#yes i know some of you expect linda to know every detail about her sons life but something about this is sooo teenager to me

[misfithive]

Just had a little giggle thinking about the fact Linda has absolutely no idea Simon and Wille have been talking and rekindling this whole time. Imagine she’s gonna find out with the rest of the world when watching Wilhelm’s speech after she was going on and on a couple days before about Marcus.

Linda: the Prince ?? Again?? What happened to marcus? I thought things were going so well??

Simon: ermmmm about that

[mxpseudonym]

Everything There Is

Pairing: Tommy x OC

Summary: Florence and Tommy are in this together.

Request: “Hi! Can you do a Tommy x oc or reader as his wife in an arranged marriage where she is also a business woman and their marriage was a sort of contract and their relationship is mainly professional apart from sex n all, and Tommy comes home all worn out and she asks him to share with her and tommy is reluctant but she assures and reminds him that she is capable of protecting the family, Charlie and Tommy too. And then they just kiss and Tommy leans into her or something. Thank you!!” 

Length: 1650 words (allegedly)

Warnings: Underlying tones of forced/arranged marriage

A/N: Hello sweet, tender anon. This was a joy to write, especially Charlie 🥺. What a sweet angel.

--

Florence Heywood had been meeting with Tommy for two years about his investments. At first, Shelby Company Ltd simply needed advice from her property management company about renting and leasing. However, Florence and Tommy quickly found they were both as ambitious and calculating as the other. Unlike her other clients, Tommy didn't gaff at her suggestions of overseas ventures or buying big. It was a joyous union. Even Florence's mother didn't understand her dedication to the company. However, it was the senior Mrs. Heywood's father, who left the business to his granddaughter.  

"Don't you have enough, dear? You've come so far, not just as a woman, but as a business owner," her mother said after being told that grandchildren were not a priority. Florence wanted more. She was a modern woman who craved a legacy and a family name that honored her grandfather's work. 

"Enough of that," Tommy said, sliding a few signed documents into a folder before turning to her. "I told you to stop being so easy to read. Now, what's wrong?" 

Florence rolled her eyes but was thankful when Tommy went to pour them some whiskey. The upside to meeting at Tommy's home was that the rules were nonexistent. She didn't even have to leave her shoes on.

"My mother wants me to get married soon, probably have kids," she groaned. "She's set me up to go to the pictures with a banker on Friday."

"Isn't that what most women want?" Tommy walked over and handed her a glass of amber liquid. 

"You'd be surprised," Florence said, then sighed. "I'm just scared." 

"Florence Heywood is scared of something? Hard to believe." Tommy shook his head. 

"My grandfather left me his business when it was just one tiny office on Victoria Street. He put everything he had into it to make something of our name and pass something on. What if some prick weasels his way in and ruins it all? It’ll be his to gamble away. Or starts mistreating my employees. It's the stuff of nightmares." She shivered and looked to Tommy, who nodded in understanding. 

"We Shelby's want to do the same thing. Work hard enough to have what the toffs do- the opportunities and good fortune. My brothers and I fought side by side with those fuckers in the war. We get the shell shock, blow our bloody brains out, fuckin' live with demons, don't we? But they got everything, and we got nothing. Nothing changed." Tommy said. Florence was surprised to hear him talk with her like this but certainly didn't stop him. "But I have my family and my son. Anything less than success is unacceptable. You're right to be critical. You've got to know who's on your side." 

"Easier said than done," she mumbled. "How is Charlie, by the way?"

"He's with his tutor now. Won't stop talking about that train set you told him about last time," Tommy chuckled. Florence's grandfather's spare room that had the most extensive train set she'd seen. She was happy to tell Charlie all about it, but now he was intrigued.

"I'll happily take the blame."

"Hope you've got something planned to remedy this in the near future."

"I will talk to Father Christmas," Florence offered with a laugh. She sighed and thought of all of what Tommy has worked for and her as well. "You know what, Tommy? You and I are doing it. We're making a name for ourselves. Even when no one understands what we want, we have a vision." Tommy smirked, noticing that the strong drink was already making her eyes a bit glossy.

"And what is it that we want?" He asked. She raised her glass and motioned for him to do the same.

"Everything there is." 

In life, Tommy wasn’t often surprised. Sure he was blind sided now and again, but his cynical nature taught him to expect the worst. A few weeks after his optimistic toast with her, Florence arranged a meeting on the grounds of having a new venture for him that would challenge his ability to be two steps ahead. The last thing he expected was a marriage contract. Like any other venture, she laid out the facts, including Tommy needing to do something good for his image as a new politician. 

"This is really...something." Tommy looked over her detailed work in a slight daze. 

"I know, and please don't think I take this lightly. I'm just thinking about Shelby Company Ltd and Heywood Capital, establishing a bloody empire," Florence explained. Tommy could see the stars in her eyes as she thought about the possibilities. It was her promise that locked him in, however.  

"Tommy Shelby, I will protect you if you will protect me. That's as good as any marriage, isn't it?"  

Tommy thought about it for a few days. Florence Heywood, a woman he'd call his friend and one of the savviest people he knew, wanted to get married in the name of a legacy. He could hardly believe it when he picked up the phone and called her office.

"Everything there is, eh?"

It took several hours of negotiation, a prenuptial agreement, and the presence of a lawyer. Still, in the end, he said yes. 

For a while, the Shelby's referred to Florence in the form of the question, "isn't she that woman who manages Tommy's properties?" And Mrs. Heywood gave Florence an earful for getting engaged without ever bringing Tommy around for tea. But after a bumpy start, the rest went rather seamlessly.

One year later, Florence was sitting in her own lovely office in Arrow House with Charlie on her lap. She hadn't planned on reading to Charlie every night, but Charlie would sooner sneak out of bed in his pajamas and ambush her in her office than miss her reading to him. And he did. 

"Both parties should review the completed document carefully to ensure that all relevant deal points have been included," Florence read softly. Charlie was nearing a deep sleep, so Alice in Wonderland was sneakily replaced by the contracts she was in the middle of reviewing.  

When she heard the front door close, she stopped to check her watch. It was a quarter past 9 PM already. She followed the sound of Tommy's footsteps going up the stairs then quickly descending moments later. He was panicked, she could tell. If not from his steps, from the way he burst into her office. 

"Sh!" Florence placed a finger to her lips. Tommy let out a breath of relief as he ran a hand through his hair. Tommy came over and placed a hand on Charlie's head, then a kiss to his forehead. Florence was surprised she received one as well.

"He couldn't sleep?" Tommy asked quietly, eyes looking to the papers in her hand.

"He wouldn't allow it without a story. Tonight's is Once Upon a Time There Was A Walk-Up in Camden Town," she mused then pressed her own kiss to Charlie's head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's fine."

"Is it fine, or is it nothing?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"It's," Tommy sighed once again, thinking about his day, his week even. The Russians, the Irish,  hell, Arthur, and fucking Linda. Christ. 

"Tommy," Florence's voice cut through the smoke and mud, bringing him back into the present. She stood smoothly, expertly shifting Charlie to her hip. "I know you're stressed. I just want to remind you that we promised to protect each other, right? Whatever it is, we figure it out together."

Tommy reached up and cupped her cheek.

"You're right, we promised. I promised." He leaned forward and kissed her softly. It took everything for Florence to remind herself that there was no place for weak knees when holding her child. "Let's put him to bed, and I'll tell you it all, Mrs. Shelby."

--

Tommy Tag List: @soleil-dor; @amysteryspot

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 9/9

Here it is! The end of this journey! This has always been a gift for @teamhook​, and my dear, I hope this ending brightens your day after all you have been through! I always knew this was where it would lead, with these exact bits of dialogue inspired by the song by Gabrielle Aplin that you shared with me. I even incorporated some lines from the song into the closing scene for you. Sending you lots of love, my friend!

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is? Written for @teamhook​​​ on her birthday.

Rating: T

Trigger warning: Alice Jones appears in this fic and Alice and Henry are both Killian’s adopted children with Milah. Henry isn’t Emma’s. Positive past Millian. No Neal.

Words: about 3k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  @snowbellewells​​​ @kmomof4​​​@jennjenn615​​​ @kday426​​​ @let-it-raines​​​ @bethacaciakay​​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​​ @thislassishooked​​​ @tiganasummertree​​​​@whimsicallyenchantedrose​​​ @snidgetsafan​​​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​​​ @winterbaby89​​​​ @distant-rose​​@shireness-says​​​​ @xhookswenchx​​​​ @optomisticgirl​​​​ @spartanguard​​​​ @branlovestowrite​​​​ @welllpthisishappening​​​​ @stahlop​​​​ @hollyethecurious​​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​​ @scientificapricot​​​ @wellhellotragic​​​ @vvbooklady1256​​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​​ @superchocovian​​​ @nikkiemms​​​ @lfh1226-linda​​​  @ultraluckycatnd​​​ @ohmakemeahercules​

It was awkwardly silent in the elevator. Honestly, it had been awkwardly silent the majority of the time between her and Walsh ever since she got home. Yet it seemed to hang even heavier between them since the doctor’s appointment earlier.

The elevator stopped at her floor, and the ding when the doors opened only punctuated the silence. Emma dug in her purse for her keys, and wished like every other time Walsh rode up with her how to politely send him away. He hadn’t pushed her for anything physical - mostly. He just whined like an oversized baby about it, constantly asking her when things would get back to normal.

In that sense, today’s appointment was almost a relief.

“Well, thanks for walking me up,” Emma told him as she grasped her keys.

Walsh gave her a smile that he must have thought was charming. It wasn’t.

“Come on now, Emma, you can’t let your fiance in for a few minutes?”

She pressed her hand firmly to his chest as he leaned in. “You’re not my fiance.”

“Of course I am. You just don’t remember.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Well, first of all, you heard the doctor today. Chances are, I won’t ever remember.”

“Chances is the word. You heard him, there’s always a chance. Especially if I jog your memory.”

He went to put his arms around her, and for the first time, Emma had to shove him off. It sent her heart beating erratically, and not in a pleasant way. It also sent anger flaring through her veins.

“God, do you even listen to me?” she shouted. She had tried so hard since she got back to New York to cooperate, hoping that following the lead of Walsh and Regina would bring her memories rushing back. Now she was sick of it.

“Actually I do,” Walsh snapped, “which is why I know you aren’t even trying to remember.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You act like I’m doing this on purpose. And no, you don’t listen, because I wasn’t finished. Second, I don’t have a ring, Walsh.” Emma waved her hand in front of him.

“People don’t need a ring to get engaged.”

“I also listened to your message,” she bit out. “You proposed, but I never accepted. You may not need a ring, genius, but the girl has to actually say yes.”

“You didn’t say no.”

“Well, I am now.”

Walsh blinked. “Emma, seriously, this isn’t you.”

“No Walsh, it is me! Maybe this whole experience has changed me, maybe I’ll never fully remember who I was before, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have always been hesitant to marry you.” Emma pressed her fist, still clutching her keys, to her chest. “I know you and Regina keep treating me like a wounded puppy, but I do remember some things clearly. I was getting away to Maine because I was stressed and confused. I was unsure of so many things, including us.”

Walsh’s face fell, as if he were finally beginning to understand. “But I thought we were so good together.”

Emma was able to smile at him. She stepped closer, and laid a hand on his arm. “You were comfortable - safe. Being with you didn’t risk my heart because my feelings were on the surface. Your proposal brought all of that into focus.”

“So what you’re saying is, you were always going to say no.”

Emma nodded, truly feeling sorry for Walsh for the first time. “I’m so sorry. I don’t remember our first date or how we met, but I do remember that.”

Walsh nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping. He gave her a platonic hug, and Emma accepted it. Then he walked away from her, and when the elevator doors closed behind him, Emma sagged with relief against her door.

