#a birthday story for Marta

[snowbellewells]

@kmomof4 Okay, so I going to try to review this right after reading - even though I have literal tears in my eyes - because I want to try not to leave anything out. However, there was SO MUCH GOODNESS, that I probably will miss something. Just know that this update was incredible, and very special to me, and I loved it IMMENSELY!! 🥰❤️🥰

Okay, so maybe the best thing I can tell you about JUST HOW GREAT this chapter is, is that I have it pulled up on AO3 simultaneously so I can make sure to include all the best passages and quote them. I hardly ever do that, just reblog from Tumblr with my favorite one (it only lets me highlight one while I am reblogging, for some reason) so that’s just how important it was to include more this time around.

Anyway - you got me early with a direct hit right to the heart. I loved Ruby thinking about Graham over breakfast, and just how much happiness - a smile - could change his whole aspect. It was so brilliant and perfect, I couldn’t help but swoon: “Well, when he smiled, he was transformed. She’d never understood why the ladies had always giggled and swooned when her brother David smiled, but now she did. Sir Graham went from surly and cantankerous to full of humor and mischief, as if he was the holder of all kinds of secrets and delighted in that knowledge. Besides being devastatingly handsome, of course. But it wasn’t the smile itself that had her swooning internally. After all, with all her brothers, she considered herself quite immune to devilish smirks and twinkling eyes. When Graham smiled, there was a shyness about it, as if he wasn’t accustomed to smiling at a lady, and it was that, more than anything, that told her they just might be made for each other.”

Then, not knowing where Graham might be, Ruby prepares to make some progress with his children instead. Honestly, I loved how open they were to her - once she got rid of their genuinely unpleasant-seeming nursemaid. (My heart hurt for them at the mention of Johanna having to leave them too. She had probably their best true, happy, nurturing influence.) It was pretty adorable, really, how fast they warmed up to her after that and the offer to take them swimming. Ava is particular was really cute, but you can see Nicholas wants to line her more than he lets on as well… 😉 Ruby has a real knack with them, and you can see here how well she might indeed fit in and benefit their family as a whole unit. Not, only that, but it tugs at the heartstrings pleasantly too to see the way Nicholas and Ava remind Ruby of good times with her own siblings growing up, and her reminiscing how much she had loved time in the country - and that she had maybe missed it more than she realized.

Okay, and then, I really was melting… Sir Graham comes back from his greenhouses, having spent an hour choosing the very best of his roses to craft the perfect bouquet for Ruby 💐💖💐 But he can’t find her anywhere. Then he learns she and the children have gone swimming - and my heart kicked into panic overdrive for him. That was where Jacinda drowned, where he failed to save her, where he told his children never to go, and now they and Miss Jones are there… you could just see his trauma and anxiety go through the roof. I wanted to get inside the story and tell him to calm down and yet to comfort him and tell him I understood at the same time! I knew his furious - driven by worry - reaction was coming, but that didn’t make it less harsh! Poor Nicholas and Ava! And Ruby’s surprise, and her affront that he thought they were doing anything wrong is so well done, and so suited to her as well.

But after the children are gone, when Ruby challenges him and reveals that his children can indeed swim - quite well in fact - then he genuinely is hit by all the regret and hurt and self-blame, and everything at once. He was BREAKING MY HEART, Krystal! Right along with Ruby’s!! This bit: “For a moment, Graham felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was like a bolt of lightning from the clear blue sky, freezing him in his place. This moment brought all of his failings as a father to the forefront of his mind, and Graham was completely overwhelmed. His jaw worked, his fingers clenched at his sides, his lungs caught, and he could do nothing but try to remain upright against the onslaught. It was the worst feeling he’d ever experienced in his life.

It wasn’t that his children could swim, it was that he didn’t know they could swim. How could he have not known? A father should know if his children could swim. Or ride a horse. Or read. Or count to one hundred.

And he didn’t.

“I… I…” he stammered. He drew a deep breath, more of a gasp really, and was only dimly aware of Ruby moving toward him and gently grabbing his arm in her hand.

“Sir Graham,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

And this one too: “His children were growing and changing and he didn’t even know them. He recognized them, certainly, but he didn’t know who they were.

What were their favorite colors? What were their favorite toys? What were their favorite foods? He didn’t know any of it!

He was, in his own way, every bit as awful a father as his own father had been. His father may have beaten his children within an inch of their lives, but he at least knew what they were up to. Graham ignored, avoided, and pretended. Anything to keep his distance and avoid losing his temper. Anything to keep him from turning into his father.”

Both of these were just so intensely powerful and heart wrenching. You already suspected that was why Graham was so unsure as a father, and why he kept such a distance. He wanted to run no risk of hurting his children as he himself had been hurt. But he is seeing all too vividly now, that his holding back has left a wound all its own. I just wanted to gather him up and hug him at this point, and I was very glad he had Ruby there with him. (The best thing I could liken it to is in The Sound of Music, when Maria finally gets through to Captain Von Trapp - he doesn’t really know his children…but there’s still time…they only want his love.

And then you got me with this one. I don’t even know!! Can I somehow crawl into your story and BE Ruby Jones at this moment? She is right on the same wavelength just wanting to help him, to make this hole in his heart okay again. 💖💖💖 BEAUTIFUL!!

“But whatever Graham was seeing right now, was still very much with him.

“Graham,” she whispered again, touching his cheek. He didn’t move, he barely breathed. She stepped closer still, saying his name once again. She wanted to ease the shattered look in his eyes. She wanted to draw out the man she knew he was, down deep inside. She wanted to heal him.

She whispered his name one last time, taking another step forward until only inches separated them. She offered him her understanding, her compassion, her help all in a single word. She could only hope he heard. And listened.

And then he moved. His hand covered hers, pressing her hand into his skin as if he were trying to memorize the feel of her touch. He drew their hands down to his mouth and placed a kiss to the center of her palm.”

Oh swoon!!!

And cue the tears too, all at once!

And then it went all kinds of hot and steamy and desperate ❤️🔥❤️🔥

“Her gaze bounced between his blue, blue eyes, reading him like one of her beloved novels. He was back. He was here with her and she suddenly knew what he intended. His eyes drifted shut and he drew their hands down to his chest, over his beating heart. His other arm wrapped around her and drew her into him. Leaving her hand on his chest, he used his to lift her chin until her lips were only a hair's breadth away from his own, stopping only long enough to whisper her name before capturing her lips in a kiss that was so blinding, so intense, it took her breath away. He was hungry and needy - a starving man being granted a feast. He kissed her as if she were the air he needed to breathe. As if she was a cool and refreshing pool of water to a man dying of thirst. The kind of kiss Ruby knew she’d never forget. The kind of kiss she hadn’t known existed.

He pulled her closer until every part of her body lined up against his and then a gasp escaped her when his hand left the small of her back and cupped her bottom.

“I need you, Ruby, please,” he groaned into her mouth before leaving it and placing light and gentle kisses to the line of her jaw and neck. She dropped her head back allowing him more access and held on to him for dear life. She was melting. He was melting her. All she knew was that she needed more. She needed him.”

I mean, good gracious, K!! What are you trying to do to me?!? 🔥🥵🔥

And then there was the conversation they had back at the house that evening, sharing with each other about the horrible loss each had born witness to, and that each had been helpless to stop. It bonds them in a painful, but very powerful, way. His gruff, heartfelt apology was perfect too, and I loved how Ruby immediately accepted it, assuring him it was already forgiven and forgotten. I am more hopeful than ever that she is going to help him find a way back to his kids - and to the man he truly is deep inside beneath his scars.

“She could barely look at his face. It was so pained, and so tormented, but it also brought her a calm assurance. Sir Graham Humbert was a good man. It was obvious that he loved his children tremendously, and even if he didn’t know how to act around them, his heart towards them was true.”

Soon they are making plans to spend time with his children together, and then… her brothers arrive!! Oh boy is next chapter going to be a doozy!!!! 🤭☺️🫢

I don’t know if I have done this justice or if it is just a ramble-y mess, but I really REALLY loved this chapter!!!

To Sir Graham, With Love Ch. 4

And we are back!!! Thank you all for coming along on this journey with me!! I hope you enjoy the new chapter and let me know what you think!

All the love and thanks again to @jrob64 and @whimsicallyenchantedrose for their outstanding beta services and to @motherkatereloyshipper for the GORGEOUS artwork above!!!

And once again, happy birthday to @snowbellewells for whom this fic was written!!

Summary: After a year long secret correspondence, twenty-eight year old spinster Ruby Jones decides to accept Sir Graham Humbert's offer of a visit to see if they might suit for marriage. Unfortunately, he failed to mention that he was the father of twins, and they are not thrilled with Ruby's appearance.

Rating: M (for smut in later chs and mentions of physical abuse)

Words: Approx 5700 of approx 68k

Tags: Red Hunter Fic, Birthday Fic, Inspired by Eloise Bridgerton's Story, Smut

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

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Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

… should not have let him kiss you. Who knows what liberties he will attempt to take the next time you meet? But what’s done is done, I suppose. So all there is left is to ask: Was it lovely?

– From Ruby Jones to her sister Tink, slid under the door of her bedroom the night Tink met the Earl of Kilmartin, whom she would marry two months later

~*~*~*~*~*~

Ruby was awake quite early the next morning, which shouldn’t have come as a surprise given that she’d retired to her bed at half eight the evening before. She’d regretted her self-imposed exile almost the moment she’d sent Sir Graham the note. There was nothing she hated more than dining alone, with no one to talk to. And even as grouchy and uncommunicative as Sir Graham could sometimes be, he’d have been better than nothing.

She still wasn’t entirely convinced they wouldn’t suit. He might be gruff and arrogant at times, but when he smiled… 

Well, when he smiled, he was transformed. She’d never understood why the ladies had always giggled and swooned when her brother David smiled, but now she did. Sir Graham went from surly and cantankerous to full of humor and mischief, as if he was the holder of all kinds of secrets and delighted in that knowledge. Besides being devastatingly handsome, of course. But it wasn’t the smile itself that had her swooning internally. After all, with all her brothers, she considered herself quite immune to devilish smirks and twinkling eyes. When Graham smiled, there was a shyness about it, as if he wasn’t accustomed to smiling at a lady, and it was that, more than anything, that told her they just might be made for each other.

She made her way down to the breakfast room to find that Graham had already partaken and departed. Ruby tried not to be discouraged. After all, he may have just assumed she wasn’t an early riser and had gone on about his business, but when she didn’t find him in his greenhouse later, she was quite at a loss of where he might be.

Didn’t the twins owe her an afternoon? Well, there was no reason they couldn’t make it a morning instead.

Several minutes later, Ruby entered the twins' nursery.

“Who wants to go swimming?”

Nicholas stared at her as if she was mad, while Ava’s face lit up in delight.

“I do!” she declared, sticking her tongue out at her brother when he scowled instead. “I love to swim. And so does Nicholas. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”

“I don’t think they should go,” interjected their nursemaid, a thin, surly looking woman of indeterminate years.

“Nonsense,” Ruby said, disliking the woman immediately. She looked to be the type of woman who’d tug on ears or rap knuckles. “It’s unseasonably warm and swimming is good exercise.”

“Nevertheless…” The woman’s tone was quite testy, clear evidence that she didn’t like to have her authority questioned.

“I shall give them lessons while we go about it,” Ruby assured the woman. “They are without a governess at the moment, are they not?”

“Yes,” the woman snapped. “The little monsters glued…”

“Whatever the reason for her departure,” Ruby interrupted smoothly, “I’m sure it’s been a terrible burden on you to have to fulfill both duties for the past few weeks.”

“Months,” the woman muttered.

“Even worse!” Ruby exclaimed, in faux commiseration. “One would think you could use a free morning, wouldn’t one?”

“Well,” she allowed, “I wouldn’t mind a trip into town.”

“It’s settled then,” Ruby announced decisively. She smiled at the children, who stared at her in awe. “Enjoy your morning,” she said, bustling the woman into the hall. Once the door was shut behind her, Ruby turned back to the children.

“You’re wonderful,” Ava breathed.

Even Nicholas couldn’t help but nod his agreement. 

“I hate Nurse Ratched,” Ava said.

“Of course, you don’t,” Ruby began, though her heart wasn’t truly in her words. She hadn’t much liked the woman either.

“No, we do,” Nicholas assured her. “She’s horrid.”

Ava nodded. “I wish we could have Nurse Johanna back, but she had to leave to care for her mother. She’s sick,” she explained.

“Her mother,” said Nicholas, “not Nurse Johanna.”

“How long has Nurse Ratched been here?”

“Five months,” Ava said forlornly.

“Five very long months,” Nicholas agreed. 

Ruby didn’t believe in disparaging another adult in front of children, especially an adult meant to have authority over said children, so she simply sidestepped the issue completely.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? Because today, you have me.”

“I like you,” Ava said shyly, taking her hand.

Ruby smiled gently at her. “I like you, too.” Nicholas said nothing, but Ruby wasn’t concerned. Some children took longer to warm up to someone new. And besides, these children had earned the right to be wary. Their mother had left them, and then their nurse - who’d likely cared for them their entire lives - had left as well. Granted, leaving through death was quite different from leaving to care for an ill family member, but all the children would remember was that someone they loved dearly was gone, and then to lose their beloved nurse so soon after their mother, it could hardly be fathomed.

Ruby well remembered the months after her father had died. She’d been convinced that not letting her mother out of her sight - or better yet, holding her hand or skirts for all she was worth - would mean she couldn’t leave either.

“I’m sorry we blackened your eye,” Ava said quietly.

“It looks much worse than it feels,” Ruby assured her, squeezing her hand gently.

“It looks horrid,” Nicholas observed, matter of factly, his voice holding just a tinge of remorse.

“Yes, it does,” Ruby agreed. “But I’m starting to like it. It looks like I’ve been in a battle. And won!”

“It doesn’t look like you’ve won to me,” Nicholas said, dubiously.

“Nonsense,” Ruby said. “Of course I do! Anyone who comes home from a battle wins.”

“Does that mean that Uncle George lost?” Nicholas asked. “He didn’t come home from battle.”

“He died before we were born,” Ava said.

“Your uncle was a hero,” Ruby said, her voice quiet and respectful.

“But not Father,” Nicholas said.

“Your father didn’t go to war because he had responsibilities here,” Ruby explained. “But these are much too somber thoughts to occupy ourselves with, when we should be outside enjoying the splendid morning. We should be out swimming and having a grand time!”

The twins enthusiastically agreed, and in no time were changed into their bathing costumes and tromping through the field toward the lake.

“We mustn’t forget to practice our arithmetic,” Ruby called out as the twins skipped ahead of her. And to her surprise, they actually did. Who knew that sixes and eights could be so much fun?!

~*~*~

Graham came inside from the rose garden to find the house unnaturally quiet. It was so rare that he found himself just standing and savoring the silence. Nurse Ratched must have taken the children outside for a bit of fresh air, and while it was nearing ten in the morning, he assumed Ruby must still be abed, though she didn’t strike him as the type to lounge away the day under her covers.

He wandered into the breakfast room, expecting to find the sideboard full and waiting for Ruby’s appearance, but instead, it was empty and spotless, telling him that Ruby had already eaten and was now God knew where.

A maid entered the room with a feather duster in her hand. She bobbed a curtsey when she saw him.

“Good morning,” he said in greeting. “Would you please bring me a vase for these?” he asked, motioning toward the roses in his hand. He’d hoped to give them to her himself, but he wasn’t willing to just hold on to them while he hunted her down. He’d spent an hour in the rose garden choosing just the right blooms and then carefully removing all the thorns. Romney Hall boasted three rose gardens, but he’d had to go to the furthest afield to find the early-blooming varieties. 

When the maid arrived back, a glass vase in her hand, he asked, “Do you happen to know where Miss Jones is this morning? I noticed breakfast has been cleared.”

“I believe she took the children swimming, Sir,” she informed him. “They were in their bathing clothes.”

Graham’s skin went cold. He hadn’t been near the lake since the day Jacinda died, always taking the long way around, not able to bear even the sight of it. He’d forbidden the children to go near it as well. 

At least, he thought he had. He’d told Nurse Johanna not to allow them near the water, but had he told Nurse Ratched? He couldn’t remember.

He ran from the room, leaving the roses scattered on the floor.

~*~*~

“Last one in is a hermit crab!” Nicholas hollered, running down the hill toward the small lake. He didn’t stop until the water came to his waist.

“I’m not a hermit crab,” Ava shouted back, “You’re a hermit crab!” She splashed around in the shallows.

“You’re a rotten hermit crab.”

“Well, you’re a dead hermit crab.”

Ruby laughed as they continued to shout back and forth to each other. She waded in the shallows a few feet from Ava. Not having brought with her a bathing costume, she simply tied up her skirt and petticoat just above the knee. It was a scandalously large amount of skin to be showing, but in the presence of children, who really cared?

Besides, they were having much too much fun tormenting each other to even notice.

They’d warmed up to her significantly on the trek to the lake. They’d laughed and chattered the entire way. It made Ruby wonder if perhaps all they needed was a bit of attention. They’d lost their mother, their relationship with their father was distant and strained, at best, and then they’d lost their beloved nurse, as well.

Thank God they had each other.

And maybe, perhaps, her.

She shouldn’t be thinking like that. These children clearly needed a mother, but she couldn’t base her decision on them. She’d be marrying Graham. Not Nicholas and Ava.

“Don’t go any deeper,” she called, when she saw Nicholas start to inch into deeper water. She was quite pleased when he took two large steps back toward the shore of the lake, even if his expression was rather irritable.

“You should come in further, Miss Jones,” Ava said, sitting down on her bottom. “Oh! It’s cold!” she exclaimed.

“At least as far as Ava,” Nicholas chimed in. “You’ve barely gotten your feet wet.”

“I don’t have a bathing costume,” she reminded them again, for at least the tenth time.

“I think you don’t know how to swim,” Nicholas said, smugly.

Ruby raised her eyebrow at him. “I can assure you that I do know how to swim,” she informed him. “I spent a great deal of time in the country when I was growing up,” she continued. “But I am also not going to be giving a demonstration in my third best morning dress.”

Ava looked at her and blinked several times. “I should like to see your first and second best. That one is very pretty, indeed.”

“Thank you, Ava,” Ruby said, wondering who picked out the children’s clothes. Probably the crotchety Nurse Ratched, she thought. There was nothing wrong with what the child was wearing, but Ruby highly doubted she’d yet experienced the pleasure of picking out her own clothes. “If you’d like to go shopping some time, I’d be very pleased to take you.”

Ava’s mouth dropped open in a soft O of surprise. “Would you?” she breathed. “I’d love it ever so much!”

“Girls,” Nicholas mumbled. He looked back to the water, concentrating on angling his hand just right before he smacked the surface, creating a tall splash that reached all the way over to his sister.

“Stop it!” she squealed. “I’ll get you yet!” she promised, diving in after him. 

“Don’t go too far out,” Ruby called, though it didn’t really matter. They were obviously both excellent swimmers. If they were anything like Ruby and her siblings, they’d likely been swimming since about the age of four. They’d spent countless hours frolicking around in the pond near their home in Kent, until their father passed, that is. Once Brennan was gone, the family spent most of their time in London. Ruby could never figure out if it was because her mother preferred the city to the country, or if there were simply too many memories.

While she certainly enjoyed London and all the many amusements it offered, being here now swimming in the lake with two boisterous children, Ruby realized just how much she missed country living.

Ava finally caught up to her brother and launched herself at him, taking them both under the water. Ruby watched them closely until they came up for air, both laughing and spluttering and vowing to beat one another in this most important water battle.

“Be careful!” she called. It was strange being in this position. She was normally the fun and permissive aunt, not the authority-wielding adult. “Nicholas, do not pull your sister's hair.” She was pleased when he stopped, but then he grabbed the neck of her bathing clothes, making Ava sputter and cough. 

“Nicholas,” she yelled, “stop at once!” 

He did, surprising her again, but Ava took the opportunity to jump on top of him, sending him under and then sitting on his back.

“Ava!” Ruby yelled. Blast it all. She was going to have to put a stop to it herself. There went her ideas of keeping herself mostly dry. “Ava, get off of your brother this instant!” she yelled one last time before completely surrendering her dignity.

Ava got off and Nicholas came up sputtering. “Ava Humbert, I’m going to…”

“You most certainly will not,” Ruby said sternly. “You will not kill, maim, attack, or even hug for the next thirty minutes. Do I make myself clear?”

The children looked absolutely appalled that she’d even listed a hug as a punishable offense. They stared at her open-mouthed and then cut their eyes to each other.

“Well?” Ruby asked.

“Well then,” Ava asked, “what will we do?”

That was a good question which Ruby hadn’t really thought about. All of her memories of swimming as a child included the same sort of water war.

“Maybe we’ll get out and dry off for a spell.” They both looked horrified at her suggestion. “I did tell Nurse Ratched that we’d work on your lessons…”

“GET OUT OF THE LAKE!”

Ruby was so surprised at the loud and furious shout from the hill above them that she turned too quickly and fell. She was able to catch herself with her hands, but the front of her dress was still soaked. “Sir Graham!”

“Get out,” he growled, his strides long and powerful as he entered the water, reached his children, and grabbed them both around their waists, hauling them to shore. Ruby watched with horrified fascination as he set them roughly on the ground. “I told you you were never, ever, to go near the lake,” he yelled, shaking them both by a shoulder. “You know to stay away. You know…” Ruby still couldn’t look away as he suddenly came to a stop, trying to catch his breath.

“But that was last year,” said Nicholas quietly.

Graham glared at him and he shrank back. “Did I ever rescind the order?”

“No, but I thought…”

“You thought wrong,” he interrupted. “Now get back to the house. Both of you.” 

The two children recognized the deadly seriousness of their father’s words and ran quickly up the hill toward the house. Graham didn’t move until they were out of sight, then he turned his furious gaze on her.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

For a moment, Ruby was too taken aback to make any sort of reply. “Swimming,” she finally said, a note of insolence in her words. Perhaps more than a note. “Having a bit of fun. Perhaps you’re familiar with the concept.”

“I do not want my children near the lake,” he barked. “I have made those wishes clear…”

“Not to me,” she interjected.

“Well, you should have…”

“What?” she interrupted again. “How was I supposed to know you didn’t want them near the water? I told Nurse Ratched where we were going and what we intended to do, and she never gave any indication that it was forbidden.”

The look on his face told her he had no answer to her argument and it was only serving to anger him further. 

“It’s a hot day and I was trying to mend the breach,” she continued, determined to win the argument. “Heaven knows, I don’t want another blackened eye. Plus, I thought it’d be fun for the children.”

“You put them in danger,” he growled.

