#that's kept him from ending up like maurice i suspect | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

treatian · 3 years ago

Text

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Magical Loopholes

Chapter 33: Interrogation Techniques

He was going to kill Snow White's Prince Charming if it was the last thing he did.

He regretted making a deal with him to run this investigation "his way." Some part of him had known he would from the very moment he'd felt the magic binding them in their accord, but still, he'd made the deal out of desperation. And where had it gotten him? A front-row seat to observation after observation of people who didn't want to help, didn't know anything, or couldn't be bothered. David was nearly as useless as Maurice had been, just on a larger scale.

He approached everyone who owned a business on Main Street, starting with his shop, since he assumed that's where she would have been most comfortable, and working his way down. Sarah Fischer, formerly known as the Ice Queen, in the shop closest to his, hadn't seen her, though the pair of them stared at each other with a sort of understanding that promised to stay out of one another's business. Enemy or not, he felt oddly comfortable in the resolution that she was not the one who had taken his Belle. They tried others. The people in Mary Margaret's flat, the garden center, the mechanic, the vet who worked at David's shelter, half the staff at La Tandoor, all the staff at Modern Fashion. So far, there was no luck, though he wasn't always allowed to make that judgment for himself.

Oh, he let David do the talking, just as their deal required, but when he was able, he stayed close, listened to the conversations, watched the faces of those who were interviewed. There were more than a few times though, when people eyed him suspiciously or told David they wouldn't talk with him around. In those cases, David ended up sending him elsewhere, behind a wall, outside a store, or even across the street…as he was standing now.

David was making inquiries with a man, a young man, who appeared to have gotten a flat on Main Street and was just now repairing it. He wasn't a store owner, but the repairs meant he'd been there for long enough to see something, and David had asked before he looked between the pair of them. "I'm not talking to you, man," he stated before he'd barely gotten a question out. He knew the tone well enough by now, and without being asked, he turned to walk across the street.

He hated these interviews. Mostly because they were useless and because each time this happened, it made him nervous and excited and anxious all over again. Were these people sending him away because they'd seen something, and they didn't want him to retaliate? So far, the answer was no. But he couldn't help the thought from passing each time it happened.

Finally, David appeared to say goodbye to the individual, crossed the street, and approached him again. He held his breath in anticipation. Was this the one? Had the boy seen something? Belle?

"Do you remember turning a butcher into a pig?" David asked with frustration. The question caught him off guard. It wasn't something he'd expected in the midst of this. Turning a butcher into a pig certainly sounded like something he might have done, but the memory didn't particularly stick out. And he didn't see why it would have been important now. Unless, of course, that man had intelligence that the butcher was now human again, and they'd taken Belle as revenge! Belle alone with a butcher and a sharp blade…his stomach churned at the thought.

"Can't say that I do. Why?"

"Well, he does. Apparently, it was his father!" he snapped, pushing the drawing of Belle into his chest and taking off down Main Street. "I'm beginning to understand why nobody wants to help you."

He understood now. The boy wasn't a witness; he was an enemy, someone who hated him even if he couldn't remember hurting him or his butcher-father. This was why he didn't want Belle out here alone. In his long life, he'd made too many enemies; they were lurking around every damn corner, it seemed!

"W-well has he seen Belle?" he asked as he struggled to keep up with him.

"Afraid not."

"Okay, so what's next?"

"Granny's," he answered. "We can see who else you terrorized there."

Many people. He suspected the answer would be nearly all of them, including Widow Lucas herself. Oh, he hated the idea that Belle was out here around these people, that they might figure out who she was, what she meant to him. He hated that they might tell her about his past before he did. Not that he made any progress on that. He'd liked to believe he would have told her about Bae when they went to the cabin next weekend, but…he couldn't even tell her when she'd asked this morning.

He glanced at David. His secret that he was David and not James, how had he managed to get up the courage to tell Snow when it would have put so much on the line for him, risked so much! How did he do it?

"Look, uh…can I ask you a question? A-about you and Mary Margaret?" The words were out of his mouth before he'd given them permission to be. David stopped and turned to him. "H-how…how does that work?"

The look on his face was suspicious, and he instantly regretted the question. Suddenly he wondered why the truth about Bae couldn't have done that too. If it had, then maybe he and Belle could be at home right now enjoying an honest conversation over breakfast.

"Are you asking dating advice?"

"Dating Advice"?! Him?! Hell no. He and Belle were so far beyond "dating," and this…this had nothing to do with dating or wooing. Though, now that he thought about it, he wasn't entirely sure what it was about either. It was a stupid question.

"Course not, no."

David took a breath, looked around, and then sighed as he turned back to him. "Honesty," he answered with a shrug as if it were all obvious. "That's how we did it. Hard work and being honest with one another."

"Well…" he huffed to himself as David, and he turned to stride down the sidewalk again. "I don't lie."

He hadn't meant to respond to David so much as he'd thought the words out loud. But David heard them. Every word.

"There's a difference between literal truth and honesty of the heart. Nothing taught me that more than this curse…"

He opened his mouth to respond, but just like with Belle, nothing seemed to want to come out. It was understandable. David hadn't told him anything he didn't already know, and he certainly didn't give him an answer. He wanted to be honest with Belle, truly he did. He just didn't understand how to make the words come out, where the courage to say it all came from. Maybe he should have taken the deal she'd proposed weeks ago, left the entire thing up to magic. Maybe he should take a truth serum still in his pocket when he found her and let her question him. It might be easier than finding the courage he'd never been able to summon up even when he'd been human.

The moment they came through the diner door, Granny's sharp eyes were on him as they hadn't been in years. It was a reminder that he hadn't been back to this place since before the Curse had broken, and this was the first time they were face to face since he'd banished her away to deal with Regina. The history of their first and only encounter lay between them, yet another thing that Belle didn't know, and he doubted she'd want to hear. He suspected that was why it was so difficult to tell her things, if she knew about his past, about what he'd done to dear Granny, for instance, she'd have left him anyway.

"What can I get you?" Ruby asked cautiously, her eyes moving between him and her grandmother.

David ignored the look as Granny disappeared into the back. He pulled the picture he'd been holding free from his hands and gave it to the she-wolf.

"We're looking for this girl, goes by the name Belle. Maybe you saw her in here or out on the street…?"

Ruby looked over at the picture, and he grew giddy as he heard her heart suddenly beat faster. That was the first time that had happened since they started questioning people. Why, he wondered.

"Belle, huh?" the girl smiled awkwardly, glancing back and forth between David and him. It made his chest squeeze as he heard her heart begin to beat even faster than before. "Sorry, doesn't ring a bell."

Lie. But despite the fact that he wanted to step forward and say something about it, magic wrapped around him and kept him in place. Damn the deal they'd made. He wanted to snarl, yell, and use magic to do what he did best and call her out for her lies. But he remained where he was. And David…

Fortunately for him, David caught Ruby's apprehension. He could tell by the way he glanced back over his shoulder at him before stepping closer to the she-wolf. She-wolf…the full moon would be coming up soon, the thought of Belle out in the world alone when a creature like Ruby would have her magic back…her cloak had once been in his store. He'd sold it when he'd been Mr. Gold. Who had bought it? If returning it to her meant Belle was kept safe, he'd buy it back in a heartbeat. Better yet, he'd happily trade it to her or make a brand new one if it meant she'd exchange the information she had for it.

"Ruby, listen to me," David whispered, lowering his voice so that a human would have had trouble hearing. But he was the Dark One, a simple turn of the head and a bit of magic had him listening to their every word.

"If you've come across her, you've got to tell me. I'll make sure nothing bad happens."

"Yeah, but what about him?"

"I've got him! Trust me."

A pause had him holding his breath. "She was in earlier," the girl finally admitted. He moved his eyes back to her immediately. Belle was here. She'd been in this diner. With someone or by herself? "She was looking for a job. I pointed her in the direction of the library."

He swallowed. She'd been looking for a job? The library was right across the street from his shop. It was perfect for her, he'd thought so himself the first time he'd beheld it after his eyes had been opened. And Belle…she'd find it hard to resist the temptation of a book. But they'd been in that direction, and they hadn't seen her.

"Well, you think she went there?"

"Don't know," Ruby answered. "But, when you find her…" the girl walked back around the counter and pulled something from the back, setting it on the counter between them, "give her this. She left it in her booth."

"Well, that's mine," he swallowed, reaching for it.

"This" was a gray sweater that he recognized. It was one of the items that his magic had made for Belle up in the cabin. He'd liked it because it was warm; she'd liked it because it was soft. She was fond of wearing it outside. But apparently, in her haste to go to the library, she'd…

Suddenly he was aware of Ruby and David looking at him, aware of how solemn he must have looked staring down at it.

"She didn't have anything for the cold," he explained needlessly. He tried to pretend that wasn't the reason they were staring and focused his energy instead on keeping his blush at bay.

"You sure you'll watch out for her?" Ruby asked David after a moment of sheer awkwardness, at least on his part.

"Yes. Why?"

"I think…I think I can find her."

He glanced up at Ruby to find her eyes lingering on him for far longer than they ever had. The sympathy he saw in them made the Dark Ones in his mind frenzy and the beast in his chest claw to the surface. But the part of him that loved Belle, the human part of him…it crushed all of those to the side. Though her look made him feel naked before her, he felt hope. She could find her? Ruby could get him back to Belle? He'd do anything for that.

"Lately, since things changed, I've been, uh, a little more sensitive to odors."

"What, you can smell her?" he translated with shock and horror.

The girl didn't answer, not directly. Instead, she held out her hand for the sweater in his hand. Automatically he handed it over to her once more, and Ruby smirked.

"I guess it's cause of the wolf thing," she explained. Then she brought the sweater to her nose and inhaled.

#Rumbelle #Rumple #Rumpelstiltskin #Dark One #Mr. Gold #Belle #David Nolan #Prince Charming #mary margaret blanchard #Snow White #Snowing #ouat #ouat fanfiction #fanfic #Ruby #Little Red Riding Hood #Snow Queen #Ingrid

4 notes · View notes

timelordthirteen · 4 years ago

Text

In All Things 19/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: Belle recalls a pivotal event in her engagement with Gaston, and then talks plans with Gold.

Notes: So this chapter is one I have been dreading because it starts to get into Belle's backstory, her relationship with Gaston, how it ended, etc., and a portion of what is coming is very personal for me and a large reason I started writing this story. I want to emphasize that while Gaston is definitely a jerk and did not do what he should have done in this situation, it's not as clear cut a case of sexual assault or anything else that it may appear on the surface. There are more things at play, and things going on with Belle that lead to this which will be coming out in the next chapter or two. Please note the tag updates on AO3.

Warning: Sexual assault vibes

[AO3]

Eight months ago...

Belle’s back hit the bookshelves beside her writing desk, rattling the oil lamp, and sending one of her pens rolling down to the chair.

She turned her head in time to see it hit the cushion just before Gaston’s arm came up to brace next to her head. Her eyelids fluttered as he pressed his mouth to her neck, a pleasant tingle rippling down her spine. He pulled back, smiling at her, and she bit her lip.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

His head tilted. “We are to be married in a month, so what does it matter?”

She licked her lips, her eyes searching his, uncertain of what she was hoping to find there. Gaston was everything she wanted, at least on the surface. He was handsome, wealthy, and in good standing with the rest of the kingdom, having been raised to the knighthood only a few weeks ago. When her father had proposed the idea of marriage to Sir Gaston, she had thought it to be as good a match as she could hope for, if not better. Yet it felt like there was a piece missing.

They’d been engaged for a few months, and aside from a few kisses, they hadn’t been this physical. She wasn’t against it, personally, though some in society frowned on the behavior, but while his kisses had begun to stir something in her, it was hard to push aside her reservations and give herself over to whatever pleasure there might be. It had always been a trial for her in that area, and she worried that in spite of what she might want to do in her head, her body would once again decide otherwise.

“Belle.” He caught her chin with his finger and made her look up at him.

The angle was awkward, and she thought perhaps he might be just a little too tall for her, however statuesque that made his figure. After a long moment, she gave a little nod and pushed up on her toes, sealing her lips to his. He took it as an invitation for more, and before she knew what was happening, he had started to lift her skirts.

Startled, she pulled back, her hands flat against his chest. “Wait -” She panted for breath. “Wait.”

Gaston frowned and shifted his other hand around to her backside, squeezing it roughly. “I’ve been waiting, Belle. I’ve been very patient.”

He mouthed at her neck, wetly, and she made a face into his shoulder. There was another brief jolt of pleasure and then something else, a pressure low in her abdomen that she wanted to ignore, and forced herself to take a deep, calming breath. His hand spanned her thigh above her stocking, his thumb rubbing over the muscle that twitched beneath it, before moving higher and pulling at the laces on her drawers.

She gasped when she felt them loosen and slip down, and Gaston whispered something lewd in her ear that she barely heard. Her breathing increased, and she squeezed her legs together at the first touch of his fingers. He was still kissing her, moving along her jaw and her neck, and knocking against her chin, hushing her and asking her to open her legs. She frowned and tried to relax, shifting her thighs apart, willing to let it happen in the hopes that this time would be different, this time it would be good.

Then his fingers breached her folds and -

“Stop!”

Belle grabbed for her drawers, pulling them up all the way as Gaston stepped back. He was holding his hand up, looking between it and her, while she clutched at her stomach. The ache was already beginning to subside, but she knew he’d felt it too. He came towards her and she tried to step back, but ended up hitting the shelves and forcing the breath from her chest.

“What was - what was that?”

She buried her face in her hands. “I’m sorry! I can’t help it!”

Gaston made a face and stared down at her. “Belle, just - just let me try again.”

She started to sob, already imagining how this would further ruin her family. “I can’t. It - it hurts too much.”

He leaned in, pressing against her thigh and hip. His arousal was a hard ridge and the thought of it in place of his hand scared her. Her muscles clenched again and she winced, holding up a hand to keep him back.

Belle hesitantly looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, reaching for her skirt again. “I can fix it, I’ll make it good for you.”

He lifted her skirts, his hands pulling at the fabric as he pushed against her. Pain radiated out from her lower abdomen, making her want to bend in half, but his weight pressing into her prevented it. She wanted to want him, but it was hard to find the pleasurable feelings from earlier behind the sharp ache. Her face turned away from his as he tried to kiss her again, and her eyes landed on the writing desk.

“I can’t,” she repeated.

A silver letter opener stuck up out of a slot at the top, its pearl handle shimmering in the late summer light, and she reached for it.

Belle shivered as the memory faded and rubbed her arms, wishing she’d worn a long sleeved dress today or through to bring her shawl.

Outside there was a fresh, thick blanket of snow from a storm that passed through overnight. She’d watched it with Bae and Gold after dinner last night, the three of them sitting together on the sofa in the sitting room that overlooked the garden. She read aloud to them, from a book about a young boy who could talk to horses. Bae liked it so much he made her promise they would bring it back with them to Thornhill, and that she would read it a chapter to him every night until it was finished, though she was of a mind to nudge the boy into reading some himself.

It had been so cozy and perfect, with the crack of the fire and their bellies full of hearty winter stew, roasted vegetables, and warm bread. Gold kept stealing looks at her over Bae’s head where he sat between them, his expression pleased, but tinged with something she couldn’t read. It was easy to imagine many future nights that way, like they were a real family.

Sighing, she moved back to the sofa and sat down in front of the fire. It had been many months since she’d thought about that fateful night with Gaston which had set so many things in motion. Her actions in the moment were impulsive and rash, but she didn’t regret them, not even now that she knew what ruin they had brought upon Avonlea.

