#*to an audience of like three people including my mother but still

[sp1resong]

when i was younger i wanted to be the female technoblade .now im the nonbinary chonny jash*. hashtag character growth

[hugmekenobi]

S3: The Bad Batch (2)

Chapter Two: Paths Unknown

Gif by @leemarkies

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Ever since Eriadu, Clone Force 99 had been a fractured squad. Months have passed but you're finally back with the Batch but Omega is still out there and you won't stop until you find her again.

Chapter Summary: Following a lead, the three of you make some headway in your search for Omega and come across something unexpected

Masterlist for S1 and S2

<Previous Chapter

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, brief mentions of spice/drug use, emotional hurt/comfort, angst, more of my lil additions and interpretations of headspaces, very light PDA

Word Count: 5.6K

Author's notes: Well, this morning without an episode felt very strange but here's the second chapter! Still sticking very closely to how the episode goes but hope people still enjoy! And stay tuned for Chapter 3 since I'll be posting it after this one!

Oba Diah

“Halt-”

A quick wave of your hand sent them screaming over the sides of the bridge.

“Gotta say, it’s been handy having you be able to use your Jedi powers like this now.” Wrecker commented.

“You won’t be saying that if bounty hunters start interrupting us again.” You replied back as he and Hunter fired on the next set of guards. But you had to agree that not hiding had definitely made certain things easier.

The three of you steadily advanced towards the building. Even in this planet’s gloomy light of day, one would only need to look at the three of you to tell you’d been moving non-stop.

The once bright and vibrant colours that decorated each of you had grown dull and faded.

Hunter’s scarf was long gone, and he was missing his right shoulder pauldron.

It wasn’t just his though, each of you had a story written all over your armour. All of your armour, including what little you personally had, was scratched, worn, and cracked with extreme use.

“Ready?” Hunter asked through his helmet when the three of you reached the main doors.

You unclipped your lightsaber and Wrecker prepared the smoke grenades in response.

--

The head Pyke lounged back in his chair, smoking some of the good quality spice he kept for himself as he listened to his associates break down this rotation’s numbers and so far, everything was sounding good.

As a natural silence descended for the transition into the next phase of the meeting, a sudden darkness swarmed the room and a cloud of smoke spread as the door to the meeting room crashed open.

At first all the head Pyke could hear was an ignition followed by a low thrumming and he made out the faint outline holding a hilt that sparked from it a blue blade of light being flanked by two more outlines. Then he squinted as he saw the dark figures split off. His people did what they could, but their blaster fire was useless, and he heard the thumps of bodies falling around him but before he had the chance to act for his own protection, he registered the blue stun bolt being fired in his direction and his sight went black.

--

“Who stands before me next?” Isa Durand asked her son from her throne in her court room.

Roland nodded to the door.

As the door opened, Hunter shoved the Pyke through the entryway and when he stopped at the threshold, he pushed him forward again.

You and Wrecker followed close behind and the group of you made your way onto the holoplatform that rested over a bottomless pit. You followed the helmeted example of the others and kept your hood and mask on.  

“The mercenaries we discussed.” Roland informed his mother.

“Such courage to demand an audience with me. You’d be dead if my son hadn’t convinced me to consider your offer.” Isa said frostily.

Hunter pulled the broken horn out. “And we’re here to deliver.” He threw it to Roland. “You asked for the Pyke who disgraced your family.”

“He’s all yours.” Wrecker added.

“It won’t be traced back to you. We made sure of it.” Hunter said with a cool disposition.

“Take him below.” Isa ordered her guards.

“No. No!” The Pyke struggled against his captors as he was dragged out the room, but it was no use. “This isn’t over, Durand!”

His cries were shut out as the door closed.

“Impressive.” Isa stated simply before she looked between the three people standing before her. “Your willingness to cross the Pykes and to associate yourselves with such a valuable but dangerous commodity…” She fixed her stare on you. “Well, it shows how desperate you are.”

You felt Hunter and Wrecker glance your way, but you were determined to give her no reaction.

Impressed by your steadfastness, Isa continued her questioning but directed it towards you, “Tell me, Jedi. Why is the intel you’ve requested of such value to you?”

You took half a step forward between Hunter and Wrecker, so you were slightly in front of them. You kept your voice steady and firm. “Dr. Hemlock stole someone from us. We heard your syndicate had the connections needed to find the Imperial’s base. And since we’ve upheld out end of the bargain, now it’s your turn.”

The three of you watched as Isa and Roland shared a look before she pressed a button on the arm of her chair. It was then you heard a faint electrical humming and the sound of gears clanking and were relieved to see that she was extending the platform out for Roland to make his way to you.

“Hemlock’s whereabouts have been well guarded by the Empire, but one of our sources came across these coordinates linked to his laboratory.” He held the puck out to the clone in charge.

“And they’ve been verified?” Hunter asked.

“Take what you came for and go, before my generosity runs out and I report your Jedi companion.” Isa interrupted.

That caused both you and Hunter to tense up, but Wrecker placed a gentle hand on your shoulders in appeasement.

“I hope you find who you’re looking for.” Roland said by way of farewell with a knowing look behind his eyes.

The three of you left the courtroom and headed to the Marauder.

--

“Come on, Echo, you really can’t-”

“I wish I could, (Y/N), but we’re spread pretty thin right now. This is the best I can offer you.” Echo replied back with a grimace.

You sighed in frustrated acceptance. “No, we get it. I’m sorry.” You turned away from the holographic image to stare down the hallway towards Hunter who was busy tapping various buttons on the navicomputer with his pointer fingers and alternating his gaze between that screen and the datapad. He looked so uncomfortable and out of his element that it cut you deeply to see him like that. You saw his eyes lift and stare and both Tech’s broken goggles and Lula in Omega’s room before they instantly went back to the screens, and you could sense the anxiety around him. You nudged Wrecker to signal that you needed to go.

“We’ll let Hunter know. Stay safe, Echo.” Wrecker said.

“You too.” With that, he signed off.

“He’s not gonna take this well.” Wrecker muttered to you.

“Can’t really blame him though.” You replied gloomily before the two of you walked down the corridor to where he was sitting.

Hunter swivelled his chair to face the two of you.

You came to stand behind his chair and braced your hands on his shoulders as a means of support before Wrecker spoke.

“Echo said he and Rex need two rotations before they can meet us at the coordinates.” Wrecker informed him.

Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose in aggravation. “That’s not good enough.” He pulled away from you and got to his feet. “We’re going now.”

You and Wrecker shared a concerned look and Wrecker grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Hunter, the last time we stormed an Imperial base without backup, not all of us made it out.”

“Just take a second to think about this, Hunter. Please.” You suggested delicately.

Hunter took a calming breath, but his mind was made up. He walked past you both and slid into the pilot’s seat and got the ship ready to leave hyperspace. “Omega’s been waiting for us a long time. I’m not making her wait another day.”

--

On the surface, the scenic jungle planet should’ve been a pleasant enough place to land in, but as soon as the three of you stepped outside, your eyes watered as your nostrils were hit with a horrid stench of rot and decay.

“It smells like rancid Jotaz out here.”  Wrecker groaned.

“There’s nothing on the scanners.” Hunter said, pushing his own disgust at the smell away.

“The Empire could be jamming our sensors.” You offered as you and Wrecker followed behind him. You still weren’t used to seeing him with Tech’s datapad and you were sure he still wasn’t either.

--

All that sounded through the canopy was the rhythmic sound of the datapad and your footsteps but as you came across out outcrop, and saw what waste was ahead, your heart sank.

Hunter brought out his binoculars and his own anxiety spiked as he saw the utterly decimated lab. “Oh no.”

“That’s Hemlock’s lab?” Wrecker asked in horrified awe.

Hunter put the binoculars away. “They destroyed it. Another orbital bombardment.”

“But Omega. I- if she was here-”

“We don’t know if she was.” Hunter interrupted sharply. “The Durands’ intel could be wrong.” He almost hoped it was. “Let’s get down there and check it out.”

You watched Hunter jog away but before you followed, you slapped Wrecker’s arm. That is a thought you keep to yourself.

“I don’t want it to be true, but someone had to say it.” Wrecker protested.

You conceded the point with a dip of your head. How about just wait until we have confirmation of the situation first, okay? Dwelling on a potential outcome won’t help any of us.

Wrecker nodded in agreement and the two of you left to catch up with Hunter.

--

The sound of branches rustling and snapping caused you all to stop and draw your weapons.

“Freeze!”

The three of you were surrounded by two young boys holding spear-like weapons in your direction but something about them felt very familiar.

“Blaster bears stick, kid.” Wrecker said with a confident laugh.

Hunter relaxed his stance as it clicked with him who they were. “They’re regs.”

“And who are you?” The one on the left asked.

Hunter and Wrecker took off their helmets. “We’re clones. Same as you.” Hunter said calmly.

“You don’t look like clones. And she’s definitely not one.” The same one said suspiciously with a pointed look in your direction.

“They must be 99s.” The other clone guessed. “Defectives.”

“Defective and effective.” Wrecker said proudly.

The same clone that figured out who they were peered past them to look at you and his eyes widened as he caught the weapon you were attaching back to your belt. “And you’re… woah… you’re a Jedi.”

You lowered your mask and offered a half smile. “I used to be.”

“What are you two doing out here?” Hunter asked.

“What’s it look like? Surviving.” The one that had first spoken answered frostily. “Or trying to. No thanks to the Empire.”

Your attentions turned to the other boy as he asked, “They send you to finish us off?”

“Do we look like we’re with the Empire?” You countered. “You said it yourself, I’m a Jedi and believe me, there’s no love shared for my kind anymore. And, well, just look at these two.” You pointed to Hunter and Wrecker. “They look like Imperial troops to you?”

He considered that for a moment before inquiring, “What do you want?”

“We’re looking for a young girl. She’s a clone. We think she was sent to the lab here.” Hunter explained.

“Never saw anyone like that, but Mox might know about her.”

“He won’t talk to them.”

The three of you watched the exchange between the two cadets and then watched as Hunter approached the clone closest to him.

“Please, we have to find her. She’s… part of our squad.”

His hesitation before he found the words and the way his voice shook as he was trying to hold back his desperation had you fighting the urge to reach out to him. You noticed too that Wrecker’s downcast expression was a mirror of your own.

The young clone glanced between the three of you before he made his decision. “Stick to the trail. Follow our steps. And don’t touch the vines.”

You three put your coverings back on and trailed behind the two cadets.

--

“When the Empire transferred us off Kamino, we thought we were getting more training. Instead, they made us prisoners.” The lead cadet said as you all walked through the terrain. “Took samples of our blood.”

“Why? What was the Empire doing here?” You asked.

“Whatever they wanted.”

“At least we escaped before they destroyed the facility.” The other cadet said.

“And you survived alone out here ever since?” Hunter asked.

“We’re soldiers. Or we were supposed to be.”

The group of you walked in silence for a while before the cadet who’d noticed your weapon addressed you, “I always thought I’d end up fighting beside a Jedi one day. The name’s Deke, by the way.”

You glanced down at him with sympathetic eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, Deke. I’m sure any Jedi would’ve been lucky and grateful to serve alongside you. I always was.”

“What was it like? Being a Jedi during the war?”

You huffed out a short breath. “Challenging. It wasn’t just the battles we had to deal with, and I left because of that.”

“You left?” The cadet repeated in confusion.

“Uh huh.”

“But you came back? How else did you wind up with the 99s?”

“I didn’t, I just got very fortunate to find them. I got my very own squad and I never really looked back.”

“Is that how you survived? Being with them I mean. We were around Kamino long enough to find out about the Jedi.”

“Yeah… they’re…” You took a deep breath. “They’re all gone.”

“We heard rumours in Kamino that the Jedi betrayed the Chancellor and that was why they’re not around anymore.”

Hunter stole a glance over his shoulder at you as he heard the cadet say that.

“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you hear.” You replied, a slight edge to your tone.

Before he could say anything else, he heard his brother call out, “Stop.” The three of you dashed around to see one of the vines coiling behind Wrecker.

“What?” Wrecker asked as he saw the concerned looks.

“Wrecker, behind you.” Hunter warned.

Wrecker turned to see a black vine curling up the tree like it was alive and getting ready to strike.

You grabbed your lightsaber whilst the others prepared their blasters, but the two cadets retreated behind a large tree root.

The vine stabbed down towards you three, but the blaster fire was having little impact, if anything it seemed to aggravate the vine more and the cadets’ shout confirmed your observations.

“Don’t fire! It gets hostile when you shoot.”

“You mean it’s not already hostile?” Wrecker commented as more vines slithered and weaved towards you all.

Diving over one of the vines that tried to snatch you, you took the advice of the younger clones on board. You ignited your lightsaber and not a moment too soon since one of them had managed to wrap itself around Wrecker and was beginning to drag him up a tree. You called on the Force and jumped and with an easy swing of your blue blade, the vine was halved, and Wrecker fell to the floor.

Your actions seemed to do enough to get the vines to fall back and with that, the five of you sprinted away and deeper into the jungle.

--

Once you all were far enough away from the threat, you stopped to get your breath back.

“What was that stuff?” Wrecker asked through heavy pants.

“Slither vines. The Empire made it. It’s some kind of experimental weapon, until they lost control of it.”

“Probably why they ordered a Base Delta Zero on their own facility.” The other cadet added.

“We’ll be safe on the crag. The slither vines haven’t spread there.” Deke informed you all.

“Yet.” The other clone added drily before turning to look at the clone who had started it all in the first place. “And this time, don’t touch anything.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wrecker said dismissively.

You patted his shoulder affectionately before the three of you followed the young clones on the upward climb.  

--

Night had fallen by the time you reached the crag and you walked into the cave to see another young cadet sitting by a lamp and tending to a dying fire.

“Mox.”

Mox looked up to see his two brothers enter with three strangers trailing behind them and immediately his guard was up. “Who are they?” He asked his fellow cadets.

“Clones and they have a Jedi with them. We found them by the overlook.”

The three of you revealed your faces.

“It’s quite a place you got here.” Wrecker commented.

“What do you want?” Mox asked warily.

“We’re looking for a young girl. She was taken by an Imperial named Hemlock.” Hunter explained to Mox. “Her name’s Omega.”

“Never saw a girl around the lab. But I know Hemlock. He was in charge until things changed. One day, the Imperials started packing up and shipped out. So we made our move and escaped.”

“We were the only ones who made it out before the orbital bombardment.” Deke added.

“Even clone troopers left us to die. Said they were following orders.”

You glanced between the three boys with a newfound sense of understanding. “We get it.” You said softly.

“We’ve lost people too.” Wrecker said quietly.

“We can take you someplace safe, but we need to find out if Omega was here or where Hemlock took her.” Hunter offered. “There has to be some intel in that base.”

You could see the internal debate happening between the three of them before Deke spoke up.

“One of the control room panels was still intact during our last scout. I tried to use it to send a signal, but there was no power.”

“Can you take us there?” You asked, your voice rising with hope, but the other cadet interrupted any potential reply.

“No way. That are is covered in slither vines. It’s toxic.”

Mox got to his feet. “Stak’s right. Going near those ruins is a suicide mission. You’re on your own.”

Deke grabbed his comm. “They need help, Mox. I’ll go with them.”

The three of you got ready to follow him out but Stak’s voice made you pause.

“You know the risks of going down there.”

It didn’t matter though, not to the three of you anyway, and you carried out following him out the crag.

--

“I can get you inside the ruins, but you won’t be able to get anything from the console without a power source.”

“We got that covered.” Wrecker informed the cadet as you all made your way through the dark jungle. “Just need to grab something from your ship.”

“This clone you’re looking for…”

“Omega.” Hunter reminded him.

“How long has she been gone for?”

“Too long.” Hunter said through a frustrated breath. “But we’re not giving up.”

“I wish the other clones felt that way about us. You may be defectives and a Jedi on the run, but at least you’re loyal.”

You caught the way Hunter reacted to that comment and you had an idea of what and who came to mind, but it wasn’t something you could help with right now.

--

You stepped inside the ship first to grab you and the kid a breathing mask and Wrecker followed close behind you to strap Gonky to his back.

“Woah! Your ship has seen some action.” Deke commented in awe as his torch scanned the ship’s hull.

“Mostly during the war… and some after.” Hunter replied dully.

“I thought, one day, I’d be flying one of these on a mission. A lot’s changed.” He said disappointedly before he turned to the sound of a droid honking.

“Well, I’ve got the gear and the power.” Wrecker announced.

“Lead the way, kid.” You said as you chucked him a mask before attaching your own.

--

The facility looked far more menacing in the dark of night, not even the shine of your blue blade provided you with much comfort. You saw the curious looks the others gave you as the stared between that and their flashlights.

“Multifunctional weapon.” You said with a shrug.

The four of you started the cautious walk towards the entrance and it was clear the cadets had not been exaggerating when talking about how the vines had spread here. You weren’t even inside yet, and you were already having to be very mindful about where you stepped.

You all walked into the base in silence, the only sounds that echoed around you were the noises of creaking metal.

“How much further to the console?” Wrecker asked nervously.

“Hard to tell.” Deke replied. “More vines have spread down here. We had to stop scavenging the site because of it.”

“What other experiments were going on in this place?” You asked.

“Nothing good. They didn’t exactly tell us what was going on.”

You all rounded another corner but stopped as you heard that now familiar warbling and slithering sound.

A scream got your attention and you all turned to see Deke being dragged down the hallway, a vine curled around his ankle.

Wrecker reached him before he got pulled too high and whilst he held onto his arms, you used your lightsaber to slice away at it and Hunter and Wrecker kicked the cut down pieces away from you all.

The moment of relief was only temporary for no sooner had the kid got back to his feet, more vines started to appear only these ones seemed to have vines that acted as legs and teeth growing out of the middle of their bodies.

Hunter managed to shoot the one that made the first attack and it collapsed to the ground which gave you all the opening you needed to run away from the rest of them and get closer to the console.

--

The path to the console was treacherous. The entire area towards it was made up of pieces of scrap metal that were floating atop of a viscous pool of black gunk.

“I didn’t think it could smell any worse, but I was wrong.” Wrecker said with a disgusted groan as the pool of black and toxic liquid bubbled beneath the platform.

“We’re in agreement on that.” Hunter said drily. Ignoring the impact this smell was having on him was a lot harder than doing it back in the jungle.

You allowed yourself a moment to squeeze his hand in comfort and were please to feel him return the gesture. If it was this bad for you, you couldn’t imagine what it would be like for a clone with enhanced senses.

“There’s the console. Come on.”

You jumped down after Deke and leapt between the gaps between the different metal platforms as you all made your way across.

You all reached the console and with a casual wave of your hand, the piece of metal that covered it became one with the black ooze below.

Hunter helped Wrecker get Gonky down and he hooked him up to it and the answering beep gave him the hope that they could get something out of this.

“Alright. Do your thing, little guy.” Wrecker encouraged the droid as Hunter finished off the process.

The sound of metal straining in the distance caught both yours and Hunter’s attention.

“Something’s coming.” Hunter said warily with you nodding in agreement beside him. “We need to make this quick.”

“Is it more of those things?” Wrecker asked nervously.

“No. Something else.”

“I’m familiar with the system. Give me some time. I’ll see what data I can pull up.”

Hunter handed the datapad to the kid whilst the three of you remained on guard and scanned the area ahead.

As the three of you creeped towards the edge of the platform, a much louder rumbling sounded throughout the decrepit room and suddenly a huge, thick vine burst from beneath the pool and slammed down towards you all.

Hunter and Wrecker’s blaster fire seemed to force it back down but then more vines surged to the surface and began their assault once more.

--

“You really think you can fly this thing?” Mox asked as he and Stak broke into the ship you’d arrived on.

