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theolsentimes · 3 years ago

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Ashley Olsen Spills Her Secrets

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

Written by Lucy Kaylin (Marie Claire, 2009)

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

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

#Ashley Olsen #britney spears #marie claire #articles #Interviews #quotes #Ashley Quotes

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sfth-fanpage · 10 months ago

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

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

#shoot from the hip #sfth #sfth fanart #sfth aj #sfth tom #sfth sam #improvised comedy #the hare who wore a sweater #improvised play #fanart #reblog

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kelyon · 3 years ago

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Golden Rings 19: A Friend

The Storybrooke sequel to Golden Cuffs

Rumpelstiltskin receives a visitor

Read on AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And Belle will stay with you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least she looked warm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had made sure of that.

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

****

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

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

And froze.

Jefferson.

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t wearing a hat.

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

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

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

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

“Are you Mr. Gold?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Traveling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not able? For how long?

“Were you ill, Mr. Dodgson?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Rumpelstiltskin would do everything he could to help him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Utterly alone.

No wonder Jefferson had changed.

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

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

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

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

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

Rumpelstiltskin blinked. “How did you know that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#golden rings #rumbelle #mad gold #rumbelle fic

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svnnyd4ys · 1 month ago

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

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

plays 1-10 under the cut~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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i-may-be-an-emu · 5 months ago

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Happy pride from these sfth queer charachters 🏳️‍🌈 (I think so at least)

Better late than never :)

Audio/Music Credit: “History Hates Lovers” by Oublaire

Visuals Credit: Shoot From The Hip (@shootimpro on most platforms)

#Pretty sure most of these characters are canonically queer Im not sure though and some are just plain questionable lol (the brothers 💀)#Some just work well with the lyrics #But either way #Shoot from the hip #shoot from the hip edits #sfthposting #i know I said I’d make a hare who wore a sweater one and I will but this idea grabbed hold of me and didn’t let go #Happy pride 🏳️‍🌈#(Don’t mind Bertie the goat I thought it would be funny lol 💀)

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randowolfwriter · 4 years ago

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Rocking that Solo (Intro)- Hot Dog Dilemma

Just a little one-shot from my self indulgent Older Warners au. Might consider doing more of these if it gets enough interest.

Summary:

A hot dog vendor meets the strangest girl (or puppy) he’s ever seen. Little does he know, she has a few tricks up her sleeve.

She was a weird child. Probably one of the strangest the hot dog vendor had ever seen.

At first, he figured she had really poofy hair tied back with a sparkly heart-shaped hair tie, but then she approached him and saw that it wasn’t hair, but a pair of really large ears. Rabbit ears maybe? Then he noticed that she appeared to be covered in fur, ink-black with the exception of white that covered her entire face with a red nose that looked awfully a lot like a cat’s. When she smiled, he noticed tiny little fangs that made up her canines, and when she stepped back for a bit, he noticed that she wasn’t wearing any shoes—she didn’t need any. Giant white paws were what she walked on all day, much bigger than her front paws that looked more like hands. Then the key indicator of her strange appearance was that she had a tail, a long black one that was hard to determine whether it better belonged on a cat or a monkey. She could have been an animal that just escaped from the zoo had she not been wearing a giant purple sweater with a jean skirt and asking him tons of questions like any girl her age would ask.

Yes, this indeed was the strangest little girl the vendor had ever seen, and yet, this wasn’t the first time she had visited him that day.

“You seem like a pretty cool guy,” She beamed through what appeared to be a Liverpool accent. “I’d love to have your job.”

“What are you doing back here?” The vendor barked. “Didn’t I tell you to get lost?”

“But I know where I am, so how can I get lost?” The girl inferred.

“I told you, I’m not bringing down the price of a dog.”

“But ten dollars is a little much, don’t you think? If I ran a hot dog cart, I would give everyone in the world a hot dog, and then I’d have the rest for myself.”

“Listen, little girl?” The vendor leaned over, trying to size himself up in order to intimidate her. “Are you gonna buy a dog or what? I haven’t got all day.”

Not once did she flinch from the vendor’s harsh demeanor, instead she kept smiling with a glimmer in those dark beady eyes of hers. “Well, I probably won’t since they’re so pricey. I just thought you should know that one of your cart’s wheels is missing.”

“What?”

