#* she tastes like fairytales ; she tastes like hope / script. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wefoundloveunderthelight · 3 years

Text

Waterfall Memories by GleefullyCaptainSwan

Chapter 6/9

Or on FF

Stacy's Tortured Crew: @teamhook @kmomof4 @stahlop @lfh1226-linda @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @mariakov81 @qualitycoffeethings @zaharadessert @jrob64 @jonesfandomfanatic @natascha-ronin @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @therooksshiningknight @batana54 @superchocovian @onceratheart18 @ultraluckycatnd @snowbellewells @karlyfr13s @the-darkdragonfly

Chapters titles are based on the lyrics from “Stubborn Love” by The Lumineers

Chapter 6: And I Don’t Blame You Dear for Running Like You Did

She finished the last of the dishes from breakfast, putting the plates away in the cabinet and turning toward the dog beside her feet on the floor. “What shall we do today?” The dogs barked, standing, and running in circles around her legs.

She looked around the cabin, books littering every surface. She grabbed one nearest to her, flipping through the pages to find them blank, empty, and begging to be filled. Looking around she found a pencil and blanket and gathered her items, opening the door and letting the dog outside. She followed him to the bench on the front porch.

There was water all around the cabin, some of it threatening to flow under the structure. Killian was standing on the side of the cabin, knee deep in the brown liquid, a shovel in his hands, his shirt tied to his side in a knot. She bit her lip as her eyes trailed his upper body, sun kissed from days he must have spent standing in the hot sun before the weather had turned cold.

She sat down on the bench, drawing her knees up to tuck her feet under her, wrapping the blanket around her as the dog curled up below her. She looked at the empty page and the pencil in her hand started to scratch at the white surface. She had no idea if she could draw, couldn’t remember ever trying, but the way the images took shape she thought maybe this was something she was good at in her other life. The one that was just out of reach of her memories.

She drew the forest, the water lying motionless in front of her, a dog splashing through the muddy sludge as a man stood, staring at the horizon. When she looked down at it minutes later, the shape of a swan in the distance was floating away from the cabin on the page before her. She sighed, looking up to watch Killian, now covered with beads of sweat, dripping deliciously down the crevice in his back, and she bit her lip. The man was the picture of sexy and mysterious. She wanted to know more about him, the story of how he got here, why he was alone. Yet she could tell that he was holding back from her, keeping pieces of himself hidden from her sight. What she wouldn’t give to tear back the layers and have him invite her in.

She turned the page of the book to start a new drawing but was surprised to see writing on the page, handwritten in a beautiful script. She should close the book, put it back where she found it and yet she found herself reading it.

Dearest Milah,

My love, I am in darkness without your light, I curse the sun for trying to replace the warmth that you no longer provide. I am in misery, these bars are not my affliction, my prison is of my own making. Even as I am released tomorrow, I will never escape the prison I created for myself. I have failed you. I failed Alice. There is blood on my hands, hate in my heart, revenge destroyed me. Destroyed our life. Our beautiful home. My perfect Alice. I am cursed. I fear that my heart will always be. I will never be at peace knowing the hell I brought upon my family. Your last moments knowing that I destroyed us. My life is forfeit, doomed to walk this earth with the knowledge that I am a monster. Undeserving of love. My fate is sealed. Hope is lost.

Killian

She ran her fingers across the lettering of his name, looking up at the man facing away from her, tearing at the soil beneath his feet. She needed to know more, yearned to understand how anyone could feel so tormented, so worthless. She ached for him.

Closing the book, she stood, watching from the corner of the house, observing his labor. She couldn’t exactly leave him this way. A few extra days to try and solve the mystery that was Killian Jones wouldn’t hurt her. Her life could wait if it meant helping the man who had so selflessly helped her.

She went back into the house, burying the book beneath a larger one, not wanting him to know that she had invaded his thoughts, his privacy. Looking around the cabin she decided she would do something nice for him. She began by picking up the items from the corner, dusting off the surfaces she could. She folded blankets, organized his books, placed the logs evenly beside the hearth and gathered the clothing to be washed in the bucket he kept by the back door.

When she had finished she looked around at the result of her work and smiled. Maybe she was married in her other life, she was pretty good at this house cleaning thing. She frowned, touching her ringless finger. Maybe she was just a maid in her other life. Was she hoping for that instead of having a husband who was lovingly looking for her? A man she had thus betrayed by her night with Killian.

The door opened abruptly, and Killian stepped into the tiny cabin. Tossing his boots into the corner by the door he turned and met her eyes. He seemed surprised to see her standing there, holding a broom, and sweeping the floors. It was so ridiculously domestic that she cursed herself for being found this way.

“I cleaned up.” She announced and his eyes roamed the room and to her surprise the corners of his mouth ticked upward.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. I wanted to.” She finished her task, setting the broom back behind the door and walking closer to him, reaching out to take the dirty shirt from his hands. “I was doing the wash.” She smiled shyly. He didn’t react, probably from the shock she imaged when she ran her fingers across his chest, dirt and grime slipping through her fingers. “You should do the same.” She added with a flirty grin. “Take a hot bath.” She turned away from him, her smile growing on her face, pleased with the reaction she elicited from him a moment before.

“Uh, yeah I’ll do that.” He stammered, walking toward the bedroom. “Thanks, Swan. For um, for tidying up. I’ve never had a guest before.”

She bowed her head. “Go bathe.” She returned her gaze to his eyes. “I’ll make some dinner.” He left the room, and she swore her heart was going to beat right out of her chest. She had half a mind to follow him right into the bathroom and have her way with the man. But instead, she walked the few steps away to the kitchen to start the meal she promised she would make. The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, she thought. She had no idea why she knew that, but she was determined to find out if it was true.

~*~

Killian retreated from the room, trying to create as much distance as he could between him and the beautiful Swan who was currently domesticating his home. Seeing his place so neatly put together, the blonde woman putting such care and attention into something she had no investment in both confounded him and stirred emotions in him that he had buried, burned, destroyed years ago.

He shut the door to the bathroom, filling the buckets with water to put on the stove to heat but instead tossed the cool water into the tub, perhaps a hot bath was not what he needed right now unless he intended to do something completely stupid and reckless like ask the woman to join him.

He sunk down into the cold water, breathing slowly, erasing all the thoughts he had of how she had felt the night before. The taste of her skin, her intoxicating aroma as he plunged his tongue into her center.

Fuck.

Sinking below the water, he lay there, holding his breath, counting to ten before breaching the surface and gulping in air. He scraped at his skin, letting the soap cleanse the dirt and grime he had accumulated from his earlier work. The trench he had dug would allow the water to escape in a few days. The roads would be clear, and he would be able to drive back to town. This would be over, and he could return to his solitude.

He wrapped a towel around his waist, wandering into the bedroom to dress and pull a comb through his hair. If he was going to play house, he should at least look presentable to the woman who was sharing his fairytale. He rolled his eyes at the mirror, admonishing himself for playing along with this fantasy. Could it really hurt him to have a few nights of pretend? None of it was real. They both knew that. Perhaps it was a reprieve from the devil, or yet another way to torture him. Either way, he would take it.

He stepped from the room quietly as she flitted around the kitchen, humming a song to herself as she worked. She was a marvel to observe, a beautiful treasure in every way. When she caught him staring, she blushed, quieted, and turned back to the stove.

“It was lovely, don’t stop on my account.”

“I don’t know where it came from, it just sort of formed in my head. I guess I must have heard it in my other life” She mused, humming the notes again to You are my Sunshine.

She seemed almost angelic, standing in his kitchen with the sun shining across her golden locks. Before he could stop himself he realized he was singing the words to her melody. “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey…”

She turned toward him, their eyes meeting. “That’s lovely.” She smiled. “Is that what I’m humming?”

“Aye.” She continued humming. “You’ll never know dear; how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” He finished softly, standing in front of her with her back against the counter. Neither one of them moved and he was afraid to take a breath for fear she would disappear right in front of him. He wasn’t ready for her to dissolve, to leave his life. He cursed even admitting it. He liked having her here.

“You have a beautiful voice.”

“I used to sing that to Alice before she went to bed.” He said with a sad smile. “It was her favorite.”

He expected her to go back to her food preparations, to break the spell he was in, but instead she surprised him, reaching up to brush the wet hair from his forehead. A smile sweeter than any he could remember fell across her face as she stepped into his embrace, her lips grazing his jaw before touching his lips. It was over before it began, short yet sweet and full of emotion. He squeezed his lids tighter together to keep his emotions from spilling out. She stepped from his arms and his lids flittered open. “Food will be ready in a minute.”

No one had taken the kind of care she had. Cleaning his house, preparing a meal, comforting him. These were not things that were afforded to him. Yet here she was, a stranger, a woman who was within her rights to demand to be released and taken home immediately and yet she instead opted to care for him. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t want to. Because it would be gone before he had the ability to embrace it. Taken from him like everything else in his life.

“Smells good.” He announced suddenly, sitting down at the table.

“I wasn’t really sure what to make but you have such great vegetables.”

“Aye, I’m sure my garden is flooded now. But at least it’s watered.” He chuckled.

She sat the food in front of him and then made her own plate, taking the seat beside him. They ate in silence, but it was comfortable in the way she would smile at him between bites, or blush when he caught her eye.

After the food was consumed, they each took to the mundane task of cleaning up, side by side, working together. It required no forethought or communication, like they had been doing this their whole lives. “I don’t wish to upset you, Swan, but I think we make quite the team.” He teased, an expression that must have come from a moment of weakness pushing through his hardened exterior. “The place hasn’t looked this bright and cheerful in…” He scrunched his nose, “well, ever, I suppose.” Ending with a laugh that started low in his belly, but he felt through to his toes.

“Then I have completed the task I set out for myself this morning.” She smiled.

“What task was that love?”

“Getting you to do that.” She chuckled before continuing her thought. “Trying to ease some of that burden you seem to carry.”

He swallowed. “I suppose I can bury some of it for a few rare moments.” He pursed his lips. “Thank you.” He added sincerely.

“Can I ask you something?”

He shrugged, “I suppose.”

“What are you punishing yourself for?”

He exhaled, “Why do you assume I’m punishing myself?”

She shrugged, “You live alone, cut off from the world, as if you are condemning yourself to loneliness. I can’t imagine the man I know doing anything that would call for such isolation and sadness.”

“I have done many things in this life, Swan, most that I am not proud of. I am not a good man.”

“You saved me.” She whispered, her hands reaching for his. He wants to pull back, to keep the connection broken, but instead he allows her to take his hand.

“One good deed does not forgive a lifetime of bad behavior.” His voice cracked. He wished things were different, that she could stay here, maybe she would even heal his soul. But her life was not his to control. She belonged somewhere else; he was sure that her heart must even belong to another. Someone noble and deserving of her. A good man.

“It’s a start.” She leaned over, placing a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Trust me, you have a mark in the hero column in my book.” Her words warmed his heart, he rewarded her with a genuine smile.

“Thank you, love. That means a great deal more than you know.”

She stood and wandered toward the couch, lighting candles along the way. As she sat down she gestured for him to join her. “It should be a few more days and I should be able to drive into town.” He added as he sat next to her.

“Well, let’s make sure the roads are safe before you try, perhaps we should wait until things are completely dry.”

He turned toward her, a hopeful feeling rising in his heart, a few more precious days with her. “Aye, good idea. Better to be safe.” She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder and for a moment he let himself get lost in the gesture. Imagining a new reality where this woman, his swan, stayed, and they would spend nights on the couch, lying together and talking about nothing.

“So, what do you do out here every day? Surely you must find something of interest to keep you busy.”

“Jolly and I do a lot of exploring, fishing over on the west banks, or hunting for game. I suppose when we aren’t doing that I read.”

“I noticed you had a lot of books.”

“Aye, my brother taught me how to read when I was very small. I suppose it become a passion of mine.”

“You have a brother.”

His chest rose and fell with the exhale he exerted. “I did, yes. Liam. He was a good man.”

“Was?”

“Aye. Gone.”

“Your parents?”

“Died when we were young.”

“So, you truly are alone.” She offered sadly.

“Well, I have Jolly.” The dogs head lifted off his lap as he lay next to him. He patted his head. “He provides good company.”

“Have you ever thought of moving back home?”

“No home to return to.”

“But you could move back to where you are from, start a new life.”

“I’m afraid that’s not an option for me, love.”

“You could come with me.” His heart stilled.

“Love, whatever is waiting out there for you, I assure you, it is far more worthy of you than me. You don’t know anything else right now, that’s where all of this is coming from. You’re clinging to what you know because you can’t remember what you don’t.”

She sat up, staring at him. “Stop doing that. Stop discounting yourself like you are some demon, unworthy of compassion. I don’t care what you’ve done in your past, I only see who you are now.”

“Swan, you wouldn’t say that if you knew who I really was.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head in frustration.

“Why not.”

“Because…I don’t want to see that look of disappointment in your eyes. I can’t bear to have one more person hate me because of what I’ve done. I just want you to see me as you do right now. Before you leave. Even if it’s only for a few days.” His honestly surprised him, almost scared him to admit his feelings out loud. He enjoyed that she stared at him with compassion, almost reverence. He wanted her to want him, to see him as the man he used to be, long ago. He couldn’t keep her, but perhaps he could have this feeling long after she was gone. Someone had seen him, the Killian Jones he remembered, the one that Milah trusted and loved. The man who would sing lullabies to his daughter and earned her devotion. If someone could still find that man in him, maybe it was enough to keep him sane long after she was gone.

“Take me to bed.” Her eyes were full of passion, desire, need. Killian rose from the couch, hoisting her into his arms. “Be my love, if only for a while.” She whispered against his neck and he found her mouth, taking her lips with his. Tonight, he would take her as his own, they would have these moments together, no matter how fleeting they would be.

As he buried himself inside of her, pouring every ounce of passion into his kiss, he thought only of her, his Swan. As she lay, curled into his side afterwards, her eyes staring into his with a warmth of devotion, he imagined a life that wasn’t his. A life where he made her happy, where he loved this woman with all his heart and he drifted off to sleep, knowing that even though it wasn’t real, he could almost believe it, almost feel it burrowing deep into his heart.

Hope.

#waterfall memories #stacy's fics #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #captain swan fics #captain swan au #captain swan modern au

26 notes · View notes

peeterparkr · 4 years

Text

perfidy;tom holland|4

chapter 4: the scene

enemies to lovers au/enemies with benefits

story summary: Tom and you have been sworn enemies since you were young. However, you happened to be best friends with the twins. When one of your friends challenged you to break Tom’s heart, you immediately accepted to get back at him for all the times he’s hurt you. Old feelings might come back, while both of you try to go past your pride and your lies.

chapter summary: you and Tom get... nicer.

pairing: tom holland x y/n

warnings: smut (if you don’t wanna read it skip the *), swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol mention, didn’t proof read

word count: 4.9k

here’s a playlist

previous chapter next chapter series masterlist wanna be tagged?

We’ve all made mistakes. It’s a part of life. It’s on us if we learn from them or not. Making the same mistake twice makes you a fool, but making it for the third time and doing it worse, makes you wise. No, it doesn’t. It really doesn’t. Because life isn’t a movie, you can’t skip a scene.

But everyone conspired on making everyone believe life would be like the movies. You knew better. You knew that your life wouldn’t have something out of the ordinary.

And you didn’t believe in movies that made the whole big act, you loved movies which pictured life as it is. Of course, we can’t get rid of the whole happily ever after and the good guy wins, dreams come true. But, the whole story can’t be a fairytale, it had to have some drama, it couldn’t be perfect, because life..it truly wasn’t.

You had a lot of trouble with the script you were about to write, not only because it involved pulling stunts you’d certainly not like doing, but because it wasn’t the kind of scripts you liked to write. Because you knew that your boss wanted a story that would sell, and you didn’t like writing those. They felt… plain.

You believed in feelings and in poetic cinema, if one must call it some way. You believed in rough action and transmitting something, on making life a little bit better, but true. You loved writing feelings and the thoughts and the way we tend to speak when we're alone, the roughness of thoughtful and quiet minds, life as hard as it was. Not writing about some stupid tv series about getting revenge on your childhood enemy. Because even though this was life, it was more than that.

It was deeper and so beyond the crap you were pulling.

It wasn’t something you’d watch. Especially, because for you, there were too many love songs, too many romance movies, too many of them. The world doesn’t need one more, did it? It was getting tiring the same old story. There wasn’t one that made you feel something. What was so special about romantic movies? You never truly liked them, maybe it was due to your early heartbreak but you never invested your life on romance. It felt… plain. Like a scene with no action.

How would you write something that probably didn’t exist? Not that you didn’t believe in love, but romance per se. You didn’t like the idea of giving false hope.

But movies, they gave false hope. Of the guy who’d stop your wedding, or the summer love or whatever crap they’ve manifested so recklessly now. It was stupid.

Sure dreams aren’t crap, and there are moments in life which you’d love to picture forever. There was something about life being captured in camera that made it so… magical. Maybe that’s why you’d obsessed on the videos that you’d recorded throughout your childhood and teenage years. You had a sort of project with them, one you’d kept to your heart. The script you actually wanted to write, about a girl and a dream and how life maybe keeps pulling her down. And that maybe she stopped one day and wondered if this was the life she was supposed to live.

An Oscar worthy script, that’s what you’d love to write. Not some stupid tv series that’d probably star some standup comedian that would be popping at the moment and Britain’s latest sweetheart.

You didn’t want to write it.

Besides, you weren’t sure how exactly you’d write what was probably going to happen. Because you knew what was going to happen. You wouldn’t have this on camera, though.

The driver was rushing to get you to your location, and you weren’t sure why you hadn’t stopped either yourself or Tom from doing this.

This was the sort of mistakes that happen in movies that lead to the perfect romantic spot. But this was your life and you were sure that this would only lead to more trouble than you already had with him. But gosh, why was he so good at this? His lips were like poison, but you had to keep on tasting and tasting.

This could be… poetic cinema.

His fingers were roaming around your skin as he tried to deepen the kiss, his tongue finding a way into your mouth. You pulled away, this was inappropriate, and you could clearly sense it by the way the driver was trying to go faster.

Tom frowned and you discreetly motioned to the driver, but that didn’t keep Tom away. His hand on your waist was fidgeting as he cleared his throat.

The ride went quiet, too quiet for your own convenience. Except for the music the driver was playing in the background. Your heart beat was about to pop out of your chest, but eventually you arrived at Tom’s place.

“Or should we go to your…?” He asked but you quickly jumped off the car. Tom quickly followed you and rushed to the door. He searched for his keys but you had already placed your lips back on his, you felt in such a rush, unsure why.

He weakened against your touch as he then pushed you against the door, he finally found the keys and opened it, you both, between sloppy kisses walked in. Your hands were going under his shirt and he pulled away.

“We can’t make any noise,” he whispered as your lips landed on the very welcoming spot on his collarbone.

“Shut up, then,” you ordered as his hands landed on your ass, feeling it up. His fingers then travelled up your sides.

He slammed you against the wall, taking you by surprise but he smirked. “In no way are you taking control of this,” he warned as he sucked on that sweet spot on your neck.

“We’ll see,” you sentenced as you walked your fingers down his chest, down to his pants as you unbuckled him, but then your fingers stayed on his abs, as they traced them up, making him shiver as he was too busy moving down to your cleavage.

You pushed him away to finally rip off his shirt and he pushed you right back to the wall, as he unzipped you, his hand cupped your heat. You let out a moan but he quickly silenced you by pushing his lips back to yours.

“So wet for me, darling?” He smudged between kisses, as he started to grind against you, you felt a bulge growing up and pushing you up. He was the one to groan this time.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he stated as he pulled your legs up to his waist.

“That’s the least you could do,” you snapped. And he took it as an invitation for his hand to go past your pants, feeling your folds through the underwear. You closed your eyes with pleasure as his fingers gently circled your core through the fabric, but then he pulled his hand back up as he saw you liking more than he wanted to

You started to unbutton him but he stopped your hands. This was the alcohol doing its job, but also you had really felt the need to do this, without feeling anything for anyone. Somehow your friends had been right, this was exactly what you needed a perfect rebound.

“To my room,” he warned as he picked you off the ground and between pushing you against the walls and trying no to fall, you both finally made it.

He slammed his door shut and then let you down, but you changed it up, pushing him against the bed. He sat on the edge as he pulled you close to him, he finally got rid of your shirt as his lips then connected to your chest. You sat on top of him, and grinded against him. He moaned, but you covered his mouth knowing damn well his brother and Harrison were next door.

“Easy, Holland.” You grinned as you pushed his arms down to the bed, he looked at you with surprise but then a smug smirk traced on his lips.

“This seems oddly familiar,” he recalled, laughing. “Seems like all those years wrestling were of use.”

He unhooked your bra as he then admired them, he didn’t hesitate on bringing his lips to them.

His tongue swirled around your nipples. You bit your lip trying to stop yourself from making any noise as you pushed him back down, you finally unzipped him and pushed down his pants, his hard cock trying to burst out of his boxers. You crawled back up to meet his lips, your hand palming his length.

“All that for me? I thought you hated me,” you grinned cockily, as you kissed down your way down to his abs, but then you kissed your way back up. You teased him, as you felt his cock growing. You say on top of it, legs opened and chuckled as you moved your hips around just a little, his hands practically cementing into your body as he also tried to move you as he pleased to.

“Fuck, y/n,” he half moaned half whispered. But you went back down to the edge of his boxers as your fingers brushed against his length, as his body . But you were only teasing him, somehow seeing him tense and suffering had you on your edge.

“Are you going to do something or not?” He snapped, and you laughed to yourself.

“No,” you smirked as you traveled back to suck on his collarbone, grinding against him.

“Fuck,” he cursed as he took you by your arms and pushed you into the bed. It was his time to pull down your pants, as his hands caressed your half naked body, bristling your skin with each touch. He kissed behind your ear and then turned your face to face him.

You thrashed your hips against his, trying to get some friction to the growing need in yours, it seemed like he had needs of his own to be covered. But even as his lips crawled down from your lips to your chest down to your belly, you knew you weren’t going to get what you wanted. You squirmed against his touch, his lips leaving wet spots as he was trying caving his way down. He was just an inch from your sex as he kissed your thighs, his warm breath vibrating against your heat, he smirked as he placed a single kiss on top of your underwear.

“Tom,” you breathed out, but he only brushed his lips against it, as if he was punishing you for what you’d done earlier. “You’re a prick.”

“I know.”

He climbed back up as his fingers brushed your underwear again, pulling it down slowly. His index gently bristled your folds as you let out a soft moan. Your hands arrived back on his ass as you kneaded them, just as his own hand played with your breasts.

You finally pulled down his boxer and his cock sprung out, already dripping. He brushed it again your swollen clit and you had to catch your breath.

“Keep it down,” he warned again.

“Or what, asshole?” You grinned as your fingered traveled down to hold his pulsating bulge, he rolled his eyes back and then gasped out of surprise.

But he pushed your arms to the bed, as you looked into his eyes, filled with lust and excitement.

“No touching,” he ordered as you plucked into the duvet, gripping tight as his own fingers slid through your folds, as his thumb rubbed circles on your core.

You convulsed with pleasure as he then tried to positioned himself in between your legs. He searched in his nightstand and reached out for the condom, ripping it open with his teeth.

You saw his hard and big cock sprung out as he wrapped it around. He smirked. You couldn’t have expected it even if being warned as soon as he filled you up, you let out a moan.

“Shut up, idiot,” he reminded you as he adjusted himself. “So tight,” he whispered as he started to thrust upon you, slowly at first then getting a steady rhythm than had you pulling on the blankets. You bit your lip to resist you from moaning, and Tom was trying to shut himself too as he was slamming against you. Your hands found their way into his har and you clawed his back. He cursed against you, but his lips found their way back to yours. His fingers trailed down back to your core as he was circling it, just like you needed him to.

You cursed under your breath, as you rocked your own hips up. He rolled back his eyes as he let out a moan.

“You shut up,” you said this time with a smirk, as he pulled you up, sitting the two of you up, helping you out to maneuver more.

“Fuck, I hate you so much,” he stated.

“Hate me harder, then,” you snapped. You rocked your hips in circles trying to find the perfect spot as he jumped up and down, his head falling back down with pleasure, as his hands explored around your body.

“I’m gonna--” He announced as you nodded. Sweat dripping down the both of your bodies.

“Me too,” you whispered as you felt your orgasm building up in your stomach, your thighs trying to close as he kept opening you back up. He laid you back down as he tried to keep up his pace but you saw him squirming, as your own toes curled and you had to keep the grip on the duvets as you reached your high, panting slowly as he finally came undone, and pulled out of you to catch his breath.

You rubbed your face as you were panting softly.

That had… been a scene. Maybe not as poetic as you thought it would go, but it was rough.

“We fucked up, didn’t we?” You managed to say in between breaths.

He grinned. “I… don’t think we did.” He admitted as he faced you. “That was amazing.”

“It was okay,” you stated, with a smirk, knowing it’d pinch his pride.

“What?” He frowned.

You laughed. “I’m kidding… it was…” You bit your lip. “It was great.”

“Try fucking great,” he corrected you. “We made a good team for once.”