Ruby couldn’t have been more surprised if literal horns had grown out of his head. “Danger?” she sputtered. “From swimming? The only danger they would have been in is if I couldn’t swim!”

“I don’t care whether you can swim or not,” he retorted. “I only care that my children can’t.”

She stared at him for several seconds, blinking dumbly at him. “Yes, they can. They’re quite proficient, in fact. I assumed you taught them.”

“What are you talking about?”

He was still furious, she could hear it in his voice, but the honest confusion also contained within had her ire retreating quickly.

“Did you…” she began, tilting her head slightly in inquiry, “not know that the children could swim?”

For a moment, Graham felt like he couldn’t breathe. It was like a bolt of lightning from the clear blue sky, freezing him in his place. This moment brought all of his failings as a father to the forefront of his mind, and Graham was completely overwhelmed. His jaw worked, his fingers clenched at his sides, his lungs caught, and he could do nothing but try to remain upright against the onslaught. It was the worst feeling he’d ever experienced in his life.

It wasn’t that his children could swim, it was that he didn’t know they could swim. How could he have not known? A father should know if his children could swim. Or ride a horse. Or read. Or count to one hundred.

And he didn’t. 

“I… I…” he stammered. He drew a deep breath, more of a gasp really, and was only dimly aware of Ruby moving toward him and gently grabbing his arm in her hand.

“Sir Graham,” she whispered. “Are you all right?”

He nodded. Or at least, he thought he did. All he could hear was her voice ringing in his head- yes they can yes they can YES THEY CAN - and it wasn’t even the words themselves, necessarily. It was the tone of surprise and just a hint of contempt.

And he hadn’t known.

His children were growing and changing and he didn’t even know them. He recognized them, certainly, but he didn’t know who they were.

What were their favorite colors? What were their favorite toys? What were their favorite foods? He didn’t know any of it!

He was, in his own way, every bit as awful a father as his own father had been. His father may have beaten his children within an inch of their lives, but he at least knew what they were up to. Graham ignored, avoided, and pretended. Anything to keep his distance and avoid losing his temper. Anything to keep him from turning into his father.

“Graham,” Ruby whispered again. “You don’t look well. I think you should go home.”

“I’m…” he began before trailing off, not able to get the words out. He’d meant to say I’m fine, but nothing could be further from the truth.

Ruby looked up as a cloud passed over the sun. Graham followed her gaze and then noticed Ruby crossing her arms over her chest and shivering. It was finally enough to bring him out of his self-loathing paralysis.

“You need to get inside,” he said, grasping her by the arm and proceeding to pull her up the hill.

“Graham!” she exclaimed, stumbling along behind him. “I’m fine! Just a little chilled.”

He touched her skin and cursed under his breath. “You are bloody well not fine, you’re freezing!” He stopped and took his coat off, placing it around her shoulders before grabbing her arm again.

“Graham, please!” she begged. “There is no need to run!” He didn’t stop their very brisk hike. Ruby jerked her arm out of his and stopped. “Sir Graham,” she said forcefully. “Please let me walk.”

He glared at her for a moment before answering. “I will not be responsible for you developing a lung fever,” he hissed.

“A lung fever?” Ruby asked, incredulous. “It’s May!”

“I don’t care if it’s July!” he roared. “You will not remain in those wet clothes!”

“Well, of course not!” she exclaimed, trying her best to sound reasonable. “But it’s only ten minutes back to the house. I am not going to die!”

She’d heard the expression of blood draining from a person’s face, but she’d never seen it. Until now. There was no other way to describe the sudden paleness of Graham’s face.

“Graham,” she said gently, trying to disguise her alarm. “What is wrong?”

His eyes darted back and forth, his hand trembled, and when she took it, it felt clammy in her own. She didn’t think he was going to answer until his mouth opened and a whisper fell from his lips. “I don’t know.”

She touched his arm and looked up into his face. He looked confused. Dazed even. As if he’d been pushed out onto a stage and didn’t know his lines. His eyes were open and on her, but she was quite sure he didn’t see her. He was somewhere far beyond her reach. Facing some terrible and recent nightmare all alone.

She knew bad memories and how they could just take over the heart and mind sometimes. She remembered her own worst nightmare - at the age of seven, being the sole witness to the death of her father, screaming and crying as he fell to the ground gasping for breath, then beating on his chest when he could no longer speak, begging him to wake up and say something. She knew now that he’d been gone by then, but somehow, that made the memory so much worse. The only way she’d gotten over it was due to her mother. She’d visited her every night and stroked her head as she’d cried into her chest. She told Ruby over and over again that it was alright to miss her father and talk about him. That it was alright to cry and grieve.

Ruby still remembered it all with perfect clarity, but it no longer haunted her. She hadn’t had a nightmare about it in over a decade.

But whatever Graham was seeing right now, was still very much with him.

“Graham,” she whispered again, touching his cheek. He didn’t move, he barely breathed. She stepped closer still, saying his name once again. She wanted to ease the shattered look in his eyes. She wanted to draw out the man she knew he was, down deep inside. She wanted to heal him.

She whispered his name one last time, taking another step forward until only inches separated them. She offered him her understanding, her compassion, her help all in a single word. She could only hope he heard. And listened.

And then he moved. His hand covered hers, pressing her hand into his skin as if he were trying to memorize the feel of her touch. He drew their hands down to his mouth and placed a kiss to the center of her palm. 

Her gaze bounced between his blue, blue eyes, reading him like one of her beloved novels. He was back. He was here with her and she suddenly knew what he intended. His eyes drifted shut and he drew their hands down to his chest, over his beating heart. His other arm wrapped around her and drew her into him. Leaving her hand on his chest, he used his to lift her chin until her lips were only a hair's breadth away from his own, stopping only long enough to whisper her name before capturing her lips in a kiss that was so blinding, so intense, it took her breath away. He was hungry and needy - a starving man being granted a feast. He kissed her as if she were the air he needed to breathe. As if she was a cool and refreshing pool of water to a man dying of thirst. The kind of kiss Ruby knew she’d never forget. The kind of kiss she hadn’t known existed.

He pulled her closer until every part of her body lined up against his and then a gasp escaped her when his hand left the small of her back and cupped her bottom.

“I need you, Ruby, please,” he groaned into her mouth before leaving it and placing light and gentle kisses to the line of her jaw and neck. She dropped her head back allowing him more access and held on to him for dear life. She was melting. He was melting her. All she knew was that she needed more. She needed him.

But not like this.

Not when he was using her as a succor to his wounds.

“Graham, we can’t,” she said, pulling back from him. Though she wasn’t quite sure how she found the strength within herself to do so. “Not like this.”

At first, she didn’t think he was going to let her go, but then suddenly, he did. “I’m sorry,” he said. He still looked dazed, but whether it was from the kiss or the tumultuous events of the morning, she wasn’t sure.

“Don’t apologize,” she urged him, instinctively smoothing down the front of her dress. It was still soaking wet and thus unsmoothable, but if she didn’t do something with her hands, she was liable to jump back into his arms again.

“You should go back to the house,” he said, his voice almost too low to hear.

“Aren’t you coming, as well?” she asked, surprised.

He shook his head. “I need to think. You’ll be fine. It is May after all.”

Ruby’s brow furrowed, but she turned from him and started back up the hill. After a moment, she turned back to him, utterly unable to mind her own business.

“What do you need to think about?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied with a shrug. “Everything, I suppose.”

Ruby nodded and continued on her way to the house. But the look in his eyes stayed with her all day long.

~*~*~

Ruby was purposefully late going down to supper. After the events of the morning, she wasn’t sure whether Sir Graham would be joining her or not, but she figured if he wasn’t waiting for her at ten past the hour, then she would be dining alone.

She was pleasantly surprised however, to find Graham in the drawing room waiting for her. He wore an evening kit that, although not the latest fashion, was perfectly tailored to his long and lean frame. Ruby caught her breath when he turned to her and approached.

“I hope you will accept my apologies for my behavior this morning,” he said, the entreaty in his eyes clear. “I overreacted and behaved abominably.” His voice was low and reserved, but she knew from his tone that her forgiveness was very much desired.

“No apology is necessary,” she assured him. “The incident is forgiven and forgotten.”

“Thank you,” he said, holding his elbow out to escort her to dinner. She took it and they walked slowly from the room. “Jacinda died in that lake.” 

The words were so unexpected that Ruby gasped in horror and halted in the middle of the hallway, her fingers covering her mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathed. “I had no idea.”

Graham nodded. “I pulled her out, but it was too late.”

“Oh, Graham.” She could say nothing else as his gaze bounced between her eyes. He didn’t look as shattered as he had this morning, and Ruby was glad of that fact. He turned away from her and continued walking down the hall to the dining room.

“I know how it feels to watch someone you love die,” she said quietly. “And not being able to do anything to stop it.” 

“Your father?” he asked. She nodded. It wasn’t something she shared with many people. In fact, the only person outside her family who knew she’d been the lone witness to his death was her dearest and oldest friend, Mary Margaret Blanchard. Now Mary Margaret Jones. Even with the bleakness of the conversation, the thought of her closest friend being married to her favorite brother brought a small smile to her lips.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” she replied.

He was silent for a moment as they continued down the hallway. 

“I didn’t know my children could swim.”

His words were so odd and out of the blue, she could only blink and ask, “I beg your pardon?”

“I didn’t know they could swim,” he repeated, his voice dripping with condemnation. “I don’t even know who taught them.”

“Does it matter?” she asked softly.

“It does,” he said bitterly, “because I should have been the one to do it.”

She could barely look at his face. It was so pained, and so tormented, but it also brought her a calm assurance. Sir Graham Humbert was a good man. It was obvious that he loved his children tremendously, and even if he didn’t know how to act around them, his heart towards them was true.

“Well,” she said briskly, “there’s nothing to be done about that now, and just because you didn’t know, you do now, and it’s not too late to find out more about them. They are charming children, you know.”

He looked at her dubiously. 

“They do misbehave on occasion…” His eyebrow shot up in disbelief. “Oh, very well, they misbehave quite often, but truly, all they want is a little attention from you.”

“They told you this?”

Ruby released a small giggle. “Of course not. They’re only eight. But it is quite obvious to me.”

They finally reached the dining room and sat down on opposite sides of the table. Graham was silent until they’d both had a sip of their wine.

“Did they enjoy it? The swimming?” he asked hesitantly.

“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “You should take them.”

He shook his head and looked down briefly. “I don’t think I could.”

Ruby nodded, fully understanding the power of memories. “Perhaps somewhere else then. Surely there are other lakes or ponds on the grounds.”

Graham nodded and waited until she’d had a taste of her soup. “That is a fine idea,” he agreed. “I will think about where we might go.”

There was something so heartbreaking about his expression - the uncertainty, the vulnerability - Ruby felt her heart clench in her chest. The knowledge that he was going to do his best to do the right thing, the right thing by his children.

“I hope you will join us.”

“Of course,” she said, utterly delighted. “I should be desolate if I wasn’t invited.”

“I’m quite certain you overstate,” he said wryly, the corner of his lips lifting in a small grin. “But we would be honored, and to be quite frank, I would be rather relieved to have you there. The outing is sure to be successful if you are present,” he explained.

Ruby felt her cheeks heat at the unexpected compliment. “I’m quite certain you overstate.”

“We will all enjoy ourselves much better with your accompaniment,” he assured her quite emphatically. 

Ruby decided not to argue and just accept the compliment. He was most likely correct, after all. They were so unused to spending any time together, it would almost certainly be more pleasant with her to smooth the way. And she found that she didn’t mind the idea one bit.

“Perhaps tomorrow,” she suggested, “if the pleasant weather holds out.”

“I believe it will,” he said. “The air didn’t feel changeable.”

Ruby raised an eyebrow at him. “So you predict the weather as well?” Ruby had a cousin who claimed to be able to predict the weather, but every time she listened to him, she’d end up soaked to the skin or nearly freezing her fingers and toes off.

“Not at all,” he replied, “but one can…” He trailed away and looked toward the door. “What was that?”

“What was what?” she replied, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she heard what Graham had obviously heard. Raised voices, and getting louder by the moment. Heavy footfalls. A forceful stream of invective was followed by a yelp of terror that could only have come from the butler…

And then Ruby knew.

“Oh, dear God,” she murmured, her grip on her spoon going slack. 

“What the devil?” Graham asked, standing from his seat, preparing to defend his home from the unknown invaders.

Except that he had no idea what sort of invaders he was about to face. What sort of annoying, meddlesome, and diabolical invaders he was going to have to meet in, oh, about ten seconds.

But Ruby did. And she knew annoying, meddlesome, and diabolical held nothing against furious, unreasonable, and downright large when it came to Graham’s imminent safety.

“Ruby?” Graham asked, his brows shooting up to his hairline when they both heard someone bellow her name.

Ruby felt the blood drain from her body, though there was no evidence of it on the floor around her. There was no way she’d be able to survive a moment such as this, not without killing someone, and preferably someone who was quite closely related to her.

She stood, her fingers gripping the table, the footfalls (which resembled a rabid horde, quite honestly) growing closer.

“Someone you know?” Graham asked mildly. Much too mildly for someone about to face his own demise.

She nodded and somehow managed to push the words through her frozen lips, “My brothers.”

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! I'd love to hear what you think! Going forward, I'm going to start updating twice a week. So be on the lookout for the next chapter, which just happens to be my favorite, on Wednesday!!

[astudyincontrasts]

Penance IX (redux)

Priest!Silco x Fem!Reader AU (nsfw)

A/N: Its my birthday! Last year everyone in this fandom and all the friends I have made because of it made today one of the most special birthdays I have had in a long time. I felt more loved and surrounded in celebration with sweet friends then I had in years, and the cup of that happiness has not stopped running over. There are not enough ways to express my love and gratitude for everyone I've had the joy of meeting here.

So this year, I wanted to offer a gift to all of you. Everyone has been exceedingly patient about my writing struggles to continue Penance, so I'd like to give you the alternate Penance XI chapter- blood I have managed to wring from that stone of writers block. The fate of the continuation of this story may still be up in the air until inspiration comes knocking again, but at least I can share this with you today.

To all my fandom friends, and everyone who has been so supportive of this silly little smutty story. You have my heart.

This picks up after Chapter VIII

“Girl, are you listening?”

Sister Marta’s sharply scolding voice brought you back down to earth with a little jerk, blinking as you turned attention back to the tall, thin, sallow faced nun to meet the exasperated gaze of her cataract-hazed grey eyes.

“Sorry Sister.”  You mumbled, casting about for a context clue of whatever it was she might have been speaking about while you’d been off daydreaming about the priest of her parish.  Nothing jumped out at you in the dusty old store room of the basement where you both stood in the dim light of one naked and straining lightbulb still swinging gently upon its cord from the nun’s yank of its chain a moment before.

You hadn’t meant to drift off, but it had been four days since you’d seen Father Silco last and that painful, sweet contrition you’d done across the desk of his office was still fresh in your mind as if it had just happened.  You ought to have been angry at the fact he’d left you such an unsatisfied mess, and the fact he’d spanked you like a wicked child, in spite of his promise he’d never hurt you as they had back in school.

Truly, he had not.  Those sharp little slaps of his open hand were nothing compared to the cruelty of a sharp ruler across knuckles or the backs of thighs delivered by an angry, bitter nun.  You smiled faintly at Sister Marta’s increasingly irritated, withered old face and privately thought perhaps she could teach the Father a few things about corporal punishment.

“The candles, girl!”  Sister Marta exhorted at last, the thin limit of her patience snapping.

Unlike the ‘my child’ diminutive that the other nuns like Sister Eleanor or Sister Angelica were so fond of using with you and other parishioners, Sister Marta had no use for any such hollow faithful endearments.  You hadn’t yet made up your mind if it was an honest gruffness about her you liked, or an insulting mein you did not.  You had the notion it would have hardly mattered to the old woman either way.

She nudged one of the pair of low boxes with the toe of her sensible black shoe from under her long, dark habit.

“Take them to the Father to be blessed and then kindly refill the votive stands.  You can remove the spent ones and toss them.”  She explained, slower this time as if she was speaking to a simpleton.

You bore it with a tight little smile and bent to lift the box on top, surprised by the weight of it, staggering a bit upon rising only to catch a smugly satisfied look on the wrinkled old pucker of a face before Sister Marta reached up to pull the chain of the light and leave you to struggle out the door of the closet and back up the rickety old stairs of the basement in the dark, save for the light from the open door at the top of the steps.

Quietly you wondered if you accidentally fell and broke your neck, if the church would have their endowment free of the burden of your presence that came with it.

Cold comfort, knowing you’d crush the brittle bird-boned old woman climbing up, wheezing softly behind you, and take her with you if you did pitch backward down the steps.

The real trial wasn’t making it to the top of the stairs with the heavy box full of candles, though.  No, that one still lay ahead once you’d reached the top without incident.  The real trial lay in taking that armload into the rectory to face Father Silco once more and ask his blessing.

You’d thought you’d be safe if you came on a Thursday.  You’d avoided the parish planning committee on Monday, as well as your usual Wednesday session with the Father.  You’d hardly doubted you’d be missed at the planning meeting, and Wednesday, well.  You’d chosen to skip it half in a little act of spite, half just to see what might happen.  When no scolding phone call or visit had been forthcoming after shirking both of those commitments the victory felt hollow.  

Turning up to make yourself useful to the nuns on Thursday seemed like a good way to cover for your failed gambit and to keep from looking as if you were avoiding the church.  Foolishly, you’d thought perhaps you’d manage to skim by with just catching a glimpse of Father Silco in passing.  

Unsure if it was because you wanted to see him, or wanted him to see you.

You’d been on rocky footing ever since your little transgression in the confessional, and you knew it.  

The door to the rectory lay open just across from the basement door in the open nave of the large narthex, and you waited until Sister Marta crested the steps behind you and shut the basement door to hobble off heavily upon her cane, before you started the slow walk toward his office.  You didn’t let yourself hesitate in the doorway, and didn’t have a free hand to knock on the open door with anyway.  Instead, summoning all the calm composure you could muster, you simply walked in and paused before his desk.

He sat there, scribbling away in an open book, papers and letters and other books opened in a slightly scattered mess about his work, dark head bent and eyepatch on.  He left you standing there until he’d finished what he was writing. Until your elbows and wrists had begun to ache a little from the weight of the box you held.  Only then he sat back, letting his pen drop upon the desk as elbows found the armrests of his tall-backed chair and he turned the cool glint of that duplicitously calm ocean colored eye upward.

The thin, scarred cut of his mouth tugged a hint of a smile at one corner.

“Lamb.”  He stated mildly, as if unsurprised in the least to see you there and only half interested as to what you might want with him.

Infuriating, how badly you liked hearing that little endearment again.  How flustered it made you feel to get hooked on the edge of that smile.

The box shifted heavily in your hands as you juggled its weight and stepped forward to set it upon his desk.  Damn his paperwork.  

“Sister Marta asked if you’d bless these candles so I could put them in the votive holders.”  Your attempt to keep your voice as even and disaffected as possible only resulted in it coming out far softer than you’d meant for it to be.

Leaning forward a touch, Silco flipped one of the flaps of the cardboard lid back to glance at the candles inside with a little hum.  One by one he folded each of the other three flaps back and rose to his feet.  Elegant fingers stroked absently along the edge of one packaging dividers hashed between the votives within before he plucked a single candle out and set it aside.

Letting that cool eye of his drift shut he made the sign of the cross over the open box of remaining candles before opening both hands before himself, palms cupped upward.

“Lord Jesus Christ, true light that enlightens every man who comes into this world, bestow thy blessing upon these candles, and sanctify them with the light of thy grace. As these tapers burn with visible fire and dispel the darkness of night, so may our hearts with the help of thy grace be enlightened by the invisible fire of the splendor of the Holy Ghost, and may be free from all blindness of sin.”  

His eye opened and fell upon you, and suddenly you were profoundly aware of how you just stood there, staring at the tall, lean lines of him in that dark cassock, soaking in the sound of his voice and very obviously not with your hands folded in reverent prayer or eyes downcast as they ought to have been. Something entirely ungodly flickered at the edge of Father Silco’s mouth as he continued on, holding your immobilized gaze. 

“Clarify the eyes of our minds that we may see what is pleasing to thee and conducive to our salvation. After the dark perils of this life let us be worthy to reach the eternal light.”  His eye closed once more and again he made the sign of the cross over the box as he finished, “Through thee, Jesus Christ, Savior of the world, who in perfect Trinity livest and reignest, God, for ever and ever. Amen.”

His hands lowered, one coming to settle over the glass edge of the candle he’d set to one side, and he considered you as you crossed yourself hastily and reached forward to gather the box back up again.  He stopped you lifting it with a touch of the fingertips to its lid.

“When you are through with these, perhaps you’d come back here?”  Couched so carefully as a question, yet all you could hear was the quiet order in it.  Come back here.  Your head was nodding before he even finished speaking and the thin, dark brow not covered by his eyepatch quirked slightly.

“Yes, Father.” Your correction of yourself came nearly automatically.

Another little humming assent and with a slow blink he removed the touch that had stopped you lifting the box, resuming his seat.  You hoped he’d resume his work as well, but instead he sat there, watching you go, fingertips drumming thoughtfully upon the little glass votive.

You took your time with the candles, mostly because your hands were shaking and the very last thing you wanted to do was drop one of the blessed things and have it shatter across the church floor.  But also, to give you time to scrape yourself together, collect calm and poise.  It was no good, heart hammering anticipation equal parts nervousness and excitement.  The part of yourself that had wanted so badly to keep up this little charade of wishing to avoid him had succumbed without so much as a whimper.

Again thoughts drifted back to Sunday.  To the stinging warmth of skin under his hand, to how he’d teased you to a sodden mess without once slipping fingers beneath the barrier of cotton that had separated you.  To how he’d left you wanting and writhing and nearly in tears.  A perfect act of contrition, indeed.

It was a struggle not to let yourself wonder what next punishment he could possibly have in store for you.

Spent votives replaced with fresh ones, and the box filled with the clatter of the empty candleholders, you made your way back to his office.  Dropping the detritus of other people’s prayers off in the dumpster out back could wait.  You had your own worship to attend to.  

Father Silco’s desk was far less littered with papers when you returned, open books stacked neatly to one side now and everything else put away save for the book he was still writing in.  And that little candle he’d taken.  His dark head didn’t even lift as you set the softly clattering box down upon the settee against the wall.

“Office hours are over.”  He intoned flatly as you wiped palms nervously over the skirt of the dress covering your thighs.  

It froze you, cold like ice water suddenly filling the pit of your belly.  Had he just dismissed you after ordering you to return?  

“...Father?”  It came out a strangled little question and you almost hated how needy the note of your voice made that singular word.

