#The hare who wore a sweater

[svnnyd4ys]

more SFTH moments as headlines <33

(also tysm to everyone who like wished me well on the last post, it means a lot!!)

[fellator]

sfth ruined me I can not hear the word cocktail without internally going "ohh. Cock."

[i-may-be-an-emu]

Hare Jimmy angst? Hare Jimmy angst

Music credit: “Tho I’m A Tortise” By Madilyn Mei

Video + partial audio credit: shoot from the hip

[practicedvmm13fullofpotatoes]

All of sfth's improvized plays described by someone with bad/selective memory (but remembers 90% of the sentences they make up) pt. 2

6) Too Big To Be a Jockey

Something about a horse being split in half because its rider is too big. Also, children having guns pointed at them and an entire skin suit (literal skin) that a child (who was supposedly dead) was wearing

7) The OOPSIE DAISY Bulge

Tom saying oopsie daisy somewhere round the start (does he even say it? I don't know). I don't even remember this one but I swear I watched it

8) The Hare Who Wore a Sweater

Husband mad at wife for caring for the hares. Husband goes to bar. German woman flirts with him ("do you know how many orifices a woman has? A German woman has more!"). Barkeep gives him a drink called Be Careful™. Some time before or after that, Barkeep tries to slut-drop, falls, gets caught by the husband (and the guys on the sidelines). Wife gives a talking hare a sweater ("a moment of peace in the void") and the hare tries to tell her about the upcoming danger (Mcginnery) but then gets shot a little later ("Bingo!"). "What happened to your hare?", wife accuses husband of shooting Jimmy the hare immediately after the husband said he didn't. Car chase scene where both Mcginnery and his assistant seem to be driving (even the characters comment on this). Husband slut-drops to prevent Mcginnery from pressing the detonator for the mines surrounding the village (?). The hares have a meeting some time before or during the previous scene and go to deactivate the mines. They later appear and get mad at the wife because she claimed to have deactivated the mines herself then snaps at the hares because she "fucking nit [them] sweaters"

9) Once Upon a Time I Killed Mum

DANGERFIELD! And something about bring your kid to work day at the station ("Rapier :D!")

10) The Midnight Mystery

Lord and Lady Lafaytte are interrogated about the murder, they say they were busy making love at the time. Head king of the police accidentally summons Scottish Batman (and Robin) and tells him to fuck off. Something something Robin gets kidnapped, Lord Lafayette ends up doing a Bane thing

Prev // Next

[je-lurk]

This specific moment has peak Baron (from the Baronies) energy

The voice, the intonation, the way it’s supposed to be seductive but ends up wholly menacing… it’s beautiful

[sfth-fanpage]

The transferable cross-applicable skill of the slut drop

1. Woo your wife

2. Open a door

3. Woo her some more

4.... Sam??

Sam no...

Bonus! AJ's attempt...

(we'll make a slut of you yet AJ)

Huh who said that?

From (arguably) one of the best improvised plays...

[i-may-be-an-emu]

It confused me a lot at first too (and others as well, you’re not the only one!) but as far as I know it was just the way AJ said it plus the way that Tom was like flirting and trying to seduce Sam as a sexy german woman, and AJ coming out of no where and saying “I made you a cocktail” “it’s called be careful” -but in the particular voice he says it in it seems to be the particularly funny part :))

I feel like I'm going insane. Am I the only person who doesn't understand why "be careful" was so funny? Was it the way AJ said it or am I missing context? Can someone explain to me 😭

It's basically the only time in sfth stuff that I've been laughing literally because everyone else is laughing and not understanding anything but still having a great time 😭

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

I will eventually return to my extremely well curated profile pic which matches the aesthetic of my blog but for now I need the energy of a man doing an improv show who is so surprised and delighted by a joke his friend pulls off he breaks abruptly and aggressively and shrieks with laughter for a full minute I need to bring this energy to the table.

[sixthsensewulf]

Shoot from the hip couples time. All of them play couples so well. Like yes the couples that Luke and Sam play are the most popular. But here are my favourite canon or non canon couples...

- Titch and Derek ( Luke and Tom) [The Unrelenting Aubergine]. .yeah I know.. I love this couple soo much. This pair is such a wholesome couple, literally one of the most wholesome pairings they do. . I'm not kidding. .I'm always down for a Luke and Tom duo moment, and my god.. it worked.

- Toby and his wife (Luke and Sam) [Tobys Secret Pocket]- I mean. .it's a Luke and Sam couple, but in all fairness this one is very sweet and somewhat wholesome. . They have excellent communication, even when one is high.. also it kinda worked in the most chaotic of their plays.

- Jeremiah and Bubba (Luke and Sam) [Inside the Mysterious Cube] - Honestly my favourite Luke/Sam canon couple. I love this pair of characters so much.

- Tarquin and Amanda (Tom and Sam) [Lost in your eyes] - one of the plays that ends in tragedy for the couple. . It's rare we get a Tom and Sam duo. Especially coupled up in the released on YouTube plays.

- Barry and his wife (Sam and AJ) [The Hare who wore a sweater] Honestly my favourite canon couple. . The way they didn't shire away from the fact that relationships have issues.

[goingroundincircles-ontrack]

So I've been watching sfth's content for a couple of months now so I feel it's time to contribute something to the community. Hence, I present you with my reviews of some of their plays:

The Hare That Wore a Sweater 6/10

Personally I don't like the way this one ends, it just didn't feel finished but the play still gets a 6 from me because of Sam's slut dropping and luke's little hare foot stomp thingy. Absolutely perfect.