The vendor tried to examine the wheel from where he leaned, but unfortunately, he couldn't. It was one of the front ones, which led him to move his lazy self to examine it. Clear as afternoon it was missing, despite it was there this morning when he wheeled the cart through the park. He only had a few customers that day, and none had bothered to mess with those wheels. In conclusion, it seemed that not only was this little girl strange, but she was also a wheel thief.

“Alright, where is it?” He grumbled.

“What?” The little girl asked coyly.

“The wheel? What did you do with it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me!” He could hear his voice raise at the girl’s bewildered expression. “I know you have it!”

“I swear I don’t-- well, I mean I don’t swear because Daddoo says it’s not nice to swear-- but I know I don’t have it. Here, I’ll show you.”

She then reached into the pockets of her skirt and pulled out a bunch of trinkets and trash she had collected over time. “See, I have a bobby pin, two pennies, a piece of lint, a heart sticker…"

As the vendor was preoccupied with the girl, another child appeared behind the hot dog cart. Just like the little girl, he had long ears that drooped like a puppy’s, white fur on his face that covered his black fur like a mask, a red nose, and beady black eyes that made him look more animal than human. The only distinction that he was more human than animal was a green sweatshirt he wore (yet he didn’t wear any pants.) The boy stuck out his tongue nervously as he watched the little girl prattle on to the hot dog vendor about the items in her pockets; it seemed like she had a lot for just two measly pockets.

Seeing that the vendor was distracted, the boy began piling hot dog packs, bratwurst packs, hot dog bun packs, small bags of potato chips, soda cans, anything he could get his paws on and threw them into a random sack that he pulled out of nowhere. Well, more like from behind him. But how he made a sack appear from nothing was really something.

Meanwhile, the girl did everything she could to keep the vendor’s attention on her at all times.

“See, I don’t have it. I only take things that can fit in my pockets,” she explained.

“Fine, so you don’t have it,” the vendor grumbled once more. “But how is it that it hasn’t been missing all day, and then suddenly you show up, and it’s gone?”

“Don’t know. Sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”

The boy was taking an awfully long time. Every time he grabbed a hot dog packet or a bratwurst packet, his stomach lurched – the thought of eating meat was the bane of his existence.

Suddenly, the mustard bottle slipped out of his paws just as he reached for it, and rolled right in front of the girl and the vendor. To make matters even more awkward, the vendor stepped on the bottle and it squirted a dark yellow onto the pavement.

“Huh? How did that get there…” The vendor turned and finally noticed the boy. The boy let out a startled gasp and shivered where he stood.

“Um, hey! Wanna see me do a dance?” The girl chirped, trying to divert the vendor’s attention back to her. She then performed a couple of twirls seeing if that'd work, but it was too late. The vendor had already noticed the thief at his stand, her partner in crime.

“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?!” The boy immediately closed the sack and scrambled out of there. “You have to pay for that!”

“Run, Smakko!” The girl cried as she raced after him. As the boy sped off like a frightened hare and the girl caught up to him in seconds, it was clear that the two were related.

Twins.

She was the distraction, and he was what the hot dog vendor should have been looking out for. Now here they were, little dog-monkey rascals that were better off locked up in a zoo than running away with his product.

“When I get my hands on you two, I’ll make sure you’ll get what’s coming to you!” He roared after them.

“But you have to catch us first!” The girl shouted with a giggle.

All through the park, the vendor chased after them. The chase felt like it went on for hours with the kids’ insane energy and the vendor’s determination to get his product back. It wasn’t until the kids ran smack dab into an officer minding his own business that they were finally caught. Immediately upon collision, he grabbed the two kids by the scruff of their clothes and held them up like noisy kittens, mostly pertaining to the girl who kicked in defiance while the boy hung there like a wet rag.

“Are these two giving you any trouble?” The officer spoke in what also appeared to be a deep Liverpool accent. He sounded a little like Ringo Starr. For some reason, upon hearing the officer's voice, the girl settled down.

“You bet! Those mongrels there stole my hot dogs!” The vendor exclaimed, pointing a large index finger at the two.

“Not like you were using it anyway,” The girl spat.

“Those two need to be taken back to the zoo where they belong!”

“No worries, sir. I’ll take care of them,” The large officer said, eyeing each of them with a stern glare. “Now give the man back his dogs.”