“I was top of my class in flight training back on Kamino.” Stak said in reply before investigating the rest of the ship.

Mox meandered his way down and it was then he saw the stuffed doll in the gun turret, a sight that got him thinking more about the intentions the three of you had had and it brought the guilt back. He wasn’t sure about leaving you all behind as well as his brother, Deke. He was brought out of his thoughts by the chirp of his comm and he heard Deke’s voice come through in a panic.

“Mox! Stak! The vines! They’re everywhere!”

Blaster fire rang out in the background.

“Help! We need help! Mox! Come in, Mox!”

 Mox looked back at Stak who gave a firm nod of his head.

--

“Time’s up. Get the datapad!” You instructed as you sidestepped a swipe from one of the vines and stabbed through it.

Deke unplugged it and started the climb up the degrading metal to reach the surface.

You assisted in getting Gonky back on Wrecker’s back and then you all began the climb yourselves. A trying task already but made even more so by the massive vines that kept following you and taking the remaining supports down.

You watched in horror as the piece of metal Deke had been using was ripped away and he started to plummet towards the ground. Acting quickly, you called on the Force to hold him whilst Hunter clambered down and grabbed a hold of him to pull him back up.

With you all successfully making it to the top, you sprinted down the corridor only to find to your dismay that the way out was flooded with the toxic liquid and the vines were still advancing and your weapons were doing very little to stop it.

Hunter glanced behind him and saw a large piece of scrap metal floating your way and he signalled to the rest of you to jump to it.

Having made the jump, the issue of the vines still remained, and you weren’t sure how much longer you would be able to fend them off. It was then though; you saw the bright lights above and the Marauder came into view, and it had never looked so good.

“Keep it steady!” Mox called back to Stak as he lowered the cables down to where you all were. “Grab the cables!” He yelled over the baster fire.

Deke jumped on one first and Wrecker held on to the other one.

You could feel the platform being tugged under the pool, but you and Hunter were the only two left. The cable Wrecker was on wouldn’t support his and Gonky’s added weight as well as you and there was still Hunter who needed to grab onto Deke’s cable but amidst the chaos of the two of you dealing with the vines, you could feel him hesitating. But you knew you could make the jump to the ship itself. “Hunter, go!”

Not having much time to debate, Hunter leapt from the platform to the second cable, and he saw you land at the top of the stairs next to Mox.

The vines kept coming though and they started to strangle the wings of the Marauder and haul it down.

With Deke managing to make his way up, you grabbed your retired blaster and passed two more to Deke and Mox.

You all fired down at the horrifying creature that emerged from the depths. It was like one of the vines you’d encountered earlier that had the teeth only this abomination was huge and disgusting and could easily swallow you all and the ship.

“Shoot for the mouth!” You shouted to them, but your actions had little impact.

“We need more firepower!” Hunter called up.

Wrecker dropped a grenade into the mouth of the creature, but it only deterred it for a second.

“That’s not enough!” Hunter yelled.

“Grab the case of explosives!” Wrecker instructed you.

Doing as he said, you made your way into the ship and stumbled towards the case. You picked it up and brought it back to the stairs where Deke grabbed one grenade from it and Mox helped you push it over the edge.

Once they’d all been swallowed up by the creature, Deke activated and dropped the grenade and watched with relief as the resulting explosion forced the creature to release the Marauder and retreat to the depths.

As soon as Hunter and Wrecker were safely on board and the Marauder was out of harm’s way and put into hyperspace, they took their helmets off.

You chucked your breathing mask to the side and swiftly wrapped your arms around Hunter.

Hunter warmly returned your embrace and allowed himself that moment with you as his head rested in the crook of your neck.

You parted from Hunter but still kept your arm around his waist and looked at Deke who was still looking a little shell-shocked after the whole affair, “So, how’d you like being in a squad and fighting alongside a Jedi?”

“Umm… I think I could use some more training first.” Deke replied with a slight laugh.

“Hey, would all older clones get that treatment or…”

You and Hunter turned to the voice that belonged Stak and managed to share a look of fond amusement.

--

Hunter examined the information on the datapad but he managed to restrain himself and not read through it endlessly this time. He glanced up and looked fondly down the cockpit to see you and Wrecker enthusiastically listening to the cadet’s retelling of the events that had just transpired.

“I’ve been going over the data. Looks like Hemlock transferred his entire base of operations to another location.” Hunter revealed as he stepped inside. “His experiments too.”

You came to stand beside him and placed a hand on his upper arm. “Did the intel say where he went?”

“There was a mention of a sector but nothing more. It’s a lead, but we’ve got a lot of space to cover.”

“Well, if that’s where Omega is, then that’s where we’re going.” Wrecker said determinedly.

You affectionately squeezed Hunter’s shoulder to signal your agreement.

Hunter nodded his thanks to both of you before looking to the cadets. “We’ll drop you three of someplace safe.”

“Where?” Mox asked eagerly.

“An island. There are good people there. They’ll take care of you.”

“We’re cadets without an army. I don’t know where we fit anymore.” Mox said, the reality of their situation now hitting him harder than it had before.

“You have time to figure it out.” Hunter reassured him. “Make your own path. Be something other than a soldier.”

“What about you?”

Hunter glanced between you and Wrecker. “Our mission is not over yet.”

Wrecker laid a supportive hand on his brother’s back.

You watched with a warm heart as Mox reached his hand out and Hunter clasped it in return and in that moment, you felt it.

It was an emotion that had long been overshadowed by fear and despair but now you sensed its presence again.

You felt the hope that had been missing for some time.

--

“We’ve never had a sector before. That’s pretty good.” You whispered as the two of you lay in the quietness of the ship as it headed towards Pabu. The exertions of the past mission had claimed the others already.

“Yeah, it’s a better start than what we’ve had before.” Hunter agreed, drawing light patterns on your bare arm.

“How are you holding up?” You asked delicately as you rested your head on his chest and traced the small Jedi symbol of his necklace.

Hunter sighed heavily. “Better knowing we have something to go off of, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. There’s more I could be doing; I just know it.”

You hummed in acknowledgement, but you’d get to that last part in a minute. “You do seem a bit more like yourself.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, your adoptive paternal instincts kicked in again. These cadets bring the count up to five.” You said, a teasing lilt to your voice.

“My what?” He paused his ministrations on your arm.

“You heard me.”

“If you mean finding abandoned kids and taking them somewhere safe, that’s something anyone would do. I don’t-”

“No, not anyone, if that were the case with the cadets for example, they would’ve been off that nightmare of a planet long before we showed up. It’s a very you thing to do and it’s one of the many things I love about you.” You propped yourself up on your elbow to look at him. “You always do more than enough, Hunter. You are enough, don’t ever doubt that.”

Hunter looked at you lovingly. “I don’t know how I got through those months without you.”

“Well, if how you’ve been since I’ve been back, I’d guess by throwing yourself into the search, not taking care of your wellbeing and worrying Wrecker every day?” You theorised with a light-hearted tone. “Those are the habits we’re trying to break.”

Hunter turned his sight to the ceiling of the ship. “That sounds about right.” He admitted guiltily.

You angled his face to look back at you and your voice had no joking overtones now, it was full of sincerity. “I’m not going anywhere, remember. I’ll follow you to whatever end and so will Wrecker.”

Hunter pressed a chaste but tender kiss to your lips. “Thank you.” He breathed against your mouth.

You laid your head back down on his chest. “You know, it wouldn’t shock me if she found a way to get to us.”

Hunter kissed the crown of your head. “Yeah, that wouldn’t surprise me either.”

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @andreaaxy, @dominoeffectsworld, @nightmonkeysstuff, @arctrooper69, @starwarsnerd111, @fuckoffthanos, @graciexmarvel, @tpwkcalli, @brujaporfavor, @flyingkangaroo, @ladytano420, @keep-calm-and-drink-caf, @yyourmotherr, @sunkisseclones, @xxeiraxx, @dragonrider9905, @skellymom, @lokigirlszendaya

[daddysfangirls-dc]

The Arrangement

Ch 2 Exposed

Damian Wayne x OC!Female

Prev | Next

Robin enters the cave to find everyone there, including Duke, who should have been sleeping. The only one missing was Jason. Not for long, however, he drove in, parking his motorcycle next to Robin's and walking past him, removing his helmet and settling it on the counter. It seemed like a him vs them situation as they took one side of the cave and left him alone on the other. He was nervous, a bit scared. In his head, he was going over every possible wrong he had committed recently, but he could find none that would warrant a full audience. They didn't let him stew for long.

Without a word, Bruce hit a button on the computer, and it came alive, revealing a dozen images. The main subject is Damian and a girl in various locations and situations. And while his appearance changed between images, Robin to Civilian, she wore the same outfit in every picture, bearing the scandalous insignia of the League of Assasins. If that doesn't make it bad enough, the center photo was of him kissing her knuckles while she looked up at him lovingly in a bed. Damian stood before his father, sharing the same expressionless face. 

"Explain"

"I see me in various situations with ...my fiance." 

The silence was still, and one would have thought time had stopped, of course, time started again. When Alfred started to stumble, everyone moved quickly. Jason, the closest to him, gathered him before he could fall and pulled up a chair with Duke's help. It was after Alfred was settled that chaos erupted. Damian couldn't say who said what. 

"what the fuck!?"

"You know how to talk to girls?"

"He doesn't even like people!"

"I'm sorry, did you say fiance?"

"She's part of the league?"

"When did this happen???"

"When did he start dating?"

"You're still in high school, right?"

"ENOUGH," Bruce said, silencing everyone. He looked to Damian." Explain. Everything"

Damian 'T T' the truth was bound to come out. " It's an arranged marriage," ignoring the smug look Tim and Jason shared. " It was made between Ra's and Her father. I was always told I was supposed to rule, to conquer. I was supposed to continue the legacy, have an heir, and teach as I was taught. I was five years old when I was introduced to her. She was three. She is the second daughter. I didn't like her at first. But she was skilled. The arrangement was made, and she was my mother's choice."

"Makes sense," Tim said. Dick smacked him upside the head.

"Ra's made the arrangement> He's gone. We can- " 

" I agreed to it," he said, striking his father's conclusion and ending any planning. "After Ra's died, her father approached me about the arrangement. I agreed to continue, and we stayed in communication."

Dick stepped for " Why didn't you say anything?"

"Your reactions were predictable."

"This is the young friend you've been talking to over the years." Now, all eyes were on Alfred. Damian confidence stance starts to flatter, and he nods shyly. " We'll. I'd like to meet her."

"I... she's sleeping now."

"Obviously, it's 3 am, " Tim scoffed. 

"She'll be leaving soon. I'll speak to her tomorrow and see if she can make time for dinner, perhaps."

"Is she a part of the League?" Bruce asked- No, demanded.

"She's not a threat."

" If the League is operating In Gotham- ."

" She's here to see me. Her purpose here is not as nefarious as you want to believe."

"I believe we should take a moment. Maybe pick up the conversation tomorrow." Alfred could see where everything was heading; honestly, it was far too late in the night for such things. It was all too much. Following the orders of their patriarchy, everyone files upstairs to their respective rooms.

"Tim"

"I'm just clearing the screen and saving the files. I'll be up in a moment B" He gave a nod and quickly lef. Alfred would come later and see if he actually did as said. 

-

"Good morning"

"They know." She took a moment. This was definitely not the phone call she had expected this morning.

"How did you tell them?"

"I didn't. Apparently, Drake has been surveilling us for some time. I'm unsure as to how or when it started." Damian was losing his touch when she suspected something, and he dismissed her. She didn't think to question him; it was his city.

" I'm sorry," she apologized. " If I had been more stealthy, more hidden, this wouldn't have happened."

"Don't apologize. It was inevitable. I was a fool to think I could hide it for so long."  Damian was too busy in the bliss of having her to remember to hide her. That sounded wrong. " They want to meet you?" 

"Oh"

"I told them you'd be departing in a day or so. You don't have to." They fell into silence. He heard the chirps of morning birds on his end while she heard the muffled sounds of cars honking from early workers.

"I-"

"Damian?... do you want me to meet your family?" He had to take a moment. Did he want her to meet his family? No, he didn't. He didn't want to introduce her to his family. They hadn't even met her, and they had already formed an opinion, already judged her. And while he knew one meeting her, some would change their opinions of her, others would not and would continue villainizing her until she proved herself worthy. And he simply didn't want to go through that, at least not yet.

"I want you to meet Alfred."

"your grandfather? You want me to meet your grandfather?" '

He was safe. He was good. He'd see how much Damian cared for her and she for him, and he'd look past everything else... hopefully.

"Yes, he wants to meet you as well."

"Damian, I'd love to meet your Grandfather."

[nightingaellen]

King of my Heart | Vladimir Makarov x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Flashback of traumas, gunshots, blackmailing, kidnapping, swearing, military inaccuracies, medicine/doctors field inaccuracies and more that audiences may find uncomfortable (approach me if I missed something on warnings.)

NOTES: The plot of the game and mine are different, I chose to have a plot that Makarov is under the guidance of Imran Zakhaev since he was young. On the other hand, I still include some of the happenings of the game to this fiction.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Expect grammatical and typographical errors, english and russian isn't my first language. Bare with me.

Summary: Vladimir Makarov is known as being cold-hearted, madman, callous. But, what if one day he fell in love with a lass who captivated his heart badly, is he really a man that's a stone-hearted?

Chapter 1 | Next Chapter

You finished your medical mission in England and you've been assigned to do another in Russia. You dropped off in Zakhaev International Airport, your co-workers already dropped off because you're in another plane for some reason. You sat near the exit to fix your things and yourself, while doing it you suddenly heard a gunshots that you don't want to hear ever again for the rest of your life. Fears starts to hunt you, knees trembling, eyes shut. You've become anxious and that memory came into your mind, again.

"Honey, come on, let's eat. Your doll can wait. You might not want to miss this dish, don't make me wait." A lady said while preparing the utensils and plates.

"Okay, Mom! Just one sec, I'll fix this first." A little girl said, starts fixing her toys.

But all of the sudden, the little girl heard a gunshots. Her knees starts to tremble, overthinking of what have just she heard. She immediately lock the door and walked to the window. She was shocked and awe for what she have just seen, she saw her mother laying down. Her mother's face is covered with blood.

"M-mom... W-what..." She said, still watching through the window. All of the sudden, she met a boy who looks like having a same age with her. The boy look at her with his heterochromia eyes.

You quickly recovered from the sudden flashback of that memory. A hand hold your arm, you face the owner of that arm and you met that heterochromia eyes again but this time it's sinister and darker than before. His eyes are full of loathing, his eyes are fixated on you, looking deeply onto your soul. Fears are coming back to you again, he held your arm tightly enough to bruised it.

"W-wait.. stop.. i-it hurts.." You said quietly and with a gentle tone but you are screaming inside, you envisage to run and hoping not to get caught by him but you knew that you couldn't.

"Кирил, посади ее в эту машину. Сделай так, чтобы она не смогла сбежать, я кое-чего от тебя жду." He said to his comrade using a walkie-talkie, you can't understand what he just said. All you knew that he's speaking russian. ("Kiril, put her in that car. Make sure that she can't escape, I'm expecting something from you.")

Another man came to your gaze and motioned you to follow him, you followed him and looking back inside the airport you saw the heterochromia eyes man and his comrades are firing to the civilians, police, or just say everyone.

"Hey, can you speak english?" You asked the man while you both walked to where the three van parked, he nods.

"Who are you and what's happening?" You said with one eyebrow raised.

He stopped his tracks and face you with arms crossed, "You know, lady, I'm not that very personal with some people. But I guess you can be trusted, Kiril's the name, and we have some things to take care of." You gave him a nod, you can't understand what he meant but you knew that you shouldn't ask anymore.

Kiril look at you and said, "I know you're confuse, I am too. Just obey boss' orders and be careful of your actions and words, he'll not hurt you — and so I am, but we're good. We can be friends."

Something's really off, you know that there's a reason why they will keep you and you feel that there's something with that heterochromia eyes man.

– taglist: @usermncaellen, @livelyinborderland

– credits for the gifs that I used: @cssndra-cain, @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

2022 & 2023 © nightingaellen | Do not repost, copy, steal, translate.

[brujahinaskirt]

30 kcd2 trailer reveal little things / reactions:

Loving the increased Istvan / Henry parallelism

Loving the return of the red PTSD nightmares and so pleased WH isn't watering the game down, keeping up the trauma narrative realism, etc. I expected no less but still delighted by it. I love games that allow characters (esp male characters) to feel things, genuinely, and writing that treats the emotional invitation of its own storytelling with respect.

Good lord, the symbolism returns--as it must in a proper medieval game--but I shan't look too deep yet.

SKALITZ FLASHBACKS. HENRY'S PARENTS' WEDDING PREQUEL CONTENT? W H A T. I never thought we would get to go back; I am so thrilled to learn more about that time. I would have gladly gobbled up a Martin prequel. TELL ME HER FUCKING NAME, WARHORSE, YOU BASTARDS.

where is radzig

Mystery possible new love interest option? Or did Lady Stephanie visit the face sculptor?

And Theresa... where?

Mother of god, the forests and animals look incredible. I'm going insane. Let me pet things please.

How many times can Hans eat royal shit and live in one livestream? Let's find out. One, two, three...

The crime and punishment mechanics are definitely more complex at a glance. This is a good thing but I wonder how much was cutscene flavor and how much will really have an affect on the gameplay/reputation/etc.

I'm extremely afraid for Hans's survival. Not because of his constant trailer beefing (and he really took every opportunity to wipe out) but because of that shot with him doing the big dramatic eagle wing spread on horseback. You can't just do that and not expect to be punished by the narrative, bro.

MUTT IS BACK MUTT IS BACK MUTT IS BACK

is that pebbles? MUTT IS BACK please be pebbles

Henry's new hair is awful and I will be changing it two seconds in.

In general, Henry looks way more mature/stressed. Hard to say if there was a timeskip and Henry is now actually more mature or if the increased graphics allow him to look more like his voice actor, who is older than Henry. Either way I will be content. Will not catch me changing my son's precious face!!!

CROSSBOWS, HAND CANNONS

Istvan is pure fire, holy shit, cannot wait for this performance. Erik looks like a soggy newspaper. What happened king?

radzig? hello? anyone hear from this guy? typical for him to ghost

FIVE HOURS OF CUTSCENES???? YOU KNOW YOUR TARGET AUDIENCE. IT IS ME. I LOVE TO WATCH THINGS

Theresa's gonna be in it though, right? They wouldn't do us like that right?

Really excited to see them taking a page from RDR2 and incorporating a temperament-based reply system for non-dialogue initiating NPCs. I really look forward to all the added sandbox immersion enhancements from the first game, and I hope women are incorporated in a broader work spectrum for better historical accuracy.

WAS THAT GODWIN?

Is Hans going to teach Henry how to swim for real, as in a gameplay-altering swim mechanic, or is the topless on the riverbank scene just throwing a meaty bone to the hansry shippers (i am gnawing, i am growling when you try to take it away before i choke myself with it)

I love hearing devs and actors talk intelligently about the writing and character development arcs. Obviously they thought about it deeply in KCD1, but it's nice to see devs of an "action" game treating its narrative seriously, as artwork. Regardless of how the fandom idiots interact with it.

Hans singing a facetious little ballad for Henry (presuming it makes it into the game and isn't just trailer fodder) regenerated my cells. He DID promise in KCD1 (if you lose the tourney after agreeing to be his champion) that one day people would sing ballads in Henry's honor. Probably he did not intend for them to include the word "fuck" at the time.