Gold had met her for breakfast that morning, and they’d gone to her father immediately after to get the true story of the state of the financial affairs of the estate. To his credit, Maurice was equal parts forthcoming and repentant. He confessed King George had ordered him to take Milton as the new steward, though he didn’t know why at the time. The unmarked payments were to Sir Gaston, to keep the details of the abruptly cancelled engagement quiet.

Belle had exchanged quite a look with Gold at that revelation, and she understood that at some point she would need to lay bare most of the details, though she hoped to keep her own shame a secret. The finances were as bad as she had suspected, with the payments to Gaston increasing in frequency after her marriage to Gold instead of decreasing.

That had made Gold angry, and for a moment she thought he might put his cane through a window, or worse yet, her father, but he reigned in his rage and directed his energy towards setting out a plan to put things right. First, the extortion payments to Gaston would cease, and instead be directed towards paying down the debt to the King. That had made her father very nervous, and the two men had argued back and forth for some time before she couldn’t take it anymore and raised her voice to make them stop.

The very existence of the payments made her furious. As if what had happened between them wasn’t bad enough, Gaston had to use it to cover up his own guilt in the matter, and hasten Avonlea’s insolvency.

Second, Gold would provide a stipend to cover the rest of the existing debt, thus making it appear that the situation was better than it was. Gold wouldn’t be taking on the full account himself, but it made Belle uneasy. She didn’t want to feel even more obligated towards her husband than she already was, though it was for purely prideful reasons than any belief she had that Gold might call on that obligation.

There was no way to ever repay him if he did.

“There you are.”

The sound of Gold’s voice made her smile a little, and she twisted in her seat to see him standing in the doorway of the library. He pushed off the frame and came towards her, his limp the most pronounced she’d ever seen it, even after half carrying her through the snow.

“Were you looking for me?” she asked.

He shrugged one shoulder and came to stand by the end of the sofa. “You didn’t join us for lunch, and I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

She exhaled and fixed her gaze on the fire. “I’m fine.”

The noise he made was somewhere between a grunt and a scoff as he shifted from one foot to the other. “Are you certain?”

Belle gave him a sideways glance and nodded as she idly rubbed her arms. “As certain as I can be of anything.”

“Cold?” Gold asked, stepping around the sofa.

She sighed. “It’s just a chill. This room was always a bit drafty in the winter.”

He set his cane against the edge of the sofa, and then proceeded to undo the buttons on the front of his coat. She looked up at him, almost startled, and he smiled down at her as he slipped his arms out of the heavy wool sleeves and set the coat over her shoulders. Then he gave her a half smile and sat down at the other end of the sofa, a full cushion between them.

“Thank you,” she said, adjusting the fabric over her shoulders.

He’d done the same thing after rescuing her from nearly freezing to death in the garden not even two days ago, but she’d been too upset and bewildered to comprehend the significance of it. She was wrapped in something that had been warmed by the heat of his body, and there was an intimacy to it that was surprisingly comfortable, as though he made a habit of wearing it only so she could later use it to ward off a chill.

The coat smelled faintly of sandalwood, which she knew was mixed into some of the soaps at Thornhill as there were some in her bathing room as well. It was something she’d come to associate with him, along with a hint of spice and something earthy that reminded her of a forest after a rain. It was odd that she should have thought so much about it, but now that it was surrounding her she couldn’t help it.

“I get the impression you don’t entirely approve of my plan for the estate’s finances?”

His voice almost startled her, and she lifted her face, hoping he had not noticed her surreptitiously sniffing his coat. “Well, I don’t think it’s as simple as me approving or disapproving. It’s - it’s complicated.”

“Much like your relationship with Gaston was.”

She shot him a quick look, and then sighed. "I know I owe you an explanation, and -"

"No," Gold interrupted, "you owe me nothing, except what we've already agreed to as it pertains to Bae."

She met his eyes, hesitantly, and he shifted closer, reaching for her hand.

"But if you want to tell me what happened, I will listen. Please understand that it will make no difference in how I handle this business. A broken engagement, whatever the circumstances, is no cause for blackmail."

He pulled back, the gentle, warm pressure of his hand leaving hers, and she missed it immediately. There was a grounding reassurance in the way he sought out her touch in these moments, anchoring them to each other, but he always let go a little too soon.

"I worry what might happen once Gaston realizes the money has stopped," she said.

Gold nodded. "It will be another month at least before then, but I do share your concern.”

She shook her head and fiddled with the fat brass button on the cuff of his coat. “What can we do?”

“I believe Gaston can be dealt with,” he answered. “I have someone looking into him.”

His cryptic reply made her raise an eyebrow as she twisted in her seat to face him. “Looking into him?”

“Yes.” He saw the twitch of her lips and started to smile. “I like to know as much as I can about my enemies.”

Belle’s eyes widened as she sat back. “Enemies? Gaston is your enemy?”

Gold met her gaze, and her breath caught. His face was stern and his eyes dark; he looked exactly as he did right before he’d attacked Milton, a quiet rage simmering beneath the surface. It wasn’t directed at her, but it still frightened her all the same until he looked away, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

“He has done harm to you and your family,” he said, “therefore yes, he is my enemy.” Then he sighed heavily, and his shoulders sagged. “I suspect some of this is my fault, so must the remedy be mine as well.”

She frowned and reached for him, placing her hand on his forearm and giving it a gentle squeeze. “How do you mean?”

“I’m afraid I have taken some advantage of the situation,” he said, softly, keeping his eyes fixed on his cane as he idly twisted it back and forth. “I suspect that the King became quite disgruntled when he heard I would be marrying you, and thus assuming the estate’s debts.”

Belle let out a soft humorless laugh. “I would believe the latter over the former, but why would he care? Why does he want - “ She stopped and pressed her lips together, emotion rising up in her again at the thought of losing Avonlea. “Why - why here?”

Gold shrugged and sat back, reaching for her free hand as she looked away, swiping quickly at her eyes with the other. “I haven’t sussed out why this estate has become particularly desirable to him, but it won’t happen. I promise.”

His last words made her turn again, and she gave him a wobbly smile. “I know,” she managed. “I - I trust you.”

His face changed then, softening even as he held her hand a little tighter, his thumb rubbing over the simple gold band he’d given her on their wedding day, and she was hit with a revelation. She believed what she’d said. She trusted him, in a way that suddenly seemed implicit and enduring, as though she’d had years to come to the realization.

“When, um - when we get back,” she said, watching the steady motion of his thumb sliding back and forth, “after things are settled with our plans, we need to talk. About things. Do you understand?”

Her eyes met his and she had to bite back a gasp. He looked almost awed, and yet terrified at the same time, and for a long moment she worried that she’d said the wrong thing, that he didn’t understand at all. Then he lifted their joined hands, bringing hers to his lips where he pressed them to her ring, much more firmly than the last time he’d done so. Something had changed, but she couldn't say what, only that she felt warm and flushed head to toe, the chill of the library little more than an afterthought, as he smiled at her.

“Yes,” he said finally, her hand still wrapped in his, “I do.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #arranged marriage au #in all things #my rumbelle fic #fic

33 notes · View notes

eirian-houpe · 4 years ago

Text

Disparate Pathways - Chapter 12

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time), Spinster(s) (Once Upon a Time: Think Lovely Thoughts), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Black Fairy (Once Upon a Time), Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Emma Swan, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Colette (Once Upon a Time), Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Widow Lucas | Granny, Dove (Once Upon a Time), Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Wicked Witch of the West | Zelena

Additional Tags: Abusive Parents, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Violence, Gun Violence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Torture, Dubious Consent, Eventual Smut, UST, First Time, Drama & Romance, Kidnapping, Extortion

Summary: Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go. Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into 'protective custody,' but is he all that he seems? As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 12 - Anything That Can Go Wrong...

They drove in silence, and Jefferson assumed that Belle was lost in her own thoughts as he was in his. Either that, or starting to crash in spite of the soda she drank. He checked his phone again for a message from Gold, but still nothing. He cursed under his breath. The man owed him. He reached up and fingered the silk at his throat. True enough that the debt was mutual, but still…

He let out a sigh and glanced over at Belle. She was still staring out of the window, her head turned away from him as though they were a couple that had fought, and now refused to speak with one another. The tension of it was getting to him. He could feel the tightness in his shoulders, and the headache beginning to become more insistent behind his eyes. He tried to think of something to break the silence. Nothing came to mind.

Rapidly approaching the car in front, Jefferson glanced in the rear view mirror, and then the side mirror just to be sure he wasn’t imagining things. The same car that had been behind them - several car lengths behind - was still keeping the exact pace. He frowned. He was used to playing leapfrog on the interstates he’d driven, not to have the same car with him every time he looked in the mirror. He feared he knew exactly what was going on.

Testing his theory, he slowed down instead of pulling out to pass the car in front. Sure enough, when he looked in the mirror again, the car behind him had slowed. It wasn’t conclusive evidence, but it made the back of his neck prickle. Without a signal he pulled out, floored the accelerator, and took off like a horse of of the gate at the Kentucky Derby. In the time it took him to glance in the mirror again, vehicle that he suspected was tailing them pulled out to overtake the sparse but slower traffic.

“Motherfu—”

“What’s wrong?” Belle cut off his curse mid-word.

He shook his head, and almost apologetically answered, “I think things are about to get ugly.”

“Wh— what do you mean?”

“Don’t turn around,” he began, “but I think we have a tail.”

“What!” Belle started to look as though she was going to turn around in spite of his direction not to, so he caught her shoulder.

“Don’t,” he told her again.

“Who!” she asked, biting her lip, fear obvious on her face.

He shook his head, pouting his lower lip. “One of two choices the way I see it. Law enforcement or the bad guys.”

“Aren’t you the bad guys?”

Jefferson’s eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed in a frown. He knew he shouldn’t have been hurt by the question, but it stung.

“I told you, I’m trying to help you.” He glanced in the rear view mirror again, catching sight of the car moving up even as he kept his speed barely above the limit. “And right now that means getting away from these guys - whoever they are.”

For a moment he silently cursed not being in his own car, driving stick was so much better for ditching a tail. Still, he’d do what he had to - what he could. Once more he hit the gas pushing the car well above eighty, and at the last minute veered from the outside lane, between two slower moving vehicles and onto an exit ramp. He didn’t care to where.

“Hold on,” he told Belle as he turned off the exit ramp and onto a road that led toward several large retail centers. Either side of the road their lights glowed in competition toward their neighboring fellows, even at such a late hour in the night.

He glanced behind again, hoping he’d been wrong, paranoid, but not expecting to be even as he spotted the car that was now chasing them. Swearing, he took a hard left into a quieter, less gaudy street, and toward a shopping area he could see ahead. Run down and less attractive than the neighboring business, it would afford him the opportunity to act with more aggressive deterrent measures, should the need arise, and he pretty much knew they would.

“Where are we?” Belle’s voice was small from the seat beside him. He shook his head.

“No idea,” he said, and then swore again as the other car came into view just as he ducked into an empty parking lot behind what looked like a disused SmartMart store. He expected to have longer than he did to catch his breath, but it seemed that whoever was following him knew the area better than he, and somehow came in through another entrance. As he straightened the car up in the parking lot, they were there at the other end. He braked hard, and for a moment, seemingly suspended in time, the two of them faced off like gunfighters in a wild west movie. Then, muttering under his breath, Jefferson shifted his foot from the brake to the accelerator, and the tires slipped on the blacktop before finding traction, propelling them forward toward the other car.

“Wanna play with me, huh?” He tightened his fingers around the steering wheel as they drew closer and closer to the other vehicle. Evidently the men inside decided that he really was crazy enough to ram right into them and began frantically scrabbling to pull their car out of the way. They missed by inches, and even through the closed windows, Jefferson heard the tires of the other car screeching as they tried to turn and follow him as he kept going through the parking lot, searching for a way to exit the lot, and hopefully find his way back to the interstate.

After several false turns around the many areas of the lot, he finally spotted a way through the maze of barriers and hedges that separated one section from another, and headed for it, almost able to see the roadway beyond and anticipate the way he’d have to drive upon reaching the road. The people in the other car, however, seemed to have anticipated what he was about, and began drawing up closer, to his side rather than behind. They were trying to force him, to drive him away from where he wanted to go, herding him, pushing him, and since they were on his right hand side, and Belle was riding shotgun, he wasn’t inclined to use his usual tactics to encourage them to do otherwise.

Sooner or later he was going to have to stop trying to err on the side of caution and avoid harming these bastards who were coming after him - for whatever reason - and it seemed that these particular agents - for so he identified them from the car they were driving - held no such qualms about using their own vehicle as a battering ram. Jefferson braked hard when they were up along side him and veering closer, but they seemed to have anticipated that he would, and did likewise, the two vehicles almost mirrors of each other.

“Fuck!” he hissed, as the tactic clearly hadn’t worked, and so instead put his foot down again. The car fishtailed for a moment, and Jefferson’s hands flew first one way, and then the other, to regain control of the car before glancing around to see where they had ended up in relation to the exit he was trying to reach. It was nowhere in sight. He would have to backtrack in order to reach it. With no warning - at least he hoped not - he wrenched the wheel, sending the car into a near spin when, in the next moment he braked again until he was facing the opposite direction, then once again floored the gas even as he was still straightening up the wheel.

It bought him only a moment of time, as soon enough the agents were on him again, this time forcing him toward where a bank of recycling containers stood at the edge of the parking lot, before they dropped back, barely behind him to prevent him from using the same sudden braking tactic to get behind them, and to drive them into the large, heavy metal boxes instead.

“Jefferson…!” Belle yelped as they came closer still, and with nowhere to go, he simply shook his head, cursing under his breath as he had many times that night. If he was lucky, he could pull off the same move he had just executed to turn the car away from danger, in spite of the nearness of the other vehicle. He hadn’t counted on slick, half rotted cardboard beneath his tires.

As soon as he turned the wheel he felt the lightness of the rear of the car, the lack of traction as the car began to go into a spin, the wheels skidding beneath him. He steered into it in a vain attempt to regain control, but clipped the corner of one of the dumpsters. The car rocked dangerously as the momentum threatened to lift one side and send the car into a roll. Somehow he managed to steer rapidly and in a manner to force the wheels to stay in contact with the ground, but it was at the cost of full control. Remaining upright, the car still began to turn into a spin, heading for another of the recycling containers.

They were going to hit it, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The only option remaining was to ensure that the driver’s side was the one that struck the heavy metal bin, and not the passenger side.

The impact, when it came, was a deafening cacophony of sound, Belle’s scream echoed the screech of metal on metal, the tinkling of shattered glass and the dull thuds of many small explosions, before all around him became heat, the scent of burnt ozone, and a blinding expanse of white.

#rumbelle #angst #hurt/comfort #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #gun violence #implied noncon #implied drug use #eventual smut #first time #disparate pathways #i will always write jefferson

2 notes · View notes

xiolaperry · 4 years ago

Text

The Piano - Chapter 7

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

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

Also available on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Thank you for the cat, Mr. Gold.”

“You are very welcome.”

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

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

“Are you all right?”

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

“Yes, two keys again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

Belle nodded, eager to learn more.

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

That didn't sound so bad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Leave.”

She did not move.

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

Belle lifted her skirt and fled.

#my fic #rumbelle fic #the piano

17 notes · View notes

jasonfry · 4 years ago

Photo

With baseball quickly approaching (for who knows how long), time for a pandemic installment of Classic Movies Everyone’s Seen But Me!

Summertime (1955)

David Lean works small (for him) in terms of both running time and vistas. He does a wonderful job with Venice, making the city practically a character in its own right -- and as someone who knows Venice well and loves it, I only caught Lean cheating on the geography a couple of times.