The Leftenmost Window 10/10

This is my absolute favourite play from sfth. Everything about it is perfect. The way luke adds the drama with the little sister's "he promised me he would" is *chefs kiss*. Tom running on stage just to go ah! and run back off again, crossing the astral plane (walking through the audience), the tank scene, luke's declaration of love, the "ja, thank god we invested" about the unicycle brigade and so much more I just love. Then that kiss at the end. Wow. Just wow. I think this play is a masterpiece.

Bus 8/10

This play is a prime example of why you can never predict what's going to happen in a sfth play. I did not guess the story would be about a famous porn writer who gets kidnapped by the hyper sexual communist party of he uk who then gets saved by an up and coming porn writer who is then inspired to finish her porn book. However I really liked it so idk what that says about me.

So those are some reviews. Lmk what you think and if I should post more.

[sfth-fanpage]

Amazing! This has got to be one of my favourite lines.

I've realised I really enjoy making little comics and even if they're not perfect they're little and silly and that's good enough for me. This is my first one in marker and I think I might stick to pencil but I still like it :)

[svnnyd4ys]

some sfth plays as Richard Siken poetry quotes bc i love combining my interests sorry guys

might do a version where it's characters with very specific ones, but for now the plays!! these quotes make the plays seem much sadder than they are lmfaoo

plays 1-10 under the cut~

OMG, IS THIS A JOKE? "It starts with bloodshed, always bloodshed, always the same running from yourself story," (driving, not washing - Crush)

THE MERINGUE HABERDASHERY "I woke up and ate ice cream in the dark, hunched over on the wooden chair in the kitchen, listening to the rain. I borrowed your shoes and didn't put them away." (i had a dream about you - Crush)

LOST IN YOUR EYES "I thought of myself as a city and I licked my lips. I thought of myself as a nation and I wrung my hands. I put a thing in your hands. Will you defend yourself?" (landscape with a blur of consequences - War of the Foxes)

THE DARK MOONS OF SLOUGH "They huddled closer, shoulder to shoulder, painted themselves in herds, all together and apart from the rest." (the language of the birds - War of the Foxes)

LONG JOHNS - STRIKE! "You're in a car. You're in the weeds again. You're on a bumpy roads and there are criminals everywhere, longing for danger." (the dislocated room - Crush)

TOO BIG TO BE A JOCKEY "A stone on the path means the tea's not ready, a stone in the hand means somebody's angry, the stone inside of you still hasn't hit bottom." (seaside improvisation - Crush)

THE OOPSIE DAISY BULGE "Our scope was much larger than I realised, which only made me that much more responsible." (detail of the hayfield - War of the Foxes)

THE HARE WHO WORE A SWEATER "The wife has a dead hand. This is earlier. She is living and her dead hands feed her pills that don't work. The boy sleeps on the roof or falls out of trees. The father works late. The wife looks out of the window and thinks, Not this." (war of the foxes - War of the Foxes)

ONCE UPON A TIME I KILLED MUM "'Cut off your head, kid. For all the good it'll do ya.' I glued my head back on. All thoughts finish themselves eventually." (landscape with fruit rot and millipede - War of the Foxes)

THE MIDNIGHT MYSTERY "He could build a city. Has a certain capacity. There's a niche in his chest where a heart could fit perfectly and he thinks if he could maneuver one into place- well then, game over." (road music - Crush)

(inside the mysterious cube is getting it's own post)

[dogsliampaynedoesntinstagram]

i dont know if this reasoning makes sense about fan signs at shows but i’ll just say it. yeah there are certain signs harry reacted to that was more of a grimace like a girl yelling pussy when he doing the intro for WS and he just made an odd face and walked off and some saying “choke me daddy” and the pussy sign got taken away by security and signs like show me your ass/tits he either stuck his ass out or pulled his shirt to a side and did what the fans asked for.

and like i know its. a part of the job? like you’re a famous attractive person there’s bound to be quite a lot of thirst but like maybe cuz im a new fan? i only know of him saying the sex symbol status makes him uncomfortable and he doesn’t want to think about it (maybe i misjudged it too idk) and while the daddy/pussy signs do make me uncomfortable, what grates on my nerves more is the people taking those shows justifying it by saying. he talks about oral sex in his songs, he wore the mutual wanking keith haring shirt or the i wanna blow george harrison sweater etc etc so why shouldn’t we talk about him and to him thw same way. cuz his comfort in talkijg about intimacy and sexual desire isn’t a free pass to put your stuff on him too. i just go off the way he reacts to signs or the way he once reacted to specific signs but overall thats what i think.. like dont justify what you’re doing lol its not really the best reason 🥴

I do think there are two basic arguments going on here - the first is that people can tell Harry's feelings about the different signs and therefore on that basis it's OK to judge those signs. I think this ask shows how absurd that is. It's the second times in a few days that I've got an ask claiming that someone wasn't actually smiling they're grimacing. You don't know how Harry feels. I don't know how Harry feels. To make a claim that other people are doing something wrong, because Harry doesn't like it, is absurd arrogant on the part of any fan.

I am most infuriated by the hypocrisy of people who like 'show us your tits' signs, but don't like 'treat my pussy with kindness' signs deciding that that's not a personal preference, but some kind of principled position.

But I would make a slightly different version of hte argument you seem to be rejecting here. You characterise a range of things as Harry talking about intimacy and sexual desire (I don't think any of them are about intimacy, but that's another issue). I think that rather misses the point. In Watermelon Sugar, particularly the video, Harry explicitly talks about pussys. That video is not generalised discussion of sexual intimacy - it's very explicity about pussys. By ignoring the specificty of watermelon sugar, and pretending it's more general, you're significantly changing the dynamic.