This is going to be the grown up bromance we deserved in kcd1. Honestly it's so validating to see the second game recentering on that relationship and deliberately using it as the primary storytelling vehicle. KCD1 was pretty imbalanced in favor of Hans content, but it would have been better served by the game storyline fully leaning into the importance of that relationship, rather than trying to juggle it as a side-arc with several other arcs (and thereby creating an imbalance). KCD2 looks like it's built around the backbone of Henry and Hans's friendship and how it has profoundly changed them both/propelled their arcs in somewhat different directions.

On that point, Henry seems to have completely adopted Rattay colors now, but it's possible that's due to him operating as Hans's page (squire?) where we left them in KCD1. WHERE IS RADZIG

Calling Henry an orphan is a LITTLE generous given he was a whole ass adult man when his parents were killed, don't you think.

Calling Henry a lover is VERY VERY GENEROUS

I'm hyped.

[cowboycannibalism]

Not quite a review just some thoughts on Longlegs (spoilers!) ⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️⚠️

so I saw Longlegs and while I loved it I can see why a lot of people don't. it's loose in the plot at times because it's personal. Oz Perkins himself has said that he made it for himself, that it's a story of a mother's love and how that can sometimes be used to do harm; if I remember correctly his words were something along the lines of mom's lying to their kids out of love. He started writing this story with that. Even Nicholas Cage has said that he brought elements of his mother to the role, having had to live through watching her struggle with her mental illnesses.

It's beautiful to watch, the cinematography is so fantastic that I can't even describe it. I loved the flashbacks being shot/shown in that smaller ratio and how it took us out of the present day yet somehow didn't feel like a flashback if that makes any sense lol. the sound design is insane to me, I felt so tense the entire time! I thought the title cards breaking it into 3 parts was such a good way to move the story along and sort of get the audience ready for what came next.

I do think it was overhyped and that's why so many people are disappointed with it. But it was still an amazing movie and it will reach the people who it was meant for.

Now for some negatives :( the satanic angle was interesting but it could have done more, not too much like Maxxxine but just a tad. I really liked the decoded Revelation lines and wish more of that had been included and expanded on, though I came out of theater with my own connecting thoughts as someone who grew up with catholicism, I think for the general public it didn't mean a whole lot or do much.

I would have loved if the movie was a little longer tbh. like was her mom under any kind of influence from the devil or was she really just so protective of her daughter that she really would have done anything and everything to keep her alive? Also iirc they mention that the hair on the dolls were human, who's hair is it? I love that Lee and Ruby's birthday are both the 14th but it's never thought about that Agent Carter's family could be in danger because HELLO your family fits the description of the victims!!! I'm a little disappointed we don't follow the thread of Lee not having a father like the rest of the families and her first thought at the sight of the triangle in the mental health evaluation is Father.

Also saw someone say they didn't understand how he targeted the families and that it was too random to make sense, but for me personally I drew the conclusion that because Ruth was bringing the dolls as a nun as a "gift from the church" then those families must have been avid church goers/openly religious. Except Agent Carter's family, that one felt like it was done purposefully because of his connection with Lee.

The performances in this movie especially by the three characters the story revolves around (Lee, her mother and Longlegs) were so compelling. I don't think anything could have distracted me while watching this film. aside from the guy in front of me who was on his phone the ENTIRE MOVIE! But even then I was so enthralled by this film that I even forgot he was there after a few minutes. (but yeah my sister said he literally was on snapchat through the entire movie. also him and the people he was with were drinking and constantly getting up out of their seats)

Aside from my not great theater experience, Longlegs is definitely one of the highlights of my year so far! it is sticking with me and I plan on seeing it again hopefully before it leaves theaters.

[ihopesocomic]

I'm so sorry if it's too long but I just did a reread and decided to take a look at the designs on Toyhouse and it reminded me how much I love IHS.

I love all the designs of your characters, they are so deliberate. Take the Golden Grove family for example. Their fur colours perfectly match the name of this pride - all characters from this place are golden/have fur that's a certain shade of gold. Just by looking at them you can tell that they're related. But that's not everything.

I looked at the designs of three sisters and their parents and I noticed how some of the traits of their parents can be found in their daughters. Vicious is almost a copy of her mother Watchful, while Clever looks so much like her father Wild. They all have respectively a similar coIours and face shapes. In all of that Careful, the middle child here, is a perfect combination of her parents - she has her father's muzzle shape and eyes shape but her colour palette is more like her mother's. All marks are placed with so much thought that they help to recognise a character. The funny thing about the similarities with parents is that you probably created sisters first and then their parents - so you actually had to take a look at the sisters and then create their parents. While making sure everything made sense.

I tried to find similarities with Hope, Adamant and Quiet but I find it a bit harder, maybe cause they're still young. But older Hope definitely reminds me of Clever and Careful, rather than Vicious. Maybe it's the fur on her cheeks. I noticed that Adamant has the same fur colour as her grandfather, Jasper the First and I find it cute. And of course, how could I not mention Breccia and her freckles that she gave to all of her grandchildren. I love them <3

What I mean to say is that I adore how much thought and effort you put into your story. Every time I reread I find something new to adore. I love the plot and world, but I really like how you also put effort into your designs. You manage to make all characters stand out and be easy to recognise but you also find a way to make sure that audience can tell who is related to who. Thank you so much <3

And tbh I really like the new schedule with a page for week.

Well first of all, I do love a good wall of text, so don't apologize haha

Second, I'm glad you like the new schedule. It's actually activated the speculation part of the fandom, which we also love LOL

Third, THIS MAKES ME HAPPY! I love when people go back and notice the details we included. I did work backwards from the sisters to the parents, just because we had no intention on showing the grandparents, but people asked and I thought they'd be fun to design too. And they were! (This is to go with a previous ask, but this is also part of why we did away with color-coding, just cuz Wildfire looked great as a blonde, but maybe he's from somewhere sandy, who knows.) And it was interesting distributing all the different characteristics of them. Still not satisfied with Careful, I wish I'd thought on her a biiiiiiiit longer. I just didn't think anyone would care about her LOL

Hope will look more like Clever when she gets older, so once I can properly elongate her face, it'll be more obvious. I'm slowwwwwly gonna show them aging, Storm's hair will get longer, Adamant will be more buff, stuff like that. Right now (and people will see this on next week's page) Hope actually looks pretty similar to Careful. Careful just has to pull some more... Hopelike faces first for it to be obvious haha

Overall I'm happy with the designs and it brings me much joy to have people analyze them. Character concept is one of my favorite things to do, and I like being creative while being limited at the same time. Lions are a good way to practice that. So thank you again! - Cat

[justforbooks]

Long before Dave Myers, one half of the TV duo the Hairy Bikers, was hairy, or a biker, he was a cook. While still a child, he prepared family meals when his mother, a former shipyard crane driver, became so debilitated by multiple sclerosis she was scarcely able to leave her bed. “Dad and I became Mam’s carers, muddling through each day,” said Myers, who has died aged 66. “Sometimes I got out a cookbook and made a pie or a stew out of whatever ingredients we had in.”

His mother had been “a fabulous cook and was often preparing food while I played at her feet”. His father, the foreman of a local paper mill, would put little Dave on the saddle of his motorbike so he could pretend to ride. “I loved the smell of oil and machinery and rubber; just one whiff would set my pulse racing.”

But it was only half a lifetime later that Myers, after many years of working as a television makeup artist, managed to make an onscreen career by combining these two childhood passions. In 2004, when he was 45, Myers and his friend Simon King, a locations manager on the Harry Potter films, pitched their idea for a TV show focusing on motorbikes and food to the BBC. “It was midlife crisis time and you can’t have more of a midlife crisis than going off on a motorbike,” said Myers.

The show’s premise was that two burly, hirsute motorcyclists would visit foreign locales, often getting off their bikes to cook by the roadside. In the first episode of The Hairy Bikers’ Cookbook (2006), the pair motored through Namibia, stopping off to cook crocodile satay and oryx rolls.

This culinary travelogue ran across three series, taking them to Portugal, Vietnam, Turkey and Mexico, and became such a hit with the viewers that a memo circulated the BBC praising the two men for winning over “a difficult-to-reach audience”. “Basically a ‘difficult-to-reach audience’ translates as ‘normal people’,” said King.

The two self-taught cooks had a disarmingly unpretentious love of food and easy on-screen banter redolent of Keith Floyd, if less bibulous, or Clarissa Dickson Wright and Jennifer Paterson, if less posh. In a sense, Myers and King were the male northern riposte to the Two Fat Ladies. What’s more, their two fat lads were refreshing fare in the age of telegenic cooks such as Nigella Lawson or angry chefs like Gordon Ramsay.

Spin-off shows followed, including The Hairy Bikers’ Food Tour of Britain (2009), The Hairy Bikers: Mums Know Best (2010), The Hairy Bikers’ Mississippi Adventure (2012) and The Hairy Bikers’ Asian Adventure (2014), along with allied cookbooks and a 2015 memoir, The Hairy Bikers Blood, Sweat and Tyres.

What was the secret of their success? “We are mates, it’s not something that’s been manufactured,” said Myers. “We’re not snobby about food. We’re very happy with egg and chips, as long as it’s very good-quality eggs and good-quality potatoes. About 95% of good cooking is good shopping.”

They met by chance in a Newcastle pub in the 1990s when Myers was working there as makeup artist and prosthetics technician on an adaptation of Catherine Cookson’s The Gambling Man starring Robson Green. King, an assistant director on the project, was at the bar ordering a curry. The barman told King that if he ordered two curries he would qualify for a special offer: four poppadoms instead of one. “I just stepped up and said, ‘I’ll have the other curry’,” Myers said.

The pair cemented their friendship with road trips up the west coast of Scotland, travelling with a pan, a single-burner stove, some butter, a lemon and some brown bread. “We’d go up round Loch Assynt, up by Lochinver, and catch wild brown trout.” The idea for the television series was born from these trips.

But, while the Hairy Bikers became celebrated and their cookbooks successful, some worried that their recipes were unhealthy. Their banana French toast recipe, consisting of brioche, bananas, peanut butter and cream, was ominously dedicated to Elvis Presley. One critic suggested that their full-English shakshuka, featuring sausages, lardons and black pudding, “looks as if it should come with a diagram on how to administer CPR”.

Indeed, as their fame expanded, so did their waistbands. By 2012, Myers recalled, he was taking tablets for high blood pressure and to lower his cholesterol, and both he and King were diagnosed as being morbidly obese during a medical. He weighed 17st 12lb, with a 49in waist, while King weighed in at 19st 6lb, with a 50in waistline. “I was prediabetic; human foie gras, basically,” Myers said.

The diagnoses pushed them to make the series The Hairy Dieters: How to Love Food and Lose Weight. Both men lost 3st 7lb during filming and published their most successful series of books afterwards under the general title Hairy Dieters. “Doing it publicly was the thing that encouraged us to make it work. People admired the honesty. We sold about 1.3m copies of our first book. We learned an awful lot from it.”

The following year, 2013, Myers appeared on Strictly Come Dancing, performing a “Tartan tango” to the tune of The Proclaimers’ I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) with his dance partner, Karen Hauer, and becoming, in the words of the show’s judge Len Goodman, “the people’s champion”, winning the weekly popular vote despite sometimes low marks from judges and armchair critics deriding his “ungainly boogying”. He didn’t win, but the Hairy Biker received the longest standing ovation for, fittingly enough, a Meat Loaf-themed paso doble.

Myers, the only child of Jim and Margaret, was born in Barrow-in-Furness ( then in Lancashire but now in Cumbria) and attended the town’s grammar school for boys, where an inspirational teacher, Mr Eaton, encouraged him to develop his artistic skills. He took a fine art degree at Goldsmiths, University of London and a master’s degree in art history.

His first job was as a trainee makeup artist at the BBC. He worked there for 23 years, including a stint on Top of the Pops, before the Hairy Bikers got together. While filming the show in Romania, Myers met Liliana Orzac. “In our hotel there was a striking woman on reception. Nudging Si, I whispered: ‘I fancy her!’” They married in 2011.

In 2022, Myers announced on the podcast Hairy Bikers – Agony Uncles that he had been diagnosed with cancer. He and King made a moving return to the screen in The Hairy Bikers: Coming Home for Christmas in December 2023, in which they discussed his illness and treatment; and had filmed a new series, The Hairy Bikers Go West, which is currently screening on BBC Two, and which King described as “a celebration of a joyous and creative friendship”.

Myers is survived by Liliana and her children, Iza and Sergiu.

🔔 David James Myers, chef and television presenter, born 8 September 1957; died 28 February 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[atopvisenyashill]

I think a couple of the reasons we didn't see Helaena's birth is that a) it's not plot relevant. All other births either introduce a new status quo or major plot point (i.e Rhaenyra giving birth to Joffrey, as opposed to Jace - that way we can time jump and have all three kids already born but the notion of them being illegitimate is still introduced) or they end in death (Laena, Aemma, Baelon, Visenya).

And then another reason could simply be the optics of having Emily act out a birth scene. Ironic, given all the birth scenes are horrific, but this is a character introduced when she was 14. I don't think she could be more than 16 or 17 when she had Helaena. I can see why they shied away from it, or why it may never have even been a consideration to show it.

Well my argument here is that this whole show is about child birth and the way it affects The Family Unit and if we are establishing rival Family Units, we must include the basis of how the family unit is established, which is childbirth (in the context of feudal systems anyway). This show has a long, drawn out birthing scene with a lot of commentary over how dangerous and violent labor is and how dangerously violent our society treats new mothers with the birth scenes of Aemma, Laena, and Rhaenyra’s two (2) scenes, and these mark the beginning, middle, and end of the season, so it is an odd, frustrating exclusion to not at least attempt to include Alicent starting her labor and to straight up never see Helaena even pregnant at all. And when I said “have the plot happen while Rhaenyra is pregnant” you can easily do that with Alicent imo - if Helaena isn’t relevant enough (though I would argue Alicent birthing a Valyrian daughter is in fact VERY relevant to the status quo, it’s why Helaena is married off at only 13), we can easily futz with the timeline to include Aemond or Daeron’s birth around Rhaenyra’s wedding.

As for the second one……..okay idk how to phrase this without sounding like a sociopath here but if they were worried about “how are audiences going to react to Emily Carrey who is only 17/18 having a baby” my response is git gud ryan!!!!! they’re clearly trying to explore a concept they completely axed in the original, which is Structural Patriarchy And The Pedophilic Sexualization Of Young Girls in hotd, which was why they a) casted milly who was like 20 and has a baby face and b) aged down and casted Emily, who was roughly the same age as Alicent after the first time jump. And if you’re going to explore those themes, you have to EXPLORE those themes and that includes how (in show) Alicent and Helaena are not even of age by THEIR standards when they marry and give birth the first time, and Rhaenyra is massively sexualized and groomed by most of the men around her from the age of like 12 until she’s married at 17. This is the exact same violence that is enacted against Aemma being enacted on Alicent, and I think a more direct parallel of “yes Viserys forcing Alicent to have his kid at 15 is as god awful as Viserys cutting Aemma open” you NEED to have Alicent give birth with the younger actor and make the audience SQUIRM with discomfort, the same way they do when they have baby Laena parrot that stuff about giving Viserys strong sons, and Rhaenys say explicitly that she hates what’s happening.

I get the issue surrounding “emily was very young on set” but a) that’s why this whole series should have been animated and b) you can do this without even showing Alicent too much. One point of criticism I tend to have for another Historical Fantasy Show (Outlander, no one laugh at me, it’s a good fucking show and Catriona has been ROBBED of recognition for it) is how often they just throw in graphic ass rape scenes where I don’t feel it’s necessary but a point i give them credit is that when they got pushback about how often we are seeing People Straight Up Raped On Screen they got creative with how they filmed those scenes.

(spoilers obviously) but for the rape scene involving Brianna, where she enters a room attempting to get her ring back, and is raped as “payment” for it by Bonnett, the camera has Bonnett close the door so all we see is the people outside listening to Brianna scream. Some of them look uncomfortable. Some of them look at the door but do nothing. One woman trips over Bonnett’s boots outside the door and fixes them. The door opens and you just see Brianna in shock, getting her things, and leaving, but you otherwise see Nothing. The scene after that involves Claire being kidnapped from her home and gang raped over the span of a day or two, before being rescued by her family. Every time the rape starts up again, Claire enters a fantasy in her mind. She’s in the present day (in canon she lives in 1700s America, but she came from the 60s) and the family she’s made in the past are at a celebration with her, dressed in the present day. Characters that have died are there and happy. Her adopted son sits next to her biological daughter. The scene shifts and Claire is in her 1700s clothes in her 1960s house with Jamie, her husband, and she’s crying and he cups her cheek and whispers “it’s just the two of us now.” The rape scene ends. Later, as she’s struggling to deal with it, we see the bruises on her body because she is naked in bed with Jamie, wanting to be intimate but scared of sex, and he cradles her and says “you’re a strong thing” as the camera lets us see the damage done to her.

So, you can have it there without us seeing it. You can have Alicent be afraid as her contractions start. Viserys somewhere else not giving a shit. Rhaenyra outside the room wanting to comfort Alicent but not enough to swallow her pride. Otto more worried about the baby and quipping to Rhaenyra than he is about Alicent. Alicent laying in bed, upset, shaking, unable to hold her baby just yet. There’s a lot of freedom to get creative when you’re working with a visual medium!

[synergysilhouette]

Remaking 1995's "Pocahontas"

This is definitely one of Disney's most controversial films, and I wanted to take a stab at remaking it, stripping back historical associations so it could be a fantasy film that Disney could release in the 2020s without too much concern for offending Indigenous Americans. Please let me know your thoughts!

Part 1: Reference Panel/Designs

When making Pocahontas as a character, the directors drew upon Native American, Asian, and Black women to create her character, though it'd obviously be best to use Native American women if we were creating her in this time and age to show more cultural appreciation. In this specific case, I'd imagine using models like Ashley Callingbull and Quannah Chasinghorse as inspiration for Pocahontas. Since this is an original story, I'd wonder if they'd adhere to something similar to her blue concept art, her 2013 redesign, or something new altogether. Both designs are beautiful and avoid the sexualization of her original incarnation in the film.

In my mind, the love interest for Pocahontas would be a cross between John Smith and John Rolfe, having Smith's taste for adventure while still keeping Rolfe's academic intellect and skills with diplomacy. While overcoming racism is a big deal for Smith in the film, I feel like it'd make him too unlikable, as with Rolfe's sexism in the sequel. While I can see him having ignorance and preconceived notions, I feel like it's better to show him as someone new to the colonizing game and have a fresh, Thomas-like mentality (albeit slightly less innocent). This new love interest would have one of John Smith's earlier designs. I could definitely see him being inspired by Captain America: dutiful and loyal, but open to new ideas and perspectives. Honestly, his character would be a lot closer to Captain Phoebus from Disney's "Hunchback of Notre Dame."

Part 2: Story Changes

New Setting. As I mentioned before, I'd be making this a 100% original story, so this isn't set in America, the cultures that the two sides come from are fictional, and we use different names.

2. Different varieties of colonists. Aside from the traditional white settlers, we'd also see other Old World colonists, hailing from Asia and Africa. I know some people would think this just a minor shoutout for diversity, but I included this based on African slaves that came with the Europeans as well as Asian migrants that came to America during the 16th and 17th centuries.

3. We see more of Pocahontas' family. It's mentioned that historically, she had several half-siblings, so giving this fictional version of her three or four siblings would be neat, especially so you can see how tied she is to her culture. I'd probably also make Nakoma one of her sisters, since they have a sisterly bond. I'd also consider making the fictional version of Kocoum her brother instead of her betrothed, since I feel like it makes the audience care more about him and it'd explain why he's so protective of her. Expanding on Pocahontas' mother would also be awesome.

4. Thomas is John's brother. At first I thought this simply because in this version they'd both have red hair, but I thought about how Thomas was trying to make a good life for his family as well as how John Smith looked out for him like a little brother. Since I'm removing John's colonizing experience here and Thomas would be more likely to listen to Radcliffe if he and John weren't related, I think it makes sense that John influences his thoughts and decisions the most about the new world.

