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houseplant-central · 3 years

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Yuri Katsuki does a better, more nuanced job of the "clumsy girl" trope than any female character I've ever seen

I will start this off by saying that I DO NOT think the 2016 anime about figure skating "Yuri!!! On Ice" is in any way "good cinema". It's 90% fanservice, fetishization of mlm relationships, and one 16 year old antagonist/ comic relief character being way over-sexualized (Plisetsky, where are your parents?)*.

It has some problems to say the least and I'm certainly not here to hype it up as an example of good writing or an example of good representation.

HOWEVER, Yuri Katsuki's character (the main character of the show) does an interesting thing by very closely conforming to what I would describe as the stereotype of the "clumsy girl".

My childhood and teen years were FULL of "makeover stories". Of narratives in which a nerdy, clumsy, bookish girl gets a makeover by the popular kids, gets contacts instead of glasses, and suddenly becomes a member of this societal elite, escaping former bullying. From the music video for "Last Friday Night" by Katy Perry, to (the classic) Mean Girls, to the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer, to the Heather's Musical (although Heather's pokes a bit of fun at this trope and how popularity might not work out for you), narratives about a dorky girl who suddenly gets swept up by somebody popular and "taught" how to "be" popular permeated my youth.

Besides just giving my entire generation the incorrect impression that glasses had to be taken off in order of the makeover to be complete, these stories had the strange reverse effect of appealing to girls who felt like they were the "before" of the makeover. If Bella Swan, self described as "too clumsy to play badminton without sustaining an injury" and "too awkward to have friends" could be swept off her feet by the hottest vampire in town because he saw something in her, then there was hope for the rest of us. This sort of idea of "potential" untapped permeates the genre, because the clumsy girl was always pretty, she just needed to take off her glasses, put on some makeup, and gain some self-confidence.

The concept of "untapped potential" is also quite prevalent in the world of sports anime. Again, this makes sense, since a story about a winning athlete just continuing to win would be boring, so naturally works within this genre often start with the athlete at their lowest, and then follow them on their journey to a comeback or newfound fame. The mentor character who gives the athlete life-changing advice is also a staple, and it's easy to see how that mentor character might be similar to Regina George holding the makeup brush in "Mean Girls".

However, the creators of "Yuri on Ice" seemed to want their (questionably fetishizing) romance to over conform to the genre standards so they drop-kicked the mentor character archetype out the window and had Yuri's dreamy coach do much more makeover-ing than athlete-training. Some of this rests at the intersection of the fact that the sport of choice in the series is figure-skating, where your image matters quite a lot, and Viktor being implied to be in love with our fair protagonist Yuri**, but neither of these aspects fully explain how well the writers made this sports anime series fit into the "makeover" genre instead of the "sports anime" genre.

But back to Yuri Katsuki himself. In the first episode, we see him crying in a bathroom. We learn that he has serious issues with self-confidence in his sport and his personal life, and that this materializes in insecurity about his weight. Episode one Yuri fits nearly every aspect of the "clumsy girl" trope: he's socially awkward, quiet, and... well, clumsy. He narrates a lot of the first episode with his own voice, saying he's "a dime a dozen skater" and "totally awkward", a kind of self-narration reminiscent of Bella Swan. While the other characters are dressed in modern clothes, Yuri's in an oversized, comfortable sweater, and has a generally very outdated wardrobe. He doesn't seem to care about how the world perceives him, (or more likely won't make an effort because he's afraid of rejection). Were he a female character, this is what I would call the "not like other girls" trope. We immediately elevate him to a pedestal as the viewers because he's relatable, and in comparison, the other characters seem to be trying too hard. While this is not as prevalent in male characters from the time (because the other male characters surrounding them are rarely well dressed except for maybe one jock the viewers are supposed to hate), it's hard to find a piece of media between 2014 and 2016 with a female lead without this opposition of "main character can't dress but all other female characters are well dressed, clearly they're try-hards." (Ironic, because that main character is about to be well dressed after their makeover, but I digress).

(Yes, this is an issue that's been in media for a long time and will be for a long time still, and yes there are plenty of good examples of stories where the male main character is just "not like other boys" and has to compete in a world where the other boys are all well dressed, but cases of writers doing this to their female characters SKYROCKETED in the few years while I was a younger teen and it was slightly ridiculous).

Anyways, Yuri is insecure and undressed. But he has a heart of gold! Who can help?

Enter mentor character Viktor (who is.... very naked for some reason. Mitsurou Kubo, was that really necessary to subject my eyeballs to?). Viktor is the epitome of high class. He's good-looking, rich, and successful at his sport, and we're told that Yuri has personally idolized him for a long time. While not exactly a Regina George, he does present his offer to help Yuri in a way that implies that Yuri would be a fool not to accept his help; he's the best of the best and he knows it, he's used to hearing it.

Over the next few episodes Yuri is basically forced into a position acting outside his comfort zone preforming a figure skating routine called "Eros". There's a weird but somewhat comedic moment where a frazzled Yuri, hard-pressed to explain what the concept of eros means to him, says that eros means his favourite food, pork katsudon. While comedic, it is to me the very epitome of "clumsy girl": while other female characters might be alluring in their experience, the clumsy girl is appealing to the love interest and appealing to the male gaze because she doesn't "get it", she's not tangled up in the politics of sex like many female characters are written to be, she's different. (I could talk for hours about how problematic this aspect of the "clumsy girl" trope is, the implication that childishness/ lack of experience is attractive is so gross, but I will spare you).

As a whole, this fanservicy nonsense is fairly par for the course, but it's two aspects of the journey to completing the "Eros" program that interests me. We see him eventually go to his friend, who is a dance teacher, and ask her for help on how to move more femininely. This in part is a nod towards his future realization of his sexuality (or not, depending on whether you watched it before or after they retconed his and Viktor's relationship). But as his dance teacher friend shows him how to move with confidence, he fulfills one of the first steps of getting the clumsy girl makeover: somebody shows him how to move in a "sexy" way, and he is miraculously no longer clumsy. The other thing about this figure skating program is his literal makeover: as Regina George had given to Katy before them, Viktor gives Yuri one of his old outfits, which symbolizes the high-class and success that he's supposedly preparing Yuri for. Yuri switches his glasses for contacts (an iconic aspect of the trope), slicks back his hair, and is suddenly more confident.

As the show progresses Yuri gains more confidence, symbolized not just by his body language but also by his clothing and presentation. He meets a fan of his and has a character changing moment when he realizes that he has a fan who idolizes him like he once idolized Viktor. This realization of new societal power is often a turning point for the clumsy girl finally feeling like she has self-worth, and indeed, Yuri immediately ties a new sense of self-worth to the knowledge that he has fans.

After quite a lot of figure skating animation, fanservice, and a weird subplot about a poodle, Yuri finds a sense of self-worth in the life he's building for himself as a member of "high society" and leader in his sport, no longer relying on outside validation. This, I think is the part that differs from other clumsy girl stories.

Why is this interesting? I think because I'm so very used to seeing female characters get shallow character development in the form of taking their glasses off, letting their hair down, and suddenly being hot, and male characters getting character development in the form of working out in a montage to the eye of the tiger and then getting hot. Despite Yuri basically only doing what female characters often do to become "popular" and no longer nerdy, his character development feels genuine, fuller, and less shallow. For him, his new look genuinely ties to internal character development, whereas in media with women it's usually all about the looks, and the assumption that a changed style must equal a changed character.

Bella Swan from Twilight, Katy from Mean Girls, and Veronica from Heathers all experienced a makeover and new look and implied character development because of a rise in social status (whether they asked for it or not), but ultimately all of them realized the popularity was not what was important to them and they went back to how they "looked" before to symbolize their identity and values shifting back to what they were at the beginning. Yuri ends the series in the fanciest suit we've seen him in yet, dancing with Viktor and excited about the prospects his new high-society life will present him with. His transformation into being self-confident is genuine, and his changing appearance was just a reflection of that internal transformation. Ultimately, I think this plotline is what the original genre of "clumsy girl gets makeover was aiming for", because it is what's most appealing to the viewer: genuine growth and happiness. But all the female "clumsy girl" stories I've seen fell flat of that in one way or another, leading me to very much dislike the trope until "Yuri on Ice" quite accidentally did a good job of it.

* to anyone who's seen this show: yes, I do know what is implied to have happened to Yurio's parents. I'm just a) quoting that vine where the kid goes "wouldn't you like to know, weatherboy" and the reporter goes "where are your parents?" and b) I'm mad that this over-sexualization of Yurio (even within the plot of the series) is something that happens relentlessly to young female characters who've "carved out a place for themselves in an adult world" and also apparently happens to effeminate (implied to be queer) male characters who have done the same thing, and that's not cool either.

**For the sake of my sanity I'll say implied, because though they kiss onscreen, there is apparently much room for debate. The original Japanese cut had them exchange engagement rings near the end of the series, but then both the Japnese version and the English dubbed version ended up having them show off their rings and say "look at our friendship rings". (Ah yes, because I love wearing a matching gold band on my left ring finger with my buddy to show the world what good homies we are (/sarcasm.))

As an interesting aside, in an Uno reverse card moment, the "clumsy girl" trope was made for the male gaze (proof: any trope that talks that much about women putting on less clothing and suddenly becoming hot is 1000% for the male gaze), and was accidentally latched onto by teenage girls. Yuri on Ice was made for the teenage girl gaze (proof: the fetishization of queer men, the pre-existing "boy love" genre that's so popular it has a name), and accidentally fell into the trope of the "clumsy girl".