I think that if a man is has talked explicitly and publicly about women's pussys, then it's pretty fraught to argue that women are doing something shocking and wrong by talking about their pussys to him.

[i-may-be-an-emu]

Be careful™

“Barry, I made you a cocktail.”

“For me?”

“it’s called BE CAREFUL(tm)”

:DD

[theolsentimes]

Ashley Olsen Spills Her Secrets

The personal-style icon and force behind two thriving fashion lines gives us a peek into her closet, and her life.

Written by Lucy Kaylin (Marie Claire, 2009)

VIEW GALLERY

There's something genius about seeing the chicest girl in New York all dolled up in tacky cowgirl fringe. I'm sitting with Ashley Olsen at a table in her Greenwich Village town house, looking through a scrapbook—compiled by her great-grandmother—that pretty much tells the story of her and Mary-Kate's blistering rise. The pages are filled with gently yellowed clippings from local newspapers chronicling their toddlerhood on the sitcom Full House through their early years as a two-headed pop-culture juggernaut: the Olsen twins on the publicity circuit in genie costumes; in fairy costumes; in terrycloth robes; in penguin suits; in trenchcoats; in mini-mogul drag; in, yes, cowgirl fringe ... "I look back at the things that we did and the clothes that we wore, and I think, Wow, we really were troupers," says Ashley—although, gazing at some hideous flowered overalls she was put in at age 6 or 7, she has to admit, "I remember really loving those." What comes across in the photos is the degree to which the girls' lives were engineered. "It was almost like I was in the army," Ashley says. "School, work, homework, fly to New York, get in at 2 in the morning, do a morning show at 5 a.m., then another one at 7, then a radio interview at 10, you know?" Cutesy, coordinated outfits were just part of the drill. The pressure was intense and the scrutiny even more so — "That's why I look at Britney, and I'm surprised I didn't end up like her."

To see Ashley now, it's difficult to fathom that part of her life. At 23, she is very much the master of her own fate, and an icon of defiant personal style. Today she's wearing beige corduroys made exponentially cooler by the fact that she's ripped them up the side seams from hem to shin—and the fact that she's owned them since she was about 15. (Understand: She never, ever throws out clothes. The genie and penguin costumes? All stashed in storage units in L.A. warehouses.) She's paired the beige cords with a signature piece from her and Mary-Kate's fashion line The Row—a supersoft white T-shirt with an artfully stretched-out neck, the short sleeves of which she likes pushing up over her shoulders. Add black flats without socks, tuck the fine blonde hair up under a floppy skateboarder's cap, and the look—at least on her—is just hip and effortless and right. "I think you're either born with a sense of style or you're not," Ashley says in her small, soft voice, giving her knuckles a loud crack. "Either you care or you don't. And we"—she and Mary-Kate—"love fashion. When we were going to NYU, I think that was the first time we were aware of the power of our personal style. Not the power of it, but the result of it. Between the big sunglasses and the Starbucks cup and the big sweaters, the hobo-chic thing, we were more shocked than anything"—by the endless commentary and tabloid coverage. "I get it; we were fortunate enough to have really nice clothes, and we put them together in this raggedy way. My mom wears glasses this big"—she mimes massive goggles—"from the '70s, and you wonder where we got it from?" She laughs. "The dark eyeliner, the scarf around the head—it's just so interesting and natural." Her family, she says, was "very bohemian." "Mary-Kate and I are very aware of trends and style, but at the end of the day, we don't even think twice about it. It's just, What do I feel like wearing today, and how do I want to put it together?" To some extent, Ashley buys the theory that years of being manhandled and styled bred an intense desire in both girls to dress themselves. Eventually, that meant cutting down and altering designer pieces to suit their petite frames—a habit that persists rather feverishly to this day. "The amount of beautiful things we've ruined—not having the patience for a tailor and cutting everything ourselves … My sister once took an Alaïa dress of mine and just cut the whole thing, and then she was like, 'I cut it too short.'" Ashley has to laugh. "Mary-Kate and I don't think about fashion as these clean, beautiful objects. We just kind of wear it and live in it"—and make it their own. When she bought the Daytona watch that's currently on her wrist, she promptly changed the white face to black and the gold links to a crocodile band. In other words, fashion is a way the otherwise elusive Olsens express themselves—most notably through two clothing lines that are somehow thriving despite the cataclysmic retail climate. Ashley and Mary-Kate collaborate closely on Elizabeth and James (named for their siblings), a line that commingles softness and toughness—for instance, slouchy boyfriend jackets and shirts with a flirty ruffle. The idea is to create "a tug-of-war in something with a masculine spirit and a feminine attitude," says Neiman Marcus Fashion Director Ken Downing. "The girls keep nailing it season after season after season. And they single-handedly brought the legging back into fashion." While Mary-Kate tends to conjure the overriding concepts—playing with movie references from Oliver Twist to Hook for the fall '09 collection—Ashley hones in on zippers and buttons and fit. "Nothing gets by them," says their Elizabeth and James partner, Jane Siskin. The Row, meanwhile, speaks more to their desire for a closetful of what Ashley calls "high-end basics": the perfect blazer, the just-so T-shirt, the cashmere sweater that sort of melts in your hands—with intriguing twists like a seam running up the back. "I just really wanted to make beautiful things," she says. "An educated garment." According to Debi Greenburg, owner of Louis Boston, "Because Ashley's a bit of a type A personality, there's perfection in the way the clothes fit, the way they're cut, that translates on the body beautifully. The Row has become one of my stellar collections here." Ashley leads me through a few rooms of her town house, haphazardly decorated in battered leather chairs with arms worn down to the stuffing; on the walls are a rare Basquiat self-portrait and three works by Keith Haring that she got at a pawnshop for $30 apiece. In the corner is a drum kit from the Wii game Rock Band, Ashley's new obsession (she plays it at least two hours a night). "I swear to you, it's brought out this whole new thing in me," she says. "I can be a very serious person, and I take my job very seriously, but at the end of the day, I need a break." Her boyfriend, The Hangover's Justin Bartha, also helps in that area. He just called from a press junket in Europe; Ashley signed off with, "Keep your phone by the bed" and "I love you." To say the least, it's been a relief for this pillar of self-sufficiency to have someone she can count on, who puts her ambitions in perspective. "It's more important than anything else in the world," Ashley says.