The boy then handed the vendor the giant sack. It seemed lighter than what he thought it would be. “Well appreciated, officer,” the vendor thanked.

He gave the vendor a small wave, “No need for thanks. All in a day’s work." Then he gave the kids another stern glare. "Let’s go, pups.”

For some reason, as the officer walked off with the two kids curled in his arms, they seemed too content for having just been apprehended. Well, the boy still had that fearful look in his eyes as if it was stuck that way, but the look on the girl’s face was one that was not expected; she seemed too happy.

The further the vendor walked away from them, the more he realized that the officer himself looked kind of strange. He looked like any other big officer just patrolling the city and keeping the neighborhood peace, yet then he remembered his face...something was off about it. It was pale, almost like it was covered in fur, he had a big red nose, and he had beady black eyes, just like those kids…

Suddenly, he stopped and opened the sack to find that his cart’s product wasn't in there, just a bunch of stuffed rubber dogs that squeaked.

He’d been duped. Those weird kids and that weird officer were all related and they made off with his hot dogs. He wasn’t going to let them get away with it that easily. The vendor ran right up to them, his face red as the ketchup bottles that were just stolen.

“Thieves!” He screamed at them. “Who do you think you are?”

The officer then stopped and set the kids down, “Well, I know for a fact that I’m no Bizzie.”

Suddenly, he tore off the hat to reveal pierced dog-like ears sticking out of a baseball cap that looked like it had been beaten up over the years, especially with that giant bite mark that ate half its bill. Long unkempt black fur-- or it might have been hair-- flowed past his shoulders, while some even jutted out from his hat. Underneath the uniform, he wore a blue sweater covered with a brown leather jacket, torn jeans, and giant white paws that he walked upon just like the two kids. In likeness, this man could have been a rock star had he not had the black and white puppy-dog face like the kids and stuck out his tongue to compliment the look.

“What are you?!” The vendor shuddered in bewilderment. He couldn’t decide whether he was some mutated dog or probably the ugliest man he had ever seen.

“Why he’s my Daddoo, silly!” The girl giggled. “I’m Jojo,” then she pointed towards the boy identical to her, “and this is my brother, Smakko." Then she held out her arms and posed, while her brother seemed hesitant to follow suit. "And we’re the Warner twins!"

“I don’t care if you were the Olsen twins. I demand that you give me back my hot dogs this instant!"

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” the man referred to as ‘Daddoo’ asked, “but that wouldn’t happen to be your cart, is it?”

The vendor then turned to see his hot dog cart speeding right towards them. Without a moment to react, the vendor was hit right with the cart and sent flying down the path while the father and his children moved to the side just in time. Luckily for the vendor, the cart didn’t go right into the busy streets of downtown traffic, but it did crash him into a nearby tree, causing the poor man to see hotdogs flying over his head.

“Look sir, your wheel came back,” Jojo pointed out.

“Yes, I see that,” the vendor said dizzily, then passed out.

“Naughty kids,” the father scolded, “who taught you such awful manners?” Then a giant smile appeared on his face, his tongue sticking out once more.

“Now what do you say to the nice man?”

“Thanks for the hot dogs, sir!” Jojo thanked with a wave.

“Thank you,” The boy named Smakko only muttered.

The hot dog vendor perked up from his short comatose just as the father, with both of his strange puppy kids, the girl clinging to him like a koala and the boy clutching the bag filled with his product, walked away. No doubt about it, this was a horrible day, both personally and economically.

But really, why did it matter? The vendor's cart was surprisingly okay, despite the crash and the strange reappearance of the wheel. Not to mention, there was a lot more product than what the family made off with, but losing those profits was going to hurt him. He'd have to lower the price of those dogs, and bratwursts, and basically everything at his cart just to make up for the stolen product.

He went to authorities about it, but all they did was laugh, except for one, who seemed to shake in his seat at the mere mention of puppy-kids. Like they were going to be any help.

Eventually, the hot dog vendor had to shrug off this brash occurrence and continue with his business. People were still going to want hot dogs, and unfortunately be desperate enough to pay ten bucks for it.

However, this strange moment like a fly in the ear returned to him one day when he was visiting his family. His nieces and nephews were busy watching an old cartoon that he remembered was on when he was a kid called “Animaniacs,” which was considered one of the greatest cartoons of the decade. Of course, he didn’t think much of it now that he was a man in his thirties, but during this particular viewing, there was something that stood out to him.