The real star isn’t the setting but Katherine Hepburn. Hepburn plays Jane Hudson, a middle-aged secretary from Akron, Ohio, who claims to have given up on romance. She hasn’t, of course, but it appears as if romance has given up on her -- Jane is a third wheel for the movie’s other couples and feels left out of even men on the make’s appraisals, spending the early part of the movie bonding with a street kid and the widow who runs her pensione. I’d write that it’s the kind of part that wasn’t written for actresses in the 1950s, but it’s the kind of part that isn’t written for actresses today. Hepburn inhabits the character beautifully, letting you see Jane’s hesitation and heartbreak in piercing scenes that sometimes rely entirely on body language, and Lean gives her the space to work, even when it’s an uncomfortable experience. A near-flawless performance.

The love story feels a little slight at first, but the ambiguity about what you should feel is intriguing. (Apparently this was even more the case in The Time of the Cuckoo, the play upon which Summertime was based.) Extra points for the Code-evading shot that tells us two characters have consummated their relationship. It’s only slightly subtler than the famous conclusion of North by Northwest.

Here Comes Mr. Jordan (1941)

Claude Rains has a marvelous time as the title character, an unruffled bureaucrat in charge of the afterlife who has to fix the case of a boxer taken up to Heaven a bit too soon. (The film was remade in the 70s with Warren Beatty and called Heaven Can Wait, the name used in its first incarnation as a play.) Rains is terrific, but the rest of the movie is pretty forgettable: Robert Montgomery is genial but not particularly memorable as prizefighter Joe Pendleton, and the plot logic breaks down completely in the endgame.

The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Another Rains vehicle, in he stars as the evil Prince John, scheming brother of Richard the Lionhearted and foe of Robin Hood, played (of course) by Errol Flynn. Rains somehow retains his dignity despite a horrific wig and some astonishing costumes -- there’s one black and silver getup whose shoes have to be seen to be believed.

But all the characters are wearing ridiculous things all the time, shown off via the movie’s thoroughly saturated palette. There are men-at-arms in purple and pink motley, the merry men’s green tights, Flynn’s honest-to-goodness bedazzled emerald top, a lady-in-waiting’s Fancy Shriner fez, and we haven’t even discussed the get-ups Olivia de Havilland sports. The costume designer whizzes past All Too Much before the first reel’s over and just keeps going. And the dialogue keeps up with the costumes. Robin Hood may be the campiest movie I’ve ever seen -- it makes The Birdcage look like Shoah.

Flynn is capable with a sword and performs his stunts with swashes properly buckling, but man oh man could he not act. He has two basic expressions: fighting and making merry, and looks a little lost when the story requires him to investigate whether a situation requires choosing between the two.

Fortunately that doesn’t happen too often, and you’ll have fun anyway. This is the template for about a billion adventure stories made since then, and it’s entertaining even when you’re not elbowing the other person on the couch to point out what was waiting in Claude Rains’s dressing room this time. Think of it as a live-action cartoon and enjoy the ride.

Love in the Afternoon (1957)

Audrey Hepburn is the innocent, cello-playing daughter of a Paris private investigator (Maurice Chevalier) who interferes with her father’s work by preventing an American playboy (Gary Cooper) from getting shot by a jealous husband, then pretends to outdo the playboy at his own no-consequences game.

The story is light and amusing, with Chevalier ably serving as the fulcrum who helps it turn into something poignant and more interesting at the end. (The voiceover as coda, by the way, was added for Code reasons.) And Billy Wilder (co-writing and directing) guides the ship with a light, skilled hand -- the scenes between Cooper’s Frank Flanagan and his hired band are particularly fun.

There’s a fatal flaw, though: While Hepburn has never been more luminous, Cooper is too old to be the leading man. Wilder knew this, using soft focus and dim lighting in an effort to be kind that just calls attention to the movie’s fatal flaw. Moreover, Flanagan’s neither particularly interesting nor pleasant, so you never believe Hepburn’s Ariane would actually be interested in him. (He’s rich, granted, but she doesn’t seem to care about that.)

Directors kept doing this to Audrey Hepburn in the 1950s: Three years earlier, Wilder stuck her with a half-rotted Humphrey Bogart in Sabrina; in 1957 she also had to put up with a mummified Fred Astaire in Funny Face. Beyond the fact that it’s creepy, it doesn’t work for those stories.

I’m going to look on the bright side: Hepburn deserves even more adulation than she gets, since she rises above her AARP romantic leads to carry all three pictures.

The 39 Steps (1935)

A clever early Hitchcock I found intriguing because you can see the visible language of film evolving before your eyes. Some scenes look utterly modern, with intriguing camera angles and blocking, but they’re right next to oddly static compositions, or scenes filled with cuts that cross the line for no apparent reason. But there’s also a justifiably famous transition shot from a cleaning woman’s horrified discovery to a train whistle, a tricky perspective change from inside a car, and some other nice surprises.

The movie is a prototype Hitchcock thriller, with a plot that carries you along provided you don’t ask too many questions. (Or any questions, really.) But the movie hits its stride surprisingly late, coming into focus once Robert Donat’s Richard Hannay winds up manacled to Madeleine Carroll’s Pamela. Hang around that long and you’ll be well entertained.

McCabe & Mrs. Miller (1971)

This one made my list because it was an inspiration for Solo, a Star Wars spinoff movie I think deserved a better reception and suspect will be viewed more fondly in time. Yep, that’s Warren Beatty’s fur coat that Alden Ehrenreich wears, and the bar Beatty visits in the town of Presbyterian Church is a dead ringer for the one where Han and Lando Calrissian meet over cards.

So that was fun. As for the rest, after my usual post-movie reading, I get what Robert Altman was going for. This is an anti-Western that relentlessly inverts the genre’s tropes, with the climactic gunfight happening not in the center of town before all eyes, but scarcely noticed as the townspeople rush to put out a fire.

But I found that more interesting to read about than to watch. I was never invested in Beatty’s McCabe or Julie Christie’s Mrs. Miller, finding them less memorable than a young visitor who runs afoul of trouble (Keith Carradine) or the lead bounty hunter sent after McCabe (Hugh Millais, exuding genial menace).

Still, the movie has a powerful sense of place, I keep finding myself thinking about it, and lots of people whose opinions I respect consider it a classic. So perhaps I’ll revisit this one someday. But for now, my conclusion is that I’m missing whatever gene you need to appreciate chilly, airless Hollywood art-house movies of the 1970s -- a movement, ironically, that screeched to a halt when Jaws and Star Wars introduced the era of the summer blockbuster.

#movies

2 notes · View notes

emospritelet · 5 years ago

Text

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9][Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Part 16] [Part 17]

[AO3]

Last time, Weaver got to the big house in Maine where Lacey had travelled, and just as he was about to go after her, was told to get his hands in the air.

“Hands in the air or I’ll shoot!”

Weaver swore under his breath. His captor sounded like a woman, but he knew better than to think she wouldn’t be a threat. Great. Right at the end, they catch me. Fucking typical.

“Hands in the air!” the woman snapped. “I won’t tell you again!”

“How do I know you’re armed?” he asked calmly.

“Well, I’d poke you between the shoulder blades, but this shotgun’s a tricky piece,” she said bluntly. “Wouldn’t want to kill you without meaning to. Come on, get them up.”

Weaver sighed, raising his hands and folding his fingers around the back of his head. He heard a satisfied sniff from the woman.

“What are you doing sneaking around down here?” she demanded. “I don’t know you, do I? Did you come with Felix? I thought I spied his sly little face earlier, driving that Mercedes like he thinks he owns the place!”

Weaver decided that whoever she was, she didn’t like the man who had driven Lacey there, which was a point in her favour, in his opinion.

“Come on, out with it!” she snapped. “If you don’t start talking, I’ll call the police!”

That settled it. She wasn’t with them.

“I am the police,” he said patiently. “Detective Weaver, Seattle P.D.”

“Don’t try to trick me!” said the woman suspiciously. “Seattle’s the other side of the country, you’ve got no business here!”

“I can show you my badge, if you let me,” he said. “Can I take it out?”

“Slowly!” she ordered. “Any funny business and I’ll shoot you!”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Weaver slowly lowered one hand and reached for his badge, bending his arm behind him to show her. A swift hand snatched at it.

“So,” she said, after a moment. “Detective Weaver, hmm? What brings you all the way across from the West Coast? Can’t be police business.”

“No,” he agreed. “I’m here to see Lacey.”

“No one here by that name.”

“You might know her as Isabelle Schwartz,” he said. “I’ve only ever known her as Lacey. First Lacey French, and then Lacey Weaver. She’s my wife.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from her.

“You’re him,” she said quietly. “You’re the father.”

So, she knows about Tilly, then.

“I am,” he said. “Can I turn around?”

“Do it slowly.”

Weaver let his hands down carefully, turning on the balls of his feet to come face to face with a short, stout old woman with grey hair in a neat bun and a fierce expression on her face. She was holding a cast iron frying pan in her hand, and he raised an eyebrow.

“Shotgun, hmm?”

“I grabbed the first thing I could see,” she said matter-of-factly, and tossed his badge to him. “Now, explain yourself. Why didn’t you come with Miss Belle?”

“Lacey - Belle - is in trouble,” he said quietly. “She’s mixed up with some terrible people. I suspect you know them.”

The woman sniffed, mouth twisting.

“Her family on her father’s side,” she said. “He always was a nasty piece of work. Oh, not that old Mr d’Avonlea was any better, mind you, but he did at least have manners. And then Maurice married that grasping harpy Fiona after Miss Collette died, and things went from bad to worse...”

So, is she here willingly or not? Is the family her ticket to a better life? Plenty money here, that’s clear. Is that what she wants? Why she’s leaving us?

“I’d be interested in hearing the family history,” he said truthfully. “But first I need to see my wife. Can you tell me where she is?”

The woman pointed upwards.

“Said she was going to bed after she’d seen her grandmother. I thought it was early for her, but I figured she was tired from the journey. Second floor, take a right at the top of the stairs. If she's not there, she'll be in the library. First floor, right at the bottom of the stairs and through the double doors.”

“Anyone else in the house?” he asked.

“Cogsworth, but he’s already in bed. Not feeling so well.” She eyed him curiously. “Are you hungry? I could make you some supper.”

Weaver smiled at that. She seemed a motherly sort, and he supposed that at least Lacey would have had the comfort of her presence in this world filled with danger.

“I’ll see if she’s hungry,” he said. “I have a feeling the two of us need a long conversation.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll make up some sandwiches, and you can eat them when you’re ready,” she said, nodding briskly, and Weaver’s smile grew.

“Thank you, Miss..?”

“Mrs Potts,” she said, and beamed at him. “Pleased to meet you at last, dear.”

Lacey found that little had changed since she had last visited, other than the large house feeling even emptier, her grandmother’s slow decline almost complete. Marie was gaunt and pale, her eyelids thin and purplish, her cheeks hollow. She was still alive, still hooked up to machines that beeped and pulsed, but she didn’t respond when Lacey sat by her side and took her hand. Perhaps she slept too deeply now. Perhaps she would wake in time for Lacey to say goodbye.

Feeling despondent, she left the bedroom, heading for the library and what she hoped would be a weapon to use against the rest of her family. Or at the very least, something she could defend her own with. Felix had taken the hard drive with him, but she didn’t care about that. Let them have it, if it kept Weaver and Tilly safe. She needed something more. She needed to become the person her husband thought she was. A good person. A strong person, who did the right thing. Who wasn’t defined by her past, however dark and tragic it might have been.

She had always wanted to be the sort of woman her daughter could look up to, or at least one that she wouldn’t be ashamed of. Perhaps it was too late now, but she could try. She was unlikely to come out of it alive if she failed, but perhaps she would think it worth the sacrifice. Weaver would take care of Tilly, if anything happened to her. He was a good father. A good man.

The library was dark, and she turned on one of the lamps, a pool of warm light spilling across the polished wooden floor. Lacey crossed quickly to the alcove where an alabaster statue sat on a marble plinth, a stylised Siamese cat with a triangular head and a long, somewhat serpentine body, sitting up and gazing out with large eyes. Lacey took a peek behind it, removing books from one of the shelves and stacking them on the floor. There was nothing behind but the dark wood of the bookcase, and she moved down a shelf, pulling books off it and piling them up. Sure enough, a small safe was revealed, a long panel of dark glass on the front.

Beneath it, fitting snugly in a thin slot, was a small, flat keyboard. Lacey hooked a nail underneath it and pulled it out, setting it onto the empty shelf ready to type. Lacey hesitated, then pressed return and dug in her pocket for her phone, bouncing nervously on her toes as she waited. A single, flashing white cursor appeared on the panel of glass on the front of the safe, waiting for her to type.

Lacey hurriedly looked through her photo gallery, thumb flicking through the pictures she had taken in Weaver’s office. The thick cream paper with a single sentence. The price is paid. She wondered what the price had been paid for, what the sender had received in exchange, but realised it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she had the outcome in front of her, the answer to the question being asked by that flashing white line.

She pulled up the photo of the code, written on the green sticky note with its corner curling up. Glancing up at the cursor, she started to type. At the first letter - a lowercase r - an asterisk appeared on the screen, and Lacey felt a quick grin curve the sides of her mouth. It was working, then. Not that she had doubted herself, but still... She continued with the password, thumb and finger flickering over the screen to switch between upper and lowercase, letters and numbers. At last it was done, and she sent up a brief prayer before pressing enter. The password disappeared, and the asterisks on the safe flashed once before the screen went black again.

Nothing happened.

Lacey frowned, looking from the safe to the photograph of the code. Perhaps she had misread something. Perhaps that ‘1’ was really an ‘I’. She tried again, making doubly sure every element was correct before pressing enter.

Still nothing.

Heart thumping, she chewed her lip, looking back to the photograph of the sticky note. Okay, so maybe the ‘1’ really was a ‘1’, but she’d entered something else wrong. She typed it out again, checking after every letter.

Nothing.

Lacey shook her head, panic making her skin tingle. It has to work, it has to work, it has to work! I can’t go up against them with nothing, I just can’t! She tried again, her hands starting to shake, and let out a whimper as the asterisks flashed and disappeared.

“It won’t work.”

The sound of his voice made her jump, and she straightened up, the dull click of footsteps echoing around the room as Weaver entered. Her heart was thumping high in her chest, and he stopped some way out, hands clasped behind his back and eyes filled with resignation. With sadness. Lacey felt her heart sink, and she licked her lips, her throat suddenly dry.

“How did you—”

“Find you?” he asked. “I followed you, of course. With a little help. Caught me by surprise when you went to Boston, but I got here in the end.”

“You followed me to Maine?”

“Do you seriously think I wouldn’t follow you anywhere?” he said coldly. “Good thing you like to do things alone, isn’t it? I watched the guy you came with drive back into the town, so I knew you’d be here for a little while. I thought you and I should have a conversation without any pesky little interruptions.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at her phone and back at the safe as though it would, by some miracle, spring open.

“It won’t work,” he repeated. “Password’s bollocks. I know, because I wrote it.”

Lacey’s eyes flicked to the photo on her phone, the green sticky note with its corner curling up, and her heart sank.

“You altered the code,” she whispered.

“Figured if it was important enough for all this lying and stealing, I should get involved,” he said coolly. “Interesting that we seem to have come full circle here, isn’t it? Just fascinating.”

Lacey was silent, guilt and fear burning and bubbling within her, warring for her attention.

