whatever displays she and Manon had put on were in the past. Hopefully she’d never have to see the scarily beautiful woman again. “I’m your best friend, I don’t need to try and posture.”

Lysandra grinned. “And yet you do anyway.”

Aelin stuck her tongue out at her friend, knowing the comment was too true to justify a middle finger. Her phone buzzed in her lap, signifying the text Aelin had been waiting for.

I’m 5 minutes away.

Aelin fought to keep her face neutral as she tucked the phone back into the pocket of her jeans and stood from her comfortable seat on the couch. 

“You’re leaving?”

Aelin nodded, “Rowan just texted, he needs help with something at the bar.” A lie. “Meet us there later after the delivery has come?”

A serious invitation hidden within a number of half truths.

Lysandra dipped her head in a nod as Aelin swept to the front door, calling out her parting words as she did.

Once out the front door she allowed her smile to break through and it widened again as she spotted her cousin walking up the path in front of her. Aedion wore a shirt, and his golden hair was carefully styled. He was practically vibrating with excitement as he approached her.

“Good luck,” she whispered, not wanting to ruin the surprise.

“I don’t need it.” Aedion flashed an easy grin before wrapping one arm easily around her. “Thanks, Ae.”

Aelin drew back soon after. “Don’t make us wait too long to see you guys.”

Aedion only smirked.

“Gross,” Aelin couldn’t help screwing her eyes shut before turning away to make her exit. She flashed her cousin a final thumbs up as she got into her car and headed to where she knew she would find her boyfriend.

— 

Rowan hadn’t changed much when he had taken over the bar, but what he had changed made it even more enjoyable. The first thing he had done was replace the ancient jukebox in the corner, he had replaced the jukebox with one that didn’t need to be turned off and on again every fifteen songs and had updated some of the music in its catalogue. 

Each of their loft-mates had been allowed to offer suggestions for the updated library and Rowan had criticised every single one, his own music taste leaned into older rock songs Aelin had never heard, but the choices had all made their way in there anyway. 

All apart from Lysandra’s only half-joking suggestion of a best-of-boy-bands compilation. That suggestion had received a hard no.

One of Lorcan’s choices, some alternative track with lots of drums, was playing as she made her way to the small office in the back corner of the bar. She nodded at the bartender who nodded back with a soft smile. He was a young man called Luca and he had been recommended by Malakai upon his exit. Aelin liked him, he was young and sweet but competent enough to make a mean drink.

She pushed through the door to the office and smiled as she took in the sight of her boyfriend. Even just the sight of him made her smile, and he smiled back as he dropped the papers he held. 

Aelin flopped into Rowan’s lap, looping her arms around his neck as he leant in to kiss her. Even the softest brush of his lips against her own loosened every muscle in her body.

“Hey,” he murmured against her lips, unable to resist pressing another kiss to them. 

“Hi.”

“Missed you.”

Rowan shared comments like that with a regularity that made her heart squeeze. Each one brought a kernel of warmth to her chest. 

“You saw me this morning.”

“And?” His gaze was unwavering, and his sincerity made Aelin bite her lip. 

“Everything all set for Aedion and Lysandra?” He asked smoothly. 

“I left just as he arrived,” Aelin confirmed.

Rowan ran a gentle hand up and down her side as he spoke. “I’ll be relieved when it’s over and he’s finally asked her. I can’t give any more thought to the best way to propose to Lysandra.”

Aelin snorted as she pressed a kiss to his temple. She loved that her friends and family were all so intertwined. “He’s nervous, give him a break.”

“Why?” Rowan asked. “She’ll obviously say yes.”

Aelin cocked an eyebrow. “And you wouldn’t be nervous if you were proposing to the love of your life?”

Rowan shrugged. “Nope. I’m sure she’ll be very lovely and not at all scary. I’d have no doubt in my mind she’d say yes.”

She pinched the skin of his bicep and he hissed a laugh through his teeth. 

“I can go if you need to find someone sweet.”

Aelin made to move off his lap but his hands tightened around her. “Don’t you dare.”

He skimmed his nose around her hairline, brushing the gentlest of kisses to her ear. A soft gasp crossed her lips at the sensation. Aelin leaned into the warmth of his hands at her hips and the touch of his lips at her neck as she turned to survey his desk. 

“Working hard?” She asked playfully and Rowan buried his face in her neck and groaned. She ignored the heat that stirred in her at the sound and laughed as she petted his hair. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Invoicing is the worst. I have no idea how Malakai did it all on his own for so long, I don’t know how I haven’t made a catastrophic error yet.” Her boyfriend’s eyes widened. “Would I know if I had?”

Aelin laughed. Rowan worked hard and Aelin was confident he was handling the management of the bar well even if Rowan himself wasn’t. Financially there were no problems, the re-branding that had taken place after Rowan had assumed ownership had managed to attract a number of new regulars as well as large numbers of casual visitors that kept the bar easily filled with patrons. 

One night, not long after Rowan had signed the papers giving him majority ownership, Fenrys had suggested a weekly karaoke night. The idea had started out as a joke until Elide had brought her tiny karaoke machine one evening and the bar had ended up packed with people cheering others on, so much so that Rowan had invested in a proper system and every Thursday hosted a karaoke night. 

“Anything I can do to make it easier?” Aelin asked, scratching her nails against Rowan’s scalp. 

He groaned again at the sensation and this time it was harder to ignore the heat stirring in her core. He looked up to her, his fingers curling more tightly around her hips, as his tongue darted out to moisten his lower lip. 

“Do you know anything about accounting?”

Aelin laughed again. 

“Absolutely not, but I know a lot about relieving stress.” She shifted where she sat in his lap, making sure to grind her backside against his groin. “And I have many techniques that I know are effective in releasing pressure.”

Rowan let out a deep, throaty sound at her words, pulling her hips down as he leant in to kiss her neck. 

The start of their relationship had been a blur of passion. About a month into their relationship Aedion had attempted an intervention when he had walked in on them in a state of undress for the third time in a week, and Aelin loved that it hadn’t faded. She wanted Rowan every single time she was so much as in the same room as him, and even when she wasn’t. 

Aelin tugged at the silver strands of Rowan’s hair as he trailed hot, wet kisses down her throat. She gasped as he scraped his teeth down across her jawline to nip lightly at her pulse point. She shifted impatiently in his lap and tugged his face up by his hair to press her lips to his.

His tongue caressed her lower lip and she eagerly opened to let him lick into her mouth. Each stroke of his tongue set her skin on fire and it wasn’t long until she was writhing in his lap.

“We don’t have long until the others are due.” Rowan slid his face back down to her neck, unable to draw his lips away from her skin. 

“We have enough time if we’re quick.” Aelin heard the desperation in her voice, and Rowan did too if the way he rocked her across his lap was any indication. 

“I don’t want to rush,” He said, his voice a low growl in his throat. “I want to take my time with you.”

“And you can.” Aelin pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “Later. First let me be quick with you.”

Aelin stood off his lap and Rowan moaned his disappointment until she leaned back in to caress her hand over the bulge in his jeans. His head rolled back as his eyes fluttered shut and his hips jerked into her hand. 

Aelin loved having Rowan at her mercy like this, usually he was the one who liked to take his time and watch her fall apart under his teeth and tongue until she was shaking and gasping his name, but Aelin loved to take care of him too. 

She slid to her knees between his thighs and ran her hands up the thick muscles she felt straining against the desire to take her. She knew they didn’t have long so she wasted no time before unzipping his jeans and sliding a hand beneath. 

Rowan’s head fell backwards against the back of his chair as her hand dipped into his boxers. Aelin bit her lip at the feeling of him, already hard and heavy in her hand. She gave a few pumps of her hand, enjoying the catch in his throat as she did, before tugging him out of his trousers. 

Aelin trailed her hand along the length before wrapping her hand tighter and twisting slightly the way she knew he liked, enjoying the way his hips jerked off the chair slightly. She pressed her free hand to his hip, holding him in place as she leaned in to run her tongue up from his base to tip. At the first touch of her tongue his hips jerked forward and his hand slid into her hair.

“Easy,” She chided with a wicked smile. Aelin loved the way he reacted to her, the slightest touch would have him solid beneath her and kissing her forcefully the way she liked.

Rowan brushed his free hand along her cheek, before tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear. 

“Beautiful,” He murmured, his voice low and thick with arousal. Aelin smiled up at him as she worked her hand again, and she let her gaze fall to where she held him, enjoying the contrast of her red nail polish against his skin.

He let out a curse under his breath as she leant in to press hot, open-mouthed kisses along his considerable length. His hand twisted more securely into her hair as she took him fully into her mouth, using her hand to work the base. He didn’t force her head, which she appreciated, but she loved the feeling of his hand holding her to him as she moved. 

Aelin felt her eyes flutter shut, she loved doing this for Rowan, it made her feel sexy and the sounds he made were hotter than anything.

“Fuck,” He hissed. “You look so good like that.”

Aelin moaned, breathing in deeply through her nose as she bobbed her head. She loved how vocal Rowan was, how he would curse her name and anything he could think of as she worked her mouth around him. 

She pulled back to press her tongue right under the tip, the way she knew sent him wild, and she was rewarded with a sharp thrust of his hips. She looked up to him finding his deep green eyes blown with lust as she swallowed around him. She read the question in his eyes and nodded as best as she could. 

Rowan let out a groan. “Gods, I love you.”

His thumb trailed the corner of her lips as they stretched around him before sliding to join his other in her hair. Aelin moaned as he began to fuck her mouth, lifting his hips in a torturously slow rhythm that had Aelin grinding her hips against the air. 

His pace increased as his hands twisted more tightly into her hair. Aelin moaned around his cock and he hissed a breath at the sensation. She slid her free hand down into her own jeans, matching her own strokes with Rowan’s thrusts and it wasn’t long until she felt her own climax building. 

“Aelin,” Rowan cursed. “Oh, fuck.” 

His eyes screwed shut tightly as his hips stuttered, Aelin moaned her permission as she stroked herself even faster. She was close, and the pulling of her hair combined with the hard thrusts into her mouth, timed perfectly with her own fingers, sent her quickly to a climax. Rowan’s hips jerked as he groaned, his head tipping to the side as he gasped her name. 

“Gods.” His chest heaved as his jaw strained. “Fuck, Aelin I-I’m close.”

Aelin met his gaze and offered a shallow dip of her chin. Rowan clenched his jaw and screwed his eyes shut, each muscle in his powerful body straining beneath the touch of her tongue.

He spilled into her mouth with a groan, and Aelin swallowed around him, allowing her tongue to coax him along. He gave a few final shallow thrusts as he settled back into his chair, his eyes blinking open slowly to meet her own. 

Aelin slid her hand out of her trousers as she drew her lips off him. She tucked his still half-hard cock back into his jeans and stood to press her lips to his, revelling in the blissed out expression on his handsome face. She crawled back onto his lap as his breathing evened out. 

Finally, he blinked his eyes open and brought her hand to his lips to press a kiss to her fingers. 

“You’re phenomenal, thank you,” He said, his voice still breathy. “But you did my job for me.”

Aelin smiled at the disappointed tone in his voice before she pressed her lips to his once more. “You can make it up to me later.” 

He cocked a brow in a way that she knew meant he wanted to splay her out on this desk and taste her the way she had tasted him, but at that moment her phone chose to buzz. The second signal of the day. 

“We have to go,” She said, beginning to slide off his lap. “We have a pair of fiancés to congratulate.” 

Rowan grinned, a crooked flash of his teeth. “How long, do you think, until he asks me to be his best man?”

“I think he’ll ask Lorcan.” 

“Right,” He grinned. “And Manon Blackbeak will be Lysandra’s maid of honour I assume.”

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“I think you’d prefer me being the maid of honour to your best man, much more than Manon. If it’s Manon your night won’t end up like today.”

He cocked a brow. 

“You know, it’s tradition for the best man and maid of honour to hook-up in the bathroom and Manon would bite your dick off before she blew you.”

The fear in Rowan’s eyes drew a cackle from her chest. 

“Don’t worry,” She patted his cheek with a hand before fully rising to her feet. “I’d protect you from the evil witch.”

Rowan smiled as she pulled him to his feet. 

“And then I’d definitely blow you in the bathroom.”

“You’re filthy.”

“You love it.”

Rowan nodded, a sincere light in his eyes. “I do.”

He slung his arm around her shoulders as they made their way out into the main part of the bar to discover their friends already gathered in a booth. Lysandra sat in the center as Elide examined the sparkling diamond now gracing her left hand, Lorcan frowned at the same ring and Aelin barely managed to conceal her snort at the sight. She was sure Lorcan would get there someday, but she’d enjoy his discomfort in the meantime. 

Aelin snuck out from under Rowan’s arm to throw her own around Aedion and Lysandra, unintelligibly cooing her congratulations and excitement. It was almost hard to believe sometimes, that her cousin and her best friend were together and now getting married. 

“Nice of you to join us,” Fenrys snarked as she released her friend and collapsed onto Rowan’s lap. Aelin flipped him off, despite the wide grin she wore. 

“We were barely late, we had things to finish off.”

Aedion winced as Lysandra and Fenrys cackled. Rowan hid his smile in her shoulder but she could feel his body shaking with laughter beneath her.

“Tell us more about these things you were finishing off Aelin.” Elide had a wicked glint in her eye.

“Please don’t.” Aedion sounded pained and even Lorcan grinned. 

The booth was filled with her friends and roommates and Aelin wasn’t complaining as Rowan slung his arm around her waist, holding her tightly to his chest. Aelin pressed both of her palms to the table as she surveyed the group. 

“I propose a toast,” she said. “To the happy couple.” 

She made a gesture to Luca who flashed her a thumbs up and immediately made to collect enough glasses for the group. 

“On the house I hope,” Lorcan quipped as Luca brought over a couple of bottles of champagne.

“When do any of you pay for drinks in here?” Rowan questioned as the group laughed. 

Aelin leaned back into Rowan and lifted her glass in a toast. The sounds of her friends bickering wasn’t enough to damper the happiness she felt for Aedion and Lysandra, and the old Phil Collins song playing on the jukebox only added to the contentment she felt sitting in Rowan’s lap surrounded by her friends. 

--

tags:

@jesstargaryenqueen

@maybekindasortaace

@slytheringalathynius

@http-itsrebecca

@morganofthewildfire

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@fictional-horan

@dressedindustandshadows

@sleeping-and-books

@perseusannabeth

@ireallyshouldsleeprn

@superspiritfestival

@spyofthenightcourt

@jlinez

@queen-of-glass

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Thank you!

[sunmoonandeddie]

pandemic overload

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,136

summary: You need an escape from everything, and Bucky is more than happy to give it to you.

warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF.  Bad words.  Bucky does think a naughty thing or two lol

a/n:  Thank you so much to @marylizabetha for this commission!!!!  I had so much fun with it, and honestly it was nice to get to write about escaping all of this nonsense for a little bit!!!!

He saw it when he came home from grocery shopping.  The quiver of your bottom lip.  He’d only been gone for about two hours—shopping for groceries for a super soldier can take a while, after all—but even so, it had made you anxious.  Everything about the last seven months or so made you anxious.  And he couldn’t blame you.  People were dying and it was just… frustrating how so many people didn’t seem to care.  At all.

Bucky had been the only one to leave the town house you two shared in that entire time, unless you counted the times you’d sit out on the front stoop and work on a Sudoku puzzle.  But that was a decision you had made very early on.  He was a super soldier that couldn’t get sick.  You were just a normal human.

It didn’t mean that you weren’t scared for him every time he walked outside.

Thankfully, it hadn’t taken much to convince you to stay home, even though you had to quit your job.  It wasn’t exactly the most… important thing in the world.  It wasn’t even in your field of interest.  Just a pit stop until you could put your degree to use.

But it looked like that wouldn’t be happening for a little while longer.

Technically, with how much money Bucky made from being a non-active Avenger on top of back pay from being a prisoner of war for seventy years or so and also being on an elite strike force during World War II, you would never have to work a day in your life if you didn’t want.  And, to be perfectly honest, a big part of you was seriously considering it.  It was nice to be able to sit around and do whatever you wanted to do.  You and Bucky helped each other with all the chores and such, but then you had an otherwise empty day to fill.  You’d taken up knitting and learning to play piano and yes, you did join in on that trend of people learning how to make sourdough bread from scratch.  You two had also gotten to up the amount of time you spent trying to make a positive change in the world, and you’d taken Bucky to his first twenty-first century protest.  Not a single cop had dared to fuck with you or anyone else with the former Winter Soldier by your side.

The perks of having a super intimidating boyfriend, right?

It would be completely perfect if it wasn’t for the fact that you had to stay because otherwise you might get sick.

But you were actually considering choosing to just… continue not working once all of it was over.  You and Bucky could do anything you wanted to do.  You could travel the world, maybe eventually adopt a few kids…  The possibilities were endless, especially since your boyfriend had surprised you by paying off all your student loans in one fell swoop.

Yeah, that… that had brought on more than a few tears.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile over at you as he put away the groceries, calling out everything to you.  You were sitting up on the counter, pretty as a picture, with your legs swinging back and forth as you put in everything he’d bought to that fancy app on your phone that took everything you had in your fridge and gave you a list of recipes you could make from it.

Last week the two of you had gotten your favorite recipe so far, grilled mahi mahi tacos with a sweet pineapple salsa that served a bit of a kick at the end.

Fish so nice, they named it twice.

Bucky’s pandemic hobby had become cooking.  A lot of the time, you two just ordered food in, which was a horrible habit.  But you couldn’t help it.  You both were so busy and neither of you really had the energy or patience to cook most of the time.

But spending everyday at home meant that Bucky finally had time to learn how to do something other than boil food, and he was actually pretty good at it.

“Baby doll, let’s go on a date.”

You looked up from your phone in surprise.  “A…  A date?  Bucky Bear…  I hate to break it to you, but…  We can’t exactly go anywhere,” you said with a weak laugh.  As good as it was to be able to sit at home and work on your hobbies, you were often overwhelmed with the thoughts about how so many people were suffering because of how selfish others were.

He put the last bell pepper away in the fridge before moving to stand between your legs, his hands running over your thighs.  “Now that’s not true, sweetheart,” he said as he pressed sweet kisses along your jawline.  “I wanna take you somewhere special, okay?  We haven’t gotten to dress up in a long time…  So how about you get your cute ass in the shower and get yourself all dolled up, yeah?  I wanna treat my girl.”

Ugh.  He always knew exactly what to say to make you melt.

“Okay,” you giggled, nuzzling your nose against his.  But you took your own sweet time getting off the counter, choosing instead to wrap your legs around him and pull him in for an impromptu makeout session.

What can you say?  Your man was hot as fuck and a good ass kisser.

“I love you,” he mumbled, his hands roaming down your sides to your ass.  He gave a playful squeeze before slowly breaking the kiss, letting it linger far longer than what would be considered necessary.  “But you have to go shower and get ready, baby girl.  I gotta jump in one, too.  I wanna be nice and fresh for my girl.  Now go on.”

A purse of your lower lip.  “You don’t wanna join me?”

“Now, that’s not what I said, you little minx,” he said, tickling your sides and sending you into a fit of giggles.  “But if I get in with you, we aren’t gonna make it out for a long, long time.  And then you won’t get your surprise.”

“Fine, fine,” you groaned, pushing against his chest so you could slide off the counter.  “Bossy.”  You shot him a wink as you headed upstairs, and he can’t help but stare at your ass.

God bless the quarantine weight you’d gained.

Granted, he always loved your body—if you like the girl, you’re gonna like her body, after all—but he was still a hot-blooded man with a thing for grabbing you and loving every inch of you.

He quickly put together a basket of food, various meats and cheeses and little things like olives, and set a blanket on top of it before running upstairs to grab a shower in the guest bath.  He knew the perfect place to take you to escape the city and the suffocating threat of the pandemic.

“You gonna tell me where we’re going or not, Sarge?” You asked as you appeared in the doorway.

He looked up from where he sat at the kitchen island, and the breath was knocked straight from his lungs.  Thank god he’d already stowed the basket and blanket away in the trunk, because he would’ve completely forgotten at the sight of you.  “Holy shit, sugar…,” he whispered as he got up.  He moved towards you, strong hands grabbing your hips and pulling you into a kiss.  He knew he had to be careful about grabbing your face, not wanting to mess up the makeup you’d just put on for the first time in months.  But you’d also learned not to wear a lip product that would smear on your first date, so you both had rules about makeup now.

The fabric of your yellow sundress rested against your skin so gently, and he would be ashamed to admit that for just a second, he was jealous of a piece of clothing.  He wanted to be that close to you always, wanted to feel your skin and draw little shapes over your heart.

Maybe he’d strip it off of you the second he got you to the spot, just so he could rest his head in the valley of your breasts and listen to the steady beating of your heart.  You knew that he could hear it even just standing beside you, but you wouldn’t call him out on it.

TLC played on the radio the entire drive, his hand on your thigh except for when he needed to shift gears.  Out of all the decades of music you were working to catch him up on, the nineties were your favorite.

Not that he’d ever disagree.  No.  Not when he got to watch you with one arm out the window, your hand making waves in the wind as you sang at the top of your lungs.

Just being out of the house for less than an hour was doing you so much good.

“Bucky, you aren’t going to kill me, right?” You asked with a laugh as he parked the car in a small lot at the entrance of a trail.  “Because I really figured you would’ve done that by now, you know.”

“Nah, baby,” he said as he popped the trunk, smirking at the surprised look on your face at the sight of the basket.  The trunk closed with a slam as he tossed you the blanket, moving to your side and holding your free hand in his before leading you down the trail.  “If I wanted to murder you, I’d have done it by now.  Besides, you’re too pretty to kill.  I’d miss looking at you everyday.”

“You’re an absolute cheese ball,” you laughed, nudging his hip with yours.  Not that it actually did anything.

Ah, the disadvantages you had when it came to play fighting with your super soldier boyfriend.  Poor you.

The trail was absolutely stunning, full of wildlife and color.  The shade the trees provided was a nice reprieve to the mid-August heat, the sunlight filtering through the leaves to dapple against your cheeks.

It was about a fifteen minute walk to the Wallkill River, and you heard the rush of the water long before you get there.

“We aren’t going swimming right?” You asked, eyeing him skeptically.  “Because I just washed my hair.”

“No,” he said, amusement lacing his tone.  “We’re not swimming.  Just having a late lunch.”  He sets down the basket and takes the blanket from you, laying it out on the small clearing on the bank.  He took his time setting up the charcuterie board, the bottle of wine, and the two pillows that he stuffed in the basket for you two to rest against.  “There.  Now it’s perfect,” he said as he held his hand out to you to help you sit down on the blanket.  “Worthy of my princess.”