The phone in her jacket pocket vibrated, and she pulled it out to see text messages from her bandmates pop up one after another.

How did the appointment go? - Elsa

Did the doctor have good news? Are you getting your memories back? I’m dying with worry here! - Anna

Calling to check on you. And don’t take this the wrong way, but have you dumped Walsh yet? - Ruby

I wanna hear more about this hot vet you were snowed in with. And don’t tell me he wasn’t hot, I can read between the lines. - Ruby

Emma smiled as she scrolled through the messages. It was strange the way a brain injury worked. The moment she walked through her front door and saw her three best friends waiting for her, memories had flooded her. She didn’t remember anything but confusing feelings where Walsh was concerned, she couldn’t remember this supposed solo career Regina kept going on about, but she did remember these three amazing women. She couldn’t remember performing, but memories had returned of the times they spent together both on the road and before they hit it big. She also remembered the words to every single one of their songs. The doctor had explained to her that the brain was a complex organ. His theory was that she had retained her emotional memories, but not the details of her life.

Bizarre didn’t begin to cover it.

Emma locked the door behind her, toed off her shoes, and dropped her keys in the catch all by the door. She collapsed onto a couch that was too hard in a room that was too cold. The view of the city skyline outside her window seemed foreign. With a sigh, she moved to her bedroom, shooting off texts to her friends as she went. She slipped into a pair of comfortable pajamas, collapsed onto her bed, and grabbed the tv remote.

This was apparently her life, and she simply had no idea what to do with it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Checkmate!” Liam crowed with satisfaction, but his face fell when he looked across the chess board to find Killian staring absently at the chess pieces. “Little brother? I beat you. Again.”

Killian sighed and knocked over some of the pieces in frustration. “Sorry. I guess I’m just not in the mood tonight.”

Liam frowned. “This is still about Wendy, isn’t it?”

“Emma,” Killian corrected him as he ran a hand wearily down his face, “her name is actually Emma. Emma Swan.” His hand dropped to his lap, and he studied his brother warily. “And please spare me the I told you so.”

Liam leaned back, both hands lifted in the air in surrender. “I’m not going to say that, trust me. This is a situation where I hate being right.”

Killian arched a brow. “My brother? Hates being right? Who are you and what have you done to my real brother?”

“Haha, very funny. Seriously though, I liked her. I liked how happy you were when she was here. If the situation had been different -”

Killian cut him off. “But it wasn’t. She has a life, a career, a fiance somewhere else. God, I was such a fool.”

“No, you weren’t. You were generous in offering your home to her. I was wrong, Killian. You did the right thing. I can’t believe I was so callous towards her.”

Killian drummed his fingers on the table as he regarded Liam. “You never seem to realize what an ass you’re being to the women in my life until it’s too late.”

Liam leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his fisted hands. “With Milah, you’re right. When you adopted Henry, I still gave her hell. I worried a child was just another novelty to her. But then she was such a wonderful mother, then you got Alice, and . . . .”

Liam trailed off with a long sigh. Killian’s brow furrowed in shock.

“I thought you didn’t soften towards her until she got sick. Why didn’t you say anything? Try to mend things with her?”

“You know how bloody stubborn I am. I’m sorry, Killian, I would do it all differently if I had the chance.”

“I know.” Killian could never stay angry at his brother for long. He loved him too much.

“Besides, who says it's too late with Wendy - I mean Emma. She may be missing you just as much as you’re missing her.”

Killian absentmindedly picked up a pawn and twirled it between his fingers. “Doubtful. She’s a bloody rock star, for God’s sake.”

“The kids miss her too, don’t they?” “Aye.”

“She said she’d keep in touch.”

“People always say that. Then they never do.”

“Give her time. None of this can be easy.”

Killian was about to counter that Emma had no reason to think of them now that her memories had most likely returned, but before he could, there was a knock at the door. He gave his brother a confused look. It was late, and the kids were already asleep. Who could possibly be knocking? He hurried to the door, looked through the keyhole, then swore under his breath to find the view blocked by greenery. Alice had made a wreath for the door, and he couldn’t see a damn thing past her handiwork. He wrenched the door open, expecting it to be a local farmer with a livestock emergency.

It wasn’t a farmer.

“Emma,” he breathed in awe.

She smiled, and it was like the sun came out.

“You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you call me that.”

Killian chuckled as he scratched behind his ear. “Well, I’m a bit embarrassed that I didn’t

recognize you. Let’s just say it’s mostly Radio Disney around here. And something about K-Pop which I don’t really -”

“I was never engaged,” Emma blurted out.

“Oh?”

Emma twisted her hands nervously and shrugged. “He proposed, but I never accepted.” She trailed off, her gaze darting to her feet. “It felt important for you to know that.”

“There’s no need to explain,” he told her gently. “I’m just glad you’re getting your memories back.”

“I’m not,” she said, her gaze flying back to lock on his.

“What do you mean?”

She bit on her lower lip. “I mean, I don’t have my memories back. I remember bits and pieces, feelings mostly.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Look, there’s something I just gotta say, alright?”

Killian nodded. He’d been sort of speechless anyway since he opened the door.

She licked her lips nervously before plunging in. “The doctors say I might never get my memories back. Not all of them, anyway. But I’m okay with that because what little I remember either isn’t that great or it’s fantastic.” She winced as she closed her eyes for a second. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“Not yet,” he admitted, “but I’m still listening.”

She returned his smile with a wobbly one of her own. “Right. So, I remember that I was a foster kid. I must have been since I was a baby because that’s all I remember. I don’t remember any of the places I lived or who I lived with. All I remember is that I never had a home.”

His heart broke for her and the sheen of tears in her eyes, but he didn't interrupt.

“I remember I ran away all the time. I just figured that when you really have a home, when you leave, you just miss it. So my whole childhood, I just kept running waiting to feel that, but I never did. Then I found my band. And I got to keep running, on the road you know? But it was okay because my family was running with me. I think that’s why they’re the only people I remember. Except -”

She paused, and a look of fear flashed over her face. He took a step closer and took her hand. “Except?” he prompted.

“Except you. And the kids.” She winced again, shaking her head and laughing. “Not that I wouldn’t remember you, I mean I met you after. What I’m trying to say is . . . I miss you. When I left here, I missed it all so much. My band - the people in it - were home, but that was ending. And then I met you - and Alice and Henry. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s like my life got a reset that day you found me. I want to start time, right here. With you.”

Killian searched her face, scarcely daring to believe this was real. He reached up with a shaking hand and traced her jaw with his finger.

“What about your career?” he asked softly. The last thing he wanted was to take advantage of her while she was in a vulnerable place.

She smiled at him as a single tear slipped down her face. “I never wanted that career. I loved the band - the people, I mean. But not the performing or the limelight. I just want to play and write songs on my guitar. I can do that anywhere.”

He let hope expand his heart for the first time. He cupped her face with both hands, catching her tear with his thumb.

“Stay with me?” he asked her.

Emma’s eyes crinkled at the force of her smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Killian bent slowly to press his lips to hers in a tender kiss. She sighed and tilted her head, allowing him more access. He threaded his fingers through her soft hair as his tongue lazily explored her mouth. Emma pulled back and smiled with such blinding happiness, he could hardly take it in. Then her eyes fluttered closed, and she captured his lips again. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He never wanted to let her go.

I'm an atom in a sea of nothing, looking for another to combine. Maybe we could be the start of something. Be together at the start of time.

Rolling Stone Magazine - Two Years Later:

. . . The Grammy’s this year brought one big surprise: Emma Swan Jones, former member of the female rock band Wendy Sewed it On, took home the Song of the Year award for penning Ruby Lucas’s number one smash hit “The Song in Your Heart.” The romantic power ballad was a slight departure for the normally angst-filled alternative rock Swan-Jones was known for when she was part of Wendy Sewed it On. Yet her new hyphenated last name along with her acceptance speech may give her fans a hint for the change. In her speech, she thanked “my true love, my husband Killian. Words can’t say enough how much you mean to me or how you’ve inspired me. I wouldn’t have this award without you, babe.” Judging by the baby bump she was proudly showing off beneath her Elie Saab couture gown on the red carpet, Emma Swan Jones is very happy with her man which may mean more romantic ballads from her in the future . . .

[oh-boleyn]

dreams of her

words: 4007, one shot, language: english. f/f (parrlyn)

tw: alcohol, drowning, angst, if I forgot one just tell me

Catherine Parr met Anne Boleyn on a rainy midnight, while passing through the tower of London.

Anne’s dress was a mess, all white and out of fashion. Still Parr couldn’t stop watching the girl. She had bright green eyes, and long dark brown hair that almost got to her waist. A lost, confused look on her face got Catherine worried.

“Are you okay?” She asked. The girl saw her and smile.

Her smile was so bright it could light up the world.

“Yes, yes I am.”

(…)

Writing poetry is not quite a Catherine Parr thing, but she still does it.

Something about the white dress in the middle of the night that she can’t shake, not without pouring it into words.

(…)

It’s over a week before she sees the girl again. Just like she remembered her, but this time a choker on her neck catches her attention. Is white, the whole look is, just like last time. It matches almost perfectly with the porcelain skin.

“Good night.” Parr tries to sound casual, cool.

“Good night.” The other replies.

Cathy turns, heading to the tube. Without wanting to do that again, and lose back the gorgeous girl, she gives a glance back, but can’t find her again.

(…)

She dreams of her, which is something completely weird.

There is so much detail on the dream, things she can’t even quite put a finger on. They couldn’t possible have exchanged more than seven words, but in her dream, she knows exactly how the brunette would laugh and talk.

Even more strange, she wakes up with an ache on her neck.

(…)

Catherine hated having to cover in the bar, one of the advantages of being the goddaughter of the owner was having the best hours, and escaping dealing with drunk guys past ten. But since Jane had his son, little Edward, she had been pleading for a change of hours and Parr couldn’t just say no.

Staying in the bar late meant she had to write there, hiding behind the counter, wishing to be in her way too small apartment with the peace and quiet of her favourite Spotify playlist. Between college, bartending, and trying to write at least one good thing before finishing her studies she was constantly on the border of a mental breakdown.

The only thing she was glad about, was that apparently every time she made extra hours the white dressed girl would be standing near the tower of London. Catherine wished to be able to talk more to her, but was too anxious to create any more conversation that just casual greetings. Like written on stone, every night she would see the girl, a dream about her would come.

(…)

“Goodnight!” Cathy screamed, passing beside the other girl.

“Wait!” The paler responded. “I was wondering if I could have your name.”

“Yeah.” She is taken aback, slowing her peace. “I’m Catherine Parr.”

The writer extends a hand, which the other takes without hesitation. The touch is soft, almost like silk, but so cold that it could be ice.

“Anne.”

Anne fits her. Even if Catherine is not sure if the name fits her or the way she says it, pronouncing slowly, needing the time because every part of it is important. It’s a really short name, but still sounds so elegant and distinguished coming from her. Parr is sure she is not going to be capable so pronounce a name so elegantly ever in her life.

(…)

“What are you thinking about, Cathy?” Anna asks.

“What?”

“You have your head in the clouds, what’s going on?” The German questions again.

“Nothing it’s just I’m having crazy days. With changing hours with Jane everything became catastrophic.” Parr excuses herself. “Do you want the usual?”

“It’s almost too late for that, I would prefer something stronger, what you got?”

Catherine smiles, mischief clear on her face.

“We have a new drink, it’s called bridge. One of these and you will be on the other side.”

She takes a long glass and starts mixing different alcoholics beverages, plus some other stuff like sugar and some fruit juice. Anna drinks it quickly, not bothering by the name of it.

“It is not that strong.” Cleves accuses Cathy.

“Try to stand up.”

The German does it quickly, stumbling on her feet and guiding a hand to her forehead in an attempt to drown the sudden numbness she feels.

“You were right.”

“I always am, linda.”