[kelyon]

Golden Rings 19: A Friend

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Rumpelstiltskin receives a visitor

Read on AO3

A family stands before him, more terrified than they want to show. The man holds a top hat in both hands. The woman keeps her arms over their daughter.

“Is it true?” the man asks. “What Regina is threatening, can she do it?”

Slowly, Rumpelstiltskin steps toward the huddled family. It is unlike Jefferson to be so serious, unlike Leona to show anything less than brazen self-confidence. The girl may be too young to know what is happening, but she knows that her parents are afraid and that is enough to make her terrified. 

Belle comes up behind him, her hand extended to the child. “Grace,” she says gently, “would you like to visit my horse? Perhaps we could go for a ride.”

The girl looks to her parents. “May I, Mama? Papa?”

“Of course, luv.” Leona releases her grip on her daughter. “Make sure you mind Belle, and don’t get yourself into any trouble you can’t get out of.”

Nodding obediently, the child takes his wife’s hand. Belle gives him an encouraging smile before they go out to the stables. She trusts him to handle the situation on his own. She knows he can assuage their fears. 

Once his daughter is gone, Jefferson leaves his wife and comes up to Rumpelstiltskin. He puts his hands on his shoulders and looks him in the eyes.  “I’m serious,” he says.

“I know you are, my boy.” Delicately, he extracts himself from the other man’s grip. “This is a serious matter.”

“This queen lady told everyone she’s going to destroy the world.” Leona says what they all know but cannot utter. “Does she really have that much power?”

He cannot face them. He turns away, takes long, slow steps around his dining room before he answers. 

“Yes.”  

Jefferson crushes the brim of his hat in one hand. After a moment, he gathers himself. “We’ve seen worlds destroyed before, Dark One. It is a terrible thing.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “Yes, you were with me when proud Atlantis sank beneath the waves. A million lives lost in fire and water and lightning. But Regina’s curse is… different. Her purpose is not to destroy the world, but to destroy happiness.”

Leona’s mouth drops open. “And how is killing everyone not the same as all that? Who would be left to be happy, when it’s all over?”

Rumpelstiltskin shakes his head. “No, she wants us alive. Everyone in this world, everyone she considers her enemy. She wants us alive and miserable and trapped in our misery for the rest of time.”

“Gods.” Jefferson collapses into a chair and hangs his head. Leona stands by him and takes his hand into her own. 

“Regina will end this world, and take us all to a new one--a land without happy endings. We will all be severed from the people we love, or even if we are near them, we won’t be able to love them.”

“But why everyone?” Leona asks. “Why us? I never did anything to this woman! What’s she got against me?” 

Walking over to the couple, he places his hand over where theirs are joined. “You are happy,” he says simply. “The two of you have a love that she will never know--and the love of your child besides that. Regina believes that she will never have happiness as long as anyone else does.”

Leona nods, understanding. “So she’s mad, is she?”

“Yes,” Jefferson answers. His blue eyes look out at nothing as he speaks. “I’ve worked with Regina, before I met you, Leo. Once, she commissioned me to take her and a servant girl to Wonderland. Didn’t tell me that this was going to be a rescue mission to save some old man. You know the rules of the hat, only the number of people that go in can come out again. That was why Regina brought the servant girl. She killed her. Ripped her heart out of her chest and crushed it. As easily as blowing her nose. We left the girl’s body there, in the forest of giant mushrooms. So yeah. As they say in Wonderland, Regina is mad as the March Hare.”

Leona holds her husband in both hands, standing over him as she had stood over her daughter earlier. Wincing at the memory, he rests against her bosom 

“What do we do?” For all her comforting posture, Leona looks at Rumpelstiltskin with steely determination. “Can you stop her?”

He raises his hands in a show of helplessness. “Regina is a powerful magic-user and she is on a war-path.”

Hands balled into fists, Leona breaks away from Jefferson and begins to pace. “If my mother were here, she’d hit that woman upside the head with a cauldron, queen or no!”

“Yeah, well Nanny Ogg is from a different world than this one.” Jefferson stays seated in the chair. His hat hangs loosely in his grip.

“It is not hopeless,” Rumpelstiltskin says. “All curses can be broken.”

“Broken after they’ve been cast!” Leona marches up to him, wielding an accusatory finger. “I want to know if you can stop her, stop this curse from ever happening!”

“Leo,” Jefferson stands behind his wife. Gently, he puts his hands on her ample hips and pulls her close to him. “The Dark One is our friend. I’m sure he’s doing everything he can.”

He says nothing. He lets Jefferson’s faith do the talking for him. Jefferson is a clever man, but less shrewd than his wife. The poor boy wants to believe in him, but Leona Ogg has no such sentimentality. She is wise enough to know that if he wanted to stop this curse, it would never have been able to start. 

“You should leave,” he tells them quietly. “The three of you should go in the hat, find some world far from here where you can live out the rest of your days together.”

“If Regina can destroy one world, she’ll find a way to destroy others,” Jefferson points out. 