You shrugged. “You said it, all those years wrestling.”

“Man, why did Timmy leave you? That was… something else”

“Are you really going there?” You rolled your eyes.

He laughed. “Right, sorry, I forgot about your shitty personality.”

“And you’re one to speak,” you flicked his shoulder.

“I’m England’s sweetheart,” he smirked. “The whole world is in love with me.”

“The whole world is stupid,” you stated.

He paused and then chuckled to himself, it felt silent, and you felt your stomach falling down. He stared at you, and for a moment, it felt different as if he had paused to admire you, and you did to, looking at the sweat that sensually brightened up his face and as his chest puffed up and down, it felt… Different, not like you were just seconds ago, it had changed it all to this, not the rush, not the heat, it was… Silent. He puckered his lips as he then proceeded to caress them, you raised your brows but then pushed his hair away from his face. He kissed you again, it felt different as he wrapped himself around you. As if he was trying to state something with the kiss. As if he was asking to slow it down, and… you did.

You woke up later, it was early, the moonlight was still striking through the room, you curled up to the soft and warm duvet that surrounded you, your bare skin made you feel uncomfortable, but you were… pleased. You tried to shift but his arm fell around you, he pulled you close to him. And then you turned around to look at him. You felt your skin bristle with cold. You ran a hand through his hair, still curled from the sweat.

You despised him.

Even if the moon was dancing over his skin and his eyes were calm enough and his lips just parted perfectly, you were sure of it, you didn’t like him. Specially because you’d felt used, no matter how good it had felt, it only made your hatred grow. Because you knew how it’d go in the morning, with him probably telling his friend and brother that you had begged him to sleep with you, even if he had been the one to start it.

And you hated him because he had made you feel so good, it had felt great, there had been barely any inhibitions. And… no feelings. It was weird. It had been what you’d probably asked from yourself all this years, selfless meaningless sex. Casual, and… It probably wouldn’t ruin anything.

That’s what made it worse. This wouldn’t be acknowledged in just a few hours.

You closed your eyes again to find some sleep, as he pulled you even closer. Which made you… feel different. He probably was doing this subconsciously and you didn’t need to address it. But if you were honest, you’d been so touch starved since your break up that you had missed this more than the sex. An arm around you and someone to curl up to.

This… this was too intimate and you weren’t sure if you liked it was with Tom, out of everyone, with Tom. But you couldn’t help but feel nice with his bare skin against yours.

Eventually you fell back asleep.

You woke up later again, the foggy light coming from the window, as you stretched out to find no one by your side. You felt a jolt in your stomach as you saw your clothes perfectly folded on the edge of the bed.

You didn’t want to walk out of the room, and you didn’t want to face anyone. Not Harrison, not Harry, although you’d been quiet, you were kind of sure the bed had made noise of its own.

You didn’t regret it, though. Somehow, you didn’t regret it, but you didn’t want to address it.

You dressed up and then, quietly made your way down. You almost had a heart attack as you saw Tom in the kitchen.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?” He asked. The sentence stayed in the air, as you stayed there, with your arms crossed.

He seemed confused as he stared at you.

“I just woke up.” Your voice was just as harsh as his.

“Well, you’re up. Go.” He snapped again as he was looking behind you.

“I literally just woke up, Tom,” you rolled your eyes taking out your phone. “I’ll—get myself a cab and then we’re good.”

“I’m—no, sorry, I’m sorry,old habits, it’s cause...I think I saw Haz there. They can’t see you,” he explained, as he went to a softer spot on his voice. He gulped as he stared at you. He walked over and grabbed you by the hand as he pulled you to the end of the kitchen, cornering you against the counter.

“I am not hiding, Tom.”

“I—sorry, sorry… sorry,” he apologized, as his hands landed on your waist. Your brows picked up. “I just—don’t want them to know.”

“You’d rather have them believe we hate each other?” You questioned.

“Well.”

“I don’t have to pretend,” you stressed. “Nothing’s changed.”

“Oh, I don’t like you either.” He smirked. “However, I think a lot has changed y/n,” he pointed out as he lifted your chin, his fingers sketching on your waist. He knew exactly what he was doing as his eyes were bathing you with his glance, going from your own sight to your lips.

“We don’t have to do this,” you quickly sassed. “We can pretend it didn’t happen.”

“But it did, y/n.”

“You know it changed nothing right? I still despise you.”

“Tell me more,” he smirked as his lips bristled a sweet spot on your neck.

“That’s not dirty talk,” you stated.

He grinned. “Which makes it better, doesn’t it?” His lips were barely half an inch close to yours. “But we both know, they can’t find out about it,” he admitted and you felt his warm breath hitting your lips.

Somehow that made it… fun. Keeping this a secret and having the adrenaline of trying not to be discovered awakened something in you. You closed the gap by pressing your lips fully to him, and you could taste coffee from them, a sweet but passionate kiss.

“We were drunk,” you said in between kisses.

“I’m not drunk right now,” he grinned as he cupped your face. “It was fun.”

“I… really, Tom…” You looked away. “I don’t do that.”

“You think I do?”

You shrugged. “Well.”

“I guess we both did it because we trust each other,” he admitted. “For better or for worse.”

“Well, it can’t… Keep happening.” You gulped.

“Why not?” He grinned as he placed a single kiss on your cheek. “It’s not like we’d catch feelings.”

He was right, and that made you think of the first reason you’d done it. The bloody script you had to write.

“But I’m going to work for you, it’d be unprofessional,” you said. “Besides, sleeping with the enemy?”

Tom laughed. “I guess,” he sighed dramatically. “Well, it was fun.”

You pushed him away. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m leaving.”

“I was about to make you coffee,” he stopped you by your hand.

You frowned. “Really?”

“No,” he smirked. “You really thought I’d get all domestic on you? Gee, y/n, thought you’d known better. Get the hell out of my house.”

You grinned. “You’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?”

“Y/N?” And that voice had not been the one you expected.

“Harry, hi,” you gulped.

Harry looked confused, this had fucked it up. If he’d heard anything from what had happened. Tom stopped as he stared at you, you knew he was building up excuses as his brother watched you both.

“What are you doing here?” He asked. “Are you… wearing the same…?”

He seemed clueless, that was good.

“Yeah, uh, last night y/n got pretty wasted so I offered her to stay here,” Tom cleared out his throat.

“You did?” Harry raised his brows.

“Yeah, yeah, he was drunk too, you know we’re nice to each other when we’re drunk,” you explained. But last night you’d been quite a bit nicer, hadn’t you? You wrinkled your nose.

“Morning,” Harrison had chirped into the kitchen. “Oh, y/n didn’t see you…” He frowned as he looked between you and Tom. “Hello.”

“Haz,” you smiled at him, trying to cover up your embarrassment. “What’s up?”

“Eh, not much, just awful roommates I have,” he pointed out as he glared at Harry and Tom. “Uh, okay, I found this,” Haz said lifting up Tom’s t-shirt from last night, throwing it over at Tom, but then turning back to you..

Both Tom and you got flustered red as he caught it.

“Where did you sleep? Had I known I would’ve offered you my room,” Harry pushed.

“I--I gave-I gave her my room, I slept on the couch, yeah, yeah, I slept on the couch,” Tom explained.

“And the shirt?” Harrison frowned.

“I was drunk and since I slept on the couch… I took it off,” Tom quickly blurted out.

“Yeah.” You nodded. “And he already kicked me out, so I’ll… see you later, Harry, Haz.”

Harry frowned. “Of course not,” Harry said. “You’re staying for breakfast.”

Tom sighed. “Then I’m not having breakfast with you.”

“No one wants that,” you poisoned as he walked past you, but he dedicated you a wink as he left.

“Piss off, y/n,” he chanted as he finally left, lifting his middle finger at you.

“Fuck off, Tommy!” You sang back. “Have a shitty day!”

Harry crossed his arms as he rolled his eyes. “Is that ever going to stop?”

“No, not really,” you grinned.

Harry headed to the coffee pot as he poured out a mug for you, you sat down on the counter as Harrison was very confused watching you. He pulled out his protein shake and started to prepare it.

Harrison seemed suspicious. “Was anyone watching porn last night?”

“What?” You laughed.

“I heard...moans,” Haz said. “Could've been my imagination.”

“Again with those dreams boo?” Harry teased.

“I...I was,” you lied, nervously. Harry and Haz side eyed each other with a smirk. You rolled your eyes. “It wasn’t porn, I… Was helping out a friend with a scene.”

That gave them less of an explanation.

“He… is making a project, it’s… You know one of those films that has the unnecesary sex scene but it’s all poetic and shit?” You rolled your eyes. “He asked me if it had been unnecessary.”

“Was it good?” Harry asked.

“Very,” you said without thinking. “Bad. Very Bad. Very unnecessary.”

Haz laughed. “Well, I heard it but then I went back to sleep, thought Tom had brought someone, but… Clearly,” he laughed as he stared at you. “I was very wrong.”

“Very.”

Harrison finished shaking his protein. “Well, Imma head out, it was nice seeing you, y/n,” he grinned.

“You too, Haz.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “So, what’s the script gonna be about? Any idea?,” he said as he handed you a mug of hot coffee.

“I...” You shrugged. “Dunno, I’m not as excited,” you admitted. “They probably want me to write something that sells.”

“And have England’s new sweetheart to star it,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Right.”

“But maybe I’ll go back to the other project you know?”

“Memories one?” He asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, so if you have any vids please... Send them my way, I need some inspiration.”

He grinned. “For sure.”

“I....y/n I’ve gotta be honest, I need to talk to you.”

You felt guilt inside you, maybe he had heard you last night. “About what?” The coffee tasted bittersweet.

“Tom,” Harry was serious.

You almost spat the coffee.

“What about him?” You faked ignorance but you couldn’t ignore the tingle in your stomach.

“You’re gonna be his assistant, y/n, and… I know he really can be an asshole to you,” he started.

You loosened up as you took a deep breath. “Ah don’t worry, we… talked about that last night, we’ll… be okay, we can be….decent.”

“But can you?” He questioned.

“Well,” you clicked your tongue. “We’ll try, and besides... I...”

“Did you go check his stuff last night?”

You had checked him just fine, that you had. “I... we... didn’t, but I’ll ask him to send it over to me. Look, I’ll text him just now.”

You picked out your phone and hovered through your contacts, Tom’s had a crap emoji right next to it.

Y/n: Hey, send me your schedule, dipshit. Tom: Hmm, I think I need something in return, love.

You rolled your eyes as Harry watched you. “He’ll send it later,” you told him.

Y/N: Not gonna happen. Tom: I haven’t even asked you anything. Y/N: No. Tom: Tell me more. Y/N: This isn’t sexting. Tom: Nice, and what are you wearing? Y/N: 🖕 Tom: Oh, already asking for a dick pic? Tom: attachment Tom: 😉

You coughed as you felt your heart stopping, but it was only his schedule. You put your phone away and then watched Harry.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, perfect.”

Harry sighed as he looked up. “There’s… there’s something else, I need to tell you.”

You watched him as he paced around the kitchen, he seemed nervous, he really had something to tell you and you knew this wouldn’t go well. What was this all about?

With Harry, it was always… Complicated. He was your best friend and you could trust him with anything in the world, but sometimes, you’d felt like there was always something in your friendship bothering him. Maybe it was due to the fact that he was so close to Tom and you couldn’t stand him, or maybe it revolved around the fact that Harry was one of the few people whom you’d actually worded it to: ‘I like him’, sure it had been a long time ago, and those feelings had never resurface but Harry knew it. Harry had seen you cry when Tom had made you cry. And Harry had been the one to show up at your house, uninvited to make you feel better after Tom had been an asshole to you.

But what could Harry really do about it? It was his brother you were talking about, sure he could stop him, but he’d always have to choose Tom over you, because he was his damned brother.

Would it bother him if he knew you’d slept with him? Probably.

Probably.

“I… I love Emma,” Harry started.

That was certainly not where you thought the conversation would go. You grinned, knowingly. “I know, silly.”

“I…” Harry closed his eyes. “I… really love her, okay, and… Everything else is just…”

You raised your brows. “Well, that’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“I..” Harry was shaking. “God, I thought saying this would be easier.”

“Harry Holland, what are you tryna tell me?” You chuckled with confusion.

He kept pacing through the room, trying to talk to himself. “I well, look, it’s complicated, and I’m telling you this first because you’re my best friend, alright? And I need you to tell me if I’m doing anything stupid, or… If whatever, I mean, I dunno, maybe it is very silly, but I feel that even after… After all these years when I thought I knew something, I well… Look, it’s… I haven’t even told Sam, and not Tom…”

“What?” You tilted your head.

Harry took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to ask her to marry me,” Harry finally blurted it out.

Well, that was a scene.

previous chapter next chapter series masterlist wanna be tagged?

tag list @clairesrainbow @underoosmarvel @wronglanemendes @itsvianny @jake-and-amy-are-married @starlightfound @kill-the-stereo @originalpinkpowerranger @spidxrparkxr @mukesnugget @anxiousdesignerdancerbandlover @organicpurplepants @happywolves81 @nedthegay @skylar-mendes @sentimentalquackson @savannah0111 @spidermansmj14 @soccerstud004 @marinaabernardii @applenter @silver-winter-wolf @dark-infernal-instruments @claredolphinbear24 @bookgirlunicorn @tomshufflepuff @avengersgirllorianna @nevertoofarfromivar @saintlavrents @herofiennestiffinashardinscott. @tomzfrog @tohollandback @morganhoran1671 @awkwardfangirl2014 @spideysimpossiblegirl @everythingbooknerd @xapham @xapham @xxtomxo @tomhollandisagod @danicarosaline @laurfangirl424 @vintageroses1014516 @cinnamon-roll-peter @the-lost-fairy-tale @lala-florez @fufaation15 @healthyassdonut @ilcveyou3000 @xxtomxo @socorroann @muffinmari25 @cassindeansass @rogers-obsessed-barnes-curious @southsidespidey @nathaliabakes @nathaliabakes @marvelstuck @embrace-themagic @bradfordbantams @sanniegirl1214 @gioandreolli @peterpandco @fairytaleparker @underooling @griff1ndor @chubby-cheek-calum @thatweirdomimic @avengersgirllorianna @reginalaufeyson-holmes @better-daisy @yeahimcrying @allmonstersxarehuman @spider-manholland @clairesrainbow @georiaang @sebxstianbarnes @kissingtrutharchives @snoopy3000 @prettymessygurl @spideyparkerstark @fanfic-4-you @lexshead @officiallyunofficialperson @mannien @whitewolfandthefox @melodiclovesong @bizzlepotter @localfangirlx @xxpeachyxo @acceptance07 @witchything @witchything @swaggyspiderman @localfangirlx @queengemsworld @liberty01 @stiles-banshees @itsjusttor @stretchkingblog97 @annathesillyfriend @dangerousluv1 @tomshufflepuff @thewayilookatbacon @petersdiaries @emjaywrites @swaggyspiderman @infamousmany @jungeunave @bullshitstars23 @ispiderdudei @calhtlland @literalfsngirltrash @quacksonhq @it-is-rebel-owl-ma-dudes @desir-ae @pxkajesus @unbelievableholland @peterporkpie @justanotherusername80 @smolpeachees @thenoddingbunny-blog @quackeroos @spideyyeet @astoldbydanid @hollandcreep @itscaminow @milly7110 @iriaaarb @laurieteddy @rubberducky-jrr @rebekkah4766 @farfromtom @fancyxholland @seaveyheartful @oh-whatabeautiful-parker @coveredinthemessimade @shameless-self-promo-of-a-shrub @dreaming-lia @thatdamjoke @annathesillyfriend @l0ove-sick-blues @witchything @witchything @bookworm06 @sandtopearl @lala-florez @ohfudgeiamgorgeous @chaoticpete @shezzalocked @ @lowkey-love-loki @yoinkyourheart @cosmicholland @frenchfrostpudding @badbitchydecisions @w4ybefor3nir4na @americaswritings @ilovepeterparker13 @lukesbabylon @iamaunicorn4704 @simple-things @oh-annaa @herondale-snow-carstairs @sip-portteam @farialia @t-holland2080 @tony-starks-ego @quaksonhehe0 @stargazerholland @marvelslut-musicalnerd @hotrubycrab @sovereignparker @peter-parker-tony-stank-trash @belleknows @mysticalinsomniac @nycparkers @itstaskeen @anythingthaticareabout @spn-assemble-seven @tanyalooovesyou @cahosinparadise @heartofholland @peachybloomss @youcompletemesk

515 notes · View notes

finleyjayne · 4 years

Text

Living a Lie: Chapter 1

Thank you for everyone who helped with this fic. Including the amazing @kittykatlow, the wonderful beta for this fic.

Summary: Penelope Grace Darling: the name you live by, the only name the world remembers. That doesn’t keep the memories of Y/N out of your head. All you ever wanted to do was create a better world. You thought you were doing that until some unexpected visitors to your hometown turn your world upside down. Can you leave your past behind you in order to keep your loved ones safe? Or will your fragmented memories keep you from the truth?

Pairings: Past Winter Soldier/Reader, Plus sized!Reader. Slow burn Bucky Barnes/ Reader.

Warnings: Dub/Noncon, Rape, Kidnapping, human trafficing (referenced), Underage Rape, Swearing, PTSD, Anxiety attacks, Unhealthy coping mechanisms, Non consenting drug use, underage Drug use, Violence, Domestic Violence, I’m trying to remember what else comes later in the series.

This is a Dark Fic if you don’t like it Don’t Read It!

Ten sets of feet all in nicely polished leather-soled shoes, all connected to well-tailored suit pants.

Nine men sitting in chairs, all supposedly listening to the man standing on the other end of the table from where you sit curled up underneath.

Eight bottles of alcohol sitting on the dark mahogany sideboard. Beautifully cut glass reflects the firelight and dim room lighting as if they are made of stars. Clear globes sat on top of their stoppers, looking like witchballs, reflecting the horror story that had become your life.

Seven Matryoshka dolls, each colored with similar traditional faces, bellies painted with cityscapes and cathedrals sit on the mantle above the fire. Their faces mock the tense atmosphere with cheery smiles and laughing eyes.

Six books are housed on the other end of the mantle—each written in the Russian script, Cyrillic. From what you can read on their spines, they are books of traditional fairytales, as if this wasn't the central office of the Bratva, the Russian Mafia.

Five… five… looking around trying to find something that was five, you curl up a little tighter underneath the far end of the antique mahogany table. The panic rises in your body as your brain starts wandering from the little game of eye-spy to what had happened the night before. It was not the first time you had exchanged masters. You were a high commodity to these people. Young, talented, naive, strong enough to withstand what they wanted, and apparently unwanted. No! Stop! Back to the game, stay in the moment.

Four. Four panels on the door.

Just as you thought that, your eyes focusing on those panels, the men all stand up and make their way out of the ominously formal meeting. Leaving you in the room without a glance; you are seemingly unnoticed. You freeze in place to keep it that way. You glue your eyes to the wall with the mantel and fireplace.

What am I going to do?

The man that everyone keeps referring to as Krestniy Otets is pacing behind you in front of his throne. What if he’s like the others? Of course, he's like the others. The thought draws a small whimper from your throat. I have two options: let it happen and hope that he isn’t too sadistic; or fight and hope that he finds it fun. Either way, there isn’t anyone to save you. You know you have to find a way to protect yourself. You close your eyes, trying to come up with a plan as you listen to the man's solid footsteps. Who am I kidding? There is only one option. Make him WANT to take care of me. Play the perfect little pet. Innocent, think babydoll, lolita, submissive. Puppy dog eyes, tears, fear, hope. Keep hope they say that makes you seem like a little doll. What did Gammy use to say? Erwarten Sie das Schlim und seien Sie froh, dass es besser passiert. Expect the slumber and be glad it happens better? No… ummmm schlimmste not schlim, that’s it. Expect the worst, and be glad when better happens. That’s it-

The steps stop suddenly, halting your thoughts in their tracks. your body tenses impossibly tight to keep yourself from flinching. No need to draw any more attention, he’ll remember me when he is finished with his business. A deep chuckle resounds from behind you, sending a shiver up your spine. Or you know right now.

“Посмотрите на это, такой милый маленький котенок я купил себе [Russian: Look at this, such a cute little kitten I bought myself.]” The man's voice is deep and robust as he speaks. His tone was pleased but held a note of sadistic teasing. “Little котенок, what are you still doing under there? I thought you would’ve moved to get more comfortable.”

You tuck your head shyly into your shoulder as you look back at the grim-looking man with the biggest, sweetest doe eyes you can, “you said to sit and stay, sir.” Your voice trembles slightly as you whisper the words, It takes everything in you not to break down or vomit, but you manage.

A dark, possessive look passes through his eyes as a self-satisfied smirk graces his lips. “Хороший котенок [good kitten], now come we have things to do.”

Lithely, you roll to your feet, careful not to hit your head on the underside of the hardwood table, and follow him out the four-paneled door, your gaze following the bottoms of his black wingtips submissively as you walk further into the lions' den.

With a gasp, you wake in your soft bed, eyes open but unseeing. Blinking in panic, you wait for your eyes to turn the colorful blobs into precise shapes. The fear strangling your lungs only grows until your hand hits a hard form on the bed next to your pillow, clutching them you hold them inches from your eyes, glasses. Your brain finally catches up slightly, you realize it was just a dream. Taking a deep breath, you slide the thick-lensed glasses onto your nose. Eyes finally focusing. Looking up to the eastern facing window to gauge the time from the slight light slipping through the barred basement window. Sighing at the slivers of light that tinge the sky a rusty red, 8 o'clock. You roll off the bed, standing on your good leg. A hiss escapes your lips as the other tenses with phantom pains. Pushing you to sit and take a second to look at the unfeeling flesh covering the mechanics underneath. After a few moments of movement and messaging the joints beneath the flesh, your brain finally links to the wiring, stopping all sensation from the limb.

You take a few more moments, stretching out the tissues of both legs. Running through the diagnostics tests that have become as familiar as the back of your hands. It takes a few tries to get through the set without any glitches or pain spikes from the living tissues. After the twelfth run, you finally give up hobbling your way into the bathroom with a change of clothes, praying you won't be late for work.

You take care to keep your eyes off your reflection, keeping your eyes on the waterstained wall before rushing to clean yourself under the rusting showerhead. The water barely has enough pressure to send the suds from your body wash down the drain. You keep yourself distant, running through your schedule as you rub the suds over the ripples in your skin. The slight pull of stiff scar tissue against the plushy fat was invisible to the eye but felt as though it were neon stripes painted on your flesh. Your eyes burn with unshed tears, the scalding hot water feeling ice cold.

In a blink, the water is off, and your black, high-waisted skinny jeans and favorite pink peplum top are on--a calming compress to your suddenly overactive nerve endings. Finally looking into the mirror, you brush a hand over the flowing fabrics. Staring at your reflection's hair agitatedly, quickly doing what you can before letting the fading green and blue mass do what it will atop your round face. A quick brush of your teeth, and you are ready to head out the door.

You count the twelve stairs that separate your calm dark haven from your family's chaotic life, immediately running into your frazzled-looking mom. She looks up to meet your eyes, greeting you with a robotically cheery smile that burns the backs of your eyes.

“Good morning, Penelope Darling, are you working today?”

“Yeah, Mom." you choke out, each happy word leaving a metallic taste in your mouth. "Then I’m going to my appointment, I was told I’ll be back around 9,” you respond quietly, grabbing a fresh peach and a knife from the counter before sitting in the office chair at the cluttered kitchen table.

Making quick work of peeling and pitting the peach, you eat while letting your mind drift. It doesn't take you long before you slide on a pair of sandals, bending in half to do up the straps. You grab your bag off the floor next to them, tuck your phone into your pocket, and head to work.

“Bye dear, remember to thank that nice doctor for helping you.”

“Yes’m,” you reply demurely, leaving with a sigh, letting the door into the garage swing itself closed behind you. Walking to your sun-spotted 1996 Mazda 626, you run your hand over her roof, savoring the burn of the hot metal against your skin as you pull the key from your purse and unlock her.

“Heya Gertz, today is gonna be a hard day, but we can make it,” You tell her as you climb into her clean interior, turning the key and listening to her sad little purr. “Yeah, I hear you. Seems we both need an oil change.”

Once at work, you check your phone for the time, ten minutes early, five minutes late, same difference. Anxiously, you hurry into the backdoor of the small shoe store that you work for. Flipping on the lights, you make your way to the register, clocking in as the bossman comes out of the back office.

“Morning, you know you don’t have to be here for another 10 minutes." His cheerful teasing eases the tenseness that your brief interaction with your mother gave you. "I’m going to be outta the store for this morning. I’m leaving you in charge. Daisy should be here in a few minutes, but there is a lot of traffic heading into Salt Lake. Apparently, there is going to be a Stark conference at The U this weekend.”

Your heart dropped at the thought of fighting traffic to get to your appointment. Subconsciously you let out a groan, “If that’s true, I’m going to need to leave a little earlier today. I can just close up if you leave your key, but I have an appointment that I can’t miss.”

“Sure thing, Penny. I’ll be here before we close, so I’ll do it.” He sends you one of his easy smiles, melting away any of your insecurities.