A familiar roll of your eyes as he pressed sweet kisses to your cheeks, just like he did anytime he doted on you.  He only ever called you princess when he got all lovey dovey like this.

Not that you’d ever complain.

“So what’s all this for?” You asked.  Unable to stop your fit of giggles, you teetered to the side as the force of his cheek kisses grew and he made more and more obnoxious noises with it, his metal hand hooked around your waist.  “Bucky Bear…”

“Okay, okay,” he relented, leaving one last, noisy kiss to your cheek before sitting up straight.  He didn’t answer you right away, choosing instead to grab the wine and pop it open, pouring you each a glass.  He was always the designated driver, since alcohol didn’t affect him.  He was silent until you had your glass in hand, and he raised his in a toast.  “I want to celebrate us, and more specifically, you.  The past seven or so months haven’t been easy, but you’ve been a champ through it all.  And also, I think we’ve done pretty damn well on living together and being around each other almost 24/7, considering that we only moved in together in November,” he said.  His startling blue eyes were so soft as he stared at you.  “I just love you so much, and I truly don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Oh, my god,” you said, your eyes glassy as you shook your head.  “Bucky, you can’t say things like that when I just did my makeup!  You’re going to make me cry!”  But you didn’t mind the tears as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his, your glasses clinking together.  “I love you, too.  And there’s no one else I’d rather go through this with.”

“Together,” he said, his nose nudging against yours.

“Together,” you agreed.

[purebarnes]

courage to change—

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ➢ taken place six months after endgame, y/n stark gets a call from none other than sam wilson— being confused on why he had called her. wanting to go after a new villain. she was obligated at first but knew it was her friend that needed help. she never thought she would go back into become a hero after her loss.

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ➢ 2.1k

ᴅɪꜱᴄʟᴀɪᴍᴇʀꜱ ➢ fluff all around. nothing extreme.

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴀᴋꜱ ! ➢ this is my first time writing on tumblr so if it’s bad then sorry!! i enjoyed writing this so if you do like it then please let me know.

months have passed without tony stark, everything became quiet, a loss is a loss with whatever you’re dealing with. this was more than a loss for y/n— especially pepper and morgan. they all thought that they would be a big, happy family but tragically that never was the case. thanos ruined everything for the girl and she lost her best friend and mother to people just like thanos. she told herself she would get back and start saving because no one saved her dad, sometimes it would bring nightmares to her.

she had to deal with everything and be with her family which more important, she didn’t talk or call anyone. there would be nights where she would cry herself to sleep with tony’s sweatshirt that she loved. the scent was still there and she never wanted to let it go because it was a part of her that wasn’t lost. morgan was always smiling for her half sister, it was like just yesterday was when the world went back together but she knew she just wanted to think about it like that. days would go by where she wouldn’t return peter’s phone calls and it wasn’t just because she didn’t want to. she knew her dad was an important figure to the boy— she thought she would break down in front of him.

helping around the house was essentially the part where she needed to help pepper. happy would stop by and occasionally drop off the cheeseburgers that both of the girls loved. it was those moments and little things that made her feel so much better. it didn’t help when the one person she cared about as much as her dad wouldn’t do anything to help her when she was in complete pain. bucky barnes was the man for her and she was there for him when he was struggling and when he wouldn’t talk to her after the funeral: he felt awful but that wouldn’t change anything at all.

the relationship started out fine and all though tony wasn’t pleased and supportive about the thing they had for each other. he would never tell her to break up with him or even if they weren’t— he wouldn’t try to break them off. he loved him for that, all the problems they had with his parents getting killed by the winter soldier. nothing mattered anymore, she threw that relationship out slowly but also painfully. she loved him and he loved her but they both weren’t mentally stable to be each other at that moment.

pacing around her room to calm herself from finding herself to have a panic attack, she hears her phone buzzing and looked up and walks over to see what it was about. she saw the name ‘sam <3’ she couldn’t help but smile at the contact, she’ll be honest it had been awhile but that didn’t matter at that moment. she took a deep breath and opened up the message.

sam <3: hey y/n... it’s been awhile and i should have asked you how you have been instead of now. i thought we could catch up, it’s just i wanted to see if you could help with something? think of it as a last mission type of thing, let me know. hope you are well

y/n knew sam meant well and maybe this could help her with everything that she was going through. this also meant she could suffer but she rather help another friend that needed something. she agreed to help him and visit him in louisiana. she typed back saying that she would be in town in a day or so. 

y/n stark ♡: of course i will come by! just give me a day or so, so i can get things ready to pack... you still have your boat? would love to see it!!

they talked nonstop about everything until she had to remind herself to tell pepper and to go and pack her things. she went into the kitchen where morgan was watching tv and eating a turkey sandwich that her mom prepared for her. pepper looked up, “hi, honey. you want a sandwich... turkey or roast beef?” she asked smiling, already pulling out the whole wheat bread. y/n smiled telling her she wanted one, “actually pepper... sam asked if i could go up to louisiana? he wanted to catch up and his family will be— of course you can go. we will be okay, just call me every night alright?” she went over to hug her step daughter. morgan saw them hugging and she couldn’t help but go and hug both of them.

later on the night, y/n had packed her suitcase with clothes and essentials she needed for her trip. she saw the glasses that tony had saved and left for her in any case of a tragic accident— she sighed grabbing them and placing them in her suitcase. she watched morgan and pepper at the porch entrance waving bye to her, happy had grabbed her bag and placed it in the back trunk of the limo. she thanked him and entered the limo while happy got in the other side of the limo. “how are you doing kiddo?” she looked up from her phone and stifled a small smile, “alright. just hoping this trip is going to be ok.”

they both focused on their phones and on the ride while they saw the entrance to the wilson family seafood. y/n saw sam and his sister talking as they all looked at the limo that stopped in front of them. the girl gave a right hug to happy when he told her to be safe and also to have fun— he gave her the suitcase before leaving. she saw sam and couldn’t help but smile widely and went to walk towards him. they were engulfed in a hug with warmth surround them, “ah, sam. i missed you.” she told him rubbing her hand on his backside. they both let go to meet each other in the eyes, “i missed you. come see sarah.”

sam and sarah were obviously close, sarah saw y/n and was putting down the crates her children helped her with. she went to go hug her and all this was something that she never got back because just isolated herself, “so sarah wants to sell our boat— whoa, you’re getting rid of this bad boy.” y/n spoke turning around to see the boat in her two eyes. sarah gave the girl a chuckle while continuing to leave into the boy where sam and y/n followed her on it. “sam, the boats gotta go—wait.” sam tried to intervene his sister but she wasn’t having it with him, “no. let me finish. i’m doin' everything i can to keep this business afloat. and everyday i’m making $5, and spending $10.” sarah told her brother.

“so, why won’t you let me help?—no, don’t start with that. we made a deal before daddy died. you’re out there—” y/n froze when sarah mentioned her fathers death and each time it kept eating y/n alive. she would do anything to make that feeling just leave for a small portion of the time. sam noticed she wasn’t present and sighed when she saw y/n, “y/n... i’m sorry.” sarah apologized and y/n told her it was fine and that it wasn’t her fault at all. she kept hearing on the conversation, “i do things my way her—right. but you tangled the house into this when you took those loans.” sarah punched her brother in the chest graining at the impact it made on him, “forgot how hard you hit, uh, y/n wait up here and then we can catch up. i will be back.” sam told her making y/n nod and chuckle, “don’t take too long.”

sam finished talking to his sister and once he came back—they went on side to have a drink and have a small conversation. sam poured her some non alcoholic drink as she didn’t drink that often, “so tell me. what have you been up to.” he asked the girl slouching on a chair and she took a sip, “if you know me sam, you would know nothing.” she told him looking down at her drink and in circles, “don’t torture yourself stark. i’m here now.” same went to give her a soft hug and she returned the hug smiling at him. “have you talked—no.” y/n told him since she didn’t want to talk about it or bucky as it brought memories.

sam asked if y/n could watch his nephews while he and sarah would go to the bank to ask for a loan, she didn’t hesitate to help him out. y/n woke up early and saw sam and sarah with her two children packing up the food they were going to give out. she walked over “morin'.” she spoke yawing while sam looked up to see her in a black t-shirt and shook his at her semi-messy hair, “morning y/n. you sleep good?” sarah asked packing up food, “honestly, yeah you guys have nice cushions.” she said honestly. “you always gotta do the most, huh?” she said asked.

“i don’t play with these white folks.” sam chuckled before continuing, “look, i know you’re worried, all right? but i did the research. i ran the numbers—you really think this is gonna work?” she said skeptical about it all and if sams plan would work, “I know it will. and then we can renovate the kitchen. now, you said you wanted to sell plates in the weekends, right? that’s great. you can introduce some of grandma’s recently... shit. we gotta go.”

sam looked at his watch and noticed the time and that he would be late but he was rather punctual. y/n furrowed her eyebrows as he wouldn’t be late, “you know me, no such thing as on time. you’re either early or late. pick one.” he told the girls, both of the siblings went to go get their jackets on. “all right, boys, i love you. now, y/n will be watching you and no video games.” sarah said kissing her sons on the forehead and looked at y/n to know that she would be helping her a lot.

once the wilson’s came back, y/n was hanging out with boys because she soon fell in love with both of them. being around the two boys made her feel special because it was something she walkways wanted. y/n was watching them play video games and she just admired them until sam came in to ask to steal her. “can you come here quick.” she nodded and walked over to sam and entered to the room where sam was in and he was explaining the video. it was the flag smashers—he didn’t look too nice. he saw the video of one of the flag smashers throwing a man acros towards the pole. “he looks strong—who are you?” they got interrupted as y/n scrunched her nose and surprised he didn’t know her.

“y/n. y/n stark—oh. oh, uh i am so sorry for your loss.” the man rambled while y/n laughed saying thank you and he kept going, “he was. i mean, they went dark as soon as it was all over. but that their m.o. we gotta keep our eyes and ears to the ground till they pop up again.” the man on the call told them. the young lady sighed not understanding how that could all be possible, “anything else happen outside the video?—no, man. my face was in the dirt before i knew what was happening. why? what are you thinking?” sam turned to y/n and they shared a look of unsteadiness, they both knew what they were both thinking. if something was out there then they needed to stop it, “nothin'—wait. you don’t think he could be a... look, i’ll circle back to you. let’s keep this between me and you.

a second later sarah came into the room turning on the television and telling both of them to look at was on the news. it appeared to be a press and y/n did think about it as anything until she heard what the man was saying.

“unrest, in the wake of recent events has left us vulnerable. every day Americans feel it. While we love heroes who put their lives on the line to defend earth, we also need a hero to defend this country. we need a real person who embodies america’s greatest values. we need someone to inspire us again, someone who can be a symbol for all of us. so, on behalf of the department of defense and our commander-in-chief, it is with great honor that we announce here today that the united states of america has a new hero. join me in welcoming your new captain america.” the man spoke and there was a man in a captain america uniform with steve’s shield over his arm. y/n rubbed her temples while sighing knowing this wasn’t good.

[imaginesbymk]

“Sweet as Cherry Pie.”

Peaky Blinders One Shot

Summary: Y/n is Alfie Solomons’ younger sister who comes to Camden town & Small Heath. Why? She’s their secret weapon: sassy, unpredictable and insults their enemies to filth. Or maybe she’s just bored and needed the first enemy she sees to throw a comment at. Either way, Alfie couldn’t ask for a better sister.

Pairing: ---

Tags: swearing, mentions of violence, weapons, drug & alcohol use, smoking + s4 spoilers

Word Count: 1755 words

Author’s Note: sksmsksks this is based off a dream i had one night. it isn’t the best piece i’ve written but i love a sassy reader. one shots are not open, this is just a one shot for my 800 follower special - [milestone masterlist]

“GOOD MORNING, Alfie.” Tommy said, walking down the distillery. Well, it wasn’t that much of a good morning for Tommy, really. In fact, even though he’s very productive and professional most times, this time the man wished he was back in bed where he could be exposed in his shirtless self, waking up to see his boy with that bright smile, sharing his eyes. 

Normally, he’d be drowning in family meetings back in Small Heath, but the atmosphere in Camden town begged to differ.

“Meh, not really,” Alfie Solomons glances up at the window- the dusty, stained window pane gave in the overcast weather. He turns back to Tommy. “Mate, I’m glad we’re right on schedule. I was starting to think you got shot in your own fucking office chair back home.”

Tommy stared at the Jewish-English man, knowing Alfie was from Camden Town, how outsiders would speak ill of such towns and vice versa.

Alfie shuffles over using his cane as support and hands Tommy the tickets. “Those are the tickets to the boxing match. And in that storage unit behind you is the gateway to the clouds.”

“Kind of you. But you know I have booze at home, stored neatly and safely. I can manage without your rum.” Tommy walked in, anyway.

“I’m not giving you my rum for free, Tommy. I’m not even selling it to you,” Tommy watched as Alfie made his way to the other room of his bakery, ready to check on the AM workers as they got to work right away.

Tommy read the front labels of the bottle he picked up from one of the barrels. This man has gone a long way in his business, he couldn’t deny that. Over a hundred barrels have been shipped to God knows how many speakeasies were in Europe and America, and when Alfie Solomons received his earnings, he holds it tightly and proudly, guarding it as he cherishes his success.

Taking a bottle wouldn’t hurt, it would please him knowing he is interested in buying his product. He could even smell it from the sealed caps. He could smell it from the barrels, residue on the floor, or even from one of the workers’ breaths. He could pop it open and take a quick sniff like playing in snow. Tommy dug in his coat pockets, pulling out a stack.

“Oh, so you are fucking loaded.” Tommy whipped around, his gun already pulled from his holster, gripped and pointed to the voice inches behind him. 

The person- the woman, didn’t react, not a small gasp at the sight of the barrel of the gun nearing her face. Boldly enough, she reached over and grabbed the stack of cash from Tommy’s hand and walked away, not even remotely thinking if the man she startled would pull the trigger with her back turned. 

“Thanks, Mr. Shelby. And Alfie thanks you!” the female voice calls out.

Con artist? Someone posing as a worker? An enemy? Tommy breathed heavily, swearing left and right in his mind that he could of at least stopped whoever that was from taking his money, or yelled at her the way he usually does to anyone who worked for him because he was the boss. He was loaded, but no one would just allow someone to take a loan like that without anything afterwards, unless they were a clerk in a bank robbery.

After feeling like he was glued to the floor in that tiny space, Tommy rushed out to find Alfie back in his office with his glasses on his face, jotting notes down on a piece of paper, noticing the stack of cash sitting near the cup holder.

“Who the fuck just walked inside that storage unit and grabbed the stash right out my fucking hands?”

Tommy’s outburst of his question didn’t send Alfie into a panic. “You mean my dearest sister y/n?” Alfie got up from his seat. “She gave me the cash so I didn’t have to do it, but she didn’t even bid me a goodbye afterwards. She just plopped it on my desk and went her way. It’s not like I died or anything. I’m not fucking invisible, Tommy. You can see me, right?” 

Tommy let out a long sigh, dreading that there’s not one but two migraine-stirring bastards named Solomons, it’s enough for one he already wishes to throw a beer bottle at some times, but now another one probably much worse than if described. “You have a sister, Alfie? You never said anything about having a sister.”

“Yeah. But don’t worry, she’s sweet as cherry pie,” Alfie nods. “I brought her here, but she’s pretty homesick, so I would bid her warm welcomes if I were you.”

“Why should I?” Tommy says, frowning. “She just took my fucking money.”

“Oh, for sure.” Alfie waves the loan in front of Tommy, reminding him that y/n is no thief. “And because she knows about the vendetta between you, the Peakys and the Italians. If they come to her, she’ll roar at them, literally.”

“WHO the fuck is this, now?” Arthur stared at the woman stood next to Tommy at the foot of the small dining room where old memories held of their past meetings and heartbreaks.

“This is Y/n Solomons. She’s our messenger.” Tommy wished he never had to say that. He wished she would stop touching his fucking stuff, too. “Y/n, put down my fucking frame.”

“Oh fuck,” Polly blew out smoke from her cigarette. “There’s two of them?”

“And what is wrong with my brother?” Y/n places the frame back down on the mantel. “He’s a successful businessman. He beat a man three fucking times his size to gravel after he called me fat.”

“Y/n Solomons is our messenger. She’s also helping with updates from Aberama Gold once we get Michael out of Birmingham for now, because Luca Changretta is still out there, and he’s fucking pissed.”

“You can very hot headed sometimes, Mr. Shelby.” Later the brief introduction of their newcomer in their recent meeting was long over, she stayed back even though she was dismissed to do her work. “It’s probably because you smoke so much cigarettes that you’re starting to look like an ashtray, or of that heavy out-dated coat you wear all the time just weighs you down that your back and shoulders must hurt like hell.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Tommy said, irritated by her presence, even her just standing there at the table.

“Nothing.” Y/n sighs and heads out the door. “You know where I’ll be!” she calls.

Sweet as cherry pie, my ass. Tommy grunts and lights a cigarette.

“WHAT’S the matter?” Luca Changretta asks. “I said we had a deal.”

“Ah, you just made a deal without negotiation, now did ya?” Y/n’s brother sat on the chair, staring up at the menacing mobster holding one of the rum bottles given as a gift. “Yeah, Tommy Shelby was right about you. You plan to kill us all.” He spoke in Yiddish, and he mocks a tsking sound.

Luca smirks down, even though he didn’t know what he said, at least they both were aware of one thing; Tommy knows what kind of man I am.

“Mr. Changretta, may I speak freely?” y/n chimes in.

The Italian shrugs. “Mr. Solomons, I checked my calendar earlier and I did not read anything about today being Take Your Kid to Work Day,” and he laughs, his cousin as his henchman behind laughing along with him.

“Mate, I’d choose my next words very carefully if I were you,” Alfie says, stifling a smile. “This is my baby sister you’re talking down to, and she won’t tolerate one bit of it.”

“And I should be afraid?”

“Perhaps less afraid, more self-conscious, Mr. Changretta,” y/n replies. “Just a few minutes ago I was sensing the stench of failure, but then I saw you and your men walk in.”

Luca chuckles sarcastically. “Ouch.”

“And it’s not like we’re having a showdown right here, you didn’t need to bring your men with you unless you’re doubling their pay for just standing silently. I mean, they’re as important as Tommy Shelby’s evening sous chef.”

“Who?” Alfie had to ask.

Y/n smirks. “Exactly. Anyways, I just need to tell you that my brother’s business isn’t for sale. Alfie has worked hard and I’m proud to be his sister, supporting him. I’ll drink his rum like it’s mother’s milk if I had to. So, let my brother handle your men at the match, and you’ll take care of the two hundred barrels to be shipped to New York. Simple.”

“What do you know about business, Miss Solomons?”

“What do you know about combat, Luca? If you didn’t lack the experience, Tommy Shelby’s blood would spill fresh on your hands as we speak. How are you a soldier for the mafia if you hadn’t accomplish the vendetta yet?”

“Well-”

“Actually, don’t answer that. I’ll fall asleep.” Y/n took a step forward, lowering her smile up as his height overpowered hers. “My brother isn’t asking for much. He’s a good friend of Tommy Shelby, yet he’s helping you. You should be kissing his feet, Mr. Changretta, not abusing his generosity.”

Luca chewed the matchstick in his mouth. “Is that so?” he looks back at his men. “Porca puttana.”

“Vaffanculo, right back at you, mate. You just earned yourself another tonne to your bill. Bring tissues for both your lawyer and accountant.” Y/n turns around and grins at her older brother, who smiled warmly at her the entire time, feeling as though he was proud. If the Peaky Blinders were here, they’d share the same reaction as Luca. 

“So you both know Italian?” Luca asked as he sighs in exhaustion.

Alfie nods at Luca, who was glaring down at him for an answer. You learn from your older sibling, you become as tough as bullets and the big help as the messenger, sending a telephone call or a letter mailed to Small Heath, saying Luca Changretta is six feet tall, but shrunk four feet down when y/n opened her mouth. 

“Take it or leave it, Signore.” The Italians didn’t even need to ask where this woman got her attitude from. If you’re a Solomon, there’s perks. Y/n smiles to herself, Tommy is gonna hate and love me.

“I warned you about my baby sister, mate.” Alfie says. “Sweet as cherry pie... but with broken glass once you bite into your first slice.”

—

tag list: @ladyxblake @lotsoffandomimagines @amirahiddleston @thethyri @woahitslucyylu @myriadimagines @fangirlsarah16 @your-pixels-are-showing @lucillethings @sirkekselord @kaetastic

[hawksward]

Wolves in Sheep's Clothing Ch. 2: Your Heart is an Empty Room (Childe/OC)

Since being granted a vision at the tender age of 10, Irina has owed her life to the Tsaritsa and dedicated herself to rising through the ranks of the Fatui. In becoming a top-ranking diplomat she’s received her easiest assignment yet: ensure the 11th Fatui Harbinger remains ignorant of La Signora’s plan to obtain the gnosis of Rex Lapis. A simple task for someone who’s made a career out of lying.

Unfortunately, even the simplest tasks can go awry when feelings get in the way.

Rating: E (For eventual smut)

Warnings: None that I can think of for this chapter, there will eventually be smut

Two weeks had passed since Irina first arrived in Liyue. Signora was out of the city that night, gone to some other far-off place to complete her work. As for Zhongli? Since he hadn’t made any request pursuant to the contract she hadn’t seen him either.

Her days were mundane, filled with bank paperwork and pointless meetings with the Qixing to source where they hid the gnosis. Which she already knew they didn’t have. It was impossible to say when Zhongli would be satisfied with his end of the contract and until then she would keep up the song and dance to avoid suspicion by a certain ginger harbinger.

Who once again burst through her office door without the courtesy of knocking.

“I have a new recruit orientation at the docks and I need someone to come do the paperwork.” His expression was the same as always, a charming smile that never quite reached his eyes “Put down whatever you’re doing, we need to leave in five.”

Irina sighed before returning her attention to the stack of papers on her desk “I have a mountain of paperwork here, surely you can find someone else to handle the new recruits.”

She nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Childe’s hand slamming against the table. She looked up through her lashes to see the same fake smile at eye level.

“It’s not a request.” He walked around her desk and pulled out the chair with her still in it “With how pale you are you could use some time in the sun anyway.”

“First you give me all of your loan paperwork, now you want me to go do different paperwork down by the docks? It’s a task so simple a hillichurl could do it” Irina stood from her seat to look him in the eyes “a particularly stupid hillichurl.”

She watched as Childe’s smile only grew bigger

“Then it’s perfect for you.”

She didn’t have time to be offended before he shoved a clipboard in one of her hands and grabbed her other wrist, leading her down the staircase of the bank and out the door.

“Look at that.” Childe looked to the sky before looking back at Irina with a cocky smile “The sun’s out and you’re not even melting!”