He shakes his head. “After the curse is cast, Regina will be stopped. A Savior will come, a force of goodness who will destroy her evil forever.”

“But only after we’ve been cursed?” Leona crosses her arms. 

He nods. “Yes. The only way to avoid it is to flee. Leave this world before it leaves you.”

Slowly, Jefferson turns his hat over in his hands. “That makes sense.” He looks to Leona. “Where do you want to go?”

“Lancre, of course. If we can’t live in the home we made for ourselves, we might as well go to Mum’s.”

Jefferson nods. “What do you say, Dark One? Can I offer you and Belle a trip to Discworld?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t know what form my magic will take on a world like that. There is a risk I’ll transform into something horrible and the good people of the Disk World will have to try to slay me.”

Leona snorts. “And it’ll take a few weeks at least to find any ‘good people’ around. We’re not as black and white with the ‘heroes’ and ‘villains’ as this place.”

“All the more reason for me to stay here and face this curse as it comes.”

“And Belle will stay with you?”

He gives his friend a rueful grin. “I couldn’t make her leave me if I tried.”

Jefferson looks down at his hat and then looks up again. “Do you really think if we go to Discworld the curse will pass us by?”

He puts his hands over Jefferson’s around the brim. “The best I can promise is that you will be safer.”

Leona’s dark eyes narrow. “‘Safer’ isn’t ‘safe,’ Mister Dark One.”

“No.” Jefferson steps back, away from Rumpelstiltskin and toward his wife. In a motion born from years of practice, he twirls the hat to put it on his head. “But sometimes safer is the best you can hope for.”

“I hope you do get away from the curse,” he tells them honestly. “For it will be a very long time before any good can come out of all this. ”

****

It was strange, to wake up in a bed without Belle. Without even Mrs. Gold’s body, warm and soft beside him. In the month since they had started sleeping in separate bedrooms, Rumpelstiltskin still hadn’t gotten used to waking up alone. It had been a bittersweet torture to spend that much time in bed with a woman who wasn’t Belle. Being without was a milder ache, but an ache nonetheless.  

That morning, he met her going up the stairs as he was coming down. Mrs. Gold was still in her pajamas--a new pair he hadn’t seen before. She had a plate of toast in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. So she would eat in her room before she got dressed. That was the opposite of his routine. Ever since their new arrangement, Mrs. Gold had been going out of her way to avoid him.   

He wanted to speak to her. He wanted to say something innocuous, even just “Good morning.” Something to make her turn and look at him, say anything in response. He just wanted to see Belle’s face, hear Belle’s voice.

But Mrs. Gold turned away, pressed herself against the banister, and brushed past him as quickly as she could.

Rumpelstiltskin sighed. How strange that he would miss that woman, that he would feel their estrangement so keenly. Before, he had taken for granted that Mrs. Gold wanted to please him, that she sought him out and tried to talk with him. But now she would only speak when he asked her a question. Now she kept to her room when he was in the house. She stayed away from the shop during the day. Wherever he was, his wife made a point to be somewhere else.

Considering how he had treated her, it was no less than he deserved. 

After making his breakfast, he sat alone at the far end of a long table. In silence, Rumpelstiltskin read the newspaper and tried to push from his mind how familiar a situation this was. Not with Belle. Once he had her in his castle, she had never avoided him, even when it would have been in her best interest. But before Belle. During those long centuries of isolation, when he had been an enemy of love. When his life was nothing but magic and deals and endless searching for a way to find Bae. When people were nothing but tools to be used, locks to be picked, pieces to be arranged upon a chessboard that stretched out for decades. 

Then, he had spent many mealtimes at the head of a table set for one.

When it was time to leave for the day, Mrs. Gold came down to join him. Every morning he gave her a ride into town. She usually kept her face to the window and didn’t make a sound for the whole trip. 

She wore charcoal today, a sweater-dress that wrapped snugly around her body. Gold would have sent her out in that with nothing underneath, but she had put on layers of camisoles and blouses. Most of her clothes were flimsy and skimpy, so she wore the pieces on top of each other in a haphazard effort to cover herself.

 At least she looked warm.

The clashing dark colors washed out her face, made her look even paler and sadder. She wasn’t wearing cosmetics, or any jewelry besides her wedding ring. Her thick, curly hair hung limply over her shoulders, like a shroud. 

Again, Rumpelstiltskin wanted to speak to her. But what could he say? Any comment on her appearance would seem like an attack, any inquiry to her wellbeing would be an invasion. What do you say to someone you’re no longer even pretending to love?

“What do you think you’ll do today?” he tried once they were in the car. 

She shrugged and sank further back into the seat, her arms folded over her chest. 

“Do you need money?” It seemed a heartless, mercenary solution, but it was all he could safely offer her.

And it worked. Straightening up, Mrs. Gold spoke: “Sure.”

At Storybrooke’s only stoplight, he pulled out his wallet and handed her a wad of bills.

She put them in her purse. “Since you’re paying me, I guess that means you’re satisfied with what you’re getting out of this new deal.”

Rumpelstiltskin gripped the steering wheel. No, he wasn’t satisfied at all. But he wouldn’t be satisfied until Belle was sitting next to him, talking to him. Lonely as he was, he couldn’t ask for Mrs. Gold’s time or attention. It would be too cruel to demand any devotion, when he knew he had no intention of doing the same. He couldn’t love Mrs. Gold. It would be too unfair to ask her to love him again. 

He parked the car next to the shop.“You’re doing everything I expected you would, Mrs. Gold.” 

“Great.” She zipped up her purse. “That must be why we’re both so fucking happy.”

