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nothingeverlost · 4 years

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Fic: Things Half in Shadows (14/14)

Fandom: Once Upon a Time

Pairings: Gold/Belle (eventually) with side pairings that probably include Graham/Bay, Archie/Emma and others.

Summary: The first thing you learn, back in Psych 101, is that you never get emotionally involved with a patient. For 25 years Dr. Gold hasn’t had a problem walking that fine line. Something changes, though, when he meets Belle French. AU

Author’s Note: I can’t begin to express what this fic and the people who read it have meant to me. Thank you all. This is the last chapter. I chose to leave it here and pick it up again in a sequel. The second half is relationship-centric and will begin with Belle leaving Storybrooke.

TRIGGER WARNING: Indirect mentions of abuse and sexual assault

Chapter 14 - Small Steps

There was a book on the table next to her customary cup of tea. The cover was free of words, only a pattern of roses that looked like an old bit of wallpaper.

“A journal?” she guessed. She’d never kept a diary before and felt a flutter in her stomach when she remembered the last time her doctor had asked her to write anything. Eight words and everything had changed. For the better, maybe, someday, but nothing had ever hurt so much. She hadn’t had the numbness to shield her. She would try, though, if he asked.

“While that’s never a bad idea that’s not my intent today. It is for writing but I don’t want you to write about yourself.”

“Who should I be writing about?” She knew he wouldn’t ask her to write about her father.

“You read a lot of stories, Belle. It’s a comfort to step into the world someone else created, to attend a ball with Elizabeth Darcy or to push the Dread Pirate Roberts down a hill. I want to see you try writing a story with your own words. It can be as simple or as complex as you like.” From his pocket he took a pen, resting it on top of the book.

“That’s it? Just write something?” She hadn’t written anything since a creative writing class she took her first semester in college. She couldn’t remember if she’d liked it or not.

“Anything you want. When you’re done you can show it to anyone you want or you can keep it to yourself. You can show it to me, but only if that’s what you want.” He took a sip of his tea. Belle remembered her own cup and took a sip, and a bite of the coffee cake he’d brought in that morning. She liked the blueberries. “What’s the first story you remember as a child?”

“Cinderella.” She was distracted by the book, picking it up and running her fingers over the lightly textured cover before opening it up. The pages were blank. So much empty space; it seemed lonely without words. “Not the Disney one; it was a pop-up book. There was this page with all the stairs and in the middle the glass slipper. I remember running my fingers up and down the stairs, pretending I’d lost my shoe. One page had the carriage and you could open the door and look inside. I wanted to shrink so I could fit inside, just for a little while. It was such a pretty little carriage.”

“Perhaps you can tell the story of a little girl who did manage to shrink,” he suggested. “When my son was wee there was a story he loved about a family that lived in the walls of a house.”

“I loved Thumbelina. My mama would watch the movie with me; it was the first VHS I remember owning. We liked to sing the songs together.” They would cuddle under a blanket and share a bowl of popcorn that they’d made together on the stove. Her mama loved to sing. She’d almost forgotten how she’d sung when she was washing the dishes, or combing her hair, and always at bedtime. “I don’t remember anything about the movie except that she was little and there was singing.”

“I’m sure we could find a copy, sometime.” He scribbled a note on a piece of paper. It was strange, most psychiatrists she had seen wrote a lot. Some seemed to barely look at her, they were so busy writing about what she said. Her doctor rarely wrote more than a few sentences and she always got the feeling that it was making sure he remembered things rather than analyzing her. “It sounds like a memory worth holding onto.”

“I think it is.” It hurt to think about her mama; maybe it always would. But it made her feel warm, too, to remember the way they had sung together. Maybe getting better meant that the warm was just as strong as the hurt. She took another bite of her coffee cake and waited for questions about her mama that didn’t come. Her doctor turned back to the subject of stories for the rest of her session.

Belle’s entrance to the art room was blocked by the sprawled form of Jefferson on the floor, arms and legs both spread eagle. She held her new book to her chest and looked down at him, wondering if she needed to go back and get help. His eyes were open, though, and she couldn’t see anything that looked like danger.

“Don’t mind him, he’s just being a drama queen.” August leaned against the back of a chair nearby. “Even more so than usual.”

“I’m bor-ed. Bored. B-b-b-bored.”

“I’m starting to get the idea that Jefferson’s bored. Anyone else getting that feeling?” Ruby was using the art scissors to trim bits of her hair.

“Does this place have a yelp? I’m giving them one star. Can I do no stars? I’m going to do that. The food is pedestrian, the entertainment is abysmal, and I’m sure there’s beds of nails that are more comfortable than what passes for accommodation here.”

“Fortunately there’s always the chance that a patient will provide entertainment,” Ruby said pointedly.

“You call this entertaining?” August rolled his eyes.