“Thanks, good luck today! Be careful.” You smile back.

“Will do, call me if you need anything.” He says, walking out the back door.

Breathing deep, you start your opening routine, turning on the radio connected to the PA system of the small, main street store. Breathing in the scent of leather, polish, and warmth, you plug in your phone, setting it to play a mix of all the songs you have liked over the year of Spotify that is Utah appropriate. Russian opera, Ballet arrangements, Vivaldi, Frank Sinatra, some pop stuff, Alt. Rock, Jazz. A playlist that is long enough to play music for literal days without repeating a song. Turning on the volume moderator feature and adjusting the stereo's volume until it settles into the background.

As you pull the vacuum onto the main floor, your bustling, bubbly, blonde coworker bounds through the back entrance. She squeals when she sees you, giving you elevator eyes. “Penny! You look cute today. Do you have a date? Please tell me it’s with the guy who I gave you the number for. Did you hear about the Stark expo thingy? Apparently, Mr. Stark and the rest of the Avengers are coming here for it. Can you believe it? All those people are coming to UTAH of all places. And so close to us!? We could run into them at any time! Like seriously! There is even a chance that they will stop in Bountiful on their way to the DATC. We do have some of the best hiking in the area, after all. Just think, Pens, they are going to be here!”

You chuckle softly when she stops for a second. “Breathe, Daiz,” you instruct, resting your hands on her forearms to get her to pause her rant. “Slow down. Don’t want you to hyperventilate again. One question at a time. I can only answer you if you give me a chance to.”

The beautiful young woman bounces on the balls of her feet, heels tapping out a quick staccato against the ground while she takes a few deep breaths. After three, she loses patience and squeals out, “Pens, the Avengers are coming here! I can feel it in my insides! And you know my insides are never wrong!”

“Daisy, you can’t just say that your insides have psychic powers. Especially when the last time you quoted something from them, you ended up breaking your arm in three places.”

“Oh? Well, I trust my gut, and it says good things are coming.”

You think as you open your mouth to give some sort of salty reply, but she cuts you off

“Stop being such a grumpy pants. I know today is gonna be a great day!”

“Whatever you say, Daisy. By the way, I have to head out early, Bruce should be in to cover the last hour with you.” You say going back to vacuuming the storefront.

“You know I’m right, Penelope!” She yells back at me, grabbing the Windex from under the counter to wash the mirrors.

After a slow morning, Daisy goes out to get herself lunch. You perch behind the counter during a lull of customers on a petite but tall stool. Your foot rests on the seat where only half of your bottom fits, knee to chest, chin resting on your knee, looking uncomfortable, but enjoying the stretch across your lower back. Your eyes follow a plane cutting across the sky as you listen to the clock on the wall ticking patiently to your right. The speakers overhead switch from Led Zeppelin to a personal recording of a Russian Lullaby.

The jingle of the door cuts through the peace. You turn my head smiling, “Welcome to Anderson’s Shoes, what can I help you find today?” you say, sitting up a little straighter as a pair of redheaded women and a disinterested man come into view of your seat. As they look your way, the man’s face perks up a bit. You unfold yourself from the stool, prancing around the counter. The women turn to you, smiling friendly.

“We are window shopping and heard the music, then saw the cute golden sandals in the window,” said the shorter of the two redheads in a distinctly Slavic accent.

Taking a shot in the dark, you smile, “Well, Pani, you must have good taste, both of the things you’ve just mentioned are favorites of mine.”

At that, the Sokovian title the girls’ ears perk, and the shorter’s eyes take on a blithe quality, while the taller’s look unphased after the slightest twitch.

“My name is Penny, would you like me to measure your feet before I go grab a couple of pairs for you to try on?” you say, gesturing to a set of comfortable looking chairs upholstered in an outdated green.

“I’m Wanda, This is Natasha, and the doof standing over there with his mouth open is Clint, I am 37 European, I don’t know what that means American Sizing…”

“No worries, Wanda,” you say with a small genuine smile, “your choice of shoe is a European brand, but for future references, a 37 usually translates to a 7 US unless you're getting a Louboutin, those tend to run a half-size short. But the best thing to do when buying shoes is to try them on. Would you also like to try on a pair as well, Natasha?”

Natasha smirks and gives a small shake of her head. “Thank you, though.”

With a polite nod, you slip into the stockroom, silently making your way through the creaky back halls of the store, picking up the desired gold sandals, as well as a pair of black stilettos in a nine. Guessing about the yet silent woman’s preferences, and unable to help but feel the need to grab them, feeling them calling to her.

Coming out of the back with the two boxes, you find the girls laughing at Clint. His face is scrunched up in concentration as he tries to balance on the tiny stool. Before you can reach the front of the store, he has majestically teetered on the seat. He straightens a bit, throwing off his balance just enough to send him sprawling onto the hard floor. The girls' peals of laughter only grow as he scowls at them. He's rubbing his most likely bruised tailbone when you finally reach where they are sitting.

Chuckling softly at the embarrassed expression he gives you, you offer a hand up to the grounded man, “Don’t take it too harshly if you were trying to sit like me, I doubt even Hawkeye could perch on that stool comfortably. If I’m honest, I’m not sure how I end up on it myself." Pulling him up swiftly, you turn to the girls. "I feel like you should try these shoes, Natasha. They were calling to you. And here are these for you, Wanda.” You say, handing the boxes with their respective shoes to the women as they burst into even louder laughter.

After some more friendly banter, and happy sighs as the girls put on the shoes you handed them. Clint, seemingly determined to prove he is indeed as dextrous as a plus-sized girl from the 'burbs, starts trying to pose on the chair a different way every time you turn your back to him. Natasha, though still guarded, seems to have settled when Clint fell the first time, free with her lip twitches that were clearly her version of a smile.

Watching them and spewing facts about the shoes to them as they walked around the store, the minutes tick by; 5, 10, 15. Curiously, nobody else makes their way into the store while they were there. Right as the girls made their way to the register with their original shoes in the new shoes’ boxes, Daisy walks back into the door and stops in her tracks, whatever exciting news she was going to undoubtedly tell me stuck inside her cheek.

“Thank you, I really hope that you enjoy your new shoes. If you have any problems or need anything else, just let us know-” you start saying until Daisy cuts me off with what you can only describe as a blood-curdling scream, causing all four of you to jump and take up fighting positions.

“PENELOPE GRACE DARLING! DO YOU KNOW WHO IS STANDING IN FRONT OF YOU OR DO I NEED TO KICK YOU?! IT’S THE SCARLET WITCH!” came a rush of semi-intelligent squeals from Daisy’s mouth.

Looking genuinely confused as you try to place the name with the context, your eyes flipping between the four people who were now staring at you. Three highly amused with your confusion and one completely flabbergasted. “Daisy calm down a bit? I am apparently missing something here, and you yelling is definitely not helping me piece it together.”

At this, Clint bends over himself, clutching his sides as his laughter rips through his chest. What a sexy laugh? Even though it’s at my expense. Nat smirks a little longer than her usual quick flashes. Wanda, ever the peacekeeper, extends her hand, “Hello, My name is Wanda, but I’m usually more recognized by my superhero name: The Scarlet Witch. These are my teammates and friends; Natasha, or The Black Widow; and Clint, also known as Hawkeye. It’s very nice to meet you, Penelope. We definitely appreciate the help with the shoes.”

Chapter 2

If you want more Winter Soldier fics check out @darkficsyouneveraskedfor. They have a great one called Breach.

Thank you all for reading. Tags are open for this fic, I am also curious to see what you all think. Share your truth with me.

People I think will enjoy reading this: @star-spangled-beard-burn @angrythingstarlight @tossacoin2yourwitcher @navybrat817 @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @nekoannie-chan @donutloverxo @stargazingfangirl18 @nsfwsebbie @jtargaryen18 @buckys-broody-muffin @nacho-bucky @giorno-plays-piano @buckybarney

#dark fic #reader insert #bucky x reader #winter soldier x reader #dark!winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier x You #plus size reader #Dark #human trafficking #winter solider fanfiction #AU

70 notes · View notes

courtorderedcake · 5 years

Text

Roses : A CS retelling of ‘Tam Lin’

Hi, everyone! Thanks to @kmomof4 and the extremely talented @eastwesthomeisbest for their patience on this. As usual, thanks to @ultraluckycatnd who I would be lost without, the woman is a monster editing machine, and super beta. I live for my updates from her. Without further ado, here is my laaaaaaaaaaaate contribution to @cssns. You get TWO chapters for the price of one! WHOA!

Read on Ao3 right here, darlings! Chapter 1/4 Chapter 2/4

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

If there was one trope in fairytales that Emma hated, it was the lonely orphan who found parents and lived happily ever after in a beautiful castle. Her first problem with it was that while she hadn’t met any royalty, she doubted that most of them lost track of their children that often. Or, if they were separated, that a prince or princess would be placed in a crowded Boston orphanage. Her second problem was that there were only so many countries in the world, and even less with a missing monarch. Even diplomats and billionaires were few and far between in that category.

So, on a rainy April afternoon when she returned to her apartment, she did not expect to see a fresh faced courier waiting for her. Although she wasn’t old by any means at 28, the boy looked about 12 with his baby face as he asked her to sign for the letter. She gave a scribble, handed him a wadded bunch of bills from her bag, and stumbled inside to peel off her rain slicker. Throwing aside the envelope of what was probably more of her husband's accounts that she was now responsible for, Emma opted for a nap before work instead. It was until she landed a successful skip that night that she felt ready to tackle another batch of what remained from Neal's legacy.

Kicking off her heels, which were most likely ruined from the rain, she collapsed on her couch. With a wiggle, the skin tight red number was off and she basked in the freedom of being nude as she searched her floor for a clean t-shirt and a pair of lounge pants. Looking at the letter, she picked it up and placed it between her teeth, paused to put her hair in what she hoped would resemble a ponytail, and pulled to rip it open. Letting the envelope fall to the floor, she grabbed her thick rimmed glasses to read the small script.

Her roommate, Mary Margaret, came out of her room. “Emma? It’s 4 am, did you just get back?”

“Mmmmyar.” Emma replied, scanning the text. Her late husband's family crest and name, long discarded after his death, was printed on top of the document. She shuddered at the golden medallions adorning a darkened shield, and the scaled, lizard like, dragon that curling around it.

“Well… OK, but do you want some coffee? David's here and we're getting up early to -”

“Holy. Fucking. Grilled cheese and onion rings.” Emma breathed heavily, staring wide eyed in shock at the papers in front of her.

“What are you swearing on such sacred foods for?” Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow in amused concern.

“I've just inherited an estate valued at £800,000.” Emma flicked her eyes up, mouth a thin line. “Neal's family's fortune, home and grounds apparently. Things I never even knew about.”

“Well.” Mary Margaret sipped her coffee, looking completely nonplussed even if Emma knew on the insides she was bursting - it was how she had earned her nickname Snow Queen after all. “That would do it.”

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The estate reading took place in Ireland through a crackling speaker box, Emma's eyes racing around the office the entire time. It was stunning, as were what seemed like all the buildings during her trip to gain the deed to her home. This office in particular was what Emma imagined when reading Peter Pan; a gentleman's study and den, complete with whiskey decanter and cigar box to her left as if she had gone back in time. The tall shelves were lined in books with gold leaf letters and rich leather bindings, the panels of dark wood mixed with verdant jade paint and damask almost making up for the unsettling stuffed deer heads.

Cringing, Emma turned back to the box. The voice on the other line was thickly accented with a rolling brogue which Graham assured her in his own was common, and had obviously been in a bad mood long enough for it to be a defining quality.

“Ye don't be wanting Carterhaugh, lass. T’place is cursed, hallow in the way tat echoes, not t’way of blessings.”

Her lawyer smirked, teeth white and extremely straight. Emma had liked Graham Grimm since she had met him, and this was insight into his character. Taste in wall decorations aside, he respected her agency enough to not let this man continue to try to stop the change in ownership. In her experience, lawyers were far too careless and rude. This man was funny, even when she teased him about his name and he had sighed, an eye roll so loud she could hear it through their original phone call.

(Yes, my name is Graham Grimm. Yes, they do sound alike. No, I am not involved with fairytales, unless you consider me a fairy Godmother of estate and divorce settlements. No, I am usually very happy. No, I cannot change into a black shaggy dog, can you please just tell me what the approximate appraisal value is?)

“My client will determine its worth.” His tone was calm and well practiced, even through his own clear lilt, but Emma could hear the edge there just under the surface. He had the heart of a forest hunter; not a threat until prey was too well ensnared in a carefully laid trap. This man on the phone, a Mr. Seáìnns’, had been fighting tooth and nail to keep her from her inheritance, throwing obstacle after obstacle in her way for months now.

At first it was as simple as he refused to understand that Emma wanted to know the family that had abandoned her husband, wanted to feel the last connections she had with him or any family she could, but it quickly devolved into more. Emma was subject to constant harassment by calls and letters, envelopes filled with shredded paper or scribbled notes she could not read, all from this crazy older man in the village that Carterhaugh laid in. This didn't do much more than annoy her, as well as the post office, customs, and the garbage disposal crew. It escalated to him crossing a line when he tried to prove she was not the proper heir, insinuating Neal was a bastard, and further when he tried to declare the estate a historical landmark.

Emma hadn't even seen the damn mansion or castle or whatever an estate was considered. It seemed to vary between every property she had compared what little information she had, the repeated ridiculous notion of having her own ballroom driving her and David giddy with excitement. Mary Margaret rolled her eyes, but David pulling her away to dance made a smile crack across her face. They'd discovered over beers that a ballroom didn't make a home a palace, a question neither David, her, or Mary Margaret had ever thought they'd be asking.

The sound of sputtering rage brought her back to the present.

“You bloody ridiculous ‘n hateful creatures! I know what you are doing, what you're playing at. You can try to find me, but I know your games, and I know this woman is either demon or worse! She'd kill ye before even looking, smile on ‘er face. Calling her client… Yer client doesn't know her ken folk have cursed me, an m’wife, and took -” The line crackled, an electronic whining mixed with metallic pops. A dial tone replaced the man's voice and Graham’s smile faded.

“Well. It seems like your new residence has eccentric neighbors, doesn't it?” Graham laughed, and Emma felt his hand slip into her own. She flinched, pulling away from him and he gave her a sad smile. “Sorry, I -”

“It's alright. I… I'm just not looking for anyone.” Rubbing her palms together to do something with her hands, she pushed away the feeling of wrong that came over her at someone's touch. “I don't think I'll be ready for some time.”

Graham nodded, gathering papers together from his desk. He waited a few long, drawn out, silent minutes before asking, “How long has it been since Mr. Gold's -”

Emma's tone was short, frustration defined in every syllable. “It could have happened yesterday, but it was 2 years ago. We got married fast, it was a blur. It's a difficult topic for me.”

“I'm so sorry I -”

“Can we please see the estate?” Pinching her brow as a migraine set in, Emma heard Graham clear his throat and stand.

“Absolutely. It's a few hours from here, if you'd like to get lunch and car pool -”

“I'll take my car. Lead the way.”

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Driving through the small town of Carterhold, Emma could see why locals may be wary of change. The town was a sleepy and picturesque village, stone homes with thatched or moss covered rooftops that stood sparsely around a small town center. From there, through the foggy clouds that swirled through a dense forest, trees climbed up the slope of a massive hill, emerald fingers that reached for the plains leading up to Carterhaugh’s imposing presence, and its perch on the cliffs over the sea. The wind shifted, and it was gone, swallowed again by mist, but Graham was already making the slow ascent up a winding road.

Emma heard a thud, jerking the steering wheel as someone barreled into her bug, broad shoulders and crazed eyes under matted hair barely visible through her wet windows.

“What the -”

The words had barely left her mouth when an unmistakable voice was yelling at her, rambling incoherently as he pounded on her door.

“Ye kinnit go to Carterhaugh! Ye kinnit have it ye bloody witch or fairy demoness! ‘Tis on Hallowed and protected ground, guarded, an ye haven't a clue what I will do to protect it from you, ye - ” The face of Mr. Seáìnns was lit by lightning, eyes blazing bright blue, thunder from his fists against the passenger door and the sky. Emma felt panic in her chest, heavy and leaden.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, Emma let the bug lurch into its unused highest speeds as she flew up the road to Carterhaugh.

The driveway was curved elegantly behind an imposing metal and stone gate, mossy spheres capping the tall towering structure. The manor itself, even in its disuse, was stunning. A fountain stood before large wooden doors, framed by windows that traveled in neat rows up walls choked in ivy. Two wings on either side curved off from there, both facing the sea and woods, a domed roof on one side for a solarium, another for a ballroom. It was both imposing and impossibly inviting, a mystery that was decayed beyond unraveling.

And it was hers.

Graham helped her inside, the lights crackling in refusal to turn on in the storm as they stood in the atrium, dripping on the stone parquet.

“It's fine, I have a lighter,” Emma shrugged, pulling it out of her jacket pocket. “I always carry one. As a kid I was afraid of being alone in the dark. I somehow always seemed to end up there, either hiding or being forced somewhere, so it helped to make my own magic light to fight away shadows. Probably silly…”

“Not silly at all. It's a common fear based on instinct. Predators lurk in the dark, so your brain says that light is safe,” Graham said simply. “Smart to have it on you to start a fire too, or warm up in the wilderness.”

Emma's lips tightened as he continued on about the practicality of the lighter. She turned, expecting him to get the hint, but he followed her while continuing on about the merits of different wood to burn or oils to keep to sustain a good burn. Emma found herself wishing for a nice birch branch just to whack him with. As her annoyance peaked, the lights flickered on.

“Well. No candles I guess, but let's get you a fire started in the hearth, and then I'll be on my way.” Graham paused, and looked down, shuffling his shiny leather shoes. “Unless… I can stay if you like, until you get used to the place or have someone to stay with you, you know, because it's a big older house and -”

“I think I'll manage.” The words crept out more icily than she wanted, but he nodded with a sheepish wave of his hand.

“That's fine. Just call if you do find you need something. I'll get someone out here, and then be out myself in an hour or so. I don't want to see you get swallowed up by a house this big.” He smiled and Emma returned it genuinely, touched by his offer. If she didn't know how men dangled kindness in the face of women like her to get something in return, she would have taken him seriously. But Neal… Neal had ruined her.

The fire in the hearth was easy enough to start, even without special wood. Taking off her boots and coat, she gazed into the flame and planned out her course of action. Her sparse belongings were in the bug, and furniture would be delivered as soon as she took stock of what remained and measured for new pieces. Sighing and rubbing her temples, Emma rolled out her sleeping bag. She was asleep as soon as her eyes closed.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

In the morning, light flitting through the windows and the chill of the fire's death woke her up far earlier than her usual time. Wandering out to the bug, she dragged her luggage inside, pulling on extra socks and layering her sweaters. The effect was comical, but warm. Her stomach growled, but the kitchen was a quick - and musty - find. Sticking to pop tarts instead of whatever the swamp like gloop in the sink was, Emma set to work making a written game plan.

Calling contractors would wait until reasonable hours, but she mapped out who she would need while taking stock of furniture, books, tapestries, busts, and paintings. To her surprise, much of the home was in decent condition, and she easily found a bedroom suite that overlooked the sea cliffs from a secure balcony, a fireplace with stone carved boats in its inlay, an almost modern bathroom, and to her absolute delight, had a storybook fairytale four poster bed. The linens were almost new, the pillows fluffy , and it smelled of sea salt, leather, spice, and rum. If she didn't know how alone she was, the room would seem almost home to someone.

As normal waking hours approached, Emma went outside to survey the gardens and landscape. Most of the plants were dead around the house itself, but the gardens and connected solarium were wild and overrun with blooms. Down the hill, wildflowers in rainbow spectrum danced in the wind, their colors like an eruption of the Crayola crayons Emma had to share in school.

Something moved out of the corner of her eye, and a dark shape made its way around to the front of the manor. Emma grabbed a rusted shovel from a garden bed, and crept towards where the intruder had gone. She found the man looking curiously at her bug. He was tall, dark hair blowing in the wind, scratching his neck in confusion. In his hand was a hook.

“Don't touch my car and I won't have to hurt you, buddy!” Emma yelled, wielding the shovel in her hands like a baseball bat. The man turned, surprised.

Blue. The first thing that Emma noticed was how blue his eyes were; how clear and beautiful the blue she saw in those eyes reflected the color of the sky above. The eyes that currently were gazing at her in confusion.

“Who are you?” he asked, raising his hands above his shoulders, as if she were police. In his left hand was not a hook, but a three pronged garden trowel. Some impression she made, thinking about urban legends this late in life.

“Better question, Alex Trebek, is who the hell are you?” Emma snarled.

“I’m the, er, gardener, madam.” He waved the garden trowel in the direction of a nearby wheelbarrow. There was something off in the way he spoke, the accent strange to her. “Killian. Killian Jones.”

“Gardener?” Emma would had refused staff had she known they existed, and had made sure that she was for the most part alone. He shouldn't be here, especially not with her. Anger boiled over to cover her fear. “You’ve done a great job of things.” Gesturing at the dead plant life around the dilapidated manor, she watched his eyes narrow. “You’re truly magic with landscaping.” This comment brought a dark smile to his face that left her feeling like he was in on the punch line of a joke she hadn’t heard.

“Well, if you’d contact the ruddy owner and let him know to add to the budget for gardening...” The English accent was evident in his voice now, the clear definition between Irish and it what had been off to her ears as she watched his cheeks reddening. Emma gave him a wolfish grin.

“I think that can be arranged.” She gave him a curt nod, before pointing to herself, which he appraised with lips curled back. “Emma Swan. Official new ‘ruddy owner’ of Carterhaugh.”

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The Gold family estate had beautiful gardens. At one time they even had cultivated a rare buttercup and rose hybrid, so they had been very particular on who tended their gardens. A quick call to Graham that took several minutes of cell phone aligning to make confirmed that Killian Jones actually was listed on a small ledger, his family name written on yellowing paper, noted as “horticultural help”.

“I don't know how I missed this, it's like it just appeared here Miss Swan,” Graham had groaned, yawning into his end of the line. Static cracked through her cell phone speakers as fog rolled over the driveway. “But yes, he is explicitly listed as coming with the property.”

“Great. And you're sure I can't fire him without penalty?”

“No, I'm sorry. This is written in a ridiculously old way, as if they're counting him as property. He can resign, but even then -” There were several moments of garbled reply that was incomprehensible. Emma huffed, kicking rocks and pacing until she caught a better signal, and Graham's voice snapped back on the line. “-Look into it more as I do some digging. You're out of luck. Do you want me to come stay? I'm happy to while you wait for another friend -”

“No, no, it’s fine. He’s not creepy, he just seems…” Chewing her lip thoughtfully, she struggled for words. “He seems, lonely. Just sort of desperate and excited for company, which I thought I could avoid by being out here. I just wanted to be alone, or at the very least I guess with someone I didn't worry about… Well. I just don't do yokels or men, and he seems a pinch of both.”

Dead air hung on the other line, followed by a faint, eerie whispering.

“Graham?”

The sound of a low laugh, as quiet as blown leaves over cold pavement sounded over the line, and Emma dropped her phone with a start.

“Are you alright?” came the sudden voice from behind her, and she whirled on her heel.

"I'd be fine if you made noise when you walked, buddy, and if I could get some damn reception out here." Emma huffed, and the grounds keeper seemed to decide against saying anything, quickly snapping his mouth shut. "Do you know a better place to get service?"

In the fog and chill breeze of the gravel drive, Emma suddenly felt a deep sense of foreboding and unease. The shadow of Carterhaugh loomed, as if reaching for her, Killian already swallowed by the scrawled shape in the morning sun. He seemed uneasy as well, even unnerved. Emma watched as his jaw muscles worked as if he quite literally chewed on her words before speaking.

"I could set up a tea service, if you'd like, but I'm afraid you'll find neither a service or reception out here. Nothing but chill." He made a gesture for her to follow him, which she did with a wry smile. He thought he had a sense of humor. Wonderful.

As he prepared tea from a silver set in one of the many kitchen cabinets, they made attempts at conversation. Killian was also a caretaker for the property, and he asked her how she came about ownership as they sat at the large oak dining table together. The furniture was remarkably well preserved in the majority of the main rooms, much to her delight.

The sunshine through moth eaten curtains had dust motes swirling in the air as her face fell, and she swallowed the bile that rose before she uttered her tight words.

“My husband passed away.” Killian had winced at that.

“I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure he was -”

“I don't… I don't discuss Neal.” She closed her eyes tightly, taking deep breaths, feeling her skin flame. Even after what felt like an eternity, Neal's shadow still darkened her day. She sipped her tea, trying to cool herself, even with the scalding liquid.

He hadn't asked any more on the subject, only asking about changes to what affected his work. Emma found it comforting; if he was to stay, at least he would leave well enough alone.

“I'd like to stay here, if you don't mind. I have a master suite facing the sea on the third level of the east wing, and I know there'll be nothing in town for rent,” he stated. Emma chewed her lip in thought, mapping out his room in relation to her own. The answer struck her, and she groaned with a scrunched face of annoyance.