He glanced up and you realized with a start that he’d removed that eyepatch, the hellish orange-red fire of his darkened eye a constant little shock every single time.  Ruined eye and teal flicked from you to the door and back again as if in blatant explanation.

“Lock the door.”  He elaborated.

It should not have been a matter of pride that you managed to turn and do his bidding without falling all over yourself or scrambling in an embarrassing rush of eagerness, and yet.  Far more collected than you felt within, you managed to push the door shut soundlessly and throw the latch, pausing for a moment with your back to him, safely sheltered in the little alcove of the doorway, to breathe through the easing of that sudden cold panic that had surfaced at your earlier misunderstanding.

When you returned to him he’d shut his notebook and set it aside atop the others, and reached to slide that pilfered votive candle before himself as he watched you sidle up to his desk.  Watched you stop, smooth the skirt of your dress only to fist it again in fitful hands, watched the tight little press of thighs as he drew out the silence.

“Do you know what these are called?”  He asked, nudging the little candle forward with the press of one elegant fingertip before rising from his seat.

“Devotionaries.”  You answered, and watched him cross to the wall to the right of you, to a tall coat stand that stood near the door to his quarters.  

“Very good.”  

A child could have answered that question, but it did not stop the little smile of pleasure that tugged at the corners of your mouth.  His praise as euphoric as a drug and twice as addictive, even for the smallest of successes.

Your mouth went dry however, as he turned profile to you, tugged a button or two open upon the throat of his cassock, and then turned his back to undo the rest before shrugging out of the long, dark cloth to hang it upon the coat stand.  The black fabric fell in a long and shapeless mass without him, hem puddling ever so slightly on the floor.  

It put you in mind of Peter Pan hanging up his shadow, or it would have done, had you not been so preoccupied with the shape of him divested of the dark habit.  Of that petulant posture and taut lovely lines, proud set of shoulders and careless, dangerous beauty in how he moved.  It was patently unfair that a man sporting licks of sliver at his temples and etched crows feet at the outset edges of his eye should have the lithe shape of youth the way he did.  

Devoid of the cassock, he was left instead in the black roman-collared linen shirt and dark, sharply pleated trousers he wore beneath. 

He turned back to you and came wandering back toward the desk, unbuttoning the cuffs at his wrists.

“Do you have a lighter?”  The question was so casual it caught you off guard and you had to shake your head, tugging at the pocketless skirt of your dress on either side of thighs by way of explanation.  

His mouth twisted the merest fraction of a smile as he tucked the cuff of one of his sleeves back, began rolling it neatly toward his elbow.  Lean hips turned a fraction as he stepped closer.

“Left pocket.”  He instructed, helpfully.

Hesitation grasped you but a moment before you inched forward, stepped into his space and paused.  Glancing upward, you found his attention fixed upon meticulously still folding his sleeves back, crisp turn by turn.  The focus of those mismatched eyes not even flickering to you, to how every fine hair upon your bare arms stood on end like they were aching toward him, toward that magnetic draw of snapping static thrumming in the air between you both.

Easing half behind him, you reached for the little gap of the pocket and slowly slid fingers into the warmth of its silken confines.  Over the bone of his hip and down, wrist deep until you hit the bottom of the pocket and touched the smooth, rectangular shape of the lighter within.  Metal heated to body temperature from where it nestled.  

Fingers curled around it before you stopped.  Let it go, and moved just a little closer, pressed fingers flat to that join between hip and thigh his pocket lay against.  Pushed the delve of that pocket just a little deeper and felt his stomach tense beneath your fingertips as your cheek brushed the outside of his upper arm.

“The lighter, lamb.  If you please.”  His tone was darkly amused at least, though if you kept pushing your luck it would be at your own cost.  That much was clear.

You scooped up the lighter once more, but withdrew your hand slow, knuckles grazing softly along the cut of muscle you could feel running from his hip inward and down.  Air felt unwelcomely cold against your skin once you pulled your hand free, and before you could step back, he moved away for you.  Walked away to resume his seat behind the desk as he finished doing up his other cuff to just below his right elbow.

A small push of his foot made space between the seat and the desk, and you only needed the flick of his eyes from you to the room he’d made to set you in motion to come and stand before him, his lighter clenched tight in your closed fist, unwilling to relinquish the little bit of his heat you held in your palm.

Gazing up at you, his attention licked over the details of your dress, your posture, your hesitant composure, as he tugged at the give of trousers a little at the bend of thigh and hip and settled himself more comfortably.

“You weren’t here yesterday.”  He observed as he relaxed back against the tall chair, a flicker of a blink over that oceanic eye.  You held your tongue and his gaze fell to the candle upon the desk just beside where you stood, and you wondered if your absence had made him angry, filled him with regret, or perhaps just left him lonesome.  You wished there was a way to tell, any little crack in that stoic mask of scarred features and sharpness to let the truth of what he was thinking seep out.  Nothing there though but that calculating, penetrating gaze and a subtle shrug of broad, lean shoulders,  “I suppose we might make up for lost time, then.  Contrition may be an important facet of faith, but so is devotion.”

He reached forward to scoop into fingers the loose end of the bow that tied the wrap of your dress shut beside your waist.  His good eye narrowed, the fine lines of crowsfoot deepening.  He’d seen that dress before, yes– the same one you’d worn to catch him by surprise in the confessional.  

You allowed yourself the most innocent little smile you could manage when those mismatched eyes flicked sharply to your face, and willed breath to stay even, slow, no matter how skin had begun to sing his name in soft coursing waves of prickling goosebumps.

“I don’t suppose you have your rosary?”  He asked archly, letting the ribbon of the bow drop from his open hand as he sat back once more.

He’d every right to ask it of you so dryly, given your lack of pockets.  And you had every right to feel as smug as you did when you lifted a hand, reached into the low, criss-crossed neckline of your dress and drew out the strand of little purple beads from the nestle of your bra.  

The war between shock, dark delight, the struggle to keep his poker face, and perhaps even a hint of righteous outrage that overtook the sharply handsome ruin of his features was nothing short of spectacular.  You’d replay it, over and over again at night.  Reveling in how well you toppled the high and mighty cold ivory pillar he so often perched upon.

Out and out you drew the beads until the little cross popped free and the rosary hung, swinging, upon your forefinger.

His hand, resting upon his knee, tightened, fingers twitching slightly, before it stilled, then lifted, palm open in demand.

You dropped that little holy object into his hand and watched his fist close around it, knowing full well he now held a little piece of your heat as surely as you held his within your other hand.  There was a slight softening to the creases where thin brows met over that sharp nose that told you he felt it, too.

“Good girl.”  He murmured, and the flush that crept up to warm your ears was nearly as delicious as the thrill that both chased up your spine and tugged at the backs of your knees to fold, to kneel.  You rested the heel of your palm upon the desk behind you and let it take your weight so that you did not cave.

By the time he turned his face back up to you he’d mastered his expression once more, beatific calm singed at its hard edges.

“Turn around,”  He instructed, making the simple order sound heavy, dangerous.  Bringing thighs together from their slight sprawl, he patted the top of one, “Have a seat.”

Heart thudded hard in your ears as you did as you were bade, turning to sink onto his lap carefully, perched upon his knees.  He sucked chipped teeth softly at it.

“Have a seat,”  That grit velvet voice scolded gently from behind you as both his hands curled about your waist and urged you backward, until you sat comfortably fully upon him, back fitted to his front.  

A hand upon your hip skimmed over stomach and waist, back to the bow of your dress.

“Why do we say devotions?”  He asked, and you could feel the question purring through his chest against your back as he claimed the thick ribbon of the bow and tugged.  The knot gave with no resistance, and the part of it he held served nicely to pull the cross of your dress open, just enough to part the skirt of it and leave you bare from stomach to thighs.  

The shudder that overtook you was sweet and slow, wringing from core to limbs, leaving a little shivering tingle rising over scalp and curling toes, that familiar little throbbing ache back with a hot and hungry vengeance.  Hips shifted in your seat as his fingertips ghosted skin to part fabric and push it aside, leaving your lower half bare save for the dark, smooth satin of underwear in the same shade of inky black as his habit.

“To remember the dead?”  You chanced, feeling halfway there yourself, pulse racing erratically.

“Sometimes,” He agreed, and you swore you felt the whisper of scarred lips at your neck.  Certainly felt the wash of warm breath plume over skin, “More generally devotions are an act of prayer or private worship.  Remembrance is one act, as are service, reflection, beseeching, prostration… your rosary, for example, is considered a devotion.”

His hands slid along your arms, touch warm, bringing your hands together to press in prayer before he began to wind the beaded strings around your wrists again to bind them together.

“I thought that was a penance.”  You exhaled in a shuddering little rasp.

“It can be, but not today.”  The tip of his sharp nose drew a long, slow line against the rise of your spine, above the neckline of your dress between shoulder blades and to the base of your skull, “although that can be a devotion too.”

The heel of his foot caught the floor and pulled the seat with you both in it forward towards his desk, so that he could reach around you and lift the candle from where it sat before pushing you both back again.  He held the votive before you.

“Light it,” he asked, free arm curling about you, fingers trailing the soft of your stomach from navel on down, “I owe you a devotion, lamb.”

Fingers bound in prayer fumbled with the thick golden rectangle of the lighter as you struggled not to simply sink back against him with a little shiver and beg that he stroke that little path across vulnerable skin once more.  A flick of your thumb sent the hinged lid open and the circular little flint struck on the second attempt, hot flame bursting to life.  Silco turned the candle so that you could light it and then pulled it away as you flicked the lighter shut and slipped it back between folded hands.

“Do you know the devotional prayer?” He asked, hand holding the candle coming to settle upon an armrest as his lap shifted beneath you, lean legs pressing together beneath your own and lifting before spreading wide, the hook of his knees beneath your thighs opening them in an indecent slow splay.  

It set you writhing; the kissing chill of the air of the room contrasting sharply with the heat of him beneath you, so very bare, bound in his lap, spread open like an invitation.  The door was locked, yes, you’d made sure of it but what if you were wrong?  What if someone had a key?  There’d be no explanation for the position you found yourself in, no way to hide.

The thrill of that little licking fear warred with the light caress of his free hand as it curled over the top of one thigh and smoothed toward your knee, only to hook it better in its drape over his own before it began the slow teasing, lazy circles that drew it back toward the little throbbing want hidden beneath the black satin gusset of thin panties.

“Bare legs.”  He murmured, and you gave another little squirm, folded hands pressing together tighter.  You’d not worn what you were coming to suspect was his favorite item of your clothing because you’d not expected to see him, and also to spite him if you did.  The move seemed to have backfired spectacularly.  When you had no excuse or answer, Father Silco simply carried on, a note of pleased amusement in his tone, “The prayer?”

“N-no.  That is, no I don’t know it.”

“Hmn.”  His little hum of disapproval at the gaps still existing in your liturgical knowledge colored your cheeks, and you could only hope that from his position he could not see the frustration that joined the embarrassment upon your face.  

You watched him lift the candle slowly from where he’d held it at your side, bring it to hover over your open lap.  His hand upon your thigh stilled its toying little strokes and instead closed in a taut grip of your leg, soft skin denting tenderly beneath his fingers.

“That’s alright,” he reassured you quietly, and you could hear the dark little smile in it, “This is my devotion anyhow.”

The flickering little candle he held hovering before you began to tilt, turn, and the inward gasp of breath caught in your throat as the clear melted wax welled at the lip of the red glass before spilling over, heat spattering in a little drip against the sensitive skin of your knee.  

He paused, and you could feel him shift under your restless hips, feel the little roll of his own and the way his breath strained ever so slightly for just a moment.

“Does that hurt?”  Low and velvet that voice mumbled up against the skin behind the fold of your ear and again he tipped a little burning drop of wax onto waiting skin.  

Your knee jumped the barest fraction, reflexive little jerk at the soft scalding that faded quickly into gentle warmth, and you nodded, folded hands pressing the knuckles of forefingers tight to your lips.

“A little.”  You breathed, raggedly.

“Enough to stop?”  He pressed, and the soft moan of a sigh that broke from you when the warmth of his mouth touched to the hard thrum of your pulse answered well enough for you before your shattered little ‘no’ eked out.

His fingers had strayed far up the leg they’d been casually toying across, toward the heat that he had to feel absolutely radiating from the apex of thighs.  One long forefinger drew a tracing line around the triangle of slippery black satin, up both edges and across your lower stomach slowly.

Air seized in your throat as his fingertips plucked at the smooth waistband.

“Lord, may this candle which I light illuminate all my difficulties and decisions.”  Silco began, waiting to feel the tension stringing through you begin to ease before he spilled another dollop of wax, and then a second and third a bit further up each time.  The soft sting of it had you writhing, the little shock of burning heat fading to a warm tickle as the wax rolled down in heavy drips, cooling against your skin.

Behind you, Silco’s breath caught in a little huff once more, a soft whistle between clenched chipped teeth on the inhale.

“May this candle be a fire,”  He continued after a beat, spreading the warm little shocks and sudden pinching stings to the tender inner thigh of your other leg, “that burns away all my pride, selfishness…” 

Writhing and shifting, you struggled in his lap, not wanting to escape yet fighting the way every fibre of you recoiled from the spattering searing sting of the wax in a reflexive, uncontrollable urge.  Several of these squirming jerks of your hips and the hand teasing at the edge of your panties caught suddenly in a taut cup between your legs as you felt Silco’s own hips give a hard little shove upward.  

Stilling breathlessly, he kept you waiting a long moment while he seemed to struggle to master himself, the fingers cupping you picking up an almost absent little up and down stroke over the satin covering the shape of your sex, unerringly finding the cleft between lips.  

Cooling wax flexed and tugged at skin as you tried to spread a bit further for him, to press into his touch, scared if you were to beg for more with words that it might stop the tease entirely, as it had the last time he’d had his hand between your thighs.  God, how he’d tormented you, brought you so terribly close… Hips rolled hard and slow against him in retaliation as you relived your humiliation.

As if reading your mind, his touch skimmed higher, and fingertips tucked themselves beneath the satin confines of the upper edge of panties, teasing little strokes at skin that tensed and trembled beneath his touch before they began to slip lower, “and all my other sins.” 

Wax was flowing freely, dripping to punctuate each word, taking his sweet time as you wriggled and bucked in his lap, swallowing little gasps and hisses as your skin sang.

At least one shift of your hips must have caught him just right because for a moment you could hear him choke on his words, feel him tense beneath you again.  Determined to give as good as you got you did it again and felt the rush of his breath fan against your neck.

His free hand tensed where it lay, fingertips so tremulously close to the cleft of lips, and delved to catch a second taut grip over the shape of your bare sex.  The sudden hard grasp of naked contact had you spiraling, arching hard back against him.  He was hard beneath you, you could feel it, and caught between his hand and that hint of hardness digging into the soft of your bottom you rocked slowly, only to be rewarded with a long pour of hot wax up your thigh that turned the gentle motion of hips to a wild little ride.

“May this candle be a flame,” He continued, and the broken rasp of his voice was nearly, nearly as sweet as the single slow caress of his finger that found the slick part of your folds and pressed between slippery skin to drag upward.  Unerringly found the proud, eager little swell of your clit and sent your lower back into a hard strung arch with one little nudge, “that warms my heart and incites me to love.”  He concluded, raggedly, and you swore you felt the graze of chipped teeth scrape over your shoulder.

Riding the light touch of his fingertip and behind you, the hard press of his cock through his pants and your open dress, you sprawled redolently back against him, let your neck find a home in a comfortable arch over his shoulder before turning your head, nestling forehead in the hollow of his throat before shifting to tuck a begging little kiss to the sharp of his jaw.

“Amen.”  You finished for him, and felt the sting of wax hit your hip and then your stomach that made you hiss and buck hips once more.  Your reward a groan of breath from him and another lingering stroke of his fingertips through soaked folds to flick caressingly at the sweet throbbing ache of your clit.

How long, how many bitter nights now had you wished for this, how many feverish and filthy dreams had you endured, just longing to feel his bare touch?  It had become so much worse after your last meeting, all that sharp longing redoubled after his heartless punishing teasing.

No more, no more thin cotton or sheer lace or anything at all between his touch and you.  The heat of his hand was nothing to the splashes of searing wax you’d endured, yet it was so much sweeter.  That little flicking touch came ghosting over the sensitive little nub of your clit and you writhed unashamedly, trying every which way to force his touch more, closer, deeper.

The prayer was far too short for your liking.  What good were hollow words meant to convey something as strong and fervent an ideal as devotion if they were over in mere minutes?  Grumbling a little whinging protest you pushed back against him with a hard roll of hips.

“Father…” You objected, voice cracked with pleading.

“Who?”  The grit dark velvet of his voice asked at your ear, delighted and tormented as the devil himself.

“Daddy.”  The word was out before you could even think it, like it teetered perpetually on the edge of your teeth ever since the first time he prised it out of you,  “P-please, please, daddy…”

The sharp blade of his nose shoved hard behind your ear, his ragged breathing a hushed tickling whuffle from narrow nostrils, and any further pleading you were on the verge of was stifled with a squealed little gasp as he spread the sodden petals of your pussy with the splay of three fingers, and the center one of those long, elegant digits found its way down between slicking folds, delving deep into the welcoming clenching grip of your want… only to withdraw his entire hand in a long, slow drag, tracing a line of accusatory wet all the way up to the dip of your navel.

It left you sobbing tearlessly, gasping and gulping and lifting hips in a wordless eagerness that only earned you another splattering of scalding wax across the strain of thighs.

Father Silco ignored your plight as steadfastly as any man of the cloth could ignore temptation, and began a new prayer.

“Earnestly I seek you;

I thirst for you,

    my whole being longs for you,

in a dry and parched land

    where there is no water.”

The psalm he recited washed over you like a slow caress while you squirmed fitfully on his lap and watched his hand lift, middle finger glossed to its base with your wet.  Vanishing in your periphery, the sound of him sucking that long digit thoughtfully clean acted perfect punctuation to the sacrilege of his misappropriated prayer.  

Guilt spiced the edge of half-denied pleasure and soft pain.  As his hand slid back down your skin and toward the clenching, shivering yearning of your core, you’d never felt so debased, so deeply wicked and wrong.  Burning wax hit your thigh once more in heavy, rolling drops and you arched, straining, hissing between clenched teeth; become more serpent in the garden of Eden than Eve.

“I have seen you in the sanctuary

    and beheld your power and your glory.

Because your love is better than life,

    my lips will glorify you.”

He teased the upper edge of soaked panties once more, tracing the pucker of their hem, slipping fingertips just beneath them, savoring the softness of skin and the way the taut of your stomach quivered beneath his touch.  Desire welled like a dark stone filling your throat, heart coated in the sticky sap of filthy blasphemous sin as his scarred mouth tickled at the hook of your jaw and tender line of your throat.  This was wrong, so wrong, so deliciously perfectly throbbingly wrong.

Heat flooded your face as you crushed the press of prayer folded hands to your forehead, eyes shut tight against the rushing high of mortifying lust.  Forbidden, taboo, illicit; whatever you wanted to call that gut-deep and undisputed knowledge that this was unforgivably wrong, it excited you in a way nothing else ever had.

He could see it in you, you knew he could.  He saw how horrible your deepest darkest thoughts could be and he just kept dragging them out into the light, smiling as he let you dirty yourself with the honesty of your predilections.  

The line of his arm tightened against your side as he reached to slip fingers back into your heat, another lazy circling tease to against clit that left you wrung out and breathless before he delved back inside of you and let you ride the slow pumping slide of one long finger.

“I will praise you as long as I live,

    and in your name I will lift up my hands.

 I will be fully satisfied as with the richest of foods;

    with singing lips my mouth will praise you.”

Your head rocked as he butted his forehead gently to your temple, words a warm, seeping whisper at your cheek, that stern, gravel worn seduction of his voice undoing you, taking you apart at the seams until you felt sure you’d fall open there in his lap like a ragdoll with the sin-like sawdust spilled out.

Inside of you, he was inside of you- and just that knowledge, just the wretchedly wonderful wrongness of it made the whole of you jerk in a taut little shiver of surrender.  That slender artful finger kept up its torment like he had no notion of your mortal struggle; curling, thrusting, buried deep.  It had you in a tailspin, hips working devoid of conscious thought, all sensation dialed down to the hard, hot, fluttering building to a crescendo within.  Greed, gluttony, lust… were they called deadly sins because you felt fit to die if you did not satisfy each one right this moment?  

The stinging pain of the wax he kept dripping in erratic little patterns jerked you from the sinking, seeping pit of ecstatic bliss over and over again, a cruel and wonderful see-saw that kept you gripping white-knuckled on the sharp edge of insensible pleasure.

“On my bed I remember you;

    I think of you through the watches of the night.

Because you are my help,

    I sing in the shadow of your wings.

I cling to you;

    your right hand upholds me.”

His right hand was all that stood between you and heaven; the grinding press of the heel of his palm to the throb of your clit, the smooth slow fucking his single finger was giving you, all of it an overwhelming agony of delight but just shy of what you needed to crest the rising wave of tense bliss he was intent on drowning you with.

Head tossed back, you groaned that little, broken, sordid version of his holy title once more, hands bound at the wrists with your rosary clenched in fervent prayer to your chest that he’d let you come, please God just let you come... 

And with that one word, beneath you Father Silco went suddenly still and rigid, something like a strangled gasp caught in his throat as hips pinned under your writhing ones jerked their own stilted thrust upward… and held for a long and breathless moment before you felt him sag with a rushing, panting release.  His hand cupped to you had gone quite still, and you could feel the ragged rise and fall of his chest against your back.

Had he… had he just…?  You shifted hips experimentally and heard him hiss a wordless scolding as his hand gripped the shape of your pussy hard.  Stilling obediently, you had to struggle not to smile sinful bliss.  

Just a little touch of you combined with the friction of your hips working in his lap and he’d cum those dark, well tailored pants of his.

In spite of being robbed of your own relief, for the moment you felt nothing but powerful, smug and heady with the evidence of how your infatuation was not one-sided, just as you had in the confessional, and it made you foolishly proud.

Proud, right up to the point when he withdrew his finger from within you and in the space of a half second, just before your mouth could open in complaint, caught a little pinch of your clit between thumb and middle finger only to assault that overstimulated cluster of slick nerves with his forefinger in such lashing that you pitched clean into the waiting arms of your release.  

It was hard and fast, unmerciful, the lovely strain nearly ruined by how long he’d kept you waiting and how hard he’d teased you up to it.  

“Amen.”  He was purring in your ear, voice near drowned out by the hard thrumming pound of blood rushing in your brain.  Thighs shivered in their hook over top of his own, gone weak as every ounce of tension bled out of you, leaving you lolling, warmly pliant and sighing devoutness far more fervent than any stale saint could have possibly understood. 