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georgeharris0n · 4 years

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Blisters On His Fingers - Chapter 2 - “First Date, If John Doesn’t Ruin it”

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 4.3k

Chapters: 2/25

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, Minor Paul McCartney/John Lennon

Plot Summery: George can't help but watch Rory Storm and The Hurricanes play, but John and Paul know he just has his eyes for their drummer. Ringo has some problem with his hands, and George may just see his perfect opportunity to talk to the handsome drummer. (Hamburg Beatle Era)

Note: It’s herE! Here’s a litlle something, as a early Christmas gift! Multi Chapter Hamburg Starrison Fic? you bet! @cirilee and I worked very hard on research and planning for the fic and I’m so happy to finaLLY released the first continuation chapter (Thank you sOOO much Ciri! ily ::o::)

Read Chapter 1 Here

Inhaling the stale air in the Bambi Kino cinema was probably the worst thing to wake up to since arriving in Hamburg, but after last night, George barely even noticed. Peeking his eyes open, he adjusted to the artificial light in the damp cement block they called a room. He felt as light as air… George had kissed him. Ringo Starr, George Harrison kissed Ringo Starr.

It’s a wonder George had gotten any sleep at all after that. He remembers staring up at the pitch black ceiling for hours last night and just looking at his smile, the smoothness of his cheek and scruff of his jaw… reliving that moment when he just fucking went for it.

George let out a pleased sigh and stretched his arms above his head.

After a moment he turned over to the bed opposite his only to be faced with two snickering bastards staring back at him. Of-fucking-course, can’t have one single moment of peace can I?

“Sleep alright’ there princess?” John smirked taking a drag from his ciggy.

George groaned. No, not even John could ruin this morning for him.

“Shut up Lennon, and give me drag huh?” He reached toward the nightstand table for the cigarettes, but Paul swooped in all to quick before George could take a blow.

“What the-”

“You can have a ciggy after you tell us the details. So spill.” Paul smirked and scooted beside John, taking advantage of his leverage.

“Details? I- what do you want to know? How do you know anything happened?” George stammered, he thought it would be easy to burst out and tell his best mates what happened, but his nerves seemed to get the best of him.

Paul scoffed. “Well for starters, you woke up in this shithole with that dreamy smile on your face.”

George felt himself flush, gosh he was smiling pretty wide huh?

“Yea, and not to mention you coming home at fucking 4 in the mornin’.” John quipped while tapping his ashes off onto the floor, which Paul detested, but couldn’t really argue with considering how nasty the room already was.

“Well- I.. I’m sure you both enjoyed the alone time.” George teased, hoping to distract from himself a little longer. It held some truth, it was pretty hard living just the three in one room, even harder when he bunked with Pete. John and Paul rarely got to get cozy and the two of them were a committed item, which took awhile since John insisted he wasn’t “queer”. Course, he was over the moon for Paul the moment they met, which was pretty frustrating at first. George saw it, and he knows as soon as those two finally stopped being resisitent, they were all over each other.

John leaned back lazily and chuckled. “I wish! Sadly, Paul wouldn’t put out. The only tossin’ and turnin’ all he’d do was worry about you getting home, real mood killer you are Georgie boy-” Paul smacked a pillow into John’s face before he kept running his mouth.

“Piss off John! He’s distracting us! Come on’ George and tell us before John gets his teeth punched in will ya?”

George snickered at the display of Paul looking like an eager parent or older sibling, practically on the edge of his seat.

George fiddled a little with his hands, remembering how the night before he used these same ones to care for Ringo’s palms. How rough Ringo’s hands felt from years of drumming. George liked that much more than silky soft hands, it’s like every scar and callus could tell a story. He hoped Ringo would let him hold them again during their date- Ohfuck. THEIR DATE.

“Shit! My date! He asked me on a date!” George was standing now, throwing off his blanket and immediately going into a panic.

Ringostarraskedmeonadate! Howcould I forget thaT-

The lad was already rummaging hopelessly for clean clothes to wear to no avail. While John and Paul were both now standing probably trying to catch up on the bomb he just dropped into the room.

“You finally snagged a date with the Hurricane’s drummer?”

John was shocked like he couldn’t believe his ears.

George looked up from his pile of clothes and he knew he was unfolding, it couldn't be stopped now. “I- well I kissed im’ first, then he asked to see me tomorrow, so… yes?”

“Hold on! Wait- you’re telling me you kissed him and didn’t tell us? Just sat there like a smiling idiot knowing you kissed the lad we watched you pine over for months?” Paul was almost offended, all that waiting and George didn't tell him sooner?

“Listen!” George didn’t have time for questions, the stakes were much higher now “Yes! Yes okay? I kissed him, and now we have a date,TODAY, and i have no fucking idea when he gets here so if one of you could get off your asses and HELP ME PLEASE!”

George was losing his mind, he had no idea what to wear, how much time he had, what he was supposed to do- but of course, Paul did. “George, clean yourself up, and I’ll find you some clothes alright?”

“Yeah, and calm down too, don’t want to spook him looking like you just left a crack house.”

George looked over to the wall mirror, he did look frantic, definitely not first date with Ringo material. His eyes were wide, his hair was unruled, and he was nearly shaking. John had a point. This date was way too important, he can’t ruin it by being this nervous.

George just needed to get ready and hope that he doesn’t make a fool of himself.

Good luck with that.

_______________

Paul had George cleaned up real nice. Black drainies, and one of Paul’s clean white shirts tucked in made George cut a fine figure. Topped off with a large smooth pompadour. Very handsome and slim. Paul was very proud of the simple, yet refined appearance he made up for George’s date. He was a good looking lad all the same, and those fangs that pointed when he smiled had to be a deal breaker. Had he had more time (and spare cash), he almost wanted to go buy him a new fit to really shock Ringo. But- the look was still perfect in Paul’s opinion, but John was insistent he add his own little flare to the mix.

“Make you look tougher, like on stage.”

“He’s not going on stage John, he’s going on a date-”

“Yes, and he’s going to wear the damn jacket!” John argued. Draping a leather jacket on George’s shoulders. He took a much larger role in the getting ready process then was expected. He and Paul fussed left and right over how George needed to look, what shirt, how to wear it, what to say, make his hair messy or clean. Boots or loafers. Smile or brood. The two just couldn’t agree.

As per usual.

“George needs this date to go off without a hitch! Who knows? If they go steady, we might get a new drummer.” John winked.

Last week the lads had to get a replacement drummer to sit in after Pete hauled ass back to Liverpool for some kind of “family emergency”. John seems to think George’s date with Ringo could be an opportunity… Ringo was considered the best drummer as far as Liverpool was concerned, and despite George agreeing that Ringo was 20 times better than Pete, he didn’t like what John was implying. Paul seemed to catch onto it quicker than George was though.

“Oh no no NO, you’re not making George’s date about your little fued with Rory! That’s none of your business.” Paul chided, seeing through John’s casual tone. He knew that face and twinkle in his eyes. He was scheming, and John Lennon’s schemes never ended well.

“I’m just saying, you can’t date between competing bands. If Geo plays his cards right-”

George had heard enough, he wasn’t letting this crazy idea get to his head. He wanted to enjoy his date, not be John’s pon.

He was about to speak up when suddenly a loud knock at the back door silenced the whole room.

George looked at the door and felt his palms clam up. He shuffled his feet toward the handle. He thought he was going to pass out. This wasn’t even his first date, but it was his first with Ringo, and somehow that made it all the more important.

Another, more faint knock, hit the door, making George jump back slightly. Is that him? Is he here? Gosh if it’s not him-

“Don't just stand there! Open it.” Paul whispered, clearly waiting in anticipation.

When George gathered up his non existent courage and opened the door up, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor…

If he thought seeing Ringo up on stage, was in itself eye-catching, he was grossly unprepared for when he cleans up for a date.

Ringo was standing at the door, looking a bit flustered, but non the less pleased to see George. That smile. George thought he might lose his footing had he not been gripping the door frame. He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He wanted to drape an arm around Ringo’s shoulders and admire how handsome he looked. He was stunning, he was sporting nice fitted charcoal trousers, with a white and black checker striped shirt tucked in. He even topped it off with a black corduroy jacket.

“Hmm... now that’s what I call boyfriend material.” Paul muttered behind George, who was also admiring Ringo’s attire.

George barely registered what Paul said until Ringo finally spoke.

“Gosh, I’m- speechless, you look real handsome George.” Ringo gaped while he shuffled his hands out of his pockets.

The two were both clearly nervous, and George just couldn’t even believe Ringo was really here. Last night had felt too much like a dream to be real, but… it was and he was here and-

“Whoa there Ringo! You got on this fancy get up for our little Geo?”

Fucking. Hell. John.

Ringo let out a nervous laugh “Suppose’ so, not too fancy I hope. Havn’t got too much money for a proper restaurant...” Ringo scratched the back of his neck. He seemed a little embarrassed, but George was pretty relieved. He wasn’t into fancy smacy places like that anyhow.

But- he was into getting out of here with Ringo as soon as possible before John kept talking. Which was the perfect incentive to push his nerves away for a bit.

“WELL- Guess will be going then! See ya fellas!” George was already walking down the steps and quickly leading Ringo away before those two ruined the date before it even starts.

“You better have him home at a respectable time young man!!!” John yelled out after them which made George cringe. Gosh those two I swear-

George ran a hand up his hair. “Sorry about them, they’re a piece of work.”

Ringo snickered, “Funny though, don’t worry, bet they pick on ya’ too much huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

George and Ringo were walking down Grosse Freiheit, opposite corner from the KaiserKeller where they worked and typically spent their time. George hadn’t explored much of this side of town, but it seemed Ringo knew where they were going, so he didn’t mind it.

It was nearly 3 in the afternoon, so most places had slow business. Once it neared about 5, that’s when most of the sailor, drunkards, and “fast women” slipped out for the nightlife. Despite the occasional peek of a prostitute in the day, most afternoons were strangely quiet considering this was a red light district.

When George arrived in Hamburg, the idea of living in such loose city, with so much sex and alcohol seemed exciting, but other than the advantage of drinking, George wasn’t too into the easy sex. John and Paul tried to set him up once, but he ended up horrified, having not been with a women and being pretty certain he was gay at that point. That only solidified it. He ended up sending her away, she didn’t seem to bothered by it. Probably just looked like a spooked young boy.