“Do you get up early? Probably don't keep a fire lit?” she grumbled, and he looked at her with eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I'm up as early as possible, and I find I enjoy the chilled sea air. Why?”

“And I bet you have a dove gray comforter.” Emma sighed, head falling into her palm with a wry laugh. “Because of course, just of course -”

“I do, aye -” He blinked and his brows shot up. “Were you..? Did you sleep in my room?”

“Well, no, but I didn't know it was -”

“I mean, it's fine. I'll choose another, I guess -”

“No. No need to be ridiculous. I… You probably know where the next best preserved bed is?” she asked, and his eyes lit up.

“Well yes, but you'd be in the same wing, is that alright?”

Emma hesitated, and then nodded. “With you up so early I doubt we'd see much of each other. And I'll be busy inside as you work outside.”

He made a non-committal noise, and stood with a stretch. Emma inhaled sharply; he was well toned and very good looking, but the thought of anyone’s hands on her after Neal had…

Her stomach churned.

“Follow me, then,” he said, offering his hand. Emma could feel her lungs tightening. Her expression must have frozen on her face too, because his eyes widened and he lowered his hand. “Or we could do this later, if you -”

Emma stood, and shook her head. “Just got a bit dizzy. Lead the way.”

They made no conversation as he led her up the staircase to the third level, the other suite he mentioned on the far end of the hall whereas his was at the beginning. The large door was imposing but carved with floral inlay, the stain perfectly applied to add to its richness. Both sides were flanked by stained glass in the same twisted vine and flower designs.

“I almost chose this room. It was for the lady of this house at one time, and should serve you better than me.” Killian produced a key with the same designs swirled around the brass, unlocking it to reveal a sun warmed sitting area the color of blushing peonies. An ornate vanity sat in one corner, while a matching bureau and canopy bed sat before a balcony, from which the sea and his own room visible. Stained glass curved around the doors to what she assumed were the closet and bathroom, and more carved wood and glass made up a truly spectacular fireplace. If Killian’s room was big, this room was truly gigantic.

Emma was at a loss, the furniture was all beautifully intact except for the bed’s canopy curtains and linens. Beyond that, the fabrics and rugs showed no large evidence of wear, the patterns still bright and soft underfoot. She poked her head in the closet and found it relatively large, possibly a maid's room or changing salon at one time, then turned the handle of the bathroom while Killian watched from the entrance.

The huge claw foot soaking tub and gold veined marble under her feet could not prepare her for the large stained glass framed window that captured the sea, as if she was sailing away in the tub itself. A double sink, open shower, and large mirror completed the space in luxury. It was exquisite, and left Emma aching for a bubble bath.

“I'll move your things, if you -”

“No,” she whispered, still in awe, before clearing her throat. “No, that's alright. I'll move everything. I… I don't like people touching my things.”

“At least allow me to give you my spare set of bedding, love, and -”

“I am not your love, alright?” she snapped, and his eyes widened. She took in a steadying breath, chewing her lip to rid herself of the sourness she wanted to throw at him. He seemed mollified, scratching behind his ear.

“I'm sorry, I -”

“No. I'm sorry. It's been… I have… I don't do people very well.”

“Well, I'll get you the linens and be out of your way, then.” There was resignation in his tone, but Emma could only hug herself as she let her armor build back up around her.

“Perfect. Thank you.” Her tone was clipped, but she didn't expect the annoyed response, huffed under his breath as he pulled blankets and pillows from a hall closet.

“As you wish, Princess.”

Emma's tone was colder than ice, her words spoken in frigid staccato. “Excuse me? I must have misheard you.”

“I wasn't expecting the new owner to be all business, is what I said. These corridors are old. If you aren’t careful, these halls will try to trick you. You’ll get used to them, though.” Killian deposited the mountain of linen on her bed, and spread out the fitted sheet.

“I don't think halls,” she snatched the pillows from the bed, pulling the sheet roughly on the other side, “are capable of trickery. Only people. People are difficult, they need to be watched. You have to keep your eyes on them or they'll do who knows what.” Pulling roughly on the sheet again, she glared with narrowing eyes at Killian, his own eyes glowering under dark lashes. “Especially people who say things under their breath like a petulant, scorned, self absorbed, preening -”

“Well, I would despair if ‘People’ took their eyes off of me. Some might say this attention is in the beholder’s benefit, and I'd say so as well. I'm quite dashing, or so I've heard.” Gripping the comforter tightly, he laid it out and smoothed it down while returning her glare. “So, I suppose we are well matched, since you are an icy, insufferable, stubborn, spoiled -” Reaching for a pillow, his hand grazed her own, and Emma yelped in surprise.

Her breathing quickened as she stared at her skin, Killian’s insults and attempted arguments drowned out by an increasing electrical whine mixed with her heartbeat thumping. Stumbling away into the bathroom, she turned on the tap, desperately washing her skin where they had touched in the rust colored water, scouring the place their skin had met with her nails instead of the absent soap.

Killian’s hand found her shoulder and Emma flew at him, pushing him away as she screamed profanities. He stumbled backwards into the tub, watching in fear at her transformation, her rubbed raw hand bleeding as she renewed her focus on the new area he'd touched. Without soap it was pointless, hot water her only real advantage, pouring the scalding water onto her skin. She mumbled to herself, trying to focus against the onset panic.

Emma's thoughts were burning away elsewhere, the fires she could not escape when Neal had locked her away; smoke, embers and ash acrid in both the air and her lungs.

It took what felt like hours for her to come back to herself, her fingernails bloody and skin blistered from the heat. The gentle chime of the clock in the room indicated it had only been ten minutes to her relief. It was the worst attack she had in ages, the first time in so long she hadn't been able to control herself. The first time in so, so, long that she had fallen back into the flame of those memories, of that pain.

A soft voice whispered gently to her, taking her off guard, and she looked up to see Killian slowly extricating himself from the bathtub. He raised his hands in supplication, kneeling several feet away from her. She choked out a strangled noise and he shook his head.

“It's alright, it's OK, lo - er…” He gave a sheepish look, thinking for a moment. He smiled in a sad sort of way after a moment, before continuing, “It's alright. Just tell me how I can help. Maybe a glass of water?” Emma nodded slowly. “Alright, I'll fetch you a bottle.”

At his retreat, Emma let her herself take stock of what had happened, falling back into her times under clinical observation. Mary Margaret had been a stone faced angel, taking in her pain and working a life around it, going as far as releasing care notes when she felt Emma was ready. She had met David, Emma's adoptive brother that way, resulting in a very happy marriage.

“Patient refuses to accept human contact, even using high concentration chemical cleaning agents on skin.”

“Patient has no history of obsessive or compulsory behavior, but violence and destruction of property are noted in their state welfare file.”

“Attempts at getting patient to explain what happened on the night of the incident to victims causes patient to become increasingly distressed when her husband is mentioned. Questions regarding other victims or the causes of death are met with silence. Patient claims no memory of her actions.”

“Patient indicates possibility of further witnesses or victims at scene - hallucinations caused by trauma or psychosis?”

“Repeated attempts at questioning or explaining patient's obsessive actions or fear of touch are met with hostility, while questioning in regards to matrimonial life is indicative of abuse. Patient advocate (M. M.) recommends home based care, with patient's brother.”

“Patient continues to allow touch in sparing amounts among family, friends, and in situations where they are prepared. Therapy with preferred Doctor is continuing as part of a deferred sentence. Patient advocate (M. M.) states that large improvement has been made outside of care facilities. Recommending end of observational treatment.”

Killian placed the water next to her, as the feeling of oxygen in her lungs weighed her down.

“Thanks.” Emma croaked, voice raspy. Killian sat down in front of her, legs crossed as he watched her drink with shaking hands.

Scratching behind his ear, he looked sideways across the floor, picking at a chipped piece of tile. “It was nothing. I'm sorry that -”

“Don't be. I just have a thing about touch.” Emma stood briskly, ice back in her unsteady tone at glacial levels. “You couldn't have known, and since you are going to be scarcely around it won't be an issue, as we discussed earlier.”

Killian snorted, and stood as well, rocking on his heels. “I was going to say that I'm sorry it took so long, and I brought you some… other items.” His face changed, haughty to solemn, watching her hands tremble as she shoved them in her pockets. “You're right, we won't be seeing each other often. If you need help with something, or finding your way around the estate, leave me a note under my door. If I need garden supplies, I'll leave a note in the kitchen.”

He turned, walking towards the bedroom door. After a moment Emma followed tentatively, walking towards the door behind him in silence. She shot a glance at the bed, noticing the bandages, a tube of some ointment, a key ring, and a few pink roses. She stopped in the small salon, watching Killian open her door and give her a strained smile.

“I'm sorry for touching you, as well.” Emma made a sound of protest, ready to tell him again that he was blameless, but he persisted. “While I couldn't have known, my presence here has never been… convenient. I had hoped that had changed with the new owner. Good day, Miss Swan.”

“Wait -” He looked as surprised as she felt, the words racing past her lips, blurted at the last second. “What is your cell phone number? It'd be easier to get a hold of you that way, if I should need you. Not to say that I will…” Killian stared at her in abrupt confusion, his brows knitting.

“I don't have a phone. The manor has one, should you need to use it.” There was something off in his tone, but her own cell phone had fought every attempt at service on the property, so this shouldn't have been too much of a surprise. The manor phone, she could work with that.

“What's the number?” Emma pulled her phone from her pocket, the screen lighting up. Killian looked amazed in her peripheral, which didn't surprise her. The town was practically medieval, and this phone was the newest of its brand. Emma scarcely knew how to use it.

“You have to set it up later, if you want communication by wire. Your device there -”

“It's an Android, I let the kid at the store set it up for me. If you want me to get you one, I can the next time I go to the city. They have a walkie talkie app that I think might work with a wifi connection once I have that set up.” Killian nodded, looking at her blankly. “Have you ever had Wi-Fi in the house before?”

Killian hesitated, his jaw ticking as he bit into his lip in thought. “I wouldn't know, love. I'm afraid that we’re a bit behind the rest of the world here, I don't believe we know what year it is most of the time.”

Emma laughed lightly, and relaxed a little bit more. “Most of us are trying to forget that it's 2019, so I suppose that's fair. I just enjoy Netflix and the occasional game of Words with Friends too much to go without internet.” Killian looked down at his feet, his face unreadable for a moment, fists balled. When he looked back at her and relaxed, Emma caught a glimpse of pure sadness, a mirror of her own pain, before it was carefully pushed behind walls of his own.

Smiling softly, Killian laughed. “I have no idea what a Netflix is, but you are the Mistress of the estate. I encourage you to do as you wish. If you would like me to have a…” He hesitated again, as if searching for something. “A, er, shell phone, I will gladly oblige if you provide it and give me instruction.”

Emma snorted, and found herself genuinely laughing as Killian’s cheeks turned red. “You're actually funny. Alright. I'll try to get you a ‘shell phone’, old man.” Killian’s eyes darkened, his smile turning almost sour. “Between the two of us, we'll bring some life back into this place.”

He nodded, that same pensive look on his face, almost hidden by his smile. “Yes. Well, taming the estate is not going to be an easy task. I'll help you where I can, should you need me. Good day.” He closed the door slowly, and Emma listened as his footfalls fell away.

Climbing into her bed, the mattress surprisingly plush under her, she bandaged her hand slowly. The roses he'd laid next to the first aid were beautiful, their strong aromatic scent filling the air already. Picking up one of the roses delicately, she sniffed, the full scent absolutely breathtaking. The throbbing of her skin faded, and all at once Emma felt herself relax. She felt invigorated, but her muscles were loose, and she happily moved her things into her room, making sure to place the roses in a porcelain vase.

The rest of the day was spent taking pictures and taking full stock of every room in the large estate. It was exhausting and by the time darkness settled Emma had barely scratched the surface of the repairs needed. Neal had left a large sum of money for her, but this was a giant and expensive endeavor. Back in her room, she started a fire in the hearth and tugged on a robe over her pajamas. Opening the door to the balcony and stepping out onto the cold stone, she stared at the waves.

Never, never in her wildest dreams did she believe that this could be her life. In the moment it was overwhelming, the only silver lining in the thunder cloud that was her marriage to Neal. A true story of a love turned into something poisoned, a once healthy plant that grew into twisted vines, strangling everything in its path.

His hands tight around her neck, the air in her lungs not enough, she wasn't enough. The other women being led somewhere by the red haired woman with green nails, Ari's and Tam's bracelets heavy on her wrist even as she starts to feel herself go slack. The pressure is too much, black spots dotting the air, and somewhere close, another man hooting like some primate - Brown eyes meet hers, and for a moment he falters, fingers loosening.

Emma kicks, kicks with all her strength, and when he crashes backwards she screams, screams like her chest is ripping apart just to resonate this noise, this wail of everything he lied about. It is a trick of light, a symptom of lack of oxygen, a freak occurrence spurred by the old home and poor insulation, bad wiring and mice chewed exposed cables.

Neal looks at her and sighs as Emma can hear the red haired woman and her underling shriek.

“Thank you,” Neal whispers, reaching for her, but Emma's banshee wail is not over and her mouth is a perfect ‘O’ as the rafters shake, tears stinging her eyes. A Swan song, she thinks, the end of her sanity and her life, the feeling of this cry flowing through her like breathing with every inch of her body. Her skin burns too, but not like theirs.

He makes it to her on stumbling steps, a vision from a nightmare, her scream unending even as she stares at him in horror. His touch is like a branding iron, his embrace like raw flesh dipped in salt. Neal touches her face as he burns away, ashes to ashes, his hand becoming embers and dust. This is hell fire, and Emma can't stop her scream long enough to beg for this to end. His lips are against her ear and his last words echo as he falls away, falls to her feet, the building crumbling around them. Her scream ends when the ceiling piece hits her skull, and the world too, finally falls into blissful, silent, cool darkness.

Far off there are sirens, and she can feel the burning when her body is lifted, but for now, Emma prefers the darkness even as Neal's last words occasionally echo through the stillness.

“I'm so sorry, Ems."

Emma came back to herself soaking wet, the rain that threatened from the horizon now in full force. It pelted her, cold, salt rain, pulled from the waves and forced from the sky. She was crying, sobbing in silence, but no one is here to see the rain wash away her tears.

#Courtorderedcake #2019 #September 12th 2019 #Roses #captain swan fic #CSSNS #captain swan fanfiction #Captain Swan Au #cs ff #cs ff au #Tam lin #Fairy Tale retelling #Eastwesthomeisbest

21 notes · View notes

valentinewheeler · 5 years

Text

2018 Book Recap!

If you follow me on twitter you saw this already, but here’s my favorites I read this year.

They weren’t all 2018 releases, but they’re what hit my kindle/bookshelf and stood out! In reverse order, basically, of when I read them. Check out the list below - it’s a little eclectic.

The Good Neighbor: The Life and Works of Fred Rogers (Maxwell King) - My toddler is ALL ABOUT Mr. Rogers. Turns out he was just as wonderful in life as he was on TV. If you’ve got a small person in your life who loves him (or you were one), I recommend this deep dive into his life and legacy.

Blackfish City (Sam J. Miller) - This sat on my kindle for months before I opened it, but once I passed the first few chapters and got into the world, I blew through 90% in a day. Beautifully woven storytelling, deep worldbuilding. Infrastructure, plague, and culture clash: three things that win me instantly. PLUS a nonbinary POV character!!

A Conspiracy of Truths (Alex Rowland) - I hate unreliable narrators, and yet, here I am, in love with this book. I finished the audiobook (which is BEAUTIFULLY narrated!!) and actually yelled out loud when there wasn’t any more. WHAT A WORLD. Economics, legal drama, and grumpy characters: three more things I can’t resist in a novel.

A Duke by Default/A Princess in Theory (Alyssa Cole) - I hadn’t read much romance until this year, and I don’t know why because turns out I love it. Or at least, I love Alyssa Cole’s work. Both of these had great heroines and super fun supporting casts. I loved both of them equally. I want the next one immediately.

Witchmark (C.L. Polk) - Everyone said I’d love this. EVERYONE WAS RIGHT. Magic! Bikes! Social class based on a false meritocracy! MURDER! MAGIC-SCIENCE BLEND! REALLY FREAKY PAYOFF! Read it. You’re missing out if you don’t.

Spinning Silver (Naomi Novik) - Now, I’ve loved Naomi Novik’s work for about fifteen years. I knew I’d like this one. What I didn’t expect was to have to lie down for a few hours to contemplate it after reading it in one go. I love a main character who ISN’T traditionally sympathetic but you love anyway. Beautifully woven folklore and feeling.

Legend (and sequels) (Marie Lu) - I love YA dystopias with all my heart. This was such a great one. I loved the characters, I loved the setting, I loved seeing the broader world than is usually seen in a post-apocalyptic setting (how DO other governments handle the end of the old way??) Just a delightful read.

Fuzzy Nation (John Scalzi) - I tried to minimize my white men on my reading list this year, but Scalzi is always an exception. I LOVE the original work, and this is a beautiful update. But then, legal battles in space will always win me over. Love it just as much as HBP’s, which is a pretty high bar to cross.

Forest of a Thousand Lanterns (Julie C Dao) - This took me a while to get through, because it was so, I don’t know, filled with impending doom? This little book had such a dark, blood-soaked voice, and I love a fairytale retelling that DOESN’T go how you expect. Absolutely worth reading. Lush setting, high body count.

The Poet X (Elizabeth Acevedo) - If I had known this was all in verse, I wouldn’t have picked it up. So I’m really glad I didn’t know that. If that turns you off, listen to the audiobook. A phenomenal performance. What an immersive experience this book was. It’s stuck with me for months after reading.

The Book of the Unnamed Midwife (Meg Elison) - I love post-apocalyptic stories. This was a brutal one. Explores how different communities deal in the face of disaster, and not for the weak of stomach. But one of my favorite PA books of the year for sure. Bought the sequel and finished both in one day.

An Extraordinary Union/A Hope Divided (Alyssa Cole) - The other set of her books I devoured this year. The first slavery-era US romance I’ve read that didn’t leave a sour taste in my mouth. The way she builds her characters and their bonds is just SO #goals.

Orientalism (Edward Said) - I’ve been meaning to read this for a while, and I finally made it through this year. A little dated, maybe, but a dense brick of really interesting thinking and history. A classic for a reason!! The audiobook is GREAT.

Americanah (Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie) - I love a character who is lying to herself! And I love a book where the backstory is meted out in drips and dabs. A dive into communities I know very little about, some of which are right around the corner from me. Ifemelu is a completely solid character, one that feels ABSOLUTELY real.

Trail of Lightning (Rebecca Roanhorse) - If you’ve read her short fiction, you know she’s a master. This lived up to it. Post-apocalyptic Navajo monsterhunters? Exactly as awesome as promised. The mythology and worldbuilding are perfection.

The Calculating Stars/The Fated Sky (Mary Robinette Kowal) - THESE BOOKS! I love alternate history, I love space, I love characters who confront prejudice within themselves and without! Every character makes SENSE, even when they’re awful! All the science feels absolutely real! I WANT TO GO TO SPACE

The Book of M (Peng Shepherd) - My goodness, I read a lot of post apocalyptic novels this year? This one has one of my personal fears - memory loss that can’t be stopped. Another great blend of science and maybe-magic and spirituality (?) and how humans cope with weird, horrifying, tragic things.

Alexander Hamilton (Ron Chernow) - I figured before seeing Hamilton I needed to read the book, and I’m really glad I did. Super engaging, with just the right blend of anecdote and data. After reading this I definitely annoyed my mother and my spouse during the whole musical by whispering trivia at them.

War Against All Puerto Ricans (Nelson Denis) - I’m ashamed to say I knew very little about the history of Puerto Rico. After reading this book, that really pisses me off. The US really did PR wrong, and continues to do so. A vital read for anyone interested in US history.

Cinder/Scarlet/Winter/Cress (Marissa Meyer) - Apparently people have been into these for years and I’m just hitting them now. Fun YA, a genre I’ve missed (I like all this hard-hitting, serious YA, but sometimes over the top silly is absolutely necessary!). Spouse and I enjoyed pointing out all the absurd fairy tale tropes.

Station Eleven (Emily St. John Mandel) - !!! I’m ALL ABOUT books that weave together multiple stories that you KNOW how to intersect somehow but you don’t know HOW IT WILL HAPPEN! Post apocalyptic, weaving stories over fifteen years, all connecting to the life of one guy as the apocalypse hits. GREAT.

All God’s Children Need Travelling Shoes (Maya Angelou) - Yes, I’m well past missing the boat here. But I’m catching up. My goodness, she’s a beautiful writer. And the period covered in the book is spellbinding and brutal and painful and gorgeous.

Cooking is Terrible (Misha Fletcher) - Okay, do you have like twelve minutes and four dollars to cook dinner every night? THIS BOOK IS FOR YOU. Easy recipes in non-threatening form, with going off-script absolutely encouraged. I read this start to finish and have been referring back FREQUENTLY as I cook.

Front Desk (Kelly Yang) - THE MIDDLE GRADE BOOK I NEVER KNEW I NEEDED. Oh, this was wonderful. I want to give this to every ten year old I know (which is actually none?). Mysteries! Racism! Badass middle schoolers! Intra-community problems! Three-dimensional characters! YES!

Edge of Nowhere (Felicia Davin) - SPACE ROMANCE! Teleportation! Cafe-owning lesbians! Sweet big stoic guy/small angry disaster guy romance (my FAVORITE KIND)! SPACE SPORTS! Space HEIST!!!! Alternate dimensions! YES.

Everything I Never Told You (Celeste Ng) - This one hurt. What real, beautiful, flawed, horrible characters. All their choices made sense in context, all their pain felt real, and I didn’t want to leave them when the book ended. Content warnings for child death. The 1970s have never felt so close.

Little Fires Everywhere (Celeste Ng) - I usually hate books that start at the end, but this one earned it. Disaster rich people are kind of my jam, especially when they have consequences. And again the characters were the stars. I felt like I knew everyone, and I loved them even when they were awful.

Into the Drowning Deep (Mira Grant) - I’m never going in the ocean again. Mermaids have been ruined forever. Terrifying. Great characters, some of whom die horribly. Scary scary unending horrorshow. But oh, what a way to go. Gory fun filled with great representation.

Uprooted (Naomi Novik) - I was so delighted by Spinning Silver I almost forgot that I loved this one NEARLY as much! Scary forest, plenty of fantasy/fairytale tropes turned on their heads. Disaster love interest. Competent, frustrated main character. A+.

The Beauty that Remains - There were a lot of dead friends books this year, and this was my favorite in the not-police-related category of those. Strangers whose lives weave together around the deaths of three people close to them all, and the band that brought them all closer. Gorgeous.

An Indigenous People’s History of the US (Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz) - Another one that’s absolutely vital in filling gaps in the history I’ve learned of this country. Engaging writing and strong voice. Didn’t give me any warm patriotic fuzzies, that is for sure.

Company Town (Madeline Ashby) - Floating future town! Unions! Murder! Loved it.

The Underground Railroad (Colson Whitehead) - I know the boat on this was a couple years ago, but what a chilling, brutal, beautiful book. The slight speculative element was just the perfect touch to give it a flavor of myth, if that makes sense. Steel yourself before reading.

River of Teeth (Sarah Gailey) - HIPPOS! IN THE MISSISSIPPI! This was a DELIGHT from start to finish. Leverage on HIPPOS in the Wild West?! YES PLEASE.

The Wanderers (Meg Howrey) - Astronauts on a simulated mission to Mars basically all break down, as does everyone around them. I adored this book. I loved the thousand POVs because each one was its own distinct voice. I loved the different ways everybody fell apart!

Infomocracy (Malka Older) - WORLDBUILDING!!!!!! Future elections, future political system, future tech, all brilliantly built. I need to read the sequels, but I haven’t managed to work up the brainpower I know they deserve!!! READ THIS if you like scifi political minutiae (I DO)

The Poppy War (RF Kuang) - The first half is Tamora Pierce, the second half is George RR Martin, but better. This was nothing like what I expected. Absolutely staggeringly, brutally beautiful. What a bold novel. Will buy anything else she ever writes sight unseen.

Warcross (Marie Lu) - This is what I wanted Ready Player One to be. Virtual reality gaming with real life consequences. References and fantastic characters. The sequel is just as good.

Zeroboxer (Fonda Lee) - BOXING IN SPACE! Secret science!! MYSTERIES!! All things I love.

Dread Nation (Justina Ireland) - GREAT. Zombies during the Civil War. A heroine who takes no shit and instead takes zombie heads off. COMBAT SCHOOLS. SUPER GREAT.

An Ember in the Ashes (Sabaa Tahir) - I didn’t expect to love this the way I did, but I devoured it, and the two sequels, each in about a day. This felt like all the best parts of old-school fantasy novels, the thick kind you shoved in your backpack in seventh grade, but BETTER. And I love a good Evil Roman!

Space Opera (Catherynne Valente) - Queen meets Hitchhiker’s Guide! This was a JOURNEY from start to finish, a glorious, absurd, delightful meditation on fame and Eurovision and what it means to be worthwhile and human and a person. YES.

The Broken Earth (NK Jemisin) - More like the BROKEN ME after reading these. Periapocalyptic fiction, absolutely 100% deserving every award and more. Content warning for very small child death brutally described, and more horrors. NK Jemisin goes HARD.