“I’d like to say that it was coincidence that the thing that brought us together appears to have torn us apart,” he went on. “But you know I don’t believe in coincidences. I’m just curious to know why you ever handed it over to me in the first place. Didn’t have all the pieces then? Or was it just that you didn’t realise what you had?”

She shook her head numbly, her vision blurring as tears welled in her eyes.

“I suppose at least I understand why you left that night, now,” he added. “Didn’t intend to sleep with me, did you? Tilly must have been a hell of a shock, but I’ll give you your due, you made the best of it. Had me convinced, anyway. And her.”

She closed her eyes, wanting to break down and throw herself into his arms. Wanting so, so badly for him to hold her and tell her everything was going to be fine. She didn’t deserve it, but she wanted it anyway.

“Did you just adapt the original plan, or what?” he went on. “Whatever that was. Not sure it matters now, but you know me. I’m a sucker for solving mysteries. A sucker in general, it seems. Is that what you were counting on?”

Lacey’s mouth twisted, two tears tracking down her cheeks. Why did he have to follow me? Why couldn’t he just let me go?

“So you knew the code was a password,” he said. “You said that at the time, of course. Was it the location of the safe you didn’t know? Was that the missing piece?”

“It’s not what you think,” she said, her voice thick and liquid.

“What I think,” he said coldly. “What I think is that you’ve been lying to me for years.”

“There are no lies in silence.”

“There’s no honesty, either,” he countered. “Who are you, really? I married Lacey French. Does she even exist?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I mean outside of the fake identity you’ve no doubt been using for years.”

She hung her head, and there was terrible, awful silence. He began to pace back and forth, the sound of his heavy boots muffled by the thick rug.

“I found some interesting things when I was digging around trying to get to the bottom of why my lovely wife had turned against me so suddenly,” he said. “Came across a family in Nevada. First-generation immigrants by the name of Schwartz. Two parents and their daughter.” He raised a hand, forefinger pointing at her. “But of course I told myself it couldn’t be you, because that’s not your name.”

“I—”

“And of course when I asked you about Fiona Schwartz you said you had no idea who she was,” he went on. “But then I suppose if I asked them about Lacey French they wouldn’t recognise her, would they? There was no Lacey in that family. But there was a young girl called Isabelle. Been missing for some ten years or more. Rumoured to be dead.”

“She is dead,” whispered Lacey, wiping away a tear.

“So many breadcrumb trails leading me to Vegas,” he said. “Even you, and that so-called funeral. Did anyone in your family actually die, or was that another lie to throw on top of the pile of shit you’ve been selling me all this time?”

Lacey didn’t answer, and his pacing increased, his eyes flashing.

“I knew you were lying, of course,” he added. “I’ve known for some time, I just didn’t know what it was about. I thought maybe you were scared, that you thought you couldn’t tell me because you were worried about what I’d do. And all along it’s some sort of inside safe-cracking job?”

Her lower lip trembled, and she caught it with her teeth to hold it steady.

“Where’s Tilly?” she asked.

“She’s safe,” he said coldly. “I told her you’d be back soon. Of course I didn’t know at the time you were on a mission to steal from your grandmother. Clearly family isn’t all that important to you.”

“Don’t say that!” she pleaded. “You two are everything to me!”

“Oh, don’t give me that bollocks!” he snapped. “You can drop the fucking act, Isabelle. Just be fucking honest with me for once, will you?”

She let out a sob, dashing tears from her eyes. He couldn’t stand to see her cry, and when they had fought in the past he would always be the first to stop shouting at the sight of her tears. His face would soften, his eyes would lose their dark fire, and he would take her in his arms and hold her tight, speaking soft words to her as she wept. She wanted him to do it now, but he was glaring and hostile, pacing the floor, cold and distant and out of reach.

“I always thought there was a reason you didn’t want to hear me say I love you,” he went on. “I just never thought it was fucking guilt over playing me all this fucking time.”

“I do love you!”

Lacey’s eyes were wide with shock at blurting out the phrase she had kept bottled up for all the time they had been together. Her lower lip was trembling, the unfamiliar words having fallen from her lips and splattered on the floor between them. She hadn’t expected to find it so easy, so right. It was as though the weight around her heart was easing, and Weaver seemed to rock back on his heels, mouth opening, a look of puzzlement on his face.

“Then - then what the hell has this all been about?” he demanded, gesturing between them. “One minute out of the fucking blue you tell me it isn’t working and you want a fucking divorce, and now this? What the hell were you playing at?”

“I thought I was doing the right thing!” she sobbed.

“Right for who?” he spat. “Do you have any idea how much it hurt me, hurt Tilly?”

“Yes!” she shouted. “You think it didn’t kill me to do it?”

“I don’t fucking know!” He threw up his hands. “How could I know when you won’t fucking tell me anything, when you keep on shutting me out? These past few months I’ve felt like I was losing my fucking mind! What the hell was it, Lacey? What’s the fucking reason you’ve been pushing me away?”

“They were gonna kill you!” wept Lacey. “They were gonna kill you, and take Tilly. I couldn’t let that happen! I - I had to pretend I didn’t care, to make them think I didn’t want you!”

“Who was?” he demanded. “Who the hell is threatening my family?”

“My family!” She could feel the tears rising up inside her, wanted to spill over. “The Schwartz family. If you’ve been poking around in the police records, you know damn well who they are.”

“Aye, I know!” he snapped. “Fucking mobsters. You think I haven’t dealt with their kind before? It’s what I fucking do, Lacey! It’s my fucking life!”

“You don’t know them!”

“You think that matters?” he said roughly. “No one threatens my family, you hear me? You think I’m just gonna let them get away with that?”

“You can’t fight them!” she said pleadingly. “They’re too powerful, you’d be killed if you tried! I - I did what I could, okay?”

“Why would they threaten me?” He jabbed at his chest. “It’s not as though I have any powers down in Vegas, for fuck’s sake! Why would they care?”

“Because that’s what they do!” she said, her voice shaking. “They take the thing you love and use it to control you! They wanted to control me by threatening you, and I couldn’t let that happen, okay? I couldn’t let them destroy you!”

He was staring at her, and she could feel words bubbling up out of her.

“At first I thought maybe if I did what they wanted, they’d leave me alone, leave us alone,” she went on. “And then - and then it was pretty clear that wasn’t gonna happen, that they wanted me to go back. Back to that - that life, that terrible life!"

She was trembling with shame and fear, her lower lip trembling, her throat hurting.

"So I pushed you away," she went on. "I pushed you away to keep you safe, and I'm sorry, but I didn't know what else to do! I’d been on the run for so long before I met you. Meeting you was - was the best thing that ever happened to me, Rafe, I swear it! Meeting you let me feel like I was safe, like I was home!”

“But you left!”

“Because I knew they’d find me!” she shouted. “Why do you think I was on the run in the first place? Why do you think I was on the streets when you met me? I kept moving, changed my name, never settled anywhere. Until you.”

Weaver seemed to settle back on his heels a little, letting out a sigh.

“Until Tilly,” he said quietly, and she let out another sob, dashing away tears.

“I - I knew I had to come back,” she wept. “I didn’t want to leave you, but it was the right thing to do. For both of us. But when I knew I was carrying Tilly, I had to come back. I thought - I thought maybe it had been long enough. Maybe they’d stopped trying to find me. Maybe they thought I was dead.”

“You came here,” he said, pointing to the floor beneath his feet. “When you said you’d been in Maine, this is what you meant.”

She nodded.

“So why not tell me?” he asked, and his voice had lost its harsh edge. “Why not tell me the truth? I know you were scared, but do you really think I can’t handle myself? You think I wouldn’t kill every piece of shit in Vegas if it kept my family safe?”

“You don’t know them!”

“Oh, I don’t need to,” he said grimly. “They’ll bleed just as well as any other of the scum I’ve put in the ground over the years. You should have trusted me, Lacey. You should have told me.”

“I wanted you safe!” she insisted. “Who’d care for Tilly otherwise? I knew whatever happened to me, you’d protect her. You had to be safe!”

“We’re safest when we’re together,” he said. “I thought you’d remember that.”

“You can’t fight them,” she whimpered. “Not your way. You’ll die.”

“Then I’ll find another way,” he said. “I’m a resourceful man, or have you forgotten?”

Lacey sobbed, toe scuffing the carpet as she dashed away tears with the heel of her hand, and he stepped forward a little.

“Be honest with me,” he said quietly. “Do you want to get divorced?”

Lacey shook her head, tears coursing down her cheeks as her lower lip wobbled.

“No.”

It was a tiny whimper, but it made his face soften, his own lip tremble, and he reached up to cup her cheeks with his hands. Two more tears fell, and he wiped them away with his thumbs. He leaned in to press his lips to her brow, and Lacey’s breath hitched in her chest.

“I promise you, whatever they’re threatening you with, it’s not gonna happen,” he said softly. “Just - please. Please. Let me help you.”

“You can’t help me!” she sobbed. “I - I told you that years ago, and you didn’t believe me!”

Weaver’s mouth twitched in a tiny smile.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he said. “I still don’t. You think you’re not worth it, that you’re not worth anything. But that’s never how I’ve seen you. You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ve got the biggest heart and the kindest soul, and you’re one of two people I care about more than anything else in the world. You think Tilly thinks her mother is worthless?”

Lacey wept, dashing tears from her cheeks, and he kissed her again, soft lips pressing against her cheeks, her eyelids. His brow pressed against hers, and she could feel his cool breath on her lips, his nose nuzzling hers.

“I love you, Lacey,” he whispered. “I love you, do you hear me? Whatever’s coming, whatever’s threatening our family, we’ll face it together. Okay?”

She nodded, arms going around him as she let herself cry, her chest heaving with sobs. He held her close, his body firm and warm and comforting, his scent wrapping around her as her tears soaked into his shirt. It felt good to be held, to be loved. To know that there was no longer any need for lies. To know that he accepted her with all the risks and the danger that entailed. To know that he loved her anyway.

Eventually she ran out of tears, and pulled back from him a little, feeling drained and weak, her throat and eyes stinging. He kissed her again, thumbs brushing wetness from her cheeks, and Lacey hitched a breath as she met his eyes.

“Well then,” he said quietly. “I believe Mrs Potts may have left us some sandwiches in the kitchen, if you’re hungry.”

She nodded, giving him a wobbly smile.

“Starving.”

“In that case,” he said. “Let’s open this fucking safe and see what’s inside, then you and I can have something to eat, hmm?”

“Mrs Potts always did say that there’s nothing so bad it can’t be solved by a cup of tea,” she said.

“Suggestion number one,” he said. “Throw hot tea over whoever’s after you.”

Lacey let out something halfway between a giggle and a sob, and he kissed her brow again.

“See?” he said. “I’m an evil genius. They don’t stand a chance.”

#fic: things left unsaid #woven lace #woven lace fic #my fic

51 notes · View notes

lilacmoon83 · 5 years ago

Text

Dreaming Out Loud

Also on fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 101: And Wake Up Where the Clouds Are Far Behind Me

The years passed quickly, as Rumpelstiltskin secretly trained Regina in the ways of dark magic. It had been very difficult for her at first, but her overwhelming rage at her mother and sister had changed her and facilitated the needed changes in her to mold her into the woman he needed to cast his curse.

Over the years, Arawn had assimilated many Kingdoms under his rule. George and Midas were allowed to remain on their Thrones as mere figureheads under Arawn's complete control. King Hubert and his Queen had been too resistant and were executed, while Hubert's most trusted Knights saw to it that Phillip was sent east into hiding.

King Stefan had folded to Arawn as well, allowing him to keep his Throne, much to his daughter, Princess Aurora's chagrin. Knowing that the late Queen Briar Rose would be horrified, the fairies that had been her allies eventually whisked Aurora away into hiding.

King Stefan tried to appeal to the other King's thirst for power by telling him that they should invade Maleficent's castle next and kill the dragon woman. But Arawn refused. He was known for avoiding magic that he wasn't completely sure he could overpower her and thus Maleficent's castle was left untouched for the moment, as was the Dark One's castle for obvious reasons.

Next, Arawn had moved south to a small Kingdom ruled by Lord Maurice. Arawn was well aware of the deal the man previously made with the Dark One, who ended the threat of the ogres in exchange for the man's beautiful daughter, Belle. But all that had done was pave the way for Arawn to easily assimilate Maurice's Kingdom next without any ogres in his path.

After that, Arawn seized the maritime Kingdom, forcing Prince Eric to flee to the east to avoid execution. The Prince's ailing father had just passed away months ago, but there would be no coronation for Prince Eric.

Regina's Kingdom was one of the only ones left standing on its own, save for the mysterious Arendelle. And magic was definitely the reason for that. Neither Frollo or Arawn were completely sure they could combat the magic of Queen Cora and her daughter Zelena. But Arawn was not giving up. He was a patient man and if he could not overtake Leopold's Kingdom, then he planned to appeal to his and his Queen's greed by proposing a merger when the time was right.

As for Arendelle, Princess Elsa had finally come of age and her coronation was underway. He had sent Hans into get a scope of the Kingdom and hoped to hear good news from his youngest brother soon.

Snow White still eluded them, but there had been sightings over the years. He suspected though that Hades and Persephone had kept her sequestered in the Underworld most of the time. Eli was in hiding as well and there were rumors that he was living somewhere near the city of Athens, well known to be protected by Athena, though there had supposedly been sightings of him in Thebes as well. But that did not bother him too much. He was still confident that he could capture the wayward Princess and use her to his advantage. His Kingdom would continue to grow and soon, he knew he would rival the power of the Gods. Especially if Frollo's research and experimentation yielded the results he soon hoped for.

Arawn entered the top spire of the castle that was formerly George's and spied his Vizier at the infamous Cauldron that had come into Arawn's possession many years ago. While the Cauldron's past was lousy with black magic, these days, Frollo used it for his scientific experiments and dabbles into alchemy.

For years, Frollo has been attempting to change ordinary metals into valuable ones like gold. But more importantly, he was on a lifelong quest to use science and the cauldron to create an elixir of immortality. Arawn shared in his quest for immortality, but he had employed Frollo to explore another avenue on his path to immortality for him.

In the ancient scrolls from his homeland, the texts spoke of a creature and a mountain that could give him what he wanted. If the creature deemed him worthy, he could essentially take on the powers of this supposedly dormant creature that was known in the texts by a few names and one of those being the black god. This creature was said to be far more powerful than any God on Olympus and even mightier than any of the Titans. But the location of this mysterious, supposedly cone shaped bald mountain was unknown. However, through his assimilation of Kingdoms, he had finally found a clue in one of the oldest libraries in Lord Maurice's Kingdom. It was in a dead language that no one he knew of could read, but fortunately, Frollo was attempting to use the Cauldron and science to translate the map they had found.

"Any luck?" Arawn questioned.

"Not yet...but I may be onto something," Frollo responded, as the cauldron boiled with a sickly green liquid. Frollo added a drop of some unknown ingredient, making the room smell even fouler than it already did. Frollo carefully filled a vial with the liquid and poured one drop on the encrypted map. It gave off a faint glow, as the sorcery rippled over it.

"Did it work?" Arawn asked.

"It did not decipher the map...however it has left us another clue. One that could make translating the map irrelevant," Frollo said, as the sorcery on the parchment took life in front of their eyes in the form a dancing broom, which then morphed into a hat with stars on it.

"What is it?" Arawn questioned.

"I've seen this only once...in the ancient pagan texts back in the Cathedral. It is the magical hat worn by the mysterious Sorcerer. The legend says that no one knows the identity of this great Sorcerer and the hat is in the possession of his apprentice," Frollo recalled.