5. There's more of a cultural exchange. In part 1, Pocahontas mostly tells Smith about her world, while in part 2, Rolfe mainly tells her about his world. I'd like to combine the two so they can get to know and understand each other very well.

6. The fantasy aspect--it's easy to forget I'm not just changing controversial elements. Perhaps it's due to my thoughts on "Avatar: The Last Airbender," but I do like the idea of the colonists and Natives being able to use magic; not only is it entertaining for the audience, but it can also be symbolic for several situations, ie the colonists bringing diseases to the Natives, and the Natives' spiritual connection to nature while the colonists' being much more "modern" and less elemental.

7. This happens over a period of years. I feel like this is great to let Pocahontas and John's relationship grow organically (since some think her and John Smith's relationship was rushed and encouraged by passion), as well as showing us how the relationship between the Natives and the colonists fluctuate.

Hope you like my ideas! Lemme know what you think or if you have any questions. Would this have made you enjoy the film more?

[grimmmviewing]

S1E22: “Woman in Black”—C+ (Watched 7/26/24)

Odd as it might be, I’ve always had this vague fascination with synopses of TV episodes, especially finales—something about the way they reduce so many minutes to several lines of bullet-point-worthy moments and particularly the special energy of the final moment of a given episode. The “worthiness” of it, in a sense.

Reduced to a summary like that, I think “Woman in Black” has exactly the vibe you want in a season finale for a show like Grimm. With regard to my weird interest, it has a satisfying amount of action and a number of callbacks to previous episodes, and it ends on an appropriately climactic revelation—that the titular Woman we’ve been seeing throughout the episode is actually Nick’s mother that he/we thought was dead. (In retrospect, I knew she wasn’t dead but had just forgotten over the years.)

The assumed dead parent actually being alive isn’t just a fine-enough reveal that any show could have ended on, though. It also works well for Grimm specifically as a bookend to a season that began with family as a focus, with Nick losing his aunt Marie, the closest thing to a parent he thought he had. To end with the (re)introduction of his mother makes a lot of narrative and/or “artistic” sense. I was hoping that they’d re-use “Sweet Dreams” as well to circle back to the start of the season, but I suspected that wouldn’t actually happen. What is here is definitely… fine, engaging enough for what it is.

The big downside of an episode as stuffed as this one is, though, is that there’s not much to chew on, in stark contrast with the previous few episodes. Maybe that actually qualifies as justification of a sort—“Big Feet” can be a bit more interesting and creative and thoughtful, while the finale goes hard on action and pure, straightforward dramatic beats, which include a somewhat extensive brawl at the end between Nick and the last of the “Three Coins in a Fuchsbau” crew involved in the deaths of his family. I thought it was much better than the Nick-Adalind fight in “Love Sick,” though Nick’s vague Grimm abilities that I guess let him tangle with a trained fighter like this Akira Kimura remain a point of frustration for me. I’m not a Power Level-obsessed person, but exactly what Nick is capable of (or, more critically, what his limit is) is something that could have been more clearly established. I’m going to argue that that sort of definition and growth is part of the appeal of a show like this, though obviously there’s no predefined suite of “powers” for people to anticipate like there was in something like Smallville. I still appreciated the sustained melee action, however.

At the beginning, “Woman in Black” looks like it’s going to focus hard on the Akira Kimura angle, but there’s a big detour in the middle involving Juliette that may derail the pace of things. The obvious fairytale reference is tied to this plot, where Adalind (a witch) arranges for a bespelled cat to scratch Juliette (a beauty) at work, which eventually puts her into a coma (sleep). It’s incredibly slight in terms of an adaptation, I think, but the personal stuff with Juliette is still great since her relationship with Nick is a favorite part of the series for me. It’s just that I also felt like it pumped the brakes on the energy from the other conflict and that it could have been better paired with a more mundane case of the week so that it could more smoothly “steal” the spotlight.

From a craft perspective, I can definitely appreciate the “have your cake and eat it too” approach that the writers took here: Obviously, Nick telling Juliette about his Grimm work is a big, juicy chunk of drama the audience would love to feast on, but by having Juliette fall into a magical sleep during the attempted explanation, that lets them indulge the drama but also essentially punt on truly resolving things. Between seasons, they could (if they didn’t already know) decide if they wanted her to remember any of this or if they wanted to draw out the tension of her not knowing for longer.

A fair number of the callbacks I mentioned before are tied to this thread, as Nick takes Juliette to the trailer (and then to Monroe’s) to try to show her the truth and convince her that she needs to be worried about the cat scratch. This attempt is… bad, but I think intentionally so. As I mentioned before, I like Nick and Juliette as a couple. Their teamwork is a highlight of the episodes where it actually happens (see “The Thing With Feathers,” especially). I thought Nick would handle this better based on the precedent of their usual interactions. I’m going to just paste in a little chunk of my notes for “Woman in Black” below, as it shows the strength of my feeling about this major element of the episode from right as I was watching things unfold:

“You want the truth, you’re going to get it.” < Nick to J during their arg about Adalind and why Nick’s so suspicious of her and insistent about J getting her cat scratch seen by a doctor. Like, this ain’t good boyfriend! Vague! Threatening! Bad Nick!

Of course, the writers know this, and that’s why Nick’s desperate rant in the trailer comes off like what it is (a desperate rant from an increasingly sweaty-looking guy). It wouldn’t make sense for Juliette to not be scared! After doing this reflection, I added a “+” to the episode score solely because of this sequence and how thoroughly it got under my skin. The fact that I didn’t like it was probably the goal, and I simultaneously expected Nick/his writers to handle this moment better when it came while also wondering how you would “realistically” pull this off. I may have actually told Nick (to the screen) to focus on the fur Juliette found in “Big Feet,” which had her wondering about this stuff on her own. Maybe if he had led with that instead of all but throwing books and morning stars and terms like “Verrat” at her…

I wasn’t pleased with how he put Monroe on the spot about revealing himself to Juliette to make her believe either! It feels like the possible nadir of the more transactional side of their relationship, where Nick only spends time with or talks to Monroe about what amounts to work. I couldn’t say exactly if my opinion of “Woman in Black” would be better or worse if it had somehow ended on the Juliette plot rather than with the mother reveal. Although, to be fair, the coma stuff is also a good fit for a season finale.

[tripsonflatground]

Disney should stop doing remakes, BUT

The temptation of having about an extra hour to expand on the older movies is too tempting to not even think about, so if I was in control of a Snow White remake, here's what I would do:

Spend more time on the prologue, even just a few minutes, to show Snow's positive relationships with her parents, her mother's death, her father's remarriage to the Evil Queen (and say her name - Grimhilde, I think?), and her father's death and Queen Grimhilde's takeover

When the Prince shows up (and say his name - I think it's Florian?), actually explain who he is and give him a reason to be there - is he there because Queen Grimhilde is throwing a ball? Is he here to work on a treaty/trade deal on behalf of his neighboring kingdom?

Establish Prince Florian as a second son or son of the King's younger brother, so that if he theoretically married Snow White, he could become King or Prince Consort, which deepens Grimhilde's anger at Florian's and Snow's meeting

Change Snow's and Florian's first meeting so he doesn't sneak up on her like a creep and send Snow fleeing! She can still be singing I'm Wishing at the well or whatever, but have Florian come up to the well to get water for his horse and himself after their travels or something and have him strike up a conversation and have a proper meet-cute, maybe he compliments her singing.

Hell, if Florian's the neighboring prince, maybe he and Snow actually know each other! Either write them as an established couple and Florian's actually there to officially ask for her hand, or Florian and Snow are old childhood friends with no romance/chemistry between them until now!

When the Huntsman (and say his name!) is sent to take Snow's life, have the ruse be that there's an actual hunting or falconing/hawking trip they're going on. For one thing, nobles would actually do that with their guests as a past time, which means you could have Florian actually be there and notice Snow goes missing even if he can't stop anything and is fooled into thinking she died like everyone else. Two, it makes it harder for the Huntsman to get Snow alone. Three, there are cinematic opportunities in showing an actual hunt or hawking/falconing expedition.

When Snow White finds the dwarves' house, make it so the house looks abandoned and Snow decides to fix it up and start a farm or something in hiding, rather than knowing it's someone's home and deciding if she just cleans up, they'll keep her.

When the audience and/or Snow White actually meets the Dwarves, establish some basic dwarf lore: are they humanoids? Are they fae/fey? Are they somewhat common, rare, or are these the only seven dwarves in existence? Are they brothers/cousins or just seven unrelated dudes? Are the dwarves close to Snow's age, around her father's age, or much older than her, like beyond human aging?

Add a scene where we see Prince Florian either getting a little suspicious of everything or determining that he's going to go find Princess Snow White's body so she can properly be mourned by her people. Queen Grimhilde lets him go because she thinks he'll kill himself falling off a mountain or something because that's how the Huntsman led Queen Grimhilde to believe he "disposed of the body" after "taking Snow's heart".

Give Queen Grimhilde a villain song instead of that dumb washing up song the dwarves have.

Make the lead up to Someday My Prince Will Come involve Snow talking to the Dwarves about her friends and Kingdom and the good things about her life and include Prince Florian so the Dwarves start gently teasing her about her crush/love for him. Alternatively, have Snow talk about her mother and her mother's hopes for her daughter as she was dying (flashback?) that Snow would grow up to be happy and find love.

When Queen Grimhilde finds Snow, don't have it be the dumb decision of Doc directly telling Snow not to let anyone in and then Snow doing it anyway like in the original. Make it so Doc does warn Snow about answering the door for strangers, and Snow listens, but then have her hear a cry for help from the nearby road and have Snow go run and help because someone might be hurt. Of course, it's just Queen Grimhilde in her old lady disguise, but she actively is playing a ruse of being held up by a highwayman or bandit party or her cart or horse having taken damage. She offers Snow that apple as payment for her help.

Because of the earlier stuff, Prince Florian showing up to find Princess Snow White in the casket is explained by the fact that he was actually looking for her, and not just some random guy crashing a funeral. The kiss Florian gives her isn't so much romantic as it is like a goodbye gesture, only it ends up working as true love's kiss.

Instead of heading back to Florian's castle, Florian takes Snow Whilte back to her own kingdom's castle so they can let the people know of Queen Grimhilde's death and so Snow White can be crowned queen.

If the Huntsman is still alive, Snow White pardons him.

Queen Snow White finds the Magic Mirror and she or the Dwarves do something to free the spirit within.

Florian either proposes or starts an official courtship with Queen Snow White.

[evthemango]

MAFIA AU.

WARNING.

This is an AU intended for a mature and not faint hearted audience, this AU includes drug use, drug making, overdosing, murder, manipulation, abuse, torture, death, monster's eating humans, and sexual themes.

If you cannot handle any of these things, please ignore this entirely and move on. Do not romanticise the character's, you can simp for them but don't see what their doing as an ok thing, in fact, clown on their asses, and if they do one good thing, it doesn't make them a good person. Shipping is off limits unless it is a canon ship in this AU as all canon ships will be dealt with properly and not in a bullshit way like some freaks on the internet. Even if it is canon though, do not romanticise it if it is toxic, all toxic ships will end at some point, sadly not in the ways you'd wish for in some cases.

NIGHTMARE.

Nightmare is a co-boss and the third brother no one talks about in the Tale family.

Nightmare, a mafia Boss that has a family of mostly orphan kids now that he took in and cared for, yet manipulated them into believing the outside world hates them and will never accept them so that they stay with him, Mother Gothel style but he stayed around them lots more and acted like a legit dad, then when they became teens, he became more like a Boss to them. His main three boys, Killer, Dust and Horror are his favourite out of any of the others he raised, tell them, in his eye it will help encourage those employee's to be better, stronger, encourage them to prove themselves.

He was the one to make the shot, Passive called the shot, that shot going right into the side of Nym's head, how else would Passive inherit the family business? Unluckily, Dream called and made some shots too, one into Passive's skull and two into Nightmare's hip, shattering their bones beyond repair, of course, Nightmare and Passive got away and hid and as will's go, Nym did indeed leave the family business to Passive as Dream had wished to go off and pursue something else in the job field.

Passive switched up the business a little and now they also sell drugs that belong on black market, like monster dust, yeah, in this universe, monster dust can be used as a drug, there's different types which cause different effects, those are still in the works though.

You will never find Nightmare, you will never find Passive, they pay someone/thing to keep authorities off their backs, though if you get involved enough with Nightmare's boys, you'll find yourself in the corner of Nightmare's office being shot dead so pieces of you can be sold around the world, or if you're a monster, your dust will be used as a drug.

This family his Spanish and so, Nightmare mostly spoke Spanish for a while till he gathered up those poor orphans, then he learned English for them, but, he's not perfect at it and he has a heavy Spanish accent.

He will do most things to create fear in victim's and lots of pain.

Dadmare moment btw.

THE THREE SONS.

Killer: Killer will fake emotions and put on an amazing act to trick people into getting a weapon he can kill them with, if not, he'll use someone else to kill them then kill that person. His clothing was inspired by a Deadpool quote, though, he realised skeletons don't piss or shit… So… White! Then he realised too late that skeleton's bleed.

Killer - "Look, all I'm saying is if you see blood on my pants, I'm not on my period."

Dust: Dust cannot talk, he signs, the vocal part of his Soul is fucked up beyond repair so he can only make weird noises and he uses that to scream in the face of his victim who's screaming in pain as they bleed out or something so they can stare into the reflection of his mask back at themselves. He mocks them. Dust's mask is made of two pieces, a moving skeleton mask with actual bone for the mouth and two large glass plates that are bullet proof and one-way. He wears his dead brothers scarf on his wrist, though it's only a little piece of it, that's all he could salvage.

Horror: Horror cannot deal with the screams, it reminds him of his baby brothers screams as he was murdered and no thanks to that, when he hears screams from his victims he cannot control himself, so he wears headphones and listens to music to block it all out, he's usually on the job of kidnapping monsters and killing them in different ways to gain their dust for drugs, different emotions make different dust which causes different effects. Nothing special about his clothing except it helps him blend in with crowds and stuff, plus the headphones, he listens to music on tapes, not a phone.

[therecordchanger62279]

BEEN THERE, SAW THEM

For somebody that spent most of his working life in the retail record business, and whose passion has always been music, I was never an avid concert-goer. I never liked the long drives to and from. I hated shows where I had a seat but was forced to stand all evening because everyone else did. I hated the excess smoke - when that was still permitted. I often seemed to get seats behind someone who stood all evening, or was a head taller than me when seated. The volume was a problem, too as I suffered some hearing loss at a Springsteen concert in 1978, via some Steve Van Zandt guitar feedback that was actually painful, and caused me to cover my ears. I was in the last row of Vets Arena in Columbus, Ohio. If I'd been front row, I'd probably be deaf now. I hated the exits after the concerts, too. It took more time to leave the Riverfront Stadium in Cincinnati, Ohio after The Rolling Stones show I saw there in 1989 than it did to watch the show.

My aversion to concerts became legendary, and I used to get needled all the time about it by the people I worked with at record shops. Eventually, I got tired of it, and lied about attending shows I never saw (a Joe Henderson show at a high school auditorium in Lima, Ohio, and a Neil Young show with Sonic Youth opening on the Ragged Glory tour - in Cincinnati, if memory serves). I saw my last live show in 2014. I wouldn't even remember that date except that I had a notion of trying to compile a master list of every concert I've seen since my first one in August of 1975. By my count, and to the best of my recollection, I saw more than 40 concerts over a 39 year span. That's one concert a year. And given that I grew up in a small town where nobody ever played, and never lived anywhere bigger than Toledo or Dayton, Ohio, I don't think that's too bad.

I could've been to many, many more. For years I had access to free concert tickets through my record retailing connections, but since the people who worked for me made less money, and were more into live shows than I was, I used up my favors to score tickets for them when I could. I was content to buy live albums, and experience the shows from the comfort of my recliner.

In any case, I've compiled the complete list - at least everything I can remember - including the opening act(s) if there were any. If there was something worth noting about the show, I've made comments after the entry.

Beach Boys / Ambrosia. 8/21/75 Hara Arena, Dayton, Ohio. My first concert. We had floor tickets, so I stood the entire time. Great sets from both bands, but this was still before Brian Wilson had rejoined for live shows. That was my only real disappointment.

Buddy Rich Orchestra. Lima Senior High Auditorium, Lima, Ohio 1977. I went with my mother. I was still living at home, going to college, and just beginning to really explore Jazz. I knew Rich from The Tonight Show. It was a terrific experience.

Bruce Springsteen. Vets, Columbus, Ohio 9/5/78. The night of the hearing loss. But it's still one of the three or four best shows I ever saw. I also saw him in Cincinnati, Ohio at Riverfront Coliseum in July '84 on the Born In The U.S.A. tour. Still great, but not on a level with that '78 show.

Bob Dylan. Hara Arena, Dayton, Ohio 10/22/78. Also Riverbend Coliseum, Cincinnati, Ohio 8/10/89, Hara Arena 11/2/2002, and Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio 8/5/11. The '78 show was mindblowing. The '89 show was one of those nights when the sound was bad, and you couldn't recognize the songs unless you happened to catch a familiar lyric. Awful. The last two were quite good, though.

Elvis Costello / The Rubinoos. The Agora, Columbus, Ohio 3/15/79. The Rubinoos were great. Costello wasn't. He played all of 45 minutes. Left without ever saying a word to the audience. No encore - not that anyone minded. Later that night, he and his band got into an altercation with Stephen Stills and his band at a Holiday Inn Bar in Columbus that made national headlines when Costello uttered a racial slur at Ray Charles. I was a huge Costello fan before the show, but after - not so much. I swore I'd never see him live again, and I never did.

Crosby, Stills & Nash. Toledo, Ohio 11/9/82. I was nervous about this one because I knew they had a reputation for sometimes being awful in concert. We got lucky. They were incredible. They were so good that Nash even made a comment about it from the stage. One of the best live performances I've ever seen.

Weather Report. Ann Arbor, Michigan 1983. Some other managers at the mall where I worked in Toledo took me to this. I loved the band, and I've been forever grateful to them for inviting me.

Yes. Indianapolis, 4/12/84. I went with some people I worked with. I drove. This was the 90125 tour. The show was fantastic. But one of my pals knew the band. She co-published the Relayer fanzine, and had actually interviewed band members. She took us to the backstage area afterwards promising to get us in to meet the band. But the bouncers gave her, and another female co-worker access, but denied me, and two of my male friends. We were waiting around for them to come out when some bouncers approached us, and told us to leave. We told them our friends were inside, but they couldn't have cared less, and threatened to remove us bodily if we didn't leave. So, we went to the car where we sat for more than two hours waiting for our pals to return. When they finally did, they breathlessly told us they'd been invited to join them at a party at the hotel. They claimed again that they would get us in. But I was skeptical for obvious reasons. Besides, it was now past 1 a.m., and we still had a 90 minute drive home, and I was opening the store in the morning. We argued for probably 20 minutes, and put it to a vote. It was two in favor, and two against, and one abstention. But it was my car. So we left. I was very unpopular for a long time after that (actually, I've never been very popular anyway), but given the same circumstances at another time, I'd have done the same thing. Fortunately the Yes show I saw at Nutter Center in Fairborn, Ohio 5/4/91 was a better show, and a far better experience.

Pat Metheny Group. Memorial Hall, Dayton, Ohio 7/18/85. Ohio Theatre, Columbus Ohio 11/22/87. One of only a few acts I've seen more than once. Fantastic - both shows.

Stevie Ray Vaughan / Johnny Copeland. Hara Arena, Dayton, Ohio 1985. Incredible show.