American Islamophobia (Khaled A Beydoun) - Could not put this down. I learned an astonishing amount, especially about the historical place of Islam, Muslims, and Islamophobia in the US. A hard read, but worth the work.

All the Birds in the Sky (Charlie Jane Anders) - Okay, I have to admit it, I have no idea what was going on in this book. But that didn’t stop me from loving it!! Witches and technology and animals and weird apocalyptic nonsense! DELIGHTFUL

Anger is a Gift (Mark Oshiro) - Another YA book that pulled no punches. What a phenomenal look into the way kids and communities of color move through the world, and how the world moves against them.

History is All You Left Me (Adam Silvera) - SO MANY DEAD FRIEND BOOKS THIS YEAR. A great use of the start at the middle, work both directions format, it covers both the time before the death of the MC’s ex and the fallout. I wept through most of it.

White Tears (Hari Kunzru) - Horror, and the villain is essentially appropriation. Very satisfying! The author’s love of music comes through. A nerdy, scary, millennial read.

Love, Hate and Other Filters (Samira Ahmed) - Loved this. Melded teen interpersonal drama, family expectations vs. dreams, and confronting the world and the way they see you all at once, woven together in a beautiful way.

A People’s History of the US (Howard Zinn) - Obviously this is great. I listened to the audiobook, narrated by his son. Sobbed through the child labor chapters. Cheered at the union chapters. Loved it.

Thornfruit/Nightvine/Shadebloom (Felicia Davin) - I LOVE WORLDBUILDING. This is a fantasy on a world that doesn’t turn, so night and day are DIRECTIONS, not times. SO COOL. And I adore the main character. Small Angry/Large Shy is the BEST ROMANCE TROPE. The magic and language is beautifully developed.

Tempests and Slaughter (Tamora Pierce) - Look. I’ll read a gonorrhea brochure if Tamora Pierce writes it. So you knew this would be on the list. But it earned its spot! I love Numair in the Daine series, and he’s a tiny ball of feelings in this. I need more.

Unfamiliar Fishes (Sara Vowell) - I’ve always been interested in Hawaiian history, and though this was a little light and memoir-y for my taste, it contained a shocking amount of information that went down easy in her light, friendly style. Absolutely worth the couple hours it’ll take you.

The Only Harmless Great Thing (Brooke Bolander) - Elephants! Memory! What it means to have value! What we owe other beings! Radium! Sharp and dark and deeper than it has any right to be.

#book recs

16 notes · View notes

annathewitch · 6 years

Text

The Golden Bird: Prologue & Chapter 1

Summary: Eomer X Reader. Fairytale AU. As a gardener’s daughter in Edoras, your life is expected to be simple and dull, but you get caught up in a quest to find a mysterious Golden Bird which might be the key to breaking a curse on the Rohirrim.

Words: 4,000

Warnings: None! Not even swearing.

A/N: Based on the Grimm Brothers fairytale, the Golden Bird, for @thefanficfaerie’s Flip The Script Fairytale Challenge. Hoping to post the whole fic within the next week or so! This bit is largely scene setting and the adventure really begins in the next part. I have taken some liberties with the geography of Middle Earth. Not canon LOTR compliant.

...

Prologue

Once upon a time in Edoras, the once great city of the horselords, there lived a King. Theoden King was not one of the great Kings of Rohan, not a warrior like Eorl, or full of the wisdom of Brego, but he was kind and fair and under his rule the Rohirrim lived in relative peace and prosperity. He doted on his beautiful wife Elfhild, and for her happiness he created the gardens of the palace Meduseld. In the centre of the gardens, Elfhild planted the most beautiful apple tree, which bore the sweetest tasting fruit with delicate skin of gold. The King and Queen were happy, and the tree flourished.

But tragedy befell Theoden King. Elfhild bore him a strong son, but sickened with childbed fever and when Prince Theodred was scarcely a week old she died. His grief was great for his lost love, and though he sought joy in his son and heir, his heart did not recover. In short order his sister and brother were also cruelly taken from him, and Theoden King vowed in his grief to care for their children, Éomer and Éowyn as if they were his own. The King did his best to raise the three children, and to serve the people of Rohan, but without the counsel of his beloved and his family, he succumbed to a deep melancholy.

Around this time, a man from the North who came to be known as the Wormtongue, wheedled and connived his way into the court at Edoras, dripping honeyed words into the ear of the King until he became a most trusted advisor and the most powerful man in Rohan next to Theoden. There were whispers that he was in league with woodland elves, or a great wizard, but none spoke openly, for those who challenged him met with unfortunate fates. As the children grew they saw Wormtongue for the parasite he was, and he began to see the children as a threat to his power and influence.

When the children were full grown, Theodred and Éomer were sent to defend the borders of Rohan from Dunlendings and Orcs, and though the Prince was a strong and clever warrior and the finest horseman, he was felled from his horse while crossing the River Isen and killed. Eomer grew suspicious for the fatal blow struck his cousin from behind, but he kept his own counsel until he could return to Edoras and speak with his Uncle.

Eomer laid his discovery bare, but Wormtongue’s influence had grown too deep, and Theoden refused to listen to his tale. Afterwards, those who witnessed the scene whispered that the King had been mad with grief and his nephew incandescent with rage. So when one night Eomer and his sister disappeared and Eomer’s horse went missing from the stables, it was easy to believe the Wormtongue’s rumours that they had run away. And, despite a search the length and breadth of Rohan, they were not seen or heard from again.

Where once Theoden King had been kind and just, he grew bitter and cold at the loss of everything he had held dear. And as the years passed, Wormtongue led him to apathy and greed, and the Rohirrim suffered. As the harvests failed, and the horse herds dwindled, and Edoras fell into disrepair, so too the tree that bore the precious golden apples began to sicken and wither until it produced but a handful of fruit.

The only faint and almost forgotten hope of a people in despair was the prophecy of the wise man Mithrandir who had foretold that in time a shieldmaiden would ride into Edoras on a Mearas stallion, bearing the sword of a son of Eorl, and she would restore Rohan to prosperity. But there had been no shieldmaidens for many ages, and none likely to appear soon.

...

Chapter 1

You were content with your lot in life, really you were. As the daughter of Meduseld’s gardener, even in these difficult times your family never went without enough food to eat or a roof over your head. And when you saw so many others in need on the streets of Edoras, it would be foolish and ungrateful for you to hope for something more than keeping your father’s house and waiting on your older brothers.

Still you dreamed of adventure. Hanging the linens to dry in the little yard of the cottage high up on the hill above the city, you could see for many leagues the stretch of the plains of Rohan and the forests beyond, and you would imagine what wonders lay out there. Imagine a world where the childhood tales of an age of shieldmaidens performing great deeds, were still true.

But of course, your life went on in the same old routine of cooking and cleaning and helping your father in the gardens, and the best you could reasonably expect was to catch the eye of a young rider, or a tradesman and exchange your father’s house for a husband’s.

The same old routine, that was, until your father burst into the cottage one day, breathless and ashen, as if he had seen the ghost of one of his forefathers. He slumped down at the table head in his hands.

“Father, what is the matter?” you asked pressing a cup of mead into his hands.

“Y/N! We are ruined, and you shall likely be cast out of our home and made to beg on the streets.” At your shocked expression he continued. “I was summoned before the Wormtongue today, and accused of stealing golden apples from the King’s tree. They are now so rare that the King has set a man to count them every day. Two have disappeared over the last two nights. Unless I can prove that I am not the culprit by three days hence, I shall be branded a thief and my life shall be forfeit. What am I to do?”

“Oh father!” Your mind whirled as you tried to think. “We may only prove your innocence by catching the true thief. We must set a watch tonight and see if he returns to catch him in the act.”

“Aye, my clever girl, you are right. But I am too old and too weary. Your brother Elfric must sit guard.”

“Father, may I not do it? I would be watchful and careful, and I am good with my bow” you pleaded. For as much as he was your oldest brother, you knew Elfric tended to laziness and would hesitate to trust such an important task to him.

However, your father was not to be swayed. “No child, your brother shall do this. It may be dangerous to catch a brazen thief in the act. It is a task for a grown man.”

So Elfric, though unhappy at the responsibility and the discomfort of spending a night on the ground, was sent to watch in the gardens. At midnight an unbearable sleepiness overwhelmed him, and when the morning came and you went to find out what he had seen you found him asleep beneath the apple tree and another of the fruit was gone.

Your father was sick with worry, and despite your pleas to be allowed to keep watch, the next night he set your next brother Wulfric to the task. But Wulfric was little better than his brother. Again, the midnight hour approached and he too could not resist the temptation to close his eyes. In the morning he lay sprawled asleep amongst the roots of the sickening tree, and a fourth apple had been taken from under his nose.

There was just one last chance to catch the thief before your father would be taken for the crime. You pleaded and cajoled with him to permit you to sit in wait that night, certain that you would not fail at the task. Resigned to his fate, your father eventually relented, and so on the third night your wore your warmest woollen dress and taking up your bow you wrapped yourself in a big dark cloak and settled under the canopy of the apple tree in the shadows of the trunk.

The hours passed. Resolved as you were to stay awake, you played games to pass the time. As the stars in the sky brightened, you listed each of the constellations your mother had taught you, until eventually you searched out the mighty Leona, lion of Rohan just as the midnight bell tolled.

All at once, from the north came a whisper of wind through the branches, which shook the leaves and seemed to murmur a lullaby in your ear. Your eyes grew heavy and your mind began to drift as you could feel yourself relax against the trunk of the great tree. But the fate of your brothers the previous nights had made you cautious and you were prepared to struggle against the feeling of overwhelming weariness. Gripping a sharp stone you dug it into your palm, and with the flare of pain the fogginess seemed to flee.

Alert again now, you could hear a rustling from high up in the branches and, quietly as you could, you drew your bow, notched an arrow, and shifted to try and catch a glimpse of what you presumed was the thief in the tree. It was hard to discern in the dark, but there was certainly something on one of the high branches where apples still grew. Then all at once, the leaves parted and the moonlight glinted off a golden wing. A bird!

Swiftly you drew your bowstring, aimed, and in the space between heartbeats you let the arrow fly. You were a fair shot, more naturally skilled than your brothers, who preferred a sword or spear and you were gratified to hear a squawk. But perhaps the branch had bounced or the wind had blown a fraction harder, and you saw the bird take flight, flashes of light as its wings beat, carrying it back towards the north.

For a second you cursed your luck, for without the creature, you would not be able to prove it was the culprit. Then the branches shifted again, and a single feather of the most delicate gold floated to ground in front of you. You scooped it up and tucked it in the pocket of your cloak, and resumed your watch. For though you knew in your heart that the bird was the thief, you could not take a chance that another would not try their luck to take a precious apple from the tree.

As dawn broke, you ran shivering back to your father’s cottage where he waited huddled by the banked hearth, and showed him your precious evidence.

“My clever child! Wake your brothers, for we must take this to the great hall at once.”

With much complaint they were removed from their beds, and jealous looks passed between them at your success, but at length you arrived at the doors of Meduseld to request an audience. Eventually your father was called to the dais, where Theoden King sat pale and slack in his throne, and the Wormtongue stood like a skinny crow at his right side.

The King did not speak, rather the Wormtongue spoke for him. “Master Gardener, what proof have you of your innocence in the matter of the theft of the King’s apples? Three days have passed.”

“My daughter discovered the thief last night. It was a b-bird my Lord,” your father stammered, offering the feather up. Wormtongue took it between slender fingers which could have been made from bone, and twirled it thoughtfully.

“Your daughter you say? How odd. Bring her forth, for the King wishes to look at her.”

You didn’t like the tone in the advisor’s voice, and you wondered how he knew the King’s wishes when Theoden had not spoken a word, but you stepped forward beside your father and dipped an awkward curtsey. Wormtongue descended the steps from the dais, and looked you up and down through beady black eyes. You suppressed a shiver.

“How did you come by the feather girl?” He crooned the question, twirling the feather all the while, so the light glinted off it, and you felt a strange sensation in the back of your mind.

Shaking your head you answered. “I shot at the bird. It flew away, but left this feather behind. No other came near the apple tree all night.”

“Indeed? And are you skilled with a bow?” Somehow it felt like the question held more weight than a simple enquiry about your prowess.

“I am a fair shot, but there are many better than I,” you demurred, avoiding his unsettling gaze. It seemed to satisfy him, for with one last sweeping glance, he ascended to stand beside the King once more.

“This feather is a rare and precious thing. It is the King’s wish that the bird be found and brought to him, that it might adorn the coffers of Rohan, and its golden feathers compensate for the loss of the apples. Gardener, as the apples were lost under your watch, the crown charges you with this task. There will be great reward should the bird be brought to him.”

You stared openmouthed at the Wormtongue, and then looked to your father who could scarcely manage to pay the customary respects to his King, before the two of you were ushered to the doors again, where your brothers waited.

In the safety of the cottage, your father bemoaned his fate.

“I am to bring back the golden bird, but how am I even to find it? I am too old and frail to venture far from the city,” he wailed, and you tried to soothe him.

“One of us must set out to find it in your place, father,” you offered.

“My clever girl! Of course my children will help me in my hour of need. But which of you is equal to the task? It will surely be dangerous to go adventuring in such times as orcs and Dunlendings roam the plains and forests.”

How desperate you were to volunteer, for you longed to see the world beyond Edoras, to scoff at the fate that was laid at your feet to be a wife and mother, and instead walk in the footsteps of the Shieldmaidens of old. But you knew that you father would not willingly let you go. As you wrestled with your desire and your duty, you were surprised when your oldest brother spoke up.

“Y/N may very well have stayed awake all night, and shot at a bird, for that is nothing really. Nothing to the bravery required for such a venture as this. As the oldest I should go, for I am entitled to claim the reward before my brother and sister. It is the task of a full grown man.” At this he puffed up his chest.

You bit your tongue, for you had done better than him to stay awake, but knew that it would be futile to protest. Your father doted on his sons, and could never see the idleness and dissipation as anything more than youthful spirits.

“Very well, Elfric my son. You shall be the one to find the bird and bring it back.”

And so within a few days, your oldest brother rode out of the gates of Edoras laden with supplies and a purse of silver and headed north towards Helm’s Deep. On the second day of his journey, he forded the Isen, crossing the border of Rohan heading for the Fangorn Forest, for surely if a magical creature were to live anywhere it would be in the forest.

Wisps of smoke on the horizon indicated some kind of settlement and Elfric picked up his pace a little. He had spent the previous night camped at the roadside, and, unused to the hard uncomfortable ground, had vowed to find a proper bed and perhaps some willing company for the second night. The life of an adventurer did not need to be a dull one after all. Full of pleasant anticipation he did not notice the creature that sat in the road ahead of him, until a soft growl startled his horse, which shied away from the sound.

It was a large mountain lion with a tawny golden fur that crouched alert and watchful, blocking the path between two large rocks. Elfric fumbled his spear out of the loop on his saddle and aimed it at the animal, which got to its feet.

“I do not wish to harm you traveller,” the lion spoke with a deep, rough voice. “I know of your quest to seek the Golden Bird, and I can give you good counsel. You will reach a village tonight with an inn, but do not stop there. Continue into the Fangorn Forest and make camp for the night and I will help you.”

Elfric, considered the animal, which was lean and had a raw-looking gash on its rear haunch. What could such a creature know of my business, your brother thought. And without further consideration he hurled his spear. The lion moved with surprising swiftness and his shot merely grazed it, but the creature was gone, disappeared into the forest without another word.

Your oldest brother continued on, and at nightfall reached the village the lion had described, and a cheerful, well-kept inn with brightly lit windows beckoned to him. A wench with a pretty smile and ample charms waited ready to welcome him at the threshold. The words the lion had spoken to him were barely even recalled as Elfric’s appetites drove him to the door. He entered the place and took his fill of all the delights that were offered, forgetting the Golden Bird and the quest and his duty to his family and King.

A month passed back in Edoras, with no word from your oldest sibling, and your father grew sick with grief and worry that something terrible had befallen him. The Wormtongue summoned him back to Meduseld. Again the advisor called you into his presence and looked you up and down appraisingly, twirling the golden feather so that the light bouncing off its delicate fronds began to mesmerise you. He did not address you, but his intent stare was unnerving, and you were glad when your father was dismissed with a reminder of his duty to his King to bring the Golden Bird to him.

Though this time you begged your father to be allowed to follow Elfric and take up the quest, he merely patted your hand and told you that your place was in Edoras, keeping house for him. Instead your less than eager brother Wulfric was sent out with a purse of silver, to ride north and seek the Golden Bird, and you played the part of the devoted sister watching him ride away over the plains as your heart longed for adventure.

At length, Wulfric forded the Isen and headed for Fangorn Forest. And he too was waylaid by the mountain lion who gave the same advice he had imparted to your oldest brother many weeks before. Now he possessed a little less arrogance than his brother, and listened gravely to the words of the lion with every intention of heeding them. But though his intentions were true, poor Wulfric was gifted with very little of his own initiative and as he rode through the pretty little village and passed the inn that the lion had spoken about, he saw his brother Elfric waving to him from the doorway.

What harm can it do for me to stop and say hello to my brother, to take one drink and find out if he is well, Wulfric thought to himself. And so, being so easily swayed, he was persuaded to enter the inn and after his first drink persuaded to take another, and a third, and before long he had forgotten the Golden Bird and his family, just as Elfric had.

Again time passed in Edoras, and you continued in your dull routine. There were whisperings that Theoden King grew sicker and more frail and, though no one dared to speak it aloud, the Rohirrim feared that the Wormtongue would be named Theoden’s heir. One month became two. No word was heard from either of your brothers, and your father’s heart broke, for surely they must have met with a terrible fate on their quest.

He was summoned once more to Meduseld, to appear before the King and his most trusted advisor to answer for the failure to bring back the Golden Bird. And again after you father had stammered his apologies and excuses, the Wormtongue beckoned you forward, spinning the golden feather between slender white fingers.

This time he spoke to you in his strange soft whisper. “Your father has one last chance to produce the Golden Bird. If he does not, we shall have to come to some arrangement to settle the debt.”

His icy gaze swept up and down your body, sending a shiver down your spine and with the light sparkling from the feather, his words seemed to echo in the back of your mind. He leaned in closer.

“You are a biddable girl, I look forward to your submission.” His tongue darted from between thin cracked lips. Though your mind screamed to be away from this creature, you found your feet locked to the floor and your voice lodged in your throat. The Wormtongue smiled, and stepped away, hiding the feather from view, and you found yourself able to move again.

“The Golden Bird may yet be found, my Lord,” you said as you took your father’s shaking arm. And as you departed from the Great Hall, the echo of the Wormtongue’s broken laughter followed you.

In the relative safety of the cottage, your father slumped once again at the table while you ministered to him.

“Your brothers are gone, and I am too old and too frail to seek the Golden Bird, and now I must hand you over to such a man! Oh what are we to do Y/N?”

You placed a cup of mead down in front of him and turned to the little window in the kitchen which looked out over all of Edoras and the plains beyond. You wrapped your arms around yourself to try and warm the chill in your heart. It was scant comfort but likely the only you would get. There was only one answer in your mind.

“I must follow my brothers and seek the Golden Bird myself.”

Your father sputtered a mouthful of mead. “But you cannot! It is too difficult and dangerous and you may never return. You cannot hope to succeed where your brothers have failed. If you go to the Wormtongue, you will be safe in Edoras and I will not be alone. He will be kind to you if you please him I am sure!”

“I would rather die at the hands of robbers or orcs than hand myself over to that man. I am just as brave as my brothers, and sharper to be sure. And I am quicker with my bow.”

“But we have no horses left! How will you travel? No no, you must stay here with me as a dutiful daughter would.”

“I will walk then, father!” you cried out in frustration, before dropping to your knees beside him. “I cannot stay here and wait idly for my fate to suffocate me.”

He sat silent and unmoving, staring into the hearth, and eventually you rose to your feet and left him. You worked swiftly to put together your pack, for you were set on your course with or without your father’s blessing. When it was done, you set about your household chores as usual, and retired to bed at your usual hour, though you exchanged scarcely a word with your father.

At first light you woke, and dressed in some of Wulfric’s old clothes, they were a little large but they hid your shape and it was better to travel as a youth than a lone woman. You braided your hair back from your face as you had done for your brothers many times before. In the kitchen, you packed some supplies for the road and scribbled a note for your father. You pulled on stout boots, wrapped yourself in your warmest cloak and hefted the pack onto your shoulders.

As you opened the door, your father cleared his throat behind you. You turned to him and he held out something in his hands, a hunting knife.

“I have failed as a father if I cannot protect you. Perhaps you can protect yourself with this.”

You took the hilt of the knife and secured it in your boot. It was a blessing of sorts and you acknowledged it with a nod.

“I will do my best to come back to you father. Fare thee well.”

“Fare thee well my clever girl.”

And with that you stepped out into the misty first light, not looking back at the little cottage as you wound your way down the path into Edoras, instead looking out at the ghostly plains and the shadows of mountains and forests in the far distance.

...

Tagging some people who might be interested: @musikat18 @yallneedtrek @bkwrm523 @bookcaseninja @queenmismatched @fearofdeathkeepsusalive @outside-the-government @goingknowherewastaken @thefanficfaerie @theodwyns

#flipthescriptfairytalechallenge #eomer x reader #eomer #lotr fanfiction #eomer reader insert #fairytale au

140 notes · View notes

timespakistan · 3 years

Link

Immortal voice | Art & Culture | thenews.com.pk Kundan Lal Saigal visited Lahore only once – in the 1930s.This was the period when his star was in ascendance. Born in Jammu, he came to prominence when BN Sircar, the owner of New Theatres spotted him singing in a private mehfil in Calcutta and asked him over to sing for his productions. At that time, he was probably working as a salesman in some company, selling typewriters. His is a start that is a familiar story, a prototype on which fairy tales are scripted. The unlikely happenings of being discovered and rising from anonymity to fame overnight or rags to riches turnover within a short span. Saigal’s success was according to such a fairytale script that reinforces the belief based on which many live on the footpaths but never lose hope. However, Saigal, like many of the prototype artistes, lived a life to the hilt, only thinking about the present and not saving for the future. He was not a hoarder who planned, but in a manner typical of artistes burnt his candle at both ends. When he died, just before the partition of the sub-continent, he was barely in his forties, looking worn out and tired after spending his nights and days in the quest for music and allied to it of happiness in the form of human expression. Perhaps the connection is only a construct and simplification of a cause and effect relationship that does not really figure out that way. He was fortunate that technology was kind to him and the recorded sound appeared to be more musical than live performances. The reason could be that the vocalists were trained to sing live and to reach the last person in the back row so the intonation was a bit different and it was only with the public address system that sound amplification could take place and changed the manner of sur ka lagana or intonation. The recording technology, improving all the time, found Saigal willing to accept the challenge of the conditions. However, it was a challenge nevertheless because the talkies had also just arrived and the technique of singing for the film was not known. The newness of experience driven by technology can make or break an artiste; it made Saigal. Nevertheless, it was an awful transition that needed skill, understanding of the medium and adaptability. Apparently, Saigal qualified with flying colours and became the leading film vocalist of his times. Not only that, since the talkies had ushered in the new medium it looked for greater parameters of the form and soon the genre of film song emerged. It then started to look for the voice that could embody the form and after a few years of experimentations discovered one in KL Saigal among the males and Noor Jehan among the females. These two can be called the two full blown vocalists that determined the rules of the new genre in the 1930s. And these were then framed as being the canon for film song in the decades to come. KL Saigal also sang and recorded non-film numbers and his contribution is particularly singular in the execution of the ghazal. The latter was not taken as a serious form of music with the kheyal dominating the classical form and thumri/ dadra the semi classical varieties. Probably more popular in the salons, the ghazal started to venture out as an autonomous form in the early part of the 20th Century and in this KL Saigal played a very prominent role. It is difficult to say anything about the history of ghazal gaiki in the subcontinent. However, it was during the course of the late 19th Century and the early 20th Century through the recordings of the 78-rpm discs that music started being dissociated from the practitioner and that made it easier for many among the sanctimonious sections to listen to music by disengaging itself from the musician. This was a sea change where the middle classes started to cultivate a taste for music without being totally indulgent about it. This was the condition that must have given rise to the singing of texts which were seen as good poetry rather than lyrics which were written to be sung. A gradual coming together of music and poetry must have taken place to see the rise of the musical potential in the singing of the ghazal gaiki. The system of patronage was also changing. Previously, the patron had to house and nourish the artiste, but with technology, the recording and film companies became the patrons and dealt with the artiste on the market basis. The people, too, responded by paying for the recording or even a performance. It was becoming more democratic but also more impersonal. Saigal started his career in Calcutta, but then moved to Bombay like so many others after the Japanese captured Burma during World War II. Many moved away from Calcutta fearing insecurity and most from the film world migrated to the other side of the sub-continent in Bombay. Nur Jehan was more nurtured in the traditional manner and started her career by singing on stage. She could throw her voice and the full throated ease was a delight but Saigal mostly sang in ‘mandaristan’ – the lower register and had a limited range. This set the pattern for singing in the films and the later composers had to break this mould for greater exploration of the registers best exemplified by Muhammed Rafi. The writer is a culture critic based in Lahore. https://timespakistan.com/immortal-voice-art-culture-thenews-com-pk/8549/

0 notes

hiddenbysuccubi · 7 years

Text

My Twitter Poetry 2017-2013

"I grew up," She told her younger self, "that's all I did". But the little girl stared at her wide-eyed, replied "What a terrifying thing" “I'll only have you if your company is sweeter than my solitude.” “I'm determined that my broken heart can still bleed for you. Can bleed for someone new. I'm stretching the sutures. Kintsugi.” "I lose the grip I hold on fairytale stories the older I grow. Still, I taste the cloying aftertaste of magic in the corners of reality." “I'm not the heroine of your story, I might just be an echo of a star trying to burn her way home”

“I'm talking myself out and in every second. I'm alright. I just need 48 more seconds to catch a minute.” “We are all made of star-stuff. In the end, we all return to being stardust. And in the end, I'll happily float through the endless with you.” “Go ahead. Drive me crazy. Walking there myself is hurting my feet.” “Sometimes, the wind changes, and your luck turns around. It's not enough to save your life, but it might get you off the ground.” “Sometimes feel everyone's an actor, stuck in their roles and lines & I'm standing here, reading the script, wishing anyone else would see it” “I am beautiful, broken or not. I am imaginative, no matter the cost.” “The world is dancing in a shimmery blue haze. Music aching over the speakers. We are comets lighting up the night. Temporary, but beautiful.” “You keep going. You cut your losses and believe in your dreams and keep trying, even if all you take are small steps. You keep going.” “When did I give up on my dreams? Was it gradual, or like writer's block, so very sudden?” “Calm, it holds me like a love song Spice, your scent wraps me like a love song But the music, O, it permeates low and sad” “The darkness looms & I'm running on exhaust fumes.” “Can I take a bullet full of whiskey to the heart, tonight?” “45 minutes to Samhain. Keep your doors locked and your black cats in. We're what you fear in the shadows, and tonight the veil wears thin.” “Goodnight bed, goodnight pillow, goodnight face at the window....”