Paul stuck around to apologize about it. Make sure he was okay. If anything George was almost happy to know he didn’t fancy girls. John and Paul were always so defensive about it, but when George was having thoughts like that- it felt comforting to know his friends were the same way. That they could understand.

George saw Ringo veering toward the right. They must be close. The walkway was definitely in more uncharted territory, but- a little more secluded. Ringo reached out his hand suddenly, and George hesitated. Sure there wasn’t anyone around, and the area didn’t persecute lads holding hands, but- it was still out in public, and George didn’t quite feel comfortable for that just yet.

Ringo’s smile softened and he lowered his hand into his trouser pocket. “No worries Georgie, the place is right back here, follow me.”

George walked with Ringo down a narrow alleyway leading to a wooden doorway on the side of the building. Already regretting not taking Ringo’s hand, but certainly thankful Richie wasn’t offended by his apprehension.

A quick knock on the door, and it was soon opened up by another fellow. Clean looking boy with rosy cheeks and a slender chin, about Paul’s age or older maybe.

“Afternoon Richard, back again so soon?” The boy smiled, clearly pleased to see Richard here. Where- wherever they were. George felt his arms tense, hoping he wasn’t already feeling jealousy on the date that’s barely started. “Where’s your tall friend?” He continued, while giving George a disappointed side glare.

“Afternoon! Awe this isn’t much his scene really, he’s more interested in birds.” Ringo looked past the boy, and pointed over his shoulder to a booth past the bar-room.

“Mind if we have a seat over that way?” Before the boy could give answer Ringo was already sliding through the doorway with George in tow.

Now standing inside, George could really get a load of the place. It was definitely a bar, but why it was so hidden away was beyond him. It played great music out of some speakers, which seemed to be connected to the local radio. It was pretty full too, especially for this hour, but no one seemed to be very rowdy, mostly just dancing or a having a nice drink.

One thing that did catch Georges eye was the clientele. Every person inside was a bloke. Not a single girl in sight.

“Ringo? Is- is this a gay bar?”

Ringo stopped in front of the booth and looked back at George shyly.

“I- yes, it’s pretty classy, but I wasn’t sure, you know? If you’d been to one before.” George tilted his head, in all honesty he had never seen one before now. It just seemed like they were myths considering how well hidden they were. Not to mention John, Paul, and George never played in gar bars, or expressed interest in one before. Though, Ringo’s logic made sense, why not go to a place that’s guaranteed to be safe for a first date. Not having to watch your back if he wanted to hold Ringo’s hand or maybe share a kiss.

“I’m… I haven't, but I really like it here, seems like a perfect first date spot to me.” George smiled, sliding into the booth.

The date started out really great. Ringo was even more adorable on dates. He ordered them both some drinks and they sipped away talking. It felt like they spoke for hours on end. Ringo was so fun to talk to, he was cute and much more cheeky than expected. He had the cutest little blush when George decided to move over to Ringo’s side and sit beside him in the booth. Letting his shoulder graze next to each other.

The topic of how they ended up in Hamburg came up, and George talked about meeting John and Paul, and about how they let him join the band. The band that feels like his family, like he was always meant to be apart of them. He told Ringo stories and pranks they all pulled on each other, and about how he practically had to knock sense into them both about their feelings for each other.

“They were fighting like mad all the time. Mostly John, pushing Paul away n’stuff.”

Ringo listened attentively, “You could tell? That they were… pushing each other?”

“Definitely, those two were inseparable, and the way John looked at Paul and the way Paul looked at John- you knew. I knew for sure. John had hurt Paul real bad one day, said he didn’t need him around anymore. Paul was devastated. I had to talk with John and get it sorted out.”

“How’d that go?”

“Basically told him to get his shit together and tell Paul how he felt. Honestly, I’m surprised the bastard listened.” George laughed letting his little pointed teeth stick out a tad.

“So… how long have you known… you um.. fancied...” Ringo paused, trying to find the right words for the question, but George had a feeling he knew.

“A couple years now… I had a couple girlfriends back in Liverpool, but it never really took. I knew I fancied boys, but I didn’t know for sure if I fancied girls too or not. Nowadays, I know I’m gay, but I’ve-” George paused feeling embarrassment flush on his face. He almost wanted to end the conversation there, hoping Ringo wouldn't push him further, but the look in those blue eyes. The soft, sweet way Ringo listened and gazed back at George. Like he was savoring everything, every look and word George gave him.

George wasn’t afraid, no, not around Ringo.

“I-um… I haven’t had a boyfriend before.”

George felt his hand shake at his sides, feeling unsure… clearly Ringo had been around more often, he was older after all, and knew about gay bars, probably had a boyfriend once or twice too. George didn’t know this stuff, he’d only ever kissed a boy once and neither spoke about it after the fact. Would Ringo want some inexperienced lad who-

George felt a sudden warmth interlock with his shaking fingertips. He moved his gaze back to Ringo. He was holding onto his hands, rubbing his thumb over each knuckle. Smoothing the tremor that left the joint until they were steady and calm.

I might faint.

“Hey, neither have I okay? I’m still new to this too, but I know I like you George. A lot.”

George blinked wildly. Ringo was new to this?

Ringo could see George’s confusion considering their current place of establishment and chuckled. “I’ve known I am for awhile, me mum even had an idea about it when I was younger, she could just tell I never fancied girls, but finding fellas ain’t easy and not exactly safe. So no, I haven’t either. Did find this place with me mate Johnny though, but he’s just a best mate, doesn’t really swing that way.”

Somehow knowing dates and boyfriends were a bit of new territory for Ringo brought George lots of comfort. He could feel his shoulders slack under his jacket. He wanted to loosen up, really just enjoy the date. Show Ringo a good time.

Hurriedly, George stood up from the booth pulling Ringo up with him. The radio had several patrons out of their seats and swinging to a solid tune. A jazzy one, clearly hitting the backbeat like a rock n’ roller. George gave Ritchie a cocky grin and twisted his arm around giving Ringo a spin. George did little kicks and fancy moves with his feet, while Ringo showed off his funny little moves on the dance floor as well. Being honest, Ringo’s dances were outright ridiculous, but- in an endearing kind of way. He was silly and smiling so wide. Really enjoying himself when he danced with George and purposely tried to make him laugh with funky jumps and head shakes. George loved how funny Ringo was, the way he could just go along with things and make it 10 times better? The way his smile peeked out when those teddy boy curls bounced on his forehead, George was ready to spend the rest of the night like this. Giggling like school boys.

As it got later, the dancing got a little too crowded for both the boys’ taste, and they decided to step out for the night. The walk was much longer going back, probably because the two weren’t quite ready for the date to be over just yet.

“You really do look handsome this evening George.” Ringo remarked as they walked the chilly street back to the cinema.

George grinned with his cheeky fangs and bumped Ringo with his arm. “How bout’ a kiss then? Paul worked real hard to get me all dressed up like this. Got to have a little credit where credits due.” George leaned into the lads shoulder, batting his eyelashes for dramatic effect.

Ringo applauded the flirtation, clearly George was getting more comfortable. Very coy.

“Sorry, I don’t kiss vamps on the first date.”He quipped, poking the side of George’s cheek playfully.

Had this not been their first date George would have half a mind to marry Ringo on the spot. The way they bounced off each other so easily was unbelievable. The only fault was that the date was ending so soon. The streets here are just so complicated and… adult. Nothing simple, like burger joints or parks. George hated the idea of only being able to go out in the afternoons. Nightlife here was just so loud and indecent. “Gosh, maybe one of these days we can catch a bus out of here, go somewhere a little more normal.” George said gazing out ahead at countless street lights that dawned every corner.

Ringo’s eyes widened. “You want to go out again then?”

George felt his throat shrink. Oh fuck- You idiot. He was already daydreaming about the next date without even knowing if there was going to BE ONE.

“If- you wanted. I thought- I mean. This one seemed to be going really well, but if your not interested I completely-” stop rambling please oh god please stop.

“George!” George thanked Ringo internally for stopping him before he dug his grave even further.

“I’d love to go on another date with you.’

George thought he was going to say something, but his brain decided to go out of commission in that moment. Ringo didn’t seem to mind, the look on George’s face told him everything he needed to know. This was special. This thing between them, very special.

It was quiet on the streets surprisingly. Not a prostitute or drunk in sight near the back of the cinema. It was nearly 9:30, which was hopefully “respectable” for John, but George wasn’t ready for it to be over, not just yet.

George stopped before the steps to the door and turned to Ringo. His nerves that had been present throughout the evening had vanished, something about how he was feeling, the look in Ringo’s eyes. He felt like he was staring into the ocean. So welcoming, and vibrant. How could he stand here and not be utterly at peace?

Ringo soon moved surprisingly close him. George wasn’t sure what it meant at first, but to be fair, there were lots of things that George didn’t know.

He didn’t know his lovestruck crush would stand before him tonight and gingerly touch his cheek, or that he’d get so close they’d share a cold breath in a Hamburg alleyway. George would never have thought months ago, when he first met the boy, that he too would lean into the embrace. That George would get to wrap his arms around Ringo’s waist, slipping past his jacket and rest his palms on the small of the drummer’s back. He didn’t know that they’d glace down to those soft lips. Unconsciously waiting… for what? He wasn’t quite sure. Yes, he was.

Ringo’s hand gilded behind his neck. Stroking his thumb gently under George’s jaw. George felt a shiver go up his spine. Feeling his heart pounding like crazy. He wanted this. He really did. All night he dreamt of the event that occurred that night, about the feeling of kissing Ringo, the way his lips felt on his. He was so close to that again, only this time, he wanted Ringo to kiss him.

The drummer hesitated. They had kissed before, but the fervor in the air that filled the non existent space between them was thick. Both of the boys breaths were seen in the cold air as they exchanged them. Ringo lids fluttered, and George let his own shut. Darkness allowing every touch and caress to feel all the more real. Abruptly, a hand tugged the collar of his leather jacket slightly, and he was pulled into those lips again. Both bodies immediately reacting as the two shared an earnest kiss. Ringo taking control with impelling affection.