“Do you think they might let us have a picnic?” Belle offered tentatively. They’d had sunny afternoons the last couple of days.

“A party.” Jefferson sat up. “Rabbit, you’re brilliant.”

“Christmas is over.” From the corner of the room a small sad voice piped up. Astrid was working on something involving glue and a lot of glitter.

“Anyone have a birthday coming up?” Jefferson asked hopefully.

“Mine was last month.” Mary Margaret was the first to pop Jefferson’s bubble. Belle just shook her head. No one had mentioned holidays or birthdays since she’d arrived, almost as if time was standing still. Maybe that’s what they all hoped, that time was still and they would be able to just slip into their lives when they returned home. If they returned.

“This is perfect. Bake the cake and hire the clowns, we’re having a birthday party.” Jefferson shot up so fast it was hard to tell how he’d gotten to his feet.

“No on has a birthday until June, sweetie,” Ruby reminded him.

“Please tell me you’re not serious about clowns.” August crossed his arms. “That’s not funny.”

“If it’s no one’s birthday then it’s everyone’s unbirthday. What’s better than an unbirthday party?” He raced around the room, pulling fake flowers and ribbons from bins, stopping behind Astrid’s chair to lean down low. “More glitter, little mouse. We need more sparkle.”

“This is going to be interesting.” Ella picked up the flower that had landed in her lap.

“That’s one word for it,” August commented, pointedly ignoring the ribbons that had landed on his shoulder. “Not the word I’d pick, though.”

“Have you ever read any fairy tales?” Belle threw a pea into the lake, a little farther from the shore this time. The ducklings were getting bigger now, and Graham said that they needed to work a little for their food.

“Maybe when I was a kid. I don’t remember, really.” They reached for a pea at the same time, their fingers touching. Belle hardly thought about it, or the fact that only a few weeks ago it would have startled her.

“I was rereading some yesterday.” She had hoped they would inspire her own idea for a story. “They’re very black and white. Stepmothers are always evil. The princess is always good and pure. Fairy godmothers will always help. Wolves can’t be trusted.”

“A lot of people don’t understand about wolves. They’re nobel.” Graham tossed another pea into the water, a little farther from the ducks. One of the ducklings dove to get it and came up, shaking out its feathers.

“Maybe it’s easier to pretend that the scary things are so simple. As easy to see as a wolf in pajamas.” Fairytales never taught you to be scared of the people that said they loved you; at least none that she’d found.

“Wolf wouldn’t be happy wearing anyone’s pajamas, but he does like sleeping bags. I had to buy one for him or I’d never get any sleep when we go out. He gets in and curls up until all you can see is his nose. He has to carry it, though, if he wants it.” The last of the peas were gone. Graham opened the other bag he’d brought and set out two white chocolate cranberry cookies.

“He carries his sleeping bag?” Graham had mentioned camping, once. Belle had never had a pet, but didn’t imagine that was something they usually did.

“It clips onto his harness. He’s always excited when I put it on because he knows we’ll sleep outdoors. Besides, I carry food for both of us, it’s only fair he carries his own bedding.” Graham took a bite of one of the cookies and pushed the other one a little closer to her. “Somehow I ended up with an extra if you want one.”

“Thank you.” Nurse Whale had mentioned she was up seven pounds and had been pleased when he added the note to her file. Someday maybe she could meet her doctor’s son and thank him for all the muffins and cookies. “Does Wolf have to carry his own tent too?”

“We don’t use a tent. Just a sleeping bag apiece and a campfire. Can’t see the stars in a tent, and they tell a different story every night.” it was midday but still Graham looked up at the sky as if he could see the stars.

“What happens if it rains?”

“We get wet.” Graham shrugged. “If it’s a heavy storm we find a shelter. But look at the ducklings, they love to get wet. A lot of animals do. There’s nothing harmful in a little rain, and afterwards everything smells new.’

“I’ve never been camping.” She and her mama used to make tents out of sheets and imagine they were camping. They made s’mores in the oven and ate them sitting around a flashlight. She’d mentioned camping to her papa once and he’d taken her to a resort that summer in upstate New York. They’d served a chocolate mousse topped with meringue and graham cracker and called it a s’more. Her papa had called her princess and gifted her with her first bikini. She’d ‘lost’ it after the second day, and was glad they never went back.

“There’s berries and mushrooms growing on the other side of the lake, at the edge of the woods. It’s not camping but we could go for a walk,” he suggested, finishing his cookie.

“Are you sure it’s alright?” She’d never walked past the edge of the lake.

“As long as you stay with me.”

By the time they returned from their walk Belle had almost forgotten about fairytales. Graham had shown her the signs of edible mushrooms, but cautioned her not to eat any without him there. He’d pointed out a nest in a branch that still held eggs. There was a bush full of berries that might make a good cookie. Her questions had been tentative at first but he’d answered them all, speaking more than he usually did. She was eager to learn more and he walked with her to the library to point out a few books they had about local flora and fauna. Caught up in the books she almost didn’t notice someone joining them in the library.