(…)

That night Anna is uncapable of standing up by herself, less to go home alone. Catherine dismisses her early, under the promise she will take her friend back to the apartment. Going through the streets of London with a really drunk woman, who is at least half a head taller than Parr it’s not quite easy task, but she manages.

“Friend of yours, Catherine?” Anne asks, smiling.

She almost shines, her white dress floating with the cold wind of the night. The clouds above them are grey, almost black, announcing a rain coming, but Catherine can’t bring herself to care, not even when Anna moves towards a trash can.

“Yes, you can say so.” Parr says, before adding: “She is your namesake, almost. It ends with an A.”

“Well, I’m Anne with an E.”

Cathy laughs.

“Why are you laughing?” Anne questions.

“You made a reference, to that show.” Cathy responds.

“What show?”

The girl seems confused, and for a second Catherine feels like that too, but when Anna takes her arm and request to please go home, the smaller complies.

“Good night, Anne!” She screams.

(…)

When the storm breaks, Catherine had barely time to get back to her house. She luckily didn’t catch the rain, or else her house would probably be a mess.

She wonders about Anne, Anne with her white dress and precious smile. With her cold touch and pale skin. Anne who is just as enchanting as anyone could be, elegant but still playful. Just thinking about her name makes Catherine have her head over heels.

Catherine Parr was not one to fall in love so abruptly, a first sight. Her love was usually slow, getting used to the person, knowing them completely. But it was not the case, outside the things she could got from their short talks, she knew nothing about Anne.

But she was still falling.

(…)

“Goodnight, Catherine!” Anne calls, voice clear in the not so populated street.

“Goodnight, Anne.”

(…)

There was something strange, a sickening feeling when Catherine got closer to Anne.

Just the sight of her pale, even slightly green, skin made Parr feel giddy and shaky. Her hands would start tremble, and her mouth would run out of words quicker than it usually did. Even the temperature seemed to get lower near her.

Catherine still felt attracted, an uneasy feeling of belonging. A need to get closer, even if it sickened her to the very core, letting her so tired that the only thing she could do when arriving home was sleeping.

And have nightmares about her.

(…)

“Yes, godmother, I’m getting to the bar right now.” Catherine says on the phone.

Arriving, she takes the key to the back door, letting herself in the vast place. Cold hits her skin while she changes into her uniform. Going into the bar, the music starts sounding more and more loud, until she shows up there.

A girl with brown and pink hair is singing for the karaoke night, totally careless but hitting the notes.

“There you are.” Catherine of Aragon calls. “I thought I had lost you to your books.”

“Funny.” Cathy said, straight-faced. “Who is that?”

“I’m not sure, Katherine something, but she is good.” Aragon explains. “You should go and sing.”

“I don’t think so.” Parr replies.

“Whatever you say.” She makes a pause. “I was wondering if you were going to take again Jane’s turn.”

“Yes, yes I will.”

(…)

Walking back home makes her stomach turn when thinking about watching Anne. It must have been a prediction, because when she finds the other woman, she doesn’t exactly look like always.

Her green eyes are not bright and gleeful, instead there is something obscure apart from the tears falling. Her white skin is left untouched, not a single mark of redness, still it is puffy and demonstrates signs of crying. The white dress is different, looking like a dirty white, almost grey, and the choker is thicker, wrapping itself tighter on her neck.

“Anne?” Catherine asks, getting closer. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so lost.” The woman cries. “Have you ever felt like that? Like you are slowly drowning? Is like there is just so much water weight on me, my lungs can’t take the pressure.”

Parr slowly moves, sitting beside her, she wonders for a moment, before putting a hand on Anne’s back. As expected, her skin is freezing, but the other doesn’t care. Slowly drawing paths in her back, she waits for words to come out, but they don’t.

“I am just so tired.”

“Let’s go out.” Catherine suddenly reacts.

“What?”

“Let’s do something. Right now. We deserve a free night.” Catherine slowly guides a hand to Anne’s face, attempting to dry the tears with her thumb. “What do you say?”

A timid smile appears on Anne’s face.

“I think you are right.”

Catherine quickly stands up, offering a hand.

“Lady…”

“Boleyn.”

“Lady Boleyn, would you do me the pleasure of being my companion for tonight?”

“Of course, your majesty.”

Both of them interlock their hands, while laughing at their silly manners.

Walking the streets of London never felt more magical to Parr. Everything seemed prettier, brighter. In her dream like state, everything is better, and she is no longer tired. She wonders if it is another fantasy of hers, but decides against it, even if it was, everything was just so wonderful that it wasn’t worth it to not relish it.

They get to a club, with dark lights and loud pop music. Anne smiles at Parr, who takes her lead. They start to make silly moves in the middle of the dance floor, not caring about the consequence of embarrassing themselves. Anne’s eyes have a certain gleam, shining every time she smiles for a move Cathy makes.

The atmosphere makes Cathy feel drunk, everything brilliant, dazzling, under the blue lights. People are moving in a blur, and the only static thing are green eyes watching her, attentive at every move she makes. It feels right, she keeps telling herself so, but at the same time an insanity to the whole situation keeps her out of that train of thought.

“Would you like to drink something?” Catherine questions, to which Anne gives half a smile.

“Of course.”

“I think I know a better place.”

Taking back Anne’s hand, they start making their way outside. An hour has already passed, and even less people can be found in the streets.

“Tell me about yourself, Catherine.” Boleyn questions.

“I’m not an interesting person.” The shorter claims.

“Don’t say that.” She fakes pouts. “Please, I want to know.”

“Okay.” Cathy laughs. “Where to begin? I am the oldest of three siblings, and we used to live in the north, in Cumbria to be more exact. I am good with languages, since I really love anything that has to do with words.”

“You sound like a bookworm.” Anne proclaims.

“I am! But really, I just love it.”

“I am not good with languages.” The taller explains. “But I speak French.”

“For real? I do too, and Italian. And Spanish. And I can translate from Latin but I haven’t practiced in a long time.”

“How long? Since somebody actually cared and talked Latin?” Anne mocks her.

“Shut up! It’s really interesting, and important. A lot of languages come from it.”

“What is your favourite word? In Latin, I mean.”

“I think vigil. It means sentinel.” Cathy makes a pause and signals the sky. “It can also mean stars. You know, they watch us.”

“The starts watch us?”

“Totally. So does the moon, and the sun.” Catherine slowly strokes Anne’s hand with her own. “I moved with my godmother when I was still young, departing was really hard. My mum told me that starts will be everywhere, watching over me even if she couldn’t. It was good to know, like a protection.”

“I used to live in France, my dad sent me there for boarding school.” Her voice grows darker. “I didn’t saw any of my siblings for a while and it was… It was really lonely. Still I found comfort in the sky too. I don’t think starts can see me, but I do think I can see them. Like stars, the moon. It doesn’t matter where you are, the moon is always the same.”

Anne hides her face.

“That’s a nice thought.”

“It’s dumb, Catherine.”

“It’s not.” Cathy reaffirms with a squeeze to Anne’s hand. “It’s something good to think. Like every person that has ever been on earth has known the moon. A million of civilizations, people we don’t even know their names. Every hero and villain saw the same moon.”

“The moon is beautiful.”

“No more than you.”

Anne gives a surprised look to Parr, who looks away.

“Keep telling me about you.”

“I told you I love words. I want to be a writer.”

She is trying hard to keep her breath under control, but deep inside her heart is racing. The sickening feeling makes her feel that she could overshare at any moment, which is something she would rather not happen.

“I am currently in University, and I am trying to write this book, but it is just so much and so hard. It’s like I can write a thousand pages, but when I proof read it, I hate it.” Catherine explains.

Way to go with no oversharing, Parr. She blames herself.

“I think you are probably just too perfectionist.” Anne’s voice is sweet, familiar. “I used to write, and I loved it, it was messy, a strange kind of poetry.”

“Really?” Cathy questions. “Since I met you, I have been writing little poems here and there. I was never one to write literal poems, maybe sonnets but nothing more.”

“That sounds really structured from you, Catherine.”

“Why do you always call me Catherine?” She burst out.

It’s Anne’s way to say here name, pronouncing it whole, making her feel so important and personal. Maybe it was something about living in France, having another language for so long, but still it doesn’t quite explain why.

“It’s your name; isn’t it, Catherine?”

There is a playful smirk on her face, which brings Parr to her edge. Saying her name into the conversation feels so intimate. She considers that the only other way to make her feel like that would be if Anne ran her fingers through her arms, through her face. It is confidential, affectionate.

“Yes, but people call me Cathy.”

“Well, I am not people.”

Fortunate or not for the shortest, the moment Anne finishes saying it is when they arrive to Aragon’s bar. Nobody is there, counting that the clock indicates 2AM, and it closes at one, but the mess is still there. Some chairs out of its places, while others are neatly sitting in tables. The floor is dirty, and there are glasses still sitting on the scenario.

Still, she can’t appreciate it more, with the fairy lights, and Anne by her side, the chaotic scene looks like something irreal, out of a dream.

“Welcome to my job, you wanted to know about me? I’m here most of the time.” Cathy grabs a clean glass. “What do you want to drink, milady?”

“What do you recommend me?” Catherine nods, but doesn’t say a word. “So, bartending. I couldn’t possibly have guessed it.”

“Well, it’s not my ideal job. I don’t enjoy crowds to be honest, but my godmother is the owner and I used to do my homework in the back, so I’m used to being here. It’s good.”

“Is it? Really?”

It takes Parr for surprise, how easily she asks, a smirk on her face. A nervous feeling creeping on the back of her mind.

“It is. Really.”

“Would you be a bartender forever?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why is it good?”

Catherine stays in silence while she finishes preparing the drink.

It feels tense, the atmosphere getting heavier instead of better, and none of them talking. Anne has a stern face, with her eyes fixed on Cathy’s hands. From being intimate, the talk became invasive, way too much for both of them to take.

Catherine finishes the drink, and hands it to Anne. She takes a sip, and makes a face.

“That was too much salt.” She jokes, a slight smile appearing on her lips.

“That was a great done margarita. If you can’t handle salt, I hope I see you trying to manage your tequila.”

“Alcohol and salt are two different things, Parr!” Anne slams her first on the table, dramatically. She makes a pause. “I’m sorry if I made things weird.”

“It’s alright, I don’t care.”

“It’s just… Lately nothing is what I expect. I wish I made things because they made me happy, and not because I felt obligated to.”

“I know that feeling.” Catherine explains. “I feel like I’m constantly running out of time, as if I sleep when I wake up there will be nothing there. It keeps me at edge most of the time, like I can’t just experience one moment, I have to do something else, and when I finish there is another thing to do. I think this is the first night I feel alive and living the moment in a while.”

“I feel the same Catherine.” Anne explains. “And you are a great bartender.”

“If you keep calling me by my whole name, I will start to feel important.”

“You should feel important, you are.”

Anne Boleyn was most definitely a flirt.

She didn’t sound forced, or uncomfortable, but it was rather just a way to be. With her long eyelashes, frisky smirk and porcelain complexion, it was impossible to resist. Elegant movements, a way with words, and the warm feeling she irradiated even if her skin was icy.

Catherine could feel herself painfully falling.

They talk about it all, play silly games with the cups and dancing slow dodging tables.

Deciding it was more than what Catherine could take, they opt to go and grab coffee at her apartment. The chill of the night still present, Parr gives Anne her jacket. Light revealing it was almost time for the sun to shine again, something dreadful for them, knowing their night off was about to end.

When they get to the spot where they usually part ways, the sky starts turning a pink colour, indicating the dawn.

Anne stays for a moment, watching the reflexion of the light on the river. She looks almost like a statue, firm, almost as if her chest is not breathing. Catherine takes out her phone, taking photos of Anne, until she realizes and turns her head, smiling.