It was delightful but chaste, far too short for the guitarist’s liking. When they separated a moment, George barely gave Ringo time to catch his breath before pressing forward and allowing his tongue to slide past his lips. His fleeting impulse crashed into Ringo, and his hands clenched at the fabric of his striped shirt. Ringo responded with matched eagerness and the two were soon both kissing with more passion than they’d ever felt before. George even let a soft moan slide past his lips as he felt Ringo tangle his fingers further into his hair.

Neither wanted to stop, but George’s head was already getting dizzy and Ringo’s footing was starting to give way on the edge of the steps. They both reluctantly separated, and caught their breaths still not bearing any space between them, chests heaving with cold air against one another. George just wanted to stay here with Ringo in his arms, barely able to stand and looking just as dazed as George probably does.

“Gee Ringo…” George’s lip twitch upward. “I thought you didn’t kiss vamps on the first date.”

Chapter 3 here!

#the beatles #beatles fanfiction #George Harrison #Ringo Starr #starrison #starrison fic #McLennon #beatles fic #paul mccartney #John Lennon #hamburg #blisters on his fingers #rory storm and the hurricanes

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boogiewrites · 5 years

Text

Choking On Sapphires 71

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Shotgun

Word Count: 5800+

Summary: Gen has some problematic dreams, George decides to make a move and Alfie is there to help pick up the pieces as Gen loses herself in her anxieties.

Warnings/Tags: References to non-con/Implied actions. Language. Violence. Then domestic fluff. Protector/Caregiver Alfie.

**Chapter song is Shotgun by Spoon.**

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.)

You sit at the head of the table in your ornate dining room, the morning sun streaming in through the windows. Your posture slumps after a strong yawn as you pick through your bowl of berries and cream. You didn’t want something sweet but the eggs were also not hitting the spot. You pick at the pork-free classic English breakfast in front of you, the toast being the only thing you didn’t want to spit back out.

“What’s wrong with you?” Claire demands, finally settling into a seat after seeing her move about the house all morning.

“Not sleeping well.” You sigh, pushing around the beans on your plate.

“Any reason?” She says with a casual tone but you shift your eyes over to her anyway.

“Dreams.” You answer flatly.

“Are dreams responsible for you being so picky with your food as well?”

“I’m tired and nothing sounds good.” You mutter childishly.

“Are These dreams something I should be informed of?”

You shrug. “They’re abstract.” You groan and push away the plate. “I’m trapped in darkness. There are these sets of glowing eyes moving around and I can’t tell anything about them. I hear men’s voices, lots of different ones, but the eyes aren't human eyes. It feels like something is wrong, but I don’t know what. I keep getting moved around but I can’t feel anything or see anything. Then I hear Alfie's voice and it stops.”

“What does he say?”

“It changes. Sometimes it’s gibberish, sometimes my name.” You shrug. “Then I’m suddenly back at home after feeling like I’m falling and getting dizzy. He’s in bed with me and telling me it’s okay. He’s there. Nothing bad is going to happen to us as long as he’s there. That’s what he keeps saying. Sometimes in Hebrew, sometimes not.”

“A dream within a dream?”

“So it would seem.”

“Interesting.” She nods and hums. “Reoccurring?”

“Yes. I always wake up nauseous and panting like I’ve been running. And I feel like hell the next day. But I have had a lovely dream about being in France with Altar though. Sitting in the lavender fields from my childhood, he comes and picks me up and spins me until I’m dizzy and laughing and when I open my eyes he’s turned into Alfie.” You give a content smile. “That one is rather nice though. Doesn’t keep me from sleep.” You shake your head.

“Does sound nice. Especially in comparison to the others. But it’s nice Alfie seems to be a protective figure in them.”

“He’s in my dreams a lot.”

“Good and bad?”

“Yes, some are just common nonsense. Some are sexual. Some are tragic.”

“Tragic?”

“Yes ones where I die or he dies.” You frown.

“And those aren’t prophetic you think?”

“No, the prophetic ones feel different usually. I don’t fade in and out of them they come hard and wake me up after. They don’t feel... dreamy like dreams do.”

“You must be tired.” She chuckles. “Dreamy like dreams is entirely lazy and beneath you.” She pats your hand.

“Well, I am tired, Claire. I’m tired and thus irritable and it makes me want to act like a child and pout. I hate it."

“You aren’t the only one.” She laughs. ———— You go to bed early and sleep hard that night. A dreamless sleep. Something you’re extremely grateful for.

The sound of your door opening wakes you. You stir only slightly, hearing boots on the floor and murmuring.

“Alfie love? I wasn’t expecting you until morning.” You say with a yawn, rubbing your eyes. But when the footsteps stop and you move your hand from your face it’s clear the silhouette it isn’t Alfies.

“Not your Solomons, love.” The man's voice says, a dark laugh coming from him as he gets closer. You move to reach for the dagger under your pillow that you keep when Alfie isn’t there. But he moves too quickly for you in your tired and sleepy state. He holds you down, mouth over your hand as you struggle against him, resting his weight on his knees on your body. “I’m not here to kill you Genevieve. I’m here to serve as a warning. George wants to let you know he has people that can get to you. That's all. Has people that can get to your little Jew beau. He doesn’t want to have to hurt you.” he pauses as you still and listen to him, your hand trying to find the dagger that’s been displaced in the struggle. “I'm guessing he thought I was a better man than I am. Sending me to test how easy it would be to get to you. Which it was not.” He adds as if he was impressed. “And I think I deserve a little reward for all my hard work. What do you think? I don’t think George would care if I had a little fun. Not with how he spoke of you. Don't think you'd mind either.” his voice is low and breathy and you growl, thrashing and kicking against him as you felt his clammy hand touch your skin. “So odd he speaks of you so poorly but doesn’t want you hurt. Makes no sense to me. Seems like you could take a bit of abuse. Fiesty thing.” He grunts out as your retort throws him off balance, giving you a chance to bite his hand and you do not hold back. The metallic tang makes you feral, feeling it drip down your chin as you keep hold like a trained dog and rip his flesh. He responds in anger, knocking you sideways, but you see the glint of the dagger and reach for it, taking it and stabbing it blindly at him.

You black out from rage. The next thing you know you’re being held back, covered in blood, the dagger still in your hand as you take in the scene in front of you. You’d sawed the man's head off, blood everywhere on your carpet and bed. He was covered in deep gouges, a particularly large cluster between his legs. His head had been thrown against a wall, a splatter on the stone and filigree that didn’t look that out of place among the black and red velvet and paintings of violence.

“ARE YOU OKAY?!” You finally register from Claire as she shakes your shoulders. She sees you blink rapidly, face moving from stone to angry and she knows you’re back. “What the fuck happened here?!”

“He said George sent him.” You spit out and Aggie gasps, her hand to her mouth. She never thought the man would try to actually harm you in any way. “He said he wasn’t going to hurt me. Then he said he was going to...” your nostrils flare and you growl to push back the nausea the thought sends your way.

“I get it. I get it.” Claire says. “Can we... get this cleaned up?” She asks of one of the guards that had been summoned when the noises of two animals fighting were heard.

“No.” You demand through gritted teeth. “Take his fucking head and put it in a box and mail it to my father.” You state clearly. The boy blinks with wide eyes at the request.

“Genevieve perhaps when you've had time to-“

“DO IT!” You shout, rage burning through your veins. He didn’t want to hurt you? Only scare you? Well, you could certainly scare him. You knock Claire back and move to your desk, the blood on your hands all over the paper and pen you withdrew from the drawer, slamming them down with force into the desktop.

“If you think you can threaten me. You are wrong. If you think you can threaten Alfie Solomons. You are the stupidest man in existence. If I so much as hear from you again. If I am approached by anyone, given anything from you I promise the next head cut off will be yours. I will reign down hell on you and anyone that supports you. I will tell everyone you sent a man to threaten and rape your own daughter for practicing a religion that was hidden from her that she was blessed with through blood. I will send names out of every man you ever took their word over mine. I will scream it to the ends of the earth what a monster you are. I have witnesses now. I have proof and you will have nothing left once I am done with you. Not even your fucking head.”

You throw the pen across the room in your anger and scream again. The emotions not subsiding. “Send that with the head.” You snarl at Claire as you storm out of the room. She hears your screams traveling through the hallways, a door slamming before they go silent.

“You heard her.” She sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“I can’t believe he’d do this.” Aggie says, face still pale with shock.

“We'll have to wait for her to cool before we find out exactly what happened.” Claire tries to remain diplomatic and level headed. That was her role after all.

“We should call Mr. Solomons.” Aggie says quietly. “He would want to know.”

Claire nods, looking at the doorway you’d ran out of. “Yeah. It’ll take him to snap her out of this.”

“The poor thing.” Aggie's voice full of pity for you. As was her way. “Let’s get this cleaned up as quickly as we can. The sooner there’s no evidence to better. We need to make it look like this never happened.”

“And call all the guards. I’ll interview more this week. And we’ll need guns. Everyone will have a gun now.” She groans. She hated guns but knew they were necessary at this point.

“I don’t know how he got in.” The boy picking up the man’s body says.

“I figure come morning we will find out.” She says with an indifferent face. “Do as I said. Do a head check. Get times and locations from all the men on guard right now.” She gives him a stern nod.

“Yes ma’am.” He says with an apologetic look.

“I’ll go check on her and call Alfie.” Claire mumbles, following the sounds of your screams. She sees maids scurrying away from the garden.

“What’s happened?!” They all ask, clutching their dressing gowns together.

“There’s been an intruder. The situation is over now but she’s very... angry about it.” She grits out the last words. “Tell the other girls to go back to bed and lock their doors. Nothing we can do right now.” She leaves them and walks out over the stone steps where you’re holding a pipe and knocking it against a stone statue as you screamed wordlessly. “Genevieve I’m going to call Alfie.” She announces to deaf ears. Seeing no reaction let her know you were gone yet again. --- “Alfie?”

“What fuckin' time is it? What’s happened?” He gruffs out, brow low as he stumbled his way to the telephone in the dark.