“Belle.” Gaston had his hands in his pockets, his height seeming so much taller than she remembered. “Can we talk?”

“Visitor’s hours are Saturday. This isn’t a good time.” Graham took two steps to his right, coming between her and the doorway.

“You’re not Belle, so I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to my fiance.” Gaston was less forceful than usual, but she knew that he wouldn’t leave.

“It’s okay, Graham.” She didn’t know what he wanted, but it was usually quicker to give it to him than argue. Logic wasn’t Gaston’s strongest suit. “He’s driven a long way to be here. We can talk.”

“You heard her. I’m sure there’s someone else in this place that needs your attention.” Gaston sat on one of the sofas, his feet on the table. Belle was reminded of his home office, though the Storybrooke library didn’t have any animal heads mounted on the walls.

“Right now my job is to be here.” Graham crossed his arms. Gaston’s cheek muscle twitched.

“Can we have a few minutes, Graham? You could wait right outside the door.” She could call for him if she needed him. She wondered if she actually would.

“A few minutes and the door stays open,” Graham agreed reluctantly. Once he was out of the room Belle dug her nails into the arm of the couch. She tried to remember what it was like to sit at dinner with him and make small talk.

“You look good, Gaston.” He had a tan that she knew came from a tanning bed this time of year and a body sculpted with the help of a personal trainer named Lefou.

“You look… fine.” His eyes swept over her, and she knew he was seeing the hair pulled back in a ponytail and the bulky sweater that was warm but unfashionable. She hadn’t put on any makeup since she’d arrived, except the nail polish Ruby had used a few days ago to make her nails a pale pink. “Are you… fine?”

“I’m learning a lot about myself.” Fine was right up there with okay on the list of words she didn’t know how to define. There were a lot of things people said to each other that didn’t mean anything, polite lies that meant not talking about anything real..

“Moe said you would be coming home soon.” Belle flinched, but she was certain Gaston didn’t notice.

“I’m not ready for that.” Belle shook her head. She wouldn’t ever return to the place that Gaston called home. For weeks she had asked Doctor every day about the restraining order, needing the reminder that it was real. She had spoken to the sheriff once, as well. It had been almost a month now, and no lawyers had shown up. No threats had been made. She was beginning to believe she was safe for him, at least within the small world of Storybrooke. What happened when she left she didn’t know; she didn’t have a home anymore.

“I don’t understand why you’re here. You’re not like them.” He gestured towards the doorway, where the sounds of art therapy could be heard. “You’d do better being around your own people.”

“These are my people.” They were all trying to heal from things. She wondered if Gaston would even be able to understand what it was to need to heal. He spoke of little other than hunting and business, boating and stocks. If she was honest with herself there was very little she knew about the man she’d said yes to marrying. He knew even less about her.

“Your people are at home; there’s a dinner at the club this weekend. People keep asking me when you’re coming home, not that they know where you are.” Too restless for the couch Gaston rose and started pacing. “They ask me about the wedding.”

“I can’t marry you, Gaston.” She said the words in a hurry, afraid she wouldn’t say them all if she didn’t say them all at once.

“You don’t mean that. When you get home…”

“No.” She shook her head. When her father had brought Gaston home she had accepted it, as she did everything else. She hadn’t gone away to college because he didn’t want it. She hadn’t babysat as a teen. Hadn’t gone to school dances. She was always a dutiful daughter, even when it came to dating the man that was picked out for her. And saying yes when expected, whether it was diner, sex or an engagement ring. If she stayed with Gaston she was still her father’s prisoner. It didn’t matter that Gaston was unaware of who Moe French really was or what he had done. “I’m sorry Gaston.”

“I don’t understand, we had plans. You said yes.” Any plans they had, Belle knew, had been his own. A wife to take care of his house and play hostess for his parties. The right type of woman to show off at the club. Children, probably, but she couldn’t even think about that. For a moment she imagined a daughter, soft brown curls and her mother’s eyes. She thought of her father, and wondered if she would have more power to protect a daughter than she’d had to save herself.

“Belle.” He said her name sharply, and probably not for the first time. It was enough to bring Graham into the room. She thought of the stories he’d told her about Wolf, and wondered if that was why she was reminded so strongly of a predator. The narrow eyes and tense muscles might have scared her from another man, but she trusted him. He was there to protect her.

“I’m alright now.” She spoke to Gaston but looked over his shoulder to Graham. She could make it through this conversation but she wasn’t going to ask him to leave again.

“This place is making you worse, not better,” Gaston groused.

“I’m not someone you would want to marry.” There wasn’t any point explaining to him anymore than that. “The ring is in my jewelry box at home. You should have it back.”