“Ha. Hilarious.” She struggled to keep up as he continued to pull her by the wrist down to the docks “You must have women lining up for you.”

He chuckled

“Someone sounds jealous.”

“Not even slightly.”

——

The docks were bustling with midday activity, but the ship waving the Snezhnayan flag was easy enough to spot. Six Fatui skirmishers stepped off the boat, which Childe greeted enthusiastically before easing into a grand speech about serving the Tsaritsa.

Irina was left to sit on a crate and process six diplomatic visa applications for extended stays. It wasn’t lost on her how unglamorous her job was in comparison to Childe’s flaunting.

If she were more suited to combat she might have considered killing him for his position.

Unfortunately, life wasn’t fair. Although the Tsaritsa had blessed her with a cryo vision she was never really suited for combat. Over the course of her training with the Fatui it was clear that her talents were in shields and healing. She was probably one of the few Fatui vision users who didn’t end up in a combat position.

“Daydreaming on the job?” She looked up to see Childe hovering over her, a trail of new recruits behind him “We might have to consider docking your pay”

His frown was clearly fake. He was enjoying making her look incompetent in front of those who didn’t know any better.

“On the contrary, considering how long your speech took, I finished ages ago.” She shoved the stack of papers into his chest “If that’s everything Lord Tartaglia, I’ll be going back to the bank to finish my previous work.”

“Ah.” He held out an arm to stop her before turning his attention to the recruits “You there. Take these papers and file them with the milileth. They’re located in the gaudy building in the center of the city. You can’t miss it.”

Irina stared at him expectantly while the recruits followed the man holding their paperwork. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised that Childe had once again sent new arrivals off with zero directions.

“ We ” he emphasized “Aren’t going back to the bank. I have a business dinner that I want you to attend as well.”

Irina perked up. He was asking her to do a real task? Not just busywork? Surely there was a catch.

“You want me to attend?” She pointed at herself “You’re not going to make some grand statement about how you don’t need my help?”

“Not today” he laughed “I can’t tell if this particular business partner is immune to my charm or just isn’t into men. A more feminine touch might help.”

He wanted her to be a honey trap. Of course.

“It’s probably just you.”

——

Dinner was of course at one of the two nicest restaurants in town. Liuli Pavilion and Xinyue Kiosk were rivals for the higher-end business in Liyue Harbor. Even in her limited time in the city, Irina already heard ravings from the bank staff about how it was worth blowing some extra paycheck money. Her mouth was already watering at the prospect of a nice meal after eating from street carts since her arrival.

The moment she stepped through the door of Liuli Pavilion it was clear that Childe was flaunting his wealth. The rich woods paired with a gold inlay made it look like it was fit for royalty.

“Master Childe,” The host greeted him with a bow “Your private room is ready and your guest has already arrived. Please, allow me to escort you to your table.”

Childe gave her a wink before following the host down the hall and to a secluded part of the restaurant.

“Apologies for the tardiness, I brought a friend.”

Irina turned the corner into the room to see a familiar face sitting at the table.

Mr. Zhongli.

For just one moment, the surprise was written all over her face. Childe knew exactly what Signora was up to. That she was just a proxy. She was going to lose her job. Her life.

She pulled herself together, a smile crossing her features

“It’s a pleasure sir, my name is Aster. I’m an associate of Childe’s at the Northland Bank.” She moved across the room to the seat next to Zhongli, who rose to meet her and pulled out her chair “And he’s a gentleman” she flashed a smile to Childe, whose expression was of course, unreadable.

“The pleasure is mine.” Zhongli returned to his seat “My name is Zhongli, I’m a consultant at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor.” he directed his attention to Childe “When you mentioned you may have a guest I assumed it would be the traveler again.”

Childe took his seat next to Irina at the large, round table “I happen to associate with more than one other person.”

The conversation was mundane, but pleasant enough as the trio waited for the food to arrive. It was a common skill in the Fatui to be able to carry the conversation while still saying nothing of importance. Irina did her best to pepper in some flirtatious side glances and arm touches to Zhongli whenever it was clear Childe was watching.

Not like Zhongli looked remotely interested.

Then again she wasn’t exactly putting in the effort either.

Plate after plate of food arrived at the table. It was clearly a show of extravagance from Childe. Although she couldn’t quite tell if it was meant for Zhongli or to remind her that he was the top agent in Liyue and had the mora to prove it.

Irina didn’t hesitate before taking a bite of the first plate she could reach. Sure enough, everything on the table was delicious. She chatted with Zhongli as the two went from plate to plate, marveling at the chef’s expert use of spices. Until she noticed that Childe had eaten nothing.

She looked over to see him grossly misusing his chopsticks. Every time he managed to get them into position, one would slip through his fingers or collapse onto the other.

Irina let out a sigh, moving closer to him in her chair “Here, let me help.” she reached out her hands, gently touching his fingers before he immediately recoiled.

“What are you doing?” he demanded

“Helping. If you keep holding your chopsticks like that you’re going to starve to death.”

“I’ve got it.” he pulled his hand away from her, still fiddling with the two foreign objects in his hand.

“If you insist.” she moved back to the center of her chair, clearly ignoring the struggles of the man next to her.

The rest of the meal was painfully uncomfortable. Irina and Zhongli spent the rest of the time doing their best to ignore Childe as he frequently dropped food short of his mouth. By the time they had finished, she wanted nothing more than to go back to her hotel room and pretend the whole thing never happened.

Except maybe for a clever jab here and there.

“It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Zhongli, I hope we meet again in the future.”

“As do I, Miss Aster. Allow me to escort you back to your hotel, it’s gotten dark since we’ve arrived.” Zhongli held open the door for both Irina and the suspiciously quiet Childe to exit.

“Oh thank you, but you really-”

“I’ve got it from here. After all, she is my subordinate and I’d hate to see anything happen to her.” Childe was back to his normal, cheerful demeanor. Although that just seemed to unsettle her even more.

“Of course. Have a pleasant evening, both of you.”

Childe waved as Zhongli disappeared from view, then turned his attention to Irina. She knew this wasn’t going to end well. Zhongli wasn’t interested in her playful flirting, which was admittedly half-assed and on top of that there was the matter of her trying to help with his chopsticks.

“So are you going to tell me what that look was at the beginning of dinner?”

Irina raised an eyebrow, trying to consider every ‘look’ she gave since the moment they walked through the door of the restaurant. “What look?” She asked

“I saw your expression when you first saw my contact.” All traces of his previous smile were gone. He wasn’t hiding the fact that he was all business now

“Ah. That.” her thoughts raced as she tried to come up with an excuse. Clearly, she couldn’t say that she’d met him before “Normally when someone wants to use my services for seduction it tends to be for some old bureaucrat. Your contact is young and handsome.”

Childe shook his head, clearly disappointed in her answer. But at least he seemed to believe it. “Don’t go falling in love on the job.”

“Don’t worry. I have no heart.”

She gave away her heart the moment she signed her life away to the Tsaritsa.

The two maintained eye contact for longer than what either was comfortable with, each too stubborn to back down. It was impossible to tell how much time passed during their unspoken competition.

“Shall we head back?” Childe asked, finally averting his eyes to the road ahead.

---

The walk to the hotel was short but silent. Crowds moved for them, people stared, parents pulled their children closer as they walked by. It was the same in any country that wasn’t Snezhnaya. The Fatui were always seen as a threat, which in defense of the people, they were. Most of the time the fear in their eyes didn’t phase her, but it was nothing compared to having a harbinger by her side.

“What’s with the long face?” Childe asked

Irina snapped out of her own head to notice that they had already made it to the hotel.

“It’s nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. I’ve got sisters, I know that look.” He chuckled quietly “The ‘the weight of the world is on my shoulders and no one else could possibly understand’ look”

She laughed, “It’s really nothing. Just a long day is all.”

He looked lost in thought for a moment “The mail boat arrives at 10 tomorrow. Why don’t you take a couple hours in the morning before that for yourself.”

Irina was shocked. Sure, Ekaterina and Vlad and the others at the bank all spoke highly of him but she’d never seen it for herself. She just assumed they spoke highly of him because they had to.

“You don’t have to do that. I assure you whatever is going on in my head will never impede my ability to do my job.”

Childe let out a long sigh before rubbing the back of his head. It was a gesture that looked both human and unsure. Two things she knew he wasn’t.

“That’s not what I’m insinuating. Just...take a break. That’s an order.” He opened the door to the front of the inn, ushering her inside “If I see you at work before 10 I’m going to be pissed. Goodnight.”

Irina watched from the window as the man disappeared down the street, still confused by what just occurred. For two weeks since she arrived he either outright ignored her, berated her, or made fun of her in front of the rest of the bank employees.

Maybe his delusion had finally caused him to go insane.

[thembnko]

The China/US spat hurts Africa and will escalate into WWIII Since its outbreak in early 2018 China's spat with the United States (US) hurt Africa. The International Monetary Fund (IMF) shows in its World Economic Outlook for 2019 the US was first to increase tensions through imposing higher tariffs on aluminum and steel of 25 percentage points on imports of $50 billion from China and 10 percentage points on imports of an additional $200 billion. After China retaliated the US imposed 15 percentage points in tariffs on all goods (roughly $300 billion) that had not yet incurred tariffs starting in September 2019 and a 5 percentage-point increase on already-tariffed $250 billion imports. The imposition of higher tariffs reduce Africa's economic activity for China depends on the continent for aluminium. China's impact increased the continent's Gross Domestic Product (GDP) by 1 percent. Chad, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Congo, Ethiopia and Namibia feature in investments while Europe and the US regards them as 'failed states.' The countries had 1.6 percent of the population move out of poverty annually. In Tanzania extreme poverty fell by 5.3 million people. Chad and the DRC saw a 3 percent drop. Since South Africa started a peace process focusing on the DRC and Burundi n 2000 and helped the countries run elections, negotiated with the South African private sector to invest, refocused the Organization for African Unity hence its renaming to being the African Union, and established additionally the New Partnership for Africa's Development (NEPAD) China boosted the initiatives by providing finance. The United Nations names it in all peace reports as the only country in the world helping the African Peace and Security Architecture. South Africa accepted more than 2 million refugees from the continent before this. Now they have reduced by more than 800,000. China brought a new emphasis on development boosting the NEPAD by promulgating the Belt Road Initiative in 2013. Though focused upon growing Asian economies it includes non-regional countries like Kenya, Sierra Leone, and Djibouti. It ‘grows’ its power with them miles away from its geographic space building a vast network of railroads and shipping lanes at an investment in 2019 of $1.2 trillion. All US thinktanks see this as China's efforts at 'recolonizing' Africa yet the US does not provide investments. Meanwhile, the Belt Road Initiative will increase investments by 14 percent annually reaching $1.3 trillion by 2027. China encouraged all its companies and banks to go into the continent, restructured its economic model to move away from cheap labour so the country moved up the value chain of high-quality electronics and new technologies while the US and Europe only encouraged big companies like Google and Microsoft. Regionalisation as initially conceptualized by Britain worked on the basis of colonization. It has no place in a rising Africa. For economic growth to happen with it being at the centre or part of economic objectives all regional players must agree before they each have national economic policies on priorities, objectives, resources, budgeting and implementation methodology. China facilitated that yearly having African policy makers and Heads of States assembled in a single forum with it's own leaders. Throughout the 400 years Europe had colonized the entirety of Africa and after liberation from 1960 when Africa needed help with development it had no such plans and initiatives. It hated the idea of an African Rennaissance and blemished Kwame Nkrumah's image for it. World Bank and IMF officials colluded with the US in hating Thabo Mbeki for reviving the idea. He had South Africa help Zimbabwe boost its currency with the rand and not the US dollar alone. More importantly tensions between the US and China escalate when European economists are now realising because of prosperity J.M. Keynes’s famous economic 'prophecy' that Europe and the US would have solved all their economic problems by 2030 is coming true. He wrote leisure was to be their focus

since working hours were historically to be reduced. To emphasise its poverty Africa meanwhile has not even a Survey of Income to measure incomes after colonization and make comparisons with Europe. The US has high labour participation rates giving a high standard of living that in the case of an outright war will not make US citizens poor but only reduce equality.

Evidence since 2017 - that is before the trade tensions erupted - is the US was given China's growth in Africa preparing for war. All US thinktanks have discussion documents showing US military mobilization in the Pacific Rim pretended to be a watch on China's East Asian ambitions. They did not see regionalisation taking place which Europe and South America permitted through respectively having Britain and the US lead. The Economist's 16 August 2020 publication titled "America musters the world's biggest naval exercise" described the exercise as 'bibulous' showing off the newest US destroyers. The magazine described the relationship between the US and China which was in 'freefall.' The now overtly shown military build up comes as more than in any country and continent the US has 7 million Covid-19 cases and 170,000 deaths. China where Covid-19 it claims originated has less than a third of both. The US's foreign policy calls for military action when its citizens are affected by death while based in another country or the death is imported into the US. Who does not recall the demise of Libya and Muammar Gadhaffi? The pretext against China is it is hiding information on the origins of Covid-19. The Rand Corporation which produces policy and discussion documents for the US President, Department of Defence, and the Department of Homeland Security recently bolstered Donald Trump's and the Secretary of State's rhetoric on the claim. It documents, researches, analyses, and conducts a project entitled U.S.-China Long-Term Competition sponsored by the Deputy Chief of Staff, G-3/5/7, U.S. Army which has the stated purpose of helping the US Army understand China's capabilities and military.

It published a tool detailing air travel data from the International Air Transport Association. This data visualizes how the coronavirus travelled from China between December 2019-February 2020. The tool titled The Covid-19 Air Traffic Visualization (CAT-V) tool has a "heat spot." It has never been commercialised or made known to the public and was given to the Rand Corporation on condition it showed the public the coronavirus emanated from China. It boosts the underreporting claim and uses estimates of importation risk to the US. It concludes air travel interacted to export infection risk across the world and states by late January 2020 exported from China via commercial air travel on a daily basis. One other conclusion is that countries with modest numbers of confirmed cases still represent the greatest risks of virus exportation to the US if those countries have relatively high active case rates per capita and high levels of connectivity to China. The organization specifically writes the tool inform(s) 'defense-related decisions.' It is preparing for WWIII escalating tensions to more than a Cold War. If WWIII takes place South Africa and Africa must take sides. This is because • the US jeopardizes the New Partnership for African Development and peace initiatives South Africa commenced. • food in the whole of Africa will become short since Covid-19 already disrupted chains of supply • refugees will increase • China's obliteration will mean an end to the whole of humanity because high precision weapons will be used by both sides and the US has a military station mounted on the Moon

Before the tensions rose Africa was projected to have a food market of $740 billion by 2027. It will not come. Hence, the entirety of Africa must take sides. Huawei will stop its investments. South African companies are in Nigeria. They will close. Africa and South Africa will have bourgeoining unemployment which will never get reversed. South Africa has because of Covid-19 a $40 billion loan from the IMF it will never repay because its economy will never grow again. Europe and the US on the other hand will keep growing whatever the outcome because they have just respectively publicized agreements for an injection of $858 billion and $1 trillion to grow businesses and give more than 50 million workers affected by Covid-19 income. The entire world will be imperiled because Russia has an alliance with China including India. They are with South Africa part of the BRIC (Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa) countries. Taking sides means South Africa's national defence force and those of all countries in the continent must start training. Citizens must be told to stockpile food and other necessities and plans drawn to move them to places of safety. This must happen whilst efforts as a priority are made to broker peace. China has since February 2020 been refusing to sign a nuclear deal with the US. The US has been hoping to pressurise Russia to convince China to become part of a deal that involved the three countries. But China has been seeing war coming. With tensions now nearing military confrontation it indeed will be suicidal if it signed including Russia. The US has a military station on the Moon which fact they must consider extremely seriously. So to protect humanity both Russia and China deserve support in maintaining their current nuclear capacity. Maintaining it as a minimum deterrent force is of interest to Africa. In fact it is also time Africa asked both nations to train and equip the continents' separate national defence forces including India. BRIC had better be military. South Africa must use its muscle to negotiate with both. China too has responsibility to start the negotiations if South Africa delays. Tanzania after South Africa has the next best national defence force to train and Libya though it had suffered defeat in the hands of the US's army in 2009. It wants revenge. When the war breaks out Japan, United Kingdom, Australia, Germany, France, and the entire Western Europe will side with the US. Japan has in South Africa investments of R100 billion consisting of 5 different car manufacturers (R60 billion) employing 25,000 South Africans; electronics (R2 billion) employing 20,000. Its Prime Minister Shinzo Abe is reported to have the closest personal relationship with former US President Donald Trump. Trump consulted him closely on the Indo-Pacific. Japan views China in its 2020 defense White Paper as the region's greatest security threat and is responsible for the US's majority intelligence products concerning China's maneuvers there. It has allowed the US Navy to mobilize and gives it at present very extensive logistical support. China deteriorated relations with it for years over the conduct. It has not been able to succeed to make Japan look towards Asia for its security because after the outbreak of WWII the US government invested heavily in Japan advised by its Navy to keep its power in check. The relationship was based on racism for both the US and Britain regarded Asia Pacific as an extremely important geographical space for the expansion and protection of British colonialism that included Africa. It levies extraordinary payments upon the US for hosting its bases. Australia lies not far from Japan.

[themusicplayedherlife]

Some Sugar

Part 2: I wanna hold hands with you

pairing: sugar daddy!steve rogers x reader characters: reader, steve rogers, cassandra jones (oc), selena (oc), others word count: 6k+ warnings: angst, family issues, money problems, cursing, talks of sex summary: sometimes, all we need is a someone to take our hand and help us a/n: the chapters might be getting longer than i anticipated and i might be cutting them up (had to take out Steve’s pov because wow), but it’ll really depend on the flow of the story

prev || all || next

It’s been about a week since you gave your number to Steve. 

You had known not to get your hopes up, but after seeing the shy smile that appeared on his handsome face and how kind he sounded when he asked if he could call, it was hard not to get your hopes up! 

Why ask for your number and then ask for permission if he’s not going to call?! Who even does that anyway? No one does! 

And then leaving you a $100 tip for three beers? What the actual fuck? Not that you didn’t appreciate it but who leaves that kind of tip for three beers? Cassandra had practically hounded you after they left, thinking that you personally knew Captain America, the Falcon, and the Winter Soldier. Fuck, you hadn’t even recognized them when they walked in, so the answer was obviously not! She didn’t believe you--”or else why would Captain America have followed after you?” You rolled your eyes at the suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows and ignored her for the rest of closing.

Because of her teasing, you didn’t mention him asking for your number.

The table in front of you squeaks with your rough wiping—ugh, you have more important things to worry about than a boy—man, person, soldier, or whatever!

A sharp call of your last name causes your body to react violently, jerking your body straight and for the rag in your hand to drop to the floor. 

Your boss wears a scowl, thin lips practically disappearing and gums appearing against stark yellow teeth. His beady eyes take you in and you can practically feel the heat of his glare on your face. “Be careful! If you scratch--”

“I know, I know,” you start offhandedly, reaching for the rag you dropped, “it’ll come out of my pay.” Not like you could actually scratch the glass table with a cotton rag, but whatever.

He humphs, shooting you another glare before disappearing into the back. Sighing when the door closes behind him, you share exasperated smiles with your coworkers. Your boss isn’t usually such a dick, but with the holidays coming up and the Italian restaurant getting an abundance of catering orders, he’s been a little off-kilter.

Which reminds you, you were hoping to ask him about this years Christmas bonus and if you could get it in advance, but if his little show just a couple of minutes ago are of any indication, he might not be so willing to be so kind (even if you’ve picked up more shifts this month). 

There’s still so much that needs to be done. 

You have to check with the bank to see if you’re eligible for another loan—this time to pay back your aunt—as your last resort.

You need to check in with Selena and her progress on the agreement she and her coworkers are working on.

You have to schedule an appointment with Esme’s academic advisor, who’ll most likely suggest that Esme join more after school activities to help her future chances with universities or to beg you to convince your sister to reconsider her decision about cheer. She’s already far behind financially that she needs to make up for it with her grades and extracurricular.

You need to deal with your phone bill, might even have to switch plans or call to ask if they have any promotions to help lower your payment for the next month, or else you and Esme will be without a way to communicate when you’re going to be home late and she’s home alone.

God, why is there so much to do?

“Why don’t you go for your ten?” your coworker Irene suggests, holding a clipboard with all of your coworker’s names and their allotted work schedule. “It’s going to get busy as soon as we open.” And you look like shit, is probably what she’s thinking.

You nod and she smiles as you make your way over to the break room. The cooks usually spend their break in the kitchen, hunched over in a corner to eat, so you and the rest of the servers have made the break-room your little reprieve. It’s small, practically non existent, really, but you and your coworkers make it work. You maneuver around the young chefs and head chef, greeting them as you go, and they return it a little distracted, prepping for today’s menu.

Your boss is in his office, fingers in his disheveled hair with piles of paperwork surrounding him. You pay him no mind as you pass by it.

The break room is empty, devoid of any life other than you.

The lockers your coworkers and you stuff your belongings in is against the right wall, next to the small microwave your boss had installed after some of you complained that you couldn’t use the kitchen to warm up your food in fear of getting in the way of the chefs. 

You enter your combination, pulling out your bag to look for your old modeled phone. It sits at the bottom, under your change of clothes. The screen is black, and as you wait for it to turn on, you put everything back and close the locker.

You sit on one of the wooden stools brought in by a coworker, having grown annoyed that there were no seats in the break room. The screen illuminates your face as you wait, until finally your lock screen appears and so does a text message from Cassandra asking if you saw the show she’s been recommending and another from Selena giving you an update on the agreement she was working on, and a missed call from an unknown number who left a voicemail. Your heart leaps to your throat, anticipation growing in your stomach. Could it be…?

You quickly unlock your phone, swiping to open the voicemail. Pressing play, you press your phone to your ear and find yourself biting the skin of your thumb.

“Uh, hello—“ you hate that your heart flutters at the nervous mention of your name. He says it so carefully, gently, as if testing out the waters. “This is Steve. Steve Rogers.” He clears his throat. “I’m sorry I haven’t called. A mission we were sent on lasted longer than we anticipated.” He sighs deeply, sounding a bit tired and you grow worried. “I hope you didn’t think I wouldn’t call or that I asked for your number to mess with you.” The nerves melt into a puddle of goo as your head fills with heat, embarrassment licking your skin at having been guessed so easily. “I, um, I was hoping we could meet up soon? For coffee? Or lunch? Whatever you’re comfortable with.” He pauses and the line grows quiet. “There’s something I want to ask you, but I, uh—it might be better if I ask you in person? Call me back when you get the chance. This is my personal number, by the way. Right, then… Have a good day? Shit. Didn’t mean that as a question! I hope you do have a good day—you know what, I’m just going to hang up now.”