The three main kids, with those long ears, black-furred with pale white faces, those red noses, and those beady black eyes…they looked exactly like the kids that harassed him at the park. Not to mention, the boy wearing the baseball cap looked exactly like the timid boy who barely spoke a word during their encounter. The boy in the show brimmed with confidence compared to the shy nature of the boy who had the gall to steal his hotdogs, yet had his sister do most of the talking.

Then another thought occurred to him. The father of those two children also wore a blue sweater, and his head was covered with a red cap similar to the boy’s in the show, except his was worn with age. Then there was that smile, that puppy-dog-looking face with his pink tongue sticking out as if to distract from the fact that he was a freak of nature. He also brimmed with tons of confidence. How could anyone go out in public looking the way he did, with that long unkempt hair, those piercings that bit at his ears, and the strange rock star vibe he gave off just by being near him?

No, it couldn't be. But maybe?

Could possibly the middle child, the hungriest, the quietest, and the wackiest of the Warner trio next to his chatty older brother and his sassy younger sister might have grown up into the man he encountered at the park? That strange man with his strange children who were also giant troublemakers like he was. Could possibly the father of those two twins might have been…

Wakko Warner?

#animaniacs #rocking that solo #wakko warner #jojo warner #smakko warner #animaniacs 2020 #older warners au #animaniacs ocs #abbs writings

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spine-buster · 4 years ago

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The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 4

September 28th 2019

Aberdeen Bloom was letting it all out.

Siena had called, cooped up in her room in the house she rented with two other girls, taking a break from studying for torts law or shorts law or whatever type of law it was that she had to study. It was these moments – moments when Siena caught up with her younger sister – that reminded her that she was slaving through law school because Aberdeen would probably need a lawyer one day after doing something colossally stupid. She’d usually start the conversations with “You can’t tell mom and dad…” and Siena would promise not to. And, well, she’d keep that promise. Because sisters never told. They only ever told on Camden.

Aberdeen told Siena about the night with William in June – she told her about a week later, after Siena was finally settled back into her place in Ottawa. They’d talked about it for a while and had come to terms with the fact that Aberdeen would never see William again because of the whole Sweden thing and because of the fact that Toronto was a city full of a few million people. They’d accepted it and moved on.

But then, of course, William showed up in the elevator on her first day of work and the floodgates opened.

“Wait…hold on a second,” Siena held her hand up. “You’re telling me you hooked up with a Toronto Maple Leaf.”

“Yes.”

“A hockey player. That guy was a hockey player.”

“Yes,” Aberdeen stressed.

“And now…” Siena paused. “You work for the president of the team that he plays for.”

“Precisely.”

Siena let out a long, loud sign, facepalming before rubbing her temples. “I don’t know how you get yourself into these situations, Aberdeen,” she shook her head. “I honestly don’t.”

“I don’t, either.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

Aberdeen looked at her sister weird. “There’s nothing I can do about it. It says right in the employee handbook that no employee and player are allowed to hook up. I can’t tell Brendan and William can’t tell the rest of the team. That’s that.”

“Are you scared he might?”

Aberdeen considered the question. “I really don’t know. On one side, I feel like if he really wanted to tell them he would have told them already, and Brendan Shanahan would have found out through the grapevine and I would have already lost my job. Like, I wouldn’t have even gone to Newfoundland. On the other hand, I feel like the comments he’s been saying to me just make it seem like this is a game to him and he’s waiting on the most opportune moment to tell.”

“Comments?” Siena asked.

Aberdeen sighed. “I went to dinner with a bunch of them in St. John’s because Jason invited me, and he asked me who my favourite Leaf was in this really flirty way,” she explained. “Then a few days later he found me alone and told me I should have said him. Or at least have said he was fucking awesome because that’s what I said that night after we hooked up.”

Siena facepalmed again. “Oh, Aberdeen…”

“I know, Siena.”

“Does Kasha know?” she asked.

“Of course Kasha knows.”

“Kasha won’t tell a soul. She’s good like that.”

“I know. My problem here is William.”

“Listen, Aberdeen…this is a fucked up situation but it’s…I mean, technically you didn’t hook up with him when you were employee. It was months before. You had no idea who he was. That’s what my lawyer brain is telling me right now.”