“It’s Genevieve.”

She hears an audible breath and his tone totally changes. “What’s happened?” he demands

“There was an intruder. Physically she’s fine but...”

“BUT?!” He shouts.

“She won’t stop screaming in anger. She’s... you should come over. I think you’re the only hope at getting through to her. She won’t even respond to me.”

“But she’s okay?”

“I don’t believe she’s hurt no.”

��I’ll be there as soon as I fuckin' can.” He answers exasperatedly. ——— He walks into the scene. There are guards that greet him with apologetic nods as he walks through the door. Not a good sign, he thought. He stands in the lobby, Aggie finding him first, carrying bedsheets covered in blood and his eyes widen.

"Not her blood, dear." she answers, with a sympathetic smile. She knew what he would be worrying about. "We're trying to clean up the scene and secure the house. The chaos should die down shortly. She's outside." she nods and resituates the sheets in her arms. "Just follow the screaming." she shakes her head and sighs as she trots off down the hall.

His brow is low, taking in the scene with unfriendly eyes, wanting someone to blame but not being able to find it just yet. He walks further into the house and hears loud metallic thuds. Something hitting against stone as he follows the sound and soon he hears you and your noises of outrage.

You've taken a lead pipe, he's assuming from the greenhouse that was almost finished and attacking a statue in your garden. You weren't making much progress but he highly doubted your motive was to rid the pedestal of the statue. You're covered in blood and sweat, your dressing gown loose and moving about and flashing him bits of skin and he wishes he could take the image in without the dark overtones that were in the air.

"Gen?" he says tentatively, walking down the steps, keeping his eyes on you. You grunt and growl and shout as you lift the pipe over and over again, using your entire body to knock it against the already armless Venus statue. "Genny bee?" he offers in a sweet tone, not sure how to approach you without getting hit himself. You hadn't even given him a reason to think you'd heard him at all. "GENEVIEVE!" he says loudly but not threateningly. "It's your Alfie, love. Can ya stop tryin to take off the poor lass's legs as well, it's already been through enough innit?" he gets closer, taking cautious steps back as your swings slow but do not stop. "Can ya talk to me and keep swingin' at least? I'd like to know you're alright."

"I'M NOT ALL BLOODY RIGHT!" you shout, your energy back again as the rage starts to turn to pain.

"Are you hurt? They told me you weren't." he steps closer, he sees the strain in your arms as they shake and your chest heaves.

"Not my body," you answer as you let the pipe hit the ground, tears starting to well up in your eyes. "Although he tried." you spit out, picking the pipe up again and giving a weaker, less controlled hit to the statue.

"You wanna tell me? You wanna hand over the weapon so I can get near you love? I'd like to be able to comfort you somehow." he admits, coming up on your side.

"You don't want to know." you choke out, lip trembling but brow hard and eyes still furious. You give the statue another exhausted wack.

"Can we stop hittin' the statue, you're gonna be hurt if you keep doin' that." he says in an authoritative voice.

"If I stop I have to think. I don't want to think." you say with a break in your voice and he frowns, hearing the underlying hurt now.

"Then let me take care of you, love. Let me do the thinkin' for ya for a bit." he says, his hand reaching out to touch yours that held the pipe as its end rested on the ground.

Your head snaps over to it, you flinch only slightly, mainly from the instinct to lash out at anything in the moment of heightened emotion. As he takes it from your bloody and now you see, injured hand, he tosses it out of reach and as he begins to pull you towards him you feel your mood shift fully, a sob rising from your chest as he pulls you against his.

"There, there, love. Let it out." he shushes and holds you, his hand on your head as he kisses your hair. "I'm here love. Ain't nothin' gonna get ya as long as I'm here, eh?" he says, rubbing your back and he feels you jump. "Genevieve, pet, are you alright? You sure you're not hurt?" he pulls you back and holds your cheek, seeing the dried blood around your mouth and down your neck, wondering what the hell had happened.

You stare at him with fear in your eyes and he's concerned you'd taken a knock to the head with your mood swings. You were scared because he was saying what he had in your dream. "No. I'm not." you shake your head, face wet with tears.

"Now, now, my love." he coos, pulling you back in. "You want to get a bath? Get all this off of ya? Start new? It'll help ya process it. I know your muscles must be achin' from all this."

They were, and he was right. "Can you hold me for a bit?" you ask, feeling terribly small. Exhaustion hitting you hard again.

"Sweet little Chanah." he whispers, kissing your head, gathering your wild mane of hair and pulling the shoulders of your satin dressing gown back up. "Of course. Anything you want, love. You want me to carry you back in?" he asks, looking down at your tired but somehow innocent looking face. You looked like a helpless victim and even though he knew you were far from it, he felt a surge of protectiveness over you.

"Please." you say, giving over to the sadness that washed over you with tiredness.

He picks you up and cradles you like a child, you wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in his jacket and breathe.

"How in the hell do you do it?" Claire says in disbelief, walking out of your bedroom with buckets of red water.

"What?" he asks, readjusting his hold on you and you grunt in response, paying no mind to Claire but focusing on the way he smelled as it calmed you.

"Calm her down like that. She tried to take my head off." she frowns.

"Lucky I suppose." he purses his lips together. "Can we go in? I'm gonna get her in the bath."

"Yeah." she nods. "It's all cleaned up." she steps out of the way and he moves past the girls scrubbing the floors. They pay him no mind as he sets you on a bench in your bathroom.

"I'm gonna take my stuff off and I'll be right back. I'll just be outside. That alright?" he asks, holding your chin up to him and nodding.

He moves into the bedroom. "What's the damage?" he asks after closing the bathroom door behind him, taking his hat and coat off.

"Take a look in the box and see." one maid says with high brows and a mixture of surprise and annoyance on her face.

"Hmph?" he grunts, moving over to your desk. "He opens the top, seeing the head inside and nods and sighs. "Yeah," he says to no one in particular. "That checks out dunnit?" he shrugs off his suspenders and sets his shoes by the bed down to his shirt and trousers now. "Alright love." he says, clapping his hands together and moving to the tub and turning it on. "How ya want to go 'bout it? Want me in with ya? Want me outside the room? What ya need, little one?" he says, hoisting you up and moving you over by the toilet, ready to take

"I need this night to be over. I need some fucking rest." you groan, having flashes of the surprise attack come again before your eyes. You moan and rub your eyes.

"We can do just 'at after a good bath. Ya need to relax, ya shakin' like a leaf." he says, holding your hands.

"I don't feel well." you say with a contorted face.

"I'd say not. Gettin' attacked in ya own home. No one handles that well. Especially not someone that keeps a house as well as you." he says with pride for your measures of safety. He wasn't sure how a man had gotten in, but then again, he hadn't been sure how a bomb got in his house so he tries not to think about it too much. He wants to focus on you.

"No I mean..." you feel your stomach lurch again. "I'm going to be sick." you say with a deep breath, turning towards the toilet and standing with one hand on the wall.

"Fuckin' 'ell love. What happened? Ya have such a capacity for violence ususally." he says with concern, pulling your hair back in anticipation.

"I haven't been sleeping." you reply with closed eyes, shaking your head, making you dizzy. "I'm exhausted and then this and he..." you remember him on top of you and the wave of nausea hits, you let yourself drop to your knees and Alfie frowns, rubbing your back.

"Ya don't gotta talk about it if it's makin' ya ill." he says obviously.

"I do. You need to know." you groan and lean forward, feeling it coming on again.

"Worry 'bout it in the bath. Just get the evil out right now." he sees your face contort again as you get sick into the toilet. You can hear him sigh, reaching and grabbing a washcloth from the sink.

"I haven't even eaten anything, how do I have anything to-" you throw up again and it burns, bile that brings a pounding of your head.

"Shush. It happens love. It's shock. I saw it plenty in the war. Just let it pass. You'll be fine. Don't fight it." he instructs, as you gag and take the cloth from him, sitting back on your heels.

"I feel like hell." you mumble, holding the cloth to your face. It smells of lavender and you find it comforting. "Can you put some flower in the bath, darling?" you say with closed eyes, your hand to your forehead.

"Course." he answers, rising and turning off the tub, breaking up the stalk of lavender from the plant that still thrived in the window he'd gotten you so long ago.

"Help me in." you say quietly, dropping the dressing gown as he helps every limb into the tub, sitting you down slowly like he had when you were injured before. You remember how caring he was last time and it calmed you. "You can get in as well." you say, blinking up at him, your face now slack and less hurt as you wipe it with the cloth he'd handed you. The warm water feels amazing, the cold night air had tightened your muscles, the shock had frozen them in a tense hold and now you were left trying to process. Your least favorite part of recovery.

He slinks in behind you, knowing it's what you'd want. Without a word he washes you, pouring water down your hair, the flowers and oils he put in helping conceal the pink color from the blood.

"Thank you." you whisper, settling back against him. He wraps his arms around you as you rest between his legs. "This helps." you nod, snuggling into him, holding his forearms as they wrapped around you. "Having you here." your voice is weak and breathy.

"You should get used to it." he states and you blink your eyes open and lean to look up at him.

"Hmmm?" you ask with tired eyes.

"I'm gonna move back in." he says with a stern nod.

Your lip pouts in thought, looking away from him for a moment. You hadn't expected it. But it did make perfect sense.

"I want to." he reaffirms. "Is that alright with you? I'd like to be here for you. To protect you. I should've already done it. I just..." he shrugs and sighs. "I've just been worried about everfin' else I just thought it might be able to wait until after the wedding."

"An attempt to stay traditional." you smile up at him.

"I know what we are doesn't mesh well with the customs but I wanted to be as right as reason would allow for you, Chanah." he says with guilt in his voice.

The way he says your name soothes you. "Ari, love." you say softly, face nuzzling into his chest. "Keep your house for the week of separation. That we can do." you nod. "Don't worry about the time up until then," you say with a soft smile. "We aren't traditional. You are right." you nod again. "We want to be together. So we should I believe. I would like to have you in my bed every night." you hum happily. "I would love to see you off to work in the morning." you smile wider. "Make you breakfast like I did at your place."