“You are giving me a breath, Catherine. I never thought I would see another night like this one, but I can’t be any other thing that thankful.” She plays with her hands. “I know it was so brief, only a night when a year have so many, but there is nothing more I could’ve ask for.”

They stare at each other eyes.

“One last night.” She mutters, not loud enough for Catherine to hear. “I have to go.”

“Can I get a kiss?” The other one wonders.

Anne impacts her lips with Catherine.

The world suddenly goes on mute. There is no other sound, except the blood running through their veins. Anne’s lips are soft, softer than what Cathy remembered lips were, and her skin feels as if might break if she grabs it too hard.

Still, it is tender, caring. So warm despite everything being so cold around there.

Anne is the first to pull away, giving Catherine a smile.

“I hope the best for you, Catherine Parr.”

Catherine takes just a moment to get her eyes open again, and Anne is no longer there.

(…)

It drives her almost crazy at first, doing research about Anne Boleyn, but there is almost little to no information about her online, nothing about the past few years.

The pictures on her phone are still intact, and it is the only thing that keeps her from thinking it was a dream.

She waits for hours at midnight on their usual spot, but Anne never shows up again. There is no sight of her white dress or kryptonite eyes.

There’s nothing, as if she never existed.

(…)

Katherine Howard becomes a regular on the bar, singing almost every night.

She is young, around eighteen years, but she still becomes friends with Catherine and Anna. Aragon even becomes fond of the girl, offering her a weekly payment in exchange of singing. Jane is enamoured with her, but opinion biased since Edward was probably in love with her, not crying when he was on her arms.

(…)

Catherine has nightmares about it, followed by the feeling of being underwater.

She has nightmares of Anne, both of them lost in the middle of a sea, or a river, and when they are about to reach each other, they can’t. She can’t even clearly hear Anne talking on her dreams, but instead it is so much pressure on her chest she might faint from it.

But at least she remembers.

(…)

Times goes away flying.

It’s been two months, and Catherine haven’t seen Anne.

She almost even prayed to see her again, to hear her voice, a sight of her smirk, but it never comes, all she has is nothing, and three photos of that night. Parr wonders if she moved back to France, if that was why she was crying. If she is alright, writing poetry on a café. If her dress is still white and her choker still wraps around her neck.

Her mind can’t stop missing her.

(…)

“What’s up with that face, Cathy?” Katherine asks, Anna rolls her eyes.

“She has been painfully pinning on this girl for almost four months now, even if they only went out once.”

“Shut up, Anna!” Catherine bickers. “You don’t understand.”

“Keep saying that, is not my fault you dearest Anne Boleyn isn’t anywhere to be found.”

“Wait, what?” The younger’s face is pale, drained from any colour. “What do you mean Anne Boleyn?”

“Do you know her?” Cathy wonders, hopeful. “Look, I have these photos.”

She quickly goes through her gallery, showing the three pictures.

“Where do you get those?” Kat’s voice is panicking, and she is not bothering to hide it.

“Near the river, four months ago, why?”

“Anne was my cousin.”

“Was?” Catherine asks.

“She has been dead for seven years.”

(…)

Catherine can’t process it at first, but then it starts to make sense.

Weird dreams.

Not knowing a show from three years ago.

Pale skin.

Disappearing.

Always cold.

Never blushes.

Is like there is just so much water weight on me, my lungs can’t take the pressure.

Catherine feels sick to her very core, almost as much as she felt when she was with Anne.

(…)

It is the morbid thing to do, but Catherine begs her namesake to take her to Anne’s grave.

The cemetery is cold, rows and rows of grey pieces of stone laying around. The grass is almost as green as Anne eyes, and Catherine has a bouquet of white margarita flowers on her hand.

She wants to believe it is just another dream.

Dreading the moment, they get to stay on front of a grave, which clearly says Anne Boleyn, stating her death on the 19th day, of the fifth months of 2012.

What comes as a surprise is Parr’s jacket sitting on the grave.

“I hope you the best for you too, Anne Boleyn.”

[survivingthejungle]

Little Lies iv.

I LIIIIIIVE

When the rest of the Shelby family had gotten up that morning, it was revealed that they were going down to take care of business with a family called the Golds at a place referred to as ‘Charlie’s yard.’ Your mother and father were adamant about not wanting to be any more associated with their ‘business’ than they already were and Tommy understood. He did, however, point out that with the entire family gone, the three of you were to be alone in the house; therefore he appointed a handful of new Blinder boys to keep watch of the house and the family inside of it (he emphasized that they were to protect the ‘girl’ first, but neither you nor your parents knew that little detail). 

Hours and hours later a handful returned, after having belated Christmas dinner right out in the open. Tommy was still nowhere to be seen and you’d heard in passing that he was likely still at Charlie’s, drunker than hell. In the rain a policeman came knocking on the door, but before it was revealed that he was a policeman Linda came downstairs with a gun in her hand, ready to shoot. You stood at the top of the stairs watching her while your parents were back getting ready for bed.

“Who is it?” she called out.

“Inspector Moss.” She handed the gun to you with instructions to go and put it on her bed. When you came back downstairs she was still at the door and the officer wanted to leave a message for Tommy with her. You hid behind the wall, not wanting to be seen but wanting to hear what he had to say. “The, uh, intelligence officers in London have sent seven officers up to Birmingham… to take over the investigation into the communists and seditionists. They’ve got a list of people of great interest and, uh, top of that list is Ada Thorne, formerly Shelby. Now, they seem to think that she came back from New York to organize a revolution in Birmingham.”

“Well tell them they’re wrong,” Linda corrected him. You didn’t know Ada too well but she was very sweet, even though a little intense. “Ada Shelby’s now firmly back in place in the family business.”

“Thing is, when you get a mark against your name… it’s very hard to shift it. They will come looking for her.”

“Well, tell them there’s a queue; everybody wants a Shelby.”

“Mrs. Shelby,” the officer interrupted, getting clearly bothered by her stance. “These are military men, no less dangerous than any Italians. You tell Tommy. I think he’ll understand.” The officer then wished her a good night and left as she turned her back and shut the door. You stepped down off of the last stair. 

“Is everything alright?” you asked, even though you knew it was not. 

She put on a brave face for you. “Yes, dear, everything’s alright. Just a pesky policeman. Nothing to fret about. Would you like some tea?” she asked, leading you into the kitchen. You took a seat at the table. 

“Yes please.” 

She began filling up the kettle and placed it on the stove. “Better get right to bed after this; a young girl needs her beauty rest.” She smiled maternally at you. You knew that she and Arthur had a son but something about interacting with her gave you the feeling that she desperately wanted a daughter, as well. You also got the feeling that she would find a surrogate daughter in you.

The two of you drank your evening tea in relative silence and you went back up to bed, passing Tommy’s room on the way. You peeked inside; it was empty. Figured, you hadn’t seen anyone come inside. Yet you were still mildly disappointed that he still hadn’t returned. You looked both ways down the hallway to check for anyone who may have seen you. When you realized no one had done so, you crept slowly into his room, shut the door, and curled up under the covers.

You didn’t like knowing that Tommy was out and about somewhere where he may be getting harmed, but being in his room and his bed gave you a sense of comfort. The pillow and the blankets all smelled like him, and that mixed with the gentle warmth of so many covers lulled you off to sleep. 

In the early hours of the morning you became groggily half-aware of your surroundings. There was a dip at the edge of the bed, the sound of someone removing their shoes, and then someone slipping in to bed behind you. “Tommy?” you whispered, almost inaudible.

His hand stroked your head and he wrapped an arm around you over the covers. “Shh, go back to sleep.”

“Okay.”

—

You were awoken at six in the morning, told to be ready by seven, and made to leave at eight. Sometime during the entire morning fiasco you were informed by Tommy that you were to go with him to the factory that day and meet a boy named Bonnie Gold. Strange name, you thought, but figured it was just a British thing you weren’t used to. Your parents had been informed that you were going on an outing because ‘as a young girl, you shouldn’t be expected or forced to stay in a small house all day’, and that ‘you ought to get acquainted with some people your own age’. They gave their blessings and you were off. 

Tommy opened the door for you like a true gentleman, shut it, and got in on the other side before he said anything substantial to you. “You’re not going to the factory to meet Bonnie Gold.” You looked at him quizzically. “You’re coming with me so I can keep an eye on you.”

Your eyes widened slightly and you felt a bit incredulous. “Me? Did I do something wrong?” You couldn’t imagine why he would feel the need to ‘keep an eye’ on you all day unless he thought you’d do something wild.

“Oh, yes; you’re quite the troublemaker,” he smirked and tapped your nose. You scrunched your face and swatted him away. He got more serious as he started the car and began driving. “I’d feel better if I could keep you close all day. Know no one is gonna come after you, then.”

Your heart fluttered and your stomach erupted into butterflies. You said nothing in response, but you did grab his hand, smile sweetly, and place your head on this shoulder.

He let out a heavy breath. “Oh, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

— 

Tommy and the other Blinders who accompanied you into the building were strutting like there was no tomorrow; their eyes were cold and focused and anyone who looked at them could see that no matter what went down— they meant business. You struggled to keep up but managed not to fall too far behind Tommy when a man (who you assumed to be in charge while he was away) approached him. “Mr. Shelby; thank God you’re back. We’ve got real trouble.”

If Tommy was at all fazed by the statement, he didn’t show it. “What meetings do I have today?” he asked, disregarding the information. 

“Um, well, there’s a supplier from Coventry at ten; uh, the convener with the boilermakers unit at eleven, and then Chamber of Commerce at one. But that isn’t the thing--”

Tommy interrupted him. “Right. Clear the space here,” he began, taking out a cigarette and lighting it, “Move this car back, give me a hundred feet of rope and a bell.” You looked at him with knitted brows; what was he planning to do? You couldn’t imagine it had anything to do with his meetings for the day. The gentleman next to him was as confused as you.

“Rope?” he asked, dumbfounded. 

“Yep. And a bell.”

The man couldn’t have it. “Mr. Shelby, this place is about to explode,” he whispered sharply.

Tommy seemingly didn’t care at all. “A rope and a bell, Devlin,” he repeated, taking a drag. He motioned to you and Bonnie, as well as the older man next to him. “Bonnie, (Y/N), this way.” Before you could even register what he’d told the two of you, he was already moving. You did a brisk run-walk to catch up. You walked closely behind him, feeling very intimidated by all of the hard-looking men around you, the loud clang of metal on metal, and the sparks flying from every direction. “There he is, Billy Mills,” Tommy called out, his Brummie accent clearly evident. “Former heavyweight champion: Staffordshire, Warwickshire, and Worcestershire. Hello, Billy,” he greeted the man, who was sweating from the furnace he was working so closely to. 

“Yeah,’ Billy responded. “And now I work for you, Mr. Shelby, for not enough money.”

You began to feel nervous about this encounter. Was it about to get belligerent? You really weren’t in the mood to see two very large, very strong, grown-ass men get into a fight over money. Tommy just looked at him and took another drag. 

Instead of getting angry, he pulled out a wad of cash and held it out to the man. “Right. That enough for you?” Holy shit, you thought, I don’t know much about British currency yet, but that has to be a lot of money. 

Billy was wary of it, and you didn’t blame him at all. “Enough for what?”

“Someone here who wants to fight you,” Tommy told him. “Bonnie Gold. Come here, son.” Bonnie approached the man. “I’m an ‘eavyweight,” Billy warned, gesturing to Bonnie. “He’s a welterweight at best.”

Tommy nor Bonnie much cared about that. “Nevertheless, he wants to fight you.”

“Yeah. And then when I damage him, the Blinders will take my eyes.” Oh, Jesus. That’s graphic. 

Tommy shook his head at the man. “No come-back Billy. Just a fight. Queensbury rules.” You wondered what that meant but kept your mouth shut. He began to walk away and you trailed after him dutifully, like a puppy following its owner. You briefly entertained the idea that that was exactly what your relationship was. Billy then called out to him.