“I don’t know if that matters,” Aberdeen said. “I keep getting told that this is the dream job, that if I do well with Mr. Shanahan I can have my pick of any job in any field that I want in Toronto, including writing. That’s how well connected he is. I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side at all. I have to be on my best behaviour and I have to keep doing well.”

“Then keep being on your best behaviour. Keep doing your job,” Siena encouraged. “And keep William away.”

***

September 30th, 2019

With only two days until the start of the season, Brendan had a lot of meetings with a lot of people. There were meetings with hockey ops, meetings with the head scouts, meetings with player development, meetings with analytics. It was a much busier time than just three weeks ago. A lot more coffee runs. More ordering of catered lunches. More running around like a chicken with her head cut off, like Brendan said she would. And this wasn’t even the start of the season.

Brendan wanted her to sit it in on the meeting he had now with basically the entire senior management so they could go over upcoming events and initiatives they’d put on throughout the season. Kyle Dubas would be there. Brandon Pridham and Laurence Gilman, the assistant general managers would be there. Dave Morrison, the director of player personnel would be there. Brad Lynn, the director of team operations would be there. Stephen Hare, the director of finance would be there. Steve Keogh, the director of media relations would be there. Alison Rockwell, the director of business relations would be there. Leanne Hederson, the manager of hockey operations would be there.

Aberdeen was clearly studying the employee directory.

They had a list of things to talk about, and talked through them all. Aberdeen had her notebook and tried to take notes, but she felt like she was writing a foreign language and none of this would make sense when she went to read them again. There was talk about “You Can Play Night”, about galas, about charity golf tournaments, about community outreach programs, about the alumni events, about the MLSE Launchpad initiatives…

Then they started to talk about alternate jerseys. She thought there was only home and away jerseys, but no, there was apparently a third for a special night. A “St. Pats” jersey. It was green. A definite change from the blue, but they kept going on and on about it. Do we do this? What about this? How about this? It was incredibly pedantic. She felt like she was in science class again, doodling instead of taking notes since she had no clue what was being said or what was going on.

“Do you think we should go with the same one from last season, or should we choose a new design?” Dave Morrison asked.

“It’s hard to say. If we go with last year’s design, jersey sales may stagnate or decline if we compare it on a year-by-year basis, but a new design will boost that,” Stephen Hare said.

“Well, listen. It’s the 2019-2020 season. We can go with the design from 1919-1920,” Brandon Pridhan said, pulling up the mock-ups of the jersey. Aberdeen took into account the green and white, the lettering, everything. “Or should we balk the season number and go with this one, the 1926-1927 season design?” he held up the other mock-up. It was basically the exact same design, except the colours were inverted.

They were having an extremely serious and long discussion about this? Aberdeen snorted from the corner.

Suddenly, when she looked up, every eye in the room was on her. The smile immediately dropped from her face. Brendan was looking at her. “Something funny?”

Oh shit. Oh shit. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck. “No, no…” she began, trying to cover for herself. “It’s nothing – you know – it’s just that they look exactly the same to me. I…you know, I’m still learning about all this stuff.”

“This…stuff?” Brendan asked, repeating her words. The look that he gave her – she never wanted to be looked at like that again for the rest of her life. “Oh…okay. I see. You think this has nothing to do with you. You get hired by the Maple Leafs and you sit in on this meeting with, oh I don’t know, that iPad Pro which the company paid for, and you scoff because you think we’re taking this too seriously, and you don’t care about what jerseys fans put on their back. But what you don’t know is that this hockey sweater is not just blue and white, it’s not just green and white, it’s actually a symbol,” he paused, moving from his spot at the table, walking around it. “You’re also blindly unaware of the fact that in 1919 the Toronto Arenas were about to go under, only to be saved by a group of investors who renamed the team the Toronto St. Patricks, and who later made Conn Smythe their managing partner and their eventual owner. Conn Smythe ended up changing their name in 1927 to the Toronto Maple Leafs because that maple leaf was the national symbol of Canada and, as he said, a badge of courage and a reminder of home of when he was a Canadian Army officer during World War One,” he picked the design he liked most from Brandon and pinned it onto the board, taking another from the pile. Aberdeen’s heart stopped beating. “The blue and white, he said, represented the Canadian skies and Canadian snow. The name has changed, the investors have changed, and the logo has seen design changes, but that maple leaf is a symbol that represents the identity of Toronto, the history of this city, and the pride of the country. It represents millions of dollars and countless jobs, and so it’s sort of comical how you think that you ever made a choice that exempted you from caring about these jerseys when, in fact, this city’s identity and one of the most well-known national symbols were selected for you by the people in this room who ran this hockey club. All because of the influence of this stuff.”