Pretenders / Iggy Pop. Hara Arena, Dayton, Ohio 3/24/87. Great show all around.

Billy Idol / The Cult. Hara Arena, Dayton, Ohio 4/21/87. I could only score one ticket to see this show. I only wanted to see The Cult, and one of my co-workers was dying to see Billy Idol. He was closing the store that night just up the street from the venue. Since The Cult opened, I went to see them, and during intermission, I went back to the store, gave my ticket stub to my buddy, closed the store for him, and told him to go to the venue, and pretend he'd gone outside during intermission for a smoke. He presented my stub, and got in to see Billy idol. Win win!

Heart. Riverbend Coliseum, Cincinnati, Ohio 7/87. Courtesy a Capitol Records rep, and it included a ride in a Steamboat down the Ohio river to the venue. Heart was great!

R.E.M. / 10,000 Maniacs. Vets, Columbus, Ohio 10/24/87. Really fine show. I went with a co-worker and her boyfriend. He drove, and had one hand on the wheel, and with the other changed the radio stations constantly all the way there and back. He was wound far too tight for my liking.

Pink Floyd. Ohio Stadium, Columbus, Ohio 5/28/88. History says this was the first ever concert at the home of the Ohio State Buckeyes. What I remember was the spectacle itself. It was the first big budget production I'd ever seen, and it was something extraordinary.

Dio / Megadeth / Savatage. Hara Arena 8/2/88. I was dragged kicking and screaming to this show. I liked Dio's records, but I had no desire to see him or the openers at all. But I gave in. Savatage and Megadeth were so loud, I stayed in the lobby and girl-watched. Dio, I'll admit was really great.

The Rolling Stones. Riverfront Stadium, Cincinnati, Ohio 9/14/89. The Steel Wheels Tour. My only Stones show, but it was incredible. I watched Charlie most of the night, and Ronnie played his ass off.

Tina Turner. Riverfront Coliseum, Cincinnati, Ohio 8/25/90. She was everything you'd expect of a living legend.

Gordon Lightfoot. Memorial Hall, Dayton, Ohio 4/91. Lightfoot and his band were terrific, but we had balcony seats, and the chairs were the smallest, hardest, and most uncomfortable I've ever experienced. I remember getting up three or four times during the show, and standing in the aisle to alleviate the discomfort.

Don Henley / Susanna Hoffs. Riverbend Coliseum, Cincinnati, Ohio. 7/23/91. The Columbia rep knew what a huge Hoffs fan I was, so he provided the ticket. We had a meet and greet with Hoffs after, and I got autographs, and a picture someone else took for me that I never received. Hoffs killed, and Henley was good, too.

Neil Young. Nutter Center, Fairborn, Ohio 9/11/92. Completely solo show, and a great one from start to finish.

Roseanne Cash / Lyle Lovett. Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio 1994 (I believe). Couldn't track down the exact date for this, or find my ticket stub. But I recall it was when Lovett was having a romance, and short marriage to Julia Roberts, and he was in the news so much he'd decided to have some fun with it. So he had a roadie put a wig and a dress on to introduce him each night. When the roadie walked out, he was indeed mistaken for Julia Roberts. The gasps, and whispers were quickly drowned out by laughter when we realized the ruse. Great night all around.

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers. Riverfront Coliseum, Cincinnati, Ohio 8/30/95. A dream come true for me. They were great. It was the only time I got to see them.

James Taylor. Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio 7/9/97. Another artist who lived up to his legend.

Guided By Voices. Gilly's, Dayton, Ohio 1/99. There was GBV fever at the shop I worked in at the time. I thought the show was good musically, but Bob Pollard's constant beer swilling throughout the set got on my nerves after awhile, and my wife was none too fond of that performance either. We left early, and I never again listened much to them. In fact, a couple of years later, I sold all my albums, and 45s of the band to a shop, and kept only a couple of homemade cassettes.

Black Sabbath / Pantera / The Deftones. Nutter Center, Fairborn, Ohio. 2/99. There's an account of this rather memorable night on this very blog under the title Me and Dime (May '23). I even submitted an account of the show to Record Collector for their 'Memorable Concert' feature from fans that runs in their letters section. They never responded to the submission, and to date, have never published it. That's why I have a blog.

B.B. King / Boz Scaggs / Bobby "Blue" Bland. Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio, 6/19/99. Three legends for one price. Great, great night.

Emmylou Harris / Shawn Colvin. Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio 8/25/01. We sat outside in a torrential downpour all evening. But Emmylou and Shawn were so good, we didn't care.

Black Crowes / Beachwood Sparks. Schottenstein Center, Columbus, Ohio 10/10/01. Just a month after 9/11 which Chris Robinson referenced from the stage. Very good night, and seeing Beachwood Sparks was a bonus for me. I was one of the few in the crowd who knew them, and had their record at the time.

Sheryl Crow. Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio 7/03. I had wanted to see this, but it sold out so fast I couldn't get a ticket - until a customer walked into the shop that afternoon and offered the ticket to any of us who wanted to go. I snatched it up, and thoroughly enjoyed it. If you want to see it, too, the entire thing was filmed, and released on a DVD titled C'mon America.

Leon Russell. Gilly's, Dayton, Ohio 1/3/2004. Leon completely solo at a bank of keyboards in a small club. Much as I'd liked to have seen him with his big band in the 1970s during his heyday, there was some magic on this night that I'll never forget.

Rock 'N' Blues Fest with Johnny Winter, Edgar Winter, Rick Derringer, and Kim Simonds of Savoy Brown. Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio. 2012. My disappointment at hearing that the great Leslie West had to drop out due to health issues at the last minute was somewhat mitigated by the opportunity to see the others. I'd been a fan of each since the 1970s. Edgar stole the show. But it was poignant seeing Johnny since he passed away less than 2 years later. And Rick and Kim still had it all these years later.

Ringo Starr's All-Starr Band. Fraze Pavilion, Kettering, Ohio. 7/14. To date, this was my last concert, and I don't expect there will be any more - unless someone wants to provide a free ticket and transportation to see Yuja Wang, or Taylor Swift somewhere. I'd leave the recliner to see either. Everyone else has passed away or retired, or isn't worth seeing at this late date. So, after 40 years, I finally saw a Beatle live, and the bonus for me was also finally getting to see another legend - Todd Rundgren. Ringo does not disappoint. A good one to go out on.

Appendix (courtesy my wife): When you're married, sometimes you make sacrifices. My wife wanted to see Neil Diamond at Nutter center in Fairborn in November of 2001. I accompanied her because I'll confess an affection for his early hits - several of which he played, and played well. My wife also wanted to see John Tesh - twice. We went - twice. It was sometime in the 90s. I wasn't a fan of his music, but the shows were professional, and the crowd, and my wife very much enjoyed them. And, finally, she wanted me to take her to see Josh Groban, again at The Fraze in Kettering, Ohio. The date is foggy, but it was sometime between 2005 and 2010. And though I am not a fan of his music, the show was impressive, and there's no denying he has one of the great voices in recent pop history. He's also a very engaging, and likable sort who is great with audiences.

Appendix II (courtesy my wife): She also tells me I bought tickets and took her to a Jim Brickman concert (New Age pianist who recorded for the Windham Hill label) at Memorial Hall in Dayton, Ohio some time in the early 90s. I have almost no recollection of any of it, although it seems like something I would've done, and I do remember she had a couple of his CDs.

[felixcloud6288]

Higurashi: Abducted by Demons Recap

I don't feel like I got all my thoughts out on this arc so I'm going to make a general post. I'll probably do this for every arc.

This is the first arc of the series. So it has to make sure a new reader understands the premise and what to expect through the series. The first half of this arc is very exposition heavy as a result. Once the audience knows what is going on, the story focuses on the mood.

Throughout the first half, we get glimpses of how something is not right about the village but the second half goes completely off the deep end. There will be moments that are more graphic and unnerving than what happens in this arc, but the first arc needed to be extreme so anyone curious will understand whether or not they're interested or can handle this series.

And as for the art style, I absolutely loved how Karin Suzuragi drew eyes throughout the arc. In particular, I loved the moments where a single uncanny panel would be included in an otherwise normal scene.

My absolute favorite panel in the arc is when Rena asks Keiichi if he ate the ohagi. Nothing before or after that panel is unusual. Then that one panel pops in and you can feel a shiver go down your spine only for everything to continue as if nothing happened.

And all it would take is a little bit of detail in her eyes to remove the uncanniness and unease this panel causes.

Since this is the first arc, the story also had to blitz through the process of establishing everyone's closeness. The arc is entirely focused of Keiichi and Rena's relation and how it completely collapses when Keiichi finds out about the series of murders in Hinamizawa. On a reread, Keiichi and Rena's friendship felt like it was focused on to the point the other characters are essentially background characters. Later arcs will flesh them out more, but we don't know much abut Mion, Satoko, or Rika outside their connections to the murder victims.

Similarly, Tomitake interacts with the main cast far more in this arc than he does in later ones. It makes his death hit harder.

Some notes about major characters from this arc:

Keiichi Maebara: He moved to Hinamizawa three weeks ago.

Rena Ryugu: Birth name "Reina".She had moved out of Hinamizawa when she was younger. At some point she assaulted three boys with a bat and smashed every window in her school. In her psych evaluations, she frequently talked about Oyashiro-sama as if she is possessed by it. She moved back to Hinamizawa a year ago.

Mion Sonozaki: Leader of the group's after-school club. She has several misdemeanors due to her actions during the village's protest against the dam project.

Satoko Hojo: Related to the second and fourth set of victims

Rika Furude: Related to the third set of victims

Curaudo Ooishi: A detective with the local prefecture who wants to figure out the cause of all the deaths. He suspects a group within the village is behind the deaths.

Jirou Tomitake: A photographer who visits Hinamizawa several times through the year. He died by scratching out his throat.

Miyo Takano: A nurse at the local clinic. She went missing after the Cotton Drifting Festival.

Satoshi Hojo: Satoko's older brother. He used to be part of the after-school club. He disappeared a year ago. Prior to his disappearance, he started carrying a bat and practiced his swinging. He also became distant from the club.

Now let's go over what we know or suspect about the murder mysteries:

Since 1979, someone has died each year during the Cotton Drifting Festival.

The first death was the director of the Dam Project. He was murdered and dismembered by several people. The person who took the right arm is still at large. However, the Director might still be alive.

The second death was Satoko's parents. They fell off a cliff. The wife's body was never found.

The third death was Rika's parents. Her father died of an illness and her mother drowned herself in the swamp. Her body was never found.

The fourth death was Satoko's aunt. She was beaten to death. Satoko's brother Satoshi also went missing around that time.

The fifth death was Jirou Tomitake. He clawed out his throat after apparently being attacked by several people. Miyo Takano has also gone missing. Tomitake's death is suspected of being drug induced.

Every death has a pattern of one discovered death and one missing person. People in the village refer to the disappearances as the person being "demoned away"

The villagers refer to the series of deaths as Oyashiro-sama's curse due to the connections to the dam project. However, each new victim is less and less connected to the project. Tomitake had no connection at all, and Ooishi suspects the murderers are just targeting outsiders at this point.

back

[elanorjane]

Rumbelle Fic: Screw The Roses, Send Me The Thorns

Gift for kelyon.tumblr.com @kelyon for @rumbellesecretsanta 2022 rumbellesecretsanta.tumblr.com

Prompt: Mutually horny at family event 

Read on AO3

A/N: This is fiction, not reality. The romance is compressed into a very short time period. Remember: safe, sane, and consensual, friends.  Warnings: BDSM talk and actions

“I’d like to make a toast….” 

Mayor Regina Mills raised her Waterford crystal toasting flute. The sleek, pulled stem of her glassware was intricately adorned with an eternal flame. Her captive audience, seated, had been given plain flutes. Regina’s eyes roamed up and down the long dinner table. The stark black and white decor of the table matched the rest of the stately manor. In a nod to the season, blood red poinsettias were sprinkled here and there to dramatic effect.  

“To family,” she began. 

The mayor’s dramatic pause failed to hide Gold’s snort of derision.

Her dark eyes cut to him down the table.  

Gold lowered his chin and held up a hand in a gesture for her to continue her annual speech, but he couldn’t quite erase the evidence of his smirk completely off his lips.  

He felt his son lean over his right arm, feigning straightening his father’s dessert spoon. “You promised,” he murmured, as Regina droned on. 

“I promised I would attend,” Gold replied. “You failed to make any demands as to my demeanor.”  

Bae straightened, shaking his head, “Always the technicalities with you,” he hissed. “Always have to have the upper hand. Even with your own family.”

These people were Gold’s family only in the loosest sense of the word. But Mayor Regina Mills, by a twisted series of events, was the adoptive mother of his biological grandson. A child Bae, and himself, had not known existed until fairly recently. Gold’s own son had correspondingly reentered his life after decades of estrangement. Gold came to these little gatherings as a favor to Bae. It was one of the few olive branches he could muster in their still fragile relationship. Unfortunately, rebuilding a relationship with his son included regularly coming in contact with the whole damn town. 

“If you, Emma, and Henry want to come over for dinner,” Gold countered, “I welcome you. But this,” he waved his finger up and down the dinner table dismissively, “is not my family.”  

Regina insisted on holding these mock “family” gatherings every holiday season. He’d rather be at home in his library slowly sipping a scotch. Or in his shop balancing his ledgers for the end of the year. Better company, either way.

Bae looked down at his lap, tugging knots in his napkin as he shook his head. He sighed, leaning back over towards his father. “Thank you for coming,” he said evenly. “I know you’d rather be at home in your library with the drink of a lonely man. Or locked in your counting house with your gold.” Bae made both options sound distasteful. 

“Counting house?” Gold echoed. 

“Yeah, you know, like in A Christmas Carol.” 

“Oh, I know the reference. I’m just impressed you do. I didn’t know you read Dickens.” 

“What? No,” Bae scrunched his face. “Mickey’s Christmas Carol was on last night.”

Gold’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Am I Scrooge McDuck in this analogy?” 

“I’m saying your Scrooge McDuck after he sees the three ghosts,” Bae placated. “See,” he waved his hand around the table, “you have family now.” 

Despite Regina’s accommodating table, the "family" seemed to grow every year, much to Gold’s dismay. This year the table was downright crowded. First Emma, his grandson’s biological mother. Then her parents, the Nolans, David and his equally insufferably sunny wife Mary Margaret. Then Regina and her idiodic sister, Zelena. In a display of her status as Mayor, Regina expanded these events to include Storybrooke’s most influential citizenry, at least by Regina’s standards. Besides the “family,” their gathering now included Jefferson, Regina’s stylist and decorator, Sydney Glass, her counsel, Dr. Archibald Hopper, town shrink, and a handful of other rotating characters, depending on Regina’s humor and who she was feuding with that season.

“You could use the opportunity to get to know people, like, network,” Bae tried again. 

“Son, I know everyone here. Half of them owe me rent and will use getting drunk at this event as an excuse for why they were late.” 

Bae, who dismissively shook his head through his father’s excuses, pressed, “I mean really get to know them. Let them know you. You could talk to David. He could be my father-in-law someday.” 

Gold considered Henry's other grandfather. David Nolan acted like they were friends every time he saw him, much to Gold’s bewilderment. But what Bae thought they had in common was beyond him. 

Gold glanced around the table, considering his other options. Occasionally his and the mayor’s business desires lined up and they worked in tandem when it suited Gold. But they could be at cross-purposes just as easily, which didn't inspire deep confidences. Beyond that, he didn't understand what sharing his personal life with these people had anything to do with his continued campaign to regain the trust of Bae, or Neal, as everyone else at the table called him. 

Bae elbowed him, “You could talk to Regina’s sister,” he wagged his eyebrows. 

Gold jerked out of his reverie, glancing over both shoulders in fear that Bae speaking her name would conjure her. 

“To what end?” he rasped, looking down past Bae to make sure Zelena remained in her seat well across the table and diagonal. While she was still seated, when Gold did locate her, she was looking straight at him. Accidentally meeting her eyes caused her to give him one of her wide smiles that made her look psychotic and him feel nauseated. Gold pressed back in his seat, thankful for Bae’s larger profile concealing him. He grimaced. That one accidental eye contact would cause him months of irritation while she took it for an invitation to try to engage him.     

Bae chuckled at his father's alarm. “It’s obvious she has the hots for you.” He shrugged, “Hey, some guys like crazy chicks. No judgment.” 

No judgment indeed. His son wouldn’t be nearly as tolerant if he knew what his father was looking for in a woman, if he was searching for one. But he gave up on finding companionship long ago. 

“If I wanted to interact with this many people I’d spend more time at Granny's eating overpriced hamburgers,” Gold grumbled.

A loud cough brought an end to their discussion. Regina had finally had enough of them murmuring to each other over her toast. 

“Fine, have it your way, Pop,” Bae whispered.  

“I always do,” he assured him. 

Bae scoffed at that, but the formal end of Regina’s speech kept him from retorting as everyone at the table raised their glasses. 

“By the way, I put your white elephant gift under the tree for you,” Bae told him over everyone's clinking. 

“My what?” Gold planned, as every year, to slip out right after dinner. “I don’t participate in that nonsense.” 

“You did this year.” 

Gold lifted his glass to his lips, “What, pray tell, did I contribute?” he asked before taking a long sip.

“A certificate for a month’s free rent.” 

Gold choked on his champagne. 

Bae slapped him hard on the back, smiling. “Very generous of you,” he shook his shoulder. “People are gonna love it. I bet it’s the most stolen gift this year.” He grinned at him. 

“I hope you are having a grand time at my expense.”

“I most certainly am,” he assured his father in his good natured tone. Satisfied, he turned away from Gold, being happily pulled into a conversation with Emma and Henry. 

The din of mindless small talk immediately rose around him. Hired wait staff reached at each guest’s left, placing the first course. Instead of dying down, the chatter increased to fawning over Regina's menu choices. The evening loomed long and tedious before him. As he avoided situations such as this at all costs, his ability to exercise control over his behavior for this long, or “behave himself”, as Bae would call it, had not been tested in some time. The room seemed suddenly more crowded than ever to Gold. He stopped short of pulling at his collar. He settled for smoothing a hand down his tie as he tried to focus on the meal in front of him. 

Later, when the waiters reappeared to clear the first course, Gold closed his eyes to momentarily block out the tiresome buzz around him. His right hand drummed against the tablecloth while his left hand twisted the stem of his wine glass in front of him. Under the table he struggled to placate his bad leg, which ached to be stretched. Worse than that, he was bored. And when he was bored, he was left to his own devices to amuse himself. He glanced at Bae, who was still smiling and laughing with his corner of the table. Only a quarter of the way through the meal and his restraint struggled to find a release valve. 

His eyes swept up and down the row of faces. Little pleasure was to be had at this table.

“Screw the roses, send me the thorns.” 

The low-pitched accent hooked his attention to the far end of the table.

The newest addition to the “family” met his eyes, revealing a bewitching pair of cerulean orbs. They danced with playful light, as if sharing a private joke. Miss French, the town librarian. Well, she will be if she ever got that mess of a library up and running properly. For week he’d watched her carry boxes and push bookcarts back and forth across the library in those ridiculous shoes she favored. His shop had an almost direct view across the street to the library and the constant motion had been very distracting.  

Despite their close vicinity, he’d never been this near to her before. He was amused to see the dark rimmed eyes and the throaty voice were in direct contrast to the rest of her cherub face. Despite the innocent and amiable energy radiating off her so strongly he felt it across the table, her eyes said she’d read some books in the restricted section. Her voice suggested she’d like to try some of the things she’d read. 

She was seated diagonally from him, next to Gaston LeGume. The librarian and the pet shelter caretaker, how quaint. As members of the community running town services under Regina’s purview, they warranted an invitation. They sat at the end of the table because that’s where Regina sat the newest, least politically savvy of the gathering. Regina wanted to either impress them or intimidate them. The librarian, he noted, looked neither. 