“If she could take her corneas out of their little caves, dust them off and shelve them, remove her heart and cup the atria, she would.”

“love isn't only bright eyes and bitten lips.”

“For I am lonelier still, surrounded by those who cannot fall and break along side me, but only stand in my light when it matches theirs.”

“I'm just a ghost of your past, but I wonder. Do you still startle as I do when we cross paths?”

“All I need is a daily dose of disillusion”

“I'm lost and I'm scraping the bottom of every bottle. I still believe in magic. I wish I never did.”

“There's a hole in my heart, it's shallow but it's dark.”

“You sing about getting back together, you never mean it anyway, such a shame our song is ending.”

“I cannot doubt on a whim. I hope, I hope high and I hope long. Fear is never long in coming. And I have this last one, this last one.”

“I keep trying to fix burned bridges with Popsicle sticks and glue.”

“Your name may stay my hand a while, But one day I will remind you that I am wild.”

“Sometimes I think about people and hope they're doing well. Well, not 'well', but 'not dead' would be good.”

“I'm hard to forget but impossible to remember”

“I won't jinx it yet, by writing out pennywhistle thoughts. We're still in the flush, the point of not giving up, And I want this too much.”

“Not unhappy, not with the tang of disgust beneath her teeth, that sweet bitter burn in the Ethmoid bone. I am writing rain inside my skull.”

“I think maybe what I'm looking for is someone or something that will last past the first dregs of fall.”

“I want to die and be reborn as the blue on the horizon before the night sky goes bitter black.”

#twitter #poem #poetry #My work #Kyra

2 notes · View notes

girl-next-door-writes · 7 years

Text

Even Angels Fall

Characters: Gabriel x Reader

Summary: Angels and falling are usually not such a great combination but perhaps not every fall has to be a bad thing.

Word Count: 2017 words

How had he got here? Standing in front of his brother with an angel blade plunged into his stomach there was only one thought that crossed his mind and that was of you. Gabriel had spent so long avoiding this, trying not to get involved in the war that had been raging and he had been doing so well laying low, he’d really thought he might make it through to see the endgame but then he saw you.

Standing trapped in a ring of holy oil he had been glaring at the moron brothers when she had appeared in his peripheral vision and his eyes had flicked to you momentarily. That was all it had taken for you to capture his attention. He was intrigued by the girl whose face in the firelight was the type of thing that inspired the great artists to create masterpieces. No matter how often he tried to keep his gaze on the Winchesters he found himself drawn to you and when you spoke, oh man, the way you had sassed Dean, that had earned you his full attention.

In the coming months he had heard you praying to him. Mostly like little one sided conversations telling him about your day, about what stupid shit your companions had been pulling. He looked forward to those moments, had wondered how you would react if he just showed up to talk in person. It had been in the early hours of the morning when you had been driving back from a hunt that he had finally taken the chance. You stopped for gas and yet another coffee and as you wandered out across the brightly lit forecourt your face lit up with a bright smile as you saw him leaning against your Dodge. He had stayed with you for the entire journey back to the bunker and the pair of you talked about everything and anything except the elephant in the car. That night he had found a new kind of hope as he discovered your faith in him. Gabriel began to think maybe there was a way out of the seemingly hopeless situation, you could be right, it was entirely possible he was so much more than he thought.

Your prayers to him continued but were now accompanied by text messages and late night chats. There were many nights sat in a bar somewhere where he regaled you with fantastical tales and you laughed and looked at him with such wonder he never wanted your time together to end. Eventually, the conversations had turned to family and after you had listened to his entire recount of his situation he looked up to see you frowning at him, a look of confusion and possibly a little disappointment that damn near broke his heart. “You walked away?”

“There are some things you can’t fix sugar. Some things are inevitable.”

“Nah.” You scrunched up your nose and shook your head. “That’s not the real reason you walked away.” His eyes met yours across the table and without a seconds thought the truth left his lips.

“I was scared. I’m a huge coward so I ran and hid.” The confession made him feel ashamed and he couldn’t look at you, instead he concentrated his gaze at the drink in his hand until he felt your hand lightly wrapping around his and his head shot up in surprise.

“It’s okay to be scared Gabe. I get scared. I don’t believe you’re a coward though. A little misguided, possibly overwhelmed, a little lost maybe but not a coward.” Your words were like a direct hit to the part of him that housed his self-loathing and he was amazed at how fast you could just take his shame away.

As you spent more time together he felt himself changing, wanting to change and there were moments he didn’t even recognize himself. Where once he relished dealing out his particular brand of justice he now had more understanding, found a better way to help people, choosing more to make the victims life better rather than punishing the perpetrators. Beneath it all, though, was a dull ache, a pain he couldn’t put his finger on. Sometimes he thought it had stopped and then, like a wave, the despair would crash over him again. At first being in your presence soothed the ache but then, as things became more fraught, as he stood back and watched the Winchester situation tearing you apart, the dull ache turned into a sharp searing pain. It made him hurt until he couldn’t stand it, it almost blinded him and in the moment where you sobbed into his chest he resolved to become the hero you believed him to be. The man you needed him to be.

And so here he lay, looking up at the ceiling. This wasn’t the end, not by a long shot. He wasn’t known as a trickster for nothing honey. The thing with the silhouette of the wings scorched into the floor had been a stroke of genius even if he did say so himself. He’d given it his best shot and lived to see another apocalypse but as he had stood in front of his brother he knew that you had been wrong, he was a coward and the reason behind his sudden bravery, that terrified him more than the thought of coming up against Lucifer again. As far as everyone was concerned he was dead and that was the way it should stay.

So, Gabriel did what he does best, he ran. He went as far away as he could and cut all contact with you. That way he would be safe and these feelings, whatever they were, would go away and the pain would stop. Only that’s not really how it works. It took a whole six months but, eventually, he turned up on his dad’s doorstep looking tired and defeated, his usually blindingly bright soul dimmed. His whiskey coloured eyes met his father’s brilliant blues and he didn’t have to say a word. Chuck pulled his son into his arms and held him tightly. Sure, he’d never win any parenting awards but since he had been back on the radar he had been trying his best to begin to put some things right. Leading his son inside he poured him a hot cup of tea. “For some reason, in moments like this, it helps to drink tea.” Gabriel took the mug gratefully, wrapping his hands around and allowing the warmth of the beverage to heat his hands. Lifting the cup to his lips he tasted the sweetness of hot chocolate and closing his eyes just allowed himself to be in that moment. “You have questions.” Chuck watched his son intently, expecting the same things he had been asked over and over since he had been found and he prepared to launch into his standard answers when Gabriel surprised him by going way off script.

“Why do I feel like this? Millennia of indulging in any and every pleasure your humans have to offer, and even including a few new ones, and not once have I felt so weak and empty. What’s wrong with me?” His despairing eyes met Chucks and a part of him wanted his father to fix it, stop this pain in his chest that had been growing every day since he had confronted Lucifer. He had even wondered if that Angel Blade hadn’t nicked something causing this feeling within him. Looking at the archangel thoughtfully a soft smile began to spread across Chucks face.

“Gabriel, you are in love.” He chuckled at the confused and slightly horrified look on his sons face. “What? You thought it would be all hearts and flowers?”

“Definitely more sex.” Gabriel’s dry sense of humor was still very much intact and his response was almost automatic causing a sigh and eyeroll from his father.

“It’s no fairytale, take it from me, but if it were all smooth sailing then would it be worth it?” Chuck leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his brew as Gabe leaned forward and placed his face in his hands. He knew of love. He loved his family and look how well that had all turned out. No. This needed fixing as soon as possible. He was just about to ask what could be done when Chuck leaned forward and patted him on the knee. “Love is all consuming and painful and amazing. She drives you crazy right? Calls you on your shit? Puts you through hell but as soon as she smiles at you it’s like you’re right back there in heaven? You don’t feel right if she’s not near, want to keep her safe and make her happy? You would do absolutely anything for her, even if that is a suicide mission to confront your brother? That’s love.”

“If this is love then I don’t want it. Take it back, take it away.” Gabriel looked at his father in desperation. “This… this is driving me insane. You really want to deal with an insane archangel? She makes me laugh one minute and cry the next. I feel like the world is spinning out of control and there’s nothing I can do about it, no solid hand hold.”

“Enjoy the ride. It is crazy but, man, if she feels the same way, there are very few things that can match that. A human has got passed your defenses, you spent so much time amongst them Gabriel it was bound to happen one day and this girl, oh this girl Gabriel…” Chuck trailed off shaking his head with such a warm smile as he saw the impact she would have on his lonely and lost son, the son who deep down wanted nothing more than a loving family life. “That lack of control is terrifying, especially for a being who is used to being pretty much all powerful, I get that but if she can make you feel this way then maybe you should embrace the fall. You never know, you might end up soaring.”

Standing in the parking lot of some nondescript flea pit of a motel he leaned back against the Impala and took a deep breath. The door to one of the rooms opened and you bounded out, giggling at something Sam had said and the sound of your laughter was like music to his wounded soul. Dean was the first to spot him. His face went stony and his jaw set. Cas had heard a rumor that Gabriel was still alive but they had found no evidence to back that up and believe me you had tried to find even the smallest shred of hope that he would come back to you. Deans slight pause in step had Sam glance at his brother and then follow his gaze, stopping him in his tracks as his eyebrows raised and his eyes widened before he looked down at you. A look of confusion crossed your face as you looked at your friends and then over at the Impala and you took in a sharp intake of breath before sprinting across the short distance between you pulling up short and studying him warily. Once you seemed satisfied that he was infact there you reached back and brought your arm around in an arch, the sound of your hand connecting with his cheek resounded over the space and Dean smirked. “You fucking asshole!” you cried at him causing him to recoil but before he could zap his way out of there your lips had found his and your arms were wrapped around his neck. The juxtaposition of your actions had his head reeling and it took a moment before he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and returning your kiss. He couldn’t blame you for being angry, he was a little cross with himself for missing out on all the time when you could have been doing this! His dad had been right, maybe falling wasn’t always such a bad thing.

Tag: @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @nea90sweetie @knittingknerdy @feelmyroarrrr @vintagevalentinexx @cojootromuelle @thewhiterabbit42 @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @sumara62 @captainemwinchester

#myfic #something I wrote #Gabe #Gabe x Reader #A little bit of Gabriel

101 notes · View notes

echosautisticcorner · 7 years

Text

Coffee and Paint (Atla fanfic)

Summary: “What a dramatic romance… The art major that fell in love with the blind girl!” Katara exclaimed in a dreamy voice. “Urgh, shut up! Everyone knows you love cheesy romance novels!”

A/N: Please excuse all mistakes about colleges as I am from Germany and have absolutely no idea how a college works.

The door creaked when she opened it, only worsening her headache. She had been up all night working on a project for the class that, how she’d been informed just this morning, would be canceled. Sigh… College. Appa, her guide dog, was the only thing keeping her from falling asleep in the middle of the hallway. It was only Monday morning, but the week didn’t seem to end. At least she only had few classes that day, and though she dreaded them. “Late again, Miss Beifong?” This teacher, she swore, hated her. It wasn’t even one minute after the beginning of class. “Please take your seat!” he (probably) gestured to an empty chair in one of the first rows. “Yeah, yeah, whatever…” Giving Appa directions to look for a place to sit, preferably far away from the professor, she readied herself for two hours of drama class. It was one of the few things she had chosen herself after her father had put her up for economics major, after all, she was supposed to take over the family business one day. She was a talented actress, after all seeming like the helpless blind girl takes some serious acting. About five minutes into the lecture she zoned out and concentrated on reading the script for today’s lesson, the braille version of course. It was a pain in the ass always needing to walk to the library to get a copy of the sheets for the next day because that was where the only Braille printer of the whole campus was located. About ten minutes later someone knocked at the door.Then a young man spoke, “Sorry, I’m late. I was-” The poor guy was interrupted by the professor’s loud voice. “Great! Now we have the people for the kiss scene! Please, Mister” he looked down at his paper, “Sozin. You can come down here right away and please collect Miss Beifong on your way.” Toph’s head shot up. She hadn’t even noticed that he had finished his speech about spirits know what. Standing up, she waited for the guy to come near so that she could grab his arm. She didn’t like being led by people. They’d always forget to tell her when something was on the ground and she would fall over it because they didn’t even notice things on the ground. The guy’s leather jacket brushed her shoulder and she grabbed his elbow. He towered a little less than a foot over her, granted she wasn’t very tall. He smelled like smoke and coffee. A comfortable mix this early. Going over her text in her head, she let herself be dragged down towards the front. Today’s script was a part of Romeo and Juliet in a more modern tongue. They now were supposed to act out act 1, scene 5, a kiss. Mister Sozin held his script in one hand, with the other he took hers and started citing his lines. “Your hand is like a holy place that my hand is unworthy to visit. If you’re offended by the touch of my hand, my two lips are standing here like blushing pilgrims, ready to make things better with a kiss.” Toph recalled her own lines. She was impressed by the guy’s talent. He seemed to be really absorbed by his role already. “Good pilgrim, you don’t give yourself enough credit. By holding my hand you show polite devotion. After all, pilgrims touch the hands of statues of saints. Holding one palm against another is like a kiss.” She probably wouldn’t get further or make a lot of mistakes. Remembering a short piece of script was easy enough, but a whole scene in just a minute? That was a bit much at once. “Don’t saints and pilgrims have lips too?” Of course, he could just read his lines off the paper. If she had that possibility she would use it too. Too bad she didn’t have it. You simply needed at least one hand to get this scene right and reading a Braille text required two hands. “Yes, pilgrim - they have lips that they’re supposed to pray with.” Ok, so she just had to react to what he said and try to be as close to the script as possible. “Well then, saint, let lips do what hands do. I’m praying for you to kiss me. Please grant my prayer so my faith doesn’t turn to despair.” He let go of her hand and cupped her face with his left hand. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. This was not in the script. “Saints don’t move, even when they grant prayers.” He seemed to just send the lines he read into her head to say them. Thank the spirits, she wasn’t going to get humiliated. His face was suddenly in front of hers and she could feel his breath on her cheeks. Toph hoped she wasn’t blushing. “Then don’t move while I act out my prayer.” He leaned down and kissed her gently. Not a stage kiss. A real kiss. Now she was blushing. Did this idiot even know what he was doing? Apparently not. Or was it a mistake? Probably not. She was often told that she was pretty and guys would love to be with her. She always declined and said she wasn’t interested in boys yet. But this, this felt strangely good. Unbeknown to her inner turmoil he kept going. “Now my sin has been taken from my lips by yours.” “Then do my lips now have the sin they took from yours?” She wasn’t even thinking now. It just seemed like the most reasonable reply… for whatever reason. Presumably, she was just absorbed by her thoughts and her subconscious had just taken over the role of Juliet to save her from making this day a total fuck up. “Sin from my lips? You encourage crime with your sweetness. Give me my sin back.” And then he let the paper fall to the ground to kiss her again. Her mind was still racing and she was desperately trying not to give in and punch him in the face or shove him away, for the sake of their both grades and dignity. After this, she seemed to float back to her seat. Never had she thought would a guy feel this good on her skin. It wasn’t the guy himself, rather the way he kissed her. He tasted like chocolate and paint. Probably an art student, she thought. After class was over - Toph really hadn’t paid attention anymore - she waited until the professor left and whispered to Appa, “Hey, buddy, can you find that guy with the leather jacket from before?” The dog, who had been sleeping peacefully for the last hour or so, rose from his place under her desk and began to analyze the room. He quietly barked when he spotted the boy a few desks further. “Great!” Toph exclaimed as quietly as her comrade and took the harness to make her way over there and piss the boy off. “The fuck was that, dude?!” she exclaimed loudly. She didn’t care if she got weird looks. “What do you mean?” Did he seriously not know? It was pretty hard to miss when you kiss someone, Toph thought. “You kissed me down there! Not just some stage shit. That was a real kiss,” she hissed. She turned her head up, right to the boy’s face. Sokka had once told her, that for someone blind she had the creepy talent of making eye contact with people when she was pissed. And she hoped it worked. Over the lesson, her feeling of astonishment had turned to anger. Her first kiss wasn’t supposed to be like that. Not in class, not with some stranger, and not in the place of a stage kiss in front of everyone. He didn’t say anything at first. Then, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. My girlfriend just broke up with me this morning and-” “Whatever. Save me the sob story of your horrible morning!” she rudely interrupted and was about to rant some more when he all of a sudden started talking again, “Could I invite you for lunch to make it up to you?” “What?” What? Was he really asking her out for lunch after something like that? Her dignity wanted to say no, but her stomach was faster to accept the invitation by growling loudly. “I’m taking that as a yes”, he grinned smugly and finished packing up his notes. “I’m Zuko, by the way.” “Toph,” she replied shortly. She still wanted to be pissed at him, but there was his heavenly smell of coffee again. How she would love a nice, warm cup of coffee right now. Whatever happened in the next one and a half hours, she didn’t know. She was too tired to think and had no time to even get a small sip of caffeine.

Now here she stood, in front of the classroom they had met in, waiting for anything to happen. It was twenty to twelve and Zuko was already ten minutes late. Had he forgotten? Maybe. Just as she wanted to leave, his familiar odor appeared somewhere in the room and a strong hand grabbed her shoulder. Toph let out a short squeak and whirled around to punch him. Surprisingly he dodged. “The fuck?!” she exclaimed, “Never heard of greeting someone before you sneak up on them?” “Well, usually you don’t greet people before you sneak up on them, that’s kinda the whole point of sneaking up,” Zuko replied grinning. “Let’s go and eat. I know a great take away in the area. They have the best Chinese food!” Twenty minutes later they sat in a meadow on campus. “So, like… How blind are you?” he asked hoping he didn’t sound offensive. “I’m as blind as a badgermole in daylight.” “What’s… what’s a badgermole?” He was confused. A fusion between a badger and a mole possibly? That didn’t sound very real. And how blind was such a creature? Is it completely blind? Can it see light? Badgers can see. So a badgermole should be able to see too, right? “Badgermoles are fairy tale creatures that can manipulate all kinds of earth and stone. And they’re completely blind. No light, no shapes, no colors, no nothing. I really like them,” Toph explained. “Fairytales, huh? Didn’t think you would be the kind of person that likes fairy tales,” Zuko taunted with a slight laugh. He liked this girl. She wasn’t like the others and especially, she wasn’t like Mai. It was good to not be around someone who constantly reminded him of his former girlfriend. His sister and her girlfriend would only talk about what he did wrong and why he didn’t deserve her anyway. Toph didn’t care for his feelings though. She just talked about whatever came to her mind, food, people, music, animals and occasionally she would rant about her roommate, Kara, or whatever she was called.

It was after both their classes had ended that they met again. Zuko had found out that she liked playing sports but wasn’t allowed to back with her parents. So he took the chance and offered to do something athletic after classes. They were walking to the park nearby and he was nervously fidgeting with a basketball he had borrowed from his roommate. In his short mental breakdown, he had stupidly decided to take a basketball. A basketball, for a game that required seeing the ball and the hoop to play, not to mention the enemy player. Toph looked way fitter now. The dark circles under her eyes were nearly gone. Either she had had time to put on some heavy makeup - which was rather unlikely- or she had slept through most of her classes. Toph didn’t bring Appa this time. She was holding onto Zuko’s elbow, like she did back that morning. In her other hand she held the cane, letting it point behind them. Somehow, he thought, it wasn’t too bad that he had accidentally kissed her. Zuko didn’t think he had ever been so lucky in the circumstances. Misfurtune he had much. Fifteen years ago when his mother left, five years later when he got his scar and now that Mai left him, he would never have another chance with any girl ever again. Who wanted a disfigured guy as their boyfriend? If he developed feelings for Toph now, would she be willing to…? She didn’t know about his scar, and if he didn’t tell her, she maybe wouldn’t find out. But that was absurd, he’d just met her. He shouldn’t be thinking about something like that. “How far is it?” The question ended his train of thought. “Huh?” “You’re going deaf now? I asked how far it is ‘till we’re there,” Toph replied slightly annoyed. “Oh, um… we’re almost there.” Why was he suddenly so nervous? Probably because she would beat him for his stupid idea. After all, she had told him about her countless victories in beating up stupid people. In front of them was now a small street basketball field. He led her right in front of the hoop, where she put the cane on the floor and handed her the ball. He wanted to ask if it was okay for her if he told her where to throw. Instead, he asked, “Do you like ball games?” “Not many… though, I play football now and again with Sokka,” she answered and added after a few seconds, “Works mostly because he taped a little bell to the ball and someone’s constantly screaming directions at me.” An unenthused laugh escaped her and Zuko facepalmed for his idiocy of even asking. But she already pulled him out of his thoughts. “So, where is the stupid hoop?” “Huh? Oh, it’s- it’s right in front of you, about 10” above the ground and 12" in front of you.“ He was surprised that she just asked. Would it have been insensitive if he had just given her the directions without her asking? Toph threw the ball. It hit the backboard and fell to the ground, where it jumped a few times and rolled away. "Did I make it?” She sounded so excited. Zuko didn’t want to disappoint her. “Y-yeah, you did it!” It was a lie but hopefully, she wouldn’t pick up on it. His sister was always the better liar, but maybe, just maybe, he sounded convincing just this once. “You’re lying,” she stated. It was a statement, not an accusation. There was no negativity. “Wha- No, no, I’m no-"He wanted to defend himself. If she had already picked up on it, maybe he could at least explain why he did it. Or would she get mad? He didn’t want her to be mad at him. He had finally met someone who wouldn’t bother him or have prejudices about his scar. "You are! I can hear it in your voice, Sparky!” His defense was like wiped away, like it had never even been there. “Sparky?” he asked instead of his perfectly ineloquent explanation. He was kind of glad over this distraction. Maybe he managed to change the subject over this. “Everybody gets a nickname, Sparky. Everybody gets a nickname,” she answered in a sing-song voice. She said it with a determination as though it was completely normal to give people you just met nicknames. Maybe for her, it was. Sparky... It was, to be fair, rather cute.

Three weeks later the two were nearly inseparable. They met every lunch break and sometimes after classes to learn in the library. Drama class was the only one they shared and so they always took seats next to each other. Zuko had grown rather fond of his new friend. Toph had fallen asleep shortly after the first quarter of the lesson. Apparently, she always did her projects last minute, Sunday nights. She was lying rather ungracefully on her desk, one arm stretched out over the far end, the other under her head. She was facing Zuko and saliva was running down the corner of her mouth. Appa was lying at her feet, sleeping peacefully as well. Zuko had decided to sketch her. Drawing was the only thing he was remotely good at in his opinion. That was why he wanted to major in art. On his paper was currently the image of a sleeping girl, her hair all over the place, although his model had it pulled up in a messy bun, her bangs hiding her clouded eyes. He had only briefly taken a look at them when she played with her hair while reciting her lines to him one afternoon. Maybe he could show it to- No, that was stupid, he scolded himself. Toph was blind, she couldn’t look at his drawing. In a way it was sad, but it didn’t seem to bother her. He had told her about some of his drawings, of course. She had paid close attention every time, maybe because that was her only way of perceiving art. Or she only did it because he was her friend? Though, she didn’t seem like the kind of person to listen to things she wasn’t interested in, no matter if it was important to someone else. She was so straight forward, so blunt and sarcastic. The complete opposite of his drawing. But she just seemed so peaceful when she slept. She didn’t seem like the person she was when awake. It was a mystery to him, how two people who seemed so different could be one and the same person. For now, he decided, he would definitely keep this drawing in his notebook and look at it whenever he needed a reminder that deep down behind that hard exterior Toph was still a girl.