He held onto a picture, holding it face up. She broke eye contact to look down at it, only to see it was the maple leaf that was currently on the jersey. The thirty-one points, meant to represent 1931 and the opening of Maple Leaf Gardens; the 17-vein detail, meant to represent when the franchise was founded in 1917; the 13 veins at the top, meant to represent the 13 Stanley Cup championships. She realized what this symbol meant to not only the people in this room, but to the city, to the fabric and identity of it, to its storied past and bright future. She realized the history behind it, the countless people who wore the sweater or jersey with pride for over a century now. She realized how wrong and careless she’d been.

When she looked back up, Brendan was staring at her. So was everyone else still seated at the board table, some of them with amused looks on their faces. “I’ll be outside if you need me,” she said, barely above a whisper because she was too embarrassed to even speak. She clutched her iPad Pro and took the picture, walking out of the room.

The second the door closed behind her, she burst out into tears. The tears streamed down her face as she escaped into the washroom, slamming the stall door behind her and locking it before breaking down in the bathroom stall. Brendan Shanahan had just embarrassed her in front of some of the hockey world’s most important people and she deserved it. She couldn’t believe she could be so fucking stupid and so dumb and callous and just such a…such an idiot. And now here she was, crying about it in a bathroom stall. She’d never be able to recover from this. Brendan would think she was an idiot until the day she died. He’d die before her and in heaven he’d still think her an idiot.

She stayed in the bathroom stall for a while, crying it all out and eventually stopping because she had no more energy to cry. She opened the stall door and looked at herself in the mirror, trying to wipe away the tears. Her eyes were red and of course, her cheeks were stained with tears, but she was thankful that she wore waterproof mascara that day. She tried to collect herself, even though she had just made a complete ass of herself. She still had a full day of work to do. She still had to make it until 5pm. Somehow.

When there was nothing more she could do to fix her appearance, she sighed and decided to head back to her desk, ready to face whatever punishment Brendan was going to give her when he got out of the meeting. There was nothing more she could say or do. She swung open the door to the washroom and stepped out into the hallway.

Although when she did, she crashed into a body. When she looked up, it was, of course, none other than William Nylander. Because her day couldn’t get any better from here. “Hey,” he said, smiling at her.

“What do you need?” she asked, not bothering to greet him.

He noticed the tone of her voice and the redness of her eyes and immediately changed his demeanour. “What’s wrong?”

She side-eyed him. As if he cared. “I just made a complete ass of myself in front of Brendan. No biggie,” she huffed.

“Did you get a coffee order wrong or something?”

Now she really side eyed him. She understood the stereotype of personal assistants, but this was not the time to start making jokes and devaluing her job. “What do you want? Why are you even in the offices?” she asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I wanted to see you.”

She scoffed. “Oh, get a life, William.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t know why you feel the need to keep taunting me when we’re on the job, but it needs to stop,” she said. “Don’t you have drills to go through? Don’t you like, I don’t know, need to tape a stick?”

It was his turn to give her a look. “Hey, don’t be mad at me just because you screwed up at your job today. I came up here to see you because I wanted to see you. I’m trying to be nice.”

“Taunting me at my job isn’t being nice,” she said. “If you can’t tell, I’m not having a good day. So I’d appreciate it if you just…wouldn’t.”

“Whatever you did can’t be worse than sleeping with a Maple Leaf and then working for his boss,” William retorted.

Okay, now she was angry. She grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the small kitchen – the one she’d retreated to when she walked in on them in their underwear – and shut the door behind them so they could have a private conversation. “Listen to me,” she began, her voice as steady and as intimidating as it could be. “I know I’m not saving the world or anything, but this job means a lot to me. This isn’t a fucking game to me like it is to you. This is my life. This is my livelihood. This is my career prospects in any industry in Toronto if I do a good job here. And you, William Nylander, are not going to take that away from me.”