The voice mail ends and you pull your phone away, staring at the number on the screen, a small laugh escaping you.

He called you! Steve Rogers really called you! And with his personal number too! God, what kind of messed up dream are you in?

Your bottom lip becomes a chew toy—should you call back? Should you not? You should, right? You were disappointed that he hadn’t called, and now that he has, you should. ...Right?

You let out a loud groan and throw your head back into the empty space. What would Selena and Cassandra say if they were here? You snort. Wow, that was a dumb question. You know exactly what they would say—call him, you idiot.

Before you can let your nerves take over, you quickly press the callback button. It rings, and you swear to god your heart speeds up, a buzzing gathering around in your head as you wait for his answering machine. But that doesn’t happen.

“Hello?”

Your heart that had been lodged in your throat drops to your stomach, and you find your throat growing dry. “Steve?”

He says your name just as he had when he left the voicemail. “Hey. You heard my voicemail.” He sounds almost happy? Excited, maybe?

“I did, yeah.” You curl a strand of hair behind your ear. “You said you wanted to meet up?”

“Yes!” he suddenly squeaks. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no. I don’t.” At all. Okay. Maybe a little? Not because you don’t want to talk to him or meet up with him. But because you’re nervous now and you don’t know what to do. “When did you want to meet up?” 

“Today? If you have time?”

You frown, eyes drifting to the clock on the wall, just on top of the lockers. Your ten minutes are almost up. “I don’t know if I can,” you admit. “I’m at work until 4 and then I have to head to my shift at the bar right after.”

“Oh,” he says, a little disappointed. You don’t know why, but you quickly rack your brain to try and ease his disappointment.

“Maybe during a lunch break? At either job.”

“Oh,” his voice lightens, and your chest soars at having not disappointed Captain America. “What time do you have your lunch break?”

“For my current job?”

“Yes,” he answers, papers shuffling in his end.

“Uh, usually around 2 in the afternoon?”

“Then do you want to get lunch together for your break? We don’t have to go far.”

“Okay.” Your inner Selena and Cassandra squeal with delight. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Mind sending me the address?”

“I’ll send it to you right now.”

“Okay.” There’s a tilt to his voice and you picture him smiling, your own lips lifting. “Then... I’ll see you soon?”

“Yes, see you soon.”

Work drags on, and you’re impatient, occasionally tapping your foot and staring out the door, waiting for familiar blue eyes and blonde hair to burst through it at any moment.

“And I’ll have the fig and salami pizza,” a man with a too large nose, bleached blonde hair and dull blue eyes orders. “Make sure that the chef doesn’t add garlic. I hate garlic.” You nod, about to ask if he needed anything else, but he beats you to it. “Oh, and make sure that the dough is perfectly cooked. I like it to snap.”

You nod with a patient smile. “Anything else, sir?”

He shakes his head and waves you away from him and his date.

You sigh when you reach the kitchen, giving your order to the head chef and leave as he reads out the order—making sure not to bump into anyone. Just as you step out, a coworker stops you, his face still new and his name yet unlearned.

“Irene told me to tell you someone is looking for you,” he says before entering the kitchen.

Your heart leaps, and although you know who it might be, you can’t help but ask, “Did she mention a name?”

He shakes his head and the kitchen door closes behind him.

Your feet carry you to the main station where Irene is usually positioned, and unfortunately, she isn’t with the man you were hoping to see. 

It’s someone else. A stranger.

He’s tall, handsome, and rugged in a grey suit. Dark hair styled back and dark beard pristine and well groomed. He’s sporting a charming smile, eyes crinkling amicably.

Irene is blushing, cheeks red and eyes wide as they stare up at him. For a moment, she looks away from him and your eyes connect. Her brown eyes light up and she says something to him that has him looking over his shoulder.

Your feet falter, hesitating when you make eye contact with the male. Something in his gaze shifts, eyes narrowing, nothing friendly remaining on his face—it’s calculating and cold.

He fully turns to you and behind him is Irene mouthing something at you and pointing at him. You’re pretty sure she’s saying, “Who is this hottie?” 

You have no idea.

“You asked for me?” You direct towards her, hoping there’s been some kind of mistake.

“Yes,” the male answers instead, and there’s a hint of an accent to his voice. It’s unfamiliar to you, just like his face. “We have some things to discuss.”

You want to ask if you know him, but before you can, his gaze returns to Irene.

“You don’t mind if I steal her for a moment?”

“Of course not,” she says. “You came right on time, anyway. I was just about to send her on her lunch break.”

Great. He could be a murderer for fucksake and she could be sending you to your deathbed without knowing!

“Perfect,” he says, eyes returning to you. He roughly grabs your arm and leans down to whisper in your ear, masking it with a jovial smile and pretending he was just moving you away from an incoming co-worker carrying plates. “If you don’t want to lose your job, I suggest you come with me.”

He doesn’t sound like he’s joking.

You muster a glare, twisting your arm out of his hold before addressing Irene. “I’ll be right back.” Removing your black waist apron, you hand it to her before following the strange male out to the front of the restaurant. She’s none the wiser, smiling brightly and giving you two thumbs up.

You stop a little off to the side, making sure to not block the way of people leaving or entering the restaurant, or strolling by. Waiting for a couple to pass you both, your eyes try not to waver as they harden. “Who are you?”

He stands straight, head held high and looking down at you—he’s trying to intimidate you, that much is obvious by his stance and the way his eyes stay narrowed. It’s working. But you’re not about to let him know that.

He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out an envelope, a familiar seal—belonging to the note that had been slipped under your door—greeting you. “Madame Magdalena—“ Madame? What the fuck? First Tia, and now Madame? Is that woman obsessed with titles? “Sends another message.”

You have got to be shitting me!

You ignore your shaking hands and rip the envelope from his hands, opening it without care; and just as you had suspected, it’s another note with the remaining amount and the due date. “She’s threatening me at my job now? Seriously?”

The male remains stoic. “She is growing impatient.”

It hasn’t even been a month since she stopped by the apartment! Hell, it hasn’t even been three weeks!

“Yeah?” You rip up the paper along with the envelope in half. “Well, tell my aunt that if she continues to threaten me, I’m going to the police!”

The man’s eye twitches, but other than that, his expression doesn’t change. 

A familiar voice calls your name as a hand settles on your shoulder, guiding you back a step. “Is everything all right?”

“Steve?” you drawl, wide eyes falling on the man you had been waiting for. He smiles down at you, baseball cap barely hovering over his eyes and squeezing your shoulder gently before hardening his gaze at the male in front of you.

“I am only the messenger,” the man says, a little deflated and unsure of the newcomer.

You don’t blame him. His size could be used to intimidate you, but not Steve. Steve is taller by a couple of inches and thicker in muscles, and there’s this air of authoritativeness surrounding him that is hard to ignore. And if the man recognizes who he is, he definitely doesn’t want to mess with an Avenger.

“Then be my messenger and tell her to stop,” you snarl, grabbing the hem of Steve’s denim jacket as a foothold.

The man nods stiffly and turns on his heels. “Excuse me.”

Steve and you watch in silence, neither of you paying any mind to the bustling streets or cars. A man shouts somewhere in the distance and music is playing from the bookstore next door.

It’s not until he’s out of your sight that you take a deep breath, easing your grip on Steve’s jacket and growing lax as the nerves and tenseness leave your body.

“You okay?” he asks, and Steve’s eyes are full of concern.

You manage a smile. “I think so.”

He scans the area, face serious and devoid of any emotions. Is he checking if you’re both being watched? His expression relaxes after doing a quick sweep. “Do you want to reschedule lunch?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, no. You’d be a welcome distraction from what happened, honestly.” Your eyes automatically follow the route the stranger took. “Besides, I don’t think this’ll be the last time this happens,” you admit, trying to keep the wariness and defeat from your voice. “Anyway, lunch?”

Steve doesn’t try to hide his unease with your admission, and you’re almost positive he wants to ask you more questions, but he holds them back. “My friend mentioned there was a good bistro around here. Want to go there?”

“That’d be great,” you say, following after him, but not before throwing the ripped up note into a nearby trash can.

The bistro Steve takes you to is small, almost empty, but it has a cute rustic charm to it—all wooden, open brick, and green plants. You occupy a round table that only fits two people, choosing to sit by the back where the lighting is a little darker and the window is facing away from a main street. 

You order a fruit tea, foregoing your usual heavy coffee because a nervous you and coffee don’t mix well.

Steve orders a black tea and two breakfast sandwiches, one which he pushes your way when they arrive. When you give him a bewildered look, he says, “You need to eat something.”

He’s sweet.

“Thank you.”

He just smiles, but something keeps him on edge—eyes moving from you to the door, hand wrapped around his drink but never actually drinking from it.

You sigh, placing your sandwich back on the small plate. “He’s not coming back, Steve.”

He rips his gaze from the door and blinks. “What?” 

“The man from earlier?” You meet his gaze, trying to smile. “He’s not coming back. Not today, anyway,” you mutter to yourself.

Deep lines make themselves a home on his forehead and there’s an urge deep in your gut wanting you to reach out and wipe them away. “If he comes back, make sure to call me.”

“He’s not going to hurt me. My aunt wouldn’t let him hurt me just—“ your throat grows dry and his eyes narrow. “I mean—“

“Is she—did she send him to threaten you?”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything.

His face softens, trying to make himself seem more friendly and approachable—seeming like he cares. Especially when he says your name so carefully and slowly, like some kind of treasure. “You can tell me.”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “Why?” He doesn’t answer. “Why do you—you don’t even know me.”

He frowns, debating with himself until settling on, “I don’t need to know you to care.”

You retract, leaning back into your chair. That’s not good enough, even if butterflies are beginning to sprout their wings in your stomach. God, have you really been deprived of male attention for so long that you react like this at the first man that shows he cares?

“I… I overheard your conversation that night. Heard you were having trouble and…”

Of course he heard. Of course he fucking did. Fuck. “It doesn’t concern you,” you state coldly, ignoring the humming in your ear. You really don’t want his pity.

His lips purse together and his eyes lower, dark lashes curtaining over blue eyes. You worry your bottom lip, an unsettling feeling stirring in your stomach—guilt. You’re about to open your mouth to apologize but he beats you to it.

 “I want to help you.” He licks his lips, meeting your gaze with determination. There’s something so intense and fiery in his eyes that your heart jumpstarts and your breath gets caught in your throat. “And I think… I think we can help each other.”

Against your better judgement, you ask, “How?”

“I can…” he swallows, nail dragging back and forth on the table. “I can provide you money, help you with your bills and your needs, and in return you give me… company.”

“Are you asking me to be your personal prostitute?” He flounders and your eyes narrow. “Because it sounds like you’re asking for sex in return for money.”

“No! No—There was a term—” He tilts his head, thinking deeply about something before shaking his head. “What I meant was that I—I sometimes have events to attend and if I don’t take a date, women at these things tend to…”

Your nerves begin to ease, amusement taking over at the sight of a flustered Steve. “Throw themselves at you?”

“Yes!” He nods vigorously before mellowing out, eyes dropping to the tea that is no longer steaming. “Yes, they tend to throw themselves at me and it”—he winces, most likely remembering an instance— “it can be too much sometimes.”

“So… you want me to be a sort of barrier between you and these women?”

He sighs in relief that you understand. “Not just that. I meant when I said I wanted company, someone I can have a genuine conversation with.” He exhales through his nose. “Being who I am doesn’t exactly give me time to… meet people.”

Your jaw slackens as it clicks in your head: he wants a sugar baby. He’s asking you of all people to be his sugar baby! “What about the women throwing themselves at you?”

He snorts, lips turning into a self deprecating smile. “Most of them are just interested in what I am. Not who I am.”

You frown. Is he sure about that? 

“I just want someone to care about, someone who’ll let me take care of them, protect them and who is willing to get to know me as Steve Rogers, not Captain America.”

You mull over his words, the soft music drifting through the wooden beams of the bistro and the low chattering from the other customers suddenly seeming louder as you think. “Why me? You don’t exactly know me.”

He smiles, all soft and sweet eyes drifting over your face. “Why not you?”

That’s not exactly the answer you were expecting to hear, but you still find yourself relaxing in your seat. “How would this work?”

“Sharon”—Sharon? As in the famed Sharon Carter? Weren’t they rumored to be dating at some point?—“mentioned something about coming up with our terms and agreeing on them together. Maybe we can start there? After you have time to think about accepting my offer or not, of course.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth. “Okay.”

“You’ve got to be pulling my leg!” Selena practically yells from the other line, and you pull your phone away from your ear, wincing. “Captain fucking America is asking to be your Sugar Daddy?”

You curl under your bed sheets, trying to be quiet and not wake up Esme in the other twin bed. “I know, I’m just as in shock as you are.”

“I’m not in shock. I’m excited for you!” She gushes sleepily. “Please tell me you’re going to say yes! Because if you aren’t, I’m booking a flight to New York right now to slap some sense into you.”

You laugh, voice bubbling with mild glee and nerves. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about it.”

“Good! This is good for you! You deserve someone looking after you. You’ve done enough looking after.”

You shiver from the cold air seeping into the apartment, watching Esme closely—if she shivers too there’s another blanket in the closet you can put on her. “If I do say yes, it’ll be because I’ll have the ability to look after Esme and my mom, Sel.”

“And that’s fine! Not saying that shouldn’t be your driving force. But it’s about time someone looks after you, too. I mean, I know Esme and your mother do, and I know Cassandra does too, and I obviously do,” she says with a playful scoff and you chuckle softly. “But we can't look after you like Steve would. Whoa, can I call him Steve? Or is that only reserved for you?”

You roll your eyes and lift your blanket over your face, covering your cold nose. Rambling Selena is always fun. “Really?”

“Right, silly question. Of course I can, I’m your best friend.” You snort. “As I was saying. Steve can offer the attention and care we can’t, in more ways than one.” She giggles salaciously and you groan into the fabric of your blanket. “What? Is sex off the table or something?”

You breathe deeply, turning on your back. “I don’t know? Maybe? Maybe not?”

“Would sleeping with Captain America be the worst thing to happen to you?” Would it? There’s no denying that you are definitely attracted to Steve, but it’s one thing to fantasize and another to have the ability to make that fantasy come true. And what if he doesn’t want to have sex with you? She sighs, as if reading your thoughts. “Talk to him about it. He did say you could come up with your own terms, right?”

“Yeah.”

She hums thoughtfully. “I say you throw sex on the list, but add that you’ll only have sex if you feel comfortable enough to. And if he forces sex on you, fuck Captain America, not physically, but like, you know cursing him out. Or we could always curse him too, I made friends with some wicc—“

You laugh, knowing her rambling is only going to get worse as she gets sleepier, it’s the only way to stay awake for your sake. She may be three hours behind you, but she’s always been an early sleeper. “I think you and I need some sleep.”

She sighs dramatically. “You’re right. Let’s talk more about this when I’m less… delirious. This deserves our full attention, so you better call me when you’re free, you hear?”

“I promise I will.”

Cassandra’s eyes are hot on your side profile. It makes you regret asking Steve to meet you at the bar during your break this time around, but he was too busy to meet you earlier, and you were busy, too. You had a ten hour shift at the restaurant and during your break you visited your mom; and before heading for your shift at the bar you met with Esmeralda’s academic counselor, who indeed told you that Esme should think about joining more clubs and doing more activities—like cheer.

It solidified your decision on Steve’s proposal.

He takes a tentative sip of his beer, blue eyes bright even in the warm lighting of the bar—blue hydrangeas on the table pale in comparison. 

You take out a folded piece of paper from the pocket of your jeans. “I’ve never actually done this, so, um they might be a little juvenile…”

His pretty eyes scan your messy and unsure writing as he drinks in your words; your fingers rubbing hastily at a spot on the table. You mentally recite your terms, helped by Selena, but mostly written by you because she was going over the top with her suggestions (e.g. a gift delivered to your door every week, must cost over $100; roses sent to your work or home every week; a gift to my best friend every month unless she says she doesn’t need one; and so on—“What? He has money!” she said after you called her out for her ridiculous suggestions. “Isn’t the whole point of this him spending money on you?”):

Clear communication about what we want going forward in this arrangement.

Treat each other with respect.

Must get to know each other.

Affection, whether public or private, is okay, as long as it’s not manhandling.

Sex is also okay, as long as we’re both comfortable with one another.

A smile blooms on his face and he chuckles, only making your face heat up. You knew it! They are juvenile! Or was it sex? Maybe he wasn’t interested in sex with you? You don’t know whether to feel disappointed or relieved.  “I could—I could rewrite them?”

His eyes snap to yours and his laughter subsides, but not the amusement in his eyes, they’re clear as day. “No—no, they’re fine, it’s just,” he pauses to reach into his own pocket to pull out his own paper. He offers it to you and you take it tentatively.

You eye him and he gives you a small nod, smile curving his lips. You unfold it and as your eyes scan his simple terms that are an exact replica of yours (just with minor word differences) with no mention of sex in his. Your eyebrows furrow and when you look up his eyes are still on you, warmth—that you’ve come to associate with him—in his gaze. His hand reaches for yours and he coaxes your fingers to let go of the paper to take your hand in his—your heart picking up at the rough ends of his fingers smoothing over your palm. 

“Just that,” he continues, eyes falling to his fingers caressing your skin, a small frown appearing on his lips, “I thought you wouldn’t be comfortable with sex being part of our agreement.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Should someone touching you as simple as this really feel this good? Are you really that touch starved?

He shrugs, still focused on memorizing the lines of your palm. “You didn’t want money in return for sex, remember?” It’s teasing the way he says it, looking up at you through his thick lashes, too long and beautiful for your liking (fuck, how can a man be so beautiful?) and a small tilt to his pink lips.

You snort, propping your chin on your hand that he isn’t touching, elbow placed firmly on the wooden table and written agreements momentarily forgotten and placed aside. “In my defense, it sounded like you were propositioning me. You could’ve just said you wanted a Sugar Baby from the start, Steve.”

He huffs a laugh, fingers dragging over your skin as he pulls away and you find yourself missing his touch. You have to stop yourself from chasing his warmth. “Believe it or not, I was too nervous to remember anything. Had a hard time forming sentences, too.”

You blink before a smile blooms on your face. “Does that mean we have an agreement?”

Blue eyes once more stare at you—no, into you. There’s concern and excitement whirling around, swimming against the currents they’ve both created around one another.  “Have you really thought this through?” he asks, his voice barely heard over the music playing.

“What? This... arrangement or sex?” Because you have. You’ve probably annoyed Selena with all of your questions and concerns too.

He nods, not specifying which.

Your fingers reach for his hand resting on the table, but you hesitate before you can touch him and pull away. He frowns.

You can’t bring yourself to touch him, not yet. You focus on the LED candle lit on the table, avoiding his gaze. “Of course I have, Steve. I wouldn’t be here or have written it down if I hadn’t.” And if you’re being honest, you need this. You need the money and… and you need the affection and intimacy he could give you.

“It won’t be easy,” he tells you softly. “People are going to be prying everywhere we go—like now.” Your eyes follow his quick tilt of his head and your eyes meet the warm glow of Cassandra’s brown eyes. They widen and she quickly turns away, pretending to be cleaning the bar-top that she’s been cleaning excessively since Steve arrived. 

You shake your head and smile at your boss as she looks up again and returns your smile with a sheepish one.

“She won’t be the only one wondering what’s going on between us.”

“She’s harmless.”

He sighs, both hands wrapping around the body of his bottle. “I know. But that doesn’t mean the others will be.”

“Are you trying to scare me away? Plant doubts into my mind, because—“ because you already had those before Selena managed to chase them away; Steve bringing them up will only make you anxious again.

He rests his hand back onto the table, between you and him, just out of reach. “No, that’s the farthest thing from what I want.”

“Then…”

 “What I want is for you to be certain.” His eyes soften. “Because if you are, I promise you I will do everything in my power to protect you and your family, to keep you and them safe.”

A lump forms in your throat.

This time you don’t hesitate, your fingers brush against his before you’re pressing your palm against his, fingers slipping between his with such an ease that it almost scares you. But you’re not scared. How can you be scared when Steve is staring at you so tenderly? When he sounds so confident unlike when he brought up this arrangement? When he’s not only just thinking about you, but your family as well? When his fingers and yours fall into place so easily? 

Yes, it might be hard, you’re aware of that, and he is too. However, if it means helping your family out of this situation, giving Esme a better chance in the future and being able to help your mom, you’re willing to try. “I’m sure, Steve.”

He squeezes your hand, a smile wiping away any visible concern on his handsome face. “Okay,” he says before repeating it again with a firm nod. His eyes move to the clock hanging next to the entrance to the kitchen and back room—your beak is almost over. “What time do you get off work? Let me take you home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” you assure him, trying desperately to keep your nerves down. You really don’t want to show him where you live, it’s not exactly the best place and if Esme’s home, you really don’t want her asking questions until you’re ready. “Cassandra usually gives me a ride home after work.”

“I want to give you a ride,” he says, face becoming serious. “We still have some things to discuss… like your aunt,” his voice lowers at the end, a brief flash of anger in his eyes, not directed at you, but at the woman who has been tormenting you, even if he doesn’t know all the details.

You gnaw the inside of your cheek and then sigh gently. “I help close, so I’m usually out by two, depending on how many are closing with us.”

He nods. “You don’t mind if I wait here?”

“I don’t, but are you sure you’re okay, waiting?” You check the clock and you frown—10:36 pm. He’ll be waiting for some time. “I won’t be out for a while.” 

“I don’t mind,” he reassures you, squeezing your hand once more.

You return to work, a little reluctant to leave Steve by himself, but he keeps himself occupied by using his phone and occasionally, you find him staring at you every once in a while, flashing you a small smile.

“You don’t know Captain America, huh?” Cassandra teases, elbowing you gently on your side as you make a drink.

“I didn’t,” you tell her, shifting on your feet to move away from her prodding. 

Her eyebrows wiggle suggestively, her eyes shining with mirth. “And now you do?”

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile, but she knows you well enough to know that twitch and roll of your lips. “I guess so.”

She laughs and bumps your hip with hers. “Rooting for you, honey!”

If only she knew.

You’re busy the rest of the night. The bar is starting to gain some popularity again, and that means having to work even faster and harder. Steve at some point moves to the bar, leaving the booth that had been occupied by you and him earlier, but you prefer him being at the bar. It means he’s closer to you and it also means having his back turned to people who could possibly recognize him.

He’s not exactly wearing a disguise, baseball cap covering golden hair and being the only thing keeping people from recognizing him, but if he turns around and someone sober had already been looking at him, they’d know exactly who he is. His handsome face is unmistakable.

He smiles at you when he catches you staring at him and you return it bashfully before sliding another beer to him, his fifth one that night. Apparently with his super soldier metabolism, he doesn’t get drunk. Or hangovers.