"What does this mean?" Arawn pressed, as he watched the image of the hat fold into a dormant form in that of a circular box with stars atop it. Then the transparent image fell to the map and to a mountainous region in the northeast that was known to be quite barren and scarcely populated.

"It means we can find the hat in this region and then it is the hat that will decode this map, leading us to Bald Mountain," Frollo responded.

"Then you will take a few of our men and find this hat by any means necessary," Arawn ordered. Frollo bowed to him.

"At once, My King," he obeyed.

~*~

David wiped the sweat from his brow, as they paused for a beat in their practice duel. His family and Snow's family were all enjoying a brief respite at Persephone's summer cabin in her meadow near the ocean. Over the years, Persephone had added two more cabins in the meadow, one for his family and one just for him and Snow.

There was a brief lull in the war recently and they had taken full advantage of the opportunity for a visit. They were a bit worried about what Arawn's attention might be on, because of the lull, but they did not let it mar their time together.

During the warring years, Eli had taken the opportunity to sharpen David's swordsman skills and Hades usually joined the teachings when he was able to. The Underworld had been sadly a very busy place in the last few years, but thankfully, he was enjoying a lull too. They had long ago taken well to their future son-in-law, for he made their little Snow very happy and had decided one of the few things they could agree on was they wanted him to be exceptional in his skills so he could protect their little girl. David had welcomed the training, wanting to be able to protect her against anyone as well.

"You're getting very good…" Eli mentioned, as the younger man parried his strikes.

"If it means protecting Snow...then I want to become a master swordsman," David replied, as they continued the duel. Eli smirked, as he heard Snow huff from the sidelines.

"Daddy...don't you think that's enough for today?" she asked impatiently. Patience would never be his little girl's forte.

"I suppose so...he is here, after all, to see you, sweet pea," he answered, as they ended the duel. Snow smiled and put her arms around her beloved, kissing him passionately.

"I'm all sweaty," he warned, as she pressed herself flush against him.

"I don't mind," she replied, with a coy smile. Persephone handed her daughter a picnic basket with a smile, as the young couple joined hands and began to stroll toward Stardust.

"Have fun!" Ruth called, with a smile, as they rode off.

"Don't you want me to clean up first?" David asked. Snow smirked.

"Oh, I think I can clean you up myself in the ocean," she replied. He grinned.

"That sounds like fun," he agreed, as they rode off for a romantic rendezvous.

"Don't pout," Persephone scolded her ex.

"I'm not pouting...she's just all grown up and needs me less and less," Eli lamented.

"She still needs you...she needs us all. They both do," Hades reminded. He nodded.

"David is a good man. I couldn't have hoped for better for her," he agreed.

"That's what happens when Athena etches your love in the stars. Their love will save us all," Persephone said, though she knew that meant that her daughter and her love would face insurmountable odds and stare down evil to do so. But she was confident that love would prevail.

~*~

Zelena cackled, as she used her spell to create a storm that she unleashed upon an unsuspecting village.

"You're getting very good, dear," Cora complimented and the devastation seemed to have no affect on them.

"This is just the beginning, Mother. When I cast the Dark One's curse, they all shall be under my thumb, even the powerful King Arawn. He'll be nothing compared to me," the redhead boasted.

"Yes...the time draws near, doesn't it Rumple?" Cora questioned.

"It's too early for the curse. I'm not ready yet," he replied. But this angered Zelena.

"Well, I am!" she shouted.

"I am tired of this land and King Arawn's rule! I should rule, mother! But you won't allow me to unseat him!" she shouted.

"His Vizier, Frollo, is much too unpredictable, my dear. If he was able to nullify Midas' power, than he may have a way to counter ours. It's too risky right now," Cora admonished.

"Which is why we need the curse! What exactly are you waiting for?" Zelena questioned her Master.

"That's my business," Rumple hissed in return.

"Why is it always about what you want?! What about what I want?!" Zelena argued, as Rumple looked at her.

"Careful dearie...you may think you're in charge here, but you'd be mistaken. I may be providing you with the means to cast a great curse and rule over all the lands. But make no mistake...I'm in charge," he warned.

"Well, I don't accept that. I'm more than confident that the student has surpassed the master," Zelena hissed. Rumple let out a giggle of amusement.

"Oh you'd be wrong there, dearie," he boasted, as he disappeared and appeared behind her, much to her surprise. Zelena growled and turned to him, effectively blasting him with her green magic.

"Why won't you give me what I want?! I've done everything you've asked!" she cried psychotically.

"Zelena…" Cora chided, but the out of control redhead batted her mother away, much to Cora's surprise.

"I'm more powerful than you both! And I'm going to cast this curse now!" she demanded.

"Go ahead and try...but you'll fail," Rumple responded in a sing-song voice.

"Rumple...what are you talking about?" Cora questioned.

"I've decided to alter our deal," he confessed.

"What?" Cora questioned.

"You've done a very exceptional job in raising a daughter that loves nothing, which is the opposite of what I need," he responded.

"Love is weakness," Cora proclaimed. He giggled at her.

"Wrong again, dearie...it's actually quite powerful and extremely useful when you know how to use it. She can never successfully cast my curse. Read the last ingredient," he prodded, as Cora looked at the tiny scroll.

"The heart of thing you love most…" she recited and then looked up at him, as realization dawned on her. He giggled.

"I see you've finally gotten it. You raised the perfect, heartless monster...in your image no less. You must be so proud," he said distastefully.

"The problem is that I need a monster that still has a heart and fortunately for me...you actually didn't fail to give me one," he responded dramatically.

"What are you talking about?" Zelena demanded to know. He giggled again.

"Your mother created you in her image. Heartless, full of hatred, and you wouldn't know love if it smacked you in your green face," he poked fun, which only enraged her more.

"You're wrong...I love power! It's the only thing that matters!" she refuted.

"According to your short sighted mother...yes, but love is what makes the world go round, dearie. And true love...well, that is the rarest of all magic, but that's a story you don't need to know about," he added.

"However, your mother and you have created another monster as well; one that you don't even realize," he said cryptically, as Regina emerged from the shadows.

"Regina?" Cora asked in shock.

"Hello Mother...Zelena," she greeted with a smirk and then showed her power by lighting a tree on fire.

"You...you've learned magic," Cora uttered in surprise and slight dread in her voice.

"Well...when you took Daniel away from me, I knew I couldn't let you get away with it," Regina responded.

"Darling...I did that for your own good. I was looking out for your best interest," Cora claimed.

"You were looking out for yours!" Regina snapped.

"After all, you couldn't have one of your daughters marrying someone without royal blood. So when he offered me a path to revenge for what you both did to me...I took it," she added.

"You see...she's the monster you created, but she's far more dangerous than this one, because she still has a heart. She knows love, while this one only knows envy," he said, with disgust, as Zelena's skin slowly turned completely green.

"Regina will cast my curse...and she will do it when I say," he stated.

"No!" Zelena cried.

"This was to be mine! I am supposed to rule and have everything! But you're giving it to her?!" Zelena cried in outrage.

"That's right," he said nonchalantly. Zelena growled and unleashed her green magic on her sister, but Regina was ready with an immobilization spell. She knew if she let Zelena get the upper hand that she might be evenly matched or even overpowered by her more experienced sister.

"Yes...I will be Queen and cast this curse, but you don't get to come. I'm going to cast you out for what you did! You destroyed my future with him and you did it on purpose!" she snarled, as she summoned another spell, while Rumple watched on with a pleased expression and Cora in one of awe. Zelena cried out in horror, as a twister came down out of the sky and snatched her up.

"Enjoy oblivion...witch!" Regina cackled with glee, as the twister carried her sister away to another realm.

"Regina...what have you done?" Cora cried.

"Aren't you happy, mother? I've become evil...just like you always wanted," Regina responded, as she approached the older woman.

"My revenge against you will be very sweet for what you did to Daniel. Now run home to your disgusting, degenerate husband and count your numbered days, because I'll be coming for you both," she warned. Cora looked at her former master, her eyes flashing with betrayal and she saw the smug look on his face. He was enjoying his own revenge against her. With no other choice, Cora disappeared in a puff of magenta smoke.

"That was fun," Regina commented.

"Yes...and there is more to come. The time for my curse will soon draw near. But there are still a few things I need that must happen," he replied. She shrugged.

"I'm in no hurry...it gives me more time to craft the perfect punishment for my mother. But tell me...does everyone else have to be miserable in this curse?" she questioned. He smirked.

"It's whatever you want it to be. But they all must fear it, so you need to sell it as their certain doom or they won't take it seriously," he responded.

"Easily done...as long as my mother and Zelena pay, that's all I care about," she replied. He giggled with glee. Things were going very well for him now.

~*~

Prince James dueled an onslaught of Arwan's best soldiers in an exhibition for the mighty King. George had insisted he showcase his talents when Arawn announced to the Kingdom that they were having a problem with a truly monstrous beast that threatened to destroy his entire army. The beast guarded an important mountain pass that was crucial to have control of in the next phase of the war. So Arawn had called for only the best to lead an onslaught on this dragon beast and slay it for him. James hated the idea of doing anything for Arawn and even mouthed off to his father about how he should make his stupid Sorcerer Vizier find a solution or the God Deimos, but that had gotten him a smack to the back of his head. Despite being grown now, his father never missed an opportunity to inflict abuse as his means of correcting him.

"Impressive…" Arawn stated, as James defeated all the soldiers quite swiftly.

"Yes...James is the best swordsman in all the Kingdoms," George boasted.

"Then he will lead a battalion of men and slay the beast that blocks our passage through the mountains," Arawn announced. James pushed down the urge to flee at that. The mission that Arawn was sending him on was certain suicide, but he didn't see anyway out.

~*~

Snow mewled into his kiss and panted in impassioned gasps, as he made love to her in the sand. The tide was coming in and washing over them. He kissed at her neck, desperately, as they chased the height of pleasure that was building between them.

"David…David…" she sung wantonly, as he pumped hot and deeply, their hips colliding with a euphoric feeling.

"Snow…" he rasped, as his lips worshiped her body. Snow raked her nails along his back, as she neared her climax, bringing him pleasured agony. They finally reached completion together, nearly simultaneously in an incredible wave of ecstasy, before they collapsed together, limbs tangled and water beading on their bare bodies.

As their skin quickly began to cool in the ocean water, they wrapped themselves together in the very large blanket they had brought with them and rested together against a rock, while they watched the sunset together. They kissed tenderly and cuddled, enjoying an afterglow that was just as euphoric as their lovemaking had been.

"I love you so much, my darling…" he whispered. She smiled at him, her emerald eyes sparkling with love.

"I love you too, my Charming," she replied, as she nuzzled her nose to his.

"Let's not wait any longer," he whispered to her.

"Any longer for what?" she asked.

"To get married," he responded, as she looked at him in surprise.

"But...the war isn't over yet," she reminded.

"And it may not be for years, Snow...I want to marry you now. Not then or whenever this war is done. I'm tired of that heartless King being the reason that you're not already my wife," he said. She smiled gently and he knew she felt the same.

"But we still might have to be separated sometimes," she reminded.

"I know...and as much as I hate it, at least I know you're safe from those lunatics in the Underworld and I will cherish every moment we're together and think of you every moment that we're not. I just want to be your husband while I do," he confessed passionately. A tear slipped down her cheek and she sniffed.

"I want that too...more than anything," she agreed, as their lips met again in a smoldering kiss. He smiled brightly back at her.

"Let's go tell our parents," he suggested, but she smirked at him slyly and tackled him to the sand again.

"Later…" she whispered, as passion overtook them again.

~*~

Rumple returned to his castle that evening and noticed with mild interest that his new maid was carrying out the duties of which he had ordered of her. The first few weeks with her had been tedious at best with a lot of crying, but she had eventually settled into a routine. As expected when he returned, she had the tea readied and poured it for him. Curiously, the cup she had chipped days ago was still there as neither of them could seem to toss the silly thing.

"How...how was your lesson?" Belle asked curiously.

"What do you know of my lessons?" he questioned.

"You always take spell books with you on this day and since you don't seem like the type that still needs a book to do magic, I deduced that you have a student," she replied, as he stared at her with scrutiny.

"Very observant," he finally said after an unnerving pause.

"And this one was more productive than usual," he commented, as he enjoyed his tea and that somehow brought a smile to her face. Which was curious, for she knew whatever he was teaching his student probably wasn't good. But the fact that he was pleased brought her a sense of comfort for him.

There had been a lot of development today. Now that his curse was securely in Regina's hands and Zelena was effectively no longer a problem. That meant that once the Savior was conceived, his plan would be accelerated. And there was still one thing he needed, he reminded himself, as he went to his potions cupboard. He had something in every slot, except for the one with the heart.

"What potion goes there?" Belle asked curiously.

"If you must know...it's true love. It's the only magic I haven't bottled," he replied.

"How can you bottle true love?" she asked.

"There is only one true love worth bottling and I've been waiting three hundred years for it to finally come to be. The time is finally at hand...but that's none of your business," he snapped. The time was finally drawing near. He would bottle the true love shared between Princess Snow White and her charming shepherd, the Savior would soon be conceived, and then his curse would be cast. Then he would find his son at last…

~*~

The next morning, all of them, except Snow and David were up early as usual, preparing for a family breakfast. Their children had come home very late and so they were letting them sleep in.

They were surprised though that morning to get a visit from Apollo. Ruth, Sera, Robert, and Eli hung back, as Persephone and Hades greeted him. The last time he had come directly to them was a few years ago after he had tried to show Arawn and Frollo the proof that Snow as framed for Ravenna's murder. And they both knew him coming to them personally could only mean bad things.

"Do you have news of the war?" Hades questioned.

"Yes...Arawn is attempting to move east with his conquest. A great and fearsome dragon blocks his path through the north eastern mountain ridge. He's already lost an entire battalion to this creature, but presses on to find someone to slay it," Apollo reported.

"If he invades the eastern Kingdom and manages to somehow overthrow their Emperor...his army's numbers will quadruple," Persephone feared.

"I believe that is his goal," Apollo confirmed.

"That's a huge undertaking, even for him. The Emperor's army is nearly five times as large as Arawn's, even with all the armies he has assimilated. There's no way they could overtake them, not without some serious advantages," Hades argued.

"Word has it that they are forcing peasants to work assembly lines and mass producing that weapon that Frollo created," Apollo replied.

"You mean the one that David was hit with?" Snow chimed in, as she and David came out of their cabin, hand in hand.

"Yes, I'm afraid so, dear niece," he confirmed.

"But I fear that is not the most disturbing news I have," he continued.

"Of course not," Hades muttered bitterly. He had a feeling his lull would be ending soon and he was going to be very busy once again.

"Frollo has found a map. He can't read it yet, but it the map to Bald Mountain," Apollo revealed, as he met Hades' eyes.

"That's not possible...I destroyed every map to that place," the God of the Underworld growled.

"There is a very old library in Lord Maurice's Kingdom that still had one...in a dead language, but Frollo has used his sorcery to give him a clue. He's traveling east as well in search of the hat," Apollo revealed.

"He cannot get that hat…" Hades growled.

"What hat?" David asked in confusion.

"The Sorcerer's hat...it's very powerful and will lead Frollo to an evil, demonic creature. He has a name I'd rather not speak, but we also used to refer to him as the black god," Persephone explained.

"The Black God?" Snow asked.

"Yes...a Titan that was so evil that your mother and I sealed it away in a volcanic mountain after the Sorcerer, who was supposed to guard the hat, got himself sealed away in a freaking tree," Hades said in frustration. She nodded.