“When?”

“Now!” Tommy yelled back. 

“Where?”

“Here!”

“Tommy?” you asked, voice much quieter than you intended it to be. He slowed his pace a bit and allowed you to walk side-by-side with him, looking down to you. 

“Yes, love?”

“What’s going on?” you finally asked.

“Keep up, little girl,” he poked fun at you; “There’s to be a fight.”

“Yes, I can see that,” you retorted. “But like… why?”

He just winked at you and kept walking. “You’ll see.” The two of you came to stand at the edge of the makeshift boxing ring while Arthur went around placing bets with several of the workers. He then leaned down slightly and spoke quietly into your ear. “For lack of a better term, Bonnie Gold’s going to kick his ass.”

You nudged him with the side of your elbow. “Watch your words,” you joked. He smiled softly (so that his men couldn’t see him show emotion of any kind). The two of you fell into a comfortable silence and you looked up at him once more.

He truly looked like the most beautiful man God had ever created in that moment. He was focused on the action going on within the ring, but you could see the light from outside glint softly in his ocean eyes. He jaw was sharp and set and his lips just looked so lovely…

You wrapped your arms around his and he looked down at you again, very softly. “My men are never gonna respect me again if they think I’ve gone all soft for you,” he warned, but there was a playful tone in his voice. You smiled up at him in response, and lay your head against his arm. You were calm and content in the moment-- then the fight between Bonnie and Billy began. You turned your head against Tommy’s arm, only allowing one eye to peek at the fight. “What,” Tommy teased, “My brave girl’s afraid of a boxing match?” “I just don’t wanna see them kill each other; that’s all,” you defended. 

“They’ll be all right,” he assured, and turned his attention back. 

—

Tommy was right. Bonnie absolutely kicked the man’s ass. By the time the fight was over- which was not long after it began- Billy was laying on the ground with a bloody nose, unconscious. Arthur chucked. “Fuck me. That was a punch.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” you muttered, eyes wide. The two Shelbys laughed at that. Then Bonnie came over to his father and Tommy began to question him. 

“Does he have fits?” “No,” the man answered. 

“Asthma?”

“No.”

“How’s he cut?” Arthur added. 

“Well, no one’s cut him yet, but his skin’s thick.”

“Does he drink?”

“Water. Sometimes.”

“How many fights?”

“Twenty-five, bare knuckle, all knockouts. Five with gloves in pastures, all knockouts.”

“Holy shit!” you exclaimed. Tommy looked at you pointedly; silencing you immediately. “Sorry.”

“Against Romany fighters?” Arthur asked. 

“That’s why they won’t let us in the fairs no more! He keeps winning!”

Bonnie cut in for himself. “I could fight a fucking tree and knock it out, Mr. Shelby.

Devlin, the man from before, approached Tommy just then. “Mrs. Eden is waiting upstairs.” “Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute. Arthur?” he nodded his head and began walking away and you walked with him, unsure of where to be. “Just a minute, love,” he told you, and walked on with Arthur while you stayed put. 

Once he was out of earshot he continued. 

“What was that about?” Arthur asked. 

“She doesn’t need to know this bit. What do you think?” he asked quietly. 

—

The two brothers rejoined you soon enough and walked over to Bonnie and his father, offering him a deal the boy simply couldn’t refuse. The Shelbys would take him on- sponsor him- and in return they would get a good sum of money from all of his winnings. Then Tommy was on to his meeting with the woman Eden and left you in Arthur’s charge. “What was I not allowed to hear about?” you asked him.

“Oh, nothin’ important,” he mused, not making eye contact. “Just business talk is all. Nothin’ you need to worry your little ‘ead about. Now, c’mon,” he gestured, leading you outside of the factory, “How about we get ourselves some food to eat?”

—

Later that afternoon, when you and Arthur had returned from lunch, the factory was completely empty. “Where is everyone?” you asked. 

He grumbled. “Out on fucking strike,” he responded. “Fucking hell.” He turned to you. “Go on up to Tommy’s office. He should be there. Jessie Eden’s gone by now.”

“Okay. Bye, Arthur. Thank you for lunch.” He gave you a small smile and a curt nod and you were on your way. You knocked on the door to Tommy’s office and waited for him to answer. 

“Come in!” he called. Once he saw you his gaze softened. “Ah, there’s my little bird.” You smiled and headed over to him. He had stood up by now and embraced you warmly. “Did you behave yourself?”

“Yes, Tommy,” you promised, and he kissed the top of your head in response. 

“Good girl. Give me a minute and we can go take a walk outside for a bit.” Another knock on the door. “Yeah, come in.” It was Devlin again. 

“I did say this would happen,” he pointed to the window. Tommy ignored that.

“Who’s next?”

“Um, he’s a, a delegate from the European Council for Trade. He’s here to talk about the import of car parts to France.” “Right.”

“He’s come all the way from Paris… But, given the circumstances, I could send him away?”

Tommy considered it for a moment before responding. “Given what circumstances? Send him in.” Devlin nodded and left. 

“Tommy?” you asked. “Should I go?”

He shook his head no. “Not at all, love. You’re free to stay right here.” Then the door opened again and Devlin introduced the man he was to meet. 

“Mr. Shelby, this is Monsieur Paz from Paris.” Tommy stared at ‘Paz’ blankly, as if trying to decide if he recognized the man or not. Then Devlin left and the man spoke. 

“I heard you had trouble,” he began, in an accent that was clearly from New York. “It’s good of you to see me.” He looked at you. “Now, I don’t believe I know who this is?” He glanced from you to Tommy. You looked to Tommy, silently pleading for instruction. His face was stone cold and he showed no signs of emotion whatsoever. 

“(Y/N). Why don’t you wait just outside,” he quietly suggested. You took the bait and ran. 

“Yes, Tommy.” Speeding past the sketchy man, you uttered a ‘pardon’. 

“Good afternoon to you, miss,” he drawled, completely unaffected by the tense air in the room.

—

“... Ada Thorne, (Y/N) (Y/L/N), and finally… Tommy Shelby.” Luca Changretta placed the final bullet from Tommy’s empty gun onto the table. “None of you will survive,” he threatened as he stood up. “Your level of security is pitiful,” he added, looking out the window at you. “And we are an organization of a different dimension. I could’ve killed you when I walked through that door… You and your girl. But you see… I want you to be last. I want you to be alive after your entire family is dead; ‘cause my mother says that is what’ll hurt you the most.

“Your people have traditions of honor. As do we." He lifted up a blind from the window and looked out at you again. “Instead of sending you a black hand, I could’ve had you killed in the night. You don’t know why… But I want you to know why. And I wanna suggest to you, that we fight this… vendetta, with honor.”

Tommy, looking pissed as all hell, places his emptied gun down on the table. “No civilians,” he began, “No children. And not the girl. She’s not involved in this.”

“No police,” Luca added, as if he were suggesting something thoughtful. “Girl seems to me to be pretty involved, if you understand what I’m saying to you,” he smirked. Tommy ignored the snide remark and continued. 

“Welcome to Birmingham, Mr. Changretta.”

“Grazie.”

[inkabelledesigns]

So the time has finally come to unveil one of my favorite prompts from Demon-th, Crossover! I hope you enjoy part one of my short fic, Too Many Eyes, now with 20% more cinnamon. Here’s the A03 link, but under the cut, I’ll have the story here for the rest of you to enjoy. (Don’t be fooled on A03 though, it says one chapter, but there’s another coming before the end of the year) 

Summary: When one Joey Drew finds another, it can be a joyous occasion, but not every Joey is made of sunshine and rainbows, especially when power is at stake. What will become of a fusion when a dastardly old coot tries to pry at their secrets? 

Credits at the beginning because darn it these peeps deserve recognition!

Characters Included:

Briefly Alluded to: 

Edward @metallicartist

Magenta (Chestnut) @halfusek

Algernon @wolfheart7snow

Joy @obscurelog

Snowy, Ana, and Joy, (Frosty) @aceofintuition

Gingie and Baby Linda, (Cinnamon and Frosty) @pipesflowforeverandever

Hyde, Mary Jane, and Ivy, (Cinnamon, Chestnut, and Frosty) @startistdoodles

Giuseppe, Bella, Eliza Stein, and Belphene me, @inkabelledesigns

Sammy Lawrence, Henry Stein, Bertrum Piedmont, and Joey Drew all belong to Kindly Beast as part of the Bendy and the Ink Machine property. I do not own these characters, but this fiction does include them and my interpretations of them. 

Joey Drew was a name shared by many universes. Some were kind and made honest mistakes, while others had hearts darker than the blackest of ink. But then you had cases that fell between the extremes, painted in shades of gray, and those were the cases that often found each other. For where there is a Joey Drew, there will always be a cat-like curiosity, an interest that often spirals into obsession. Such is the case with our fellow here today. 

It started as an innocent slip of the tongue. The demon known as Belphene has been chatting with her contractor, just casual talk after a long business meeting, when she said “I’m grateful that you’re my Joey.” Never once had she considered that he would inquire about the realms beyond his own. He had everything he could ever want in this one, what more could he desire? That was the day Giuseppe Drew learned just what kinds of worlds existed outside of the reality he crafted.

It turned out there was a plethora of worlds to explore, all equipped with a chap that shared his proud name. And stranger still was just how aware they were! Some crossed into each other’s realms all the time, for silly things as well as serious ones. And stranger than that: they were friends. It sounded awfully narcissistic to be friends with yourself, but they were all so different, so colorful and inspired, that maybe it wasn’t so self-involved. Giuseppe had many reasons to fear and admire them. From the raw intensity of Edward’s aura to the soft and gentle joy in Polaris' smile, there was something beautiful in all of them. But one trio caught his attention, one that seemingly feared no consequences when it came to the untapped potential of magic. 

Yes, of course it had to start with a spirit as bright as Gingie’s. Giuseppe had always been attracted to bright lights. Like a moth drawn to flames, he set his sights on the elder, curious. Where did his childlike wonder come from, how was it that he was so magical, so mystifying? Many a time, he considered inviting his apprentice to watch with him, sharing such visage with a young mind ought to be good for them. But he had never been good at sharing. Of course, he had a rationale, saying he’d let Bella taste true magic soon enough, once they were out of his hellscape of a studio. But alas, would it ever be true? From his ancient office, he pondered such possibilities, watching lives much happier than his own. He saw so much love and spirit in the pumpkin haired fellow, so much happiness that it threatened to burst right through his heart. If a man like Gingie could be happy, surely so could he. Surely so could his family, couldn’t they?

Giuseppe took great pleasure in watching him, especially when Snowy or Hyde were around. A very strange family they were, but between loving spouses, lovely sons and daughters, and their hearty circle of friends, it was better than anything a television station could hope to air. Through the looking glass on his desk, a stolen monocle from the great Bertrum Piedmont, he spied on everyone’s antics without making so much as a peep, no different than when he watched his prisoners. It was as though he were reading a book by a genius author, he felt a connection, like he was beginning to understand them as people, even though he’d never uttered so much as a word to them. From Magenta’s dark duality to Hyde’s grieving heart over his sick sunshines, from Snowy’s bravery and style to Algernon’s frozen soul, all the way to Joy’s ever-shifting emotions. He saw their tears, their hope, their pain, and yet something was missing. Something intimate he had not earned. For while Giuseppe thought he knew them, he could only see the surface. No different than within his studio, he couldn’t search the depths, he couldn’t see what they did not reveal. 