Lucky bastard.

It’s not until half an hour before closing time that the bar starts to clear out, making it easy for you and the rest of your coworkers to clean up empty glasses and wipe sticky tables. Your feet are aching, but not enough to bother you for too long.

You’re carrying a tray of drinks to the back when Cassandra plucks it from your hands and grins at you. Your eyes widen and you stare at her with surprise.

“Go,” she says, motioning to Steve at the bar nursing a glass of water. 

As if knowing you’re talking about him, he lifts his gaze from his phone and flashes you a half smile that you return with heated cheeks.

“But I’m closing tonight.” It’s more of a question than a factual statement at this point.

“It’s fine. We’ve got things handled. Go! Don’t keep Captain America waiting,” she gushes with a wink.

You playfully groan and nudge her with your shoulder as you both slip into the back. “Will you stop?”

“Only if you leave!” she exclaims jovially, leaving the tray of glasses on top of the counter space of the small kitchen. She turns to you with a hand on her hip and leans against the counter. “Well? You gettin’ outta here or should I ask tall, blonde, and handsome to take me home, instead?”

“It’s not what you think, Cass,” you tell her as you open your locker.

“Uh-huh, sure it isn’t.”

“It’s not. We’re just getting to know each other.” Which isn’t a complete lie.

“Well, that intense hand holding didn’t seem like you’re just getting to know each other.” She’s only teasing, but something about her words have you pausing.

He might not have mentioned it, but it was kind of implied that people shouldn’t know about the kind of relationship (if you could even call it that) you and Steve have now. So it’s good that she thinks you’re together, right?

Cassandra calls your name and you turn to look at her, her brown eyes full of concern and you smile at her to ease that worry away. 

“We’re just testing out the waters.”

[randomvarious]

The Sugarhill Gang - “Rapper’s Delight” The Best Rap Album of All Time Song released in 1979. Compilation released in 1999. Hip Hop

“Rapper’s Delight” by The Sugarhill Gang is the most important song in the history of hip hop music. Period. It was the genre’s first commercial record and it sold millions of copies around the world. It suddenly introduced white people and everyone outside of the tri-state area, as well as countless people in other countries, to a Bronx-born, organic subculture whose popularity had previously grown through mostly word-of-mouth. It’s not the first hip hop song ever recorded (that honor belongs to “King Tim III (Personality Jock)” by The Fatback Band), but historians unanimously agree that it is indeed the genre’s runner-up record. And without its commercial success, hip hop might have only become a late 70s-early 80s New York fad, only to be cherished by its small set of original participants and Pitchfork-reading hipster types who wax nostalgic about those halcyon CBGB’s and Max’s Kansas City days where the city’s various strains of new wave, glam rock, punk, art punk, no wave, and the like all converged.

But I’m here to tell you that this iconic song, the one that made hip hop a viable commercial enterprise and enabled it to eventually become the biggest music genre on the planet, is actually a total fraud. And that’s for a couple reasons. Now, before you go all Rocko lavender hippo lady on me, let me just say that “Rapper’s Delight” is by no means a bad song. In fact, it’s one of the greatest songs ever made. But it was a total fucking cash grab, too; an absolute sellout record. And that’s ironic because, for a genre that’s had so many insufferable purists who bristle at the idea of inauthenticity (full disclosure: I was one of those people), they have no problem with calling this song an indispensable piece of “real” and “true” hip hop music.

Let me explain some hip hop history, first though.

Hip hop culture began in the south Bronx in the summer of 1973, about a full six years before “Rapper’s Delight” came out. It was started by a DJ from Jamaica named Kool Herc. Herc is the genius who figured out how to isolate the instrumental break on a record and extend it by having two copies of the record and lining up the second one to start after the break from the first one finished. This allowed people to dance to the same beat for extended periods of time, which gave birth to breakdancing and dance battles. Another thing the extension of the break enabled was rapping. Rapping came out of toasting, a Jamaican DJ tradition in which the DJ would bust out a nifty and rhythmic, spoken-word rhyme, often shouting out someone of note who was in attendance. But then that eventually morphed into an extended series of rhymes, which gave way to the MC.

Rapping at that point was largely a poetic, improvised stream-of-consciousness. MCs would rap for minutes on end, displaying their mental dexterity as they would do their best to keep on beat and try to make sense while rhyming the last word of each line with the next.

That’s where Sylvia Robinson comes into this story. Robinson was an R&B / soul / funk / disco artist and producer who had appeared plenty of times on the R&B charts and landed a top-three national hit with “Pillow Talk” in 1973. In 1979, she started her own label, Sugar Hill Records, which would become the most important hip hop label in the early part of the next decade. Robinson’s first interaction with rapping didn’t come inside a Bronx club or at a Bronx block party though. It was instead at her niece’s birthday party in Harlem, where DJ Lovebug Starski was doing a bit of call-and-response with his audience. 

From The Independent:

"The DJ [was talking] over the music, and the kids were going crazy. He would say something like, 'Throw your hands [up in] the air' and they'd do it," she recalled. "All of a sudden, something said [to me]: 'Put something like that on a record, and it will be the biggest thing you ever had'. I didn't even know you called it rap."

At first, Robinson had no takers. No rapper or DJ she approached thought making a hip hop record was a good idea. It was just a fun thing people did at parties. It wasn’t something that would ever end up being profitable. According to cultural critic Harry Allen, when Chuck D of Public Enemy first heard that rap was going to be put on records, he asked, “'How are you going to put three hours on a record?' Because that's the way MCs used to rhyme. They'd just rhyme and rhyme and rhyme for hours."

But Robinson would eventually find some people to rap on a record. It’s unclear whether or not it was her son or her herself who initially found the first member of her rap group, but it happened at a pizza shop in Englewood, New Jersey, where Big Bank Hank was spotted rapping while working his shift. Robinson then brought Hank out in front of the parlor to audition. The next member, Master Gee, would then audition in her car, followed by Wonder Mike. Robinson couldn’t decide which rapper she liked most, so she decided to sign all of them. And thus, the Sugarhill Gang was born.

However, it should be noted that Big Bank Hank, Master Gee, and Wonder Mike were absolute nobodies at the time. They weren’t serious MCs or DJs. The guys who had been putting it down since hip hop’s inception like Kool Herc, Afrika Bambaataa, Grandmaster Flash, and Kool DJ AJ had never had these guys rap on their stages before. They were total amateurs.

But Robinson didn’t care and not long after she signed them, “Rapper’s Delight” came to fruition. The #1 song in the country at the time happened to be Chic’s “Good Times,” and coincidentally, it was also a superb beat for rapping over. Robinson probably thought that using an uber popular instrumental for her rap record would move units, too, and ultimately, she would be proven right. She enlisted a funk band called Positive Force to recreate the “Good Times” instrumental, and,  incredibly, they and the Sugarhill Gang pumped out “Rapper’s Delight” in a single nineteen-minute take. There were no lyrical flubs and no mistakes by any of the players. It was an amazingly efficient use of studio time.

That nineteen minutes was then pared down to 14:30 and the recording was pressed to wax and then went to sale. However, “Rapper’s Delight” failed to catch on at first. Radio DJs were reticent to play such a ridiculously long song and hip hop party DJs had no idea who the Sugarhill Gang was. But once a radio version was cut, which is the version I’ve posted today, the record got radio play, which then translated to immense record sales. It made the Billboard Hot 100, peaking at #36, while hitting #4 on the R&B chart. And it became an even bigger hit outside of the U.S., reaching the top-five all across Europe, Canada, and South Africa. It also sold literally millions of records. The second hip hop song to ever be recorded for commercial purposes was a suddenly and completely unexpected global phenomenon. Hip hop had hit the big time.

But outside of the fact that this monstrous song was clearly a mere ploy to make money and was actually not an organic piece of Bronx-bred hip hop culture, there was even more fraudulence to it. Big Bank Hank, the second MC to grace the track, actually stole all of his verses from another rapper, the legend Grandmaster Caz. Caz was a member of a foundational hip hop group called The Cold Crush Brothers, who were known to rap at parties in the Bronx. Hank offered to become Caz’s manager and took out a loan to upgrade Cold Crush’s soundsystem. Then, to pay off that loan, he got a job at the pizza shop that he was eventually discovered in. But when he was seen rapping while working and was quickly auditioned afterwards, he used Caz’s lyrics. So, when Hank introduces himself on “Rapper’s Delight” with, “I’m the C-A-S-A, the N-O-V-A, and the rest is F-L-Y,” know he is spelling out one of Grandmaster Caz’s nicknames, and without his permission. And to this day, Caz hasn’t seen a single dime from “Rapper’s Delight”’s sales. Criminal shit.

But in the grand scheme of things, despite that bad sleight on Caz and the ultimate motive to record the song, “Rapper’s Delight” is still, by absolute happenstance, a masterpiece. It’s not just one of the first hip hop records, but it’s just so infectiously fun. But because of how fun it is, another thing that apparently pissed off other rappers at the time was that the song wasn’t about anything important. A lot of rappers were angry at the conditions in which they lived and they thought it was lame that a bunch of outsiders had cashed in on their artform while not even channeling any of the south Bronx’s inner rage. But a few years later, Grandmaster Flash and The Furious Five would release hip hop’s second unmitigated classic, “The Message,” a socially conscious-painted picture of the South Bronx. And it was released on, funnily enough, Sugar Hill Records.

There’s a moral or something to this story somewhere. Without the selling out and without Big Bank Hank’s lyrical theft, who knows where hip hop culture would be today? “Rapper’s Delight” sure wasn’t made for the purest of reasons, but it exposed hip hop music, and then eventually the actual authentic Bronx culture, to the entire world. Had Sylvia Robinson not seen dollar signs in this fun and unique party gimmick, would Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five or Afrika Bambaataa or Kurtis Blow become household names? Would hip hop ever be sold commercially? Would the following, more lyrical Def Jam wave with acts like Run-D.M.C. and LL Cool J ever happen? And then would N.W.A happen or the Native Tongues posse with A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, Busta Rhymes, Queen Latifah, and Black Sheep? I could go on, but you get the picture.

[itzagothamcitysiren]

There’s Only Us Left Now

So 2020 can go away now please. The last couple of days have been extremely rough mentally and I just didn’t have the energy to write or do much of anything. I’m still feeling a bit meh but I don’t want to leave you guys hanging so I wanted to update this before work today. Thank you to everyone whose been reading this! 

I Had a Dream I Was a Vigilante’s Side Kick pt. 3

           Wayne Enterprises had always been a place Halley was unfamiliar with. She’d only gone into the building a mere handful of times since being a Wayne but regardless she knew exactly where she was going. She still had her id badge Bruce had given her, hoping it still was active. She flashed it to the security at the door, gripping onto the new folder filled all the information she needed for this visit.

           She felt as if she permanently burnt a bridge with him after that night long ago when she broke out the Joker with the intent to kill him. She wasn’t mad that Bruce stopped her. She had grown to be thankful for it. The normalcy Halley had come to embraced until quite recently wouldn’t be possible if Bruce hadn’t been there to stop her. But there was still that voice in her head that told her that he hadn’t forgiven her.

           Dick and Alfred would tell her others and she had hoped them to be right. Bruce did start sending her invites to Gala’s and the likes about a year ago. He also made unannounced bank transfers into her account that Dick had set up for her when she started college. Bruce had done so quietly, not even telling Dick and had never tried to reach out to her for explanation.

           When she questioned Alfred about it on one of their Sunday lunch dates, the butler just said, “Master Wayne still cares. He wants you to be taken care of.”

           Halley bit the inside of her cheek at the memory and the feeling of still being unable to reach out. Even with forgiving Bruce, there was still a part of her that was bitter for stopping her. Jason’s words about how sending criminals to Arkham was the same as sending them through a revolving door were proven right by his death. And she also couldn’t stop herself from thinking that Bruce was only doing what he was doing for appearances. People started talking, wondering why his daughter was no longer appearing at events or spotted with the family.  

           Halley pushed herself back into focus, smiling at the guard as he granted her access into the building. She was relieved that it was only Batman Inc. that he revoked her access too after all. Taking a deep breathe she walked through the large lobby of the building, hearing the heels of her boots clicking against the tile floors.

           Her visit was unannounced but she felt confidence raging through her in determination to make her case heard and understood. She had thought of just sending her file of research straight to Alfred but she wanted to make sure that Bruce knew she meant her piece. She didn’t want him to just look over it with a shrug or scoff or whatever way he might. She wanted him to know that this Tim Drake meant trouble and wasn’t just another lost boy for him to take in and use.

           The elevator ride was long having to constantly stop on multiple floors of one of the tallest buildings in Gotham City but eventually she heard the ding for her floor. She exited and began to walk down the long hallway passing the large board room and other conference rooms until she reached the desk and secretary sat outside of Bruce’s office.

           “Excuse me,” Halley cleared her throat to gain the woman’s attention. “I’d like to talk to Bruce,”

           The woman looked up with her confused, unfamiliar of Halley’s face since she’d been out of the public eye for such a long time. The woman cocked her eyebrow up unsure who the girl thought she was to just walk in here and expect to see the big boss. Halley found herself chaneling her younger self, her own persona she had made to wear during Bruce’s charity Gala’s and such when the woman clearly wasn’t budging an inch.

           “I’m his daughter, Halley Wayne,” she gave a fake smile. “It’s a family emergency and I really need to speak to my father.” She hated the sound of her own voice but she pushed past it and hid the sneer she wanted to give at statement. She flashed her teeth at the woman again, raising the badge up to confirm she was who she was claiming.

           “Oh! Miss Wayne!” The woman’s attitude changed, rushing to stand and move to Bruce’s door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Let me just let him know you’re here, he’s in a call.”

           Halley watched as the woman disappeared behind the large oak doors. Halley bit her lip, looking around the room, trying to hide her impatience. She saw the large portrait hug on the opposing wall of the door of Bruce’s parents and smiled softly at it. As she gazed at the portrait she also noted the one Alfred had forced them to do hung right next to it. It was one of Bruce, herself and Dick and Jason. She frowned at that painting.

           “Halley?” Bruce’s concerned voice tore her out of her loathing. He stood by the open doors, his secretary making her way back to her desk. “Is everything okay?”

           “Hey Bruce,” Halley nodded to him, turning around to face the man.

           She looked him over seeing just how worn down he looked even though to the average person he’d look fine. She could tell from his eyes. He looked at her with mixed emotions. He was shocked to see her and she felt somewhat prideful. She had managed to pull one over the big bats. She shook the thought away knowing that she was here for a reason.

           “Can we talk?” She asked, gripping the folder tighter.

           “Of course come right in.” He said moving out of the way and motioning for her to enter his office first.

           She made her way in and waited for him to close the door before turning to face him. She knew he had his office under tight security and knew she could speak freely. She didn’t wait a second longer and held up the manila folder she had held securely the entire walk and train ride to the building. Bruce took note of the folder and looked at her silently asking for an explanation. She handed it off to him. He opened it and quietly browsed through the pages she had placed inside.

           “His name’s Timothy Jackson Drake.” She spoke at he looked at the first couple of pages. “He’s fifteen years old; lives in the East End. He has an IQ of 142 and actually got the Wayne Scholarship for a full ride through Gotham Academy.” She started, as Bruce stopped reading and looked up at her.

           He didn’t yet question the significance or relevance of the information, knowing it must be important if it brought Halley to him after all this time. He wore a serious look as she didn’t falter and continued on,

           “His parents are Jack and Janet Drake. Jack’s a business man. Not to your caliber but good enough. He’s attended some of your Gala’s and charity events. His mother’s a stay at home mom, only works a couple of shifts at a local flower shop.” She spoke, finding herself moving to look around the office, as if it would help her get through this faster. She paused as she stood in front of the large windows overlooking the heart of Gotham.  

           “I did some more digging though because it seemed too clean and there were a couple of transactions in Jack’s accounts that just didn’t add up to me.” She explained. “Jack’s found himself tangled up with Oswald Cobblepot after taking out a couple a loans from him to help pay the rent” She frowned as Bruce meet her stare.  “Like I said he’s a business man but not like you. He was down on his luck and I guess making a deal with the Penguin seemed logical.” Halley huffed rolling her eyes at the man’s stupidity.

           “What does this have to do with the boy?” Bruce asked looking back into the file; most of the information wasn’t on Jack but instead his son.

           “Well, his son knows about us to start.” Halley said bluntly causing Bruce too look at her with firm eyes. “He figured it out. He recognized Dick after seeing him in action a few months back on TV with the Titans; he had seen the Flying Grayson’s as a kid and he quickly put two and two together. He came to me and told me he knew who we were. He asked me if he could be Robin.”

           Halley paused, hesitating on telling him about that but she knew she had too. As much as this was killing her she had to be fully transparent about this. She felt like the kid’s life could be at stake if she wasn’t honest to Bruce. She stored back any pettiness she had left and continued,

           “I think he knows about his father and Cobblepot.” She said looking down and shaking her head. “I think he wants to become Robin to try and help his father or something; I don’t really know that part but Bruce, he can’t. He-,”

           “He’s just a kid.” Bruce finished, lowering his eyes. He ran a hand through his hair before walking over to his desk and placing the folder onto it. “Who else knows about this? Have you spoken to Dick?”

           Halley shook her head no. Dick had sent her a text asking if everything was alright after getting the notification of her being in his safe house. She had lied and said she needed a quiet place to work on her paper. She didn’t want him to worry, so she decided to keep in him in the dark for now at least.

           Bruce nodded at his former ward, placing his hands in his pants pocket. He walked out from behind the desk and made his way back over to her near the window. “Thank you for coming to me with this. I’ll look into it; make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish.” Bruce paused.

            Halley bite her lip and nodded to him hesitantly. It was as if she was beyond uncomfortable in his presence. He frowned at this and opened his mouth to speak again, “Thank you for feeling like you could come to me with this. I know it’s been a while since we’ve last spoken and I am truly sorry for how things left off. I was just doing what I thought was right.”

           “I’m not here to talk about that Bruce,” she snapped, glaring down at her feet. She felt the sharp pang of awkwardness take over after she lashed out and cursed to herself. She had gotten better with that and here she was again.        “I’m sorry, I just-“She sighed, looking up at him for real this time. Bruce didn’t apologize and if he did it was very rare. “I forgive you, Bruce. I forgave you a long time, I just wasn’t sure if you had forgiven me.” She admitted.  “You had done the right thing and I should be thanking you.” She smiled just a crack, finding her voice again. “Just make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid okay?”

           She started to head towards the door knowing that she had nothing left to say but was stopped when Bruce spoke up again, “You could help me with this, you know. I think you’ve proven to yourself and me that-,”

           “No; thank you but no,” Halley cut him off, shaking her head at the thought. “I’m not a hero and the days of me pretending to be one are long over.”

           Halley left without another word feeling her mood shift once again as she closed the door behind her. She gave the secretary a fake smile again before heading back down the hall to the hallway towards the elevator. She tapped her foot against the floor anxiously waiting and hoping and praying that Bruce wouldn’t come after her. And for once luck was on her side as the door opened before any such thing could happen.  She entered and pressed the button for the ground floor immediately suddenly wanting to get as much distance from herself and this place as soon as possible.

           She felt multiple ranges of emotions. Satisfaction, reluctance, confidence and temptation. She had finally talked to Bruce; she had finally gotten the justification of knowing that he didn’t think so lowly of her. Maybe all of his quiet attempts to reach out weren’t just some show? But she still was hesitant to believe it. Actions spoke louder and he had never personally and verbally tried reaching out. He had only ever done so in hiding. And then she had also stood her ground. She went in and said her piece without once wavering. But then he had to go and ruin it. He just had to go and tempt her by offering her a place back in the life that had almost ruined her.

           She tried to shake the thoughts out of her head pushing herself to walk as quickly but unsuspiciously out of Wayne Enterprises. She had done her part. She had made sure the information had gotten shared and she could get back to her life and put any invitation of her old life back where it belonged. She had more important things to worry about, like school papers and homework and other more tasking things.

           What a joke, she chuckled to herself. There was a time when the things she had just listed off didn’t even come close to importance and now here she was putting them higher up on her list. The thought made her spiral back into the thoughts of her old life and how it really had going on close to three years this April since Jason’s death and her giving up her mantle. It had been even longer since she first met him and became Nightshade; longer since she was face to face with her father.

           “Stop,” she whispered to herself before she walked to the sidewalk to hail a taxi.

           It wasn’t long before she was able to get ones attention and quickly told the driver to bring her to Gotham University. She had more important things to concern herself with than Batman and Tim Drake; she had a paper she still needed to finish writing.

[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

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[nothingeverlost]

Henry Gold (10/?)

Summary: Regina asked for Gold’s help in procuring a child, but when he held the wee boy in his arms he couldn’t give the child up.  Ten years later it’s Henry Gold who arrives in Boston, looking for Emma.

This chapter: A thief, punishment, ice cream, and a story of tragic love.  AKA The Skin Deep chapter.

It’s a monster at almost 11,000 words.

TW for mentions of suicide and for violence.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3/ Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 /  Chapter 8 / Chapter 9

II

Gold was not the most popular person in town.  It had taken Emma less than a day to see that.  With few exceptions people seemed to avoid him unless they had dealings with him.  It was strange, really, how many people in town seemed to have dealings with a pawnbroker.  Those that interacted with him willingly seemed to do so for Henry.  After a couple of months in town she still wasn’t sure there was anyone she’d call Gold’s friend.  He’d visited someone named Jefferson a few times, but Emma hadn’t met him yet.  

She wasn’t used to seeing people yell at Gold, though.  She was on her way to the diner when she saw him crossing the street, a red-faced angry man shouting out that Gold was ‘the lowest’ and wasn’t going to get away with it.  Emma hadn’t noticed him before but she’d hardly met everyone in town.

“Isn’t that Dove driving away in the florist van?”  Emma jogged to catch up with him.  She’d met Dove a few times, and knew that he worked for Gold in some capacity.  Henry had a wooden unicorn in his room he said Dove had made for him.

 “It’s being repossessed.  French is months behind in his payments.”  Gold ignored the man still shouting.  Ignored the mayor walking their direction as well, ducking into the shop the moment he had the door opened.  Emma followed.

“You lent him money?”  There was a bank in town.  She knew that because her paychecks were direct deposited.  Filling out the paperwork had been the first time she’d used Gold’s address as her home.

“I run a pawn shop, Emma.  I lend money to a great many people.  French is simply one of them.”  Gold’s hands tightened a little when he said French’s name.  It was a small thing, but Emma noticed it out of the corner of her eye.  Money didn’t seem to phase him; she doubted he was bothered by a default on a loan.  French meant something to him.

“What are you going to do with the van?  It’s not exactly going to fit in one of the window displays.”