By the time he turned to look at her, she had already unbuckled her safety belt and slammed the door. 

Rumpelstiltskin watched Mrs. Gold walk away. He could go after her, even on his cane. He could shout to get her attention. He could drive up to her and insist she get back in the car. He could make an effort to talk to her, to get her to talk to him. He could try to understand this woman, this curse-creature who occupied Belle’s body, but who seemed to have a mind of her own. He could try to get inside that mind. He could try to see who she was, now that she wasn’t pretending to be what she thought her husband wanted. 

But he did nothing. Rumpelstiltskin was a coward down to his bones. No good would come of getting to know Mrs. Gold. He couldn’t risk finding out what she thought of him, what she wanted out of this relationship. They didn’t have a relationship, they didn’t relate to each other.

He had made sure of that. 

So Rumpelstiltskin did what he had been doing every day since he’d been let out of the jail cell: He opened the pawn shop, and conducted his business, and waited for the Savior to break the curse. 

****

 It was dark outside, when the bell rang over the shop door. A spring storm was picking up. Wind sent leaves and debris skittering over the road and sidewalks. Thunder rumbled and heavy clouds pressed down upon the town. 

Rumpelstiltskin was polishing the collection of silver on the side counter. At the sound of the bell, he looked up. 

And froze. 

Jefferson.

It was Jefferson. The tall, broad-shouldered young man who had transported him from world to world for a handsome fee, who had accompanied him on dozens of adventures, who had reminded him that physical pleasure could come with personal affection. The boy who had paved the way for Belle to enter his heart.

How was he here? Hadn’t he taken his family and escaped to the Disk World? Wouldn’t they have been safe there? Gold had no memories of the man who stood before him. He had no idea what Jefferson’s life had been like under the curse. Where was Leona? Where was Grace?

The longer Rumpelstiltskin looked at Jefferson, the more he saw the changes in him. He wasn’t smiling. The boyish good humor was gone. There was no dancing light in his slate blue eyes. He used to stand with his head jauntily cocked to one side, but now he looked straight ahead, level and deadly serious. The man before him looked burdened, weathered and hollowed out.

He was dressed like himself, as much as Storybrooke fashions would allow. He wore a scarf at his throat, as he used to wear a cravat over the leather collar that matched his wife’s. The clothes were well-tailored, expensive. His gray, rain-soaked overcoat had gunmetal leather lapels, very much like a coat Rumpelstiltskin had given him as a gift back in the old world. Jefferson’s scarf, shirt, and waistcoat were all different patterns, all in gray and black.   

He wasn’t wearing a hat.

The first time Rumpelstiltskin had met Jefferson, he had entrusted him with a magical hat. The boy had been running away from a woman he didn’t want to marry, a life he didn’t want to live. In his hopelessness, he had sliced a line across his throat with a knife. His dying wish had been to find a world where he could be happy. 

That was when the Dark One had made himself known. He had healed the boy’s wounds and given him a hat that would take him to every world with magic. Surely somewhere there would be happiness for a young man who had never fit the mold he had been made for. 

And ever since then, Jefferson had been at his service.

Brow lowered, gait heavy, the man approached the counter. He set both hands upon the glass top. A few of his fingers wore wide, silver rings. But no wedding ring. Was he not married in this world? What had happened to Leona Ogg? 

“Are you Mr. Gold?”

Quickly recovering from the shock of seeing Jefferson--and seeing him so changed--Rumpelstiltskin returned to his work. “That is the name on the front of the building.”

“But is it who you are?” Jefferson’s voice was different too. His tone was pointed, accusatory.  

If he was Mr. Gold, he wouldn’t put up with being spoken to that way. Rumpelstiltskin braced against his side of the counter, arming himself in businesslike courtesy. “And who might you be?”

Jefferson’s face changed as though someone had flipped a switch. He put on the mask of a wide, toothy smile that didn’t meet his eyes. Pushing back from the glass case, Jefferson took exaggerated steps around the shop. 

“They call me Dodgson around here.” His voice was too bright. “Chaz Dodgson. I’m a pilot. Normally I fly out of Boston, and I go all over the world. But lately--almost for as long as I can remember--I haven’t been able to leave this tiny town in Maine. Do you think that’s strange, Mr. Gold?”

He made his introduction with rapid-fire delivery. A machine gun, that was what they had in this world. That was the image that came to mind. Wild shooting that blasted forth in short bursts of dazzling, horrible, light. 

Then you waited for the smoke to clear, to see what would happen next. 

Rumpelstiltskin kept his composure. He made a show of looking down at the silver platter he had been polishing. He saw Jefferson’s reflection in it, warped and distorted. 

“I suppose you could say that Storybrooke is rather a strange place, Mr. Dodgson.”

A laugh then. No, a cackle. Rumpelstiltskin had done enough cackling in his time to know the difference. Jefferson let out an agitated, throaty sound that had nothing to do with humor. 

“You’re very right, Mr. Gold!” He pointed at him with a manic grin. “Maybe righter than you know!” Then his expression darkened and he turned serious. “Or maybe you’re exactly as right as you know.”

Putting down the polishing rag, Rumpelstiltskin looked up at Jefferson. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Dodgson? Is there something you’re looking for?”

“I’m looking for a lot of things,” he whispered. “And if you can’t help me, I don’t know who can.” 

What kind of game was being played here? What did “Dodgson” want with Gold? Obviously, Jefferson was speaking in a cipher. But was it his code? Or was it the curse’s? How should he respond?

He held the man’s gaze and didn’t look away. “What are you looking for?” he said softly. 

Jefferson took a step closer. He didn’t look away either. “I hope to every god it’s here, but I just don’t know.”