“You shouldn’t make decisions in a place like this. When you change your mind…”

“I wish you the best, Gaston, I really do. I need you to go now.” Graham took a step closer. Perhaps Gaston felt it, or perhaps he decided his ego was smarting from the rejection.

“If I take back the ring that’s it.” When she didn’t say anything he got up and strode from the library. She hesitated for a moment before running after him.

“Gaston, wait.” She could feel Graham standing behind her, not trying to touch her but his presence unmistakable.

“I knew it.” His smile was the cocky one she was most familiar with. Belle took a breath, closing her eyes. She could be brave. She could speak up.

“You move in the same circles as my father. Parties, the club, charity events. You should know…” She felt her nails against the underside of her forearm and paused, pulling them away. She would not hurt herself. “He can’t be left alone with little girls. They need to be protected.

“You can’t mean…” She’d never before seen all the color drain from Gaston’s face. The horrified look in his eyes was probably the most real emotion she’d ever seen from him. She nodded and waited to see that he understood what she meant, then turned her back to him. She couldn’t allow him to ask questions, couldn’t speak any clearer than she already had. It had taken all of her bravery to say that much.

Doctor Gold was standing on the other side of the doorway. “Graham thought you might like a cup of tea. I thought we could take some out to the garden.”

“I would like that.” She was surprised to see that her hand wasn’t trembling. The hot tea would be welcome. Before she followed him she looked over her shoulder on last time. “Goodbye, Gaston.”

She stood completely still until she could feel him leaving. Graham was gone too, and she knew without having to ask that he was following Gaston. Making sure he didn’t linger, didn’t ask anything more of her. After almost two years and an engagement it was strange to think that she’d most likely seen him for the last time. It was probably stranger to think she had agreed to marry him but wouldn’t miss him.

“He’s gone, dearie. Would you like to sit down?”

“In the garden.” She looked down at her feet and willed them to move. After a moment they did, and if she thought about nothing else but walking she could get herself to the bench outside before her knees let her down. He handed her a mug of tea poured from his thermos as soon as she sat. It seemed cooler outside than it had half an hour ago when she’d been walking with Graham.

“He shouldn’t have gotten as far as the library without anyone stopping him, Belle. I’m sorry.” He waited a moment to speak, or maybe it was five minutes. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring at her tea before looking at him.

“He wasn’t a threat. He never hurt me.” She wasn’t sure she could say that Gaston was a good man. He worked and he hunted and he went to the club. He hated books and was sometimes frustrated when he saw her reading rather than socializing, but he was never cruel. He didn’t go out of his way to help anyone but neither did he hurt anyone. “I didn’t even know I didn’t want to be with him. It was easier to just say yes.”

“It was what other people wanted from you,” he commented softly.

“I said no to him today.” Had she ever said that before? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d said no, not to something as simple as where they were going for dinner or as complicated as an engagement ring. Not to trips with her papa or his college plans or anything. “Even when it made him mad.”

“The only emotions you are responsible for are your own.” His tea was on the bench, his hands both on the handle of his cane. He moved it restlessly, the tip moving bits of gravel around the ground. He always moved, even when he was sitting still. “What you did today took a good deal of courage.

“I was scared. Not of him.” He made her feel small next to him, his confidence and control making her feel like everything centered around him, but she hadn’t feared him. Or loved him. She’d simply existed next to him. “Everything’s changed now.”

“The unknown can be very hard to step into, even when the known is hurting us. It’s normal to be scared.” His voice was low and soothing. Belle allowed herself to close her eyes and just listen to him. His words settled into her bones with the same warmth as the tea.

“So now I start over?” With Gaston gone she had no connection to the people she’d called friends, who were really just social acquaintances. With the restraining order against her father she was an orphan in all the ways that mattered.

“As much as we might sometimes wish for a blank slate there is no such thing. No tabula rasa.” He quirked his lips into something that wasn’t quite a smile, or at least not a happy one. “We continue on a step at a time because the only thing we can do is move forward or stand still. What we do get to decide is what we carry with us and what we work on shedding.”

Belle looked down at her hands, seeing only the cooling mug of tea but knowing she held onto so much more. “I left Gaston behind.”

“You did. Are you feeling alright about that?” He picked up his mug, but only played with the handle.

Belle nodded. The conversation had been hard but knowing it was over was easy. “It’s not so simple with papa.”

“No, it’s not. But you’ve already taken the first steps.” He paused, looking at her. Belle took a shaky breath and nodded. It helped that he didn’t lie to her. Didn’t pretend that anything was going to be easy. If she’d taken the first steps there were still dozens more to take.

“One step at a time.” She rubbed her arm. There was no pain, and she’d stopped herself from digging her nails into the skin when she’d spoken to Gaston. That was a step too.