"Originally, this demon was sealed away in the hat itself, but once the sorcerer was trapped, it was freed. It took all of us, including Zeus to seal it away in an enchanted volcanic mountain," Persephone explained.

"If Frollo gets the hat and finds the mountain, he can not only use the hat to release the creature, he and Arawn can control it too," Hades added.

"Then we have to stop Frollo," Snow stated.

"She's right," David agreed.

"You two aren't going anywhere close to this," Hades refuted.

"Yeah...no way in hell," Eli added.

"And not that you need it, but that goes triple from us," Robert agreed, causing the young couple to collectively roll their eyes.

"He's right...but we will be going to stop him," Persephone said. Apollo nodded.

"If they release the black god...then Arawn and Frollo will become unstoppable," he warned.

"Are you leaving right away?" Snow asked, as she and David exchanged a glance.

"We cannot delay much, snowdrop...but we do have the advantage of being able to magic ourselves ahead of Frollo," she said.

"Good...because before you go…" Snow said, as she addressed all of them and then looked at David.

"We want to get married," David finished her sentence, as they gazed at each other with love and eagerness. And no one present could help but smile, including Apollo.

"And I shall be glad to officiate such a destined union," he agreed, as preparations ensued.

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Charming family #AU #HadesxPersephone #rumbelle #Swanfire #Greek Mythology meets fairy tales #romance #adventure #family #dreaming out loud

2 notes · View notes

bookwormchocaholic · 6 years ago

Text

Reason and Romance: Chapter 2

A03

Chapter One

Synopsis: Rummond and Bae Gold must leave their home and begin anew at Avonlea Cottage, on the estate of Sir Maurice French. They hope to live quietly and happily in Devonshire, but when Rummond and Bae are both thwarted in love, they cope in their own distinctive ways. They come to support one another and must pursue their happy endings.

Author Note: A Sense and Sensibility AU of sorts that’s been on my mind for a couple years now. I’m rereading S&S, so I thought I’d give it a try. I hope it honors Austen’s classic. Not beta-ed or properly researched; expect a ton of mistakes.

Belle began to tremble as Sir Maurice softly knocked on the door of Avonlea Cottage. Before, her enthusiasm had consumed her, but now, she was about to come face to face with the man she loved for years. What will he think of me? She pondered, giving her father a sheepish smile. The older man didn’t have an inkling of her feelings. And if he did, he likely wouldn’t understand.

Her grasp on her father’s arm tightened when the door swung open.

Rummond and Bae stood in the doorway and for a moment she forgot how to speak. Her true love was exactly as she remembered him: a little taller than she, soft brown eyes, longish hair which did seem a bit greyer, and thin lips that stretched into an apprehensive smile. The only difference she noticed was the cane he was leaning upon. Poor man. He hurt himself at some point and still suffered from it.

His son changed the most, nearing his father’s height, with a crop of unruly hair. No longer a child, he was not yet a man. Belle never met the mysterious Mrs. Gold, but she couldn’t detect anything but Rummond’s features and characteristics in the young man. Both of the Gold men were much too gaunt in her opinion, but regular meals at Avonlea Park would cure them of that.

“Sir Maurice!” Rummond held out his hand to her father. “I want to thank you-”

“Oh, none of that!” Sir Maurice waved him off and pumped his hand eagerly. “We are old friends and I dare say you would open your home to me if need be. Ah, you remember my daughter, Belle.”

Belle noticed Rummond’s high cheek bones reddening when he looked at her and wondered if his reaction was a good thing or a bad thing. “Mr. Gold,” She greeted and held out her hand for him. “Will you not shake hands with me?”

Rummond nodded, clearly flummoxed. “Of course, my apologies, Miss French.”

He took her hand and gave it a tiny shake, then brought it to his lips and kissed the back of it. A tingle shot through her, one that was unfamiliar, but it excited her. What would those lips feel like on other parts of me? She loved the callouses on his palms and his long tapering fingers. Unlike the gentlemen in the area, he worked his whole life. He had actually done things for himself and been places.

“It is good to see you again.” Rummond released her, much to her dismay. He slid his arm around his son shoulders. “This is my boy, Baeden. He goes by Bae.”

Bae shyly nodded to them.

“Good morning, Bae. Is the cottage suited to your needs?” Belle inquired.

When they received Rummond’s letter, announcing of their acceptance of Sir Maurice’s offer, Belle sent over a couple servants to clean the cottage from top to bottom, as well as stock the pantry and wood supply. Other than that, she didn’t know what they would require to make the cottage feel like a home.

“Yes, you must let us know if you require anything. Where are your servants?” Sir Maurice asked, rising up on his tip toes to peer past the Gold men.

Bae looked confused. “We don’t have any.”

It was only then that Belle realized how worn Rummond and Bae’s clothing were. She had been so caught up in seeing them again, she missed the obvious. The Gold men were clearly impoverished, more than what she and her father suspected. Servants were probably the last thing on their minds.

“Oh. We could send someone down-” Belle suggested.

“That isn’t necessary. We are self-reliant.” Rummond replied quickly.

Belle was about to protest this when she received a nudge in the side from her father. She frowned, but kept her thoughts to herself. Never an easy feat, but she didn’t wish to speak out of turn.

“If you change your mind, let me know.” Sir Maurice declared and swiftly changed the subject. He lifted his and gestured in the direction of Avonlea Park. “I hope you will take meals with us. It is rather lonesome with just the two of us. Often enough, I doze off and my poor Belle is left with no one to talk to. Just come over whenever you wish.”

Belle studied both father and son and sensed they wouldn’t accept the invitation without a little more prompting. They were too polite and retiring for their own good. “I look forward to your company. We have an extensive library and you can borrow however many books you wish.”

“Really?” Bae’s eyes brightened and he genuinely smiled.

“Yes.” Belle longed to take the boy to her library now and show off her books, but knew it would be too presumptuous. Rummond and Bae needed time to settle in and make themselves at home. “Papa isn’t much of a reader, so it would be nice to discuss literature with someone.”

Belle glanced at Rummond and felt her spirits plummeting on observing his skittish expression. She wasn’t sure what she did or said, but she feared she made him uncomfortable. Sometimes I am too impetuous for my own good. Aside from her comment on providing them servants, she couldn’t think of anything else that might have offended him. Perhaps he was simply weary from his travels or from the changes he made, and a good night’s rest would sooth his nerves.

Sir Maurice tugged on her arm and they departed from Avonlea Cottage, however Belle’s mind and heart continued to be full of the sweet man who scarcely said two words to her.

Rummond didn’t feel like he could breathe properly until he closed the cottage’s front door. His fingers twitched, longing to spin his wool. He used to spin to work out his anxieties, unfortunately for him, he hadn’t had a spinning wheel in his possession for years.

He rested his back against the door, still dumbstruck by the ethereal beauty of Belle French. Not even the angels on the stain glass of the cathedrals in Europe could rival her. Her wide, innocent azure eyes, her sweet face framed by her chestnut curls, her infectious smile and her kind-hearted spirit. Those plump lips he would give just about anything to taste and savor.

She was wholly unspoiled.

Rummond’s skin suddenly felt on fire and was itchy. He rubbed the back of his neck. What is wrong with me? His old comrade-in-arms was standing right there while he made eyes at the man’s daughter. It was all he could do to attend to the conversation and not wonder what Belle French’s figure might look like beneath her spencer coat. Stop it, she is a girl. She is your friend’s daughter. Not only that, he was still officially a married man. Milah might be absent, but she was his wife. She might not be faithful to him, but he had to be faithful to her. For Bae’s sake, if not for his own.

“I like them, Papa.” Bae state aloud.

Rummond’s head snapped up and he felt a pang of guilt. He had forgotten that his son had been standing there the whole time and he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard Bae’s voice.

“Especially Miss French.” Bae added.

Rummond patted his boy on the shoulder. “I’m glad to hear it.” He hobbled from the door, his cane clicking on the hardwood floor. The noise only ceased when he stepped onto the carpet of the sitting room.

The cottage would be considered small by most standards, but in Rummond’s opinion it was perfect. The view from the cottage was majestic and overlooked the sparkling waters. The downs would plentiful and he could take Bae exploring in the afternoons. He surveyed the rooms and while they were pretty bare, in time he and Bae could make it into a home. It needed a little work, which they would not trouble the French’s about, but would take care of on their own. A chimney that smoked, pokey dark stairs, drafts by the windows, peeling wallpaper and chipping paint. They would make their alterations next spring. For the winter, Bae would attend to his studies and repair the defects in his education. As for him, he would purchase a spinning wheel and do some spinning.

The best part about it was they were far from London and Malcolm’s debauchery. This wholesome area would be a good influence on Bae. His boy could see how good, honest people lived and follow their example.

“Could we go to the French’s for supper tonight?” Bae joined him in the sitting room. He lowered his voice, despite the fact they were the only ones in the cottage. “We don’t have any more bread from our trip.”

It was on the tip of Rummond’s tongue to decline, but one glimpse of his son and he faltered. He would willingly go hungry, but he couldn’t allow his son to suffer through those abominable hunger pangs. The memory of those were still fresh in his memory. According to Sir Maurice’s letter, the cottage had not been occupied for a couple of years, therefore he assumed the panty had to be bare. Tomorrow he could go into the village and purchase what they needed, but he was too exhausted now from their journey.

“Yes, but we can’t make a habit of it.” Rummond agreed and racked his brain on what they could wear to a proper supper. They had their Sunday bests, but he knew they would be woefully out of place amongst the French’s finery. “The French’s have been generous to us and we can’t take advantage of that. In the morning, we will shop for what we need.”

“I can fish too!” Bae said. His son’s expression suddenly turned mischievous and if he hadn’t known the boy better, he would have been worried. “I can’t wait to see Miss French’s library. How old is she?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Rummond shrugged, though that wasn’t quite the truth. When he first met Belle, after her mother’s death, she was eighteen. Seven years had passed and that would make her five and twenty. “Why?”

“Well, I wondered why she wasn’t married.” Bae replied.

“That, son, is none of our business.” Rummond held up a finger. “And don’t ask her.”

For a brief moment he feared Bae was smitten with Belle. It would never work. While still youthful, Belle was Bae’s senior by ten years. Not to mention the vast difference in their social classes and fortune.

His fears dissolved when Bae began to prattle on about the library and what kind of books Belle might have. He then decided his boy was merely excited to make a new friend and was inquisitive.

Why isn’t she married? The question cropped up suddenly.

The question entered Rummond’s mind before he could stop it. Certainly, Belle had no shortage of beaux. A girl such a she could have any man her heart desired. All she would have to do was smile and quirk her little finger. How would he make it through supper without fantasizing about her?

Rummond banished the image of Belle quirking her finger at him and mounted the stairs to the second floor. He had to dress for supper.

Bae didn’t dare move too much, out of fear of bumping the table and disturbing the meal. But he couldn’t help but squirm a little in his seat. His Sunday best felt constricting, since it was tight on his ever-growing frame. Never in his whole life had he been inside a mansion as grand as Avonlea Park. The four-story structure loomed far above as he and Papa approached on foot and though Sir Maurice and Belle warmly welcomed them, he felt out of place. Their measly offer of wild flowers felt ridiculous considering fine hot house flowers decorated the various rooms, but Belle’s eyes gleamed when she accepted them.

They scarcely had time to talk before they adjourned to the dining room. He and Papa sat across from one another while Sir Maurice and Belle sat on opposite ends. Bae’s mouth watered when a servant served him venison stew and he would have tucked in if Papa hadn’t caught his attention and pointed to the right spoon to use. He did his best to mimic his father’s eating habits and conversed with Belle while Sir Maurice and Papa talked of old times.

His belly never felt so full and he wondered if the French’s always ate like this or if it was because they were entertaining company.

On finishing his meal, Sir Maurice laid his napkin down and leaned back in his seat. “I drink port after meals, will you drink with me, Gold?”

Papa also laid his napkin aside and seemed unsure of how to answer. “Yes, well, Bae…”

Bae frowned. He loved his father, he loved no one else more in the world, but the man’s entire world revolved around him. Papa didn’t mean to, but Bae often felt smothered.

“I was going to show Bae the library, if that is all right with you, Mr. Gold.” Belle piped up and slyly winked at Bae.

The flustered expression on his father’s face melted away and he seemed to be at ease. “Of course.” His gaze briefly flickered to Belle before he bashfully dropped his head.

Bae chuckled and rolled his eyes. Papa liked Belle. He suspected it when the French’s called at the cottage, but now that he was able to watch them interact, he was convinced. Papa liked Belle and unbeknownst to Papa, Belle liked him too.

Papa and Sir Maurice stood respectfully when Belle rose.

Bae followed Belle out of the dining room and he tried to memorize each and every detail of the rooms he passed through as she led him to the library.

Bae let out a whistle when he entered the library. He had to crane his neck back to be able to take in the whole view of floor to ceiling books shelves, the globes, the ladders. There had to be thousands of books in there! The room smelled dusty, but homey.

“Are all these books yours?” Bae went to the closest shelf and looked at the leather-bound volumes.

“My family collected them for years, but I secretly consider them all mine. Borrow whatever you would like.” Belle took a step closer and softly asked, “How do you like the cottage? If you want to change anything if there need to be improvements, please let us know.”

Bae shook his head. “It is amazing! Our cottage in London wasn’t nearly as big and my grandfather’s apartments were cramped…We didn’t have much privacy.” He gulped, feeling a wave of discomfort.

“Well, I’m glad you like it and I hope you and your papa know you are welcome to visit Avonlea Park anytime you please.” Belle reached out and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze.

After watching how Belle and Sir Maurice treated each other, he now understood that the way his grandfather lived, or even his mother, was not normal. Now that he and Papa were away from Grandfather and mother, he hoped their life could somehow resemble Belle’s and Sir Maurice’s. The peace, the happiness, the hope.

His mother was out there somewhere. At first, he missed her. She was his mother after all, but now after watching how well Belle treated his father and liked Papa, he knew his mother acted wrongly. Now that he thought about it, Bae couldn’t recall being on the receiving end of much affection from his mother. He barely knew Belle, but felt she would make a better mother. Papa didn’t like to speak of his mother or what happened, and Bae didn’t want to hurt his father by prying. Someday he hoped to learn the truth, when the time was right.

As long as he and Papa could be together and be happy, that was all that mattered.

#rumbelle fic #reason and romance verse #historical au #papafire fic

10 notes · View notes

deztinywarriors · 7 years ago

Text

ES Spectre Interlock Chapter 21-30

#Playchoices #Endless Summer #fanfic #pixelberry #adventure #choices

5 notes · View notes

nothingbythebook · 4 years ago

Text

First, an apology for the title slug. I know you’re all sick and tired of plays on A Love in the Time of Cholera. Still. There’s a reason we’re doing it.

Second… but really first:

i. A catalogue

I recently moved, and as part of the uprooting, I culled my physical books to the essentials. (Ok, I moved like 500 metres away, but hey, packing and thus purging was definitely involved.) Stress on the physical: thank gods for my e-readers, a library of thousands always in my pocket.

Still. I was pretty ruthless. Totally ruthless, actually. Goodbye, university textbooks. Goodbye, books from the “I was a teenage Wiccan” phase. Goodbye, big thick books that look good on my shelf and make me feel smart because I own them—but let’s be honest, I’m never going to read Infinite Jest. I tried. It’s unreadable. I read Gravity’s Rainbow—goodbye—and, frankly, wish I hadn’t, don’t remember what it’s about, and I’ll never get that time back.