There was a little click of glass as he set the remains of the candle back upon his desk and turned your face toward himself where your head lay back upon his shoulder.  Fingers traced the curve of your cheek, and when he licked at the open part of your lips the faint taste of yourself mingled with him lingered.  Bless me father, for I have sinned.  

Profane and perfect, you felt his smile stretch against your mouth.  

“Do you doubt my devotion, lamb?”  He asked quietly, hands smoothing away the cooled and peeling wax in long strokes that left gently welted and red splotched skin stinging sweetly.  

Your head shook infinitesimally, not wanting to break the scant contact of his mouth to your own.

“Do you pray for me, Father?”  The urge to know felt crushing, the weight of guilt creeping in to gnaw at the edges of sordid bliss.

“Oh lamb.  You’re the only thing I pray for anymore.”

[adamwatchesmovies]

Knives Out (2019)

Knowing the way Knives Out ends doesn’t diminish its enjoyment one bit. This is a wonderfully original whodunnit that breaks the rules and comes up with all sorts of new tricks - the kind you can’t believe no one has thought of before. It’s an instant favorite.

The morning after his 85th birthday, wealthy crime novelist Harlan Thrombey (Christopher Plummer) is found dead of a suicide. As the police go through the usual procedures, everything seems cut and dry except for one detail: Benoit Blanc (Daniel Craig). He’s been hired anonymously to investigate. How could whoever slipped him that fat envelope of money in the middle of the night know Thrombey would die… unless they knew something the police don’t?

The genius of Knives Out is that we’re told very early what happened to Harlan Thrombey. Harlan’s nurse, Marta Cabrera (Ana de Armas) mixed up his medications. He convinced her to walk away while he killed himself so no one would find out about the fatal mistake she’d made. Despite this, it takes no time for you to bond with Marta. Firstly, because she’s a good person who simply made a mistake. Secondly, because Benoit Blanc’s interrogation allows us to meet the members of the Thrombey family. Each of these characters is so unique and so memorable that a film with all of them together can only be categorized as a delight. It doesn’t matter that you already know “the ending”. You’re just having a great time (you’re not the only one; the performers are clearly having a lot of fun) sitting down and watching these people.

Then, this funny thing happens. You spend enough time with Linda Drysdale (Jamie Lee Curtis), her bumbling husband Richard (Don Johnson), their son Hugh (Chris Evans), Harlan’s son Walt (Michael Shannon), his wife Donna (Riki Lindhome), their son Jacob (Jaeden Martell), and Harlan’s daughter-in-law, Joni (Toni Collette) to think something might not be quite what it seems. Come to think of it, we know what happened to Harlan, but not who hired Benoit Blanc, so we really don't know after all. It gets to the point where you even suspect people who couldn’t have possibly had anything to do with Harlan’s death, like his housekeeper Fran (Edi Patterson), his elderly mother Wanetta (K Callan) or his gentle granddaughter Meg (Katherine Langford). There’s something amiss. You know Marta caused Harlan to kill himself but there’s more to this story. You know it. Before you think maybe the accident wasn’t an accident at all, let me stop you because writer/director Rian Johnson gives her one of the best quirks you could in a movie like this: the inability to lie. Now you see how complex a situation this is. If Benoit asks her directly if she contributed to Harlan’s death, she has to tell him. She’ll lose everything. Worse, the movie will end and we won’t get to find out what the deal is with the children and grandchildren.

The worst part of Knives Out is that these characters are not going to show up in a sequel. Benoit Blanc will but this film is filled with all of these great, memorable people. Some are slimy from the get-go, others are not what they seem at first. I had seen the film before. I knew the twists but it didn’t matter. I enjoyed seeing these people again and watching the hints pay off. Knives Out is a terrific screenplay and loads of fun. (December 31, 2022)

[missnight0wl]

Hii Marta 👋👋👋

First off, happy (very) belated birthday! I hope you're resting up and you're getting better :)

Then, I just wanted to ask if you're caught up on the latest HPHM chapter... I don't like where they're going with this, and it feels really cheap. The only way they could save this is, in my opinion, by showing how the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, but I really don't think that's gonna happen. What are your thoughts about it?

Either way, I hope you have a nice rest of your day, and stay well ^-^

Well, first of all, thank you so much! 💖 I really appreciate it! I hope you're doing well, too!

As for HPHM, I’m actually not caught up. I still haven’t started Chapter 9, and to be completely honest, I don’t feel the need to catch up. I don’t want to say I’m quitting the game and I’m actually still opening the app pretty much every day just to collect my energy, but at the same, it’s just... eh. The whole “Beyond Hogwarts” often feels like the battle with R from the end of Y7: the characters seem to believe that whatever they’re doing makes sense, but it really doesn’t. Also, there’s basically nothing left in the game anymore from the things that made me love it all those years ago.

On top of all of that, I’m just not having the best time of my life – as you know. It’s nothing bad in particular, really, it’s just… life, I guess. And the main thing is that I just have a hard time finding motivation, so the quality of HPHM dropping down so much doesn’t help.

(Also, I just want to mention in this place: dear Anon who sent me the ask about Flump, if you see it, I swear I’m not ignoring you. I just have a lot to say about this character, and as I mentioned, I have no willpower to write my thoughts down. It’s gonna be a long rant, though. In short: I fucking hate Flump.)

Now, as for the events from the recent chapter you’re referring to… I assume it’s about Jacob and Olivia? Please, correct me if it’s something else because I didn’t check the whole chapter, but if that’s what we’re talking about: I absolutely hate everything about it. EVERYTHING. It actually might be a deal breaker for me. Like, I still don’t want to say “I quit”, but after I learnt about it, my motivation to come back dropped from low to barely existing. I’m still super bitter about that “too dry chicken”, and it’s beyond me how anyone could think it’s a good way to introduce this plot to the story. You know how it could’ve gone? Olivia could’ve said something like: “I was thinking the whole day about messing up the chicken yesterday, EVEN THOUGH JACOB SAID IT WAS FINE”. But no, the writers for once decided to be consistent about something and portrayed Fugly Slut as an absolute jerk.

I think that the only way to save this is to kill Fugly Slut. Olivia deserves so much better. And of course we’re simply ignoring Olivia’s past feelings for Duncan.

[changingplumbob]

Rotation 8 Wrap-up

3 promotions: Calista, Marta, Adam

6 skills maxed: Calista 1, Aaron 2, Keira 1, Rahul 1, Bob 1

4 new house builds: York, Villareal, Pancakes, Knightstone

3 renovations: New Goth 3rd floor, Moonwood Mill Library, Reece and Samir's Dusty Murder Shack

1 recreation centre: Tartosa

1 set build: Police station

10 birthdays: Deanna, Paris, Milton, Alfred, Rillian, Onyx, Bob, Reece, Silas, Carson (I don't think I've ever had so many before)

1 birth: Viola

2 new pets: Turtle, Seven

York Household, Chapter 8

Calista got promoted and is now a Captain in the military. Aaron worked hard and maxed a couple of skills. Deanna aged up to YA and was awarded valedictorian for her graduation. She dabbled with robotics and asked her girlfriend to move in. Kelly hosted a gold level slumber party and became bracelet BFFs with Anya.

2. New Goth Household, Chapter 3

Hamlet aged up from a kitten to a cat, he and fellow cat Gertrude became companions with James. James looked after Milton who aged up to a child while Alexander and Keira worked on finishing university. Joey started in the tech guru career and woohoo'd two more women. Finally the reappearance of Marta's ex Liam almost resulted in arrest, but he couldn't keep Keira from proposing to Marta.

3. Chopra Household, Chapter 5

Cassandra got a work rival but pregnancy and the near constant need to express milk has pushed him to the back of her mind. Rahul adopted a mini goat and mini sheep and discovered he's a perfectionist. Savannah and Mercedes were busy plotting against new baby Viola who is a cautious infant.

4. Villareal Household, Chapter 5

The household moved to a new home. Devin won a starlight accolade for her acting, discovered she was self-assured and became a 4-star celebrity. Luna mostly worked from home, bonding with the twins. Alfred showed me infants can push plates and Rilian blew a million raspberries before they became toddlers.

5. Pancakes Household, Chapter 8

We found our Pancakes in Brindleton Bay. Bob aged up to an adult amid working at his food stall and chef job to become a level 2 celebrity. Eliza completed 3 out of 4 promotion requirements, and the two agreed to try for a baby once Fergus is a teen. Onyx had their birthday, joined the cheer squad and expressed the wish to have a horse. Fergus bonded with his friends.

6. Woods Household, Chapter 1

In Moonwood Mill Samir got to work trying to figure out what happened to his parents. Following an encounter in the tunnels it became clear they were killed by a werewolf, but he doesn't know why yet. Being bit he has embraced becoming a werewolf. His boyfriend Reece mainly coped with helping Samir through the chaos but did fit in a birthday and some zen time before he commits to university.

7. Knightstone Household, Chapter 8

Adam and Suzanna traveled to Sixam only to find it devoid of aliens like them. The on earth aliens decided to move out to Chestnut Ridge, an area much friendlier to their kind. Silas aged up to a music loving kid and Pollock hit many milestones as he approaches toddlerhood. Adam was promoted to a syndicated superstar.

8. Foster Household, Chapter 8

Carson aged to a teen which turned out to be more difficult than anticipated. Between discovering he has asthma and getting a detention while sitting in class, he has developed OCD. Kayleigh completed two new masterpiece paintings and started to go grey. Harvey spent time with his fishing club and caught a couple of new ones for his collection.

9. Nishidake Household, Chapter 5

Clover was spayed meaning no chance of puppies. Charlie invited her parents around to give them a break from managing Carson and reached level 5 rock climbing. Kaori talked to the mayor and his wife about purchasing a neighborhood park. This led to her seeing Kiyoshi again, who says he will buy the park and gift it to her.

I think I'm allowed to say I'm proud of keeping up with the writing despite some ick bugs and am happy for all the stories and sims I see on simblr that keep my imagination running. Thanks for tuning in everyone, adieu Rotation 8! Here's to Rotation 9!

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Girls' Trip Fairy Tale Ending--Chapter 5 of 6

Summary:  This is my combined birthday gift for Joni (  @jrob64​  ), Marta ( @snowbellewells ) and Krystal ( @kmomof4 ).  Happy birthday ladies! Four fandom friends are nearing the end of their annual girls’ trip when they’re suddenly visited by Isaac, the author before Henry.  He gives them an each a gift–an opportunity to jump into any scene in the storybook they want and fix it.  Large focus on CS, although other characters and relationships will be explored.  A big shoutout to @hollyethecurious​ and @winterbaby89 for betaing!

Word Count: 2420

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew @annaamelll @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian  @gillie  @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4  @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch  @allyourdarlingswans  @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @therooksshiningknight, @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree  @jrob64  @anmylica   @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @elfiola

Other chapters:  (1) (2) (3) (4)

Can also be found on: (ao3) (ff.net)

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Jen didn’t know what she expected transportation via storybook to be like, but she was delighted to discover it was something like entering a snowglobe.  Snowflakes swirled around her, and she watched with delight as they landed on her arms, her shoulders, the ends of her hair.  Each one was different, but each was thoroughly exquisite in its own way.  She knew that most people didn’t get her love of winter and snow but it was beautiful and fascinating, and she would go on loving it despite what anyone else might say.

So engrossed was Jen in the snow swirling around her, that she barely noticed moving from her place in the cabin until the air cleared and she found herself just inside the Charming’s flat.  Her eyes fell first on the tremendous, festively decorated Christmas tree in the sitting area and then the simpler evergreen wreath hanging on the inside of the door.

So it was Christmastime in her version of events?  Well, why not?  Wasn’t Christmas the time for magic?  And she would need some heavy duty, industrial strength magic to fix the mess Isaac had made of the latter part of season 6.

“So Hook….he killed my father?  Okay, that’s a little tough to process.” she heard David say from the kitchen area, and suddenly she knew just exactly where they were in the story.  She hung back for a moment, trying to figure out just the right time and the right way to intervene.

“I was hoping I didn’t have to tell you,” Emma said, sounding defeated from her perch on the breakfast bar.

“Where the hell is Hook anyway?” David asked, aggressively pacing the kitchen. “He didn’t have the guts to come tell me himself?”

If anything, Emma looked even more dejected. “There’s more.  Hook, he … he left town.”

“What?” David exclaimed, finally coming to a stop and staring at his daughter in disbelief. 

“We had a big fight about him hiding this, and I told him if he wasn’t ready to trust me that, that we shouldn’t talk for a while,” Emma said, “so I guess he wasn’t ready, because Leroy saw him on the docks, and he got on the Nautilus and just…sailed away.”

At this, Jen found herself shaking her head, hurrying forward to intervene.

“Emma,” she said gently, “are you sure?  Are you absolutely SURE that’s what happened?”

Emma looked up, anger and pain written all over her face.  She spread her hands wide.  “He’s not here, is he?  What am I supposed to think?”

“I know how hurt you are by all that happened,” Jen said, “but hasn’t he shown you yet that you don’t need to put up your walls to protect yourself from him?  Hasn’t he proven how much he loves you?”

“Not enough to keep from hiding things from me,” she muttered.

“Kind of like how you hid the truth about the shears and your destiny as savior from him?” Jen asked, being careful to keep any hint of accusation from her tone.

“That’s….that’s different!” Emma spluttered, jumping from the counter and striding purposely toward the coat rack.  “I’ve gotta get to the station. Look, whatever you or I or anyone else might think of him, the facts are the facts, and the fact is that Leroy saw him leave me.  End of discussion.”

As though to punctuate her sentence, she stepped out the door and slammed it behind her.  The Christmas wreath on the door fell to the floor with the violence of the action.  David moved forward to replace the decoration on its perch.

“You know I’m right, don’t you David?” Jen asked.  

He didn’t look at her, instead taking long moments to adjust the wreath just so on the door.  Finally he turned back to face her.  “She’s my daughter, Jen, and she’s hurting, and he’s the cause of it, whatever led to it.  My focus has to be on helping her heal”

“But if things aren’t exactly the way they look…if maybe this is the work of a villain or something,” Jen said, “wouldn’t the ideal way to help her be to figure out the truth?  And you know Killian.  You know how much he loves Emma.  Doesn’t he deserve the benefit of the doubt?”

David frowned, and Jen could tell her words struck a chord in him.  “I suppose you’re right.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With another delightful swirl of snow, Jen found herself transported to the sheriff’s station where David and Emma were discussing digitizing files and the merits of busywork to help dull the pain. She decided to hang back in the shadows, watching to see how this scene played out.

“I’ve got just the thing to mend a broken heart,” Regina said happily, brushing snow off of her coat as she breezed into the station and held up a small piece of paper rolled into a scroll.

Emma eyed it warily. “Whatever spell that is, I don’t want it.  I’m seriously not in the mood for magic.”

“Who said anything about magic?” Regina said unfurling the scroll which was covered in so many images of the season, it looked like Christmas had thrown up all over it.  “It’s a two for one drink coupon for that new club, Aesop’s Tables.  Seems they’re having a big Christmas sale.  It’d be a shame to waste it!”

David stepped up, looking at the coupon and shaking his head. “Really?  You think half priced liquor is the way to go.”

“I certainly do,” Regina said.  “We need a ladies night out, me, Emma and Snow.  We go early enough, we can get back in time for Christmas eve with the family.”

Emma looked unimpressed at the suggestion.  “Remember she’s in a sleeping curse?  She’s at home. Asleep.”

“Well, she doesn’t have to be asleep,” Regina said with a meaningful look at David.

“Oh come on!  I just woke up!” he said.  Regina gave him a look, and he rolled his eyes.  “I guess she doesn’t have to be asleep.”

Emma got to her feet, clearly in no mood for any of this. “I can’t. I’m about to go on patrol, and shouldn’t you be trying to break that curse?”

Regina blew out an exasperated breath. “Well, I’m working on it, but I could use a break.  We all could.  I know you’re hurting, and I know you’re trying to hide it because, well, you’re Emma, but you can’t just run from this.”

Emma gave her a hard look.  “I didn’t run.  Hook ran, so, there’s nothing more to say.”  She placed the last file on the pile in front of her with rather more force than strictly necessary, and then headed toward the door.  It was abundantly clear that she was running from the conversation as much as she was heading out on rounds.

“You know,” David said speculatively as she walked out, “I’ve been thinking.”

Regina snorted, “a dangerous pastime.”

He glared at her and then went back to the topic at hand. “I’m not sure it’s true.  I’m not sure Hook really DID run,” he finished.

“Well he’s not here, is he?” she asked, gesturing around the office to make her point. “Seems your daughter has some reason to think he skipped town.”

“Leroy,” David said.

“I beg your pardon?” Regina said.

“Leroy’s her reason,” David said.  “He apparently saw Hook on the docks, told Emma something about Hook getting on the Nautilus and sailing away.”

Regina tutted derisively.  “Leroy?  Emma’s just going on the word of that gossip girl?”

David shrugged.  “You know how hard it is for Emma to trust, how closely she guards her heart.  She’s hurting, but you and I both know Hook.  That man isn’t capable of loving by half measures.  It doesn’t make sense that he’d decide he doesn’t trust her and just….cut his losses and skip town.”

Jen nodded in satisfaction.  That’s the David she knew, rather than the clueless one Isaac wrote, the one who was ready to believe the worst of Killian at the slightest provocation.

“I guess you have a point there,” Regina conceded, “and we do have a psychopath running around trying to separate Emma from all her sources of support.  I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe it’s time to give the pirate the benefit of the doubt.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

With another swirl of snow, Jen found herself in the sitting room of Emma’s house.  She smiled as she saw the tall Christmas tree in the corner, bedecked with lights and garland and all manner of  hook, swan, storybook and Disney character ornaments.

The smile slid from her face as she spied Emma and Henry sitting together at opposite ends of the sofa.  Henry played on his phone, earbuds in place while Emma slowly, gently placed Hook’s possessions in his chest. She hesitated as she reached Liam’s ring hanging from its chain.  She held it close, looking down at it, the tears coming to her eyes in spite of herself.

Beside her, Henry seemed to notice her distress.  He pulled the earbuds from his ears.  “Mom, you okay?”

Emma took a deep breath and decisively placed the ring in the trunk and closed the lid.  “Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered. “I have to be,” she added under her breath.  “Henry, can you take this out to the shed later?”

Henry nodded.  “Yeah, whatever you want.”

That was it?  That was all Henry had to say on the matter?  Clearly it was time for Jen to intervene again.

“Take a moment to think about this Emma, Henry,” Jen said.  “Look at what’s sitting before you.  Hook’s chest, filled with all his most prized possessions.  If he was going to leave you, why would he leave all of that behind?”

Jen saw a small glimmer of hope dawn in Emma’s eye, but just as quickly it disappeared.  “I don’t know, but I’ve already told you.  I have to face the facts.  Holding on to false hope only hurts worse.”

Beside her, Henry furled his brow.  “Jen’s got a point, mom,” he said, Jen nodded in satisfaction. Maybe the Truest Believer was ready to work his (metaphorical) magic once more.  “Killian spent two hundred years trying to avenge my grandma Milah.  Once he loves someone, he loves them forever.”

There was that tiny spark of hope in her eyes once more.  It lasted longer this time before it faded. “But sometimes love is not enough.  Seems that’s the case with Hook.”

“Mom, he literally went to hell for you,” Henry said.  “You two were proven True Love.  When Zeus wanted to send Killian to his ultimate reward–to the place he truly belonged–he sent him back to you.  You really think he gave all of that up over an argument?”

Emma took a moment to think this over and seemed to be on the verge of responding when there was a brisk knock on the door, and a moment later David and Regina strolled in.

“Regina…what the hell?” Emma asked, getting to her feet.

“Your Charming father and I have been talking,” Regina said, “and we’ve come to the conclusion that you’re being an idiot.”

“I’d like to point out for the record, that that is not  the conclusion I came to,” David said with an exasperated glare in the direction of his step-mother-in-law.  “I said that I thought your pain might be clouding your judgment.”

“Technicalities,” Regina said with a wave of the hand.

Emma rolled her eyes.  “As much as I’m enjoying the bickering at my expense,” she drawled, “is there a point to your visit?”

“We were thinking,” David said, stepping forward.  “How many times in this town has a villain screwed with things and made circumstances seem different than they are in order to despirit the heroes and further their plan?  How can we be sure Gideon didn’t, I don’t know, do something to make Killian leave?”

There was that hope in Emma’s eyes once more, and this time it stubbornly refused to fade.  “Do you really think that could be the case?” she asked.

“Of course!” Henry said, “and we know what Gideon’s trying to do!  He’s trying to separate Emma from all her sources of support before the final battle!  It would be just like him to get rid of Killian, her true love.”

“But…” Emma said, starting to protest once more, but far more weakly this time.

“Emma he’s your True Love, and that’s a special kind of magic,” David said, placing his hands on her arms.  “Don’t you at least owe him–and yourself–trying to figure out for sure?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Emma said, “but how?  Forget why he left.  We don’t even know where he went.”

Jen stepped up, looking at Regina.  “It’s Christmas time.  Surely there’s some sort of…I don’t know…enchanted Christmas ornament ro something that can help us out.”

“I don’t know about an ornament,” Regina said slowly, “but there is the legend of the Christmas wreath.”

“What legend is that, mom?” Henry asked.

“Well the evergreen wreath is a symbol of everlasting love, right?” Regina asked.  “You know, evergreens never shedding their green needles, the circle the symbol of that with no beginning or end, all of that?”

Emma shrugged.

“Well, apparently, at Christmastime, the wreath has a special, even greater magic,” Regina says.  “The magic of the season enhances its True Love properties, and, in short, if someone is True Love, it’s said they will be able to see their True Love in it, assuming they adorn it with something meaningful belonging to said True Love.”

“One problem,” Emma said.  “I don’t have a wreath.”

“But Grandma and Grandpa do!” Henry said excitedly.  “They made it together and it’s on their door!  That could work, couldn’t it?”

Regina groaned.  “Given how utterly sickening their True Love is, I’d say a wreath they lovingly made together might be the perfect option.”

“And as for something meaningful to Killian,” Emma said, reaching into the trunk and grasping Liam’s ring, “I’ve got the perfect thing.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” David asked with a broad smile.  “Let’s get back to the loft!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“I don’t see anything,” Emma said dejectedly several minutes later.

Regina had poofed them directly to the loft, and Emma had wasted no time in draping Liam’s ring over her parents’ wreath before staring into the center of it.

“You have to believe, Emma,” Regina said, “truly believe in the strength and everlasting nature of your love.  You need to put all doubts from your mind.”

Emma took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, and then looked back through the center of the wreath.  She gasped, hearing him before she saw him.