Belle deliberately chose the same sofa in the library she’d shared with Gaston the next day, an exorcism of sorts. She curled up with her notebook and pen, took a deep breath, and started writing. An hour later she had twelve pages of writing and a sore hand. The wolf was about to rescue Little Red from her grandmother when Jefferson threw himself at the other side of the sofa, making the whole thing bounce.

“Put the books away, it’s time to play.” He wore a top hat made from construction paper covered in glittering gears and offered her a pipe cleaner tiara with tissue paper roses. “Your unbirthday awaits.”

“I thought it was everyone’s unbirthday.” She slipped her book into the oversized pockets of her cardigan before accepting the tiara.

“You’re one of the everybody, aren’t you?” He tipped his hat at her, stood, and offered her his hand. She only hesitates a moment before letting him help her up.

“I am.” She followed Jefferson to the garden where her friends were waiting to celebrate. It was one more small step.

#rumbelle fic #mr. gold #belle french #graham humbert #jefferson #ruby lucas #things half in shadow #my fic

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shippingtheswann · 5 years

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FOOLS RUSH IN:

Summary: Emma Swan has been married since she was five years old. Under the old oak tree, she wed Killian Jones, her neighbor. Then, he moved away, but made one final promise, that one day he would marry her for real. See what happens when he returns to make good on his promise.

Fools Rush in Chapter Eleven

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warning: SMUT

Read from the beginning here

A/N: Thanks to @captainswanbigbang for once again organizing an amazing event. I've been missing Captain Swan for the past year, and having this has helped so much! Thanks to Lana @high-seas-swan and Kaitlyn @spartanguard for their beta help. Go check out Lana's story when you get a moment as well – it's amazing! Thanks to Rachel @ladyciaramiggles for the art she has provided. Also, thanks to Kris @sambethe for the cover art for the story and for beta help! All of you have made this story what it is! I hope you all enjoy what's happening and what is coming up! Warning for this chapter: there will be lots of smut! Enjoy!

Monday came too quickly. Everyone always says that, but waking up curled up against Killian, knowing that her alarm was going to break the perfect silence of the room made Emma feel almost murderous. Normally she loved Mondays. She loved getting to start a new week at school. But that day, all she wanted to do was snuggle deeper against the mass of perfect body behind her.

How was it that in two days' time, Emma went from being someone who hated to share the bed - so much that the thought of doing it gave her a mini panic attack - to someone who now thought she would never be able to sleep in that bed alone again.

Of course, Killian was the answer.

The way he held her in his sleep, with enough pressure to make her feel safe and warm without feeling trapped or confined; the way he managed to send goosebumps up her spine at the mere inhale of his breath against her shoulder made her realize that she had been missing out.

His arms snaked around her hips, pulling her in closer, as if he knew instinctively that she was awake. He didn't say anything, just like the previous morning, and he didn't need to. His giant erection said everything she needed to hear.

She wasn't going to push it though. She thoroughly enjoyed their time the previous morning, but when Killian pulled away from her, she could see in his eyes that while he was physically ready to give her everything, he may still be slightly damaged in the emotional department.

She wanted him though; even though she slowed down and allowed him his space, she wanted him - desperately.

Never in her lifetime had she wanted someone as much as she wanted him. Sure, she had sex before, and it was pretty decent. But she never felt the attraction towards someone that she did towards him. Even when she would stare at his profile picture for hours, she was more captivated with it than she was with any of her boyfriends.

Probably because she only ever dated jerks. Neal, Jefferson, August. They were all the same. They may have given her pleasure, but none of them made her heart skip a beat the way Killian did.

It was probably the way he looked at her. At least, that is what she thought. Killian's eyes tore into her in a way she never thought possible. He could read her instantly. There wasn't hiding anything from him. On top of that, the passion he held in his blue eyes was something Emma had only seen once before. It was the stuff stories were made of - a look that claimed someone, a look that said you belonged to one another, and nothing would ever tear you apart.

Mary Margaret and David looked at each other like that. She had caught glimpses of it when she would hang out with them. It was a look that said neither one of them was really living without the other, like life wasn't worth living if they weren't together.

Truthfully, she had always wanted that, but she knew true love wasn't real. Or, if it was, it was too rare for her.

That was until she saw the way Killian looked at her.

It scared her a bit, how deeply he cared for her. She didn't want to call it love, but she was pretty sure his feelings were almost there.

It was the reason she didn't want to get up that morning, it was the reason she had spent all day thinking about blue eyes that looked into her soul, the way none had ever looked at her before. If that was how Killian made her feel, she wanted to wake up feeling that way for the rest of her life. Shit, she thought; she was in deep.

While she was pretty sure his feelings for her were deep, she didn't think hers were as strong as his. At least emotionally. She knew her physical feeling; like the constant feeling she wanted to jump his bones; were stronger than his. Maybe it was because of how she had to not only protect her own heart, but Henry's; maybe it was because she had never really had the opportunity to really feel what it was like to have someone hold her the way Killian did; maybe it was just something in her DNA; all she knew was that she was beginning to fall for him.