"Sounds like a dream, love." he says supportively. "I'm stayin' tonight. Well, what's left of it. Tomorrow I'll get my things brought over, yeah?"

"Yes." you nod. "And about tonight?"

"Don't make yourself sick again, pet." he says, stroking back your wet hair with his hand, kissing your head.

"I need to tell you. Perhaps talking will help." you shrug. "It will make you so angry this tub will boil from your red hot temper." you warn, holding his hand in yours.

"I had assumed as much." he sighs.

You tell him everything, the suggestion of defiling you, how George had sent him but said he didn't want to hurt you. Which meant a lot of things. You show him the letter as he gathers a sleeping gown for you and puts it on you. The room now clean and clear, the fire bright and roaring, clean sheets and his arms tight around you let you fall into a restful sleep. So restful he's able to pull himself away from you for a moment to use the phone.

"Yeah, she's fine Ollie." he says dismissively. "But I need you to get some boys together and do some surveillance for me. I want you to go up north to her fathers, George Greene. Make sure ya don't follow her brother of the same name." he states harshly as the mistake would not be made twice. "I want a watch on this man. I want names of who he meets, who comes and goes from his house, I want constant monitoring of him. I want the boys armed and ready to go if I ever say so. She may think he'll stop after this but I'm not takin' the fuckin' chance." he growls.

He comes back to bed, you mewling only slightly as he pulls you back into his chest, his face in your braided hair, his limbs wrapped in yours, feeling so defensive and protective over you. He'd never seen you get sick over something like this before, but then again, he believes he understood why it did. It wasn't just violence. It was the personal touch to it, the threats he'd made, the underlying hurt and betrayal you still felt from your father. He felt guilty for not being there, although he knew there was no use for such a feeling. He would be there now. Every night he'd be there with you and he wouldn't let anyone touch you again.

----- The feelings of possessiveness always follow him into his dreams and into the morning with you in his bed. He wakes to find the bed empty next to him, seeing the bedroom door open. He doesn't assume the worst, he knew everyone was on high alert. He pads through the halls, pajamas on that you'd bought for him and kept at your place, same as he had done for you at his. So when a shirtless, sleepy-eyed Alfie walks into the kitchen, following the smell you turn and smile. You got to do this every day if you wanted. It felt so perfectly domestic. Something you'd missed out on growing up. Making him breakfast felt so intimate for you. You'd never really cooked for anyone else before and with the Rabbi's instruction you'd been cooking every chance you got. You were trying to learn new skills that your upbringing had passed over in teaching, wanting to expand your abilities and learn how to be someone more nurturing. Someone who could take care of a family herself. You wanted to be a strong matriarch. A pillar for a family who made a house a home through her actions and words. And Alfie soon picked up on this.

Most mornings you would be up before him, as he had the habit of coming home late. But you didn't mind so much, you got him in your bed every night and in your kitchen every morning and that's what truly made you happy nowadays.

"Mornin, love." he grumbles, a kiss to your head as he pats your shoulders from behind as you watch over the stove.

"Good morning, darling." you coo, watching him shuffle over to the small table in the kitchen.

"What's in the diary for today?" he asks, pulling the paper over towards him.

"Nothing for me. Ollie said you had business meetings today."

"Nothing for you?" he asks, trying not to sound scolding. Ever since the break-in you'd not really left the house much. He didn't want to push you at first, but it was starting to worry him. You seemed happy, but you kept having Claire handle everything and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

"Just seeing to the greenhouse. Poor Essie isn't doing too well I'm afraid. I'll be spending some time with her in the barn." you say in a more sad tone, accepting the long relationship between you and your childhood horse would be coming to its natural conclusion soon.

"You've been around the house so much lately, love." he says, beginning to stand, moving to rest his hands on your hips. "Wouldn't you like to get out a bit?" he asks with a kind tone, putting your hair behind your ears as you turn to him.

"I've been working here." you shrug.

"What about doin' somefin 'ats not work." he suggests.

"Like what?" you say with an unsure face.

"What if I take ya out? How long's it been since I went out and proper courted you eh? You wanna make me sit through a show? I'll watch somefin' I hate." he chuckles and gives you a charming smile.

"Oh, I don't know. No need to waste money on it." you shake your head and turn back around.

He blinks and stares. "Since when do you care about wastin' money?" his voice cracks as it shakes off sleep.

"Since I've been thinking of being a wife and mother." you say with a straight posture, more confidence in your voice.

He stands in silence with narrowed eyes, his mind putting together your recent actions. "Me movin' in with ya make ya fink 'bout it more?" he asks, resting his face near yours.

"Yes. That and my lessons with Rabbi Gold. We've been discussing the role of women. Family dynamics and what is expected of us when we become married and with children."

"Why are ya jumpin' the gun on all 'at?"

"I didn't think I was." you say with a light twist to your words.

"Well..." he begins, pressing his nose into your shoulder. "What if as your husband I want you to spend some money on somefin', yeah? Want my pretty little Chanah to get all dolled up like I know she likes. Want to take her out and show her a good time. Make her happy. Have ya do somefin' besides make me tea." he chuckles.

"It has been awhile." you say, he feels the sigh leave your body.

"It has. You don't need to get so caught up in your lessons, love. Ya know you get too obsessive 'bout it and it makes you a mess. I want ya happy, relaxed, doin' ya hobbies 'n that like you used to. Don't worry 'bout me too much love. And I'm finkin' 'bout the future enough for the both of us. You do ya lessons and keep practicin' and don't you worry that pretty little head of yours about money. If you need to worry about anything I'll let you know eh? We're fine. Business is fine. No reason you can't go and have a nice night out."

"Does always lead to a nicer night in." you smile and he gives you a cheeky growl with a noisy kiss to your head.

"'Ats my girl." he pats your bum. "Don't go loosin' yourself Gen. Ya both Chanah and Genevieve. I fell in love with Genny bee first, eh? And Chanah kept me around. Put me in my place dinnit she?" he gives your waist a squeeze. "Don't need to kill off one for the other. Especially not for me. Who the fuck am I? Fuckin' nobody." he laughs and pulls away.

"You are someone, darling. You're a very important someone. And I will keep your words in mind. You know how I get." you shake your head.

"That I do." he nods supportively.

"I've never been a nervous person. And all this makes me so nervous and I don't know how to handle it so I go overboard."

"It is in your nature to do such a thing." his voice warm but teasing.

"It means so much to me. Having been denied it for so long. I'm not used to feeling out of my element. And I want to be the best wife and mother and girlfriend and businesswoman I can and it's all..." you sigh and let your shoulders slump, feeling your words as they rushed out, seeing what your problem had been. You'd been so focused on the house, running it, making it perfect that you'd neglected yourself.

"Ya gonna run yourself ragged if ya keep that up."

"Yes." you nod, plating your breakfast. "You're right, darling."

"Mmmm." he hums, pulling you over by your wrist after you set down your plate.

"What?" you giggle, him pulling you fully into his lap, looking up at you with a cheeky smile.

"Say it again love."

You roll your eyes and laugh. "Such a wanker." you giggle and he pinches your bum.

"Indulge an old man, love." he grins.

"You're right, darling." you say with a kiss to his lips. "I forget you are an intuitive beast." you coo, scratching your fingers in his beard.

"I am that, yeah." he gives you a big grin and catches your lips in a deeper kiss.

"Such a clever man." you coo.

"Now 'ats a grown woman's filthy mouth right there." he chuckles, rising and holding you in his arms.

"Such a provider. So protective and strong." you continue on in a purr.

"Right 'ats it." he lifts you and resituates his arms, walking out of the kitchen. "We're goin' back to bed, we are."

You kiss on his ears and giggle. "Such a brilliant mind. Such a dominating body. With a tongue that will bring me to my knees one way or another."

"I know which way it's gonna be this mornin' love." he smirks.

"I thought you'd want me on my back and not my knees." you tease.

"You know I'll take ya anyway I can have ya." he says sincerely, as you squeeze your arms around his neck, continuing to whisper praise into his ear past the doorway and continuing on after he'd kicked the door shut behind you.

@fangirlfreakingout @jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog @brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @iliveonchocolateandnetflix @jess2464 @hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @wtf-is-wrong-with-this @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @sxlomons @aphnxrising @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @anrm1@ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi @marvelgirl7 @they-are-not-just-stories @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes

#Alfie Solomons #Peaky Blinders #Alfie Solomons fic #Alfie Solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #Alfie Solomons fanfic #Alfie Solomons fan fic #Alfie Solomons fan fiction #Alfie Solomons x oc #alfie solomons x ofc #tom hardy #alfie solomons au #peaky blinders au #alfie solomons x reader angst #alfie solomons angst #alfie solomons x reader fluff #alfie solomons fluff

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lilacmoon83 · 7 years

Text

Dreaming Out Loud

Ships: Snowing, Rumbelle, Swan Believer, eventual Swanfire, and a delightful Golden Mad Charming BroT3. :)

Dreaming Out Loud

Chapter 9: Injustice

David stirred early the next morning, just before dawn. No matter what the circumstances, he was always going to be an early riser. He looked down and smiled at the sight of Mary cuddled against him. He dropped a kiss on her raven haired head and she made the sweetest sound, the same sound she always made when he used to kiss her awake in the mornings. She stirred and lifted her head, smiling shyly at him.

“Good morning,” she said.

“Morning beautiful,” he replied, as they got up and gently untangled from each other.

“I guess we fell asleep,” she mentioned.

“Yeah...Emma must have covered us with a blanket,” he guessed.

“It’s early...I think I’ll make breakfast,” she said, as she kissed him quickly. He smiled and Wilby whined at the door.

“I’m going to take Wilby out and then I’ll be back,” he called. She smiled and watched him go with a dreamy smile on her face.