“Emma? Emma are you there? I didn’t mean to leave. I was on my way back to you and Gideon, he sent me away.”

Slowly the picture began to emerge from within the wreath.  Killian seemed to be in some exotic place, a place in the desert.  If Emma wasn’t mistaken, he was standing beside…was that Ariel?...and he was speaking into what looked like a seashell.

“Seems he’s trying to communicate via ‘shell’ phone,” David grinned. Regina groaned and Emma shushed them both, concentrating on what she was hearing from the wreath…or shell…or whatever the hell was happening.

“I would never leave you. Emma. He wanted me out of the way, and I love you. I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m trying to get home to you, and I won’t ever stop until I do.”

Tears of relief filled Emma’s eyes and spilled down over her cheeks. “Killian?” she answered.  

Through the wreath, she saw him start and look down in wonder at the shell in his hand.  “Emma?  You’re there?”

“I’m here,” she said tearfully.  “I hear you.  I love you too!”

“I’m trying desperately to get home to you,” he said.  “Christmas is tomorrow, and I couldn’t bear to spend it without you.  Do you have any suggestions?”

Emma looked around at Regina.  “Anything more to that wreath legend?” she asked.  “Can it, like, transport someone?”

“Well,” Regina said slowly, “I suppose it’s possible, if he could find a wreath of his own and something of yours to tether them together.  Maybe the wreath could bring him home.”

“Are you there, love?” Killian asked.

“He can’t hear you?” Emma asked Regina.  

She shrugged.  “Well he’s not my True Love.”

Emma rolled her eyes before telling Killian what Regina had just conveyed to her.  It was a matter of just a moment to get everything arranged.  As luck would have it, Ariel had, among her tremendous collection of random things, a Christmas wreath, and Killian was able to tether it to Emma’s by adding her engagement ring to its boughs.

There was a flash of Christmas lights, and then he was there, back in the room with them.

Jen held her breath, knowing what was coming, thrilled at the prospect of being a witness to it.  She pulled back to give them a bit of privacy, even if she had no intention of withdrawing entirely from a scene of such great importance to her very favorite fictional couple.

“I’m sorry, Emma,” Killian said, taking her hand. “I should have told you what I did to your grandfather all those years ago, and I should never, never have even considered running away.

Jen noticed the tears in Emma’s eyes, her watery smile as she looked up at him. “It’s okay.  I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to tell me the truth.  Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

She turned away, trying to pull him with her, but he held his ground.  “No,” he said, “no, there’s something I have to do before I get pushed into another portal and this time, I’m gonna do it the right way.”

Killian reached into his jacket pocket, wincing with the pain the movement caused his bruised body.  He pulled out the engagement ring and Jen noticed how brilliantly it shown in the light of the Christmas tree behind them.

“Swan,” he continued "I know that you face an uncertain future, but there’s one thing I want you to be certain of–that I will always, always be by your side.”  He sunk to one knee gazing up at her with every ounce of the love and adoration he felt for her. “So, Emma Swan, what do you say?  Will you marry me?”

While normally not nearly as exuberant as Krystal, it was only with great difficulty that Jen restrained herself from squealing.  The scene had been beautiful and romantic when she’d watched it on her TV screen–multiple times–but being there, in person–there were no words.

And then when Emma got to her knees beside him, took his face in her hands, gave him her yes and then kissed him tenderly, there was no way Jen could have held back her ecstatic sigh.

Neither Emma nor Killian, who were thoroughly engrossed with each other and cocooned in their love nor anyone else in the room heard or noticed as the snow swirled one last time to transport Jen back to the cabin.

[sippinggossip]

info anon here, I'm back to answer about Marta xxx

I just want to clarify before I say anything that what I'm about to write is based on rumors that were going around at the time and my own judgement of the situation. There aren't many facts since Marta has never discussed the topic publicly and Måneskin have only given a vague explanation on the reasons behind the rift.

As someone who was a fan at the time, the first time I heard rumors about them not getting along was during Sanremo 2021. At the time, I didn't believe there was any truth to them because they've always seemed extremely close to her, their relationship seemed to transcend the manager/ artist dynamic and be more similar to family...to understand what I mean, the summer before sanremo for example Damiano had posted a story for her birthday in which he was calling her mom. Vic would also regularly post photos with her and would often say in interviews and vlogs that Marta was like their mom. She even had a group chat with their actual parents for the first year of the band. So to my 2021 self, it seemed inconceivable that that relationship could ever fall apart.

But, in hindsight, not only I've come to believe that those rumors were true but also that, looking back, the issues probably started earlier.

Vent'anni, which was the first single from Teatro d'ira, wasn't really successful on the Italian charts, not for Måneskin's standards at least (even for their pre Eurovision standards). It didn't make it into the top 10 despite being their big come back single after 2 years of not releasing any new music (besides a collab with Francesca Michielin where they were the feautured artist and it didn't make any noise, it's kinda obvious maneskin only went for it because they shared a manager with her). For reference, every Italian single from "Il ballo della vita" had made it into the top 5 of the same chart.

I think their label wasn't pleased by this development. Keep in mind that a lot of money had been invested in maneskin even back then. The label had paid for them to go live in London for about half a year to get inspiration for Teatro d'ira which is something that doesn't really happen often in Italy for artists, let alone artists that at the time were barely 20 years old and had had roughly 2 years of professional career (and that's including the Xfactor) and only one really successful album.

Marta wasn't really on board with them making a pure rock album (we know that for sure because they've talked about it too on interviews they did post-breakup) and, again, it's easy to criticize her for that when you don't know the musical reality in Italy. Rock doesn't sell here and maneskin weren't established enough yet for someone to feel confident that the risk they were taking was going to pay off. And after Vent'anni failed to reach the heights of the commercial success the rest of their singles had had, it indeed seemed the risk wasn't paying off.

So she discouraged them from participating in Sanremo with Zitti e Buoni (something maneskin have also confirmed in interviews). Again, obviously a misjudgement on her part in hindsight. But that's the key word: in hindsight. If you asked anyone before Sanremo started that year if maneskin had any chance to win with that kind of song, they'd all tell you no. No one was predicting they'd even reach the top 10. And they've said too that they participated with zero expectations since never before a song like Zitti e Buoni had won.

After they did win though and Marta was proved wrong on the matter, the glass was broken because it seemed that especially Damiano didn't respect her anymore, he thought that since his take on this one thing had been right and hers had been wrong, that meant he had the ultimate insight into well, everything.

And that was when he stopped listening to her about how he was supposed to handle his image in general.

It's important to know that Marta has a very specific policy about all her artists' personal lives: she doesn't believe in them being public. She doesn't want the gossip to overshadow their work. So, for years, Damiano had to keep his relationship with Giorgia a secret.

Of course, if you just paid a little attention you'd know she was his girlfriend, they were posting the same cats, they were going out normally. But there weren't any Instagram posts, paparazzi pics, he wouldn't talk about his personal life on interviews and when anyone asked about his relationship status he'd give vague answers. That was the case with the rest of the members too, he just seemed the most discontent with it after a while. Also, in his defense, the press in Italy didn't care much about the personal lives of the other 3 so he was the only one who had to deal with constant questions and rumors.

So, the week before Eurovision Damiano, out of the blue, posted an old photo of him and Giorgia on Instagram with the caption "after 4 years, we can finally say it no?" which a lot of fans interpreted as a dig towards Marta. That move was the exact opposite of everything Marta believed in because suddenly every article about maneskin days before the most important competition of their career, was about Damiano and Giorgia. And, well, 2 weeks later Marta was fired and Damiano is the only one who unfollowed her on Instagram.

So, in my opinion, it was a combination of things that led to her being fired. I think Feraguzzo offered må more creative freedom but also freedom regarding their personal lives and the choice to each handle it the way the saw fit without any interference. Marta was a bit bossy in many topics, for example there weren't any friends or girlfriends travelling around with them on tour, she wanted them to be focused without any distractions, so their friends would only attend the Rome shows and that was it. Probably as they grew up and weren't teenagers anymore they started to feel suffocated by her limitations.

Also before anyone comes for me, I'm not blaming her being fired exclusively on Damiano. It's just my impression that the others, while they did have some issues with her too, would've been willing to try and work them out while Damiano wasn't, he had reached his limit and wanted her gone. And the others stuck with him because ofc for the band and for them on a personal level, Damiano was more important than Marta.

Welcome back!

Interesting.

[jamiebamberdaily]

Total TV Guide Interview - Issue 12 [18-24 March 2023]

Tap/click 'Keep Reading' to view the transcript.

Death In Paradise spin-off Beyond Paradise has given us the chance to see DI Humphrey Goodman (Kris Marshall) relocate from Saint Marie to be with his fiancée Martha Lloyd (Sally Bretton) in her hometown of Shipton Abbott, on the Devonshire coast.

While Humphrey works with the local police, Martha has fulfilled her dream of opening Ten Mile Kitchen. But their happy ever after hit an unexpected bump in the road with the arrival of Archie Hughes, Martha’s new business partner - and ex-fiancée! ‘Archie doesn’t want to intrude,’ says Jamie Bamber. ‘But actually, it’s Martha and Humphrey who have walked into his world. Archie belongs there and has made a successful career. She’s the one that who went away.’

The owner of three vineyards, Archie became Martha’s saviour on the eve of the café’s opening after she ran into financial difficulties. Now he's involved in the business. And this week when a food critic reviews the eaterie, he hints at a bond between the pair. ‘Archie’s slightly egotistic side is flattered that a stranger can see their chemistry and he quite enjoys that affirmation, in a male pride kind of way. He’s got nothing in life that’s out of place - until he sees Marta again and realises that maybe this is the one thing he got wrong. But she is so in love with Humph, so that’s complicated. In any story you need obstacles and Archie is an obstacle to them.’

For Jamie, joining the series was a joy. ‘I haven’t done any shows, before, that the whole family can sit down to on a Friday evening. This is deliberately a broad audience. There’s a great whodunnit, the denouement is different from your average TV closed-room murders as the crimes are a bit more inventive.’

With Archie being a vineyard owner, did Jamie brush up on his wine knowledge? ‘Actually, when I was a student, I worked in a fine wine shop in London. I’ve also lived in France and travelled around and visited a few vineyards. For me, wine is a metaphor for having your feet in the soil. It can be overblown and overcomplicated and made fancy but fundamentally, wine is a crop and that’s a great analogy for Archie. He’s a simple bloke who’s got quite a sophisticated lifestyle because of the means he has.’

While Devon an Cornwall is a beautiful part of the world, are there any regrets there was no trip to Guadeloupe? ‘Funnily enough, I’d been offered to do Death In Paradise before but it didn’t work with my schedules. Maybe Archie can go there on holiday?’

Jamie himself is very well-travelled. Last year, he filed a police show, Cannes Confidential in France. An English language drama, he’s currently dubbing into French, and he’s also made a thriller in Barcelona for Netflix, reuniting him with Strike Back’s writer, Jack Lothian. But his next trip is closer to home to celebrate his 50th birthday in April. ‘I really wanted a parted, but it’s a big year on lots of fronts for my family. So we’re going to Ireland. I’ve got family over here, so I’ll be catching up with cousins in Northern Ireland, a bit of Dublin, the Antrim coast, some golf, maybe some Guinness, some Bushmills and seeing the Irish countryside.’

[browneyesandhair]

Hey! It's ya girl!

I got no chill and a large obsession with a lot of things. So this year, I'm tracking it! (three red wine glasses in, let's goo!). Okay, so this year, is the year of recs! (you may have seen some of my posts, but I also have an extensive queue, so maybe not (check out the #recs on my page)).

Anyways, I've created a collection for this year overall and then also for each month! Let's check out January's stats -

Works read (&finished): 72

Fandoms (top 8):

1 - The Vampire Diaries: 17

2 - Bridgerton: 16

3 - Harry Potter: 14

4 - Teen Wolf: 12

5 - PJO: 4

6 - Knives Out: 4

7 - ATLA: 1

8- Star Trek: 1

The rest didn't make the first drop down section of AO3, so oh well! Let's check in on relationships (top 10):

1 - Klaroline: 17

2 - Polin: 16

3 - Stydia: 8

4- Percabeth: 4

5 - Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale: 4

6 - Eloise & Penelope: 4

7 - Harmione: 3

8 - Jily: 3

9 - Tomione: 3

10 - Sterek: 3

Only one add to my recs list:

patron (saints/tequila) by DollyPop, hi_im_august

Summary:

Honestly? She can think of considerably worse ways to spend the last dregs of her birthday than being escorted home by a guardian angel wearing a Slipknot t-shirt.

Notes: wow! Okay - warning this is a Polin modern AU, so if that's not for you keep scrolling. But hot diggity dog, this story was so fun and such a delight to read, I'm obsessed. 10/10 random fandom girlies recommend.

Alright, that's all folks (mostly), for fun, here are the top 10 additional tags from the stories that I read in January:

1 - Alternate Universe (15)

2 - Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence (12)

3 - Alternate Universe - Modern Setting (10)

4 - Fluff (8)

5 - Angst (8)

6 - Slow Burn (8)

7 - Hurt/Comfort (5)

8 - Cunnilingus (4)

9 - Rough Sex (4)

10 - friends to lovers (4)

Yay! You made it to the end! That means you get cookies (please go find/eat/buy a Snickerdoodle on me, if you knew my venmo, I would pay any requests for a Snickerdoodle cookie out.)

[kmomof4]

To Sir Graham, With Love Ch. 9

We made it, y'all!!! It's the FINAL CHAPTER!!!! Sorry, not sorry for the first several scenes of this chapter... but y'all know me, the happy ending is GUARANTEED, and I have to admit, I'm pretty proud of this one!!!!

Thank you once again to @jrob64 and @whimsicallyenchantedrose for their outstanding beta services and to @motherkatereloyshipper for her BEAUTIFUL artwork above. I really can't stop staring at it!! It's so perfect!!!!

And also happy happy happiest of birthday's @snowbellewells!!!!! I'm BEYOND THRILLED that you loved this fic so much!!!! I hope this last chapter is the proverbial cherry on top of a huge ice cream sundae!!! I'm posting this ch a little early because Marta is home sick today, so I'm hoping this will help her feel better by putting a huge smile on her face!!!

Summary: After a year long secret correspondence, twenty-eight year old spinster Ruby Jones decides to accept Sir Graham Humbert's offer of a visit to see if they might suit for marriage. Unfortunately, he failed to mention that he was the father of twins, and they are not thrilled with Ruby's appearance.

Rating: M (smut and mentions of physical abuse) There is a love scene in this ch, but according to @whimsicallyenchantedrose - who doesn't read or write smut - it's very mild, more smut adjacent than anything, so it is not sectioned off like the scenes in previous chs. If you still want to skip it, stop reading when Graham places Ruby on the bed and pick back up at the next scene change line.

Words: 8k of 68k

Tags: Red Hunter Fic, Birthday Fic, Inspired by Eloise Bridgerton's Story, Smut

On ao3 From Beginning / Current Ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8

Tagging the usuals. Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @the-darkdragonfly @jennjenn615

@donteattheappleshook @undercaffinatednightmare @pirateherokillian @cocohook38 @qualitycoffeethings

@booksteaandtoomuchtv @superchocovian @motherkatereloyshipper @snowbellewells  @djlbg

@lfh1226-linda @xarandomdreamx @tiganasummertree @bluewildcatfanatic @anmylica

@laianely @resident-of-storybrooke @exhaustedpirate @gingerchangeling @caught-in-the-filter

@ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @darkshadow7 @fleurdepetite @captainswan-kellie

@soniccat @beckettj @teamhook @whimsicallyenchantedrose @thisonesatellite

@jonesfandomfanatic @elfiola @zaharadessert @ilovemesomekillianjones @mie779

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… I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter friend. I do love you, dear Mama.

– from Ruby Jones to her mother, Alice, upon refusing her sixth offer of marriage

~*~*~*~*~*~

The ride to Killian and Emma’s was anything but comfortable and by the time Ruby arrived, her foul mood was even worse. And then when Graves opened the door and stared at her as if she was a madwoman, she nearly lost her temper completely. 

Until she noticed the look upon his face.

“Graves?” she asked, when it became clear that he was beyond speech.

“Are they expecting you?” he asked, finally gathering himself together.

“Uh, no,” she said, drawing out the final word. “But I hardly think…”

Graves stepped aside - belatedly remembering himself - finally allowing her entrance. “It’s Miss Alice,” he said, referring to Killian and Emma’s oldest child, only five years old. “She’s quite ill.”

Ruby gasped, something awful rising in her throat. “What is it?” she asked, not bothering to hide her urgency. “Is she…” She couldn’t get the rest of the question out, just letting the words dangle, her meaning quite clear.

“I’ll get Mrs. Jones,” he said, turning quickly and scurrying up the stairs.

“No, wait!” Ruby called, wanting to ask him more questions, but he was already gone.

She slumped into a chair, feeling positively sick with worry for her small niece but also rather disgusted with herself for coming here to complain to her sister-in-law about something that didn’t even signify when compared to this.

“Ruby!”

It was Killian, not Emma that came down the stairs. He looked awful - his eyes red-rimmed, his hair in complete disarray, his skin pale and pasty. Ruby didn’t bother asking how long it had been since he slept. The answer was blatantly obvious. He hadn’t closed his eyes in days.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I just came for a visit,” she explained. “Just to say hello. I had no idea! What’s wrong with her? She was fine last week!”

Killian took several moments to answer. “She has a fever. She woke up fine on Saturday, but by luncheon…” He sagged against the wall, unable to go on. “I don’t know what to do, Ruby.”

“What did the doctor say?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said, scrubbing his hand down his face. “Nothing useful anyway.”

“May I see her?”

Killian nodded, his eyes closed.

“You need to rest,” Ruby said.

“I can’t.”

“You must,” she insisted. “You’re no good to anyone like this. And I’d wager Emma is the same.”

“I made her sleep an hour ago,” he said. “She looked like death.”

“And you look no better,” Ruby said drily. She purposefully kept her tone no nonsense and business-like. Anything softer and Killian would break down completely. And if Killian broke down, she would break down and no one needed that at the moment. “You must go to bed,” she continued. “Now. I will care for Alice.”

He didn’t respond. He was literally asleep while still on his feet. Ruby took charge, directing Graves to get Killian into bed while she took over the sickroom, trying desperately to contain her gasp of dismay when she entered the room and saw her small niece. 

She was so tiny and pale on the bed, but her skin was flushed and her half-lidded eyes were glazed as she thrashed around, mumbling incoherently.

Ruby mopped her brow, turned her, and helped the maids change the sheets when they became drenched with sweat. So focussed was she on her charge, that she didn’t notice when the sun slipped below the horizon. She just thanked God that little Alice didn’t worsen under her care, because according to the servants, Killian and Emma hadn’t left her side for two days straight, and Ruby didn’t think she could survive having to wake them with bad news.

She sat next to the bed, read aloud from her niece's favorite book of Fairy Tales, and told her stories of when her father was a boy. She didn’t think Alice heard a word she said, but it kept her from sitting still and doing nothing. It wasn’t until Emma rose from her stupor around eight that evening and asked about Graham that it occurred to Ruby he might be worried about her. She immediately penned a hastily scribbled note and sent it on to Romney Hall before resuming her vigil. Graham would understand.

~*~*~

By eight o’clock, Graham was forced to the conclusion that one of two things had happened. Either his wife had left him, or she was dead on the side of the road in a carriage accident.

Neither prospect was terribly appealing.

He didn’t think she would leave him. The argument this afternoon notwithstanding, she seemed happy in their marriage and she hadn’t taken a bag with her, but then again, most of her belongings hadn’t yet arrived from London, so she wouldn’t be leaving much behind. Nothing but a husband and two children.

And good God, he’d just told them he thought she was here to stay.

No. She wouldn’t leave him. She didn’t possess a cowardly bone in her body and if she were truly unhappy in their marriage, she’d tell him to his face. Without mincing words and with great vehemence.

Which meant that he’d likely find her on the side of the road. It had been raining steadily all evening and the road between Romney Hall and My Cottage was not well tended to begin with.

Hell, it would be better if she had left him.

But as he strode up the front walk to the door of My Cottage, soaking wet and in a terrible mood, it was looking more like Ruby had decided to abandon him. Abandon them.

“Temper,” he mumbled to himself. Because he’d never been closer to losing his.

Perhaps there was a logical explanation, he thought as he slammed the knocker against the door. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to ride home in the rain. It wasn’t that bad, but it was more than a drizzle. 

Maybe her carriage had broken a wheel. No, Killian would have sent her home in his carriage then. He lifted the knocker again and banged it against the door multiple times.

Maybe…

Maybe…

He tried to think of something, anything, that might explain why Ruby was at the home of her brother instead of her own. He couldn’t think of a one. He reached for the knocker again, prepared to wrench it from the door and chuck it into the rain when the door finally opened. 

Graves stood there, his mouth hanging open in complete surprise.

“My wife,” Graham growled.

“Sir Graham!” Graves, exclaimed.

Graham didn’t move, simply wiped the rain from his face.

“My wife,” he ground out again.

“She’s here,” Graves informed him. “Come in.”

Graham finally stepped inside. “I want my wife,” he said again. “Now.”

“Let me take your coat.”

“I don’t give a damn about my coat!” Graham roared. “Get me my wife!”

“Did you not receive Lady Humbert’s note?” Graves asked.

“No,” Graham informed him. “I received no note.”

Graves nodded. “I thought you’d arrived rather quickly. You must have passed along the road. Let me take your coat,” he said again. “I believe you’ll be here for some time and you will want to be comfortable,” the man said softly. 

A fear he’d never known gripped Graham’s heart. Had something happened to Ruby? He’d just found his children, he couldn’t lose his wife. As he followed Graves up the stairs, his heart and lips murmured silent prayers.

~*~*~

Ruby sat by her niece’s beside, hands clutched in her lap, murmuring, “Please. Please.”

The doctor had left for the second time that day declaring it “in God’s hands.” And if He was the only One Who could do anything about this, then He was the One to Whom she would appeal. When she wasn’t placing cool cloths on Alice’s head, or spooning luke-warm broth between her niece’s lips, that was.

She heard a noise from the doorway and turned to see Graham. Her heart leapt to see him and she flung herself into his arms, heedless that he was soaked to the bone.

“Oh, Graham,” she sobbed, feeling his strong warm arms around her. She was safe and she could finally let go of all the emotions she’d bottled up inside in order to be the rock Killian and Emma needed.

“I thought it was you,” he whispered.

“What?” she asked, drawing back and looking him in the face.

“Graves,” he explained. “He didn’t tell me anything as I was coming up. I thought something had happened to you,” he said, drawing her close again and kissing the crown of her head. “How is she?”

Ruby pulled back and turned toward the sickbed. “Not good,” she murmured.