LeGume was prattling away next to her, but Gold didn’t register a word he said. Neither did she, judging from the open curiosity of her stare. Her remark was obviously in response to something LeGume had said, but the librarian regarded Gold across the table, like she was daring him to enter the conversation. Gold raised an eyebrow at her continued attention. Usually that was all it took to make a misguided townsperson scamper away. Instead of turning back to her dinner partner, the insolent little creature arched a thin shapely eyebrow right back.

The phrase that had piqued his interest was one he hadn’t heard in a very long time. She was too young to know the classic guide she’d inadvertently referenced, subtitled The Romance and Sexual Sorcery of Sadomasochism. Considering sadomasochism as “sexual magic” had always resonated with him. It was delicate, like he imagined a spell would be. It required the precise blend of trust and sensuality. Get it just right and BDSM could be intensely erotic and deeply intimate. Many years ago he was active in that community. He hadn’t dipped back in in a number of years. Mostly because he couldn’t find the right partner to join him in the dark, to make the formula he sought complete. It was always off, somehow, despite his efforts and care he took considering partners. The frustration over not being able to conjure the correct combination of elements forced him to abandon the community altogether and he’d begun to suspect the incomplete desire would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

It was Bae’s mother, of all people, who introduced him to the lifestyle. Ironically, at the time, he was neither a dominant enough dom or a submissive enough sub for her liking. It ultimately didn’t matter. The demise of that relationship, of wanting to understand what she’d wanted him to be, led him to exploring and discovering what he truly desired…power and control. Becoming a master dom had been the answer to all of his problems. He’d become known in the community as being the best. People came to him to get what they needed. They begged to spend time with him. The potency he wielded was heady. But he had never gotten what he truly wanted in return. In the moment, yes, but not long term. 

He’d thought he had it once, with a woman who shared a lot of the same hurt and a lot of the same ambitions as he. But in the end she’d wanted power and control more than she’d wanted to be with him. Love proved to be a weakness for both of them. He had been completely open and vulnerable with her and she took his love, along with his instruction and his training, and used it against him. First by trying to top from bottom, and then ultimately taking what she learned from him and applying it as a dom elsewhere, with other people.

But she’d taught him a more valuable lesson. That having anyone know what he truly wanted and needed, and why, was a vulnerability he could not afford. No one could understand, let alone accept, his complete need for control, inside and outside a scene. He'd been out of control too early and too often in his life. That’s why BDSM had appealed to him in the first place. He had to protect himself. He had to feel in control in order to feel safe. His buffer against the past - his father, his failed relationships, his own mistakes as a parent - were money, power, and control. And his need for those things started with his wardrobe and extended to the bedroom. 

While uninvited memories flickered through his head and the familiar weight of old aches settled in his chest, Miss French was being pulled back into conversation with LeGume. Her chin swiveled towards LeGume but her eyes hung on him. The spark he had seen there dimmed when he did nothing but passively regard her in return. The mischievous uptick to her lips visibly downturned. Just as her blue, uninhibited eyes were turning to LeGume and, he intuitively knew, abandoning him forever, something new emerged from the discomfort in his chest. A fresh, sharp pain, like an invisible string being pulled taut. The question came out of his mouth, unbidden.   

“Read any good books lately, Miss French?” 

It came out in his usual indifferent and condescending manner. He focused on smoothing a wrinkle in the tablecloth in front of him, as if her answer didn’t matter to him in the slightest. 

He’d interrupted LeGume’s blathering, who blinked and gaped at him like a fish. He shot Gold a look that he supposed was meant to be threatening. Gold markedly ignored him. 

Miss French wasn’t offended by his intrusion or tone. Instead, her eyes widened for just a moment before quickly recovering. Her entire body shifted to face Gold full on, incidentally giving LeGume the back of her shoulder. With a lift of her eyebrows and a subtle tilt of her head, she conveyed her triumph, her smile holding a hint of mischief. 

It was his first time experiencing the verve of her full attention. He sniffed, looking down to brush away a crumb on the tablecloth, waiting dispassionately for Miss French’s answer.  

“In fact I have, Mr. Gold.” It was the most words they’d exchanged since she arrived in town. Her being new could be the only explanation for her insistence in pulling him into conversation and the ease in which she conversed with him now. “It’s one I’d never considered until recently, but based on positive recommendations I finally tried it out.” 

He idly rearranged his silverware as he waited for her to name some romance or current fiction title. 

“The Story of O.” She was all politeness and formality as the French erotic novel rolled off her tongue. His eyes shot up in time to catch the perfect round shape of her lips. Her mouth lingered there until a sly grin spread across her face. “Have you ever read it?”

She’d tried to shock him, ostensibly in response to his resisting her efforts to pull him into conversation for so long. But he was satisfied to know that he’d judged her right. She did read books in the restricted section. He felt an involuntary twitch in the corner of his mouth at her, thinking him capable of being scandalized. Unlike her, he hadn't just read about it. He’d seen and done things she wouldn't find in any book. Even in the restricted section. 

“It’s an old favorite,” he volleyed back, making direct eye contact with her and letting it settle there authoritatively. “Though I haven’t had reason to revisit it in some time. Are you finding it,” he let the word hang in the air, “satisfying?” 

“Oh yes,” she answered readily, not even blushing. “Like any good book, it’s…” she leaned across the table, mimicking his cadence, “arousing some new ideas in me.” 

“As all good books should,” he spoke slowly and deliberately, emphasizing his words. He sat back in his own seat, his leg settled and his hands resting on the table. “You may have inspired me to pick it up again.” 

“I have it on my bedside table if you need a refresher,” she offered casually. 

The extra glint to her eye told him that she registered the suggestive meaning of her words, commanding his unguarded brain to produce a hazy picture of her lounging across white sheets on a brass bed, reading her one-handed novel, taking her bottom lip between her teeth when she reached a particularly racy excerpt. 

His gaze tightened with suspicion. What was she playing at? He inspected her glass. The wine in front of her wasn’t even half gone. Her eyes still shone clear. Her voice was controlled, not loud and obnoxious like Regina’s sister at the other end of the table. 

Memories stirred in him. Belle was being polite, respectful…and a brat. She reminded him of rebellious submissives he used to know. He’d refused to work with cutesy, teasing, playful subs who pushed back on his dominance and challenged his authority. But, he reminded himself, these were obviously empty words from a girl who read too much. 

She was playing a game with him, obviously. She’d led LeGume on long enough and thought she’d amuse herself by torturing him next. She thought she would be charitable by giving a lonely old man a thrill. Well, Miss French had vastly overestimated how far one little book and her feminine wiles, while admittedly bountiful, could get her. He set the boundaries. He set the rules. He set the expectations for behavior. And he’d never been known for tolerating blatantly rebellious submissives. 

"I hardly think that would be appropriate, Miss French" he replied, his tone cool and calculated. "Lending without a library card? How do you know you can trust me with your...prized possession?" His words were laden with subtle implication, matching her innuendo with a cold demeanor. 

“You misunderstand, Mr. Gold,” she placed both hands at the edge of the table, leaning as far as she could without leaving her seat. “I wasn't suggesting it leave the property.” 

With that, she added to the previously formed image, her laying across his lap in said bed, reading her favorite passages out loud in her smokey voice. That she would be so blatant in her attempt to provoke some reaction told him that she was getting desperate. She most likely never had to take her teasing this far before, because what man wouldn’t follow her instructions right into her bed? She’d never experienced loneliness, surely. But she’d never come across anyone like him, period. He massaged a thumb across his right palm, settling an itch that had started there. 

"One must be cautious about who they share their treasures with, Miss French," he finished with unwavering composure. 

His condescending and dismissive response succeeded in rattling her coquette act. Her sharp inhale was audible across the table, as if he’d stung her cheek with his palm. Her pale skin even reddened there as he stared at her impassionately. After which her lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw visibly tightening. 

Gold inwardly smiled and sat more relaxed in his chair. Miss French had been a diversion, even if she was not a worthy opponent. How could she even pose a challenge, given how transparently expressive she was? He could effortlessly decipher her every emotion. Unlike with most people, whom he found inscrutable and untrustworthy, Miss French telegraphed her feelings to the back row. As she struggled to rein in her emotions, he couldn't help the deep satisfaction he felt at her following his subtle command to cease her behavior. The weight of his limbs settled and grounded him. His breathing deepened and slowed. He felt more at ease at this table than ever before. Though, only being on the soup and salad course, Gold found himself perhaps regretting correcting her so quickly. There was still a long night ahead. 

“What book are you talking about?” Mary Margaret chirped from the other side of Belle, having caught part of their exchange. “My book club is always looking for recommendations.” 

The idea of virginal Mary Margaret reading the erotic novel by Pauline Réage was preposterous. He looked at Belle to see how she’d handle it, positive now she regretted her recklessness. He vowed to only step in if she lied about the title. Let the humiliation teach her a lesson for being so forward with him. 

She surprised him by looking to him to save her from embarrassment. He retained eye contact as he slowly picked up his glass and took a leisurely sip of wine, letting the flavors rest on his tongue. If she was looking for a knight in shining armor to come to her rescue, she’d have better luck with LeGume. Watching a gorgeous woman be publicly humiliated was rather mundane to him. Though he had appreciated the respite from the dullness of the evening, she’d better trifle with someone else. She squirmed in her chair, which just made the berry notes of the wine burst on his tongue. She wasn't made for BDSM, obviously, but watching her writhe in mortification was delicious. He smirked at her across the table. Who was having fun at whose expense now? 

He watched panic, annoyance, anger, and surrender flicker across her features in quick succession. But then, just as quickly, they were all replaced with grim determination. She shook back her shoulders, her chin lifting. 

“The Story of O,” Belle repeated for the benefit of the table, matching his challenging stare. “A French novel from 1954.”   

The title was met with silence. 

“Oh,” Mary Margaret said. “I’ve never heard of that one. I’ll have to look it up.” 

He knew it was more polite, empty words. Nobody at this table would look up the book. For one, Regina made them put their phones in a bowl on their way in. (He had kept his. He knew how to conduct himself at a dinner table.). Second, he'd be surprised if anyone in this town knew how to read. From what he could tell they seemed to spend the majority of their time running around like idiots.

Further veiled discussion on the matter of sadomasochism came to an end when several waiters appeared and dishes were cleared to make way for the main course. 

With the back and forth with Miss French finally subsided, Gold found himself searching for the relief he thought he’d feel. Instead, each clink of silverware and murmur of conversation at the table seemed amplified to his ears. He played with his ring. It twisted easily now with his damp palms. The banter with Miss French had stirred something deep within him, resurrecting a side of himself he thought long buried. He shifted in his seat, feeling the old familiar surge of adrenaline begin to trickle through his veins, like a damn that had sprung a leak, the pressure building behind the wall. But he had no outlet for it. Frustrated that this girl had done this to him against his will, he wiped his palms on his pants. His gaze searched for a safe place to rest. His plate would be the obvious answer, but none of the dozen side dishes before him looked appetizing now. Despite the turmoil roiling within him, there was a flicker of something akin to anticipation in him as his eyes inevitably found Miss French.

The image he found was a stark contrast to her earlier persona at the table. She poked at her food with her fork. The people around her made polite conversation but her expression remained vacant when called upon to respond, which was rare. Her chin wasn’t lifted in the haughty way she’d demonstrated earlier and her eyes stayed downturned. Rather than “corrected”, the word “unmoored” floated through his head. He investigated the people seated around Miss French. Perplexingly, no one else at the table seemed to notice her lack of engagement. LeGume and the surrounding guests made conversation and passed plates around her. Gold glared at all of them as he waited for LeGume or one of her friends to come to her aid. 

"I've always admired the intricate knotwork in table decorations,” he found himself saying to no one in particular. He picked up his napkin that was in an artful yet simple knotted fold. He rolled it around in his hands, then gave both ends a tug, “Adds a certain charm, don't you think?"

At the cadence of his voice, Belle straightened in her chair, her posture shifting from dejection to anticipation, hands resting delicately in her lap as her eyes lit up with renewed interest, fixating on Gold. A spark cracked down Gold's spine as he couldn't help but notice the immediate and eager reaction she had to him.

Just then the main course—a turkey—was placed in the middle of the table with much pomp and circumstance. The legs were crossed and tied over the bird’s cavity with kitchen twine.

“Yes!” She readily agreed with him. “Don't things look so much more delectable trussed up?” she chirped across from him. 

His gaze lingered on Belle, tracing her features as if attempting to decipher the hidden layers of meaning behind her words. The idea that she could possess any knowledge of his past felt unfathomable; in this town, his history remained a well-guarded secret. Yet, since their conversation had begun in this public setting, an unsettling sense of vulnerability had crept over him. A sudden rush of warmth swept through him, accompanied by the unnerving sensation of being under scrutiny from every corner of the table. However, a quick survey revealed that everyone else remained engrossed in their meals, utterly indifferent to their dialogue. Despite this, he couldn't shake the regret that had settled in, as their interaction stirred up memories that left him deeply uneasy.

As side dishes circulated around the table, he remained indifferent to the dinner companions seated on his left and right. Yet, under his observant gaze, Belle seemed to bloom. Her eyes sparkled with lively conversation, and her smile radiated warmth and charm as she engaged with those around her. With graceful movements, she effortlessly passed plates across the table, her gestures imbued with a natural elegance that drew his attention.  

"Oh Regina, these potatoes are delicious!" Mary Margret said. "Like..." she looked thoughtfully.

"Silk," Belle supplied, catching the unspoken challenge. She looked into Gold's eyes with a playful glint. Her eyes brightened even more as if she found herself incredibly clever. In that instant, she seemed to believe they were playing a clandestine game together, testing the boundaries of outrageous remarks in polite company.

"Exactly!" Mary Margaret echoed. 

“And whipped to satisfaction,” Miss French added. "Getting the perfect blend of flavors is all about command in the kitchen, isn't it?"

Her latest remark bore an uncanny resemblance to how he perceived BDSM as a form of enchantment or magic. Gold swiftly reminded himself that she wasn't a submissive; she couldn't possibly be. Despite her audacious words, she exuded an innocence that rendered her oblivious to the intricacies of BDSM. Moreover, she appeared too young to have delved into such experiences, although he had encountered his fair share of young individuals within the community. Unfortunately, most of them had proven to be naive. A safe word, some aftercare, and a hasty farewell usually marked the end of their brief foray into the scene. Miss French, with her eagerness to flirt with danger, seemed oblivious to the potential consequences. Gold, however, was keenly aware of how easily he could ignite her curiosity, leading her into uncharted territories where desire and danger intertwined.

He watched as LeGume offered her something rich and savory from a bowl. 

“Not right now, thank you,” she declined civilly. “I’d like to try a little restraint.” Instead she took a spoonful of something gray off her dish. He couldn't help but notice how she allowed the spoon to linger on her tongue longer than necessary before releasing it with a soft pop. "But this is delicious,” she countered. “I’ve never tried anything like it. Won't you try a bite, Mr. Gold?"

Offering him such a direct invitation to him in a public setting, he could take her over his knee for such impertinence. Turn her ass ruby red while she squealed and struggled in his lap. He’d punished teasing subs for much less. The pleasure he would take in wiping the cheeky smirk off her face and transforming it from shock to eagerness to please and then, finally, after she’d shown proper remorse, sensual gratification.  

LeGume confusedly exchanged his bowl for the bowl of gray stuff, lifting it between them. Gold didn’t spare it a glance. 

Instead he tilted his head with a faint smile, "Ah, Miss French, your enthusiasm for experimentation is quite intriguing. However, I've always found that some things are best left untested."

"I’d have to disagree in this case, Mr. Gold,” she boldly insisted. “The flavors in this dish are so intricately bound."

LeGume continued to hold the dish suspended between them, his eyes volleying between them. 

“Some would describe it as an artform,” she continued. 

“I would be inclined to agree with them,” he responded coolly, not moving his arms from his sides. 

With agitation evident in her movements, she swiftly snatched the dish from LeGume's grasp, her arm extending across the table in a decisive gesture. It was clear that she wasn't about to drop the issue, and Gold could sense the growing attention their exchange was attracting, a subtle buzz at the periphery of his vision. As his fingers closed around the opposite end of the dish, she didn't release her grip right away. Instead, she waited until their eyes met once more across the table. Her eyebrows raised expectantly, silently waiting for a response from him.

"Thank you, Miss French," he stated firmly, his tone carrying a sense of finality.

Satisfied with his acknowledgment, she released the dish, her expression turning more subdued.

"Yes, sir," she responded quietly, her voice holding a hint of deference.

The dish slipped from his fingers, upending half of it on the tablecloth and splashing some of its contents onto Dr. Hopper. The sudden noise and commotion drew curious glances from others at the table, including a puzzled look from Bae as Gold abruptly stood up.

The screech of Gold's chair echoed through the room as he pushed it back, a sharp contrast to the otherwise calm ambiance of the dining room. Taking a moment to collect himself, Gold drew in a deep breath to regain his composure. With deliberate movements, he retrieved his cane from where it rested against the back of his chair.

"Excuse me," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he turned and swiftly exited the dining room, leaving behind an unsettled atmosphere in his wake. 

As he walked down the hallway, the sound of talking faded and the oppressiveness of the dining room began to lift. But he itched. 

He knew where the bathroom was, the one reserved for guests and people who came to the house on business. Gold bypassed that one in favor of the larger one in the private living quarters of the house. He took his time, having sat with his bad leg too long. His cane clicked as he walked down the hallway, the lights dimmed to discourage guests from wandering into the private residence.

His footsteps reverberated sharply against the high ceilings, a sound that seemed too loud in the quiet surroundings. Gold came to an abrupt halt, his narrowed eyes scanning the space behind him. The echo ceased as he stopped, and after a moment's pause, he attributed the noise to the tapping of his cane. Shaking his head slightly, he realized that the combination of the pressure to behave in front of Bae and Miss French's teasing remarks had left him more on edge than he had initially realized.

That’s why he liked BDSM, he thought, it required total honesty or someone could get hurt. It was the “real” world where everyone put on masks and facades. He hadn’t truly been himself, he realized, since his time as a Master dom. The true essence of himself had been deemed unacceptable by society, leading him to retreat into hiding. The weight of this realization bore down on him, weighing heavily on his bones and leaving him feeling aged and weary.         

And then there was Miss French. Ironically, she’d enjoy the kink community. It was all about curiosity and continuous learning, something a librarian could appreciate. However, she would never receive such knowledge from him. Hopefully she was smart enough to do her research and find the local community and learn from them and not from some fumbling idiot who fancied himself a sadomasochist because of some problematic porn he watched. The mere thought of Miss French being misled sent a bolt of anger through him. She was a pampered pet who needed a certain kind of handling. Not by him, obviously, but someone with experience. Nevertheless, his mind couldn't help but wander into the realm of how he would guide and educate Miss French, an idea that brought a subtle sense of satisfaction to his thoughts.

Regina’s bathrooms were just as ostentatious as the rest of the house, with the white and black color scheme continued. Leaning his cane against the vanity, he steadied himself against the counter and studied his reflection in the mirror. His appearance remained unchanged from when he’d left the house that evening. Although his tie didn't require adjustment, he found himself straightening it nonetheless, a subtle attempt to regain composure. Yet, he couldn't shake off the sense of dishevelment that seemed to linger. Was it a consequence of passion, agitation, or perhaps both? These unfamiliar emotions felt out of place and uncomfortable within his own skin.