Finally breaking the gaze, Rumpelstiltskin began to put the polished silver away. “Do you need a gift for someone? Your wife perhaps?” 

With a smirk, Jefferson shook his head. “No, this is something I need for myself. What made you think I was married?”

“Oh, aren’t you? I apologize for the assumption.”

“No, I am.” He brought his hand to his throat. “But my wife is, uh, out of town, for now.”

“Traveling?”

“Living with her mother,” Jefferson said. “At least, I hope she’s still there. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her.”

Leona Ogg hadn’t been born in the old world. Jefferson had met her on an absurd flat planet called the Disk World, where her mother was a powerful hedge witch. Rumpelstiltskin had told them to go to that world, he had thought they would be safe there. If he could believe what Dodgson was telling him, he had only been half-right. 

Or maybe two-thirds. One of Gold’s memories flashed into his mind: A little girl, plump and blonde, with merry dark eyes. The very image of her mother. Grace. But in this world she was Paige Lewis, the adopted and cherished daughter of Tim and Mia Lewis. 

Why did he have no memories of Dodgson? Where had Jefferson been all this time, while his daughter was being raised by someone else?

“So is this an item for your children, perhaps?” He asked carefully. 

Jefferson looked at him, his blue eyes steel and stone. “No,” he said. “I told you before, this is something I need for myself, Mr. Gold.”

Shrugging, Rumpelstiltskin locked the silver behind the case and limped to the other end of the store by the cash register. “Tell me again what it was?”

 With a heavy tread, Jefferson moved to the middle of the store. “Tell me what you have.”

Rumpelstiltskin raised his hands and grinned like Gold would. “The shop’s inventory is rather extensive,” he said. “If I were to go through an itemized list, we’d be here for quite some time.”

“Alright then,” Jefferson said grimly. “Tell me what you think I need.”

He looked him over again, more than willing to play this game. “An umbrella, perhaps? The rain looks quite nasty.”

“Oh, it’s mad as a March hare, as they say. But I don’t need an umbrella.” He took a step forward. “I need something quite personal. Long-lasting, durable.”

“Maybe a set of luggage then. Didn’t you say you were a traveler?”

“I haven’t gone traveling in a long time.” Jaw clenched, Jefferson took another step closer to Rumpelstiltskin. “For a long time, I wasn’t even able to leave my house.”

Not able? For how long?

“Were you ill, Mr. Dodgson?”

“Yeah.” He grinned without humor. “I was sick in the head. An absolute nutter. I suffered from delusions. Memories that weren’t mine, a life that I had never lived. Can you imagine that, Mr. Gold? Can you imagine?”

“No,” Rumpelstiltskin lied. “Though it looks like you’re doing well now.”

“You trust your eyes?” Jefferson let out a short, stuttering laugh that sounded like he did actually find something funny. “I thought you were smarter than that!”

He straightened up. “What are you looking for, sir?” After a moment’s hesitation, he added, “I can’t help you if you aren’t honest.”

The last few steps to the counter were a stagger. Jefferson almost fell against the display case and stayed bent over. “Don’t you want to know how long I was trapped in my house?” He looked up at him. His eyes were soft now, teary. “How long I was trapped in my own double-mind?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s mouth opened. It couldn’t be. Surely Jefferson couldn’t have suffered like that. Surely even this curse was not that cruel.

He set his hand next to Jefferson’s, not quite close enough to touch. “My boy,” he whispered. “Tell me what you need.”

“Not a spouse, I have one of those.” He seemed exhausted, breathless. “Not a child either. Not a lover or an employer or a benefactor.” Desperate eyes poured into him. “I don’t need a loan shark or a pawnbroker or a landlord.” Still staring, Jefferson took Rumpelstiltskin’s hand and gripped it with all his strength. “I don’t need a genius or a wizard or the fucking Dark One!” That last phrase was said in a gritted whisper. It seemed to take everything out of him. “So you tell me,” he panted. “What do I need?”

For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin said nothing. For the second time in just a few minutes, he felt the shock of seeing Jefferson again. And this man was Jefferson, inside and out. He was awake. He was suffering. He needed…

“A friend,” he answered the question at last. “Is that what you came in here to find?”

Slowly straightening up, Jefferson nodded. “Is there one here?”

“Yes.” If it weren’t for his cane and the glass case between them, he would have embraced the boy like he used to. “Yes, Jefferson. I’m here.”  

He covered his face with his hands and broke down sobbing. For a moment, Rumpelstiltskin couldn’t move. How should he respond to this? What could he do?

He could do what he couldn’t do with Mrs. Gold. He could comfort this man. His friend.

Ankle throbbing, he walked to the other side of the counter. Jefferson looked up, his blue eyes brimming with tears. This was the Jefferson that Rumpelstiltskin had known. The boy he had rescued on that fateful day in the forest. One of the rare souls whose desperation filled his dark heart with pity, and not contempt.  

“My boy,” he whispered. He opened his arms and Jefferson embraced him. 

Though Jefferson was taller than Rumpelstiltskin, the Dark One had always wielded the power in their relationship. It was the only way he had felt safe. Their physical dimensions hadn’t changed, but marrying Belle had rearranged Rumpelstiltskin’s perspective on safety and power. He let the bigger man hug him, envelop him in his need. He drew strength from Jefferson’s strength. Even though Jefferson was younger and bigger and fitter than Gold, he had come to him for help.

And Rumpelstiltskin would do everything he could to help him. 

When they parted, he held Jefferson’s face in his hands. Coarse stubble prickled against his palms. Full lips parted slightly. Rumpelstiltskin wiped away his tears with his thumbs. 