Goodbye, all of Jeanette Winterson’s not Sexing the Cherry books. Goodbye, gifted books that missed the mark—goodbye, self-bought books that I read, don’t remember, will never read again. Goodbye, books I once loved but don’t anymore—that cull was the hardest.

What’s left was still heavy to move and comprises about ten shelf equivalents. But each of these books is loved. Important.

Like The Letters of Sylvia Plath and this little known book of the poet’s drawings:

I don’t actually own Plath’s The Bell Jar or Ariel. How is this possible? Note to self: must buy. Response to self: this is how it beings, hoarding, pack-ratting expansion. Don’t do it. Response to response to self: Shut up. I want my Sylvia.

All of my Polish books:

Some of these have travelled the world with my parents and me for almost forty years. The Polish translation of A.S. Lindgren’s Children from Bullerbyn (which used to belong to my dad’s sister, actually—she got it and read it the year I was born) and of Winnie The Pooh—the first “chapter” books I ever read. And, of course, Sienkiewicz, Mickiewicz, Orzeszkowa, Rodziewiczówna. Kapuścinski. The more modern poets: Zagajewski, Anna Świrszczyńska and Wisława Szymborska, not in translation.

This cultural heritage of mine, I have a very… fraught, complex relationship with. So much beauty, so much passion, so much suffering—so much stupidity, so much pain.

Governments do not define a national, a culture, or a people, I suppose. But in a democracy, they reflect the will and the hearts of the majority of the people, and, if the current government of Poland reflects the majority of the will and the hearts of the (voting) Polish people, they are repugnant to me and I want nothing to do with them. I am ashamed of them, of where I come from.

But I do come of them, from there, do I not?

Still. I keep the books. Including the one celebrating our first modern proto-fascist, Józef Piłsudski. History is complicated; ancestry not chosen.

Next, a shelf of all of my favourites.

All of Jane Austen, of course. Most of Nabokov. Virginia Woolf, because, well, it’s complicated. Susan Sontag’s On The Suffering of Others, and E.M. Forester’s Maurice—I gave up Room With a View and the others. J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, not so much because I’ll ever read it again but because it was so important back then. Anthony Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange, because nothing like it has been written before or since. Hunter S. Thompson’s Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas—I mean. I had to keep it, hero of my misspent university youth. I put him right next to Charles Bukowski’s Women, which isn’t great, but which… well. It taught me a lot about writing. Then, Jorge Luis Borges’ The Book of Imaginary Beings, which always makes me cry because a) it exists and b) I will never write that well.

Edward Said’s Orientalism, the only book to survive my “why the fuck did I keep all of these outdated anthropology and sociology and history textbooks for 25 years” purge. Margaret Mead’s New Lives for Old, which wasn’t one of them, but a later acquisition, kept in honour of the woman who dared live her life, do her thing. She wasn’t the smartest, the brightest, the most original—but fuck, she dared. Fraser’s The Golden Bough and Lilian Faderman’s Chloe Plus Olivia, both acquired in my teens—the first gave me religion for a while, while I freed myself of the Polish Catholicism in which I grew up (“freed” is an aspirational word; I suspect the religions we are indoctrinated into in childhood stay in our bones forever—the best that we can do is be aware when that early programming tries to sabotage our critical thinking and emotional well-being), and the second showed me I wasn’t a freak, an aberration, alone.

Next, The First Ms. Reader and the Sisterhood is Powerful anthology—original 1970s paperbacks bought in a used bookstore in the 1990s when I was discovering feminism. Monica Sjöö and Barbara Mor’s The Great Cosmic Mother—I suppose another Wicca-feminism vestige. I will never read it again, but way back when, that book changed my life, so. Here it is, with me, still.

And now, back to fiction: The Doorbell Rang, my only Rex Stout hardcover, although without the dust jacket, and a hardcover, old, maybe even worth something, with protected dust jacket intact, of P.G. Wodehouse’s Psmith, Journalist. Next to them, The Adventures of Romney Pringle and The Further Adventures by Romney Pringle, the single collaboration between R. Austin Freeman and John J. Pitcairn under the pseudonym of Clifford Ashdown. Written in 1902 or so, both volumes are the first American edition. In mint condition. Like the P.G. Wodehouse—and The Letters of Sylvia Plath, and the unique, autographed, bound in leather made from the butts of sacrificed small children or something, Orson Scott Card Maps in the Mirror short story collection, which is next-but-one to them on the bookshelf—they were a gift from Sean.

A lot of the books on my shelves, here with me now, are a gift from Sean.

Between them, a hard cover Georges Simeon found at a garage sale, and then G.K. Chesterton—Lepanto, the poem about the 1571 naval battle between Ottoman forces and the Holy (that’s what they called themselves) League of Catholic Europe, which I will never read again, but which is associated with a specific time and event in my personal history, so I keep it. Next to it, The Collected Stories of Father Brown, in battered hardcover, which I re-read intermittently, and which are—well. Perfect, really. Then, all of Dashiell Hammett in one volume. Then, almost all the best Agatha Christie’s in four “five complete novels” hardcover collections, topped with two multi-author murder mystery medleys from the 1950s.

Looking at this shelf makes me very, very happy.

Next, the one fully preserved collection. Before the move, these books lived on a bookshelf perched on top of my desk. Now, they are here, their “natural” order slightly altered because of the uneven height of this case’ shelves. The top shelf is, I suppose, mostly reference and writing books:

The Paris Review Interviews, Anne Lammott’s Bird by Bird, Neil Gaiman’s Make Good Art, Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style, and their ilk. At the end, a couple of publications in which I have a byline.

The next shelf, the smallest on the case, is a bit of a smorgasboard, but is very precious to me:

Do you see Frida and my Tarot cards? Also an Ariana Reines book that I really should give back to its owner…

Next, my perhaps most precious books.

Philip Larkin’s Letters to Monica and Nabokov’s Letters to Vera. Anne Carson’s If Not Winter: Fragments of Sappho. Four Letter Word, a collection of “original love letters” (short stories, they mean, pretentious fucks) from an assortment of mega-stars, including Margaret Atwood, Leonard Cohen, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Neil Gaiman, Ursula K. LeGuin… a strange assortment, really. But some lovely pieces in there. Some lame ones too—and I like that too. Even superstars misfire, every one in a while.

Then, Leonard Cohen, Pablo Neruda, Walt Whitman, Jack Gilbert, Vera Pavlova. Finally, Anaïs Nin’s Delta of Venus and Little Birds, and a bunch of battered Colettes. Henry Miller’s Tropic of Cancer right next to Colette, of course. Then, my Frida books.

The next shelf is full of aspirational delusions.

Farsi textbooks next to Hafez, Rumi and Forough Farrokzad translations. I will never be able to read Hafez in the original Persian. But maybe? Life is long. Maybe, one day, I will have time. Then, Jung’s Red Book, Parker J. Palmer’s A Hidden Wholeness, Rod Stryker’s The Four Desires, Stephen Cope’s The Great Work of Your Life, Thich Nhat Hahn’s The Art of Communicating (I failed), The Bhagavad Gita (still trying).

As I said, the shelf of delusions.

The bottom shelf is aspirational/inspirational, and also, very tall.

And so, that’s why my Georgia O’Keefe books are there, as well as The Purple Book, and Obrist’s do it manifesto. Perhaps there is room there for my leather-bound Master’s thesis, currently tucked away in the closet, right there, next to a course binder from SAIT? Then, all of my Spanish books, including Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s El Amor en los Tiempos del Cólera… which, also, one day, I will read in Spanish and actually understand. Life is long, right?

Next, not really a book shelf as such, but the top shelf of my secretary desk, where the reference and project books of the moment live.

The Canadian Press Stylebook has a permanent home here, of course. And I’ve got two copies of Canadian Copyright: A Citizen’s Guide there, one for me (unread, but I’ll get to it, I promise myself, again), one for a colleague. Both snagged from a Little Free Library, by the way.

Almost done.

In the bedroom, the books of vice.

A shelf of battered Ngaio March paperbacks, tucked beside them some meditation and Kundalini yoga books that I’m not using right now, but, maybe, one day, I am not ready to give up on this part of myself yet. Below, a shelf of even more battered Rex Stout paperbacks.

I read and re-read these books—as did their original owners—until they fall to pieces. They are my crack, my vice—also, my methadone, my soother.

Below them, space for library books, mine and Ender’s:

I am finding Anna Mehler Paperny’s Hello I want to Die Please Fix Me unreadable, by the way. I pick it up, put it away. Repeat.

Will likely return it to the library unread.

Currently not on display: books by friends. Some here with me, some on the shelves in the Co-op house. There are a lot of those. Can one be ruthless… with friends?

ii. A reflection

Books, for readers and writers, are the artifacts that define us. When I enter a reader’s home, I immediately gravitate to their bookshelves. What’s on them?

What’s not on them?

What I’ve chosen to let go of, to not bring with me here tells me… a lot.

What am I going to do with this information?

xoxo

“Jane”

Books in the Time of Corona: what’s on my shelves and what’s not, and the story it tells First, an apology for the title slug. I know you're all sick and tired of plays on…

#artifacts #books #collections

0 notes

swanqueeneverafter · 7 years ago

Text

10. Skin Deep, Pt.1

Storybrooke. Present. Mill's House. Morning. (Emma pulls on her top and tousles her hair before turning to look at the woman reclined contentedly on the bed.) Emma: (Smirks:) "So I guess I'll be walking Henry to school this morning?" Regina: (Utterly relaxed:) "Mmm." Emma: (Shakes her head and continues dressing:) "After sneaking out of the house and then ringing the doorbell so Henry doesn't suspect anything, right?" Regina: (Not really listening:) "As you wish, dear." Emma: "Right. (Sits on the bed to pull on her shoes:) You know, it's a shame you're not this persuadable all the time." Regina: (Sighs and shifts on the bed:) "I'm tough because I have to be, Emma. Besides, I know you enjoy a challenge." Emma: (Standing up and turning to face her:) "Well you're definitely the most challenging person I've been with." Regina: "And I'm sure that's quite the list." Emma: "Hey! Be nice. You need to work on that jealous streak." Regina: (Scoffs:) "Jealous?" Emma: "Oh, don't try and deny it. You're gonna tell me all that stuff with Gold wasn't about you being just a little bit jealous?" Regina: (Defensively:) "Mr. Gold and I have had our issues long before you arrived in Storybrooke, Miss Swan. (Emma stands over her just watching:) What is it?" Emma: (Smiles:) "I was going to say that green is not a good colour on you. But, seeing what you're wearing, that's not true." Regina: (Rolls her eyes:) "That was really lame, Emma." Emma: "Yeah, well it's early and someone kept me up all night, (Shrugs:) best I could do." Regina: (Laughs:) "Shouldn't you be going?" Emma: (Sits on the bed beside her:) "Regina, I don't want you worrying about Gold. He may be a superlative enemy but you are one superlative f-" Regina: (Slaps her arm:) "Don't be vulgar." Emma: (Smirks:) "You weren’t complaining last night." Regina: "Out, Miss Swan, now." Emma: (Beams:) "I'm going, I'm going. (Gets up and heads for the door:) Have a good day, Madam Mayor." (As the door closes, Regina smiles briefly before her mind inevitably returns to revenge.) Regina: (To herself:) “Gold.” (She throws off the covers and gets out of bed.)

The Enchanted Forest. Past. Maurice's Castle. (Belle, Gaston, Maurice, a steward and several others study a map of nearby regions.) Steward: “Sir, there's news from the battlefield. Avonlea has fallen.” Maurice: “Oh, my gods...” Gaston: “If only he had come...” Maurice: “Well he didn't, did he? (Crosses the room:) Ogres are not men.” (Sits down on the throne seat.) Gaston: “We have to do something, we have to stop them.” (Belle crosses the room to Maurice.) Maurice: “They are... unstoppable.” Belle: “He could be on his way right now, Papa.” Maurice: “It's too late, my girl. It's just... too late.” (There is a banging at the door.) Belle: “That's him! That has to be him.” (Everyone approaches the door.) Maurice: “How could he get past the walls? Open it!” (Some guards open the door; revealing no one standing in the hall.) Rumplestiltskin: (Sitting on Maurice's throne:) “Well, that was a bit of a let down! You sent me a message, something about, ‘Help! Help! We're dying. Can you save us?’ (Gaston points his sword at him:) Well the answer is... (Rumplestiltskin smacks the blade away:) Yes, I can. Yes, I can protect your little town... for a price.” Maurice: “We sent you a promise of gold.” Rumplestiltskin: “Ah... now, you see, um... I uh... make gold. What I want is something a bit more special. My price... is her.” (Points to Belle.) Maurice: “No.” Gaston: (Shielding Belle with his arm:) “The young lady is engaged... to me.” Rumplestiltskin: “I wasn't asking if she was engaged. I'm not looking for love! I'm looking for a caretaker... for my rather large estate. It's her, or no deal.” Maurice: “Get out. (Points to the door:) Leave!” (Gaston pulls Belle back with his arm.) Rumplestiltskin: (Walking toward the door:) “As you wish.” Belle: “No, wait! (Rumplestiltskin stops and turns as she crosses towards him:) I will go with him.“ Gaston: “I forbid it, Belle!” Belle: “No one decides my fate but me! I shall go.” Rumplestiltskin: “It's forever, dearie.” Belle: “My family, my friends... they will all live?” Rumplestiltskin: “You have my word.” Belle: “Then you have mine. I will go, with you, forever.” Rumplestiltskin: “Deal!” Maurice: “Belle... Belle... you cannot do this! Belle, please! You cannot go with this... beast.” Belle: “Father... Gaston... it's been decided.” Rumplestiltskin: “You know, she's right. The deal is struck. (Rumplestiltskin & Belle turn and leave the room.) Oh, congratulations on your little war!”

Storybrooke. (It’s the day before Valentine's Day as Moe is unloading flowers from his delivery truck service: Game of Thorns.) Mr. Gold: “Well this is just perfect. I've been looking for you, Mr. French.” Moe: “I'll have your money next week.” Mr. Gold: “The terms of the loan were fairly specific... (To his henchman:) Take the van.” (The henchman proceeds to do so.) Moe: “Wait! No! Tomorrow's Valentine's Day! It's the biggest day of—I've got a grand in roses in the back! (Mr. Gold's henchman starts the van:) Stop! You've gotta let me sell them!” Mr. Gold: “I'm gonna leave you two to continue this conversation.” (Starts to walk away.) Moe: “Oh, this is no way to do business, Gold! You are the lowest! People aren't gonna put up with this!” (The truck is driven off; leaving Moe in the street. Mr. Gold walks down the sidewalk and comes across Regina.) Regina: “Mr. Gold. That was quite a show back there.” Mr. Gold: “Well, Mr. French is just having a bad day, happens to the best of us.” Regina: “I've been meaning to talk to you about something--” Mr. Gold: “Yeah, and the moment you have something I wanna discuss, we'll have that little chat.” Regina: (Blocks his path:) “No, we're gonna do this now. It'll only take a moment.” Mr. Gold: “Is there something eating you, dear? Something you need to get out in the open? 'Cause it's gonna have to wait, please.” (He walks away, leaving behind a confused-looking Regina, who is forced to obey his command due to the please enchantment.) Storybrooke. Granny's Diner. (David and Mary Margaret are seated at separate tables. At his own booth, David is reading Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy.) Mary Margaret: (Noticing David's book title:) “Oh, you got the book!” David: “Yeah, yeah, I just started it. It's great. I can't wait to see how it ends.” Ruby: (Refilling Mary Margaret's coffee:) “Uh, I can push the tables together if you guys--” Mary Margaret: “Oh no, we're not together.” David: (Replying at the same time as Mary Margaret:) “No, it's--” (Emma arrives and sits at Mary Margaret's table across from her.) Emma: “Hey, David.” David: “Hey.” Emma: “Mary Margaret. So, fancy seeing you two here at the same time, again.” Mary Margaret: "I don't know what-" Emma: "Come on." (David gets up and leaves the diner, Mary Margaret watches him till the last moment then turns back to Emma.) Mary Margaret: “I know, I know, I know. I just like to... come here to see him.” Emma: “So, you're a stalker?” Mary Margaret: “No, not really. (Emma gives her a look:) Maybe a little bit. And it's not like I'm following him. I just know that he spends his mornings with Kathryn, gets coffee, then drives to the animal shelter to start work at 7:30, and then he's home around 5:00.” Emma: “Oh, is that all?” Mary Margaret: “Thursdays they pick up Chinese for dinner. (Emma gives a sympathetic look:) I can't get him out of my head.” (The diner bell jingles as Ashley walks with her daughter Alexandra.) Emma: “I know. Maybe the first step is not showing up here tomorrow.” Mary Margaret: “Valentine’s day? Ugh. Love's the worst. I wish there was a magic cure.” (Ashley hands Alexandra to Granny.)