Sure, she loved Killian. He was her best friend, there would always be those feelings, lurking in the corner of her mind. It was why she was able to forgive him so quickly, it's what kept her thinking about him all those years, however, the love she had felt for him at one time was nothing compared to what she was feeling for him now. The love she used to have was a friendly love; similar to the love you have for your parents, or siblings. It wasn't a passionate love, it was a love that bubbled around in your veins causing you to forget every little bad thing that may have happened.

When she walked out of her bedroom an hour after leaving Killian's side, she found coffee waiting in the pot, hot steam rising off her coffee mug that was already filled. The small hole in the top allowed for some of the heat to escape. She loved the mug that had been chosen.

She had been collecting coffee mugs from Starbucks since she was in college. Anytime they released a travel mug, she got it. One of her cabinets was almost completely filled with mugs, including ones her parents had gotten her on their travels around the world. Yet, her favorite out of all of them was one Henry had made for her with the help of Mary Margaret and David. She had to go out of town for a conference the year before and the couple offered to watch him for her. David had taken Henry out early for hunting and on their way back stopped at Starbucks to get David some coffee and Henry a cake pop. Inside, Henry found the tumbler. It was a simple mug, but allowed the person owning it to personalize the design. Henry spent the weekend decorating the white background, placing a picture of him and Emma right in the middle. She cried when he gave it to her. The words I love you Mom caused her to break down.

Getting ready in the morning was a routine for Emma, and she knew Killian needed to leave for work before she would be ready. He gave her a quick kiss goodbye, struggling to not give into the temptation that they were both feeling. As she felt his lips against hers, and heard the moan escape, she wanted to pull him in closer and demand that they both take the day off to really get to know each other, but she also knew it was better that they take things slowly, especially after the small anxiety attack she had.

Next to her mug was a brown paper bag and a note.

The note was short, but sweet.

Emma love,

I am sorry to have to rush out like this. I've packed you a lunch, I hope you enjoy it. I wasn't sure if you had a lunch pail or anything.

I will be thinking of you all day. Getting any work done is going to be a real challenge when all I want to do is spend more time with you.

I also packed Henry a bag that he took with him as he rushed out the door. He said something about needing to meet Avery about a project.

I hope you spend the day thinking of me, the way I am going to be thinking of you. Your kisses are so sweet I am not sure I want to eat my own packed lunch, in fear of losing the feeling of you.

Have a wonderful day and I'll see you tonight.

XX Killian

Emma smiled down at the note that was written in almost perfect penmanship. She could almost hear his accent in his writing. It warmed her heart that he had told her about Henry, showing he cared enough already. She knew Henry was going to leave before her, but she was wondering why the house was so silent when she left her bathroom after curling her hair. Henry hadn't run into her room shouting that he was leaving, so Killian must have told him he would relay the message.

She peaked inside the bag to see a couple of plastic containers. She wasn't sure what filled them, as they were stacked on top of each other. However, there were a couple of leftover cookies wrapped in plastic wrap at the top, which made Emma smile.

Her phone pinged in her bag as she grabbed the rest of her items of her counter and moved to head to work.

You have a lot of explaining to do!

Mary Margaret's text came through and all Emma could think about was Mary Margaret yelling at her in a Cuban accent, the same way Dezi Arnez used to yell at Lucy. It was like Emma was in her own little episode in I Love Emma.

She sent back a thumbs up and started her way to school. It was only a ten minute drive from her home to Storybrooke Middle School, not enough time in her opinion. Emma loved riding in her car, singing along to the music. She had an extensive playlist on Spotify. Every morning she sang along to her favorite songs, getting her in the mood for the upcoming day. She only wished she had longer in the car because ten minutes was not enough time to jam out to Journey in her opinion.

Mary Margaret was waiting outside her classroom door when Emma approached, keys out and ready to unlock the room. Her friend tried to look annoyed at whatever Emma had done, but the woman was too sweet to really look mad. There was still a slight smile on her face, and her eyes were bright and happy. It was a look that a kid would get when looking at their parents after they did something they knew was wrong. A look filled with innocence yet mischief.

"How was your weekend?" she asked as Emma opened the classroom and flipped on the lights.

Emma loved her classroom. It was bigger than others, thanks to the need of lab tables. She was able to have a giant fish tank that sat on the back table. One of her favorite parts of the new school year was having a competition to see which students would get to name their class pets. It was thanks to Mary Margaret that she had so many aquatic life forms anyway. She had suggested that Emma get the animals that were in Finding Nemo. So she requested funds from the school to have a saltwater tank, in addition to her freshwater tank she got on her own dime, to show students the differences in biodiversity and ecosystems.