And as to be expected from a man named Joey Drew, the more he saw happiness, the more envious he became, the more he wanted to make it his. He was jealous of just how deep their ties were. Never in his years had he felt such comradery, such a sense of family, not since his childhood days climbing trees with little Henry Stein. Some days he yearned to reveal himself, but how could he? A first impression was difficult to form, how could he make a good one when there was so much resting on his conscience? No, they’d never want him, they couldn’t understand why he’d done what he’d done, and there was no way he could hide it from them. If his own family couldn’t love him, then how could they? He’d tried so desperately to get Eliza and Bella back by his side, away from the monsters he made, but they wouldn’t return, they ran away. They were so dead set on freeing his former staff from the curse he’d placed on them. Foolish children, why wouldn’t they listen? Why didn’t they understand that there were sins for the monsters to atone for?

Then, just like a cartoon’s script, a glimmer of hope was found. It wasn’t until he saw Minty that he knew what must be done. It was him that helped him to theorize how to truly understand another. At first he’d only heard the strange name in passing, spying on the ginger-haired grandfather as he recalled such events in his journal. But eventually, he witnessed fusion for himself. And boy was it a secret to be in on! So many possibilities filled his mind the more he saw, from the bumbling Chestnut to Frosty and his overzealous amount of limbs. But no matter his watching, he couldn’t decipher the spells that merged these men together. Fate seemed to block them from view. Of course he wanted to know how it was done, fusion seemed to be the ultimate partnership. Perhaps it could be the key to getting back his legacy, his progeny. Lawrence and the others caused his daughters’ trust to slip, their view of him to change. He had to stop it before he lost his chance for good, or else he’d never be able to take back what had rightfully been his. So like any good storyteller, he hatched himself a plan, a devious, ethically questionable plan. His watching shifted, as did his empathy, from entertainment to observation. And like any good scientist, he recorded every detail that mattered, until he deduced the best candidate to give him the answers: Cinnamon.

Gingie and Hyde were an unlikely pair. What made them merge together was still unclear, but on the rare occasion they did, it was dreamlike. Gingie had even gone to the trouble of starting a small garden just for them, a quiet place to talk and bond as they tended to the blooms and spices. Sometimes, Giuseppe caught Cinnamon babysitting for Snowy and Ana, always a relaxing experience. Cinnamon brought the best out of both men and put it together like a nicely decorated cake, or maybe snickerdoodles in this case. They had tenderness, a side Hyde wasn’t usually quick to reveal. The fusion was so gentle, acting as if the world was glass, and one misstep would break it. It was like he feared what he was capable of. In some ways, it brought out the heavy heart in both of them, fears of repeating past mistakes. No one would dare call them insecure, but uncomfortable seemed to be accurate. For beneath their frilly bows and ruffles, they danced with demons, demons who knew all too well how to lead a tango. Giuseppe could relate. He didn’t feel remorse often, but when he did, it hit like a brick to the face.

It was this shared vulnerability that made Cinnamon perfect for his needs. Joey kept an eye out, always waiting for a time to get them alone. After all, he wouldn’t dare drag anyone else into this. There was no way he would let Snowy come to their rescue, nor would he let harm come to the children they cared for. As heartless as he may have seemed, even Giuseppe had standards. Though since children were clearly the key to a father’s heart, then perhaps they could help him. After all, the other path to someone’s heart is through their stomach.

It was a peaceful evening in the Drew household. Snowy and Ana had gone out for the night, while Hyde and Gingie had volunteered to babysit. After all, Mary Jane and Ivy would never pass up on a sleepover with Joy. Even baby Linda had fun when they were together. The girls could be trouble though, especially with the mischief Ivy liked to cause. So naturally, it took a super parent to keep things under control, certainly a good reason to join together. Cinnamon was the perfect guest for dress-up and tea parties, and he was equally loved by all the daughters. They had a grand old time playing and baking as he helped them to make a tollhouse pie that night. 

But as all good things must come to an end, the girls eventually had to go to bed. After reading stories and singing lullabies, four little heads were tucked in tightly, a tender kiss left upon each brow. Cinnamon made his way back down the stairs, cotton candy swirls of sparkles trailed behind him to keep their dreams sweet. Like a sorcerer, he conducted with his hands and cleaned up the mess from all their fun, sweeping away spilled flour and loose chocolate chips. He crossed over to the kitchen’s kettle and smiled to himself as he brewed his favorite tea. So many lovely thoughts filled his head, his three eyes threatened to burst with joyful tears. How grateful he was, to have so much love in his life. He stood there lost in thought until the whistle of the kettle pulled him back to reality. He poured the hot water into his favorite teacup and proceeded to cut himself another piece of pie. Content, he walked over to the living room and laid back in the cozy recliner, much too small to accommodate his height. He sighed dreamily, content with their evening and ready to enjoy the fruits of their labor. He savored every last bite of that scrumptious pie. The girls had doubled the sugar when he wasn’t looking, which made it terribly grainy, but oh so sweet on the fusion’s tongue. 

Though speaking of not looking, there was something amiss that failed to catch his attention. The earlier chaos in the kitchen had too many cooks around, making it difficult to notice the appearance of another. Belphene had invaded undetected to share a little extra in their recipe. It wasn’t a bad ingredient by any means, just a few drops of sleep elixir. Nothing lethal, she wouldn’t dare, just enough to make sure no one woke up before the time was right. 

Clearly, the time had come. No sooner had he finished dessert, poor Cinnamon fell into a deep slumber. While visions of sugarplums danced in his head, a dark curtain hung itself over the room. An inky void slowly opened in the corner, letting a smog slip above the carpet. The demoness manifested as quietly as a mouse, mindful not to disturb any of Snowy’s interior decorating. She set her sights on the three-eyed man, her own eyes glowing softly in the darkness. Even in her regret, she was graceful, gliding soundlessly across the floor she picked them up and carried them off like a bride to a happily ever after. 

If only that were their destination.

On the other side of the void, an old man tapped his foot to the ticking of the Bendy clock on his wall. His grin shone brightly under the low lights, anticipating his lovely Belphene’s return. Sure enough, she was prompt to arrive, her precious cargo snoozing away as she entered. Belphene wore a smile for Mr. Drew, carrying Cinnamon to the secret room within the office: the prison cell. Usually, it was reserved for the worst outliers in his twisted little world, but he was happy to relocate them in favor of his most treasured guest. Yes, Mr. Cinnamon would get the V.I.P. treatment, Mr. Drew was sure of that.

Once his limbs were secured to the wall, Cinnamon was left to rest for a little while longer. That part of the task was in Joey’s hands now. Belphene scurried off. She had other things to attend to. After all, it would be awfully irresponsible to leave the children without a babysitter. 

Cinnamon didn’t know where they were when they awoke. Two minds were groggy and troubled as they gained consciousness in their predicament. But the minute they felt the chains that held them back, the fight for freedom began.

Thank you for reading all the way through! So glad you made it to the end. I hope you enjoyed it, and if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, please let me know! It always brightens my day to hear your thoughts! Hope you have a wonderful day! 

[9storymediagroup]

Creator Profile - Joe Murray, Luna Around The World

We are thrilled to announce the news that 9 Story is in production on the exciting new animated series Luna Around The World for PBS Kids, created by Emmy-award winning animator, writer and artist Joe Murray (Rocko’s Modern Life, Camp Lazlo).

This new multiplatform series will debut across the U.S. in fall 2018 on PBS stations, the new 24/7 PBS KIDS channel and PBS KIDS digital platforms. With a social studies curriculum, Luna Around The World will encourage kids ages 4-7 to explore and appreciate cultures from all over the world, and build global citizenship and social skills.

We chatted with creator Joe Murray, about how this exciting new series came to be, and had him shine some more “moonlight” on what we can expect from the characters and stories of this wonderful new show.

Let’s dive right in… 

1. How did you come up with the concept for Luna? (The show’s origins story) 

Linda Simensky (VP of Children’s Programming, PBS KIDS) and I had been in conversations about doing a show for PBS for a while and I had some kid characters I was doodling around with. Linda mentioned that they were looking for a show that was geographic, which I loved and latched onto.

I love to travel, so I came up with a show about three kids traveling around with a Cirque du Soleil type circus, learning about different cultures as they go. But I felt they needed someone with them who knew the culture and their way around. Someone they felt safe with, but was not a parent. I thought “who would know every culture and every place they went? Then I thought, why not the moon? She knows everyone and everyone knows her. It is the same moon for everyone in the world. She became friends with the kids and joins them on of their adventures

2. What do you hope the show will give to kids? 

A sense of their global community. A sense that there are other people who are similar and yet different out there. And also that what we do, how we live can affect others that live in other places. Global stewardship. Wetting their curiosity and starting a conversation about the world outside their door, and how amazing it is.

3. The main cast is comprised of Leo, a wombat from Australia, Carmen, a butterfly from Mexico, and Andy, a frog from the U.S.  Why did you choose animals and insects for the cast of main characters? And any reasoning for those animals specifically? 

Well, I sort of have a long history of doing animated shows with animals. I like that you can represent certain human traits and such with animals without needing to bring other details into the picture. I wanted a character from Australia, so I chose a wombat. I wanted a girl from Mexico, and the monarch butterflies are so beautiful there, I thought that was a natural. And I love doing frogs, so an American frog seemed right to me. 

4. And let not forget about Luna? What is her role in the story? And what makes her glow? (or what is her story?) 

Her role is very important. She becomes the ambassador to all of the countries the kids visit. She’s a big sister type, some Mary Poppins to her. She likes to steer the kids into learning experiences, but does not force it on them. Lets them learn things for themselves. Of course, she has been around forever and knows everyone, but she also has a weakness for dancing and sometimes spins comically out of control, and gets stuck in doorways. 

5. On to Circo Fabuloso, the travelling performance troupe, that takes our main characters all over the world – What makes it so fabulous-o?

The characters of the circo not only give the kids a familiar home base, but also a lot of comedy. The characters all have their circo talents but are all somewhat eccentric, for example:

Señor Fabuloso is the passionate leader of the circo, very dramatic and always intent on putting on a good show wherever they are.

Hockbar keeps the show running on time, but also keeps an eye on the kids when their parents (who all work in the circo) are busy.

My intent for the characters of the Circo Fabuloso was to have a fun place to book end the more curriculum heavy trips into the city where they are. Lots of slapstick keeps the entertainment coming.

6. How would you describe the look and feel of Luna?

The characters of Luna look pretty similar to my other shows (very different from other PBS shows), but I needed the backgrounds and color to reflect the actual locations and architecture of the places we were visiting while giving it a stylized feel. I started looking into travel posters and combined those with the dry brush type style of Mary Blair (Disney’s small world and development artist). I also like a lot of negative space, giving the characters and the audience a chance to breath.

7. Were you inspired by anyone or anything in particular when coming up with the show design?

Yes, as I said Mary Blair was a big inspiration. She has a playful quality to her work, and her style is associated with the international theme through “Small World”. There were many designers of those iconic travel posters of the 40’s and 50’s when Americans took to the road and skies to discover new lands. I wanted to capture that energy.

8. Was it challenging balancing the social studies curriculum component of the show with the character driven comedy element? Like did it make the writing of episodes trickier in any way?

Yes. Also, going from an age demographic of 6 to 11 down to 4 to 7 has been a challenge, but I think we are doing it. I’m very passionate about the curriculum, but it is a challenge to weave an entertaining and funny story throughout a small lesson on culture and geography. We feel strongly that it’s an important conversation to start with young kids, but also know they want to be entertained. It’s a difficult show to do. We have to wear many hats, from entertainers to researchers, to make sure the information we are providing is correct and factual. We visit 20 different cities with 4 different aspects of each city. We have an anthropologist on staff who works closely with our writers and storyboard artists to make sure we remain strong to our commitment of accuracy and entertainment.