While Wilby did his business outside by the tree, David picked up a copy of the Storybrooke Mirror that rested on the stoop. Damon’s picture was on the front and it seemed Sidney Glass had wasted no time exploiting the story to make headlines. He clutched the paper, as he read the story. It mentioned Damon’s attack on Mary, but almost made it seem like Mary’s frequent rebuking had instigated it. The reporter didn’t come right out and say it, but he could read between the lines. The reporter was implying Mary was to blame for the whole thing, no doubt at Regina’s request. He didn’t want Mary reading this trash, but he knew if she didn’t see it now, she’d find out later that day and it might be worse. He rolled up the paper and followed Wilby back up the stairs to Mary’s apartment. By that time, Emma was up, nursing a cup of coffee and not looking awake yet. He allowed himself a small smile. Emma was not a morning person. Mary was making eggs and he quietly slipped the paper down next to his daughter.

“Let me guess, Glass wrote some biased crap,” Emma muttered.

“Yeah...any idea who he might be?” David whispered. Emma turned the paper over and pointed to his picture on the back. David examined the face and knew he looked familiar.

“Any idea?” she asked.

“He looks familiar...I’m just not sure I can place him,” he replied.

“I’ll ask Henry...he has most of this figured out,” she said. He smiled at the mention of his grandson. He couldn’t wait to get to know the boy more.

Mary set plates down at the table with eggs and bacon.

“Thanks Mare...smells great,” Emma said, as they sat down.

“Is that the morning paper?” she asked.

“Uh...yeah, but you know same old crap,” the blonde replied.

“Yeah, nothing interesting,” David added. She cocked her head to the side, looking between them both.

“I appreciate you both trying to protect me, but I’ve lived in this town a long time. Whatever story Sidney Glass spun is sure to put Damon in a better light than me,” she said, kind of enjoying their surprised looks.

It was curious, as their mouths both hung open and she found amusing that they both looked almost exactly alike in that moment. She smirked and sat down, as she took the paper and read the article. She started biting her lip about half way through it and then looked up at their expectant faces.

“It’s not as bad as I thought. Damon can get away with a lot. He may own a sleazy club, but he’s on the City Council and pours a lot of money into this town,” she reasoned.

“I don’t care who the hell he is. He’s not getting away with what he did to you,” Emma said.

“She’s right...he’s in jail and he’s not getting out,” David agreed. Mary smiled thinly. She loved them both, but she was preparing herself for the reality that Damon would probably be walking free by lunchtime.

~*~

After breakfast, David kissed Mary goodbye for the day, promising to see her after work. He returned to Jefferson’s, endured his ribbing about not coming home, while he fed Wilby, and then hurried upstairs for a quick shower.

“So last night…” Jefferson prompted, as David poured some coffee in the travel mug Jefferson had given him.

“It’s not what you think. I just fell asleep on her couch,” he said.

“Too bad…” Jefferson commented.

“She went through a lot last night. That bastard attacked her and she’s convinced he’ll be walking free soon,” David said angrily.

“I hate it, but she’s probably right. The District Attorney will probably decide to drop the case and Regina will back him,” Jefferson warned.

“District Attorney?” David asked.

“He’s a lawyer and decides what cases to charge and which ones not to. Now in a normal town, there’s no question. They’d take this seriously that a teacher was attacked in her own classroom. But this is Storybrooke and it’s run by Regina and her cronies,” Jefferson tried to explain.

“Is this District Attorney anyone I know?” he asked. Jefferson sighed.

“Here he goes by Albert Spencer,” he replied.

“And back in our land?” David asked impatiently. Jefferson stared at him wearily.

“Just tell me,” David pleaded.

“King George,” Jefferson revealed. David clenched his fists and his blue eyes turned to ice.

“Tell me you’re joking,” he said.

“Believe me...I wish I was. This is the reality of the curse. Villains have wealth and power here. And heroes...they’re miserable and have had what they love most taken away,” he said solemnly and David knew the other man was talking about his child.

“This happiness you’ve brought to Mary...the Queen won’t let it stand. She’ll make her pay,” he warned.

“Like hell...I’ll fight her. I don’t care about her power. Emma and I will fight her...and Emma, she’s the Savior. She’ll win,” David refuted.

“Believe me...I hope you’re right. It’s just hard to keep hope in a place like this. At least no one else remembers why they’re miserable. That’s almost better, I think,” he mentioned.

“Regina’s not going to win...Emma will,” he assured, as he stood at the door.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, as he headed off to the animal shelter with Wilby in tow. He just hoped Emma would keep him in the loop of what was going on at the station.

~*~

Persephone and Ariel arrived on the deserted shores of Storybrooke, Maine. She gazed at the town both with trepidation and anxiousness. To finally gaze upon her daughter in person, face to face, brought a myriad of emotions for the embattled Goddess. But more so, she wondered how Snow would react once her memories were returned and she learned the truth. She imagined it would take her daughter time to come around to her or perhaps she would understand, being that she herself was forced to give her daughter up. Emma might have reacted much to the same to Snow and Charming, but thankfully since she stepped in and had the dreamscape created for them, Emma was far more prepared to accept her destiny. She would embrace her parents with open arms when their memories were restored and she only hoped for much the same from Snow.

She recalled the days of watching her daughter from afar and her struggles to survive against the Queen’s wrath. She remembered practically begging Morpheus to help and the dreamscape had been the result. Being here now brought it all rushing back…

~*~

The years continued to pass and the hardship for Snow did not lessen. But her daughter grew from a typical royal into a fierce warrior, bandit princess of the likes which none had seen. She was extraordinary and Persephone marveled at all of it.

Persephone had the great pleasure and heartache of watching Snow find her true love in the shepherd, now turned prince. She watched them find each other and lose each other constantly in their war to stay alive against Queen Regina and the vengeful King George.

She rejoiced when her daughter’s true love awoke her from the sleeping curse and they were married before all. But that’s when her joy faded. Queen Regina’s declaration that she would cast the Dark Curse, the darkest piece of magic in all the lands, nearly sent Persephone into a panic.

If her daughter was sent to the Land Without Magic, Persephone would not be able to see her anymore or look after her. That’s when she implored her Mother to help protect Snow and her family. That had led them back to Morpheus’ Temple, just as Queen Regina crushed her own father’s heart.

Persephone watched her daughter cry out in pain, as she gave birth to her own daughter. Her own child that would be ripped from her as well.

“Please Morpheus...there must be something you can do!” Persephone pleaded.

“You know I cannot stop the Dark Curse. Not even Zeus can do that,” he chided.

“I know...but if they are in the Land Without Magic, my ability to see them will be even more limited! There must be something we can do! There must!” she pleaded. He sighed.

“There is the option of a dream world,” Demeter suggested. He looked at her incredulously.

“You want me to create a dreamscape for Snow White and her family? Do you know how many rules that breaks?” he hissed. Demeter rolled her eyes.

“I’ll never understand your preoccupation with duty and rules. Hell, Zeus himself has broken every single one of his own rules! You can do this! Emma can know her parents, if only in her dreams,” Demeter pleaded.

“This is highly unorthodox,” he lamented.

“Emma’s life will be hard. Being the Savior doesn’t mean she should have to endure all this on her own. If she has Snow and Charming to guide her, think about the positive effect it will have. The Dark Curse must be undone by her. Why not give her every weapon we can!” Demeter reasoned. Morpheus sighed.

“I will grant this, if for no other reason, than the Dark Curse is an abomination and I guess good could use a little extra help this time,” he said. Demeter smirked.

“And you like Snow,” the goddess mused, as she watched Morpheus’ dust sweep over Snow, Charming, and Emma, just before the chaos ensued.

Persephone could only watch, helpless, as Charming put his daughter in the wardrobe, only to be cut down seconds later. She feared for her daughter’s true love, but Mother ensured that his lifeline would not be cut on this night. It cut her deeply to watch Snow sob over her beloved, fearing that she had lost him forever and raged as the Evil Queen got what she wanted.

She sunk to her knees as the entire Kingdom disappeared, ripped away to a Land Without Magic to lives where she had no idea if they would be safe.

“It will be all right, darling. Emma is the Savior, she will break the curse. And when the final battle begins, you can finally reveal yourself to Snow,” Demeter said.

“How can you be sure?” Persephone asked.

“Athena has foreseen it. Emma may save her parents and her Kingdom. But Snow will save you from Hades’ trappings,” Demeter assured.

“There may be a complication,” Artemis said, as she appeared.

“What is it?” Persephone implored.

“Deimos...he was swept up in the curse,” she revealed. Demeter clenched her teeth.

“Hades…” she hissed.

“Oh Gods...then he knows. He’s found out who my daughter is! How did he find out?” Persephone cried, as Artemis put a hand on her shoulder.

“How...I do not know. He may have, but Hades cannot interfere anymore in this land than we can. In this place, all but Regina do not know who they are anymore. No doubt that Deimos is still a horrid being, but I have hope that without his memories, Snow will be safe,” Artemis assured.

“Safe? She’s cursed! She’s lost her daughter and her husband! My granddaughter is alone, because Cora was jealous of how beloved my Snow is and molded Regina into her image. If Cora had been able to manage it, she would have taken my daughter’s Throne for herself!” Persephone raged.

“If not for Eva telling her secret, she would have done just that,” Demeter commented.

Persephone snorted.

“I don’t blame Eva one bit. Cora is evil to her very core. I swear...when someone finally sends her to the Underworld, I will make sure it is not pleasant for her,” Persephone growled.

“Vengeance is not your way, darling,” Demeter soothed.

“Maybe not...but I will see that woman gets what she deserves. She has destroyed her own daughter’s life and has tried to destroy my daughter’s as well. It will not go unpunished,” Persephone stated. And Demeter couldn’t disagree. Persephone sighed.