“How did this happen?” he asked softly. “Why didn’t you go to the Disk World?”

“We did.” Jefferson sniffed. Rumpelstiltskin took the silk pocket square out of his suit coat to give him. “We left as soon as we could. We lived there for months. But one night, I went to sleep next to Leo in Nanny Ogg’s cottage, and the next morning I woke up alone in a massive house I couldn’t leave.”

“You said that before. You couldn’t leave?”

He shook his head. “For twenty-eight years!” His face twisted and he pulled away. Rumpelstiltskin didn’t lower his hands. “You were locked in the curse, but I was locked in that house. I knew who I was, I remembered everything, I remembered too much!”

He rested his hand on his damp coat. “So that’s where Dodgson came from?”

Jefferson nodded, took a breath. “I had two lives in my head,” he whispered. “They both seemed impossible to the other. There were… months where I didn’t know what was real. In Discworld there was a poet who dreamed that he was a butterfly, and when he woke up, he didn’t know if he was a man who dreamed he was a butterfly, or a butterfly who was dreaming he was a man. That was my life. For a very long time.”

“Jefferson.” He squeezed his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

He looked at him, his expression drained. “No one else in this town was like that. Believe me, I had a lot of time to look around. Any theories as to why I was so lucky?”

He shook his head. “It’s Regina’s curse, maybe she--”

“It’s your curse,” he interrupted. “I’ve had some time to think about that. Regina is powerful, but she couldn’t have made something like this. That had to be you.”

He took a step back, resting both hands on his cane. Twenty-eight years of isolation, of knowing that time wasn’t moving, but being aware of every moment. Twenty-eight years in a world he didn’t understand, separated from the people who mattered most to him. 

Utterly alone.

No wonder Jefferson had changed. 

He couldn’t fool him anymore. He didn’t want to. The poor boy deserved better than that. He deserved the truth.

“It was my curse,” he admitted. “Regina cast it, but I created it. That doesn’t mean I have any control over it.”

“How is that possible?” Jefferson growled. “How can you, of all people, not have control  over everything?”

“Because, my boy, all magic comes at a price. The curse that destroyed our world and created this town is the most powerful piece of spellmaking I’ve ever touched. Part of casting it was sacrificing the heart of the thing you love most--and there are more prices yet to pay. I’m not willing to lose everything, but Regina was. So it is her curse. She rules this land until it breaks.”

Jefferson’s jaw clenched. “You said something like that before, back home. You said something about a Savior. It’s that Sheriff, isn’t it? The woman with the yellow bug?”

Rumpelstiltskin blinked. “How did you know that?”

“She came to town in October. That’s when things started changing around here. The clock on the library started moving, people started doing things they haven’t done before--not in twenty-eight years of living the same lives. Now there are people in town now I’ve never seen before.” 

“Who?” Rumpelstiltskin asked. “The only new person I’ve seen is Emma.”

Jefferson shrugged. “There’s the guy carrying on with the schoolteacher, I don’t know who he is.”

“That’s Prince Charming,” he explained. “He was in the hospital until just after Emma came to town, in a coma.” 

“Weren’t you all?” Jefferson said dryly. “Okay, I’ve got another one for you. Around New Year’s, a guy rode in on a motorcycle, definitely an out-of-towner. He stuck around too. Do you know who he is?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s lips parted, but he said nothing. A stranger came into Storybrooke? That shouldn’t have happened. This place was supposed to be isolated from the rest of the Land Without Magic. The only people who could enter were people who were already connected to the old world, people who were born there. 

But if there was a young man who could enter the town freely, who had willingly stayed in this cursed place...

Before he could ask Jefferson more questions, the bell over the shop door rang again. 

“My God, it is cats and dogs out there!” Mrs. Gold stood on the front carpet. Water dripped off the plastic shopping bags in her hands. The rain had plastered all her thin layers against her skin. She looked bedraggled and cold, and Rumpelstiltskin’s first desire was to get her out of those wet things and into a bath, to give her hot chocolate and wrap her in a blanket.

It was only when Jefferson took a step back that Rumpelstiltskin realized how close they had been. Too close for any two men to be standing together in this world, and far too close for Gold to allow anyone who wasn’t wearing handcuffs. 

Mrs. Gold’s crystalline eyes took in the sight of them. Jefferson clutched Gold’s pocket square in his fist. Rumpelstiltskin’s hands still held out in mid-air, reaching for the younger man’s body. In an endless instant, he saw the shock on her face, the realization, the anger.

Then he saw her close herself off. It was like the turn of a lock, or the extinguishing of a flame. She went dead behind the eyes. When she spoke, her voice was thin.

“Sorry to interrupt your business, Mr. Gold. I just needed to come in out of the rain.”

“Of course,” he said automatically. He was too stunned to move. “But you weren’t interrupting anything, Mrs. Gold.”

Her lips pressed together at that. She said nothing, but looked up and down the length of Jefferson’s body. Then she moved past them both to get to the back of the shop. 

Once she was behind the curtain, Rumpelstiltskin allowed himself to sigh. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. Though that was not the worst way this situation could have gone, it was still far from optimal. 

Jefferson let out a low whistle. With a meaningful glance to the back office, he said: “So can I expect your call about the merchandise I requested?”

Limping back to the cash register, Rumpelstiltskin pulled out a notepad and a pen. He passed them over the counter to Jefferson.  “Certainly, Mr. Dodgson. If you’ll give me your address, I can have it delivered to your house.”

He wrote down a series of numbers and an address: 316 Angus Drive. “Just let me know when it’s ready.” His voice lowered. “I’ll be waiting.”

Rumpelstiltskin nodded. “As soon as I can, my boy.”