“I’m not trying to take that away from you,” William declared. “Don’t you think that if I didn’t want you here, I would have told the guys or told Brendan already?”

Aberdeen thought back to the conversation she’d had with her sister, where she brought up the exact same point. She shook her head. “Then stop with the comments. Stop with the ‘coming to see me’, flirting in front of your teammates, and the flirting in general.”

“I can’t do that,” he responded.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because I want you.”

The words hung in the air for an uncomfortable amount of time as William and Aberdeen stared at each other, his blue eyes piercing her hazel ones. Her jaw dropped at his words, and she tried to respond but she couldn’t think of anything to say. There was nothing to say. He just dropped a bombshell and she had no way to recover. He wanted her. He wanted her. He…wanted her? “W…What?”

William didn’t respond. He only smiled. He didn’t say anything else as he left those words with her, opening the door and leaving the kitchen, leaving her completely dumbfounded.

***

Later on that night, as Aberdeen was walking back to her condo after the day’s work (and not seeing Brendan again – probably for the best, since she was going to write out and rehearse her apology she’d tell him tomorrow if she didn’t get a call that she’d been fired tonight), her phone buzzed in her pocket. She assumed that it would be Kasha, wanting to know what they were going to do for dinner. But when she looked at her screen, it was an unknown number that texted her.

i promise im not going to tell anybody. im not going to tell any of the guys, or kyle, or brendan, or anyone what happened in june. that stays between us.

im not that guy. i wouldn’t do that to you.

She stopped dead in her tracks. A pedestrian behind her almost crashed into her and yelled at her to watch where she was going. She collected herself and moved off to the side so people could pass by her and she could read the texts over and over and over again. She didn’t even want to know how he got her number. She didn’t want to know what covert operation he pulled.

She gulped.

***

October 1st, 2019

Aberdeen was impatient in the backseat of the town car as she and Lou waited for Brendan to appear. Her leg was bobbing up and down and she was pretty sure she would have chipped all her nail polish off by now if it wasn’t shellac. She had written out and rehearsed her apology to him and knew exactly how she was going to deliver it. She knew she had to makes things right.

“Miss Bloom,” Lou said from the driver’s seat, looking at her through the rear-view mirror like he often did. “Nervous energy.”

“I’m sorry Lou,” she apologized, trying not to bob her leg. “I just need to say something to Mr. Shanahan.”

“Something bad?”

“How many apologies have you heard in this car?” she asked.

Lou chuckled. “Many, Miss Bloom.”

“How does he react to them?”

Lou shrugged. “Depends.”

She gulped. As if on cue, Brendan emerged from his house. Lou got out of the car to open the door for him.

“Good morning, Aberdeen,” he said, his voice cheery as he got into the backseat. He already had a stack of newspapers with him. He was acting as if nothing was wrong. “How are you this morning?”

“I’m…good,” she replied, confused. She decided she should just get right into it. “Mr. Shanahan, can I speak to you about something?”

“Brendan,” he corrected her like he always did. He was focused on the newspaper in front of him. “And yes, Aberdeen, you may.”

“Can you look at me?”

That caught his attention. He lowered the newspaper and took off his glasses, waiting for her to begin. She took a deep breath. “I want to sincerely apologize for my comments yesterday in the meeting,” she began. “It was really insensitive of me to scoff, and then to make that comment – just really callous, and I want to apologize. I don’t want you thinking that this job means nothing to me, because it does. It means the world—”

“Aberdeen,” Brendan interrupted her, holding up his hand. She stopped talking, and could tell he was thinking of what to say. “First of all, thank you for your apology,” he began. “What I said to you in that room, in front of everybody – I just wanted to make sure you know the importance of the work we do here.”

“I do. I mean – I do now.”

“Hockey in Toronto is not just hockey,” he began. “It’s a living, breathing entity in and of itself. The sooner you realize that, the sooner you will see the importance of not just my work, or the work of anybody else that was in the room that day, but of your work too. You are part of the Toronto Maple Leafs now, Aberdeen, whether you like it or not. You have a role to play here in the success of the team just like anybody else. Just because you’re an executive assistant, it doesn’t mean you don’t.”

“Yes sir,” she nodded her head.