9. And last question, what do you think makes Luna Around The World unique from other shows airing today?

The curriculum of the show is really a moving target, so we are constantly updating the locations where we are. It’s not like other shows where 4 + 4 will always be 8. But our show is the first for PBS that is storyboard driven. Meaning, we don’t go by scripts. We start from an outline of a rough story and storyboard it out to tell the story more visually, which in my opinion adds to the humor. The characters are also more driven in their personalities than many kids shows for this demographic. No doubt it will push some comfort zones, but when I watch my 4 year old son openly laugh at certain cartoons he watches, I want my show to do that, and give a spark to learning about our world.

For the official Luna Around The World press release click here!

And learn more about Joe Murray here!

[searchingwardrobes]

Start of Time: 5/9

Yes, the chapter count increased. This chapter passed the 4k mark, and I still had a chunk outlined, so I just decided to stop here and add a chapter.

Just reminding everyone once again that Wendy is the name Emma is going by right now because she doesn't remember who she is.

Summary: Killian and his son are driving through a bad snow storm when they find a disoriented woman walking down the road. The question is, how can they help her get home when she has no idea who she is? Written for @teamhook​​​​ on her birthday.

Rating: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals:  @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @welllpthisishappening​ @xhookswenchx​ @let-it-raines​ @winterbaby89​ @teamhook​ @bethacaciakay​ @scientificapricot​ @shireness-says​ @spartanguard​​ @thislassishooked​​ @profdanglaisstuff​​ @sherlockianwhovian​​ @superchocovian​​ @ekr032-blog-blog​​ @kday426​​ @optomisticgirl​​ @wellhellotragic​​ @tiganasummertree​​ @jennjenn615​​ @branlovestowrite​​ @vvbooklady1256​​ @hollyethecurious​​ @distant-rose​ @stahlop​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @ultraluckycatnd​​  @snidgetsafan​​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​​ @nikkiemms​​ @ohmakemeahercules​​ @lfh1226-linda​

Chapter Five

Graham Humbert, sheriff of Storybrooke, towered over Wendy, jotting things down in a pocket-size notebook. His eyes were actually kind, though he never smiled, and his accented voice was calming. Yet his presence seemed to fill the room and command it, making Wendy a little nervous. She rubbed her palms up and down her thighs.

“Do you remember what kind of vehicle you were traveling in?”

Wendy shook her head. Graham tapped on his notebook with the eraser of his pencil, his brow furrowing.

“Were you driving or were you a passenger?”

She let out a frustrated breath. “I can’t remember!”

Graham glanced at Killian, and the two men seemed to share something unspoken. The sheriff pulled over the ottoman and sat down across from her. Oh, so that’s what the look had been. They thought she was fragile. Her will bucked against the idea, and she straightened her spine.

“Have you had any flashes of memory? It could be anything - a color, a smell, a sensation. Nothing is too small. You never know what might prove helpful.”

Wendy narrowed her eyes as she thought. “Everytime I close my eyes, all I see is white. Sometimes I wake up from a nightmare, but all I remember are the sounds: breaking glass and my own screams.”

“It sounds like she was in a car accident,” Killian said.

Graham frowned as he scribbled again in his notebook, though what help those details could ever be she wasn’t sure. “Or there could have been foul play. Breaking glass and screams could be a lot of things.”

His words sent a slice of fear through her. “I don’t remember anyone else but me,” she hastened to add, if only to put aside her own fears. “I don’t remember anyone at all . . . even . . . before,“ the last was almost a whisper.

“Everyone has someone,” Graham assured her with a small, encouraging smile.

Wendy bit her bottom lip. “Do they?”

Graham glanced away and pocketed his notebook as he rose. “We haven’t found any vehicles yet, but if you drove off the road and into a ditch, the storm would have buried it in feet of snow. The weather’s promising, though, so we’ll keep an eye out.” The sheriff’s gaze shifted to the other man in the room. “Do you think she may remember anything new during your exam?”

Dr. Victor Whale scoffed as he pushed himself away from the fireplace mantel. While the sheriff had a calm and friendly demeanor, the doctor was the complete opposite. Wendy could clearly see why Killian had apologetically told her this morning at breakfast, “I’m sorry, but he’s the only doctor in town.”

“I’m not a miracle worker, Humbert,” Dr. Whale snapped as he sat on the vacated ottoman across from Wendy, “there’s little I can do for her here. Killian needs to bring her in for an MRI.”

“She is sitting right in front of you,” Wendy snapped. “I’m not five. I hate when male doctors talk about their patients instead of to them.”

Whale’s brows rose in surprise, and behind him, Killian and Graham both snorted with laughter. From the stairwell, a small voice backed Wendy up.

“Yeah! And kids don’t like it either, Dr. Whale! You always ask Papa the questions ‘stead of askin’ me!”

“Alice Milah Jones,” Killian scolded as he turned to where his daughter was hiding behind the railing of the stairs, “I thought I told you to go play.”

“It’s too cold.”

Killian sighed. “Then play in your room.”

“Fine,” Alice grumbled as she stomped back upstairs.

Killian gave Wendy an apologetic shrug, but she merely laughed. Alice was too much fun, far too honest, and frankly the only one who never treated Wendy like she might break.

“If I may do my job now?” Dr. Whale asked. At least he was directing the question at Wendy now, and not the men behind him. She nodded.

He first shone a light in her eyes and asked her to look first right and then left. He felt the bump on her head, which thankfully no longer throbbed. He then pulled her hair back at the temple to examine the cut which had now scabbed over.

“Are you having any headaches?”

“Some, but not like at first. I mostly get them when I’m trying to remember something.”

Whale nodded as he put his stethoscope into his ears and pressed the end to her heart. He told her to breathe in and out. She always wondered if doctors really needed to use those things as often as they did or if it was merely for show. What did a bump on her head have to do with her heartbeat?

“And she - “ Whale started to turn and ask Killian the question, but he caught himself and turned back to Wendy. “And you passed out?”

She nodded.

“Hmmm . . . it definitely sounds like a concussion. Temporary memory loss isn’t unheard of, but it isn’t as common as they make it sound in the movies. It doesn’t usually last this long either.”

Wendy swallowed nervously. “What are you trying to say? That I’ll never get my memory back?”

Whale seemed to hesitate. “I can’t say anything definitive until I do an MRI. If you could come into Storybrooke General as soon as possible, we’ll get you looked at.” He jotted something down on a prescription pad, then tore it off and handed it to her. “Call this number and Astrid in neurology will get you scheduled. When I get to the hospital today, I’ll tell her to be expecting you.”

“Wow, um . . . thanks.”

Whale grinned as he slung his stethoscope back around his neck. “Benefits of small town health care - personal treatment.”

The way he grinned and lingered on the word “personal” made Wendy’s skin crawl. It wasn’t lost on Kilian either, who clapped a heavy hand on Whale’s shoulder and gave the man a tiny shove.

“I’ll take her myself.”

Wendy tried not to giggle at the way his jaw clenched and his blue eyes flashed. He was cute when he was jealous.

“Okay,” Whale answered Killian, never taking his gaze off Wendy. Oh, so now he was going to be the attentive doctor. She refrained from rolling her eyes.

Killian walked the men to the door and told them goodbye along with the back slaps and promises to grab a beer like most longtime friends in a small town. Wendy knew she should have been more polite, but she was so drained all she could do was collapse into the large comfortable chair. The laptop perched on the edge of the coffee table mocked her. They still didn’t have wifi.

The door shut, and Killian came back into the room. He had a tentative expression on his face. “So . . . what are you thinking?”

She blew a strand of hair out of her face and then slumped even lower in the chair. “I’m thinking that an MRI sounds awfully serious.”

He sank down onto the same ottoman that the other two men had perched on. Yet Killian’s nearness brought comfort instead of awkwardness and nerves. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together. She waited for him to say the same things he’d been saying for the past five days: Someone out there is looking for you, I’m sure of it. You’ll remember soon, just give it time. Don’t be so hard on yourself, love . . .

Instead he gave her a lopsided grin. “Henry and Alice have been begging to make chocolate chip cookies. Wanna help?”

“You had me at chocolate.”

****************************************************

It had been six days since Killian brought Wendy home, and she was beginning to go stir crazy. They had taken several rides in the past few days on the snowmobile, and Wendy had met several more farming families in the area. Yet none of them knew who she was. She’d helped Henry shovel the walk and salt it, had helped Killian bake an obscene amount of cookies, and had met every member of Alice’s menagerie. She had even made a huge dent in the stack of books the kids had loaned her. Every moment had been wonderful, but Wendy couldn’t relax and fully enjoy any of it. Not when these thoughts nagged at the back of her mind, only to slip away like mist just when she was about to pin them down.

There was still no wifi, so Wendy also still couldn’t search the web for missing persons matching her description. Graham hadn’t seen any bulletins that fit her description, either, but she still wanted to try. Liam narrowed his eyes when she brought it up at dinner that night.

“Now that you mention it, a young woman your age, with your good looks, you’d think it would be all over the news that you’re missing.”

“Liam,” Killian gasped exaggeratedly as he spooned mashed potatoes onto his plate, “are you hitting on Wendy?”

“I’m making an objective observation,” Liam scowled.

“Does he ever take a joke?” Wendy laughed as Killian winked at her.

“Rarely,” Killian quipped.

“We don’t got tv right now, Uncle Liam,” Alice put in around a mouthful of chicken.

“We don’t have tv right now,” Killian corrected on autopilot.

“But Uncle Liam’s right,” Henry said, “if a missing woman was on the news, Sheriff Graham would have known about it.”

Killian’s brow furrowed. “That’s a good point, I have to admit.”

“Maybe your family, or your friends, or whatever, haven’t noticed you’re missing yet,” Alice suggested.

Henry rolled his eyes. “That’s dumb. How would they not notice?”

“We don’t call people dumb,” Killian admonished.

“I didn’t say she was dumb,” Henry argued.

“Maybe she ran away to play pretend,” Alice continued, oblivious to her brother’s insult, “cause everyone was bossing her. Like when I hide from Henry.”

“I’m not bossy!” Henry shot back. Alice responded by sticking out her tongue.

For her part, Wendy suddenly found her mound of mashed potatoes fascinating. She couldn’t bear to see the continued suspicion in Liam’s eyes or the pity in Killian’s. Was Alice right? Was she running away from something? Who the hell was she if no one had reported her missing?

***************************************************

“I have to get out, or I’m going to go insane!”

Killian’s brows jumped to his hairline, and his hands paused as they scooped scrambled eggs onto Wendy’s plate the next morning.

“Me too!” Alice proclaimed, slamming her palm down on the kitchen island. Wendy gave the little girl a nod of commiseration, and Killian laughed.

“The roads should be clear by now,” he told them as he sat down before his own breakfast. “How about we all head to town today?”

The kids cheered, and Wendy smiled. Henry’s face quickly turned to a frown, however.

“You know what that means,” he told his sister, “school will start again on Monday.”

“Yay!” Alice cheered, brandishing her spoon. “I missed school.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “You won’t when you start doing fractions.”

“I like fractions.”

“You don’t even know what they are.”

“Do too!”

Killian sighed and Wendy laughed at his woebegone expression.

“I think I might go mad myself,” Killian told her.

“We’re all mad here, Papa!” Alice crowed with delight.

“Alice in Wonderland,” Wendy exclaimed, proud that she knew the quote.

“Yes indeed,” Killian confirmed, bopping his daughter on the nose, “and things definitely get curiouser and curiouser with these two around 24/7.”

Henry groaned at the dad joke, and Alice giggled. Killian turned to Wendy, his expression turning serious.

“And if we’re going into town, you need that MRI.”

**********************************************

Storybrooke General was a small, one story building only a block from the town’s quaint court square. Killian pulled his truck into a parking space, and turned to look at Wendy with concern.

“You sure you don’t want me coming with you?”

No, I’m terrified. Wendy pressed the thought back and gave a firm nod of her head. “I’m sure. You’ve got the kids with you, and I’m sure they’ll be bored.”

“Nuh-uh,” Alice objected, popping up between them from the back seat of the extended cab. “I wanna see Wendy’s brain.”