“I’ll figure something out,” he said with a shrug.  “However if you know anyone that is in need of roses let me know.  I apparently have acquired a few.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”  She wasn’t about to tell Mary Margaret.  She might get ideas, and David getting flowers delivered would not go over well at home.  “I’m going to get a coffee across the street.  Can I get you anything?”

“Thank you, but I’m fine.  I’ll see you this evening.”  Without another word he vanished through the curtain to his office.  Emma left him alone, crossing the street to Granny’s.  She was unsurprised to find that David and Mary Margaret were in tables right next to each other.  

“Hey David, did you find a home for the kittens yet?”  After the storm Graham had found three abandoned kittens and after ascertaining that their mother wasn’t coming back he’d taken them to a shelter.

“Believe it or not a woman with triplet daughters came in yesterday and adopted them.  They’re going to be a birthday surprise.”  David’s grin was enthusiastic; it was impossible not to smile back at him.  Mary Margaret kept smiling at him until Emma coughed to get her attention.

“Good morning.”  

“Morning Emma.”  Mary Margaret had barely greeted her when Ruby brought over her coffee.  She put in her order of two muffins to go.

“I’m still getting to know everyone around here.  Do you by chance know anyone named French?”  Emma made sure to make it sound like a casual query.

“The florist’s name is Moe French.  I don’t think there’s anyone else in town with the name.  His place is over on Franklin.”

“He doesn’t have any family?”  It seemed kind of sad, to sell flowers to other people and have no one to bring them home to.

“I don’t remember hearing anything about a family.  He’s from Australia, so maybe he still has some back there?”  Mary Margaret’s attention wavered.  “Ashley is here with the baby.  She looks exhausted.”

Emma looked over her shoulder; she hadn’t seen Ashley since the hospital.  Sure enough it was her, pushing a stroller.  If anyone had ever needed coffee it was her.  Could you drink coffee when you were breastfeeding?  Was Ashley the type to breastfeed?  Emma didn’t have a clue.  She’d only had milk for a couple of days before it had thankfully dried up.  “Hey Ashley, how’s it going?”

“I don’t know.  The baby’s great, I love her so much, but between Sean working doubles and the baby not sleeping I haven’t had a break since I got home from the hospital.  We haven’t even had time to talk about our relationship.  He said he wants to get married but we haven’t had time to plan anything.”  Ashley collapsed into the chair David had just vacated.  “I had to get out of the house.  I don’t even know if I’m hungry.”

“You need a night out.”  Ruby apparently didn’t have any questions about if Ashley was drinking coffee.  She brought over a mug and put it in front of the blond.  “Leave the baby with Sean and we can have drinks.  Mary Margaret you could use a girls-only night, couldn’t you?  And Emma, you should totally come too.  Leave the badge at home, though.”

“Yeah, sure.”  It wouldn’t hurt to get to know people better.  It would be nice for Gold and Henry to have some time on their own too.  They didn’t need her in their space all the time.  

“Where should we…”  The ringing of her phone interrupted her question.  Since it was Graham she answered.  “Hey.”

“I just got a call from a woman named Kravitz about a disturbance next door to her.  She heard loud noises and the front door was left open.  Emma, it’s Gold’s house.”

“Crap.  I’ll go check on it.  I’ll call and let you know what’s up.”  She shoved her phone into her pocket and pushed away from the table.  The coffee was too hot for a quick gulp before she left.  She was going to miss the caffeine.

“Emma?”  Mary Margaret asked.

“Sorry, work.”  She ran out of the diner, hoping that when she got to Gold’s house it was nothing more than a prank or someone’s overactive imagination.  It helped a little, knowing that Henry was already on his way to school and Gold was at work.  But only a little.

II

Someone had broken into his home.  More importantly someone had broken into his son’s home, the place where Henry should be completely safe.  The door was ajar, just as his usually annoying but sometimes handy neighbor had informed him.  As he stepped inside he withdrew the gun he’d brought with him from the shop; he wasn’t taking any chances that someone was still around.  The first damage he saw as he rounded a corner was the smashed glass over a picture of himself and Henry from last Christmas.  Tables were overturned, things missing, but it was the empty display case that told him everything he needed to know.

Moe French was going to suffer.

When he heard a sound he turned, gun raised, and found himself facing Emma.

“You have a gun?” she asked, staring at him.

“As do you.”  He lowered his, slipping it back into the pocket of his coat after confirming the safety was on.  “I assure you it’s registered.  I keep it at the shop.”

“What happened here?”  She lowered her own, but kept it in hand as she took in the destruction around them.  “Son of a bitch.”

“It appears we’ve been robbed.  I haven’t gotten any farther in the house.  If you wouldn’t mind checking upstairs I’d appreciate it.  The sooner you do whatever you have to do legally the sooner we can get this cleaned up.  I’d rather Henry didn’t have to see it.”  He looked at the smashed photo and tightened his hand into a fist.  Bastard.

“Do you know who might have done this?”  Emma asked as she walked around broken glass.

“I haven’t a clue,” he lied.  If Emma was focused on the case she’d be less likely to get in his way.  He was going to take care of Moe French on his own.  They had things to settle between them, things that had already waited far too long.  Decades too long.

“This morning with Mr. French…”

“He’s a florist and it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow.  What would he have to gain from this?  If he were to steal anything it would make the most sense to try and reclaim his van, not a few trinkets from my home.”  They were, of course, more than trinkets.  Not including the sentimental value of what was stolen, the antiques from this world and another were worth thousands.  Emma was too clever for his own good.  At least she would have no reason to suspect that Moe’s actions were aided by Regina.  He could see her fingerprints over the whole thing.  Only she knew his history and could possibly know the importance of one single teacup.

“I’ll check the rest of the house and then we can head for the station.  I need you to file a report so we know exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Emma.”  He stopped her before she headed for the stairs.  “Unless it’s necessary I’d rather Henry didn’t know.  There’s no reason for him to worry.”

“As long as this looks like it’s a one time only thing I won’t say a word,” she promised.

“It won’t be repeated,” Gold muttered under his breath.  It was a promise too.

II

“I know Gold said there’s no point looking at Moe French, but I think we have to look at him.  He sounded pretty angry this morning when Gold repossessed his van.  Is there anyone else you know that might have a reason not just to steal, but to trash the place?”  Fortunately the thief didn’t have the time or the desire to go upstairs, and the bedrooms were untouched.  It seemed odd to her that most of the house was untouched, not that she was complaining.  There wouldn’t be much to clean up and if they were lucky Henry wouldn’t have to deal with the worry and fear of knowing someone had broken into the house.

“Regina hates him, but she’s not into larceny as far as I know.  Most people around here aren’t stupid enough to try something like this, especially considering he’s the landlord for half the town.”  

“So what do we know about Moe French?  Is he…”  Emma froze when she reached her desk and found a bouquet of wildflowers in a vase. Next to the flowers was a donut, chocolate glazed but covered in red and pink sprinkles.  

“I know roses are more traditional but I’ve never been one for cultivated flowers and we’re not exactly traditional so far.  I didn’t know we’d have a case when I put them there, and I thought about moving them considering but even if we can’t do dinner tomorrow I wanted you to have flowers today.”

“Dinner?”  Emma was still stuck on the fact that he’d gotten her flowers.  From the looks of them he’d probably gone out and picked them himself.

“I thought we could try this thing I’ve heard of, they call it a date.  Sometimes it involves this thing called dinner.  It might even include this other thing called kissing.”  He wasn’t quite laughing but she could see it was close to happening.

“You’re such a dork.” Emma laughed because it was the easiest reaction.  Though they’d been taking things slow for more than one reason, Emma had expected a date at some point in the not too distant future.  When she hadn’t expected was Valentine’s Day.  No matter how much she told herself it was a day like any other it meant something.  She’d never had a date on Valentine’s Day.  It wasn’t a day you picked for a casual thing, and that’s all she’d had except for Neal.  They hadn’t been together in February; they met in the spring and by the following year she was pregnant and alone.  

“It doesn’t have to be tomorrow.”  Graham was too damn observant and she’d been quiet for longer than she’d meant.  His hand on her cheek was warm; it wasn’t at all the way a sheriff should be touching his deputy but they were way past professional boundaries. “We can have dinner another time instead.”

“No.”  Emma shook her head.  This was Storybrooke, a place for new beginnings.  “I have the perfect dress for dinner on Valentine’s Day.  It’s red, sexy, and way easier to wear when I don’t have to worry about chasing someone in heels.”

“I promise I have no plans to run anywhere.”  His thumb grazed the corner of her mouth before he pulled away.  “I do, however, have a lot of incentive to find stolen property today so it’s wrapped up before tomorrow.  Why don’t we start with French’s flower shop?”

“Okay, but I’m not buying you any roses.”

II

Emma frowned at the loot laid out on one of the spare desks in the office.  She should be feeling better; she wasn’t even at the end of her shift and she had Gold’s stolen property back.  It certainly looked like his stuff; little statues she might call paperweights that were probably worth more than her car,  a stack of plates and three teacups, none of them the same pattern, a tapestry that might look better if it was washed, a silver tray, a wooden box.  

Something felt wrong.  She and Graham had found the stolen goods in the backroom at Game of Thorns.  It was too easy.  Nothing was hidden, but was laid out on a table as if displayed almost.  Maybe that was what bothered her.  Or maybe it was how deliberately Gold had tried to convince her that French wasn’t worth considering as a suspect.  She needed answers.

Graham was still looking for French.  She was waiting for Gold to show up.  She didn’t have long to wait; ten minutes after she called him he was striding into the station.  “Apparently your pal Moe was capable of more than you thought.”

Gold barely acknowledged her, his attention on the recovered items.  It was strange; for all that his house was cluttered he didn’t seem particularly invested in things.  When Henry had broken a china plate a few weeks ago he had only shrugged and cautioned his son not to touch any shards.  He didn’t brag about his art unless it was something Henry drew.  It never bothered him if his ties got dirty while cooking or playing.  Something about this theft, though, had him more upset than she’d seen him ever, except the day that Henry had been missing.

“Gold?”  She gave him a couple of minutes to look, but if his jaw tensed any more she didn’t know what was going to happen.  Nothing good.

“It’s not here.”  He dismissed everything on the desk curtly.

“What do you mean?  These things are yours, aren’t they?  The black lion thing is familiar, and the vase.  The cups…”

“Something is missing.”  He sounded certain.  Emma wasn’t sure how he could tell, from the mess at home, just what was missing.

“There’s a lot of things here.”  Maybe she should pick up a few of them and see if moving them around helped.  After all he hadn’t touched them.

“And none of them matter.  Where is Mr. French?”

“Graham is looking for him.  If something is missing we’ll find it, Gold.  I promise.”  She’d always prided herself on her job.  There weren’t a lot of things she was good at, but finding things was one of them.  Knowing when people were lying was another, and Gold wasn’t lying.  He was certain something was missing, and it was pretty obvious he didn’t want to say what.

“Not if I find it first.”  Emma looked up, staring at him sharply.  That sounded a hell of a lot like a threat.

“Gold, when you said you didn’t think French would steal from you…”  He had tried to distract her when she’d asked him about French.  He hadn’t ever outright denied that the florist could have been the thief.  She realized that now.

“He wouldn’t, not unless someone else put the idea into his head.”  He half-turned as if he was leaving.  The whole time he’d been in the station he’d barely looked at her.  It felt almost as if he was a stranger, rather than someone he’d lived with for the last four months.

“Who would do that?”  It wasn’t a guess.  He knew more than he was saying.  

“Henry’s going to be home soon, and I’d like to be there.  I’ll see you this evening.”  he acted as if he hadn’t heard her question.  

“Gold.”  It was too late.  He was gone.

II

He barely slept, watching the sun rise from his bed before giving up on the idea of more than a few restless hours.  Moe French was hiding in some hole where the Sheriff didn’t know to find him.  Gold wondered if it was self-preservation that had him cowering like a rat, or if he was simply celebrating his victory of stealing from the town bastard and lucky enough to escape Graham’s notice.

His luck wouldn’t last long.

The front parlor was restored; if one didn’t know to look for things that were currently being held at the sheriff’s station they wouldn’t know anything was missing.  Henry hadn’t noticed the absence of bric-a-brac that didn’t usually catch his attention, and the one broken picture was tucked away until a new piece of glass could be purchased.  Neither Emma nor Henry had commented on the empty display case.  Gold had been careful not to look at it when either of them were around.  After both were asleep he’d stared at it for more than an hour.

He would get his cup back, and someone would pay for the temporary loss of it.  It was the only thing he had of his Belle.

“So just how much candy do you think Henry’s going to eat today?”  Emma asked as she joined him in the kitchen.  He hadn’t realized how long he’d been sitting there, the cold cup of tea in front of him in an annoyingly chip free cup.

“The rule in his classroom is that you bring a Valentine for everyone in the class or none at all.  So unfortunately I think the answer is quite a lot.”  If only that was his main concern tonight.  “I have a meeting tonight.  Will you be home before six-thirty?”

“I, uh…”  Emma uncharacteristically looked away. “I have a date.”

“Well well.  The sheriff, I assume?”  It took him a moment to react, to pull on a mask and play at the banter that would usually come so easily.  He was honestly happy for her, and if it came to it for the sheriff as well.  He was a good man, too long a prisoner of the queen.  They both deserved the happiness that he never expected to have.

“Yeah.  We’re, I don’t know, doing dinner or something.  If nothing comes up.”  She frowned.  “It could wait, though, if you need me to watch Henry.”

“I’m certain Ms. Lucas doesn’t have plans for the evening.  She’s always glad to spend time with Henry.  You go on your date.”  He had things to do, but he forced himself to take a breath and slow down.  Emma was important because of Henry and the curse, but she was important as herself as well.  Perhaps in the beginning he had only cared because she was useful, but she’d become a friend in her own right.  “Don’t let the paper cupids and heart decorations seem more important than they are.  It’s just a day.  When other people make a lot of it there can be pressure, but tonight should simply be about the two of you being able to talk to each other.  To share stories that get missed when daily routine and work get in the way.  Just focus on that and don’t think about the rest.”

“Yeah, okay.  Thanks.”  She smiled a little, still restless but hopefully feeling better.  Gold nodded and returned his focus to the tea he was making.  He honestly hoped for the best for Emma’s date, but mostly he was glad it meant the only law in town would be nicely distracted tonight.  

II

Gold would have preferred to make his purchases with no one around.  Mr. Clark, he knew, wouldn’t say anything.  The man wasn’t very smart in any realm, but he was smart enough not to make any comments.  David was a less certain element.  In another time and place he would have been full of questions.  Somehow the prince had always been able to get him talk about things he never had any intention of talking about.  He’d actually confided in Charming more than once despite himself.  Perhaps it had something to do with the fraternity of men who raised sheep.  

He didn’t seem to be quite so curious here.  Nolan, as he was apparently known in this world, didn’t ask about the rope and tape.  He seemed more distracted by the cards in his hand.  Two of them, for two very different women.  Not surprising.  

“Couldn’t make up your mind?”  He couldn’t resist commenting on the cards; each one for a wife, though he didn’t know it.  It amused him that one featured a castle that might be a cartoonist’s drawing of David’s home.

“They’re both so us.”  The prince hesitated slightly.  He’d had time to settle into his life since waking up, but he knew from a few comments Emma had made and his own observations that his interest in Mary Margaret hadn’t dimmed since the day they ‘met.’

“You’re lucky to have someone that loves you so much.”  Kathryn, of course, was under a spell but Snow White’s love was strong enough to battle a curse.  He was certain that Regina was raging over the rumors of the two.

“I’m lucky for a lot of reasons.”  Gold had to smile at the sentiment coming from the recent coma patient.  He didn’t know how lucky he really was, to be not only alive but awake.  To have his love so very close.  And his daughter as well.  Gold almost laughed when it occurred to him that Henry was the grandson of the princeling behind him in line.  Henry could do worse than having Charming as a grandfather.

“Love is like a delicate flame. And once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.”  They’d spoken of lost love once before, when the pain was more raw but no less intense.  Just as then he knew that Charming, at least, still had a chance.  “Cherish what you have.”

Gold carried his purchases out to the parking lot, where the garishly painted van waited for him.  He had some hunting to do.

I

Emma was really glad both Gold and Henry had left for the evening when she came down the stairs.  She was nervous enough without any comments about her dress or questions about where they were going.  She liked Graham.  Really liked him.  She couldn’t remember when she liked someone so much, which was a lie but one she could live with.  Honestly it might be easier if she didn’t care so much.  Graham’s friendship and their working relationship meant too much to her to screw it up, and once dating and sex came into the picture she always screwed things up.

And that wasn’t even taking into account his recent dating past and near-fatal heart attack.

Was it too late to cancel?  She’d half convinced herself to head upstairs and change when a knock on the door stopped her.  Too late.  She opened the door to find Graham standing on the front porch, wearing a suit of light gray, his top button undone and no tie in sight.  He held a small stuffed wolf.

“Wow.”  It was the first thing he said, and certainly not the worst reaction.  She knew the red dress fit her well, and it certainly wasn’t like anything he’d seen her in.

“Is that for me?”  He didn’t seem inclined to say much, so she pointed to the stuffed animal.

“I didn’t want to do flowers again and I thought this would be funny because you know, you followed the wolves with me and everything, but now that I say that I worry that it’s weird.  Or lame.  Is it lame?”  She wondered if he was aware that as he looked at her he was petting the stuffed animal.

“It’s sweet.”  She’d had a stuffed tiger once, something some foster parent had probably given her.  It had lasted a couple of houses before it had gone missing or been left behind in one of her many moves.  Her blanket was the only thing she’d managed to hold onto from her childhood.  No one since had given her a stuffed toy.  “Henry will get a kick out of naming him for me.”

“Is he here?”

“Nope, he’s having dinner at the diner with Granny.  Gold is… somewhere.”  Emma frowned.  Gold had been acting weird ever since the robbery, and she didn’t love how vague he’d been about his evening activities.  He’d been pacing for a good half hour before he’d left to drop off Henry.

“Yeah, I knew that actually.  I saw him when I was coming over here.  Weird thing is, he was driving the Game of Thorns van.  If he was moving things around for the shop I didn’t figure he had Henry with him, so I thought maybe…”

“You saw him with the van?”  Emma’s bad feeling got worse.  They still hadn’t found Moe French and Gold still insisted that something stolen from him was missing.  Something he refused to talk about.  “What way was he heading?”  

“Northwest, towards the bridge I think.  Maybe he’s just parking the van somewhere French can’t find it and take it back?”  Graham still had the stuffed animal in his hands.  Emma took it, and wished she could do more than toss it on a hall table; she didn’t want him to think it didn’t matter.  But she had a feeling in her gut that something was very wrong.

“Gold’s cabin is out that way.  I’m sorry if you made reservations but I think we need to drive by and see if there’s anything going on we need to know about.”  It would be embarrassing if she showed up and Gold was there doing something completely normal, and she had to explain why she’d taken her date out to the cabin.  It would be just as weird if she and Graham showed up to an empty place in the middle of nowhere.  But she had to take the risk.  

“You might want to change your shoes first,” he pointed out, looking down at her heels.  Emma sighed.

II

“I’m sorry.”  She might have been on the verge of canceling the date, but that hadn’t been about him.  Well, only in the fear of ruining their relationship sort of way.  But he’d dressed up and made plans, and since he’d been with Regina for so long and she was a manipulative bitch it was a pretty good chance he hadn’t made date plans in a really long time.

“Our job is important.  Besides, if we miss dinner there’s still dessert and that’s the best part of a meal.”  Graham drove to the cabin without asking any questions about where it was.  Emma had to wonder if he’d been there or he just knew.�� When they rounded the last corner the van was like a beacon in front of the cabin, despite the shadows.  Somehow she had known it would be there.  Weirdly, though, there weren’t any lights on inside.

“I’ll go first.  Give me a minute, okay?”  Her shoes might be sensible, but she was still wearing the red dress under her winter coat and it felt familiar.  Uncomfortably familiar, like the last months hadn’t happened and she was still skip tracing.  But Gold wasn’t a bounty, he was a friend.  And he might not be doing anything more than stashing extra storage at the cabin.  Emma left her gun in her pocket and proceeded with caution.

The door was unlocked.  She didn’t have to wonder if he was in the cabin.

“She’s gone forever – she’s not coming back. And it’s your fault! Not mine! You are her father!”  She couldn’t call it shouting.  It wasn’t loud.  It was painful.  Emma stepped into the room and found Gold leaning over Moe French, the cane she’d seen used as an aid to walk now used as a weapon to hit the larger man despite the fact he was tied up.  

Shit.

“It’s your fault.”  When he swung his arm backward to inflict another blow Emma was able to grab the cane.

“Stop.”  It was only another moment before Graham ran into the room.  Gold tugged once against the cane before half-turning and making eye contact with her.  The fight seemed to fade at that moment.  It was the first time she’d ever thought that he looked old.  She looked at her partner.  So much for their date.  “I think we’re going to need an ambulance.”

“Do you want to wait with him while I sort out the rest of this?”  Graham stared at Gold, somehow not seeming very surprised by what he had done to Moe French.

“I’m not that great with blood and I think Gold and I have things we need to talk about.  I’ll see you at the station?”  It would be easy to hand things over to Graham.  It wouldn’t be right.

“Yeah.”  Graham nodded as he knelt down at the wounded man’s side.  It was probably a bad time to notice how nice his ass looked in the dress pants, but she had been in date mode half an hour ago.  Emma looked at the door, and then at Gold.  

“I’m going to let go of your cane now.  I get that it works pretty well as a weapon but let’s not right now, okay?”  She wasn’t really worried, except that Gold still didn’t seem very focused.  She needed to make sure he knew that she wasn’t a threat.  “We should go outside.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”  He didn’t look in Moe’s direction before walking out the door.  Emma followed.

“I’m glad I was.  Things looked pretty bad in there, Gold.  It’s going to be hard enough to explain to Henry that I had to arrest you for assault.  I’m glad to avoid the murder charge.”  Would he have gone that far?  After seeing him with the cane she didn’t know.

“You could just not arrest me.”  Gold made the comment as he looked at the dark forest, but he didn’t sound like he considered it to be possible.

“French is going to have to go to the hospital, and there are going to questions. You know I can’t do that.”

“If you left me alone with him for another minute it wouldn’t be an issue.  Do you really think anyone would miss him?”

“You don’t really mean that.”  But when he looked at her Emma had to quell a shiver.  The wild rage from earlier was gone, but she could see the anger still.  Colder now, but no less lethal.  “We should go before the ambulance arrives.  I don’t have to do the whole handcuff thing, do I?”  