Walking to her table, Emma tried to ignore Mary Margaret's question, one that she knew held more than just a simple inquiry from a friend. Emma chose to not have a traditional desk in her classroom. Instead, she sat and utilized the demonstration desk, so she didn't have to walk far.

Mary Margaret's eyes raised when Emma looked over.

"It was good," she responded, not giving much away.

"Don't be coy, Emma - something happened; Henry told David last night," her friend said, throwing her another look that said I'm not an idiot, Emma; I know about everything.

At that moment, she silently cursed getting Henry that phone. Henry had begged Emma for a phone, saying all of his friends had one. It was like she was sixteen again, except she wasn't begging her parents for something, it was Henry. Emma could remember how she felt when her parents told her no; how she felt like an outcast because her parents didn't want her having a MySpace or AIM profile. So, she caved, and bought Henry an iPhone. But, unlike most boys his age, he didn't spend time on it messaging girls on snapchat or being a creep; he used it for his gaming, streaming videos of the different challenges he got into while gaming, and searching information about gaming. He was even obsessed with Pokemon Go, and had begged Emma to take him down to New York one weekend so he could catch some rare Pokemon that he would never find in Storybrooke. Emma had raised a wonderful kid.

"And what did my son say?"

"He said that you had a date over and that said date was now living with you all." Emma was surprised how calm Mary Margaret was being about all of this. Even the line of questioning was calm for her friend. She would have expected this response from Ruby, but not Mary Margaret. Hell, just the other day, Mary Margaret freaked out when Emma said she had met Killian, so to hear her friend question the new man in her life and the status of his living arrangements in such a clam and even manner freaked her out a bit.

"And?" Emma responded.

"And, why didn't you tell me?" she questioned. A smile came across the woman's face and her eyes lit up. Emma could tell the excitement was coming.

"I was going to tell you today at lunch," Emma said, sending Mary Margaret into the tizzy she had been waiting for.

A squeal escaped Mary Margaret's lips and she ran to Emma, giving her a hug, causing Emma to wobble a bit on her heels. There were now tears in the woman's eyes, causing Emma to roll hers.

"What?" she questioned.

"I just never thought I would see the day that you opened yourself up like that. Emma Swan is in love," she exclaimed.

"I am not in love. Killian just needed a place to stay that's all. He had been staying with his brother and it was becoming cramped, so I offered him a place to stay," Emma explained.

"If you say so," Mary Margaret countered.

While Emma may have always had the power to know when someone is lying, Mary Margaret could always tell when she was. Not many people were able to read Emma the way her best friend could. She had tried many times in college to lie to Mary Margaret. She never lied about something as big as this, but she had tried to pull the rug over on her a couple of times; but Mary Margaret could always see through the bullshit Emma was serving. And just like that moment, Mary Margaret never called her on it. She always replied If you say so and left it at that. Most of the time Emma didn't care that Mary Margaret knew she was lying, and just left their conversation where it lay, but on the big stuff, Emma always felt guilty lying to her. She knew her friend was only trying to support her. Besides, eventually, Emma always told her the truth. Sometimes it would take a while, or a large amount of alcohol, but the truth always came out.

"Fine," Emma sighed.

She had said she wanted to keep the arrangement with Killian a secret from her friends, at least until they came to a decision on where they stood, but Emma needed to talk to someone – someone other than Killian.

At first, she thought she could tell Ruby, but that girl had a hard enough time keeping normal secrets; so she couldn't trust her to keep track of one as big as this. Also, while Ruby was good to talk to, she was sometimes too straight forward. Her focus wasn't what Emma needed at the moment. Mary Margaret, though, would listen to Emma; she would ask Emma the probing questions that would get Emma to admit things she didn't even know she felt.

"So, at dinner the other night, Killian said something that got me thinking about our relationship," she began, and Mary Margaret's nod told her to continue. "When we were younger, Killian promised he would come back one day and marry me – for real."

Mary Margaret's jaw dropped to the floor. Emma smiled a bit at her reaction; it was rare that Mary Margaret was so surprised by something. Once she had gotten over the initial shock of a proposal, her best friend let out a soft ah. She had told Mary Margaret about her past "wedding" to Killian during one drunken night in college; and Mary Margaret can't hold her liquor, so Emma thought she forgot about it. But now that her friend was sober, she was a lot more aware of what Emma was saying.

Emma was in for it now.

Mary Margaret had always wanted Emma to have exactly what she had with David. She wanted to see Emma married to her "true love," pregnant and barefoot, padding around her kitchen. It was something she always brought up whenever she visited Emma's home; she would walk down through the hallway into the second bedroom and comment how it was the perfect size for a nursery. For a while, it bothered Emma so much that she insisted they only eat at the Nolan's. She knew Mary Margaret only wanted to see her happy, but Emma had come to terms that she would probably never find someone that made her stop in her tracks the way David made Mary Margaret. That was, until a few nights ago.