Toph was stalking Zuko’s social media. Thank you, FaceBook for being so accessible with screen reader. After she had finally found out the name of his account she took the opportunity and found out as much as possible. Unfortunately he hadn’t added image descriptions which made it impossible for her to find out about around 50% of his posts. Dammit! Zuko didn’t talk much about himself, more so he talked about his art. He described his pictures to her and his inspirations. Most of them were about death, misfortune or honor. He seemed to have a weird obsession with his honor and something called “The Avatar”, apparently some kind of award for artists. But even in his FaceBook posts he didn’t shut up about his precious honor. “I thought I had lost my honor, and that somehow my father could return it to me. But I know now that no one can give you your honor. It’s something you earn for yourself by choosing to do what’s right.” Yeah, he was definitely obsessed with it. Well, it was, in a way, the same she was pretty much obsessed with doing as much as she could on her own, her independence. Though she didn’t make countless posts about it. Zuko came from a pretty messed up family. He had an abusive father, a psychopathic sister and his mother had dissappeared. He never had real parental love, or at least not much. To a degree, Toph could relate. Her parents were either always on business trips and left her alone with the house maids and servants or they were there but too busy with other work. They would always insist she had enough people around her and that she shouldn’t feel lonely. Lao’s employees would always keep her company, but it wasn’t the same as having friends or parents. She had long since stopped to refer to her parents as mother and father or mom and dad. They were strangers, Lao and Poppy. But they could relate in more ways than that. They were both sarcastic and would do anything to reach their goals. They cared for friends a great deal, although they didn’t show it in the way others would. They both weren’t perfect straight-A-students and struggled to keep their grades up, but Zuko cared a lot more about them than Toph and would study out of self-discipline. In some things they complemented each other - if he needed help with something, she would give him advice, no matter how stupid the matter was. He was the only one who actually took notice of things on the ground and would warn her of low hanging branches. He had never let her fall up until now. His height matched hers perfectly to lean on him. And he’d probably be the perfect big spoon and his hair was really soft. It hung into his face and was sometimes all over the place. He sounded sometimes so insecure and Toph just wanted to hug him, which was very un-Toph-like. She would punch people. But hug them? Maybe she liked him just a little more than her other friends. She wondered when she had started thinking about Zuko in such a way. They were just friends and he was probably really popular with girls. His rough voice and nice, sometimes awkward personality and his dreamy scent of dried paint and smoke. On Monday mornings he would smell more like coffee instead of dried paint. Zuko had recently started to stumble over his words more and more around her. Was she making him uncomfortable all of a sudden? Though, she had noticed this behavior when Sokka was around Suki as well and everyone knew he had a giant crush on her. Maybe Zuko liked Toph too? No, it was absurd. Why would he fall for the blind girl? And why did the thought of him not liking her make her sad? It didn’t make sense. She told herself she wasn’t ready for boys yet. She told it the boys who asked her out and the friends who asked why she didn’t have a boyfriend yet. So why should she be falling right now? It was probably just a little crush, nothing more. It would pass someday… right?

It didn’t pass. And now, three months after they had first met, Toph found herself very self-conscious, standing in front of Zuko in the snow. This December was the coldest in a decade and most of their classes were canceled, so they had decided to get a coffee. Christmas break would start soon and she was determined to let him know her feelings before they parted ways for three weeks. She was nervously fumbling with Appa’s harness. “So? What is it you wanted to tell me?” Zuko asked innocently. Was he really as clueless as he seemed? Toph thought she had dropped enough hints. Maybe he wasn’t such a ladies killer after all… or he was just stupider than he seemed. How do you confess your feeling towards someone you usually don’t talk about feelings with? Words wouldn’t work for her now, so she switched to the only other way of expressing emotions she knew - she punched him on the arm, hard, and then blushed furiously. “Ouch! What was that for?!” he almost screamed. Now she had fucked up. He was never gonna like her. “It means like you, idiot!” she screamed back and buried her face in her hands. She had no chance with him. He was too perfect for her. “I know that you like me. Why else would we be frie-… Oh, in that way,” Zuko was blushing furiously as well now. In the moment of truth, his brain stopped working and his heart took over. “Please, don’t move while I act out my prayer.” And then, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. He gently bent down and took her hands in his and then he pressed his lips onto hers. The snow fell around them. There were people rushing to one place or another. But all of that seemed to vanish the moment their lips met. It was just them and their emotions. Nothing needed to be said for this kiss told it all. It wasn’t an intensive kiss, but it was emotional and deep. Everything stopped and their heartbeats were in sync. His hands went up to her face and he cupped her cheeks as he broke away. His forehead met hers and he stared into her sea foam colored eyes. And although they couldn’t see, they seemed to look right into his eyes. Toph was amazed. How could a single person spark such feelings in her? His kiss tasted like coffee and paint. His lips felt soft on hers, his hands warm on hers when the rest of the world seemed frozen. His breath was warming her numb cheeks as she started to grin like an idiot. She leaned up and pecked his lips, slightly more to the left than intended and snuggled into his warm form. They were still standing in front of the coffee shop and the snow started to melt under their boots and soak their socks in ice cold water. Toph shifted her weight. She was getting cold in spite of Zuko’s body warmth. A slight shiver ran down her spine as the boy put his hands around her. One hand on her lower back, the other on the back of her head. She breathed in his scent and sighed in content. She could stay like that forever. Unfortunately, the moment was over way too fast as Zuko broke their embrace and pecked her on the lips. “So, does this mean we’re… official?” he asked smoothly. “I guess it does,” Toph replied still in a daze. Appa barked contently as though to show his approval of their decision.

The last day before Christmas break the newly found couple spend together in Toph’s dorm. She was lying on the couch upside down, her feet dangling over the backrest, her head hanging from the seat. Zuko sat on the ground, his head was right next to hers, a sketchbook on his lap. He was drawing another picture of Toph. This time under the big Christmas tree on town square. The drawn Toph had a little mustache of chocolate cream and a hot chocolate in her gloved hands. His inspiration was their previous trip to the local Christmas fair this morning. It had started snowing furiously so they had decided to leave and find shelter in the little apartment. The couple had yet to tell their roommates about their new relationship. Toph had decided today was the perfect opportunity to tell Katara. Only that said girl hadn’t shown up yet. Suddenly the lock clicked and Toph sat up… well, as up as you can get when you’re upside down on a sofa. Zuko looked up as well. He hadn’t even noticed the sound. The door opened and revealed a young woman with dark skin and a blue parka. She was covered in snow and looked ready to behead everyone who even looked at her. She took her boots off and marched right towards the bathroom. One second later the bathroom door slammed shut and an unpleasant grunt escaped the little room. “Hi, to you too, Sweetness!” Toph barked in the direction her roommate had just disappeared in. “Is she… always like that?” Zuko dared to ask after a moment of uncomfortable silence. He suddenly wasn’t so sure about doing this anymore. “Nah, only when she’s pissed,” Toph said shrugging. The possibility of being beheaded didn’t seem to cross her mind. The girl seemed as careless as ever, no hint of anxiety in her voice or on her face. When Katara left the bathroom a few minutes later with wet hair and fresh clothes, Toph sat up properly and cleared her throat. “So, Sugarqueen, I just wanted to let you know that I joined the club of people who were stupid enough to approve of a relationship. May I introduce you to my boyfriend, Zuko,” she made a dramatic hand gesture in aforementioned boyfriend’s general direction, almost hitting him in the process. “He’s an art major in case you wondered.” Katara sighed and leaned against the fridge hugging herself. “What a dramatic romance… The art major that fell in love with the blind girl!” she exclaimed in a dreamy voice. “Urgh, shut up! Everyone knows you love cheesy romance novels!” Toph threw a pillow in the direction of the fridge only to be lectured by Katara who had moved to the other side of the room in the meantime, “I’m over here.” Out of pillows to throw Toph settled with a grunt and crossed her arms to pout. She looked cute, Zuko thought, even cuter than usual. Though he would not admit it. She would beat him to a pulp. He smiled and surprised his girlfriend - he really loved to call her his girlfriend even in his thoughts, just to remind him that it was true - with a kiss. She shrieked and then melted into the kiss. Zuko chuckled, “I love you.” “I love you too.”

#fanfiction #avatar the last airbender #zuko #toph beifong #college au #atla #toko #toph x zuko #romance #friendship #i died writing this

3 notes · View notes

jezfletcher · 5 years

Text

The Oscars 2019

This is two years in a row now that I've seen every single Oscar-nominated feature film, and I have a fear that the completist in me now sees this as something I need to justify doing every year going forward. But I've only managed it the past few years because I've happened to have been in the United States in the period leading up to the Oscars. And honestly, that's not something I necessarily want to keep doing. So, enjoy it while it lasts, is I guess what I'm saying. This has not been a good year for the Oscars, themselves, obviously—what with all of the stupid things they've been trying to do to make the awards ceremony more relevant to people who don't travel to another country to watch all of the nominated films. Obviously, I'm going to keep watching anyway. However, I've found that the films this year have all been of a reasonably good standard. Sure, there have been some which lean too heavily on the formula, and some which fall pretty flat. But there's only one film I think this year that I actively hated, and usually there's at least a handful. So good work in screening out most of the absolute dross, Academy voters. By the same token, while there were some excellent films this year, many of, say, my top 10 are not films that I would say I completely loved either. In previous years, I've had 10 or more films that have absolutely filled me with joy. Anyway, let's get to the count down. As usual, I'm going from top to bottom, because my bottom films tend to be more fun to write (and, I believe, to read). But be aware, as I said above, there are fewer films than usual that are worthy of a proper shellacking.

1. Free Solo

Directed by Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi & Jimmy Chin

My top film this year is an honestly brilliant, monumental piece of film-making. It catalogues the first solo ascent of El Capitan in Yosemite done without safety ropes, which is enough of an achievement that a fairly dry account would still be fairly compelling. But the filmmakers really manage to make this something profoundly more as a piece of cinema. We follow Alex Honnold, a professional rock climber, as he prepares for the ascent, and we get a deep sense of the danger involved in such an endeavour, and the mindset required of a person to even attempt something so monumental. More interestingly, the filmmakers delve into what makes up the man, with a particular focus on his burgeoning relationship with his girlfriend Sanni McCandless—what we discover is probably his first real romantic relationship. This adds such another level of interest to the film; it provides the human connection we need to not only see Honnold as more than a machine. But it also provides the stakes to make the danger of the ascent resonate with us. By the time we actually see the ascent——we not only understand the risks involved, but the consequences for characters that we care about were things to go wrong. It makes for absolutely scintillating viewing. And there's another level (I know, does it need more?). The filmmakers themselves make the choice to insert themselves into the story as well—it's a ploy that often massively backfires for me (as it did last year with Icarus), but in this case, it's a masterful stroke. It allows the introspection of the makers to explore how complicit they are in something potentially horrific. Is the presence of cameras pushing Honnold beyond his limits? Is this something he would attempt were there not a documentary film crew following him? How do they feel about capturing on film the death of someone they consider a friend, knowing full well before they start the cameras rolling that this might be how it ends up? What if their mere presence in filming him causes him to make a mistake? These are all questions which are well-explored in the film itself. In the end, watching the footage of the actual ascent is magnified a hundred-fold due to the groundwork in the storytelling. This is why this film ends up being much much more than a technically-proficient documentation of an incredible human feat. It becomes a masterful achievement in itself.

2. First Reformed

Directed by Paul Schrader

I honestly knew almost nothing about this film before sitting down to watching it, apart from that it was nominated for Best Original Screenplay. The film tells of a protestant priest, Ernst Toller (Hawke), who is now the chaplain of the First Reformed church, a historical chapel now mostly serving as a tourist attraction, but which is now mostly run by the local megachurch. To say much about the plot is to give away vital points, which are better left to unravel at their own pace on screen. But it manages to do so gently while building into a huge emotional impact. It's in no small part to Ethan Hawke, who is utterly compelling as the complex Toller. It's just a beautifully constructed film, well-shot in winter bleakness, and capturing the themes that the screenplay demands of it. It touches on deep issues of many kinds: faith, environmentalism, the legacy you consider as you face death. And each is woven into a tapestry that as a whole is nothing short of sublime. Yes, it's a very fine film, and one which I recommend even as I know it will not be to everyone's tastes as it is to mine. I think it's a(nother) testament to the fact that I often find the films on the Screenplay nominations to be the source of hidden gems that don't turn up otherwise.

3. Roma

Directed by Alfonso Cuarón

There's certainly a bit of momentum behind this one to take out Best Picture, and while I obviously liked it (sitting as it is here high in my rankings), it's an unexpected film to be the frontrunner. It's released by Netflix, it's a foreign-language film, in black and white. It's also not the crowd-pleasing story you often see in a front-runner. But maybe that's a sign that the Academy is actually doing its fucking job for once. But this is indeed a brilliant film. It's a film really made with care and craft. Everything is beautifully done—the cinematography is astonishing (I saw it at the cinema, which amplified it, but I'm sure much of it still resonates on a smaller screen), the production design is crystal perfect in setting up this world of two worlds between the upper and lower classes in a Mexico City household. But it's not just a technical film, it's one crafted with love, and a story which resonates with emotional impact. The craft just allows us to better immerse ourselves in the story and its human participants. It feels like a labour of love for Cuarón, and he has all the skills required to make it compelling on screen. If this wins Best Picture, I'll be cheering, even though it's the outcome that everyone expects. I think this winning the award will show that the Academy is really now genuinely awarding excellence in filmmaking.

4. Black Panther

Directed by Ryan Coogler

I honestly feel as though Marvel Studios is going to take the wrong message out of Black Panther, one of its obviously biggest hits, and, honestly, probably the best superhero film ever made. This film was great not because it had the best action sequences, the best characterisation, the best super powers, or because they've perfected digital eyelash rendering. It was brilliant because they got the stakes right, and they managed to make them connect to the audience. This, I believe, is squarely the doing of Ryan Coogler, who had previously managed to do something similar with the Rocky series in Creed. But credit to Marvel for giving him the creative freedom to do just that. The film works so well because we see the resonances of Wakanda in our world—it's relevant right now, right this minute when you walk out of the cinema. It's not merely a piece of escapism, despite the fact that there are technically good action sequences and visual effects. Moreover, it manages to avoid the ever-escalating tropes of superhero films which seem to think that you need to make them more exciting by increasing the size of the destruction were our heroes to fail. Let's be honest——to me, the destruction of my home & family, the destruction of my city, my planet, or the universe pretty much work out to the same net outcome. But Black Panther really grapples with the legacy of the choices of history—and it ties them to the modern day in a subtle but very powerful way. So sure, go for the special effects, but you'll likely get more out of it than a well-made superhero film. That's the reason why this sits so high on my list. I just hope that Marvel sees it the same way, and that they have a willingness to explore this kind of filmmaking in the future. Given the success of Black Panther, I hope they will.

5. The Favourite

Directed by Yorgos Lanthimos

I was so waiting for this film by Lanthimos. I've loved what he's done back to Dogtooth, but in every film he'd done to this point there was a certain kind of similarity——it was as though he had taken the basic structure of Dogtooth and was replaying it in different ways and in different scenarios. Breaking out of the mould by working with a script not written by the director himself seems to have been a good move, because we get to see Lanthimos's skills in another domain. And I'm very happy about that. The story revolves around a love triangle between three women, Queen Anne (Olivia Colman), Sarah Churchill, Duchess of Marlborough (Rachel Weisz), and Abigail Hill (Emma Stone), and the various political machinations surrounding the war in France. It's interesting enough as a historical drama, but the focus and the success of the film both are in the exploration of the relationships. Olivia Colman is utterly brilliant as Queen Anne, and I believe is the front-runner to take out the award, thereby denying Lady Gaga her own kind of fairytale. She manages to balance so many elements to her performance——the power, the insecurity, the vulnerability, the strength. She is at times both compelling and repellent. It's the kind of performance that comes around once in a career for an actor, and it requires such skill on the part of the performer and the people surrounding her to get it so pitch-perfect. It's a really engaging film all up, and one which is unusual in all the ways you want Yorgos Lanthimos's films to be. But it's also so different from his oeuvre to date that I feel like it's adding something more to the repertoire than any of his films had done since Dogtooth. That's high praise from me.

6. First Man

Directed by Damien Chazelle

I was quite concerned about this film. Having loved Whiplash and having abhorred La La Land, I wasn't quite sure where I'd land on Damien Chazelle's latest. But it's the kind of story I really love (and honestly, intrinsically an excellent story), and it sounded different enough to La La Land that I was willing to give it a shot. And honestly, it was kind of brilliant. I know, I still had a bit of a La La Land hangover, but I found it a really surprisingly believable portrait of Neil Armstrong, and an utterly engaging tale of the race to put a man on the moon. Ryan Gosling shakes off his last role with Chazelle, and returns to his laconic best self as the notably reserved Armstrong, and while that's something of a blank canvas, it's also a strong central performance for a film like this. More surprisingly, perhaps, is that the directorial touches in this are actually one of the strongest elements, which shows that Chazelle perhaps has something more in his arsenal than banality. There's a reserved quality to the filmmaking which matches its subject, and gives the film at time an impressionistic feel. Surprisingly it works. More than that, the somewhat dreamlike quality of parts of the production means that the elements of action, in particular the Gemini 8 mission, become stronger and more forceful by comparison. I really thought this was a very good film indeed, and one which definitely fell off the radar after it was released many months back. But I think it's one that's going to stand up over time. In a way that La La Land certainly will not.

7. The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

Directed by Joel & Ethan Coen

This is a true anthology film. Six short films set in the Old West, which share some similar themes and mood, but are otherwise disconnected from one another. Am I surprised that it's this high? Maybe, but it does have the Coen brothers at the helm, and a surprisingly strong cast. Why this film is so successful though is because each of the stories holds up on its own, perhaps with the exception of the eponymous tale, which serves more as a way to introduce the rest of the tales, in any case. But all the rest grabbed my attention. In particular, I found The Gal Who Got Rattled and All Gold Canyon genuinely enjoyable to watch, and Meal Ticket was a story with a strong emotional impact. But it's a film that rides on the success of its individual pieces, and it's truly quite exceptional that each of the pieces manages to be strong enough to stand up on its own. As a collection, I found them a very entertaining way to spend my time.

8. Never Look Away

Directed by Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck

One of the fine crop of foreign language Oscars this year, this film (titled "Work Without Author" in German) follows the life of a young artist as he tries to find a path in the contemporary art world while processing the resonances of his childhood, in particular the death of his beloved Aunt at the hands of the Nazis. It's a brilliantly constructed film, and one which allows its meaning to become fully realised piece by piece. At the same time, the director carefully balances the revelations with a sense of dramatic irony, allowing us to see things slightly before the characters themselves discover them. It's a fine balance to do this well enough to keep the film captivating. I also found the film to be quite a compelling portrait (haha) of the mid-century modern art movement. Although it's something I don't know much about, it's presented in such a way that it feels like it's providing insights into the movement. It shows the way in which even the most abstract of forms can find scope for political and social commentary. In some senses that puts it two steps adrift of making actual political commentary itself, but expounding the value of art is to some extent a purely political position nowadays. Anyway, I enjoyed this film a great deal, and I honestly think it's a film with even more value than I probably ascribed it myself. It's a strong Foreign Language Oscar field this year, but in another year, I could definitely see this being a winner.

9. The Wife

Directed by Björn Runge

I honestly found this film captivating. Lead by strong performances from Glenn Close (an actress I always love), and Jonathan Pryce, it tells the tale of a husband and wife, as the husband travels to Stockholm to accept the Nobel Prize for Literature. The film, however, also focuses on their early relationship through flashbacks, as we see the cracks in their facade start to become more noticeable. Thematically, there's a strong feminist element to the story, and it makes for a suitably ascerbic lens for the tale. What could be overplayed as melodrama has a cutting satire at its core, which helps make the film deeper and more resonant than it might otherwise have been. Helping this is Glenn Close's restrained, but certainly brilliant, performance, which has rightly earned her a nod for Best Actress. Interestingly, it's the only nomination for this film: perhaps in other years this would have seen more acclaim in other categories, but I do feel that there was a trend against more traditional filmmaking—and to some extent, this does follow a certain type of film-making formula. But at the same time, when the formula is put on screen as well as it is here, I can't help but enjoy myself with it.

10. Mary Poppins Returns

Directed by Rob Marshall

I remember very much enjoying Mary Poppins as a child, even though it's a film that I'd not seen for many years when I watched the (very long-in-coming) sequel. But the film very much manages to capture the spirit of the original, while also updating enough to be palatable to a modern audience. This is quite a feat, and I'll admit that I'm surprised Rob Marshall was the one to pull it off. One of the most brilliant things that this film managed to do is to make me see the original a different way. As a child, it's easy to accept all of the magical happenings in the presence of Mary Poppins at face value, but this film makes you look at them through the lens of adulthood, as Jane & Michael Banks look back on their childhood and question their own memories. It's a striking thing to do, and it makes both the original and this one seem deeper films as a result. It's also true that to some extent this film is trying to recapture some of the iconic sequences of the original, and has mixed success——the animated sequence is just about as delightful in this one as in the original, but the lamplighters' big dance number doesn't quite capture the magic and energy of the chimney sweeps dancing on the rooftops. All up though, I found this quite a magical experience, and that probably means its utterly successful in its goals. Despite some reservations, I was able to embrace it in the way that it wanted me to. And I had a great time doing it.

11. BlacKkKlansman

Directed by Spike Lee

Outside of the top ten, I'm going to be a bit briefer in my write-ups, for the sake of time (mine and yours), and will probably limit my writeups in the central section to just a paragraph each. Starting with BlacKkKlansmanm, a surprisingly fun film about a black police officer who goes undercover (in a manner) to infiltrate the KKK. Based on a true story, it's a lot of fun, and one which really tried to pound home its message about the perils of accepting white supremacy in the mainstream. It's an unsubtle film when it comes to its politics, but we're in an era that doesn't respect subtlety any more.

12. Mary Queen of Scots

Directed by Josie Rourke

I really enjoyed this film, although I'll admit that it's a film that plays to my particular traits. Historical drama starring Saoirse Ronan is always going to be in my wheelhouse. And this is a lush production, well served by its two nominations for Costume Design and Makeup & Hairstyling. It's an interesting take on the story two, focusing mostly on the tension between Mary of Scotland and Queen Elizabeth's desire for familial closeness despite the underlying political tension. It's an interesting framing, albeit one which many critics have pooh-poohed for having little historical basis. But I still liked it. I'll keep seeing films like this, in the same way that everyone else will keep going to see the latest Marvel film.

13. Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Directed by Bob Persichetti, Peter Ramsey, Rodney Rothman

This was a really engaging detour from the regular superhero fare. As an animated film, it has a leeway to do something quite different, and this film chose to do so in a way which accentuates the comic book form on which it is based. It's a decent, if fairly convoluted story, but it adds something to the Spiderman ethos which I think is warranted. It's an enjoyable film, and one which I liked a lot more than many of its ilk.

14. At Eternity's Gate

Directed by Julian Schnabel

Willem Dafoe is in his golden era, quite clearly. Here, he provides a startling portrait of Vincent Van Gogh, a man who had little success in his life, and suffered a great deal because of it. This film manages to both explicate why this may have been the case, and also to illustrate to a great extent why there genuinely is brilliance to Van Gogh's work. Director Julian Schnabel (best known for directing The Diving Bell & The Butterfly is an artist himself, and he puts a distinctly impressionistic form on the film, which is a perfect touch, especially when you have such a powerhouse in the lead role to ground it in humanistic reality. It isn't a really easy film to watch, but there is brilliance within it.

15. If Beale Street Could Talk

Directed by Barry Jenkins

An adaptation of James Baldwin's novel of the same name, this is a fine film with a good deal of resonance in the modern world. It follows a non-linear storyline following Tish (KiKi Layne) and Fonny (Stephan James), as they explore life as young lovers, as well as dealing with the aftermath of Fonny's arrest years later. It deals a great deal with the injustices of the time, but strongly resonates in a time when the same injustices survive in much the same form. It's also quite a literary film, with Tish's narration coming straight from Baldwin's, which is rich in poetry. It provides a juxtaposition with the naturalistic dialogue of the scenes, which at time jars, but it allows more of Baldwin's intended work onto the screen. And that's a good thing.

16. Solo: A Star Wars Story

Directed by Ron Howard

I seem to be largely alone in liking this film. Beset as it was with production difficulties, it's really quite something that it managed to come out as well as it did. And honestly, I think it came out pretty damn well. It's the kind of film that I think Lucasfilm really wanted to be making to expand the Star Wars universe. It doesn't need to really push the main storyline of the various wars, but it can have a bit of fun along the way. The set pieces are inventive and engaging, and well produced in such a way that you can feel and follow along with the action, and the cast of characters are well drawn and entertaining. Hell, even Alden Ehrenreich is quite good at channelling the cool of young Harrison Ford. So, despite everything, I think this managed to be successful in just about every way you might have expected it to be. I don't know what everyone else is complaining about.