He turned on the faucet and ran his hands under cold water, then used them to blot his face and neck. He looked at himself in the mirror again, his gaze tracing the contours of his face with a mixture of detachment and introspection. The reflection stared back at him, a dual image capturing the essence of who he once was and who he had become. In the past, emotions flowed freely, unchained and unrestrained, revealing a vulnerable yet authentic version of himself. But the present brought a facade of coldness, control, and composure, a mask carefully crafted to conceal the tumultuous memories and lingering emotions stirred by the evening's events. As he stood there, the mirror became a portal to his past and present selves, each vying for recognition in the stark reflection before him.

"Enough," he muttered to himself, frustration evident in his tone. Enough with this endless dinner. Enough with Miss French's playful provocations. Enough with tormenting himself with memories of the past. He had endured the majority of the meal, and that would have to suffice for Bae. The boy wouldn’t understand, but there was no way he ever could, not without learning things about his father he most assuredly would not appreciate. Gold met his own gaze in the mirror once more. Despite not feeling it within, a sense of unwavering determination flickered in his eyes, a silent promise to walk out the door and away from Miss French, despite his inner dom telling him to take her firmly in hand. 

The door behind him clicked open quietly, followed by a soft snick as it closed. In the mirror's reflection over his shoulder, she appeared as if a figment of his imagination. Perhaps she was a manifestation born from his suppressed desires and self-imposed restraint. A flawless end to an arduous evening, he thought bitterly. He hesitated, reluctant to turn around and face potential disappointment if she turned out to be nothing more than an illusion. Yet, Belle's image persisted in the mirror, as if waiting for a command, or was that merely his own subconscious projecting onto the reflection? The tormenting thoughts that had plagued him throughout the evening spilled out. 

"Who are you?" he asked the mirage, his voice barely audible.

She responded with a serene smile, "Someone like you."

He snorted derisively. "Not likely, dearie," he retorted.

With a decisive pivot, he turned around, fully prepared to dispel the illusion and face the disappointment of his wishful thinking. He was unnerved by the resurgence of emotions he had long suppressed, all because of some bright, shiny young woman. Best to bring them to a halt with sharp disappointment than continue this torment. 

But there she stood, unnervingly real. Alone with him in Regina's bathroom, in a secluded corner of the house.

He observed her, standing composed and immaculate in her skirt and blouse. Despite her mischievous nature, there was an undeniable aura of brightness around the girl. Her eyes sparkled with innocence, her smile was infectious, and her laughter seemed to fill the small room with warmth. Everything about her seemed out of place in this dark, shadowy setting with him. If she had any inkling of who he truly was, she would surely take off down the hallway. He had never invited someone like her into his world of BDSM. She couldn't possibly comprehend the intricacies it demanded—submission, trust, honesty— especially in association with him. The moment he allowed his dominant side to fully surface, she would undoubtedly flee from the room she had so foolishly locked herself in.

His narrowed gaze bore into her, filled with suspicion. 

"Why are you here?" dropping any pretense of playful banter or games, his tone was now serious and demanding.

Her bravado faltered under the weight of his ruthless stare. She glanced down, momentarily losing her composure. If she struggled with a simple question, she surely wouldn’t be able to withstand a little punishment. 

Toeing her heels together, she managed to mumble, "I'm curious." Her eyes met his briefly, but the uptick at the end of her response told him there was a flicker of uncertainty in her. 

His bark of laughter caught her off guard, causing her to wince. He shook his head ruefully, a mix of disbelief and resignation crossing his features. So, this was nothing more than a fantasy for her—an attempt to step into a world she didn't truly understand, believing she would be safe with him. He chuckled inwardly at their shared foolishness. In his darker days, the old him would have relished such an opportunity—a naive and innocent ingénue coming to him seeking an arrangement. He would have used contracts, negotiations, manipulations—all to extract every ounce of desire and compliance from her. He felt a surge of excitement at her words, a temptation he fought to suppress.

She looked at him expectantly. How could she ever understand? For him, being dominant was not a mere roleplay or fantasy—it was an integral part of his identity that he couldn't switch on and off at will. The enormity of it had been suppressed for over a decade, but it still lurked beneath the surface, dangerously close to emerging over the past hour. This was real to him, and that was something no one else would ever truly understand.

“This isn’t one of your books, dearie,” he told her plaintively. “I’m not a knight in shining armor.” 

Her lips pursed, more comfortable with the exchange now that the topic had turned to her area of expertise, and she tilted her head. “You don't know what books I read.” 

“The kind with happy endings, surely,” he countered.  

“You’d call the ending of The Story of O happy?” she challenged.

He tipped his chin, conceding the point. “O being abandoned by her lover? Well, Miss French, I’d call that realistic.” She had the audacity to roll her eyes. “Everything that comes before that,” he trailed off, referring to the fantastical depiction of an underground society that in no way represented the actual kink community. Which begged the question…. He studied her in a way he didn't dare before. He rationalized it to himself that it was his job as a dom to be acquainted with her body. His inspection started at the top of her auburn hair, over her thin brows, expressive eyes, and thinly curved lips. He skimmed over the petite curves under her blouse, the belt that cinched in her waist, and down the vast expanse of exposed leg, the muscles shaped and lengthened from the height of her heels. The shoes, he thought, were the only thing about her that objectively did belong in a scene. She shifted as he boldly acquainted himself with her body. What could such a girl find exciting in The Story of O? Was it the submission, the whipping, the bondage? 

He could be a cruel dom. He could embarrass her. Demand her into the most depraved blowjob, make her cry, scare her, scar her. He’d done it all before and could do it again. But he took his position as Master seriously. BDSM was meant to provide personal freedom, self-expression, and above all, pleasure. In real BDSM, no one got truly hurt. From him, they got exactly what they asked for, even if they regretted it after the fact. 

“What are you so curious about exactly?”

When he looked deeply into her eyes, which he dared to now, he didn’t see hurt or desperation or trauma. She wasn't running to BDSM to escape. But what could her life possibly be lacking? What made her think he could offer her what she needed? And what made her believe he wanted to give it?   

He stepped closer to her, forcing her to look up into his eyes. “If you don’t know why you're here,” he warned, “by staying in this room, you’re asking me to help you find out. And my methods are untraditional, to say the least. So, I’ll ask you again, why are you here?”

In response to his intimidation, she gave him that defiant chin again he admired and found foolish in equal measure. Her eyes narrowed in a way he’d come to recognize as not anger, but sheer determination and force of will. 

“I think you’re lonely.” 

He blinked. He didn’t think he was capable of being shocked by anyone anymore. But her answer truly left him speechless. Once the stupor faded, anger was quick to rise in its place. First she teased him throughout dinner, drawing him out against his will. Then she pursued him to a private room. Her biggest offense, by far, was now pretending she knew anything about him. 

She thought she knew him and…pitied him for it? He ceased being a man deserving of pity many years ago, he’d made certain of it. He didn’t need her pity. He needed nothing from her. She had come to him. She’d played her games, gotten a rise out of him, and he’d kept a reign on his dominance throughout. The stress of repressing his true self over dinner, of trying to be a better man for Bae over the past few years, of never being good enough for anyone, come to a boil. And he only had one antidote for that. He felt another version of himself, long discarded, rising to the surface of his skin. 

“Turn around,” he commanded. He didn’t have to reach far for his alpha voice. It was low, slow, and precise. He didn’t, and wouldn’t, repeat himself. 

Her eyes grew wide at his tone, but she quickly spun on her heels so she faced the wall. Her swift response to his order satisfied him. Given a momentary reprieve from her eyes, he lingered just over her shoulder. He let the anticipation hang there. In response, she tensed and her breathing sped up. 

She believed she was stepping into a scene from one of her romance novels, those sensationalized portrayals of BDSM that tarnished its true essence. In her mind, she controlled this narrative, playing the role of a submissive because she viewed him as pathetic and easily manipulated. He was determined to shatter her illusions. He wouldn't allow Miss French to think she could outsmart him or take charge in this space. No, she had overestimated her own knowledge and underestimated him. This encounter would end swiftly, with him pushing her boundaries just enough to make her flee back to the comfort of LeGume’s arms. She wanted to play games? Fine. She could consider this her first lesson. He doubted she’d make it to a second.

He briefly scanned the room. In front of Miss French a hand towel hung through an ornate black ring on the wall. A string of decorative holiday bells dangled over the towel. 

He reached around her front and she jumped. He smiled to himself. Over before it begins, he thought again. He whipped the towel and bells out of the ring, tossing the towel on the vanity and shoving the ribbon and bells in his pocket to muffle them. 

“Bend over. Hands through the ring,” he ordered. 

He paused, waiting for her to balk and push back. A little discomfort and she’d be telling him to stop and reaching for the door handle. 

It was an awkward height, but she slowly hinged at the waist, reaching out her arms and draping her wrists through the towel ring. She self-consciously spread her legs and wiggled her hips to get in a more comfortable position. He watched predatorily as her skirt rode up with her movements. He allowed the pleasure he felt from a beautiful woman following his command to wash over him. It brought a calm he couldn’t get anywhere else. She took a hesitant breath and looked back at him.

In response, he moved to her side and splayed his fingers on her lower back. He held her eyes as he firmly pressed down so her back was flat. Her legs stumbled to adjust. She looked up at him apprehensively. He hooked her chin between his thumb and forefinger and and faced her back to the wall. She let out a breath and her eyes closed. The tenseness in her shoulders eased. Being firmly corrected produced a positive response, he noted. 

“Eyes down.” he reminded her, something she should already know if she was experienced and involved in the scene. Despite her ignorance, the dom in him urged him forward, to not let this opportunity go to waste. She had come to him. He controlled the scene. That relaxed him. 

“Your safe word," he demanded, watching her carefully.

She hesitated, a moment of uncertainty flickering across her features. 

“Did that not come up in one of your books? Tut tut, Miss French. I expect Storybrook’s resident librarian to be better read than that,” he chided, his tone tinged with disappointment. 

“If I can’t trust you to speak when required,” he whipped the discarded set of bells from his pocket. He tugged one from the ribbon, shoving the scrap ribbon and other bell back into his coat. He reached around her to where her wrists hung over the towel ring. He forced one hand open and pressed one of the bells into it. His fingers closed tightly over her hand. He paused to take in the feel of her soft skin under his. He was tempted to run a hand up her leg, from ankle to thigh, to compare the smoothness there. 

He squeezed her hand hard, so she knew he meant his next words. “Then this is your safe word. You ring it, the scene ends. You understand the rules?” 

“Yes, Mr. Gold.” Funny she didn't struggle to find those words. Her reply soothed the dom in him, assuring him that she could submit when necessary.

“Repeat them.” 

“If I want to stop, I shake the bell and it ends. It…it all ends.” Her voice broke at the end and he again questioned how ready she was for what was about to happen. 

“Perhaps you’d like to leave now and go do a little more studying?” he prodded, though inwardly, he regretted providing such an easy escape. It was a departure from his usual unrelenting approach. 

She replied with a simple, "No, Mr. Gold." 

Her hair had fallen to the sides of her face and from behind he could see her neck muscles strain to hold position. He could sense her eyes flitting about the room, trying to find a place to rest. The dichotomy of her struggle and determination to comply enraptured him. Despite her initial reluctance to divulge her motives, it was evident that she was here by choice. Her persistence conjured something within him, allowing his dominant side to settle more comfortably.

“In that case,” his tone darkened, “I suggest you keep your eyes down when speaking to me in this space. I won't ask you again.” 

Giving demands was like an incantation to summon the submissive in her. Her eyes went to the floor and she stilled. Miss French required a firm master. 

Now that she was in position, he hesitated. He’d never topped someone like her and he didn't believe she would last much longer. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on her, he decided. That way, when she inevitably went screaming from the bathroom, he could rightly claim that he hadn’t touched her. 

Her body wiggled in anticipation of what he would do next. He reached behind him where his cane rested against the vanity. He hefted it in his hand so he held the bottom and ran the gold hooked edge down the nape of her neck. 

She shivered from the cold metal, the marked weight, or both.  

“So what is it, Miss French?” he asked languidly, the cane taking a similarly slow trail down her spine. “What do you come to me for?” 

She exhaled and swayed in response. Something akin to euphoria bubbled inside him and he had to close his eyes to keep it from boiling over. It had been too long since he’d had to key in so intimately to the reactions and feelings of another person. The experience ensnared him in a mystical web of control and pleasure.

“To learn?” he questioned. “I don’t take on inexperienced students anymore. And I thought, based on your cleverness at the dinner table, that you’re learned everything you needed to know from your books.” 

The cane reached her ass and he let the weight of it press down on her. 

“Or do you come to me to be punished?” he hissed. His words evoked a shifting of her legs where her thighs rubbed together. His eyebrows rose at her response. He lifted the cane and let gravity bounce the heavy handle off of her bottom. She jerked but held position. “I can’t imagine what for,” he taunted. “Forget to renew someone’s overdue book?” 

He tilted his head and studied her. Could it be possible Miss French wanted a stern, disapproving master to punish her? True, she had surpassed his expectations by lasting this long. But if things progressed further, she would have to relinquish control completely. If he touched her, there would be no going back without her safe word. 

“Do you know what you’re playing at, little girl?” The cane hooked over the end of her skirt and slowly lifted it until it bunched on her back. She trembled and her breath became audible, but he didn't hear even a whisper of the bells. In fact, her fist tightened over them, as if to still them further. 

“I suspect you don’t,” he continued, admiring the midnight blue panties stretched over her ass. For the first time his control wavered and his cock twitched. He had kept himself firmly in check, prepared for her abrupt exit. Now his own needs as a Master demanded to be met. Enough with slowly brewing her submissive tendencies to the surface. The invocation of the dom/sub roles urged him to teach her the essence of their relationship: That her body was his to decide what to do with. 

“I’ve seen you, you know,” he growled. “Through the window of the library. Perched on your little stool. Reading your dirty paperbacks. Swiveling back and forth, back and forth.” He ran the handle boldly over her panties, between her ass cheeks, up and down. “Does it give you any relief?”  

She pushed back against the cane, trying to force him closer. When that didn't work she tried to lift up on toes, to dip the handle lower to the apex of her thighs. 

In response, he pulled the cane away completely. “Answer me,” he demanded. 

“No, Mr. Gold.” It came out in a rush. 

“What is this about?” he asked again.  

The words stuck in her throat, but she knew the answer. It was evident in the way her body twisted, her wrists rubbing against the ring, that admitting the truth was more uncomfortable to her than what he was doing to her body. She was thinking, not feeling, which meant she wasn’t in the proper subspace yet. 

She struggled to find the words. “I don't kn–”

The smack of his palm on her ass reverberated off the walls, the noise making her jump as much as the feel of his hand against her. She gasped in surprise, tipping to the side before catching and righting herself, but her wrists stayed constrained. 

“That’s for lying,” he told her seriously. “You never lie to me in this space.” It may look like just a bathroom to her, but by coming to him, by initiating this, she’d instantly transformed it into a sacred space. It was for her own safety. He’d hurt her as much as he needed to, but only if she followed the rules. “If you plan on doing so again, I believe you know where the door is.” 

She stayed where she was, but her body undulated, taking in the new stimulation. 

“If you want to continue I need to hear you say it.” He craved hearing her admit she wanted to stay in this scene with him, to let him do to her what he wanted, needed, to do. “What do your books tell you to say, dearie?” he prompted.  

“Please,” she responded immediately. “Please, Mr. Gold. Sir. Please. More.” Consenting words tumbled out of her mouth. When he was austere and patronizing, goading her to push past her limits, she responded beautifully. But she needed to be in harmony with him if this was going to work. 

“Very good, Miss French,” he praised. “But I’m afraid bratty, dishonest, teasing girls earn more punishment than that,” he said darkly. 

This time he slapped the back of her thigh. She lifted up on her heels, but came back down. He spanked her again, this time on her other cheek. As she swayed in response, he kept a steady rhythm on the meatiest parts of her ass and thighs. He left ample time in between each smack to allow her to explore the sensations, as well as read her response. Her hands weren’t draped through the ring anymore. Instead her fingers were wrapped around it, anchoring her as she twisted and shifted with each blow, the bell still clutched in one hand. 

“You hold position sloppily, Miss French,” he noted absently. “You are in desperate need of proper training.” 

She gasped at his evocative words. He moved to stand beside her. He faced the vanity where the mirror not only reflected himself but the pinkened thighs of Miss French. He hooked his left arm around her waist to hoist her spine straight and hold her in place. With his right hand he rained light stinging slaps down on her, including the sensitive place where her ass met her thighs. That elicited sharp intakes of breath and soft moans. Her head thrashed but he let that go in favor of admiring his work in the mirror. Her thighs were turning red in places now. He continued with quick, close slaps. She shocked him by opened her legs, inviting him to slap at her core. He pointedly moved further away. She hadn’t yet earned a reward. On the contrary, her continued efforts to top from bottom pissed him off. He grabbed the edges of her panties and shoved them between her ass cheeks. He smoothed a hand over her ass. Her skin was hot and silky under his palm. She hissed. He had no salve with him here. She’d bear his marks and the lingering pain from his correction for days, and that pleased the darker aspects of dom. His emotion was reflected in the quantity and intensity of his punishments because her adrenaline had kicked in and she was now gasping for breath.  

“Time for some truth,” he reminded her. “What do you come to me for?”As her dominant, his role was to delve into her psyche, uncovering her desires, fears, and needs. She hovered on the edge of surrender, on the brink of soaring freely, yet clung fiercely to this guarded aspect of herself. But the bell remained firmly silenced in her fist. The realization ignited a surge of anger within him. He raised his arm, intent on delivering a forceful blow. It was then that she seemed to anticipate the impending strike.

“I’m lonely too,” she blurted.   

His hand stilled at his shoulder. Sensing there was more inside her, he leaned forward and ran his hand up the inside of one shapely leg, a move meant to entice more information out of her, to communicate that he could give pleasure, not just pain. 

“More,” he demanded. 

“You’ve been watching me?” she panted when his fingers danced over the tissue paper thin skin of her inner thighs. “I’ve been watching you too. You’re as alone in this town as I am. But you’re so,” she struggled for the right word, “in control all the time.” 

His mind raced as he mulled over her words, the implications sinking in with each passing second. Her admission that she had been watching him, observing him closely, sent a jolt of realization through him. Their encounter, he realized, had been brewing beneath the surface long before this insipid dinner, waiting for the right moment to come to fruition.

“I’m not,” she continued. “People tell me I’m impetuous.” 

“I’m shocked,” he replied dryly. “Have you ever done this before?” 

“No,” she shook her head, proving all his suspicions correct. “But I’ve read about it. Extensively. I was…intrigued. I wasn’t lying,” she rushed out, sensing that her punishment was not yet over. 

It was a rare moment of vulnerability from her, a glimpse beneath the carefully crafted facade she presented to the world. Her admission brought to light the depth of her curiosity and the extent of her interest in him, surprising him with its intensity. This revelation added a new layer of complexity to their dynamic, a dance of power and submission, revelation and concealment. Each word, each action, revealed layers of their desires and vulnerabilities, weaving a complex tapestry of intimacy and control in the brightly lit bathroom of Regina's mansion.

He took everything he knew about her and reframed it in his mind. She desired deep, penetrating connection—a bond that went beyond the surface, one that delved into the depths of understanding and intimacy. But she didn't seek safety in the conventional sense. She craved adventure, excitement, and unpredictability, yet she also desired a sense of security and trust. These were contradictions that challenged him, and in that moment, doubt crept into his mind of whether he was truly capable of fulfilling the complexities of her desires and giving her the connection she sought without compromising either of them.

“No one understands me,” she whispered, her voice trembling with vulnerability. She paused, hoping for a response, a sign that he was still listening, still willing to understand. “Please. Please understand me. I’m alone. I’m always alone. Make me not alone, please.”