“Where would I possibly go?  I’m not abandoning my son.”  She couldn’t go so far as having him in the front seat, though. She held open the back door for him, waiting until he was settled before closing it.  He was silent for the brief ride to the sheriff’s station.  Fortunately it was late enough that the street was almost empty; anyone on Main Street was settled in a restaurant or the ice cream parlor, enjoying their happy little dates.  She wondered which restaurant she was supposed to be at right now. Emma frowned when she took off her coat and looked down at the red dress.

“So, first time in a cell?”  She tried a bad joke, to break the thaw in the room.  It was the first time she’d locked anyone in a cell before.  Figured she couldn’t have an easy first time.

“You’d be surprised.”  She half expected him to pace the small space, but he settled on the edge of the cot.  

“Are you ready to talk about what happened?”  Emma settled on the arm of the couch, facing him.  There was paperwork, but that could wait.  Besides, a lot of it depended on French’s prognosis and if he was pressing charges.

“You’re far too much like Henry to be content if I said no.”  Gold sighed.  “What do you want to know?”

“You were beating up a man without any plan to stop, Gold.  And I get it, he stole from you but I don’t think that’s what this was about.”  She had been shocked by what she’d seen, and how out of control Gold had been when he usually seemed, if anything, too reserved.  Now that she had time to process everything she remembered the words he had used.  “You said it was his fault, that someone wasn’t coming back.   French has a kid?”

“Had.   She…”   He looked down at the floor, drawing in a breath slowly before looking up at her.  Emma winced, pretty sure she knew what came next.  “She died.”

“She mattered to you.”  She stopped shy of asking if he loved her.  She remembered what it felt, the first time she’d woken up in a bed with Neal wrapped around her, and the moment she realized he wasn’t coming back.  She remembered what it felt like when she let down her guard and kissed Graham for the first time, and the fear when she was certain he was dying.  The pain and love she could all but feel radiating from Gold felt like something beyond that.  

“I loved her more than I thought I was capable of loving.  When I met her I had been dead inside for such a long time and she brought me back to life.  But I didn’t trust it.  She was so beautiful here.” He touched his chest just above his heart.  “So kind and smart and wonderful.  Why would she want to be with someone like me?”

“What did Moe French think of you and his daughter?”  She didn’t know much about French, but clearly something had gone pretty badly.

“He hated me from the moment we met.  We had a fight.  I knew one day she would figure out that she was too good for me so I drove her away before she could leave me.  She was young and beautiful, she’d find someone else who could love her better.  Someone who could give her more.  She went to her father but he hated me so much he wouldn’t accept her even when it was over.  He said things to her. Cruel things.  And then he told her she was no longer his daughter.  My Belle.”  She could see the tears in his eyes, but knew he wouldn’t let them fall.  Not while she was watching.

“Where did she go?”  Graham would have mentioned if French had a daughter in town, even if they were estranged. She waited a full minute before speaking, gently reminding him that she was still waiting.  “Gold?”

“She was found in the river on a Monday.  Her neck was broken.  A witness said she jumped off the bridge.”  Once he stopped speaking he seemed completely motionless.  Not just still, but as if he was a statue or a toy with the batteries taken out.

“I…”  She’s gone forever, he had said.  Not coming back.  For all that he had yelled at Moe as he beat the other man, Emma had to wonder how much of that rage had been aimed at himself.  

“You should go get Henry.  It’s past his bedtime already.”  Gold spoke in carefully measured words.

“I can call Ruby, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind keeping him for the night.”  It might be the easiest thing to do, and they had extra rooms at the B&B.  

“You don’t want him to find out about this from someone else, and he deserves to sleep in his own bed.  Please.”  Gold’s eyes flicked in her direction briefly.  

“I don’t know if I should leave you alone.” He might not be interested in talking any more but that didn’t mean he needed to be alone.  And telling Henry she’d arrested his dad wasn’t going to be the most fun conversation she’d had today, which was saying something.

“I’m not going to try and escape.”

“I never thought you would.”  Strangely, for a moment she remembered how worried Henry had been about his friends leaving town.  No one could leave, he’d said.  It was nonsense, of course.

“I’m not going to do anything else either.  If it would make you feel better you can have my belt and shoelaces, though.”  He leaned his head against the back wall, his eyes closed and his voice drained of emotion.

“I don’t know what to say to him.”  She’d arrested his dad.  No matter how close they were going or what Gold had done she couldn’t imagine Henry was going to understand that.

“Nothing can prepare you for moments like this when you’re a parent.  You just have to figure it out as you go and hope for the best.”

“I’m not a parent.”  She’d never thought of herself that way, not even when she was pregnant.  Even a moment’s daydream would have made it too hard to do what she’d needed to do.  “Giving birth doesn’t make anyone a parent.”

“Being a parent has nothing to do with biology.  You told him you would stay for a day.  It’s been four months.  Why are you still here, Emma?”  She was surprised to find he was looking at her.  Emma blinked, unable to think of anything to say.  “He trusts you and he knows you’ll keep him safe.  Right now that matters more than anything.  Go home, Emma.  Henry needs you.”

“Yeah, okay.”  Even with everything else happening he put Henry first.  As much as she dreaded it, she couldn't do less.  Emma reluctantly stood up.  “I’m sorry about Belle.”

He didn’t say a word as she left.

I

“You look like you could use a drink.  How about I pour you one and then I can tell you all about how Sean showed up and proposed to Ashley.  It was pretty sweet.”  Ruby picked up a glass but Emma shook her head.

“I just came to pick up Henry.”  The truth was she would love a drink.  She was more interested in some solitude to work through what she’d learned tonight, though, then pretending to be interested in Ashley’s love life.  And she really didn’t want to answer questions about her own Valentine’s date.

“He just finished up an ice cream sundae; Granny took his dish before he could lick it clean.  He’s in the back booth.”  Ruby nodded towards the back of the diner.  Emma frowned when she saw that he wasn’t alone.  The annoying stranger in leather was sitting with him.  She was about the head back when her phone rang.  She only answered it because it was Graham.

“Hey.”

“You still at the station?”

“No, I’m taking Henry home.  I didn’t know where blankets and things were, though, if you don’t mind stopping by and checking on things.”  She was careful, no matter how softly she was speaking, not to say anyone’s name.  It wasn’t going to keep quiet for long, not in this town, but she needed to talk to Henry alone.

“Yeah, I’m about to head out of here.  French has a broken arm and a couple of cracked ribs.  He’s going to have some humdinger bruises tomorrow.  All in all he’s pretty lucky.”

“Sure, everyone’s lucky tonight.”  She shook her head.  “I’ll talk to you later, okay? And I’ll pick up the donuts tomorrow.”

“Guess we’ll need an extra one.”  Emma could hear the faint sound of someone being paged in the background.  “And Emma?  I really liked the dress.”

He didn’t give her a chance to say anything before he hung up.  She had some thinking to do, about if she really would have canceled the date.  About what she wanted.  About if he was going to see the little red dress again.  That all had to wait.

“Hey Emma.  Is dad with you?  We could have an ice cream before we go home.”

“Nice try, kid.  Even if Ruby hadn’t ratted you out I can see the chocolate in the corner of your mouth.”  She debated asking the stranger why he was talking to Henry, but she didn’t have the energy for another conversion where she had no idea what was happening.  Instead she nodded her head with the barest acknowledgment and ignored the way he was looking at her dress.  “Your dad asked me to pick you up.  It’s past your bedtime.”

“Dad’s not home yet?”  As usual the kid was way too clever, already suspecting something was wrong.

“I’ll tell you all about it when we get home, okay?”  She might not know much about being a parent, but she knew a lot about needing privacy when rugs got pulled out from under you.

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Emma glanced at the stranger who was way too interested in their conversation.  The diner was empty enough that not many other people were around. Henry loved his spy stories and often pretended he was on secret missions.  Emma decided to use it to her advantage.  “There’s some stuff happening but it’s code word clearance only.”

“Okay.”  Henry bit his lower lip as he slid from the booth and followed her to the front door.  He was preoccupied enough that he didn’t notice he’d forgotten his backpack, which had somehow moved from his side of the table to the floor next to the stranger, along with the book inside.

On the short ride home Henry was quiet, looking out the window until they pulled into the driveway.  His silence ended about two seconds after Emma closed and locked the front door.

“Where’s my dad?” 

“Let’s sit down.”  Emma would have loved a minute to run upstairs and change into something more comfortable, but it wasn’t like anything about the next couple of minutes was going to be comfortable.

“The only time dad doesn’t come home at night is when he’s at the cabin and he always takes me.”  When Emma sat down on the sofa he didn’t join her, but remained standing.  “What happened?”

“Have you ever gotten in trouble at school?”  She doubted it.  Mary Margaret’s concerns were usually about him being too quiet.  He didn’t take after her, fortunately, in that regard.  Thirteen different schools and she’d been sent to the principal in all but two of them.

“One time dad had to pick me up because I got into a paint fight with someone who ruined my art project.  It was a Mother’s Day card.”  Emma closed her eyes for a moment.  Crap.  She remembered plenty of mom and dad gifts made in art class.  She’d dreaded those holidays.

“When you get in trouble at school you have to go see the principal.  Me and Graham, we’re sort of like the principals for the town.  We help people when they need us, and when people are fighting we have to tell them to stop.”

“My dad was fighting?”  Henry sounded as surprised as Emma had felt.  “He never fights.  He usually says bad things about people after they leave if he’s mad.”

“He got in a fight this time.”  Which wasn’t really accurate, considering the rope and tape that had bound his opponent, but she didn’t need to get into details.

“Emma, is my dad in time out?”  Henry finally sat next to her, turned slightly so their knees touched.

“You could say that.”  It sure sounded better than ‘hey kid, I arrested your dad.’

“For how long?”

“I don’t know, Henry.  Graham and I are going to have to figure that out.  But he’s not hurt and he’s safe.  He’s just going to have to stay at the station for a little while.”  She hoped ‘little while’ was at least close to the truth.  She didn’t know what she was going to do if they had to hold Gold for any length of time.  They didn’t have the facilities for a longer jail sentence and she didn’t have the ability to parent full time. Henry didn’t deserve that. 

“He’s in one of the jail cells, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”  Emma nodded reluctantly.

“Can I see him?”  Henry, who usually sounded old for his age, suddenly sounded young.  

“We’ll talk about that tomorrow, okay?  Right now you need to get to bed.”  She couldn’t imagine he’d fall asleep anytime soon.  She knew she wouldn’t.  Maybe she’d call Graham and check in one last time for the night.  Maybe they wouldn’t just talk about work.

Maybe she’d have that drink she couldn’t accept from Ruby.

“Are you going back to work?”  Henry leaned in, his head on her shoulder.

“Not tonight.  I’m staying right here, okay?  You’re not going to be alone.”  She could promise that much, at least.

II

The jail cell in Storybrooke’s sheriff’s station had more to recommend it than the dungeon under Snow White’s castle.  It was cleaner, better lit, and the cot was more comfortable.  That didn’t mean Gold was any happier about being behind bars.  He didn’t blame Emma, no matter how inconvenient her timing had been the night before.  No, the blame was split between Moe French and Regina.  Moe French had taken the only thing he had left of his Belle.  And he was certain that Regina was behind it.

His cup.  It had been enshrined in his great hall for almost six years before the curse began.  In this world it sat alone on the shelf of a display case.  Like shadows from a dream he could remember his Belle dropping it in this world as well, her soft fingers caressing the broken bit.  He could remember her being in his home, long before Henry entered his life.  Curled up on the couch with a book from his library.  Teasing him in the kitchen.  Dancing with him in the garden.  He knew it was all a lie, memories created by the curse, but like a double-exposed picture they were hard to separate from the real memories of a castle a world away.

When he had told Emma of the version of his Belle this world remembered he could see her walking down the steps of the pink house for the last time.  He could remember the pale pallor of her skin when he had visited the morgue.  Her father had refused to identify the body.  There were many nights he’d stood on the bridge and thought about joining her, but he was too much of a coward.  The memories were not real, he knew now, but the guilt and rage were no different here then they were in another world.  

“You don’t look like you got much sleep.”  The sheriff was back not long after the sun rose.  He’d offered to stay the night, but Gold preferred the time alone.  

“No offense, but the accommodations don’t suit me.”  He wasn’t sure if he’d slept at all, or had only dreamed while still being awake.  It didn’t matter.  

“Leroy doesn’t tend to complain.  He snores, though.”  To Gold’s surprise Graham approached the cell with two paper cups in hand.  The one he handed off through the bars smelled herbal.  He wouldn’t have thought Graham knew or cared enough to bring tea rather than coffee.

“Yes, well not all of us can fall into a drunken stupor.”  He’d seen the dwarf around town, his grumpiness taking on a harder edge being separated from his brothers.  The only thing he and Leroy had in common, however, was a dislike for the local nuns.  “I don’t suppose you have a place to shower this morning?”

“Sorry, not right now but we’ll figure that out.”  Graham crossed the room to his office, shedding his jacket and leaving his coffee on his desk.  He was back a moment later with a second offering.  Gold frowned in confusion at the walkie talkie.

“Why?”  He didn’t reach out to take it.

“Someone wants to talk to you.  Channel four.”  Graham turned it on and held it through the bars again.

“Dad?”  The sound of static was soon replaced by the voice he wanted to hear the most, and most dreaded.  He snatched the walkie talkie from Graham’s grasp and pulled it close.

“Henry.”  His son had spent the night without him.  Only a handful of times in the boy’s life had that happened.  “How are you son?”

“I’m fine.  Emma said I have to go to school.  She made breakfast but the toast got burned.  We’re having cereal.”  Cereal was a rare treat; he didn’t think it was hearty enough to get a growing boy through the hours to lunch.  It didn’t matter today; he knew Emma was doing her best.

“Emma’s right.  School is important.”  He knew that Mary Margaret would keep a close eye on him.  She loved the boy, somehow instinctively knowing that he mattered more to her then she knew.  

“I want to come see you but Emma said after school  Are you really in jail?  Emma said you got in a fight with someone.  Were they a bad guy, like Saruman?”

“No, not like that.”  If he only knew that it was his dad that had more in common with Saruman.  “I got angry at someone I knew a long time ago, who hurt someone I cared about.  But that doesn’t make what I did okay.  Fighting is wrong, Henry.”

“Unless you’re protecting someone else, right dad?”

“If it’s really about protection,” he agreed.  Like Bae, his Henry was already more of a hero than his father.

“But you were just fighting and that’s why Emma had to put you in time out, right dad?”

For the first time in more than a day Gold laughed.  Time out brought up an image of Henry, three years old and covered in cocoa powder, trying to make his own drink after he’d been told no.  “Yes, Henry.”

“Emma says it’s time to go, dad.  You’ll be home soon, won’t you?”

“Let Emma know if there’s anything you need right now, son.  I’ll see you soon.”  He couldn’t lie, and he didn’t have an answer.  His anger had gotten the best of him, and he didn’t yet know the cost.  “I love you, Henry.”

“I love you too, dad.”  The walkie talkie returned to static.  Gold turned it off and set it down on the cot next to him.  Graham had retreated to his office, giving him at least the illusion of privacy.  He looked up and found the sheriff bent over paperwork.  For a man currently without a heart he was kinder than most people Gold knew.  He would have to find a way to thank him.

II

“You were supposed to go on a date last night.”  By mid-afternoon Gold was going stir crazy.  It took a lot of willpower not to pace the small space he was allotted.  At least he hadn’t started trying to climb the walls.  He’d done that once upon a time; it wasn’t a good thing.  His day had been broken up very little.  There had been a donut for breakfast and a pastrami sandwich for lunch. Other than that there had been a few conversations and a great deal of staring at the clock.  Graham had escorted him to the bathroom a few times, the extent of his freedom.  The station didn’t have a shower, though, and he still wore the suit he’d put on the day before.  “Another regret from last night.”

“I’m not sure that’s a bad thing.”  The moment she spoke Emma’s face went carefully blank.  He knew that look.  She hadn’t meant to say that.  Suddenly the papers on her desk seemed very interesting from the focus she was giving them.

“Having second thoughts about the sheriff?”  He’d been gone the past hour with some vague mention of ‘rounds’ which might have been true or might have been about giving them some privacy to talk about Henry and how he was coping.  Gold hadn’t noticed anything unusual between the two of them.

“More like second thoughts about me.”  Emma gave up the pretense and came to sit on the edge of the sofa.  “It’s not the date, it’s what comes next.”

“A second date?”  He raised one eyebrow and tilted his head to the side, waiting.  He had a pretty good idea what she meant.

“Two dates I can handle.  Maybe even three.  But after that it’s not just going out on a date.  It’s something more.  Graham is a really great guy whose last relationship was really bad.  He doesn’t need another disaster.”

“And you’re certain it would be a disaster?”  ‘You could’ve had happiness if you just believed that someone could want you. But you couldn’t take the chance.’  He could almost hear Belle, from a lifetime and a world away.  She would have believed in Emma and the Sheriff.

“It always is.  Casual I can manage.  Anything else and I fuck it up.”

“You haven’t fucked up anything with Henry.  And while I can’t say much for your accommodations here I have no other complaints about you as a houseguest.”

“It’s not the same.  Plus the fact that I haven’t messed up too badly with Henry yet just means the other shoe hasn’t fallen.”

“Emma, there’s no one in the world I would trust with Henry more than you.”  She didn’t see herself as a mother, not yet, but he could see it.  It hurt to know that there might be a time when he was no longer the best parent for Henry, but at least he knew his son would have a fierce protector in his mother.  “If anything were to happen to me…”

“You haven’t even been in here for a day yet, Gold.  Let’s not get all dramatic.”  Never overly comfortable with emotions, Emma shifted slightly.  Gold could almost see the wall building around her.  He knew a lot about walls.

“I shut out love when it was mine for the taking, Emma.  And love is like a delicate flame.  You can’t turn smoke back into fire.  When it’s gone it’s gone”  She looked so much like her father.  He almost shook his head at the irony of giving them both advice in the same twenty-four hours.  “One of us should learn a lesson from all this, and I’m afraid that it’s too late for me.  It’s not too late for you.”

“I should call Graham.  To find out when he’s going to be back,” she clarified.  “It’s almost time to go pick up Henry.”

“Of course.”  There was nothing else for him to say.  Perhaps he’d said too much already.

Emma made her call and stayed at her desk, making it clear she wasn’t going to be talking anymore.  Perhaps he’d ask Emma to pick up a few books when she took Henry home.  It would at least alleviate a little of the monotony.  He would need to start putting together his legal defense, at least.  He was about to ask when Regina walked into the station.

Damn.  If there were going to be bars between them he'd prefer she was the one on the inside.

“Deputy Swan, you may go.  I need a moment alone with your prisoner.”  She walked through the station as if she was still royalty.

“I’m not going anywhere.”  It was nice to see, the way she stood between his cell and Regina.  Nice, but not conducive to learning what Her Majesty wanted.  She hadn’t set Moe French up simply for a laugh.

“It’s time to pick up my son, Emma.  Why don’t you take him out for an ice cream?”  He couldn’t help rubbing it in that Henry was his child.  Regina had been desperate to be a mother once, a fate he was always glad Henry had avoided.  Regina didn’t treat her possessions any better than she treated her enemies.

“I’m not leaving you alone with her.”  He knew her concern for him was genuine, but as she looked over at the doorway he knew that she was worried about more than just him.  Graham should be back any minute.  All the more reason to get their little talk over with.

“She can’t do anything but talk, and that’s nothing to worry about.  You can bring me back a cone.”  He smiled to reassure her.

“Run along dear,” Regina commented dismissively.  A poor decision on her part since it almost made Emma change her mind.  After a moment’s hesitation, though, she went for her coat.

“Just this once,” she said as she left.  Gold waited a moment before saying anything.

“Come to test out your reelection speech on a captive audience, Madame Mayor?”

“Perhaps I just came to admire the view.  I could get used to this.”  When she smiled she was every inch the evil queen.

“Please, sit.”  He was careful not to use the trick too often, but the fact that she was forced to comply wiped the grin off her face.  She sat on the edge of the couch where Emma had been not long ago.

“I heard you did quite a number on that poor florist.  At least you didn’t break his legs; it would be tragic if he had to walk with a limp.”  As usual Regina was not subtle, going for the easy hits.

“There’s no reason to start pretending you care about anyone else, dearie.  Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here.”  When she glanced at her purse he knew.  Relief flooded him.  “When two people both want something the other has, a deal can always be struck. Do you have what I want?”

“Yes.”  She was so smug, so proud of herself.  He was reminded of a child figuring out a task on their own for the first time.

“So, you did put him up to it.”  He’d only had a small flicker of doubt.  On his own Maurice might have smashed up his house.  Might even have stolen.  He wouldn’t have gone after the cup.  He had no way of knowing the significance.

“I merely suggested that strong men take what they need.”  He almost laughed at Moe French being called a strong man.  He was a weak and insignificant person.  How his Belle had come from such a man he didn’t know.

“And you told him just exactly what to take.”  She had been more observant than he had realized, to understand the significance of his cup.  

“We used to know each other so well, Mr. Gold.”

“Did we?”  He understood her.  She was the worst he’d ever done, molding her into the darkness he needed.  The curse castor and the curse breaker, two women he’d manipulated into being.  Both so hurt by his actions.  But while Emma had his guilt and sorrow, Regina had his scorn.  He understood her, but she didn’t know more than a fraction of who he was.  “I know you well enough to know you have what I want.  The question is what you want in return.”

Her eyes narrowed.  He wasn’t playing her game.  She wanted to gloat. But she wanted something else and that was what he needed to know, almost as much as he needed his treasure returned.  “I don’t have all day, dearie.  If you’re not interested in a trade…”

“I want you to answer one question. And answer it simply.  What’s your name?”

“It’s Mr. Gold.”  So that was her game.  He hadn’t expected that, and had to work hard to sound as if he didn’t have a clue what she meant.  It seemed his four-month advantage had come to an end.  She knew that she wasn’t the only person who remembered.

“Your real name.”

“Every moment I’ve spent on this earth, that’s been my name.”  He was stalling, trying to figure out the best way to play her and still get what he wanted. The fact that he was so clearly frustrating her was just a bonus.

“But what about moments spent elsewhere?”  He wondered how long she had suspected.  Did she know that he was the one that had hit her when she was trying to kill Graham?  Did she think that he had known the whole time?  

“What are you asking me?”

“I think you know. If you want me to return what’s yours tell me your name.”  She knew.  There was no way he could deny it.  All he could do was use it.

“Rumpelstiltskin.”  With a single word he could feel Mr. Gold and all his illusions of humanness shed.  Decades fell away and he was in another cell hidden in a cave, feeling the bitter taste of an almost victory that would destroy everything he knew.  When he grasped the bars he could almost feel the crackle of unusable magic under his skin.  “Now give me what I want.”

“Such hostility.”  Like a child poking a dangerous animal she couldn’t resist baiting him.  She probably thought she was hiding the fear in her eyes.