17. Ralph Breaks The Internet

Directed by Rich Moor & Phil Johnston

I was a big fan of the first Wreck-It Ralph film, which managed to beautifully capture its subject matter, while also providing a snide commentary on it. So it's no surprise that I enjoyed the sequel as well. Admittedly, though, this isn't as good as the original, largely due to lacking the freshness of the concept of the original. What replaces it is satirisation of internet culture, some of which is successful (like Ralph's series of viral videos), and some which is less so, in particularly the personification of certain aspects of internet infrastructure. The new realm also gives the filmmakers license to shoe-horn in a whole stack more pop-culture references, and these feel sloppy to a large extent. But overall, there's enough charisma in the characters, and in the concepts that they're playing with that the film is still successful. It's just less successful than the original.

18. Cold War

Directed by Pawel Pawlikowski

Another good foreign language film from this year, it tells the story of a teacher and student who develop a passionate, destructive relationship around the time of the segregation of Germany. Forced to pursue propaganda in communist Poland, the film follows the destruction of the characters after one decides to flee to West Germany. It's a beautifully shot film, and one with a lot of artistic merit. However, I found the story to be a little bit tired at times, and it lacked the emotional resonance that another similar film might have had—perhaps due to the fact that both of the main characters are at times rather unpleasant. It's still a good film, but there's a reason it's in 18th place rather than rubbing shoulders with Roma and Never Look Away.

19. Shoplifters

Directed by Hirokazu Koreeda

Speaking of foreign language films that don't quite make the cut, here we have the latest from Koreeda Hirokazu, who I honestly think of as one of the finest filmmakers currently working in the world today. What is it that made this film resonate with me less than his previous work? Honestly, I'm trying to figure that out myself, because on the surface this bears much similarity to some of his previous films that I've loved, in particular Nobody Knows. This film tells the tale of a man and a woman living in poverty, and teaching their children to steal. I think I've just really enjoyed the subdued nature of some of his previous works, and this one is genuinely more plot-driven, and never necessarily in a way that you expect. I think that I could watch this at a different time and a different place, and probably have quite a different reaction to it. That's maybe just a cheating way of getting out of working out why it didn't work for me this time. But I'm still going to be following Koreeda's work in the future.

20. A Star Is Born

Directed by Bradley Cooper

I was deeply skeptical of this film when it came out. Why on earth did Bradley Cooper (of all people) feel the need (or the right) to remake A Star Is Born (again). But I was surprised as many people were when it turns out this is genuinely very good. In fact, having watched some of the previous adaptations, I can honestly believe that this is the best adaptation yet made of the story. Lady Gaga is, indeed, something of a revelation in a dramatic role, and Bradley Cooper is serviceable in front of the camera and behind it (although he does put himself in front of the camera much more than is warranted). Moreover, there is genuine thought in the musical numbers, including Shallow, up for Best Original Song, which I'll admit is the only of the nominees that I can still hum along to after the film. All up, it's a film that has its limits, but it's a perfectly serviceable adaptation.

21. Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Directed by Marielle Heller

An interesting and somewhat unexpected film, about author Lee Israel, who faces a decline in her success and turns to forging letters from celebrities in order to make a living. It's an odd premise for a film, but it's put together with a lot of heart, and pulled off through strong performances from Melissa McCarthy as Israel, and Richard E. Grant as a miscreant who she befriends. It's played without a lot of sympathy for any of its characters, despite the way it's structured—intrinsically there is something that puts you at arms length. It feels like a delibrate decision by the director, but at the same time it did limit my enjoyment somewhat.

22. Incredibles 2

Directed by Brad Bird

The Incredibles was another of those animated films which really managed to break out of its mould to some extent, and provide a concept that had its tongue in its cheek to the extent that an otherwise straightforward story would seem transgressive in some form. But as a result, like Wreck It Ralph 2: The Ralphening above, this is less than the original film. Since the conceit of the first is now not novel, we're left with just revisiting the characters in a different scenario. I think it does help that the film focuses this time largely on Elastigirl, who is curiously but enjoyably performed by Holly Hunter (who, I'll note, doesn't get top billing, despite being clearly the main character in this film). But there's only so much impact that these characters can have the second time around, when the world is already established. This is perhaps the first film on this list that I can say the world probably could have done without. Despite my enjoyment of it.

23. Hale County This Morning, This Evening

Directed by RaMell Ross

A very impressionistic documentary, this film takes snippets of life from the inhabitants of Hale County in Alabama, focusing on tiny pieces of vignettes (calling them vignettes themselves is overselling them), it manages to fuse the pieces together into the semblance of greater meaning. While it's up to you how you interpret them, it's hard to deny that there's something to the pieces. It's also beautifully shot, and RaMell Ross takes great joy in expressing the beauty in the mundane——a particularly poignant sequence shows light streaming through fog in jagged shards, while the director talks off screen about the beauty of the scene to someone asking why he's set up a camera on this street in this part of town. It's a film that's perhaps too ephemeral to grasp at times, but it's still an artistic construction.

24. Minding the Gap

Directed by Bing Liu

An interesting documentary from first-time director Bing Liu, who returns to his hometown of Rockford, Illinois, and chronicles the lives of his friends who he was connected with through skateboarding. He explores where life has taken them since adulthood has been thrust upon them, and examines themes of poverty, especially its cyclic nature. It doesn't shy away from tough questions and themes either, and the filmmaker is quite skillful in managing to make it as autobiographical as it is, while also seeming to be hands-off in its filming. I didn't like it, overall, as much as many of the films above it here, obviously, but that's not to detract from it as a piece of cinema. M

25. Isle of Dogs

Directed by Wes Anderson

I honestly thought this was going to end up lower on my list. I was honestly pretty skeptical about this from a conceptual point of view, and it seemed like an odd choice for Anderson to take on, unless he'd had a particularly good time making The Fantastic Mr. Fox. But it's not a bad film. It's a bit formulaic, but it's made up for in excess of Wes Anderson's stylistic embellishments. I honestly just kind of hope that they're put to better use in the next film he makes.

26. RBG

Directed by Betsy West & Julie Cohen

This is a perfectly serviceable documentary about Ruth Bader Ginsberg. The subject matter is very interesting, and watching this portrait of the supreme court justice is entertaining just intrinsically. It's not an inventive or exemplary exercise in artistic filmmaking though, and that's why it's below some of the other documentaries, even those which I might have found less intrinsically interesting.

27. Mirai

Directed by Mamoru Hosoda

Ah, there's a good tradition in rounding out the Best Animated Feature category with an anime film, and this year's is Mirai No Mirai (Mirai of the Future), a film which explores the changes in a family from the perspective of a young boy who has recently gained a new baby sister, Mirai. Through a sequence of fantastical episodes, he interacts with both his sister from the future, the personification of their dog (who misses the time before any children, when he was the prince of the household), and other characters rounding out their family history. It ties the past to the future, and explores family in an interesting way, wresting pathos from its story at many points. My only reticence in really embracing this is that it feels extremely slow, and the episodic nature of the film really restricts it from feeling as though it can build up any kind of momentum. Over and over again, it feels like we're just resetting in the present. Only at the end does it manage to tie everything together, and to be honest, I was a bit over it by then.

28. Border

Directed by Ali Abbasi

I found this a pretty unpleasant film, but it's hard to deny that it's a pretty singular one as well. It follows Tine (Eva Melander), who works as a border guard for the ferry between Sweden and Denmark, and who has the ability to sniff out people hiding contraband. She meets a man who resembles her strange facial structure, when he tries to cross the border, and the two strike up an unusual friendship, as he helps her discover her real self. The concept behind the film is honestly pretty unusual, and the way that it plays out actively kind of alienates the audience. But it's hard to deny the impact.

29. Of Fathers And Sons

Directed by Talal Derki

This is a documentary that honestly has a fascinating story behind it. It follows a family helmed by an extremist in the al-Nusra Front in Syria, and his influence in forcing his children along the same path. It's notable for the almost unfettered access that the filmmaker Talal Derki has to these people, and the fact that it tells a story that would otherwise be lost. It's an achievement that it was created at all. But honestly, I found it a pretty indifferent film. Narratively speaking, it doesn't really capture the attention of the audience, unless you already have an ingrained interest in the subject matter. By necessity, it's shot with largely handheld digital camera work, which further alienates the subject and the audience. As a result, I found there were always barriers between me and the film, and I didn't really engage with it in the way it wanted me to. Not a film I disliked, but certainly one that sits at the lower end of my list.

30. A Quiet Place

Directed by John Krasinski

Another film that is conceptually pretty good, but really let down by its execution. I honestly had so many problems with this film, from the obvious "oh god these characters are too stupid to live", to some of the directorial choices, including the mind-boggling decision to ruin moments of silent tension with non-diagetic music. For a film that's based around the idea that noises can kill you, it effectively ruins any tension that comes from the concept. It's a shame, because honestly, this was one of the more interesting ideas for a film in some years, and I really wanted it to be good, and before I saw it, people had told me it was good. I found this to be a real disappointment though.

31. Capernaum

Directed by Nadine Labaki

I'll admit it: this film is so low mostly because I found it such a struggle to watch. It's a deeply, deeply depressing film, not an intrinsically bad one. It focuses on a young boy, Zain, living on the streets of Lebanon. Opening with him suing his parents for giving birth to him, it then delves deeply into the kind of horrors that could result in such a statement. It's a genuinely unpleasant film, and one which feels, at times, obscene for its (undoubtedly realistic) depiction of severe poverty. It's a powerful film for this reason, but I honestly found it excruciating: in particular a sequence where Zain is left to care for a baby on his own when the baby's mother is arrested. It does have a very vaguely positive suggestion towards the end of the film, but by the end it's almost too late to save the film, and I was already to deep to see any sense of optimism.

32. Bohemian Rhapsody

Directed by Bryan Singer & Dexter Fletcher

Alright, I have things to say about this film, so I'll probably write a couple of paragraphs. First up: this just isn't that good a film. At best, it follows the formula of the musical biopic really closely, to the extent that it almost starts to feel like a parody of itself——or at best it feels like a tired cliche. (Someone, not me, pointed out that it was basically Walk Hard, which is such a funny and insightful observation). But worse than this, it's just not very well made. The dialogue is, at times, cringe-worthy. It's clunky, it's unnatural, or it stinks up the joint with trying to seem profound, and bombing terribly. It's shot in a really quite pedestrian way, and doesn't manage to capture to any great extent the spectacle of one of the century's greatest rock bands. To his credit, Rami Malek does his utmost with the material he's given, and tracks out a fairly compelling figure as Freddy Mercury. I found him honestly pretty engaging on screen, and certainly quite a sympathetic character. Overall, indeed, it paints a fairly rosy portrait of the band (a band I like a good deal), especially Brian May and Roger Taylor. And their music being such a large part of the film gives it a certain intrinsic enjoyment. But to be honest, the quality of the music actually made me angrier about the film as a whole: Queen deserves a better biopic than this one, and I'm really disappointed that this is what they got. It doesn't help that it was thrown into production chaos, no doubt, and that seems like it mostly rests on the shoulders of Bryan Singer—by all accounts a pretty unpleasant dude. For his sake, I hope this doesn't get any accolades. But to be honest, it doesn't really deserve any in any case.

33. Green Book

Directed by Peter Farrelly

You may notice that to some extent, the films that end up near the bottom of this list are those which are not intrinsically bad in the traditional sense, but merely those which too rigidly follow an ascribed formula. Green Book is definitely one of the biggest offenders this year, and this crime is compounded by the fact that apparently there is significant license taken with the reality of the story in order to make it more rigidly adhere to the formula. There's something to be said for Maharshala Ali's laconic portrayal of Don Shirley, and Viggo Mortenson provides the classic foil as his Italian-American driver-slash-bodyguard. But apart from the chemistry of the leads, there's almost nothing in this film that we haven't seen hundreds of times before. It's a predictable clash-of-cultures film that doesn't even manage to eke out the cultural and social messages you might want from a film a black man travelling in the deep south——outside the most mundane and pedestrian. "Wow, racism is bad isn't it?" it seems to scream at every turn, while never once really engaging with the subject matter at a deeper level. Really, we've gone beyond that point in cinema now right? Hell, Black Panther had far, far more engaging points than this film. So yeah, this film really struggled to survive after you cracked through its wafer-thin shell. It honestly didn't have a lot to say in any really deep way, and while you might enjoy the story on the surface, it's hard to really take it seriously when you take a deeper look.

34. Vice

Directed by Adam McKay

Look, this just wasn't a great film. I thought there'd be a certain amount of fun from the portrayals from Christian Bale as Dick Cheney, and Sam Rockwell as George Dubya, but while Christian Bale is serviceable, after a while it starts to feel a little like a caricature (which fits with the overall irreverent feel of the film from the somewhat odious Adam McKay). And Sam Rockwell is fun, but he gets very little screen time. Overall though, this fails because of the same stylistic choices Adam McKay made in The Big Short, a film I found equally vacuous. There's some commentary to be made later in the film——suggesting that it was the Bush/Cheney administration (and in particular Dick Cheney), which led to the current state of American politics. It's probably a good point to make, but this wasn't the right film to make it. It's a shame.

35. Christopher Robin

Directed by Marc Forster

This was, conceptually, a real mess. The idea is that Christopher Robin, best friend of Winnie-The-Pooh, has grown up, and no longer visits the Hundred Acre Wood. Instead, he has a menial job and a family to support. Pooh goes looking for him one day and causes havoc in the real world. It professes to have things to say about lost childhood—and indeed, I could see a better film based around the same kind of concept. But this is only so good. Fortunately, this is only up for Best Visual Effects, and there is something to that, with the compositing of the characters being relatively well done—indeed, there is an achievement in so well blending the cartoonish qualities of the animals with the real world, and not letting either feel misplaced. But that's a technical achievement in a film that had some fundamental cinematic flaws. And let's face it: Paddington and Paddington 2 had the same technical achievements, and used them in far, far superior films.

36. Avengers: Infinity War

Directed by Anthony & Joe Russo

Eh... I don't even really know what to say about this aside from the things I've already made mention of in the better superhero films ahead of this. My problems with this are twofold: firstly, as I mentioned above, the stakes in this film are so high as to be meaningless. I don't care about Thanos having the power to destroy the universe——it's at a level that has no personal resonance. And I honestly can't see anyone in the audience on the edge of their seat going "oh no, what happens if Thanos gets the last Infinity Stone??". Secondly, and this is a problem with all of the Avengers films to date: the cast is so large that the screen time of any one character is limited, and the ability to give anyone a convincing personal storyline even more so. That doesn't stop the Russos from trying though, and to their minor credit, things are helped somewhat by splitting the Avengers into distinct sub-plots which we jump between. But that only helps a certain amount. Overall, this felt like a pretty underwhelming, and slightly cynical entry in the Marvel money machine.

37. Ready Player One

Directed by Steven Spielberg

Do you remember when Steven Spielberg was a good director? I don't even mean, like, a visionary director: creator of blockbusters, classics like E.T. and Indiana Jones. I just mean good. Solid filmmaking with a good conceit and laudable subject matter. Because fuck me if it isn't a long, long time since we've seen that man. The latest in a string of stink-bombs from Spielberg is Ready Player One, and let's be fair to him, this is a stink-bomb intrinsically. All Spielberg does is put it up on screen, perhaps, you might even say, competently. Because the entire conceit of this film is straight up balls. Spielberg just either lacks the insight or the will to turn it into something, anything, slightly better. Story-wise, it's plain and simple wish-fulfillment for every single incel dude on the internet who dreams of a time when their encyclopaedic knowledge of pop culture is the one thing that can save the world. That was how Ernest Cline's book was described to me, and that's how this film plays out as well. It's absolutely a concept that we do not need, in any case, but specifically, there's also this weird jarring inconsistency with the vague semblance of plot, and the pop culture references, which are honestly crowbarred in in such a way that they're actively, continuously distracting. And when they're distracting, rather than intrinsic to the film, you just realise how much of a rotting pustule the concept is. And there's some straight up trash in the story too. Plot concepts that are laughable, characterisations that are moronic, or cut-out caricatures, dialogue that made me actively cringe, or (occasionally) actually moan out loud in pain. And let's not talk about the whole "utterly conventionally attractive woman says 'oh, no one could ever love me because I'm hideous and deformed' so our protagonist shows her she's beautiful", oh god I guess I just talked about it so excuse me while I go and vomit for a few seconds. In many ways, I'm grateful that this film came around at the Oscars this year. If it weren't for Ready Player One, Avengers: Infinity War would have taken out the bottom spot. And it didn't deserve this. Few films, in fact, deserve the bottom spot in the way Ready Player One does. It's the kind of film that I really hope at some point people stop making—it actively, I believe, makes the world a worse place, by reinforcing and fortifying a particular type of toxic attitude. There are much better uses that you could put a competent director to. Shame on Spielberg. Alright, now that I've had my moment of catharsis. You might have noticed above that I said I'd watched all of the "feature films", not all of the nominees. The reason why I've not seen all of the nominees is two-fold this year. For one, one of the Animated Shorts seems not to be available by any legitimate means this year. And secondly, I honestly just ran out of time to watch all of the Documentary Short Subject nominees, although if today goes well, I'll watch some this afternoon and evening before the Oscars telecast. If so I'll update this list. The Live Action Shorts tend to dominate this year, because they were brutal and unforgiving, and had more emotional power than just about any of the long form films this year. They were honestly exceptional pieces of filmmaking. I'd say you need to watch them, but in truth there's things in there I wouldn't inflict on the unwilling. The exception is my top film, which manages an emotional punch without the side of existential horror. Here's my ordering, anyway.

Marguerite (live action)

Detainment (live action)

Skin (live action)

One Small Step (animated)

Mother (live action)

A Night At The Garden (documentary)

Fauve (live action)

Bao (animated)

Weekends (animated)

Animal Behaviour (animated)

Let's fill in the Oscars Ballot. As always, this is how I would vote given the nominees. There are other nominees I might like to consider, and films that didn't get recognised at all (did no one go and see Disobedience for instance?). But I've limited myself to just the 3-5 candidates in each category: Best Picture: Roma Best Director: Alfonso Cuarón (Roma) Best Actress: Olivia Colman (The Favourite) Best Actor: Willem Dafoe (At Eternity's Gate) Best Supporting Actress: Regina Kind (If Beale Street Could Talk) Best Supporting Actor: Richard E. Grant (Can You Ever Forgive Me?) Best Original Screenplay: First Reformed Best Adapted Screenplay: The Ballad of Buster Scruggs Best Animated Feature: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse Best Foreign Language Film: Roma (with apologies to Never Look Away) Best Documentary Feature: Free Solo Best Documentary Short: A Night at the Garden Best Live Action Short: Marguerite Best Animated Short: One Small Step Best Original Score: Mary Poppins Returns Best Original Song: "Shallow" from A Star Is Born Best Sound Editing: First Man Best Sound Mixing: First Man Best Production Design: Roma Best Cinematography: Roma Best Makeup and Hairstyling: Border Best Costume Design: Black Panther Best Film Editing: The Favourite Best Visual Effects: Solo: A Star Wars Story Until next year, then, folks, when I should really try to break my streak of seeing all the films. Otherwise, this is going to become a chore.

0 notes

courtorderedcake · 5 years

Text

Roses (A CS AU)

My late contribution to @csmarchmadness.

I haven't been able to or feeling up to writing lately, and struggled to push this through before I began having health difficulties. It is only with the support of @shireness-says, @ultraluckycatnd, and @doodlelolly0910 that even this is done, and I have the utmost gratitude.

Cat has practically rewritten it to not only make sense, but to read beautifully, and she has been unknowingly the shining light in many a dark day.

I don't know if I'll finish this, or the two other pieces in this anthology besides what I'm finally finished with for @cssns, but if I decide to let it die I will post everything I have as continued notes on here and eventually Ao3.

I believe that with these and the last few stragglers in my WIP folder, I am done with the Fandom and giving up writing in general, and thank the organizers of CSMM for the amazing experience.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Roses, A CS retelling of Tam Lin

By Courtorderedcake and ultraluckycatnd.

Rated M - - - - chapters 1/??

Her roommate, Mary Margaret, came out of her room. “Emma? It’s 4 am, did you just get back?”

“Mmmmyar.” Emma replied, scanning the text. Her husband's family crest and name, long discarded after his death, was printed on top of the document. She shuddered at the golden medallions adorning a darkened shield, and the scaled, lizard like, dragon that curling around it.

“Well… OK, but do you want some coffee? David's here and we're getting up early to -”

“Holy. Fucking. Grilled cheese and onion rings.” Emma breathed heavily, staring wide eyed in shock at the papers in front of her.

“What are you swearing on such sacred foods for?” Mary Margaret quirked an eyebrow in amused concern.

“I've just inherited an estate valued at £800,000.” Emma flicked her eyes up, mouth a thin line. “Neal's family's fortune, home and grounds apparently. Things I never even knew about.”

“Well.” Mary Margaret sipped her coffee, looking completely nonplussed even if Emma knew on the inside she was bursting - it was how she had earned her nickname Snow Queen after all. “That would do it.”

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

The estate reading took place in Scotland through a crackling speaker box, Emma's eyes racing around the office the entire time. It was stunning, as were what seemed like all the buildings during her trip to gain the deed to her home. This office in particular was what Emma imagined when reading Peter Pan; a gentleman's study and den, complete with whiskey decanter and cigar box to her left as if she had gone back in time. The tall shelves were lined in books with gold leaf letters and rich leather bindings, the panels of dark wood mixed with verdant jade paint and damask almost making up for the unsettling stuffed deer heads.

“Ye don't be wanting Carterhaugh, lass. T’place is cursed, hallow in the way tat echoes, not t’way of blessings.”

Her lawyer smirked, teeth white and extremely straight. Emma had liked Graham since she had met him, and this was insight into his character. Taste in wall decorations aside, he respected her agency enough to not let this man continue to try to stop the change in ownership. In her experience, lawyers were far too careless and rude.

At first it was as simple as he refused to understand that Emma wanted to know the family that had abandoned her husband, wanted to feel the last connections she had with him or any family she could, but it quickly devolved into more. Emma was subject to constant harassment by calls and letters, envelopes filled with shredded paper or scribbled notes she could not read, all from this this crazy older man in the village that Carterhaugh laid in. This didn't do much more than annoy her, as well as the post office, customs, and the garbage disposal crew. It escalated to him crossing a line when he tried to prove she was not the proper heir, insinuating Neal was a bastard, and further when he tried to declare the estate a historical landmark.

The sound of sputtering rage brought her back to the present.

Graham nodded, gathering papers together from his desk. He waited a few long, drawn out, silent minutes before asking, “How long has it been since Mr. Gold's -”

Emma's tone was short, frustration defined in every syllable. “It could have happened yesterday, but it was 2 years ago. We got married fast, it was a blur. It's a difficult topic for me.”

“I'm so sorry I -”

“Can we please see the estate?” Pinching her brow as a migraine set in, Emma heard Graham clear his throat and stand.

“Absolutely. It's a few hours from here, if you'd like to get lunch and car pool -”

“I'll take my car. Lead the way.”

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

Emma heard a thud, jerking the steering wheel as someone barreled into her bug, broad shoulders and crazed eyes under matted hair barely visible through her wet windows.

“What the -”

The words had barely left her mouth when an unmistakable voice was yelling at her, rambling incoherently as he pounded on her door.

“Ye kinnit go to Carterhaugh! Ye kinnit have it ye bloody witch or fairy demoness! ‘Tis on Hallowed and protected ground, guarded, an ye haven't a clue what I will do to protect it from you, ye - ” The face of Mr. Seáìnns was lit by lightning, thunder from his fists against the passenger door and the sky. Emma felt panic in her chest, heavy and leaden.

Slamming her foot on the accelerator, Emma let the bug lurch into its unused highest speeds as she flew up the road to Carterhaugh.

And it was hers.

Graham helped her inside, the lights crackling in refusal to turn on in the storm as they stood in the atrium, dripping on the stone parquet.

“I think I'll manage.” The words crept out more icily than she wanted, but he nodded with a sheepish wave of his hand.

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

“Don't touch my car and I won't have to hurt you, buddy!” Emma yelled, wielding the shovel in her hands like a baseball bat. The man turned, surprised.

“Better question, Alex Trebek, is who the hell are you?” Emma snarled.

“Well, if you’d contact the ruddy owner and let him know to add to the budget for gardening...” The Irish accent was evident in his voice now, the clear definition between Scottish and it what had been off to her ears as she watched his cheeks reddening. Emma gave him a wolfish grin.

“I think that can be arranged.” She extended a hand towards him which he appraised with lips curled back. “Emma Swan. Official new ‘ruddy owner’ of Carterhaugh.”

-·=»‡«=·- 🌹🥀🌹🥀🌹 -·=»‡«=·-

30 notes · View notes