“I know you have a steep learning curve to go through. I knew that when I hired you. You’ll go through it. And you’ll make a hell of a lot of mistakes along the way. But you’ll go through it. And you’ll come out better. With more knowledge. Understood?”

“Yes sir. Absolutely,” she nodded her head. Brendan sent her a quick smile before putting his glasses back on and focusing on the newspaper again. “So…I guess this means I’m not fired?” she asked, just for reassurance.

That actually got a laugh out of Brendan. “No, Aberdeen. I could never fire an Etobicoke girl.”

***

October 2nd 2019

The season opener was just pure insanity. There was no other way Aberdeen could rephrase it besides that – just pure insanity. Brendan had meetings, she had to coordinate this, she had to run for coffees, she had to go get notes from someone, the phone was ringing off the hook…Lou even had to take her in the town car up to Yorkville, to Prada and to Gucci and to Hermes, so she could pick up ties for him to wear once all the media came rushing in. It was a complete shit show. She barely had time to eat, drink, or even think because she was so busy trying to get everything done.

But something happened to her once she and Brendan made their way up to the media gondola to sit in the President’s private box with Kyle Dubas and Brandon Pridham: she watched the game. From start to finish, she watched the Toronto Maple Leafs dominate the Ottawa Senators 5-3 to win the game. She saw Auston Matthews score two goals – and William assist beautifully on one of them. It was textbook perfect. She saw the comradery of the boys on the bench. She saw Brendan and Kyle seem excited.

She remembered back to how excited the people of Newfoundland were at just a practice and an exhibition game. She saw how excited the crowd was tonight at the way the team played and the outcome of the game.

She began to get it.

She followed Brendan out of the gondola so they could head down to the locker room about five minutes before the game was going to end. When the team began to come in, she wondered if she should clap – her questions were answered when she saw the equipment personnel fist-bump the boys. She held out her hand to show her support. Brendan laughed.

“Wooooo! Let’s go baby!” Auston screamed as he looked directly at her, fist-bumping her with his enormously large hockey glove. In that moment, she was sure one of them was going to knock her over one day.

“Good job boys!” she yelled out as they trickled in. John was next, giving her a fist-bump and a quick nod.

Morgan saw her and screamed at her. “Wooooo!”

“Wooooo!” she mimicked, smiling from ear to ear as she fist-bumped him. She held her hand out for Andreas, for Kasperi, and for Sandin. William filtered through, and when she caught his eye, a large smile appeared on his face. “Good job boys!” she yelled out again as they fist-pumped.

As they boys filtered into the locker room and began to take off their gear, Brendan walked in, motioning for Aberdeen to follow him. She stood behind him and Kyle Dubas as they watched Mike Babcock make his post-game speech and present the team with one of the Raptors’ game used balls from their championship run. One player would get it after every game won. Auston got it tonight for scoring two goals, and he did a few tricks.

Aberdeen helped usher Mike into a separate room so he could do post-game media before they went into the locker room. She watched as a horde of reporters stuck microphones into his face and asked him questions about the game. When Brendan called her back into the locker room, he told her he was free to go.

She looked up at one of the TV monitors that was broadcasting Mike’s interview from the other room live, wanting to hear what good things he had to say before she left. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw William approach her, the bottom half of his gear still on, chucking something into the garbage. He stood beside her, looking up at the monitor too to listen in.

“Can you speak to Matthews’s goals tonight? The assist from Nylander must have looked good on your end,” one of the reporters asked.

“Yeah, the goals were good. Looked really good. The assist looked better than the one’s from last season, that’s for sure – he’s clearly been practicing,” Mike began.

Aberdeen didn’t hear anything else he had to say as she furrowed her brows. She knew that she didn’t know anything about hockey, but she thought the team played fantastic tonight. They won, for heaven’s sake. If she was a casual viewer and thought they played well, and that William’s assist on Auston’s goal looked incredible, that had to speak for something, right? A person who wasn’t even a fan being impressed? She didn’t know. But when she looked over at William, she saw a defeated look on his face. He clearly took the comments to heart, and it killed her to see his excitement die down over a stupid comment.

“Does he always give you backhanded compliments?” she asked quietly, looking at him.

William noticed her looking, and gave her one of those tight-lipped smiles as he shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it.”

Aberdeen didn’t like that answer.

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