Graham glanced at Killian and Emma, who’d risen to greet him. They both looked rather not good themselves.

“How long has she been like this?” he asked.

“Since Saturday morning,” Emma replied. Graham approached the bed and placed his large hand on Alice’s forehead.

He shook his head. “I can’t tell. I’m too cold from the rain.”

“She’s feverish,” Killian confirmed.

“What’s been done for her?” Graham asked.

Emma’s eyes widened with a desperate hope. “Do you know something of medicine?” she asked.

“We’ve kept cool cloths on her forehead, fed her broth, and warmed her when she grew too cold. Nothing seems to help,” Killian said hopelessly. Suddenly, Emma collapsed, crumpling to the floor sobbing.

“Emma!” Killian cried, falling down next to her and holding her as she cried. Graham and Ruby both looked away when they realized Killian was crying too.

“Willow bark tea,” Graham whispered to Ruby. “Has she had any?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “Why?”

“It’s something I learned at Cambridge,” he said. “It used to be given for pain before laudanum became so popular, but one of my professors insisted that it also reduced fevers.”

Ruby nodded and turned to her brother and sister-in-law. She marched right over and shook Killian’s shoulder.

“Willow bark tea,” she said matter-of-factly. “Do you have any?”

Killian just stared at her blinking for a moment before answering. “I don’t know,” he stammered.

“Mrs. Miner might,” Emma said, referring to one half of the couple that had been caretakers of My Cottage for years. They had all but adopted her when she and Killian were here for nearly a fortnight while he recovered from his own fever after they’d been reunited. “She always has things like that. But they’re visiting their daughter and won’t be home for several more days.”

“Can you get into their house?” Graham asked. “I’ll recognize it if she has any. It won’t be a tea, just the bark. We’ll soak it in hot water. It might help bring down the fever.”

Emma wiped away her tears, her eyes bewildered. “You want to cure my daughter with the bark of a tree?” she asked.

“It certainly can’t hurt anything,” Killian said forcefully. “Come on, Humbert. I have a key to their house. I’ll take you myself.” Before they went out the front door, Killian stopped and looked hard at Graham. “Do you know what you’re about?” he asked quietly.

Graham looked him right in the eyes, and answered as honestly as he could. “I hope so.” He struggled not to squirm under Killian’s scrutiny. It was one thing to allow him to marry his sister, given the circumstances, but it was something altogether different to allow him to pour some concoction down his daughter’s throat.

But Graham understood. He had children, too.

Killian nodded decisively and led him out into the night. As they strode through the rain, Graham could only pray that Killian’s faith in him wasn’t misplaced. 

~*~*~

In the end, no one could really tell whether it was Ruby’s prayers, the willow bark tea, or just dumb luck, but by morning, little Alice’s fever had finally broken and while she was still pale and fatigued, she was without a doubt on the mend.

And by noon, it was clear that Ruby and Graham were no longer needed, and were in fact, just getting in the way, so they loaded into the carriage and began the journey home where they planned to fall into bed to simply sleep.

The first ten minutes of the ride was spent in silence. Surprisingly, Ruby found herself too exhausted to sleep and she couldn’t summon the energy to talk, so just looked out the window at the passing countryside.

It had finally stopped raining about the time Alice’s fever had broken, which may have spoken to the Divine intervention Ruby had prayed for, but as she looked at her husband, who sat with his back against the side of the carriage, his legs stretched out across the bench on the other side with his eyes closed - though Ruby was quite sure he wasn’t asleep - she knew without a doubt that it was the willow bark tea.

She didn’t know how she knew. But she did. And when she thought about the circumstances surrounding the entire situation - Ruby’s uneasiness about Nurse Ratched, the fight with Graham, her flight to My Cottage, Graham coming after her - young Alice Jones was quite the luckiest little girl in all of England.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“For what?” Graham said, his eyes remaining firmly closed.

“For Alice.”

Graham opened his eyes then and met hers. He shrugged. “There’s no way to know. It might not have been willow bark.”

“I know,” she said, with certainty. “You were an answer to my prayers.”

Graham’s lips lifted in a tired smile. “You always do know.”

Ruby smiled back and thought to herself how wonderful it was. Just this. The easy comfort and familiarity of being with someone, that one just knew was right. Right where one belonged.

Ruby reached across and placed her hand on his. “It was so awful,” she said, surprised when she realized there were tears in her eyes. “I can’t imagine what Emma and Killian were going through.”

“Nor can I,” Graham whispered, squeezing her hand.

“If it had been one of our children…” Her voice trailed away as she realized. It was the first time she’d referred to Ava and Nicholas as theirs. 

Graham was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, he didn’t look at her but continued staring out the window. “The entire time with Alice,” he whispered, “all I could think of was how grateful I was that it wasn’t Nicholas or Ava.” He looked at her then, guilt written all over his face. “But it shouldn’t be any child.”

“There’s nothing wrong with such feelings,” she assured him. “They make you a good father. A very good father, I think.”

He looked at her oddly for a moment and then looked down at where their hands were still clasped. “No, I’m not,” he said gravely. “But I hope to be better.”

Ruby’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You were right,” he said, looking back up at her. “About Nurse Ratched. I didn’t want anything to be wrong, so I paid no attention, but you were right. She was beating them.”

“WHAT?!”

“With a book,” he continued, his voice perfectly level. “I walked in and she was beating Ava across the back with a book. She’d already finished with Nicholas.”

Tears of sorrow and anger filled Ruby’s eyes. “I never dreamed. I should have seen. I should have known.”

Graham scoffed. “If I didn’t see in the months she was living with us, how could you have seen when you’d only been there a fortnight?” he asked.

Ruby was silent for a few moments. “I assume you dismissed her,” she said.

Graham nodded. “I nearly threw her out the door myself when she wasn’t moving fast enough.”

Ruby snorted. “If you hadn’t, I would have,” she said.

“I told the children you’d help find a replacement,” he said.

“Of course!” she exclaimed.

“And I…” His voice trailed away for a moment and he looked out the window before he continued speaking. “I’m going to be a better father,” he whispered. “I’ve spent years pushing them away. Always afraid of becoming like my father.”

“Graham,” Ruby cajoled. “You couldn’t possibly be. You are so different from your father.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But I thought I could. I got a whip once. I went out to the stable, blindingly angry, and got a whip.” He dropped his head in his hands and Ruby’s heart broke for him. 

“But you didn’t use it,” she said with certainty.

“But I wanted to,” he confessed.

“But you didn’t,” she repeated.

“I was so angry,” he said again, as if he didn’t even hear her, too lost in his own memory. But then he looked at her and something in his eyes was shattered and Ruby wanted nothing more than to gather him close and heal all those jagged edges inside him. To make him see himself as she saw him - a flawed man, yes, but a good and honorable one, too, who’d never hurt his children the way he had been. “Do you understand what it means to be frightened by your own anger?”

Ruby shook her head.

“I’m not a small man, Ruby,” he said. “I could hurt someone.”

“So could I,” she reasoned with him. He sent her a dry look and she shrugged. “Well, maybe not you, but I’m certainly big enough to hurt a child.”

He snorted and turned back to the window. “You would never do that.”

“And neither would you.”

He was silent and understanding dawned on Ruby. “Graham,” she began. “You said you were angry, but… who were you angry with?”

He stared at her, slightly dazed. “Ruby,” he said. “They glued their governess’ hair to the sheets.”

“Oh, I know,” she assured him, “I’m quite certain I would have throttled them myself had I been around when it happened. But that wasn’t my question.” She stopped and waited for him to respond. When he didn’t, she clarified. “Were you angry with them about the glue? Or were you angry with yourself because you couldn’t make them mind?”

He didn’t say anything, but that silence told her more than any words could.

“Graham, you are nothing like your father.”

“I know that now,” he said softly. “When I discovered what Nurse Ratched had done, you have no idea how much I wanted to rip her limb from limb.”

Ruby snorted. “I can imagine,” she said. “I would have wanted to do the same.”

Graham felt his lips twitch. There was something comforting and almost funny about their similar thoughts and feelings about the matter. It felt quite good. 

“She deserved nothing less,” Ruby continued. “But you didn’t touch her, did you?” 

“No,” he replied slowly in realization. “And if I could keep control of my temper with her, I could certainly keep control of it with my children.”

“Of course,” Ruby agreed. She patted his hand and then sat back, looking out the window.

She had such belief in him. It was an utterly foreign concept. She truly had faith in his inner goodness, in the quality of his soul, when he’d been wracked with guilt and worry for so many years.

“I’d thought you left me,” he blurted out.

She turned back to him, surprise written all over her face. “What? Why would you think that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he shrugged, “Perhaps it was because you left and didn’t come back.”

Ruby rolled her eyes at him. “It’s perfectly clear now why I was delayed, and besides, I’d never leave you. You should know that.”

He raised a brow at her. “Should I?”

“Of course you should!” she exclaimed, her green eyes beginning to flash. “I made a vow on our wedding day, and I can assure you, I don’t take that lightly.” She was silent for just a moment before she continued, her tone and indignation ramping up with each sentence. “And the children! They’ve already lost one mother, through no fault of their own. Did you really think I’d make them go through all of that a second time? You know me better than that.” She turned to him with a supremely irritated expression on her face. “I cannot believe you thought that of me!”

Graham was beginning to think the same thing himself. How could he have thought that of Ruby? He’d only known her… Dear God. Had it really only been two weeks? In many ways, it felt like a lifetime. Because, he was quite convinced, he did know her. Inside and out. And he should have known better than to think she’d abandon their marriage.

It was the panic. That was all. Panic that she might really have been killed somewhere on the road. If that had truly been the case… He wasn’t prepared for the stab of agony in his heart at the thought.

When had that happened? When had she come to mean so much to him? He’d told himself, and her as well, over and over again that he married her to be a mother to his children. But when she’d mentioned the vow and that her commitment to the children was too strong, he’d felt a stab of jealousy.

Jealous. Of his own children. 

He wanted her to want him. Not because she’d made a vow, but because she couldn’t live without him. Perhaps because she loved him. 

Somewhere in the passion - in the intoxication of the pleasure of her touch, the sounds of her moans and gasps, in the force of his own pleasure when he exploded inside of her - she’d touched his heart. And changed it. 

Changed him.

He loved her.

He hadn’t been looking for love. Hadn’t even given a thought to it, but there it was. And it was the most beautiful and precious thing imaginable.

He was at the dawn of a new day. A new chapter in his life. It was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time. He did not want to fail. He couldn’t. Not when he’d just found everything he needed. Ruby. His children. Himself.

It had been years since he’d felt comfortable in his own skin. When he could trust his own instincts. When he could look at himself in the mirror and not avoid his own gaze.

They were pulling up at Romney Hall. A footman appeared to help Ruby down. She turned to him and smiled gently.

“I’m exhausted, and you look the same,” she observed. “Shall we go up and take a nap?”

Graham looked up to the third floor nursery for a moment before turning back to his bride. 

“You go on ahead,” he said. “I’ll be along in a bit. Right now, I think I want to go hug my children.”

Ruby smiled and turned to enter the house.

When she woke, many hours later, she was surprised to see that Graham’s side of the bed was undisturbed. He’d been just as exhausted as she was, but perhaps instead of sleep, he just needed time to himself to think after the difficulties of the last few days.

Just because she didn’t prefer solitude, didn’t mean that everyone agreed with her. It didn’t mean that Graham agreed with her. 

They were two very different people, and if she was going to live with him as his wife, she was going to have to make some concessions to his personality and temperament, just as he was doing the same for hers.

She didn’t see him the rest of the day. Not when she took tea in the afternoon, not when she tucked the twins into bed, not when she ate her lonely supper. After her obligatory two bites of pudding, she got up, not wishing to prolong her meal any longer, fully intending to retire to her bed. But as soon as she left the dining room, she knew she wasn’t ready to sleep yet. 

She walked, somewhat aimlessly, through the house until her feet carried her to the portrait gallery. She hadn’t been inside it since that first night after she’d arrived at Romney Hall. She opened the door and gasped in surprise to see Graham sitting in the chair, just staring up at the portrait of Jacinda with the children.

He gave no indication that he’d heard her. Just continued staring, the look on his face bleak and so full of sorrow that it nearly broke Ruby’s heart.

Had he lied to her when he said he’d never loved Jacinda? Never felt passion for her? No. He hadn’t lied. She knew it in her marrow. 

But what did it really matter? Jacinda was dead. She was in no way in competition for Graham’s affections. And it wasn’t as if Graham loved Ruby anyway. And she certainly didn’t lo…

But in one of those flashes of insight that might as well knock the breath out of one’s lungs, Ruby realized, she did. 

She thought back on the last two weeks - had it really only been two weeks? - wondering when it might have happened. Wondering how it happened. But this feeling she had for him, the affection and respect, had grown into something deeper. And oh, how she desperately wanted Graham to feel the same way.

He may need her - of that she was quite sure, both in the physical aspect of their marriage, but also in the caring for the household and the children - but she wanted him to love her the way she loved him.

She loved the way he smiled, the boyish grin that spoke of secrets and mischief, and as if he couldn’t quite believe in his own happiness. She loved the way he looked at her, as if she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She loved the way he actually listened to what she had to say and how he wouldn’t let her cow him. She even loved the way he told her she talked too much. Because he always said it with a smile on his face. And she loved the way he still listened to her after telling her she talked too much. 

She loved the way he loved his children. She loved his honor, his honesty, and his sly sense of humor. And she loved the way she fit into his life and the way he fit into hers.

It was comfortable. And it was right.

This was where she belonged.

She loved him. She needed him. Not a dead woman.

As she watched him looking at the portrait, his words from yesterday finally sank in. He’d said he hadn’t laid with a woman in eight years. 

Eight years.

Jacinda had only been gone fifteen months. If Graham had gone without a woman for eight years… Ruby did some mental math. They hadn’t shared any physical intimacy since the twins had been conceived. No, that wasn’t right. It would have been shortly after the twins were born. Just a little bit. 

It was possible that Graham was mistaken about the dates, but somehow, Ruby didn’t think so. She thought Graham knew exactly when the last time was, and now that she’d pinpointed it as well, she realized it must have been a terrible experience indeed. 

But he hadn’t betrayed her. Hadn’t betrayed her or his marriage vows. He’d remained faithful to a woman who’d banned him from her bed. Ruby wasn’t really surprised, given his honesty and integrity, but she wouldn’t have thought less of him for seeking physical comfort elsewhere.

But the fact that he hadn’t… It made her love him all the more.

Ruby stepped forward and cleared her throat. She was surprised when he quickly turned his attention upon her. She’d believed him so lost in thought that he wouldn’t realize he was no longer alone. He held out his hand to her and she stepped toward him and took it, turning with him to face Jacinda’s portrait.

“Did you love her?” she asked quietly.

“No.” And even though she’d asked the question before, and received the same answer, the relief she felt at the simple affirmation was profound.

“Do you miss her?”

“No.” He was silent for a few moments, just continued to stare at her portrait. “She was sad. Always so sad.” Another pause. “It was worse after the twins were born. The midwife said it was normal for women to cry after childbirth, but not to worry. It would disappear in a few weeks.”

“But it didn’t,” Ruby murmured. 

“It was like she sank even further into herself,” he said quietly. “Almost like she disappeared.” His throat worked and his eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to formulate the words he wanted - no, needed - to say. “She rarely left her bed. She never smiled. And she cried. A great deal.” He finally turned to Ruby and looked her square in the eyes. “I tried everything to make her happy. Everything in my power. Everything I knew. But it wasn’t enough.” His eyes filled with tears and Ruby cupped his jaw with her other hand. “It wasn’t enough,” he whispered.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ruby said. She may not have known Jacinda as an adult, but she knew Graham and she knew her words were true.

“Eventually I just gave up,” he admitted, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “I was so sick and tired of beating my head against a wall. All I could do was try to keep the children away from her when she was really bad. They loved her so much.”

“I know,” she assured him.

“She was their mother. And she didn’t… she couldn’t…”

“But you were there,” Ruby said fervently. 

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “And a fat lot of good it did them. How terrible is it to have one bad parent? And my children were born with two…”

“You are not a bad father,” Ruby said, the vehemence in her words surprising even her.

“It hurt so much,” he whispered.

“What did?” 

“When she died,” he explained. “To try so damned hard for so many years and never succeed. To never be able to break through to her.” He turned and looked at her again. “I just needed someone who was happy. Who would be there for the children. Someone who wouldn’t…” He cut himself off and turned away.

“Someone who wouldn’t what?” she asked, sensing that his answer was very important, indeed.

“She didn’t fall in the lake by accident,” Graham whispered. Ruby gasped. He’d told her Jacinda had died in the lake, but she assumed it was an accident. She never thought that her cousin might take her own life. “She walked straight into the water. And I didn’t reach her in time.”

“Oh, Graham,” Ruby breathed. “I’m so sorry.” She was truly, even if Jacinda’s death had made her own happiness possible.

“You don’t understand,” Graham snapped. “That’s not what I meant. You don’t know what it’s like to feel trapped. Hopeless. Stuck. To try so hard and never, ever, break through. I tried. Every single day, I tried. I tried for me. I tried for her. I especially tried for Nicholas and Ava. Everything I knew. Everything everyone told me to do. Nothing worked. I’d try, and she’d cry. I’d try again and she’d do nothing but dig herself deeper into her damned bed and pull the covers over her head. She lived in complete darkness with her curtains drawn and then on the first sunny day in weeks,” he turned to her, eyes blazing, “she goes and kills herself.” He laughed, a short bitter thing. “After all of that, she had to ruin sunny days for me too.” He rose from the chair and looked at the portrait again. “I tried so hard,” his voice, filled with resignation and regret, trailed away for a moment. “And still, every day, I wished I was married to someone else. Anyone else.”

He turned to look at her again, and the tears were gone, replaced with a vehement passion that took Ruby’s breath away. 

“Yesterday you said we had a problem,” he said, taking her hand.

“No, that’s not what I meant…” she tried to interrupt, but he kept speaking as if he didn’t hear her.

“You said we have a problem,” he repeated. “But until you’ve lived through what I’ve lived through - until you’ve been trapped in a hopeless marriage, with a hopeless spouse, until you’ve gone to bed for years wanting nothing more than the touch of another human being…” He looked down at their joined hands and gently rubbed Ruby’s knuckles with his thumb. “Do not tell me that we have a problem. Because to me,” he choked on his words but kept on going, “to me, what we have, this - us, - is heaven.”

“Oh, Graham,” she breathed and threw herself into his arms, her own tears soaking his shirt.

“I don’t want to fail again,” he choked out, burying his face in her neck. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“No, you won’t,” she assured him. “We won’t.”

“You have to be happy,” he said. “Please tell me…”

“I am. I promise,” she vowed.

He pulled back, cupping her chin with his hands and looked deeply into her eyes. Looking for the truth of her words.

“I am happy, Graham,” she repeated, covering his hands with her own. “More than I ever thought possible. And I am proud to be your wife.”

Graham’s lower lip began to tremble and the tears reappeared in his eyes again before they began streaming down his face.

“I love you, Ruby,” he breathed. “And I don’t even care that you don’t feel the same…”

“Oh, Graham,” she cried, cutting him off, and wiping his tears away, even as her own continued to fall. “I love you, too.”

Graham crushed Ruby to him, his lips meeting hers in a passionate dance of love felt and reciprocated. He picked her up, bridal style, his lips never leaving hers and carried her through the halls to their bedchamber.

He lowered her to the bed and pulled back, pulling off his clothes in haste as Ruby did the same.

“I need you, Ruby,” he said, laying down beside her. “I need you like I need to breathe. Like I need food, water.”

“Yes,” Ruby moaned. “I need you, too.” All she could do was reach for him and give herself to him with all that she was. She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe as he touched her, kissed her, sending her higher and higher until her tears couldn’t be held back any longer.

“Don’t cry,” he soothed, brushing one away.

“I can’t help it,” she cried, her voice shaking. “I just love you so much. I didn’t think… I’d hoped… but…”

“I know,” he assured her. “I never thought it would happen to me. I think I’ve waited my entire life for you.”

“I know I’ve waited my entire life for you,” she said cheekily. She rolled on her back, drawing her with him until he was nestled between her legs. “Don’t go slowly,” she urged.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” he said as he surged into her, filling her completely.

They moved together, but it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t gentle. It was fire. And a tempest. And total reckless abandon. Both of them reaching for that peak that seemed just out of reach, until they reached it together in a cascade of ecstasy that made Ruby arch, lifting them both from the bed with the power of her completion and Graham roar her name as he emptied himself into her.

Ruby collapsed back to the mattress, Graham’s weight pinning her down. Not that she minded in the least. She loved these moments, when they were both too spent to move. She loved the weight of him, the smell and taste of the sweat on his skin after their lovemaking. 

She loved him. 

It was that simple. She loved him and he loved her. And it was all she needed.

~*~*~

The next week would forever be remembered by Ruby as the most magical of her life. Nothing special happened - no birthdays, no unexpected guests, no extravagant gifts. 

But on the inside, everything changed.

The well of happiness was overflowing and seemingly without end. And she could sense the same thing inside of Graham as well. 

She woke one morning, pleasantly sore in all the right places, to see Graham, fully dressed, sitting at the foot of the bed simply watching her.

“Good morning,” she said, sitting up and tucking the sheet around her naked breasts. “What are you doing there?”

“Watching you,” he said, an indulgent smile on his face.

Her mouth dropped open in surprise, and she felt her cheeks heat. “That can’t possibly be very interesting.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I can’t think of anything that would hold my attention for so long.”

Her blush intensified and she wondered if perhaps she’d be able to convince him to join her in the bed again. But then she remembered he was already dressed and had probably done so for a reason.

“I brought you a muffin,” he said, holding it out to her. She thanked him and began eating when he spoke again. “I thought we might go on an outing today.”

“Really?” she asked in surprise. “You and me?”

“Actually, I thought maybe the four of us.”

Ruby froze, the muffin halfway to her mouth. To her knowledge, this was the first time Graham was reaching out to his children, rather than setting them aside and hoping someone else would see to them.

“I think that’s a lovely idea,” she breathed. 

“Good,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your morning routine and inform that poor housemaid that you bullied into being their nurse that we’ll be taking them for the day.”

“I didn’t bully her… exactly,” Ruby protested feebly. Mary hadn’t wanted to take the position of nursemaid, even on a temporary basis, none of the servants had. Ruby couldn’t really blame them after the debacle with their former governess, but for that reason, Ruby had extracted a promise from the twins that they would treat Mary with the respect due to the Queen, and so far they’d held up their side of the bargain. 

Ruby glanced up and saw Graham just standing in the doorway, not moving.

“Graham?” she asked. “What is it?”