To his shock, he found that he did understand. In that moment, he saw beneath the layers she used to shield herself from the world. She was hidden, pent up, yearning for connection and understanding. Despite her outward appearance of confidence and control, she didn’t feel truly connected to anyone. 

Finally grasping what she needed, he realized that she sought release, a chance to spread her wings and fly freely. For her, BDSM would not just be a means of physical pleasure but also a path to personal growth and empowerment. Through BDSM, she could learn skills that would translate into every aspect of her life: how to claim her desires, negotiate for what she wanted and needed, set boundaries, and communicate limits.

She was hyperventilating, the physical sensations along with the vulnerability of what she’d just shared overwhelming her. He didn't spank her, just rested the weight of his full palm onto her bare ass. 

With gentle care, he gathered her hair in his hand and let it cascade over her right shoulder, revealing her profile to him. As he smoothed the strands away from her eyes, his touch conveyed a silent message: he was there to look after her, to bear the weight of her burdens, and she could trust him to do so. Then he rested his hand on her back, not pushing, just anchoring her. 

“Deep, slow breaths,” he instructed. Then he began spanking her again. This time he kept a steady pace of heavy, solid blows. Not hard enough she would need to stop, but strong enough that each time he struck her something inside her began to shake loose. Together they built a pace. She’d breath in deeply, he spanked her, and her breath would release in a whoosh. 

When she acclimated to that, he rachetted up the strength of his slaps but kept the steady, punishing pace. She grunted and moaned, her body and mind fighting the punishment as adrenaline, endorphins, and natural painkillers flooded her nervous system to soothe her. Surrender, he demanded, never relenting, surrender to me. Finally, she quieted, her eyes open and unfocused, in a deep trance-like subspace. A single tear escaped her, slipping down her cheek to land on the floor. 

“Good girl,” he praised and a soft sob escaped her. 

The hand resting on her back ran up and down her spine, the gentle touch in contradiction to the solid, punishing blows. 

“Let go.” 

The dam broke. Wracking sobs escaped her. He thrashed her all the while and he didn’t begin to let up until every last ounce of tightness in her body was released. When her sobs transformed to sighs and her wrists hung so loosely she dropped the bell he finally ceased. Her head came to rest on her arm, too heavy for her to hold up any longer. 

"Stand," he murmured gently, and supported her to rise and lean against the wall. With care he tended to her wrists and hands, massaging the circulation back into them. His touch was soothing and deliberate and the last tears of relief washed down her face. Her eyes were dazed yet full of vitality, her body slack but simultaneously buzzing with energy.

Suddenly, she flung herself across the small space between them and wrapped both arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. The strength of her embrace caught him off guard and he swayed slightly under its force, momentarily stunned. A delicate fragrance of roses enveloped them, reminiscent of her—sweet, fresh, with a hint of spice.

Pulling back, she wiped her tears with one hand, the other fisted in his lapel. 

“Sorry,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Just overwhelmed.”

Unable to resist, he brushed the wetness from her cheeks with his thumbs. 

“You apologize for nothing in this space,” he told her, “except not being honest with me.” 

She had performed brilliantly, navigating the complexities within her mind like a firestorm, emerging on the other side freer and more authentic. He suspected both of them felt a sense of release, intimacy, and freedom in the moment. He knew he felt more at ease here than he ever did at the dinner table.

Relaxed, she leaned into him, her eyes heavy. Twisting both hands in his jacket, she sought his support as he leaned against the vanity, gently holding her elbows and rubbing his thumbs along the silky skin on the backs of her arms. Though outwardly unchanged, inwardly he mirrored her relaxed state, loose and at ease.

“You're really good at this,” she sighed contentedly. 

A soft chuckle escaped him. “You should see what I can do in a proper dungeon and leather pants.”

Her laughter joined his, the sound carrying warmth and shared understanding.

She released a long, slow breath, her body swaying slightly in a dance of contemplation. "You're right, you know. You're not the hero."

His muscles tensed like coiled springs, every fiber of his being laser-focused on her, anticipating her next words with a mix of dread and anticipation. So she had finally seen through him, pierced through the layers of his facade to uncover the truth. She knew exactly who he really was now, and he braced himself for the inevitable recoil, the rejection that had become all too familiar. He swallowed hard, the weight of her newfound understanding bearing down on him like a looming storm.

"But you're not the villain either," she observed, her head tilting to the side as she studied him with an intensity that made him squirm. "You're far more complex than that."

Under her perceptive gaze, he shifted uncomfortably, feeling as if she had peeled back layers of his carefully constructed armor. He was exposed, vulnerable, in a way he hadn't allowed himself to be in years.

"You're exactly who I thought you were," she concluded softly, a warmth seeping into her words. "And I'm glad." Her gaze held a depth of understanding that left him feeling seen in a way he hadn't expected.

As their breaths mingled in the air, a soft glow seemed to envelop them, casting a spell of warmth and intimacy around their figures. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his, a tender touch that sparked a rush of sensations akin to a magical potion coursing through his veins.

In that moment, he glimpsed a future intertwined with hers. He envisioned waking up beside her, the morning sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting patterns of light and shadow across her serene face. With her by his side, he saw himself becoming more adventurous, embracing new experiences, and breaking free from the confines of his solitude. She was not one to sit back and let life pass her by. Constantly engaged, always testing her limits, she would challenge him in ways he had never imagined. But then, amidst the enchantment of the moment, a torrent of insecurities flooded his mind.

No one could ever truly love him, he thought. Not the real him, with all his flaws and scars. This connection they shared was nothing but a trick, a fleeting illusion born from a surge of endorphins and shared vulnerability. Once the magic wore off, she would see him for who he truly was—a broken man, unworthy of her affection.

She would undoubtedly use what she discovered about herself during their time together and blossom into a confident and empowered woman, no longer reliant on him for validation or fulfillment. The thought that she might eventually outgrow the need for his presence in her life, just as his past lovers had done, sent a chill down his spine. He had witnessed the cycle before. The deception, like a slow poison seeping into his soul, eroded the fragile trust he had dared to build. And then, the abrupt ripping out of his heart shattered the illusion of security he had clung to, leaving behind a hollow ache of betrayal. The thought of her wielding such power in their relationship terrified him. 

The way she looked at him, he realized with alarm, could only be described as adoration. No one had ever looked at him that way. Not even his wife. The prospect of Belle wielding such transformative power within their relationship was both exhilarating and petrifying. On one hand, he admired her growth and strength, but on the other, it stirred up his deepest insecurities. As her lips pressed against his with a newfound urgency, he realized that surrendering to her would be the ultimate act of bravery. 

“Dagger.” 

She stumbled backward with how hard he shoved her away. His grip on her shoulders tightened, a painful paradox of pushing her away while desperately holding onto her, as if trying to distance himself from the pain while refusing to let her slip from his grasp.

His safe word, he belatedly realized. His safe word had, unbidden, slipped from his lips. He had never used it before. The safe word, an unexpected intrusion in their charged exchange, hung in the air like an unspoken truth. It was a word never meant to breach their sanctuary of intimacy, yet now it stood as a stark reminder of their shattered connection.

"What?" Belle's voice quivered, the remnants of a smile fading from her lips, replaced by a furrowed brow of concern.

"You’re not going to do this to me," he hissed, his gaze searching her face for signs of deceit, his emotions a tempest of confusion and betrayal. "You think you can make me weak," he accused, his grip tightening as if trying to shake her from her supposed manipulation. "I knew it was too good..." His voice trailed off, the weight of disappointment heavy in the air.

"What are you talking about? This was working—" Belle's words faltered as she tried to reason with him, to salvage the unraveling threads of their bond.

"Shut up," he snapped, his desperation bordering on anger as he refused to be swayed by her attempts to explain.

"We work together!" Belle pressed on, her voice tinged with disbelief and hurt.

"Shut the hell up!" he retorted, his resolve hardening against the vulnerability threatening to break through his defenses.

"Why won't you believe me?" Tears welled in Belle's eyes, a stark contrast to the freedom they had shared mere moments ago. He had wounded her deeply, and a twisted satisfaction stirred within him at the sight.

"Because no one," he declared, forcing her to meet his gaze with an intensity that brooked no argument, "no one could ever, ever love me." His words hung in the air, final and heavy with the weight of his self-imposed isolation.

With a swift motion, he snatched his cane from the vanity and unlocked the door, rushing out of the bathroom and into the safety of the hallway. The door shut behind him with a decisive thud, sealing him away from the intensity of the moment he had just shared with Belle. As he hurried away, a knot of apprehension tightened in his chest, fearing that she might follow him, her presence a potent reminder of his own vulnerability.

Yet, even in the solitude of the hallway, he couldn't shake the turmoil raging within him. Their encounter had been electrifying, unlike anything he had experienced before, and yet he had held back, unable to give her what she desired. The realization left him feeling exposed, as if she had unearthed a weakness he had long buried.

Lost in self-reproach, he almost stumbled upon the entrance to the dining room, where the remnants of dinner lingered and conversations ebbed and flowed around him. A sudden clarity washed over him, a stark realization that he didn't belong in this room, surrounded by people and their casual interactions.

His shoulders turned instinctively, leading him back towards the hallway, but as he paused, he realized that it only led back to the bathroom. He stood there, caught between two worlds, suspended in a moment of uncertainty and introspection.

He hesitated at the threshold of the dining room, a wave of discomfort washing over him, being in such close proximity to all these people who didn't want or need him, leaving him adrift in a sea of purposelessness. He had left something meaningful behind only to return to this emptiness, a stark reminder of his own insignificance in this world of superficiality.

His thoughts drifted to Belle, to the warmth and connection they had shared, now replaced by a sense of guilt and regret. Had he hurt her? Was she in need of comfort, of the aftercare he could have provided? But he had denied her that, shattered the delicate balance of their scene and left her, and himself, broken in its wake. If he was capable of being any more broken then he already was, he thought ruefully. He’d failed Belle, like he had so many people in his life.

The decision of which direction to take was made for him as he realized he needed to retrieve his coat and escape the suffocating atmosphere of the dinner party. He had caused enough damage, both to others and to himself, for one night. It was time to retreat to the sanctuary of his counting house, a place he should never have left.

As he made his way towards the foyer and the promise of a hasty exit, he was intercepted by Bae, who tugged at his arm, urging him to join the gathering around the Christmas tree. He opened his mouth to object.

"Just ten more minutes," Bae implored, a touch of warmth in his voice. "It won't kill you, Pops."

He wanted to argue that ten more minutes might indeed be his undoing—it already felt like it had been. After experiencing a rare moment of authenticity and connection with Belle, he now felt hollow, a mere shell of himself. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be guided towards the towering pine tree, his gaze instinctively searching the crowd for Belle. If he had to endure this evening, he reasoned, he might as well bear the weight of her silent reproach.

But Belle was nowhere to be found, and his hopes for self-flagellation were dashed as he realized she was absent. Only then did he tune in to the conversations swirling around him. No one mentioned Belle's absence; instead, they were engrossed in debates over the rules of the gift exchange game. Not a single person turned to him for an explanation or inquired about her whereabouts. He scanned the room once more, his heart sinking as he realized that no one seemed to be searching for her.

As the first gift was selected, he strained to peer over the heads and past the throng of guests, searching desperately for any sign of Belle. Why hadn't anyone noticed her absence? Even LeGume appeared entirely unconcerned as he laughed along with the festivities.

What kind of friends were they, he wondered, a sense of unease settling over him as he grappled with the realization that Belle had slipped away unnoticed. The monotonous game dragged on, each gift selected and unwrapped with forced enthusiasm. A cashmere scarf, a vintage board game, a gaudy piece of costume jewelry—Gold barely registered the items as they passed from hand to hand, the game's triviality gnawing at his patience. Why was he still here, enduring this banality?

Arguments erupted over stolen gifts, strategies debated over the optimal time to choose or steal. Gold grew increasingly restless, his discomfort simmering beneath the surface as he vaguely acknowledged a gift being put in his hands, being taken, and a new one put in its place.

Then, a sudden disruption—a puzzled inquiry from Regina about an extra gift left unclaimed. Regina scanned the people circling the tree and the dwindling number of gifts. Everyone looked at each other, perplexed. Gold's irritation flared, ready to unleash a scathing remark, but before he could, a soft voice spoke from behind them.

"I haven't gone yet," Belle's voice cut through the tension, and the circle parted to reveal her presence. She appeared composed, her attire restored, but Gold noticed the subtle dimming of her usual radiance.

He scanned the group, expecting someone else to acknowledge Belle's return, to question her absence or offer concern. Yet, to his bewilderment, no one seemed to notice the change in her demeanor. Belle avoided his gaze, a telltale redness around her eyes betraying her recent tears.

A prickling discomfort spread over Gold's skin, a primal urge to protect and comfort her as her dominant. He couldn't ignore her distress, couldn't bear the thought of her suffering in silence while the oblivious crowd carried on around them.

He shifted restlessly, grappling with how to communicate to her across the crowd. A weighty presence in his pocket drew his attention, his hand instinctively reaching inside. A jingle, amplified in his ears, resonated from his jacket—the leftover bell from their scene. Heat surged through him, an acute awareness of the personal and sacred nature of the bell clashing with the public setting.

Yet, despite his unease, everyone remained engrossed in the game. A giant inflatable pool float emerged from the wrappings, likely his son's contribution, followed by LeGume's bold theft of Belle's book from another guest. The pet shelter caretaker caught her attention and wiggled his eyebrows at her. Gold’s palm, which had so recently been on her ass, tightened on the bells. 

Gold looked down at the cheap bottle of alcohol in his other hand that he didn’t remember someone putting there. His gaze darted around the group, quickly calculating how to get Belle’s book into his hands. Amidst the chaotic unwrapping and stealing, he spotted the rectangular box with its familiar haphazard wrapping—the one Bae had placed there for him. It had been overlooked momentarily, nestled inconspicuously in the folds of the tree skirt. With practiced nonchalance, he meandered over to the tree, his fingers deftly palming the box as the game continued behind him. A quirky, artistic hat was unwrapped and stolen for a few turns. 

Returning the box to its place, he looked up only to meet the smug gaze of Regina's sister, her victorious smile igniting a wave of irritation. Ignoring her, he focused on the unfolding game, tension simmering beneath the surface.

When it was her turn, Zelena pounced for the pile under the tree, her hand closing around his gift. Gold felt a surge of possessiveness, every fiber of his being screamed to lunge forward, to reclaim what was not meant for her. But he held himself back, his glare directed at her instead. Unfortunately, his silent challenge only seemed to embolden her. Everyone else eagerly stared at the gift, all vying for a new twist in the game.

Zelena's expression fell as she lifted the ribbon from the box, revealing the dangling bell. A ripple of disappointment and confusion spread through the group. Gold felt his son eye him in suspicion and pointedly ignored him. The gift looked unnatural in Zelena’s hand and Gold had to force himself not to snatch it away from her and put it back in his pocket. 

“I thought I said there was a ten dollar minimum,” Regina grumbled. 

As Zelena shook the bell, its chime seemed to echo a silent tension that had settled over the gathering. Gold's gaze instinctively sought out Belle, their eyes locking across the room. But this time, he found her unreadable, her emotions veiled behind a mask he couldn't penetrate. It was a defeat more profound than any other—they were closed off to each other, locked in a silent standoff of unspoken feelings.

A voice broke the tension, asking if the game was over, but Regina's annoyed response clarified that Belle, having joined late, would be the final participant. All eyes turned to Belle, who appeared momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden spotlight. Clutching her current gift—a luxurious cashmere scarf—she seemed unsure of how to navigate the attention now focused on her.

“Belle, you can keep your gift or steal,” Regina reminded her. “Not that we don’t know what you’re going to do,” she grumbled, eyeing the gift greedily. 

Belle's gaze locked with Gold's across the circle, a chasm of unspoken words and unresolved emotions stretching between them. She caressed the soft folds of the cashmere scarf in her hands, the most coveted item now that the month's free rent certificate was safely tucked away in his pocket. In that moment, Gold's eyes pleaded with her, a wordless entreaty for forgiveness and understanding. His gaze was a mix of regret and longing, a silent admission of past mistakes and a fervent desire for reconciliation. "I'm sorry. I am an idiot," his eyes seemed to say, the unspoken words hanging between them like a delicate thread waiting to be woven into a tapestry of redemption and renewal.

For him, it wasn't just about the scarf or the bells; it was about the choice between clinging to old wounds or embracing a future fraught with uncertainty but filled with the possibility of healing and love. It wasn't about relinquishing control; it was about sharing it with someone who had the strength to handle it. And perhaps, in the magic of their union, he would find the courage to let go, to trust, and to love without reservation.

“Well,” Regina prompted.

Regina's prompting brought Belle back to the present moment. With a determined yet vulnerable expression, Belle stepped out from the group, extending the scarf towards Zelena, a gesture that spoke volumes about her decision and the path she was choosing to tread.

“A bell for Belle. How…quaint,” Zelena commented, confused but not asking questions as she grabbed the more expensive gift. She held the bell’s ribbon between her index finger and thumb distastefully as she dropped it into Belle’s awaiting cupped hands. 

Belle's eyes fell to the bell, the brass catching the light and casting a soft glow in her palms.

“It’s perfect,” she announced, looking at Gold. In that moment, as the bells exchanged hands, a silent understanding passed between them, a promise of second chances and the courage to choose love over fear.

With the game concluded, the group dispersed, their reactions ranging from groans to cheers depending on the gifts they held.

Alone by the tree, Gold watched Belle with a mixture of awe and gratitude. Her simple gesture spoke volumes, signaling her readiness to release old hurts and embrace the possibility of a fresh start.

He took a step towards her, his heart brimming with newfound hope and determination.

"Gold!" Jefferson's arm draped heavily over his shoulders, a gesture he only dared when the alcohol had loosened his inhibitions. He knew Gold's aversion to physical contact, yet somehow, Jefferson always managed to push past that boundary with a mix of familiarity and charm. "Don't be the party pooper. A few of us are taking the festivities outside. I raided Regina's stash and struck gold, no pun intended," he said with a wink. With his other hand he reached under his coat and flashed a series of hidden inner pockets bursting with purloined cigars and a bottle with a Glenmorangie label. 

Gold's eyes, however, were fixated on Belle, who had been pulled into conversation with Mary Margaret. The bronze bell he had gifted her now hung gracefully around her neck. To others, it might have seemed festive and sweet, but to Gold, it was a declaration of something far more primal, something that stirred the depths of his being in ways he hadn't felt in ages.

As Belle's gaze met his, a wave of heated intensity surged between them, reigniting the flame that he feared had died. The way she wore that bell, with a blend of defiance and surrender, spoke volumes about the unspoken desires and emotions that tethered them together.

It wasn't just a bell; it was a symbol of her choice, her willingness to be marked by him in a way that transcended mere trinkets. The resonance of its chime echoed their shared longing and the unspoken desires and tangled emotions that now bound them together.

In that fleeting moment, Belle became more than just a woman he desired; she was his anchor, grounding him in a reality where love and longing converged with an electrifying intensity.

With a subtle nod and a warm smile, Belle silently conveyed her assurance that their journey was far from over, encouraging him to embrace what lay ahead.

So he allowed Jefferson to momentarily tug him away from Belle. 

“I thought that might convince you,” the designer said, thinking it was the label on the bottle that had been the deciding factor.

As they ascended the winding staircase to the balcony, Gold felt a rush of anticipation mingled with a hint of trepidation. The crisp night air greeted him as they reached the open window overlooking the front garden. David Nolan and Bae peered at him from the balcony on the other side of the window, cigars already lit, beckoning him through. With a clap on Gold’s back, Jefferson vaulted over the ledge. Pulling out the purloined bottle, Jefferson cracked the seal and held it out to offer Gold the first taste. With that invitation, Gold threw his good leg over the low window ledge and propelled himself out onto the balcony to join his family.