“How long have you been out of your seat belt?” Killian asked in alarm.

“Just now,” Alice answered glibly, her gaze still on Wendy. “Does it hurt when they look in your brain?”

Wendy swallowed nervously. “I don’t think so.”

Killian took her hand. “It will be fine, but if you’d like me to stay with you -”

“No really, you go ahead. The kids don’t want to be cooped up in a hospital waiting room.” Wendy turned to Alice before the girl could protest. “They won’t let you see my brain.”

Alice collapsed next to her brother with a pout on her face. “That sucks.”

“All you’d see is gray mush anyways,” Henry muttered, his eyes glued to a handheld video game.

“Gray mush sounds awesome!”

Killian shrugged his shoulders at Wendy sheepishly, but she only laughed. The kids had been such a wonderful, hilarious distraction during this entire ordeal, and they were quickly worming their way into her heart.

“And you’ll be okay walking to Granny’s from here?” he asked.

Wendy nodded. “Yep. It’s one block that way,” she turned and pointed out the window.

Killian handed her a small, simple phone. “This is the kids’ emergency phone. It only has four numbers saved in it: mine, Liam’s, David’s, and Mary Margaret’s. Just call me if you need me to come pick you up instead.” He paused, still not relinquishing the phone. “Or if it takes longer than expected . . . or if you’re upset . . . or -”

“I get it,” Wendy laughed, tugging the phone out of his hand, “use the phone if I need you for anything at all.”

“Exactly.”

“But Killian, I really will be fine. I may not remember anything about my life, but I do know one thing deep in my gut - I can take care of myself. Not that I don’t appreciate everything you’ve done, believe me, but I can handle a simple doctor’s appointment. Seriously.”

Killian let out a long breath and nodded. “I know. You’re right.”

“See you soon,” she told him and the kids as she opened the car door, infusing cheeriness she didn’t really feel into her voice. Killian didn’t pull out of the parking space until she reached the door and had turned to wave at him one last time.

***********************************************

The walk to Granny’s did Wendy good, despite the sharp cold still in the air. The sun was bright nevertheless, and the wind that bit at her cheeks and tugged at her hair was a welcome distraction from the disappointment that was the MRI. She was expecting to get some answers today, but after they slid her out of that contraption that felt far too much like a coffin, all the tech had said was “we’ll call you with the results in the next 24 hours.”

Wendy sighed as she wrapped her arms tighter around herself in defense against the cold. She’d snapped at the poor woman.

“Are you serious? I thought you were a trained technician! You can’t look at the pictures and tell me one damn thing? This is shit!”

Not Wendy’s finest moment, to be sure. (At least, as far as memory served - ha!) The tech had reacted calmly to her outburst, explaining that Dr. Whale would want to look at the MRI for himself before anything was relayed to the patient. So here she was, still with no answers.

Wendy turned a corner and smiled when she saw Granny’s diner - a quaint establishment with a retro vibe. The small patio out front was currently out of use - it’s chairs and tables still piled with a bit of snow from the storm. Wendy could imagine how nice the outdoor dining would be during the spring, and she thought wistfully that she would like to be here to see it. She shrugged out of her coat as she walked through the door, a small bell above her head jingling. She saw Henry and Alice on the other side of the restaurant, arguing over a song to play on the jukebox. Wendy’s eyes scanned the room, and her heart plummeted when she saw Killian in a corner booth.

He wasn’t alone. Sitting next to him - very closely, Wendy noted - was a redhead in a tight-fitting green silk blouse with a plunging neckline. Killian’s head was down, and she noted that the tips of his ears were red. The red head laughed, flipping her hair off one shoulder, then leaned over to place a lingering kiss on Killian’s cheek. Wendy spun away to hang her coat up on the rack by the door, unable to watch the couple any longer. Anger surged up in her at Liam Jones. If he didn’t want Wendy causing problems between Killian and this woman he was seeing, then why the hell didn’t he just say so?

Wendy shut her eyes tightly as another emotion rolled over the first. Jealousy - which was ridiculous. Killian was merely being kind to a lost stranger. He had made no moves on Wendy, had promised her nothing. His relationship with this redhead was something he was under no obligation to share with a person he had only known for six days.

“Wendy!”

She turned at the sound of the children’s voices as they rushed over to her. Killian quickly extricated himself from the limbs of his - girlfriend? - and hurried over with an eager smile on his face.

“Papa, she’s here, can we get milkshakes now?”

“Lunch first, Alice,” Killian replied automatically, his eyes never leaving Wendy’s. “Well, how did it go?”

He placed his hand at the small of her back to guide her towards their booth, and the small contact sent heat skittering up her spine. The physical reaction plunged her into immediate guilt when her eyes landed on the redhead. The woman narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips as she crossed her arms over her ample chest.

“Well, there’s nothing to tell. They said they’d call with the results in 24 hours.”

“Hm,” Killian replied, his face falling, “that’s too bad, I know that -”

“Killian, dear,” the woman purred, “is this the stray you’ve been telling me about?”

Killian’s brow furrowed and his jaw clenched. Wendy wasn’t sure if he was frustrated with his girlfriend or the situation.

“I’m Wendy,” she said, holding a hand out to the redhead in hopes of cutting through the awkward moment.

“Zelena,” the other woman replied, taking Wendy’s hand as she slid from the booth. It was all she said to her, dropping her hand almost immediately to turn to Killian and place a perfectly manicured hand on his chest. Over Killian’s shoulder, Wendy saw Henry make a gagging motion with his finger in his mouth while Alice rolled her eyes. Wendy pressed her fingers to her lips to prevent herself from laughing.

“Killian, dear, I have to go,” she told him in a pouting voice.

Killian swallowed hard. “Oh - um, okay.”

“Bye!” Zelena told everyone in a bright voice, wriggling her fingers at everyone.

Wendy gave Killian a pointed look after the woman breezed out, but all he did was duck his head, palm the back of his neck, and loudly clear his throat.

“So, burgers and fries all around, huh?”

The kids cheered, and the mysterious Zelena was soon forgotten. Mostly. Wendy’s mind kept going back to her and the way she’d run her fingers lightly over Killian’s chest. Granny’s grilled cheese and onion rings were amazing, the kids were entertaining as usual, but Wendy felt an inexplicable sadness nonetheless. Killian frowned when he noticed her pensively dragging an onion ring through ketchup.

“We’ll get answers soon,” he assured her, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

Wendy attempted a smile, but could only nod. Even the chocolate milkshakes Alice had begged for couldn’t lift the dark cloud that had fallen upon her. Liam had pointed out that she had a life out there somewhere that she would eventually go back to. What Wendy had failed to consider was the life that the Jones family was living, and had been living long before Wendy literally stumbled into it. She finally managed to meet Killian’s concerned blue eyes. It was time she pulled herself out of this self-pity and got to know this man who had helped her without question.

“So,” she announced after swallowing a cold, sweet mouthful of milkshake, “are you going to give me the grand tour of Storybrooke, or what?”

********************************************

Wendy learned two important things during her tour of Storybrooke, Maine. The first was that the town was the smallest place she’d ever been. No wonder they only had one doctor. The second was that the Jones children had far more energy than she ever could. They were leaving the docks after briefly watching the waves slap the sides of the boats wintering in the harbor, and she and Killian had fallen almost a block behind the children. Wendy shivered in her borrowed winter coat as they approached the opposite side of Main Street, heading back to Granny’s where Killian had left the truck.

“It’s much too cold for you to be out, love,” Killian commented, frowning at her in concern.

She shook her head. “You worry way too much, Jones.”

“So you’re not cold?”

“Of course I’m cold! It’s February in Maine, but I’m not dying. You don’t have to coddle me, you know..”

Killian chuckled wryly and scratched behind his ear. “Used to be it was Liam who was the worrying Jones, not me. If only you could have seen me in my younger days.”

“Oh really?”

He nodded. “Leather, piercings, a motorcycle - the whole bad boy cliche.”

“Was that before your wife?”

“Not really. I mean, that’s who I was when she met me. We were in school together, both pursuing veterinary medicine. She was a little older though - it was a second career for her. A second life, really.”

“A second life?”

“Aye, she had just gone through a divorce.”

“So you were her boy-toy, huh?” Wendy teased, giving him a little shove with her elbow.

Killian’s gaze became distant, and for a minute she regretted the joke, but then a slow smile spread across his face. “I was her boy-toy, and I was fascinated by her age and experience. At least, that’s how it was at first, but then . . . it became real. We fell in love.”

“Is that why Liam disapproved?” Wendy winced slightly at Killian’s surprised expression. “Sorry. I overheard.”

“It’s okay,” he told her with a shrug, “Liam has been very . . . let’s just say vocal with his opinions lately. I’m not surprised you’ve heard our fights. Yes, Liam worried that I was just Milah’s rebound. He softened a bit after we adopted the kids, though.”

“How old were they when . . . “ Wendy trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

“Six and three.”

What could a person say to that? There was nothing anyone could offer but empty platitudes to a man widowed with two young children to care for all by himself. Luckily, Wendy was saved from having to say anything by Alice running up and waving a bright red piece of paper in her hand.

“Look, Papa!” she told him breathlessly. “They’re doing a Valentine’s dance at town hall!”

“Hmm, I see,” Killian said as he glanced over the announcement.

Alice tilted her head and pursed her lips saucily. “Is that all you’re gonna say?”

Killian rubbed at his chin, glancing up at his daughter, then back at the paper again. “I’m sorry, starfish, I’m just surprised. This doesn’t seem like your usual thing.”

“What?” Alice gasped in obvious offense. She pressed up on her toes to lean closer to her father and jab a finger at the paper he held. “Didn’t you see this part?”

“Oh!” Killian chuckled. “It’s a costume party.”

“Can you help me make a costume, Papa? Please, please, pleeeease?”

“Alice, this dance is only four days from now.”

“But I have lots of old Halloween costumes that I can cut up and make into different things, plus all my craft supplies. We can do it, I know we can. Please?”

Henry frowned as he grabbed the flier. “This says you’re supposed to dress up as famous couples. Gross.”

“A couple just means two people though, right?” Wendy pointed out. “It doesn’t have to be romantic.’

“She’s got a point, son.” Killian was looking at Wendy, though.

“Can you go to the ball, too?” Alice asked her.

“Oh, sweetheart, Wendy will hopefully be back with her own family by then.”

“But,” Wendy rushed to add, unable to handle the disappointment on the little girl’s face, “if I’m still in town, I would love to go.”

“Yay!” Alice cheered, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. “Can we go to the craft store for some supplies, then?”

Killian shrugged at Wendy as his daughter pulled him along, chattering about all of her costume ideas. As she watched him patiently follow his daughter around the craft store, listening intently as the child held up ribbons, buttons, and scraps of felt, Wendy berated herself for ever thinking the man could be single.

Phone ringing . . . You have reached the cell phone of Emma Swan. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you soon.

“Emma, this is Regina. You took the whole unplugging thing seriously, I see. I mean, I’m proud of you, seriously, you deserved it. I just needed to ask you a question about an interview I set up for you. You’re still driving back tomorrow, right? Give me a call as soon as your vacation is over.”

Phone ringing . . . You have reached the cell phone of Emma Swan. Sorry I missed your call. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you soon.

“Wow, Emma, you really did unplug. Wasn’t expecting you to ignore my texts, though. God, Emma, I’m not trying to sound like a dick here, but I did just propose to you. Then you run off? Please call me, I need for us to talk about this.”

Phone ringing . . . You have reached the cell phone of Emma Swan. Sorry I missed your cell. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you soon.

“It’s me again. Walsh. I felt bad about that last message. Listen, I love you, Emma. And I don’t care when we get married. We can be 64 for all I care. We can wait as long as you want. I just want to be with you. That’s all. Call me. Please?”