“Oh, yeah.”  He wanted her to be afraid.  He needed it, to make sure she didn’t come near those he cared about.  She had played her role in taking his Belle.  She wouldn’t endanger Henry.  He needed Emma safe too; the curse would be pointless without the Savior.

“Over this?”  When he took the cup from his purse he stared at it, hating her fingerprints in the same place where Belle’s had once been.  He forgot to breathe.  At least he knew she hadn’t destroyed it.   “Such a sentimental little keepsake.”

“Thank you Your Majesty.”  The moment it was close enough he snatched it, pulling it from her hold.  He slunk back from the bars and cradled it carefully in his hands.  Other than the chip it was undamaged.   Belle’s cup, safe again in his possession.  He took a breath and pulled his gaze from it.  Regina was already too aware of its significance.  He looked at her.  “Now that we’re being honest with each other, let’s remember how things used to be, shall we? And don’t let these bars fool you, dear. I’m the one with the power around here. I’m going to be out of here in no time, and nothing between us will change.”

It was a promise.  It was a threat.  And though he’d long since abandoned any gods it was a prayer.

“We shall see.”  Always one to feel like she had the last word, Regina was quick to leave.

Gold starred at his treasure until he heard voices.  Graham, Emma, and Henry all entered the station at the same time, just a moment after Gold slipped the cup into his pocket.  He’d rather avoid explaining it.

“Dad.”  Henry raced for the cell, his hands touching the same bars Gold had held onto just minutes ago.  

“Henry.”  He was grateful to see his son, as much as he hated that Henry would forever have the image of jail bars in his head now.

“We were afraid a cone would make a mess.”  Emma unlocked the cell door and stepped inside, handing Gold a paper cup with a scoop of ice cream inside.  He was certain the rainbow sprinkles were Henry’s doing.  “If I leave the door open you’re not a flight risk, right?  I think someone might like to keep you company.”

“Can I really?”  Henry looked up at Emma, eyes shining bright and the remains of ice cream on his lip.

“I can’t see that it would hurt anything.  I’ve got some paperwork to do.”  She tried to head for her desk, but Henry stopped her with a fierce hug around her waist.  Emma stiffened briefly before relaxing and returning the hug.  “Go on, kid.  I think your dad could use one of those.”

Henry ran into the cell and flung himself at his dad.  Gold pulled him onto his lap, careful of the cup in his pocket, and held him tight.  One love was lost to him forever.  One son was still out of his reach.  But he still had Henry.  “My boy.”

[gibsonmusicart]

Writing A Music Business Plan That Works

By Peter Spellman

One thing I would never do is invite friends to Boston without first sending them a map. More than most cities, Boston (for the out-of-towner) is an urban tangle with few rivals. I remember my first visit to the city back in '77. It was a psychological and emotional roller coaster to say the least. And I had a map! Maps - they lay out the land and point us in the right direction. A good music business plan is a lot like a map, though the "land" you'll be dealing with here - the music industry - is both more tangled than the city of Boston and can end up pointing you in any variety of "right" directions at the same time. A good music business plan is the map to the fulfillment of your goals. Whether you're a band, soloist, production house or some other business, a plan can turn foggy notions into operational strategies, hunches into actions, dreams into reality. Dreams. This is where it all begins isn't it? For this reason I like to think of one's business plan as a "vision/mission." It starts with vision. Before your first gig you envisioned yourself playing it. Remember? Vision precedes mission and fuels it with the necessary energy to go the distance. Mission implements vision and provides the vehicle that moves you towards your goal. Together they're unstoppable! Why Write A Music Business Plan? There are a number of specific benefits to writing a music business plan. A well-thought out business plan will: * Clear the way for creative thinking * Pinpoint strengths and weaknesses * Identify obstacles and problems * Expose hidden opportunities * Set proper priorities * Coordinate your marketing program * Take the guesswork out of budgeting * Allow for meaningful review and revision Your business plan should never be viewed as a one-time draft written In stone but instead as a provisional guideline to help you take strategic and effective steps toward the achievement of your goals. It is never really complete because it parallels and reflects the dynamics of your own growth and development. Besides the benefit of self-revelation, there is another important reason to draw up a business plan: To attract investors and secure loans. No one needs to tell you how much it costs to launch a successful music career in the 90's. Between equipment, insurance, taxes, travel, recording, mixing, manufacturing, promotion, advertising and various fees and commissions, today's musicians and bands are left with little else to call their own. Enter investors. Investors are willing to put up a certain amount of dollars to launch your music project with the hope and expectation of a return on their investment. The most important thing they'll need in order to decide to invest in you or not is a well-thought out business plan. The same goes for seeking bank loans. A plan reflects professional responsibility to the lending institution and greatly increases your chances of securing a loan. How to Structure A Music Business Plan A music business plan will have six main components. They are: I. A summary page II. A description of your business Ill. A marketing plan IV.An operations statement V .A project time-line VI. Financial projections We will look at each in turn. You may want to make a rough outline for your own plan as you read this article. Don't be surprised, however, if your complete plan ends up being forty pages long! This should be expected. Would you like some free help drafting your plan? Then contact your local SBDC (Small Business Development Center). This is a federal program that is part of the SBA (Small Business Administration) designed to provide small business owners with counsel and resources. Your tax dollars pay this so use it! The SBA has a Small Business Answering Desk (800-827-5722). which can answer many general business questions including the location of the SBDC office nearest you. While you may not find them to be experts on the music industry, they are experts in creating and developing small businesses, and you are one. Let's first get an overall sense of where we're going by displaying a complete outline of a business plan: I. Summary statement II. Description of your business or project. A. History and background B. Management description C. Business structure Ill. The market for your product or service A. Market description 1. General market information 2. Specific market information 3. Competition profile B. Marketing plan 1. Positioning 2. Marketing mix 3. Pricing philosophy 4. Method of sales/distribution 5. Customer service policy IV. Operations A. Facilities and equipment B. Plans for growth and expansion C. Risks V. Project time-line VI. Financial information A. Financing required B. Current financial statements C. Financial projections I. Summary Statement. Here you want to answer the following questions as succinctly as possible: Who are you? What will you do? (goals). Why will the business be successful? How will it be financed? - and When do you think it will turn a profit? (Remember, a 'profit' is not how much money you make, but how much you keep). Be ruthlessly realistic! It is also in the summary statement that you list the products or services being offered (e.g. CDs, tapes, performances, etc.) as well as the names and positions of all personnel involved. The summary should close with mention of anything that is unique about your project. II.Description of your business or project This secton begins to flesh out the summarization above. A. Begin first with the history and background of your project. This provides the overall context in which to view your current work. List all data that pertains to the various facets of your present business. Don't pad it with your whole life story, just the pertinent highlights that have brought you to the present moment. B. A management description should follow next. How is your business project organized? What does the leadership look like? (it's style and command chain.) How are decisions made and facillitated? What kind of ongoing business meeting schedule will be followed to insure smooth operation? C. Decide on the business structure you will use (i.e. sole proprietorship, partnership, corporation, etc.). This is one of the first questions the start-up business person should ask. The answer to this question has many legal and tax implications, varies greatly from state to state and from time to time. Again, seek the advice of your small business advisor at your local SBDC office. Ill. The Market for your Product and/or Service Now we are getting into the essence of what you're uniquely about. Marketing means selling and it is an absolute truth that unless a start-up business can sell its offering it will not survive. Getting orders - selling your recordings or performances to paying customers - is of crucial importance to a new business. To compete successfully in the music business, then, you must follow the same strategy that every successful business person uses. You must: * Develop a product- in this case, your music. * Locate clients for your product - do market research. * Bring your product to the marketplace - use sales technique to convince potential clients to buy your music. Does this mean you're "selling out"? NO! Or I should say, it all depends on your attitude. If you have a killer recording or a hot performance to sell and you market it accordingly, then you're not selling out. You're simply bringing a desirable product to a ready audience. If, on the other hand, you would sacrifice your mother for a chance to claw your way to the top, then yes, you're probably selling out. Again, it's attitude. And you have to determine this for yourself. O.K., now that we've cleared that up let's look at some of the various facets of your marketing plan. A.Description of the market for your product/service. The first thing you need is information about your market in order to correctly position your product and find your own unique niche within it. This is called market research and, like all of your planning, should be viewed as an ongoing process. You will need both general and specific information about your market. 1.General Market Information. The general market for musicians is the music industry. Without a general understanding about this larger market context you will have a difficult time trying to find your way within it. It is crucial, therefore, for today's musician to have a grasp of such things as record company structures, music publishing, recording contracts, distribution and music media, and how all of these work together to bring music to people. You can learn about the industry by talking with industry people, taking courses and reading books and trade magazines (see free resource list offer at end of article). 2. Specific Market Information. Here you will want to ask: What part of this larger market do I fit into? In other words, who are my customers? What is their general age, their sex, professions, lifestyle and interests? This information will prove crucial to the development of your marketing strategy. In addition to your customers you'll also want to describe your competition. Be as specific as possible. Gather information on three or four successful competitors, assess the relative strengths and weaknesses of each, and compare your product or service with similar ones in terms of price, promotion, distribution and customer satisfaction. B. Marketing Plan - Now that you've gathered information on both your general and specific market share, you're now ready to develop your marketing plan or strategy. This too can be broken down into several component parts. 1.Positioning - This is related to finding your market "niche." No matter what products or services you provide, you can carve out a niche for them based on your experience, skills, and interests and then build up that niche as you work to serve it. Ask yourself questions like: What do I do best? Who needs that the most? Where can I provide that product orservice that will give me a chance to expand what I do to utilize my other interests? What do I have to offer that is special or unique? The answers to these questions will help you "position" yourself to most effectively promote what you're selling. 2. Marketing Mix - The particular combination of marketing methods you choose for your marketing campaign is referred to as your "marketing mix." Methods can include news releases, sponsorships, networking, publicity flyers, contests and giveaways, classified ads, trade shows, radio spots, charitable donations and literally hundreds more. When making your selection, keep in mind this fundamental rule of successful marketing: The measure of a successful marketing campaign is the extent to which it reaches at the lowest possible cost the greatest number of people who can and will buy your product or service. Generally speaking, the more of your time a marketing activity requires, the less money it costs you, and vice-versa. For example, networking costs almost nothing in money but plenty in time. On the other hand, advertising in a city newspaper costs a bundle while requiring little in time. 3. Pricing Philosophy - How much you charge for your product or service will depend on many variables. Here is where your research about your competitors comes in especially handy. Undercutting your competition is one common way to gain market share. But there is another approach. Research has shown that buyers, when making a purchase decision, select what they consider to be the best value - all things considered. And this suggests that value is equal to the benefits they perceive divided by the price. Price, therefore, is only one part of the purchase decision process. If you want to increase your customers' perceived value of your product, you can do so by either increasing the benefits or decreasing the price. It is almost always preferable to work on the benefits, both tangible and intangible, both rational and emotional, both large and small, that will make it possible to sell at a higher price. 4. Method of Sales/Distribution - This is related to your marketing mix and details the methods you will employ in implementing the various parts of your mix. For a musician, one method might be the use of a booking agent. Another might be a record distributor or, perhaps, mail order. 5. Customer Service Policy : When considering customer service it is always useful to ask yourself why you continue to frequent certain businesses. More than price more than product quality, you will often return again and again to these businesses because you feel taken care of. The people of those businesses go the all important extra mile to make you feel special. They anticipate your needs and provide for them in the various ways they deal with you. See if you can translate elements of this customer service policy into your own. Write down your philosophy and then list all applications you can imagine related to your business. How can you go the extra mile with your clients? Find ways of distinguishing yourself from your competitors in this area and you will insure a faithful clientele for years to come. IV. Operations - This has to do with the overall physical and logistical manufacturing of your product or service. It typically has three parts to it: A. Facilities and Equipment will encompass such things as your rehearsal space, office space, studio, manufacturers you use, your instruments, sound and light equipment and vehicles you use to haul it all around. A brief note on equipment insurance should also be included here. Investors like to see the founders of a company have a cash investment in the buisness in addition to "sweat equity". B. Plans for Growth or Expansion - Here is where you project your more general goals three to five years into the future, What will you need when you progress from local to regional success? Regional to national? National to international? Perhaps you'll want to develop sub companies within your primary company. Maybe a publishing wing, or a video branch, or perhaps a recording studio. Think it through as clearly and completely as possible. C. Risks - This is another very important part of the plan. Not only does it show you're being open and honest with your financing source, but it forces you to consider and assess alternative strategies in the event your original assumptions do not materialize. V. Project Time Line - Here you want to articulate the schedule for your goal achievement, both short-range (e.g., obtaining radio airplay, booking high-profile gigs, procuring management, etc.) and long-range (e.g., signing a recording contract, having your song performed by a mega-star, etc.). Think through the essential steps needed for the attainment of each goal. VI. Financial Information - No matter how wonderful your plan is it isn't going anywhere without capital investment, whether it's yours or someone elses. This final section of your plan should be broken down into three sub-sections:. The financing required, current financial statements, and a three-year financial forecast. Needless to say, this is the part of the plan potential investors and lenders will concentrate on the most. So the following is written primarily with seeking investors in mind. A. Financing Required - While your first thought may be to ask for cash exclusively, there may be other resources that would help you even more. Perhaps what you really need is some people power assistance, or a touring van, or a new computer. These can sometimes be provided more easily than cash. Whatever you decide you need, make sure it's based on a hard-headed and realistic assessment of the true costs of achieving your goals. A basic rule of thumb in estimating costs is to add 15% onto whatever figure you come up with. This covers all those additional "hidden" and unexpected expenses which inevitably accrue. B. Current Financial Projection: Financial projections are a key part of a businessplan. They provide the reader with an idea of where you think the business is going. Perhaps more importantly, they tell a lot about your instrinsic good sense an d understanding of the difficulties your company faces. Often, financial projections are optimistic to an outlandish extent. They are usually prefaced with words like, "Our conservative forecast is..." Do not use the word conservative" when describing your forecast. Be careful also not to use the "hockey stick" approach to forecasting, that is, little growth in sales and earnings for the first couple of years followed by a sudden rapid upward surge in sales and totally unrealistic profit margins. Excessively optmistic projections ruin your credibility as a responsible business person. Include monthly cash flow projections, and quarterly or annual order projections (e.g. for studio time, CO manufacturing, etc.) profit and loss projections, and capital expenditure projections (see your accountant for explanations of the above terms). In making financial projections it is usually a good idea to include 'best guess," 'high side," and 'low side" numbers. Sensible investors want to know what returns they can expect and especially how they will achieve liquidity. Tell them. Again, include alternative strategies. Don't worry if you feel a bit overwhelmed by the avalanche of detail your business plan requires. Who wouldn't? Give yourself time. It's helpful to set yourself a goal for completing the first draft of your plan - say three months from now. Begin with one section at a time and meet periodically with your small business advisor to review your plan's development. He or she will be able to discern blind spots as well as affirm the plan's overall direction. If you're thinking of foregoing the effort altogether and just "winging" it, just remember that no planning inevitably leads to wasted time, money and energy - all three in short supply. Remember too that the musicians you currently respect rose to their success with strategic planning and a keen sense of what "doing business" really means. Furthermore, today we are seeing the smarter bands being brought home because they know the inner workings of the music business and how to best organize their limited resources in order to penetrate it. How about you? Are you planning for success?

Source: Music-Articles.com

[d-noona]

BARTERED BRIDE

Chapter 3: Kim Namjoon

Kim Namjoon is a ruthless financier used to buying and selling stocks, shares and priceless artifacts. But now Namjoon has his eye on a very different acquisition - Park Han Byeol. Left destitute by her father’s recent death, Han Byeol walks into Namjoon’s bank looking to extend her overdraft. As Han Byeol needs money and Namjoon needs a wife, he proposes the perfect deal: he’ll rescue her financially if she agrees to marry him. But in this marriage of convenience can Han Byeol ever be anything more than just a bartered bride?  

Since Yoongi's wedding, Han Byeol had a lot of sleepless nights, prowling around in the small hours, tortured by thoughts of Yoongi making babies with Choon Hee...babies which should've been hers. All she ever wanted was to be Yoongi's wife and the mother of his children. Not the kind of ambition applauded by the teachers at the expensive boarding school where as she and her sister had been sent to learn to be "ladies". That had been Gran's idea. Though Gran's own origins were humble, she was a tremendous snob and hadn't approved of her eighteen-year-old Niaowie marrying a rough diamond like Park Jimin, even if he had gone on to make pots of money.

Gran wanted to see her granddaughters marrying men who were not only well off but also what she called well-spoken. To that end she had chivied her son-in-law into sending the girls to one of the most expensive and exclusive schools in England. To Gran's disappointment, her eldest grand daughter, Hyeonji, had fallen in love with a young man who had once spent a summer working in her mother's garden. He now had his own plant nursery and was a contented man., but he didn't make a lot of money. Jungkook and Hyeonji couldn't afford to support her mother. With two small children and another on the way, they didn't have a spare bedroom to offer her.

Had Gran known of Han Byeol's secret passion for the chauffeur's son, she would have disapproved, at least until his achievements at university had signaled an impressive future. The irony was that Gran would probably regard Kim Namjoon as a wonderful catch. She didn't think much of love as a basis for wedlock. She wouldn't admit it under torture, but her granddaughters suspected there had been a metaphorical shotgun in the background of her wedding, and the marriage hadn't been happy.

In the morning Han Byeol woke with a headache, result of too little sleep and too much wine the night before. Staying up late, she had finished the bottle. She spent the morning sorting out things in her bedroom and waiting for Kim Namjoon's call. When her cellphone remained silent, she should have been relieved. Instead she felt oddly uneasy.

What if he changed his mind? What if her animosity had made him have second thoughts? During his solitary dinner he might have decided he couldn't be bothered to wear down her opposition when there were plenty of women he could have for the asking. The longer she considered this scenario, the more it seemed to Han Byeol that she might have rejected in haste an opportunity she would live to regret turning down. As things stood, all the future offered was relative penury for her mother and a dull job for herself. It wasn't an attractive prospect.

The trade off Namjoon had suggested, suddenly she found herself thinking of him by the first name instead of his surname. Would mean they were miserable in comfort. But what about her side of the trade off; being the wife of a man she didn't love and who didn't love her?

Well, love, for long the first item on her private and personal wish list, had been crossed off the day Yoongi married Choon Hee. So that brought it down to the question of whether she could have sex with someone other than Yoongi in order to have some babies. They wouldn't have the father she dreamed of, but any father had to be better than none.

Thinking of sex with Namjoon, Han Byeol felt a strange sensation in the pit of her stomach. He had all the physical makings of a good lover; his aura of animal magnetism deriving from a great body, a sensual mouth, hands that looked strong enough to crush, but also capable of performing the most delicate and subtle caresses. Just thinking about the components of his disturbing personality sent strange little quivers through her.

Even though still a virgin, her innocence saved as a gift for her first and only love, Han Byeol knew all the theory, knew what those frissons meant. She had recognized the passionate depths of her nature a long time ago. From the beginning of adolescence she had been excited and moved by amorous scenes in books and movies, recognizing her capacity to feel the same fiery emotions as the women in the stories and on the screen. But she also had a streak of idealism. After falling in love with Yoongi, keeping herself inviolate for him had seemed more important than indulging her natural curiosity about what it felt like to do things many of the other girls in her class had experienced as soon as they were sixteen.

A lot of them were the over-indulged, under disciplined children broken marriages. During the holidays they had too much pin money and not too much supervision. Several girls knew by sight hadn't completed their time at school. They had been expelled for serious misdemeanors raging from night time truancy to drugs. Fortunately although described as "lazy", "inattentive" and "irresponsible" in her school reports, Han Byeol had never been taken up by the group known to the serious minded girls at The Decadents. The fact that she was reserving herself for Yoongi would have debarred her from that clique. Although far from being a teacher's pet, from The Decadents' point of view Han Byeol was one of the girls they called The Nuns.

She was thinking about her lack of sexual experience and wondering what conclusions the detective had drawn about her in that respect, when the phone started to ring. She forced herself not to grab it, letting it ring six times before she said coolly, "Hello?"

"Good morning..."

If the distinctive voice at the other end of the line had mocked her about not leaving the phone off the hook, she would have cut the connection and dashed round the flat disconnecting all the extensions and turning her mobile off. But Namjoon didn't refer to her parting shot. He said, "I'd like to show you my library. Will you have lunch with me?"

She drew in her breath, knowing she was on the brink of one of the defining moments of her life. "If you're worried about being alone with me, you don't need to be," Namjoon went on. "My household is run by a staff who are far too respectable to stay with any employer who doesn't live up to their standards. But even if that were not so, I've already made it clear my intentions are honorable."

She could guess from the tone of his voice that there would be a sardonic quirk at the corner of his chiseled mouth. "All right," she said. "What time and where?"

When he had rung off, she looked at the exclusive address she had jotted down on the notepad and wondered why she had relented. Less than twenty four hours ago she had stormed out of his office, convinced she was out of his mind. Now she was going to have lunch with him. Had she gone out of hers? Before setting out of their lunch date, Han Byeol reread the file Namjoon sent her.

He was thirty four, six years older than herself. A bit age gap. It seemed likely that wasn't the only gulf between them. Kim, a merchant bank dealing long term loans for governments and institutions and advising one takeover bids, had been founded by his great grandfather. The controlling influence had been retained Kim Seokjin's descendants.

Unlike her father, Namjoon hadn't had to claw his way up from nothing. The facts in the file indicated that from birth he had been groomed for the position he occupied. But family influence couldn't have made him head boy at his public school if he hadn't lack the qualities needed for that position, nor it have gained him impressive degree at one of Korea's most prestigious universities. He had to have a brilliant brain.

So why pick someone as un brainy as me? Han Byeol wondered uneasily. She knew she had other equally important qualities and had never wanted to exchange them for a superior intellect. But for a man like Namjoon deliberately to select a female who operated by instinct rather than logic seemed strange, not to say suspect.

He lived in a large house in one of the most select squares in the ultra fashionable Gangnam. The butler opened the door to her and took her coat. A man in his fifties, dressed in ordinary dark suit with a discreet tie., he led her up sweeping staircase past the line of family portraits, ti a large first floor landing. As they reached it Namjoon was descending the stairs from the floor above. She noticed his dark hair was damped and wondered why. It seemed an odd time to take a shower.

"You're admirably punctual," he said, holding out his hand to her. As they hadn't shaken hands the day before, it was her first experience of the firm clasp of his fingers. Then he took her gently by the elbow to steer her across a rose and gold Aubusson carpet and through open double doors in an elegant drawing room with three tall windows over looking the city. Normally Han Byeol would have swept an appreciative glance around the beautiful room, taking in some of the details. Instead she was overwhelmed by the strength of her reaction on their first physical contact.