Twenty eight years...that was usually a drop in the bucket for a God. But for Persephone, it would truly be an eternity…

~*~

And it had seemed like an eternity. Not being able to gaze upon her little snowdrop had been soul crushing, particularly during her allotted time in the Underworld. Seeing her daughter, even though her viewing pond, had been her only respite when in Hades clutches. Shortly before the curse, Hades had fallen for a wicked witch from the land of Oz. It had given hope that perhaps Hades would release her from her bindings to him. Unfortunately for her, the witch had ultimately rejected Hades and he had returned even more harsh and cold than before. His indifference changed to interest in her again, much to her chagrin. He had regained a firmer hand on her and demanded she perform her wifely duties. She refused every time, but that did not stop him. He forced her to do what he wanted and took from her what she had never given to him, much like he had in the beginning. To be free of him was liberating. She knew he would be furious, but with no access to the Land Without Magic, she was out of his reach for now.

“This is a strange land. Do you know where we should go?” Ariel asked.

“Fortunately, I have done my research on this land and had enough sense to conjure some useable currency. We’ll start by finding an inn and getting a couple of rooms,” Persephone said.

~*~

“I can’t believe this! You can’t let this happen!” Emma screamed, as she followed him into his office and slammed the door shut. Damon Tromera was no doubt smirking smugly in his cell, for he knew he would be free soon.

“It’s out of my hands, Emma,” Graham said regrettably.

“That’s bull! He attacked Mary Margaret! He’s stalking her! This is her life we’re talking about!” Emma yelled.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snapped back and she recoiled slightly. He took a deep breath.

“My hands are tied. The district attorney has dropped the charges and the Mayor has ordered his release,” he said.

“You know this is wrong. We have Mary Margaret’s statement! And David’s!” Emma replied.

“And since David stopped the attack before anything physical happened, it’s a case of he said she said,” he said regrettably.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Emma exploded.

“I’m sorry Emma, you know I am,” he pleaded.

“So...because Damon didn’t get the chance to hit her, there’s suddenly no case?” she exclaimed.

“Basically. And if I press to charge Damon on assaulting David, then I’ll have to arrest David for assault as well since they were both fighting,” Graham replied.

“This is crap! What happens if he gets Mary alone again? What if he beats her or God forbid rapes her?! What then? I suppose it will be her fault then too!” Emma screamed.

“Dammit Emma...you know I hate this as much as you do!” he retorted.

“Really? You hate it so much, but not when it comes to sleeping with the enemy, right?!” she blurted out.

“That’s not fair,” he growled. She glowered at him.

“No...what’s not fair is that my mo...best friend,” she said, catching herself.

“My best friend has to look over her shoulder every minute of her day, because this town’s leadership is so corrupt that they will protect a piece of trash like Damon Tromera over the sweetest person I’ve ever met!” Emma said, completely losing her temper.

“I’ve already drawn up a restraining order for Mary,” he tried to soothe, but Emma only snorted.

“Oh yeah...cause a restraining order is really going to stop a guy like that,” Emma said, as she grabbed her keys.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To the source of all this,” she retorted. He sighed and followed her out.

“My, my deputy...such a fiery temper, though I’ll admit I find that attractive in a woman,” Damon goaded. Emma approached the bars, glaring murderously at him.

“I’m going to say this once, you piece of shit. You stay the hell away from Mary Margaret,” she growled. But he only smirked smugly, as she stormed out.

“Well Sheriff...I believe there is no need to keep me in here any longer,” Damon said. Graham glared at him.

“The papers haven’t arrived yet so you’ll stay in there until they do,” Graham refuted. But the smug bastard just smirked again. He would be walking free soon enough.

~*~

David went into Gold’s pawn shop through the back entrance with Wilby that afternoon. They thought it best for both him and Jefferson to use the concealed entrance, since it was clear that Regina might be watching all of them.

“Hello David,” Belle greeted, as she worked on cataloging some of the miscellaneous items they had in the back.

“Belle...it’s good to see you,” he said, as Wilby went right up to the woman, who grinned.

“Well hello to you too,” she said, as she knelt down to pet the dog.

“And Wilby says hello too,” David said.

“Oh he’s gorgeous. Mr. Gold mentioned you adopted a dog,” she said.

“Yeah...Wilby and I just clicked. I see you’re staying busy,” he mentioned.

“I am and I’ll soon be even busier. I haven’t told anyone yet, but Mr. Gold gave me the most wonderful gift this morning,” she gushed. He smiled.

“Well...don’t keep me in suspense,” he prompted.

“Well...as you know, I don’t really have any memories, but I do know that I love books. When I asked him a couple days ago if the town had a library, he said it had been closed for years,” he said sadly.

“I dropped the subject, figuring that maybe the high school would let me check out some books, but they had the sorriest book collection I’d ever seen! I mean, what kind of school doesn’t have decent books?” she rattled on. He smiled.

“Probably one where the students never move on and learn anything anyway,” he thought silently. He still couldn’t figure out how this town was Regina’s happy ending, other than her daily goal of making Mary Margaret’s life hell. How she could be happy making people miserable was beyond him.

“Well...I’m pretty new at all this stuff too. I have some memories of who I am, but we’re kind in the same boat in a way. I’m pretty clueless when it comes to how this world works, but Emma did tell me about this thing called the Internet. She said you can get anything from there. Maybe they have books,” he suggested. She smirked.

“Perhaps...but I might not need to, because Mr. Gold gave me these this morning,” she said.

“Keys?” he asked.

“To the library! He bought me the library! Can you believe it?” she exclaimed. He chuckled.

“That’s quite a gesture. Congratulations...I think you’ll make an excellent librarian,” he said.

“Thanks. I have a lot of work to do. The place is a dusty mess, but somehow Mr. Gold got Regina to give me a budget and everything, so I’ll have to try this Internet thing and order more books,” she replied.

“Well...let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” he said.

“There might be something,” she replied.

“Name it,” he said.

“Well, the state of the high school library got me thinking. I bet the elementary school’s library is just as pitiful. I was wondering maybe if you’d talk to Mary Margaret. Reading is so important, especially at the age of her students. Do you think she’d be up for bringing them on a field trip to the library when it opens?” Belle asked. He grinned.

“I can’t speak for her, but I have a feeling she’ll love the idea. I’ll tell her about it,” he said.

“Thanks David. If you’re looking for Mr. Gold, he and Mr. Jefferson are in the front of the shop,” she said.

“Thanks. Good luck with the library,” he called, as he headed to the front of the shop.

~*~

Emma stormed into Regina’s office and slammed the door behind her.

“Miss Swan...I know you have no tact, but at least knock before you barge into my office,” Regina snapped. But Emma ignored her.

“Why the hell would you order Damon Tromera’s release after what he did?” Emma shouted. Regina gave her a cool stare.

“Because that whole altercation was a simple misunderstanding,” Regina replied.

“Misunderstanding? You can’t be serious! He attacked Mary Margaret!” Emma exclaimed.

“So she says,” Regina retorted.

“He would have done God knows what to her if David hadn’t gotten there when he did. And this then trashy article all but implies that Mary Margaret was asking for it!” Emma screamed, as she tossed the paper down on the desk.

“Maybe she was,” Regina leered.

“I don’t believe you! As a woman, how could you defend a would be rapist?! Does your hatred for Mary Margaret go so deep that you actually wish for something like that to happen to her? To the sweetest person I’ve ever met?” Emma demanded to know.

“Mary Margaret is anything but sweet and innocent. Don’t let her little act fool you. Anything bad that happens to her, I assure you, she deserves it,” Regina snapped. Emma looked at her in disbelief.

“How the hell did you get like this?” Emma asked, though she knew the story her parents had told her. Still...it was hard to believe this woman had ever been the kind, gentle woman that her mother described when she first met Regina.

“I’m very busy, Miss Swan, so kindly get out,” Regina snapped. Emma glared at her.

“I don’t know how yet, but if Damon Tromera comes near Mary Margaret again or David for that matter, I’ll find a way to make the charges stick,” Emma promised.

“Why do you care about those two idiots so much, Miss Swan?” Regina questioned suspiciously.

“They’re my friends,” Emma said automatically. But Regina wasn’t letting that pass as an answer this time. There was more here and she wanted to know what it was. Fortunately, Sidney was busy digging through Emma Swan’s past.

“If you ask me, Miss Blanchard has brought this on herself. For years, she rejected Mr. Tromera and then immediately jumps in bed with a coma patient. No one can blame him for feeling slighted,” Regina reasoned.

“I don’t care if he’s slighted or insulted! He better never try to put his hands on her again!” Emma shot back.

“If you’re quite done, Miss Swan. I have a lot of work to do. Get out and while you’re at it, stay away from my son. Don’t think I don’t know about your “secret meetings” at his castle,” she snapped. Emma snorted.

“Figures you’d have your lapdog reporter following me,” Emma commented.

“He is my son, Miss Swan,” Regina snapped.

“You know, the tighter your grip on him, the faster he’ll slip through your grasp,” Emma warned, as she left without another word. Regina slammed her pen down and picked up the phone.

“What did you find?” she demanded to know.

“I just finished going through everything I could find. I’m not a hacker though. I can’t get the sealed records from social services,” Sidney reported. Perhaps she needed to employ another avenue with this. She needed those records unsealed.

“Fine...I need to get rid of this woman and those two idiots,” she muttered, as she slammed the receiver down.

“I need to know all your secrets, Emma Swan,” she hissed, as she felt a shudder in the ground beneath her that seemed to reverberate through the whole town. Emma Swan’s secrets would have to wait.

“What the hell was that…” she uttered, as she picked up the phone.

“Sheriff…” Graham answered.

“Did you feel that shudder?” she asked, as another one rumbled through the ground.

“Yes...I’m heading out to check it out now,” Graham replied. Regina hung up the phone and gazed pensively out the window. She had lost control so quickly and it made her wonder if she had ever really had control at all. This was Rumpelstiltskin’s curse, after all. He had planned this. He had never intended to let her win and was content to let her be made a fool of. She angrily threw a glass and shattered the mirror on the wall.

“This won’t stand. I’ll make you pay too, Rumpelstiltskin,” she growled, as an idea formed in her mind and she smirked evilly. It would have to wait for now, but that would just make it that much sweeter when she enacted her revenge...

#Snowing #snowing fanfiction #feat Emma #feat Rumbelle #Season 1 AU

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