He turned to her, his eyes a bit bewildered. “I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing going on in the village today, no fairs or events, I mean. What should we do?”

Ruby smiled gently at him. “Anything at all, Graham. All they want is you.”

Two hours later, Graham and Nicholas were standing outside the Larkin’s Fine Tailor and Dressmaker in the village of Tetbury, waiting somewhat impatiently while Ruby and Ava finalized their purchases inside.

“Did we have to go shopping?” Nicholas whined.

Graham chuckled. “It was what your mother wanted to do.”

“Next time, the men get to choose,” he grumbled. “If I’d known having a mother meant this…”

“We men must make sacrifices for the women we love,” his father informed him, patting him on the shoulder. He looked inside the shop window and saw that the ladies didn’t appear to be anywhere near finished. “But as to our next outing,” he whispered conspiratorially to his son, “I agree whole-heartedly.”

Just then, Ruby poked her head out. “Nicholas, would you like to come in?”

“No!” he said vehemently, shaking his head for emphasis.

“Allow me to rephrase,” Ruby replied, not missing a beat. “Nicholas, I would like you to come in please.”

Nicholas turned pleading eyes upon his father, making Graham chuckle. “I’m afraid you must do as she says.”

Nicholas grumbled under his breath as he climbed the steps, but just before he entered the door, he turned back to his father. “Aren’t you coming?”

Hell no, Graham almost said, but he bit his tongue just in time. “No,” he said instead, “I need to stay out here and watch the carriage.”

Nicholas’ eyes narrowed. “Why does the carriage need watching?”

“Yes, you need to come in as well, Graham,” Ruby said sweetly. Graham groaned. “You need new shirts.”

“Can’t the tailor just come out to the house?”

“Don’t you want to pick the fabric?” she asked.

“I trust you implicitly,” he said. Ruby frowned at him, and Graham sighed. “Very well, I’ll come in.”

“Thank you,” she said, leading them both inside. 

Graham found himself on the ladies side surrounded by bolts and yards of frilly and lacey, sparkly and shiny. He felt about as comfortable there as he did in formal wear.

Ruby kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear. “When Ava comes out, make a fuss.”

“I’m not very good at that sort of thing,” he said quietly.

She smiled up at him. “Learn,” she said just as quietly, then turned her attention to Nicholas. “And now for you, Master Humbert. Mrs. Larkin…”

“I want Mr. Larkin, like Father,” Nicholas protested. 

Ruby looked at him, surprised. “You want Mr. Larkin? The tailor?” she asked. Nicholas nodded. Ruby was silent for a moment, pondering his request and Graham could see Nicholas start to squirm with impatience and anxiety that she might deny him. “Very well then, off you go.”

Nicholas wasted no time at all and all but ran into the other side of the shop. Graham leaned over to his wife.

“You are good,” he praised, whispering in her ear.

A small smile pricked the corners of her lips. “Yes, I am,” she agreed.

Not a moment later, a blood curdling howl reached them and Nicholas ran back in. Straight to Ruby, which left Graham feeling a bit bereft. He wanted his children to run to him.

“He stuck me with a pin!” 

“Were you squirming?” Ruby asked, not bothered in the least.

“No!”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Maybe just a tiny bit,” he said, sheepishly.

“Right then. Don’t move next time,” Ruby said briskly. “I can assure you Mr. Larkin is very good at his job and if you don’t move, you won’t get stuck with a pin. It’s as simple as that.”

Nicholas looked up at his father with pleading eyes, and as nice as it was to be seen as an ally, he couldn’t contradict Ruby in front of his son like that. But then Nicholas surprised him. He walked back toward the other side without complaint and then turned back toward them for a moment.

“Father, will you come with me? Please?”

Graham opened his mouth to reply, but then had to stop, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He couldn’t speak. He was, quite simply, overcome. 

It wasn’t just the moment - the fact that his son wanted him to accompany him in this male right of passage - but it was the absolute confidence and assurance that if he followed his son to the other side, he’d know the exact right thing to say and do when they got there. He wasn’t his own father. He could never be. And with Ruby by his side, he knew he could do anything. Even manage the twins.

Graham laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. “I’d be proud to go with you, son.” He cleared his throat of the hoarseness that had crept in, then bent down to his son’s ear. “The last thing we need is women on the men’s side.” Nicholas nodded in agreement. 

Graham rose back up, but before he could take a step, he heard Ruby clearing her throat behind him. He turned toward her, but his gaze came to a stop and his eyes widened as he saw his little girl all dressed up in a lovely lavender frock, showing just a hint of the woman she’d one day become.

For the second time in as many minutes, Graham’s eyes filled with tears. This is what he’d been missing. In his fear, in his self-doubt, he’d been missing this. His children, growing up without him.

Graham patted Nicholas’ shoulder, letting him know he’d be right back, and walked to Ava’s side. Without a word, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. 

“You, Miss Ava Humbert,” he said, his heart in his words, in his smile, in his eyes, “are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

Ava gasped in surprise and blushed under his praise. “But what about Mother?” she asked.

Graham knelt by her side and looked over at his bride, whose own eyes were filled with tears. “I’ll tell you what,” he said, quietly. “We’ll say that your mother is the most beautiful woman in the world, and you are the most beautiful girl. And someday, when you’re all grown up, you can believe that your mother is the most beautiful woman, and I’ll still say that you are.”

And later that night, when he kissed the children on their foreheads and tucked them into their beds, Ava whispered.

“Father?”

“Yes, Ava?”

“This was the best day ever.”

“Ever,” agreed Nicholas.

Graham smiled down at them. “For me as well.”

~*~*~

It started with a note.

Later that night, as Ruby finished her supper and her plate was cleared away, she realized there was a small folded note underneath. Graham had excused himself a few minutes earlier, claiming that he needed to locate a book of poetry they’d been discussing during the meal. So once she was alone, she unfolded the note and read the words contained within.

I have never been good with words.

And then, at the bottom of the paper,

Proceed to your office.

Puzzled, but intrigued, she rose and made her way to her office. There, she found another note in the center of her desk.

But it all started with a letter, did it not?

Then followed instructions to take herself to the sitting room, which she followed, being very conscious to keep a sedate pace instead of breaking into a thoroughly inelegant run. The next note was found on the center of the sofa.

And so if it started with words, it ought to continue with them, too.

This time she was directed to the front hall.

But there are no words to thank you for all you have given me, so I will use the only ones at my disposal, and I will tell you the only way I know how.

This time, she was to proceed to her bedchamber.

Ruby headed up the stairs, her heart thumping in excitement and anticipation. This was her final destination, she was sure. Graham would be waiting for her, to take her hand and lead her into their future.

It had all started with a note. A short, but heartfelt note of condolence, that had led her here. To a love so full and all-encompassing, Ruby had trouble containing it. She reached the upstairs hall and stepped forward toward her room, where the door was just slightly ajar.

She pushed it open with shaking hands and gasped.

For covering the bed were flowers. Hundreds and hundreds of blooms of every variety and color, some clearly out of season, from Graham’s special collection. And written in blossoms of red, against the backdrop of white and pink petals…

I Love You

“Words aren’t enough,” Graham said softly, stepping out of the shadows.

She turned to him, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Speechless?” he asked, with a smirk. “You? I must be better at this than I thought.”

“I love you,” she whispered, choking on the words. “I love you so much.”

His arms came around her, and as she rested her head on his chest, his heart beating under her cheek, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Tonight the twins said that today was the best day ever,” he said softly. “And I realized they were right.”

Ruby nodded in agreement.

“But then I realized they were wrong.”

Ruby pulled back, a question in her eyes.

“I couldn’t choose a day,” he said, looking down into her eyes. “Any day with you, Ruby. Any week, any month, any hour.” He tilted her chin up and brushed her lips with his gently, but with all the love in his soul. “Any moment,” he whispered. “As long as I’m with you.”

The End

~*~*~

Thank you all for coming along on this journey with me!!! I so hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear what you thought!!! Happy birthday, Marta!! Love you!!!

[captain-aralias]

Aralias's fic year in review, 2022

not going to write anything new in the next 3 days, so here's my 2022 round-up. thanks @dragoneggos for tagging me into yours <3

fics i wrote alone:

Restoration Ecology - Explicit, 51k

Hopelessly Miscast - Explicit, 24k

We all fall down - Mature, 18k, based on art by @technetiumai

Thank Magic (Thank Niamh) - Explicit, Brobelove, 2.5k

Unintended - Teen, 47k, based on art by @asticou

Work It - Explicit, 4k

Simon Snow and the Third Gate - Teen, 5k, Unpublished, with art by @cutestkilla

7 fics of which 6 published, 151.5k words

fics i wrote with others:

We Were Always More - Teen, 9k (5k? mine), with @facewithoutheart

Call Me Maybe - Teen, 12k (<1k mine), with @forabeatofadrum

Shiver - Mature, 8k (<1k mine), with @facewithoutheart

Birthday Man - Explicit, 38k (<1k mine), with the Carry On Discord, join here

Seven Minutes - Mature, 6.5k (3k mine), with @facewithoutheart

about 8k mine - in total, call it 160k words this year.

some questions under the cut

although first, in a break from tradition, i thought i'd play back what i said i was going to write in 2022 at the end of 2021:

finish restoration ecology. 

some sort of smut for dem. 

???

might be time to write my vampire simon fic, not sure. the moment might have passed, and i might push it back and push it back until once again it doesn’t happen. 

i was thinking i’d quite like to write a thing where they get together at watford and it’s not because magic made them do it… and it’s not 50k+ words long, either. there have to be other ways. 

maybe some more experiments, like - i like the idea of them becoming friends after watford not boyfriends. a. few people started writing this and it’s interesting and fun - i dont have an idea for it. 

i do have an idea for the agatha-baz bodyswap. i guess i might write that. nothing the people like more than dubcon het sex, am i right?? (i mean, maybe some people). i’m trying to not think about this story until marta posts hers, and until i’ve written restoration ecology - see above. but yeah, i feel like there’s some quite significant impetus behind this one in my brain… (magic made them do it at watford, eh? it’s my favourite.)

(full 2021 answers)

i failed at vampire simon - that's basically never going to happen. i didn't write a watford get together that wasn't about magic, but i DID write a friends to lovers, the agatha-baz bodyswap, and restoration ecology! so - i consider that a win.

Best/worst title?

best title is 'Restoration Ecology', although i'm also a big fan of 'Shiver' - which i did not come up with. worst title is 'Thank Magic, Thank Niamh' - like RE, it’s a quote from the text, but one works on multiple levels, the other is just.... to do with niamh? i mean, i tried a bit harder than that. it's kind of to do with how agatha prefers niamh to magic, and that's the point of the story.... but yeah. it's poor. sorry brobelove.

also - no offense discord, but 'birthday man' is a bizarre title 😂 it absolutely makes sense in context, but seems weird before you read the fic. (i wrote the summary of this fic, which is why it's super generic like all of mine)

Best/worst summary?

all the summaries i wrote this year are at least all right! the brobelove one is actively good (phew). the best is probably restoration ecology again, although someone told me at some point they were worried about reading it in case baz really had ruined simon's life at some point (that was just simon being dramatic in the summary, it's ok).

'We all fall down' has a classic aralias-friendly summary i.e. [quote sets up normal situation] ; [now something else is happening]. it's elegant and (i think) intriguing, and only doesn't get to be the best summary of the year because it's so reminiscent of every snowbaz hanahaki summary ever...

Baz has been hopelessly in love with Simon Snow for years, he thought it was killing him. Now it really is.

worst - Work It is clearly phoned in (though it does the job). but i'm going to go for a surprise choice of the 'Unintended' summary, which i never really liked. it describes the premise of the fic but not very elegantly. i think i wrote it in the few hours before posting chapter 1, which is usually not a good sign.

Best/worst first line?

excluding the ones i didn't write...

best is probably 'Well. This is Awkward' - from the brobelove, although 'Friendship is magic' (Unintended) is also good fun and plays off later, obvs, in a way i totally planned...

also, a shout out to 'Call Me Maybe':

By the time I get off the plane, I already have three missed calls from Penelope and a voicemail.

i thought that was a good beginning.

worst - 'There’s music playing when I get home.' (Work It)

interestingly, that beginnning is also dull... on purpose. as i was thinking 'i always open fics in media res, lemme do something different. so this sentence has nothing to do with the rest of the fic (except that the music is 'work it', i guess) unlike all my other first lines. and it ends up on the worst first line podium! harsh.

Best/worst last line?

best - “I’m Agatha Wellbelove.” (Hopelessly Miscast)

boom! i dont know if people even noticed the chapter titles, i tend not to notice chapter titles, but this is a call back to that, as well as her feeling so secure in her own body. that's why it gets top spot even though i wrote a few not-crap endings this year. (n.b. for new readers, i tend to dislike my endings/writing endings.)

i really really like the ending of 'We Were Always More' - i wrote this kiss for simon way earlier in the narrative and then thought 'wait, this is classic ending material', and it works super well. even 'Work It', which is kind of doomed to be the fic that isn't as good as most of the others... has a solid ending.

i wrote a crap ending for 'We all fall down' - but fixed it at the last minute!! 'Spring's come early' works.

'restoration ecology'............. would probably end up in last place (what???) because it's a classic lazy aralias ending, but i've just remembered Third Gate fizzles out much much more obviously at the moment, so - that's the worst.

i still have time to make that one work, though.

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted?

interestingly, the answer is - far far fewer fics.... than i thought i had written this year/than i thought i would write. but quite a few more words than i usually write, despite that.

i wrote.... 4 big chunky fics of which 2 were very chunky.

and clearly - see above - the content was approximately what i predicted! although i had no idea it would fall out like this.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year?

brobelove is the obvious answer here - although the fact that it's queer means that it's not so unlikely - particularly after i ended up spending so much time with agatha in 'hopelessly miscast'.

i didn't expect that fic to end up so much about her, either.

What’s your favourite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest.

i answered this question recently, the answer is 'restoration ecology' :) but as i say, lots of good stories this year, i thought.

Okay, NOW your most popular story.

RE is still more popular than 'Unintended' but maybe not forever.

Story most underappreciated by the universe?

hmm.... maybe 'work it' but it's a throwaway wingfic, so i feel like it got the attention it deserved.

Call Me Maybe is probably the answer - it's genuinely BRILLIANT, i was overwhelmed when i saw what had been done with this premise. i wrote the opening, so it's my fault if people are not being sucked in. and i know it's because it's agatha gen fic but i would love more people to read it.

Story that could have been better?

'work it' - but did it need to be much better? i mean, i definitely rushed the end/the sex, because the deadline was approaching...... but there is sex. and there are wings.

the beginning of 'restoration ecology' still bugs me, too. so much exposition - it only gets good when they're having sex. and then there's exposition again, and we have to wait for the sex again.

Sexiest story?

i only really wrote porn this year... and 'unintended'! probably the answer is 'restoration ecology', although if you like strap-ons, and who doesn't, perhaps you would like the brobelove.

Saddest story?

usually i have no answer for this, but ...... actually i think arguably 'restoration ecology' OR 'we all fall down' qualify, even though i can't really sustain angst without wanting to put in some jokes and simon saying 'everything's going to be ok now'.

restoration ecology is about healing, so it has to start fairly bleak and hopeless - and i think baz's breakdown is pretty sad, even though by the time we know about it, everything's basically ok for him.

meanwhile 'we all fall down' is about how baz is dying beautifully and simon can't love him ..... it definitely is the winner of this category, even though as i recall it, they mostly spend time holding hands and talking about how much they like each other. so it's not that sad.

Most fun?

'we were always more'! aka amnesia baz. how could anything else be the winner when i got to write a baz who purrs and wets flannels for simon? facewithoutheart is a writer of extreme range, but one end of that range is being extremely funny, and this set up is all her.

Story with single sweetest moment?

not sure....... my instinct says it's one of these:

1 - restoration ecology, partners. “Is that better, sweetheart?” (btw, i like that i just dropped these endearments in without comment and we have to wait a whole chapter for simon to tell us he's in love with baz)

2 - we all fall down, “It did work,” I agree. “Which means my father and stepmother were bound in holy matrimony by Buzz Lightyear.” although the sex is very reminscent of what i like about the Wales sex in RE

3 - Unintended chapter 5: Baz smiles. Swallows. Presses his forehead against mine. “Then marry me.”

Hardest story to write?

i find it very amusing that last year i was whinging about restoration ecology, but by the time i was doing the ao3 wrapped ask meme this month i'd forgotten it was hard to write at the beginning. it was hard. but then it was easy for the end.

this year's hardest story was.......... Simon Snow and the Third Gate.

it's not it's fault - it had too much plot, no romance arc (although i accidentally made baz the second main character despite saying i wouldnt) and i was in deep pregnancy first trimester tiredness.

'Unintended' also took months longer than i wanted it to. first chapter was quite easy, but later chapters where simon was more in his feels took.... more than the 2 weeks-per-chapter that i wanted them to take. a lot more.

Easiest/most fun story to write?

since i've remembered RE was a ballache at the beginning, gotta be 'Hopelessly Miscast'. i wrote a chapter of that a week, i think, and it's genuinely really good! i enjoyed it a lot.

'birthday man' was also really easy - i was a bit worried about it, but it's so free-ing to know that you don't need to finish what you started, and by the time i wrote anything, i felt confident enough not to have to write that much either. (by which i mean: there was a bit of me that wanted to be like 'is my bit the best??' which would have stressed me out. what i actually wrote is not the best bit, it's a bridge. but it's fine. i enjoyed writing it.)

Did any stories shift your perceptions of the characters?

'hopelessly miscast' made me think i could write agatha and really enjoy it. that's almost certainly why i ended up writing the strap-on fic later.

Most overdue story?

'Unintended' - it wasn't really overdue, but i wanted it to be finished months earlier than it was. but i think it was ok. it gave time for asticou to make art, which was lovely.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them?

yes! there was that bit in the middle of the year where i signed up for too many things. two CORBs and WIP fest - it was probably too much, but i like all the things we made! so i guess i learned - it's fine?

my other major risks were things like saying 'i don't know if i can keep posting every week!!' from this i learned - i can do it. for a while. but not always - i shouldn't beat myself up for 'unintended' not being written in 5 weeks.

the other major risk i thought i took was writing the baz-as-agatha sex. i think if i'd been less established as a writer in this fandom i would have been more worried about how it would go down. as it was, i was still a bit worried, but i also put up the framework of consent early on, and people were so nice about chapter 1 that it turned out fine. i feel other people have done lots more risque things this year than anyone has done so far (this is not really up there) - and it's been good! well done, fandom.

This year’s theme and the story that demonstrates it most:

i can think of two obvious ones.

the first is - collaboration!!! i barely wrote any collab stuff before this year, and yet this post has a huge list of things i either wrote with other people, or wrote based off art. i'm going to choose 'Seven Minutes' as the exemplar (even though it's probably 'Birthday Man') because it's the one that i asked to do, off the back of all the other collaborations going really well.

the other theme i noticed this year is ........ they aren't together but they're still kissing/having sex from almost the beginning of the story. i dont know whether there's a better name for that, but i didn't do it on purpose. i just like a slow burn AND for there to be sex. now i've noticed it, you'd think i would try and stop, but the only fic i know for sure that i will write next year is exactly this.

it's also a collaboration :)

What are your fic writing goals for next year?

let's keep it simple.

i want to:

a) fix up the ending of Third Gate b) write the strangers to lovers fic for/with @krisrix

if i do nothing else before the baby in May, but i do those two things, then we'll be ok.

otherwise, twigs_in_my_hair and i will hopefully write something together, watford era, her idea, but it's right up my street.

i think anything else is probably too ambitious! but if there's something you'd like me to write, or you want to work on something together, please do ask - i might say it's not possible or a project is not for me, but at the moment it feels like a good way to get me to possibly write! (and collaborating works well, as it means there's definitely someone to bounce ideas off/i know i have someone to pick up the slack if necessary.)

see y'all in 2023!

[alexbkrieger13]

it's marta torrejón birthday today, Caro said my girl is not spending her birthday alone, injury is just cover story

😅.

[cinematicnomad]

with what you were talking about with daisy and the six- one of my favorite visual representations of this idea is Knives Out. every flashback makes you doubt if the person is telling the truth, or remembering correctly, and not everything is even actually confirmed one way or another on screen. from what I’ve seen of daisy and the six, I don’t know if they’ll actually go this route, but it would be cool if they did!

yes!! knives out is a good example of how editing and story telling can help to make the audience uncertain of the truth. the first movie is rife with these scenes—different family members talk about how they were the ones standing beside harlan while he blew out his birthday candles, they each claim marta's family is from a different country, etc etc.

what i like about the text for daisy jones and the six is that...it doesn't really matter what the objective truth is? or, not that it doesn't matter, but that...we just have to forget about it. because the fact of the matter is, we will never know. the book can never reveal What Actually Happened in certain scenes. we can make inferences—who do we trust more, who has a greater reason to lie, who do we simply, just, believe etc etc.

like, i think it's probably pretty clear that eddie did wind up playing billy's riff, bc everything we know about eddie is that he's a pompous ass who would never be willing to admit that even if it were the truth. and i think billy probably did tell daisy that impossible woman was about her—we get several outside opinions confirming they thought the song was about daisy, and billy confessing this fact to daisy was SUCH a big moment for her she'd have to be delusional to be making that up, while it makes total sense why billy would be in denial about it to himself and why, afterwards, he might lie to himself about ever admitting it out loud. regarding who left teddy's house first, i genuinely can't say...i think i probably lean on the side of daisy fleeing first bc the shame and humiliation she describes feeling in that moment seems SO overwhelming i can't imagine her staying, and billy DOES seem like the type of guy who would tell himself the story that he was The Bigger Man™.

but the fact of the matter is...i can never KNOW. that's MY rationale for the truth, but it's not objective, and there might be others who can argue the other way around. and i think the show will have a hard time leaving room for that ambiguity. these scenes aren't just a sleight of hand—they're fully realized contradictory memories that several people hold throughout the book. the BEST scenes in the narrative are the ones where one character says something like it's an objective fact and then it is immediately contradicted by someone else—and you as the reader are left to weigh both stories and wonder which is true. and sometimes it's obvious and sometimes you just...don't know. and you have to live with that in a way that putting something on screen, having the actors say the words, doesn't quite leave the same amount of breathing room.

[searchingwardrobes]

No Wives, No Mothers, No Lovers: 3/7

Working on this chapter today has been like therapy for me. You know that saying, “It doesn’t rain, it pours?” Well, I feel like my life is a hurricane right now. I’ve shared some things already, but the latest storm to hit my family is finding out that my husband’s dad has cancer and maybe only has one to four months left. We’re all kind of in shock. I guess writing felt like an escape. Like picking up a hobby that just makes you happy, if only for a little while. I hope you all like this next chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

And Marta, I still think of you as I continue to work on this birthday present. I miss you - I hope you forgive me for not chatting with you as much lately. But every little detail in this story, I keep thinking either, “what would Marta like?” or “oh, Marta’s going to love this so much!” I have a special surprise in the next chapter that I’m just giddy about - so be looking out for it!