Ashley: “I hear that! Valentine’s day sucks.” Mary Margaret: “Ashley! I didn't--I didn't even recognize you!” Ashley: “Baby on the outside?” (She grabs a chair to sit down at their table.) Emma: “How's it going?” Ashley: “It's uh... I mean, baby's great. But, we really haven't had time to do the whole getting married thing, so... that's been rough and Sean's been working double shifts at the cannery.” Mary Margaret: “Well, he has to work.” Ashley: “On Valentine's Day? Yeah. He couldn't get out of it.” Emma: “I'm sorry, that sucks.” (Ruby brings Ashley a cup of coffee.) Ruby: “It doesn't have to! Come out with me! Let's have a girls' night! We can all go, Mary Margaret, Emma too, if you promise to leave the badge at home.” Emma: “I'm not really in the party mood, but you guys can all go and have fun!” (She exchanges a glance with Mary Margaret. Ruby walks away and Emma's phone goes off.) Mary Margaret: “What's that?” Emma: “It's the station. Something's up.” (She exits.) Storybrooke. Mr. Gold's house. (Mr. Gold walks up his front steps to see the door is ajar. Mr. Gold draws a gun and enters, walking slowly through the house. He turns to find Emma inside, also with a gun drawn.) Mr. Gold: “Sheriff Swan.” Emma: “Your neighbors saw your front door open and called it in.” Mr. Gold: “It appears I've been robbed.” Emma: “Funny how that keeps happening to you.” Mr. Gold: “Yeah, well, I'm a difficult man to love.” (They lower their weapons.)

#Swan Queen #sq #swanqueen

15 notes · View notes

chronotopes · 7 years ago

Text

book log: a stitch in time by andrew robinson

you guys i’m going to go bullet point by bullet point through all of my ibooks annotations so buckle in if you dare

first of all that first chapter owns my ass. “indulge me if you will i need you as a witness”?? that’s the most. that’s the absolute most. that said, the concept that they Grew Apart after our man bashir, while ... certainly canon compliant.... is a piece of canon i refuse to accept. i have my own canon timeline for these kinds of things

i fucking LOVE pythas lok? i lived for that relationship. in fact the fact that this book is just garak cycling through his exes and the way they were all instrumental to events unfolding on cardassia? in fact i begin now to suspect that gul dukat is the only cardassian from garak’s past whom garak hasn’t fucked AND isn’t related to

i whooped victoriously when garak said he was attracted to pythas. small victories. and then again when garak criticized odo’s uniform.

love that the bamarren parts of the book that don’t involve palandine read like some kind of fucking... edwardian all boys school shit. like am i reading an a.e. housman poem? am i rewatching maurice (1987) dir. james ivory? no i am reading a beta canon epistolary novel about a gay lizard

on that note garak being genuinely into women is something ajr and i disagree on but that’s just like to each his own

garak’s famed volcano dick made me laugh. this book is such a fanfic at times. and then palandine teaches him that IT’S ALL TRUE, ESPECIALLY THE LIES. in fact like ... i didn’t even consider this now but in the garak/palandine stuff at bamarren reads in certain cases like early seasons garashir? but we’ll get to the more concrete parts of alla that later

anyway .... “but i’m also a doctor, garak. and i know which group of people suffers the most. i really won’t take up any more of your time.” he extended his hand, which he rarely did, and i took it. “thank you for the tea.” he turned and went out the door. i stood there for a long moment, deeply upset. i felt trapped within myself, knowing what i had to do to get out but unable even to begin. yes, doctor, it does sound familiar.” WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS!! (what the fuck was that whole scene!!!)

SPEAKING of doctors, dr parmak is really something. sorry i know a lot of you love him but i hope you realize he’s a rebound of a mighty order. self care is dating an older lizard flavored carbon copy of your ex bf.

this was like finding out that in ds9 beta canon ro laren becomes SECURITY OFFICER and dates QUARK is a similar experience to this. ro laren and kelas parmak: the only thing they have in common is being quark and garak’s doctor and security officer rebounds.

that said ro is her own person! parmak is a fig leaf. a plot device. andrew robinson winking at you from seventeen years ago. a mirror. god!

anyway then two of garak’s three school crushes hook up, and he’s left with pythas who is the best one anyway.

and there’s the fucking insane sequence where garak goes on lots of hikes with a Privileged Federation Twink whom he’s totally dtf as his first spy mission. and at one point, even though garak does hate his guts along with being dtf he thinks he’s “so concerned, so caring. i took another long breath. [...] i looked hans in the eyes and resisted being swallowed by their immeasurable blue depths.” like i’m not saying garak has a type but garak has a type!

i forgot about this but aside from pythas and that bitchy cousin of lukar, among garak’s classmates turn out to be the asshole from the casablanca episode and a relative of tekeny ghemor. it’s some 19th century lit bullshit and i LOVED it! as if this weren’t enough, there are four lights guy is also in this.

we also briefly meet remara, a totally deadly ex gf of kira’s. idk what garak was trying to do with their relationship but i’m totally interested in fanfic about remara being an asshole ex gf of kira’s.

garak’s battles of conscience are great. again very 19th c . i love how miserable he is throughout this book.

OH AND THEN HE AND PYTHAS LIVE IN THE WOODS FOR A MONTH OR SO AND FEEL LIKE.. COMFORTABLE FOR ONCE IN THEIR LIVES... AND PROBABLY HAVE SEX!

ooh and then we get a rlly spooky sequence where we see the wire IN ACTION

the assassin cover professions we’ve seen in this book and in this show are either Lesbian Professions (gardeners, park rangers) or Gay Professions (the fashion industry). what is it with covert operations and the lgbt community.

i SCREAMED about chapter 19 earlier today. but just to go over it once more

garak has a spooky dream about julian burying him alive ! so he hits him up at six in the fucking morning

“doctor forgive me but i need to see you,” i said as calmly as i could. “garak?” “i do apologize but it’s important.”

and then garak hears “another voice in the background. ezri dax. a muffled conversation. the doctor cleared his throat again. “i’ll be right over” he said.” I LOVE THAT EZRI AND JULIAN AREN’T EVEN FUCKING AT THIS POINT BUT AJR COULDN’T RESIST HIGHLIGHTING THE RIVALRY BETWEEN THEM?!

and then julian said “there are more things in heaven and earth horatio than are dreamt of in your philosophy” and i died on the spot. they’re IN LOVE?! ajr i thought you wrote garashir as unrequited but what kind of man quotes hamlet talking 2 horatio at his platonic dude friend while he’s run over to his quarters in the middle of the night after said platonic dudefriend has a nightmare?

“i was also convinced that it was all a dream, and i kept asking myself what you were doing there” like what the actual fuck? anyway they talk the wire and it’s a lot. and of course “you not only saved my life you made it possible for me to live it.”

AND THEN OF COURSE “this is my last trip to cardassia. i’m not returning. you were in the dream for a very specific reason. once again, you helped me remember. thank you, julian.” JULIAN! JULIAN!! i’m DYING OF CARDIAC ARREST! (also this scene finally solidified my headcanons for when they break up for the second time.)

anyway then the palandine shit goes down and garak kills his OTHER old school crush (the one that turned out to be a dick)

one of my notes on here, verbatim: “have garak and quark had sex” i asked myself and then immediately wanted to die

the second time garak said that kelas parmak was “so much like you, doctor” i damn near screamed in frustration. don’t try me like this elim!!

and then we get the last julian mirror who’s that sad federation woman who spills her soul to elim and the line “CAREFUL, ELIM. YOU KNOW PERFECTLY WELL THAT THE SUREST WAY TO YOUR HEART IS THROUGH CONVERSATION”

okay and THEN he meets pythas who’s been Permanently Marked By The Horrors Of War and he’s got a gf who saved his life even though he didn’t want to be saved at first.... so like pythas is special because he’s a garak mirror AND a garak boyfriend at the same time!

and pythas was in the grounds trying to warn garak before all the shit went down with palandine. i’m dying scoob

the fact that the epilogue starts with the line “it’s just garak. plain simple garak.” the flashback timeline ends at the point garak meets julian! i hate this it’s so fucking romantic

and then YOU’RE ALWAYS WELCOME DOCTOR..... like idk about the canon status of a lot of these things but i totally buy this novel as a thing that exists that garak sent. which of course is a great jumping off point for post canon cardassia fic. justice is so sweet.

#just katia things #trek talk #and #a really ridiculous entry in #book log '17

2 notes · View notes

eirian-houpe · 4 years ago

Text

Working Wednesday

Here is the state of my current WIPs with July’s Camp Nano picking up steam. As before, my main camp fic will be The Library Beneath the Clock Tower, I also have a project I need to get finished for July, and those two are taking priority.

The Library Beneath the Clock Tower: AU Cursed Storybrooke. (Inspried by/based on The Bookshop on the Corner: A Novel, by Jenny Colgan)

Storybrooke has no library, and neither does Belle, not since the library where she worked in Boston discovered her past as an inpatient at a mental hospital. Taking her future into her own hands, Belle travels to Storybrooke where her intention is to open up the town library, but all does not go according to her plan. Obstacles and false starts, and diversion along very wrong pathways interrupt her journey toward fulfilling her dream, as well as taking her rightful place and becoming a part of the Storybrooke community. - Chapter 33/53 posted and 6 more are written ready for editing, and I’m 2,023 words into chapter 41 - an important chapter.

All Our Past Mistakes: AU Non-Cursed Storybrooke

Doctor Gold, professor of history at the local campus of Maine University, is stuck in a loveless, and one might say abusive relationship with a wife who is less than attentive to their family, and whom he suspects cares little for her marital vows. His resolve to maintain his own faithfulness is sorely tested by the presence of one of his new students - a junior by the name of Belle French - whom it seems fate is determined to put in his way. The two become embroiled in a passionate, and redemptive relationship, but not before suffering numerous setbacks and separations. This is no instantaneous happy ever after, but a tale of two hurt souls finding their way together through darkness and despair. - nothing written since last week

Disparate Pathways: AU and Remix of Witness Protection, which was written for the 2019 RSS.

Gold has a past, a past that he has rejected, but it seems one that will not let him go. Belle, daughter of Governor Maurice French has been kidnapped, along with her mother, and just as the authorities raid the organization that is holding her hostage, decides to make her own bid for freedom, unknowingly derailing an undercover sting, and Agent Milnor has not choice but to take her into ‘protective custody,’ but is he all that he seems? As the threads of the story grow more tangled and the threat to Belle, and to Gold, her appointed protector, grow ever more real, a growing, mutual attraction makes everything far more desperate and far too personal for Gold to ignore what he knows to be the truth. - Nothing written since last week.

Scattered: AU OUAT, where the curse didn’t quite happen the way it did on the show. (It went ‘wrong’)

Casting a spell, any spell - at least the ones that involve more than just the wave of a hand, or worse, the wave of an irritating fairy’s wand - takes time, and patience, and the right ingredients, and… just like any recipe, if you get it wrong, it doesn’t mean the cake won’t cook, rather then will, just with unexpected or unintended outcomes. All of Rumplestiltskin’s careful planning and manipulation, all of his hopes and dreams turn to dust; ashes in his bitter heart in the blink of an eye… in the fall of an equine heart. Belle exchanges one terrible prison for another, and it’s one she is desperate to escape, and though Rumple’s fate as The Savior was severed from him centuries ago, sometimes fate itself has a way of finding an alternate route home. - nothing written since last week

What the Actual Fuck! : Sutherelle fic

Prime Minister Robert Sutherland is feeling pressured, and isn’t prepared to acquiesce to the repeated challenges from within his cabinet nor the wider circle of those around him. He resorts to drastic measures to ascertain who can be trusted, turning to an ‘old friend’ to help him separate the wheat from the chaff. Said friend promises to send in his best operative to assist the PM, the trouble is the operative finds out more than Robert necessarily wants to know, and all this just as all hell is breaking loose around him; people hurt, Britain in chaos and multiple deaths push him into making some hard hitting decisions in order to safeguard himself, the country, and the people he cares about - Nothing written since last week.

Breathe: Rushbelle.

As the Lucian Alliance attack Icarus Base, Doctor Rush makes the decision that dialing back to Earth is too dangerous, though that may not at all be his reason for attempting to dial the ninth chevron, persuaded by Eli, and by something Belle had said to him previously, he substitues Earth for Icarus, and the connection is made. In spite of hurrying to urge Belle to the ‘Gate room and through the ‘Gate, neither he, nor anyone else believes that Belle actually made it on board Destiny… - Part one of the We Three series. - Nothing written since last week.

Storybrooke’s Best Kept Secret: Rumbelle, Cursed Storybrook AU

This story was created accidentally when what I had written didn’t fit for something else. in which Belle is not kept in the assylum, but in a little cottage on the very edge of Storbrook town, and few know she’s there. Then, one day, someone else finds out. - Nothing written since last week.

Darkness In Hyperion Heights: Woven Beauty, Mystery/Paranormal AU

One stormy morning, Detective Weaver shows up to work and finds someone waiting for him in his office. His visitor is a scholar and a curator for the British Museum, and has recently discovered that an artefact from the vaults is missing. She has followed the trail left in the wake of its disappearence and it led her to Hyperion Heights, and now, she needs Weaver’s help - 355 words written

Modern Wonders: Well now, how to classify /this/ one? Lets start by saying it is a crossover with OUAT and SyFy’s Mini-series, Alice. It’s kind of ‘ensemble’ and kind of ‘Mad Rumbelle/Mad Curious Archer’ sorta kinda. This is still in the ‘mulling’ stage, and might not get anything posted for a while, because of… well… reasons! (Spoilers), but we’re working on it.

Also, I still have 2 series awaiting their next works: Darker Hearts: an AU Wish!Rumbelle, and Thoughts On A Happy Ending: A Rumblelle focussed Belle introspective of the entire journey from season 1 through season 7. Nothing has been written for either just yet, so no change since theirlast update, but they are included in the writing schedule so maybe that will change.

All published works can be found on AO3 where I write as Eilinelithil.

Please feel free to ask me questions about /anything/ you see here, or any other curiosity that enters your head - anonymous asks accepted, I’ll talk about most things if you ask. If you want to ask the characters anything, you can do that too! You can also prompt me if you wish.

#rumbelle #current wips #wips #send asks #feel free to prompt me #camp nano #camp nano july 2020 #cue loud crickets

2 notes · View notes