Summary:   He must be hallucinating. Because Emma Swan is supposed to be in Miami, Florida where he left her. Emma Swan isn’t supposed to be on this rocky stretch of beach, completely drenched, and wearing a ball gown of all things. A Lieutenant Duckling AU (sort of) in which Emma is a siren who isn't supposed to fall in love with a human.  

Length: about 2k plus in this chapter

Rated: T

Previous Chapters: One | Two

Also on Ao3

Tagging (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed): @teamhook @kmomof4 @jrob64 @xhookswenchx @winterbythesea @thisonesatellite @welllpthisishappening @spartanguard @ohmakemeahercules @tiganasummertree @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @jamif @undercaffinatednightmare @onceratheart18 @sparlecorn93 @sals86 @pirateprincessofpizza @xarandomdreamx @zaharadessert @huntressandlioness1 @iverna​ @jonesfandomfanatic

The bell above the door at Happy’s jingles as Killian leads Emma inside. The small market can’t compete with the huge supermarket down the highway in either inventory or price, but the locals keep it in business. A quick run to Happy’s when you run out of milk or forget to pack a lunch is much more convenient and cheaper in the long run than a twenty minute drive into civilization. 

“The place may not look like much,” Killian tells her, as he leads her down the aisle of chips and crackers, “but the deli here makes a mean sandwich.”

“I heard that,” Happy himself shouts from the front register. 

Killian ignores the man, and Emma laughs silently. He makes a sweeping gesture towards the selection of chips. 

“Whatever your heart desires, m’lady.”

Emma rolls her eyes at his theatrics. She reaches out to run her hand along the shelf, narrowing her eyes as she peruses the selection. Suddenly, she jerks her hand to her chest and bites down on her bottom lip. Killian sees a spot of blood on the edge of the shelf where a jagged piece of metal has come loose from its screw. 

“Happy!” he shouts. “Fix this damn shelf before someone needs stitches and a tetanus shot!”

“What!” Happy shouts back, running over to Killian and Emma. 

“Let me see,” Killian reaches for her, but she shrinks back, her face going suddenly pale. “Your hand, it’s cut.”

“Where did it cut her?” Happy asks, narrowing his eyes as he examines the shelf. 

“The sharp metal dripping with blood!” Killian snaps back. 

“There’s no blood.”

Killian mutters under his breath as he turns to point out the obvious to the store owner. “It’s right . . .” 

He trails off, leaning forward to find the bright spot of liquid that had startled him just a moment ago. 

“I don’t understand. I saw blood.”

“Well. I can’t have blood on my shelves,” Happy tells him, gingerly examining the shelves. “It’s not sanitary.”

“It’s also dangerous,” Killian snaps, then he turns to Emma again. “Please love, let me see.”

She signs frantically with her uninjured hand, keeping the cut one behind her back. He doesn’t understand a thing she’s saying. Her movements are too rapid, her facial expression too panicked. 

“She’s saying it's fine,” Happy says over his shoulder. “The shelf didn’t cut her. She felt the sharp piece and pulled away; that’s all.”

Killian raises both eyebrows at the grocer.

“What? I have an aunt who’s deaf.”

Killian looks back at Emma who nods emphatically and finally offers her hand. Killian holds it gently in his and examines her palm. 

“Amazing,” he mutters, rubbing his thumb gently across the lines in her soft skin. “I could have sworn . . .”

He feels Emma shudder at his touch, and electricity tingles up his arm. His gaze collides with hers, and he sucks in a sharp intake of breath at the chemistry sparking between them. Emma bites her lip again, and Killian wets his own. It has always been this way, since the day they met, yet it still slams into him with shock: this awareness, this intensity of feeling unlike anything he’s ever known before. 

“Ah ha, there it is!” Happy exclaims, sending the couple jumping apart. 

Happy is a nice man who earned his nickname, yet in that moment Killian has an intense desire to throttle him. Oblivious to what he interrupted, the grocer mutters something about this toolbox and hurries away. Killian chances a glance at Emma again, whose eyes are sparkling merrily as she smiles. Her expression seems to say “maybe next time,” and it sends a jolt through him. 

Emma selects some kettle cooked barbecue chips, which happen to be his favorite, too. He tries not to read too much into that. 

He takes her next to the deli counter at the back of the market. The short, balding man with a black beard behind the counter glares at them. 

“Whaddya want?” he barks. 

“Grumpy,” Killian replies cheerfully, rocking back on his heels, “lovely day isn’t it?”

“Lovely? Looks like rain, which means trouble for the fishing boats, which means trouble

for this town, which means trouble for this store. Lovely day, my ass!”

Emma catches Killian’s eyes with an expression of surprise and humor. Killian winks back. 

“Grumpy, I’ll have a club with the works on rye.” He glances at Emma, then studies Grumpy. “Your brother said your aunt is deaf? Are you fluent in ASL?’

Grumpy snorts. “Course I am. Whaddya think? Happy is the only one who loves our aunt? I love her too, I have you know!”

“Course you do.” Killian puts a hand to his chest. “My apologies.”

Emma presses a hand to her lips to suppress a laugh. Once she’s composed, she rapidly gives her order to Grumpy. 

“Turkey bacon ranch on Italian bread,” Grumpy repeats, “got it.”

When they exit the store with the supplies for their picnic, Emma can’t scribble on her notepad fast enough.

Happy and Grumpy? Seriously? Are they dwarves? 

She follows this with a rather well-drawn rolling on the floor laughing emoji. 

“They are a little on the short side, but they aren’t dwarves. As far as I know, anyway.” Killian accentuates this statement with an eyebrow raise, eliciting another wonderful smile from Emma. “Those also aren’t their real names. Harold is Happy’s real name, and Grumpy is Leroy. No one calls them that, though. Nobody calls their five other brothers by their real names either.”

Emma grabs his arm to stop him, then scribbles on her pad again.  

Let me guess: Sneezy, Doc, Dopey, Sleepy, and Bashful?

“Exactly.”

As Emma gapes at that, Killian shrugs.

“What do you expect when there are seven boys in one family? The funny thing is, they’ve each lived up to their assigned monikers.”

Emma makes a sign like a sloped roof twice, then makes a “c” shape at her face and swipes it down as she shakes her head and laughs. 

“Oh! A crazy town?”

Emma jots quickly on her notepad. 

No! Quirky!

“Well, I certainly can’t argue with that.” Killian’s gaze takes in the rest of main street, then he looks in the distance at the docks and the shore. He looks up at the sky with a sailor’s eye. Emma follows his gaze, tilting her head up. Then she waves her open hands back and forth in front of her. 

“Yes, it looks like Liam was right, a storm is brewing.” It doesn’t even cross his mind that he’s understood Emma completely. “Don’t worry, I had a back up plan for our picnic. In a way, it’s even better than the beach. Come on!”

He takes her hand and pulls her down the street. She goes willingly, her smile matching his. By the time he stops in front of an empty storefront, the rain has begun to fall lightly and the wind has picked up. A “For Lease” sign hangs in the window, but other than that, it looks exactly the same as the last time Killian had been here a little over a year ago. The wonderful thing about a small town is that grief is bigger, encompassing the entire community. No one rushes you to move on.

Like insisting two young men pack up their mother’s dance studio and shutter the windows forever. 

Killian fishes the key out of his pocket, then unlocks the frosted glass door that reads “Dream Dance Studio.” He leads Emma inside, holding his breath and waiting for the pain to engulf him. The pang of grief comes, but not in overwhelming waves as he had expected. Instead it is a dull ache thudding in his heart. He can picture her everywhere he looks: counting out dance beats as she stands beside her collection of CDs and vintage vinyl, skipping around the room with a gauzy scarf in her hand while the littlest of her students skip behind her, extending her hand to Killian insisting that he needs to know how to lead. He sees her turning off the lights as he stands at the door, not knowing it was the last time he would see her here, in one of her favorite places on earth. It was called “Dream Dance Studio” because it was Alice Jones’s dream come true. 

As he finishes his turn about the room, he sees Emma writing quickly. 

This was your mother’s dance studio, wasn’t it? This must be so hard for you, Killian. You didn’t have to bring me here.

Killian takes the pen and paper from Emma’s hand gently, shaking his head. 

“I wanted to, Emma. Since I came home, I haven’t been able to bear coming here. Neither can Liam. But with you here with me, I thought I could finally face it. After all, I dreamed of you meeting her. She couldn’t believe I met someone in Miami who knew how to Jive!”

Emma laughs at that, but quickly sobers and steps closer to him, resting her hand against his cheek. She looks into his eyes, communicating what her voice can not. He covers his hand with hers, then blinks back the tears and clears his throat. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Emma lets him lighten the moment and follows him to a long bench along one wall. They set the chips between them and balance their thick sandwiches on their laps. Emma’s face when she takes a bite tells him that she loves the sandwich just as much as he’d promised she would. 

“Grumpy may not be very friendly, but he makes one hell of a sandwich, doesn’t he?”

Emma nods, then takes another huge bite. Killian opens one of the water bottles they had also purchased and hands it to her. She takes it gratefully and washes down her first two bites. They continue to eat in a friendly and comfortable silence. After the food is gone, they continue to sit, both lost in separate memories. Killian turns to look at her profile as she sits there pensively. She’s the most beautiful creature he’s ever seen; it almost intoxicates him. As a matter of fact, he feels a little dizzy, come to think of it. The edges of his vision blur until all he can see is her. She seems to become ethereal, bathed in gold dust. 

Emma turns to him, and she startles at his expression. She reaches for him, grasping both his shoulders and giving him a firm shake. Then she snaps her fingers in front of his face. He blinks, and suddenly, there she is: just Emma. Beautiful, yet comfortable. His friend from the library. He can see the dimple in her chin, the freckles across her nose, and the tiny scar along her jawline, just below her left ear. She wets her lips nervously, and he notices what he had that night in the dorm kitchen: her right premolar is a tiny bit crooked. He sighs.

“Hi.”

Emma rolls her eyes, but her body seems to sag in relief. 

Killian shakes his head as if to clear it, then jumps to his feet as he pulls out his phone. 

“My mother may not be here in the flesh,” he tells Emma, “but she’s here in spirit. I promised her she would get to see us jive. Shall we?”

Emma practically jumps up from the bench as she takes his hand, a skip in her step. Killian finds the song “Rockin Robin” on his phone and hits play. It’s the same song they’d jived to in Miami on the campus quad. Emma is beaming as he pulls her out on the dance floor and twirls her around. They kick and bounce and spin with abandon, and he swears he can feel his mother’s presence. He lifts Emma in the air, dips her, and it’s as if he can actually hear her silent laughter ringing in his ears. When the song ends, Emma throws her arms around him, and he feels the curve of her smile against his sweaty neck. 

The music on his phone switches, and “I Only Have Eyes for You” by The Flamingos starts to play. Emma steps back, eyes wide. She makes a motion with one hand as if she were wiping her brow and flinging something aside as she shakes her head. 

“You don’t know how to slow dance?”

She gestures between them with a confused expression as if to say, “I don’t know what this is supposed to be.”

Killian gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile as he puts one arm around her waist and pulls her close, taking her opposite hand in his. 

“It’s called a waltz, Swan, and there’s only one rule: pick a partner who knows what he’s doing.”

He winks, and she relaxes in his arms as he sweeps her around the dance floor, the lyrics of the song swelling around them. 

Are the stars out tonight?

I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright.

I only have eyes for you, dear. 

Oh, I only have eyes for you . . .

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Girls' Trip Fairy Tale Ending--Chapter 5 of 5

Summary:  This is my combined birthday gift for Joni (  @jrob64​  ), Marta ( @snowbellewells ) and Krystal ( @kmomof4 ).  Happy birthday ladies! Four fandom friends are nearing the end of their annual girls’ trip when they’re suddenly visited by Isaac, the author before Henry.  He gives them an each a gift–an opportunity to jump into any scene in the storybook they want and fix it.  Large focus on CS, although other characters and relationships will be explored.  A big shoutout to @hollyethecurious​ and @winterbaby89 for betaing!

Word Count: 1090

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew @annaamell @flslp877 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay

@ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch

@missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615

@laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04

@nickillian  @gillie  @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4  

@linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious

@laughswaytoomuch  @allyourdarlingswans  @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @therooksshiningknight,

@lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree  @jrob64  @anmylica   @booksteaandtoomuchtv​ @elfiola

Other chapters:  (1) (2) (3) (5)

Can also be found on: (ao3) (ff.net)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Note: I know it's been forever since I posted (and you've probably forgotten what this fic is all about by now), but in the spirit of the thing, I decided to post on the last birthday of our group--which happens to be mine! I hope you enjoyed our adventures!

Epilogue

And with Jen’s return to the cabin, the fairytale adventure came to a close.

“I don’t know about the rest of you,” Jen said, “but for me, that is by far the best way to watch Once Upon a Time.  You get to meet the characters, fix plot holes, and experience the Happily Ever After.”

There were unanimous choruses of agreement all around.

“Well, I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves,” Isaac said with a roll of his eyes, “but I hope you also learned something.  I hope you all learned that my job is harder than you thought it was–that when you change one thing, there is an entire cascade of unforeseen effects.”

“Is that really a bad thing?” Jen mused. “When the original trajectory was stupid, changes are a good thing.”

“Speaking of,” Krystal said, “can we finally talk about our experiences?”

Isaac sighed. Loudly. “Fine, but no cheating!  You have to disclose all of it, not just the things you liked, but the ways it changed the story, the ripple effects it had, the boring moments, the epic romantic moments that no longer happened.”

“Can you wrap this up?” Joni asked, “or is this lecture going to go on for a while, because if it is, I’m going to bed.”

Isaac sighed again.  “Just get on with it.”

“Gladly,” Joni said. “I went back to the beanstalk.”

There was a chorus of excited voices at that revelation, being, after all, a very significant moment in the Captain Swan journey.

“So what did you do?” Jen asked. “How did you change it?”

“I convinced Emma to go back and free Killian,” Joni answered. “How about the rest of you?”

“I saved Graham’s life,” Marta said with a sound that was half-way between a sigh and a giggle.

“There’s a shock,” Krystal said.

“How did you make that work with the story?” Jen asked.

“I really didn’t have to do much,” Marta said.  “I got Henry to distract Regina, and then I took back Graham’s heart. I got to put it back!  Then he kissed my hand and used a Killian line on me.”

“And you’re still alive to tell the tale?” Joni asked.

“Barely,” Marta said, clapping her hands and giggling again, “but it was touch and go for a little while.  Anyway, Emma decided she liked Graham, but she wasn’t sure she was in love with him. Then Regina got mad and banished Graham to the mental asylum. Then Ruby and Graham fell in love and lived happily ever after.”

There was a universal chorus of oos and ahs at that.  The consensus was that that would have, indeed, made for a better story.

“I went back to season six,” Jen said, when the discussion died down.  

“How could you possibly pick one scene from that hot mess to fix?” Krystal asked?

“Wasn’t easy,” Jen answered.  “Hot mess indeed.  Ultimately, I would have liked to change the entire arc with Killian killing David’s dad and all that came after that.  After all, that made no sense at all.  Since when would Killian kill someone to keep them from telling people he killed the king’s soldiers?  Wouldn’t that enhance his pirate street cred?”

“I needed one more conflict between them before their happily ever after!” Isaac said defensively.

“One, why?” Jen asked, “and two, if you needed one, you could have actually made it necessary to the plot and not just angst for angst’s sake.”

“Well…well…” Isaac spluttered, “that’s not even the scene you picked, so why are we even talking about this?”

“Because you need to hear it,” Jen answered.  “Anyway, I decided what bugged me the most about that whole arc was that Emma immediately believed he’d left her, and everyone else in her life just….went with it.  I talked some sense into all of them.  Oh, and I made it Christmastime–which let them bring Killian home with a little Christmas magic.”

“Well, of course, you can make things work out when you just randomly introduce a magical item!” Isaac exploded.

“You’re complaining about magical MacGuffins?” Joni asked. “May I introduce you to…any of your writing?”

Isaac grumbled under his breath, and then turned to Krystal.  “All right.  Let’s get this over with.  Time for you to tell us about your adventure.”

Krystal shrugged and gave him an evil grin.  “I killed off Neal.”

“Naturally,” Jen said.  “I assume there was pain?”

“Do you know me at all?” Krystal tossed back. “Of course there was pain.  Lots of it.  And screaming.”

“So Rumple didn’t absorb him?” Marta asked.

“Nope, and almost nothing ended up changing,” Krystal said.  “Except Snowing’s baby’s name, of course.”

Jen, Joni and Marta gave her blank stares.

“What does Neal’s death have to do with the baby’s name?” Marta asked.

“Without Neal around to be a ‘hero’,” she explained, “they ended up naming him Graham.

The blank stares continued.

“Oh come on ladies,” Krystal said, “I thought that would be your favorite part.  No one, and I mean no one liked that they named their son Neal.”

“What?” Joni asked.  “Why would they name their son Neal?  Who would name their son after their daughter’s ex-boyfriend who sent her to jail and broke her heart?”

“Exactly!” Krystal agreed.  Looking around, she noticed the other ladies were still giving her odd looks.  “Wait….you mean that’s NOT how you remember it?”

“No!” Marta said emphatically.  “There was a lot I loved about the CS movie, but the thing that always brought tears to my eyes was the naming ceremony when they named their baby after Graham and talked about how much of a hero he was.  It was just…”  There was the giggle sigh again.

Krystal looked over at Isaac, and he shrugged. “Far be it from me to deny it when I’m wrong.  Neal was a stupid naming choice.”

“You’ve got that right,” Jen said.

With a dramatic sigh, Isaac shook his head and threw up his hands.  “I give up.  Clearly there’s no reasoning with fanfiction writers.  Enjoy the rest of your trip, I guess.  And next year?  Lay off of the head trauma.  By my count you knocked Will upside the head seven times in your story. Gave me a headache just reading it.”

And with that, he was engulfed in a puff of smoke, and a moment later, there was no sign that he’d ever been there.  No sign, that is, but the excited chattering of the four ladies in the cabin who discussed their adventures long into the night.

[msfbgraves]

Tag Game To Better Know You! Send this to people you’d like to know better!

Tagged by @puella-peanut, thanks dear!

What book are you currently reading?

Snippets of several books, tbh. Eine Frau in Berlin by Marta Hillers, because I wanted to know what it is like to live under an invading Russian army. Columns from the collected works of Carl Friedman. Rereading Karakter by Ferdinand Bordewijk.

What’s your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year?

I've bothered to see exactly one, yesterday. Piece of my Heart, inspired by the life of Dutch star ballerina Olga de Haas. It's the story of a relationship between school friends Olga and Irma, while Olga has a meteoric rise through the company ranks. Irma deals with her jealousy remarkably well, but is tasked with keeping Olga functioning, which is too much to ask of any friend. It's also very, very gay. I mean it's not gay in the same way The Karate Kid III is not explicitly gay or kinky, which means the subtext is so shallow it is basically text.

What do you usually wear?

Whatever is comfortable, but I've been told that when I dress up it gets very posh.

How tall are you? A bit taller than 5'9'.

What’s your Star Sign? Do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event? 

I don't like astrology, mostly because astrology seems to not like me much. I share a birthday with the Dutch St. Nicholas! Which means I share a birthday with Santa.

Do you go by your name or a nick-name?

I go by my nickname with those I am close with; but that's because everyone with my name has this nickname, and when people start using it that usually means "Hey you! I like being around you." However, that is really awkward when it is a manager at work. I'm like: "I don't really think I want to be that buddy buddy", but if you tell someone not to use that nickname that is a huge rejection and your relationship is soured as a result. So I usually grin and bear it when that happens.

Did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child?

I might yet, though I find the presumption that this is always possible slightly arrogant. It assumes peace, health, and prosperity, and those are not givens in anyone's life. Which is to say I'm ashamed at not having achieved it yet but most people are not born disabled, and don't get potentially terminal cancer (remission baby, dinnae ye worry), and a childhood classmate of mine died when he was 16. (Although he had had quite a prolific career as a voice actor by then; still, he didn't technically grow up).

Who is your crush if you have one?

Anyone who follows me knows I have quite a thing for Michael Fassbender, James McAvoy, Colin Farrell, Ralph Macchio and Thomas Ian Griffith, but honestly I often really like the interplay between two Blorbos.

What’s something you’re good at vs. something you’re bad at?

Bad - everything in daily life, or so it feels. Good: I have been told that I have good insights in people's behaviour, and try not to hurt anyone.

Dogs or cats?

Cats.

If you draw/write, or create in any way, what’s your favorite picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this year?

I quite like the lines: "He feels as crumpled as the money in his hand" and "He doesn't take his keys" from my fic Chasing Dragons. I also like all my headcanons about Terry Silver being one of the Fair Folk, at least partly. It explains everything about him and it is also simply hilarious to imagine him excusing himself from some board meeting to rage at the sky.

What’s something you would like to create content for?

My own book. If it is fandom, I pretty much already am.

What’s something you’re currently obsessed with? 

I think I am slightly less obesessed with Cuba and His Teddy Bear by Reinaldo Povod than three months ago which honestly? Might be for the best.

What’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

New Year's Day. Somebody in my brother in law's family died on Dec 31 2021. Everyone was very morose, except for me, because I did not know the person.

What’s a hidden talent of yours?

When talking wrapping presents, most of us are 'cutters', according to Michael McIntyre, but 'hidden in normal society' are 'gliders'. I'm usually not very handy but I am, in fact, a 'glider'.

Are you religious?

No, but I am both spiritual and quite superstitious. I often feel that something is nudging me a certain way and I'd do well to heed those nudges. That can get kinda annoying, with me being like: "why shouldn't I take that bus?" but sometimes when I heed it and take another, there was some roadblock or something going on, and then I'm like: 'Huh, thanks.'

What’s something you wish to have at this moment?

An inkling of how best to earn a living. People just know how to find work and get jobs and everytime I'm like: "I don't know how I lucked into this and god knows what I am going to do for money when this work dries up." I mean I like believing in some career advisor's mantra about "jobs die", which they do and that's OK, and everytime that happens I'm like "Now what...?!" I seem to baffle people even in the arts and academia. Some people like being baffled, mind, but a lot of the time I got feedback like: "It's not that you're doing anything wrong, or unacceptable, specifically, but... Why Are You Like This?" I tend to look at things sideways, apparently.