Waking up next to Killian, falling asleep with him there made Emma wish she had what they had; made her wish that she could turn back the clock and be with him sooner – that she had left the country after high school to attend college in Ireland, or chase after him in some way. Looking back at all the wasted time, she hated herself for letting him go the way she did. Yet, she knew that things wouldn't be the way they were now if they hadn't had time to grow up apart.

"We were stupid kids," Emma responded, unsure of what to say next.

"You weren't stupid kids; it's cute, actually. You loved him even back then," she responded, taking a seat in the front of the classroom, like she was waiting for Emma to teach her something she didn't already know.

"I guess you could call it that. He was my best friend. He got me. I never had to say what was wrong when Killian was around because he already knew." There was a tone in her voice when she spoke about their past that she couldn't place. She had never spoken about anyone this way.

"So, he's back and what? He wants to marry you for real?" she asked.

"Yeah, he does," Emma whispered, but not quiet enough for her best friend to not hear her.

The squeal that came out of Mary Margaret's lips was decibels above her squeal from earlier. The shriek pierced the air and her friend was way too giddy with excitement. She jumped up from the seat she had just sat down in and did a little dance before she came to Emma – who was still standing at her desk, looking at her friend in confusion.

Well, slight confusion. She knew Mary Margaret would be happy that Emma was finally on the "right path" – according to Mary Margaret – but she didn't expect her to have no negative reaction. She at least thought she would get the gaping mouth again, like her previous confession. Maybe it was just that Mary Margaret had been patiently waiting for the point of the story, or maybe she had already guessed what had been happening – either way, Emma was expecting a harsher response – one that called for patience and a jump back into reality.

"Oh Emma, that's wonderful! He wants to marry you – oh, tell me everything! What did he say? How did he do it? What did you say? When's the wedding?" Just like the other day, Mary Margaret let her excitement get the best of her. When she was excited like this, she turned into a yappy Chihuahua, not pausing to take a breath and getting overly excited over something with so few details.

Emma rolled her eyes a bit as Mary Margaret continued to ask question after question. Emma pulled out her chair that was behind the demonstration desk and took a seat. She knew that she had to let Mary Margaret talk herself down.

"Sorry," Mary Margaret finally said when she took in Emma sitting down with her arms crossed.

Her friend meant well, cared about her; but also knew she could sometimes overdo her emotions.

"It's OK," Emma smiled, unfolding her arms and leaning forward.

"Hmmm, now where should I start? You had so many questions," Emma responded with a bit of sarcasm, smiling at Mary Margaret, who had thankfully sat back down across from her. "First, I know it's kind weird that we are even talking about this. Especially after I have only known him again for a few days. But things just feel right."

As she explained, Mary Margaret's face beamed. It was contagious. Yes, Emma had been feeling very nervous about all of this - how could she not? But seeing how happy Mary Margaret was for her, seeing her friend's excitement over love finally coming into Emma's life, suppressed those feelings.

"Secondly, we haven't planned anything, because there wasn't really a question," Emma explained.

"What do you mean there was no question? He asked you to marry him, right?" she questioned, a bit of annoyance lacing her voice.

"Well, not really. We were talking about life when Killian asked if I remembered our childhood promise. It caught me off guard a bit and kinda threw a wrench into the night. But, as he walked to my car, I thought about it. If Killian really did want to marry me, would I really say no? I knew I couldn't. He is my oldest friend. He knows me better than anyone else does, including you; even though we've been apart for years," she spoke, hoping to not hurt her friend's feelings. But, it was true. She loved Mary Margaret, and was very thankful for her friendship; but the woman didn't get Emma the way Killian did.

Over the past few days, Emma had seen that the connection that was between them was still as strong as it used to be when they were younger. Killian knew instantly when something was wrong with her; he also seemed to know exactly what was bothering her before she even realized it herself. It was how he knew she was upset about his nonvisits before she even wanted to admit it to herself.

"Ok, so he didn't ask you directly?" she asked for clarification.

"I guess, he said he was joking, so I decided to joke with him – I told him if he was serious, I would," Emma smiled at the confession, because she really was joking at first.

"So what does that mean then? You aren't getting married? But he is living with you," Mary Margaret was still confused.

"Let me finish," Emma huffed. "So of course, my little joke stunned him a bit, but got us both thinking about it. The next day, you know I had plans with him that afternoon; after everything went well at brunch, I decided that you had been right all along."

"What do you mean?"

"I have been fighting love and relationships for years. I know it's stupid; but since Neal fucked up everything, I've been living as if I don't need a relationship to be happy, or at least living as if a relationship can't help. But, you were right. In college you told me I can't stop fate and once I found the right guy, I would know. As I was driving, I realized something. Maybe Killian has always been the one for me. Maybe fate, or destiny, or whatever the hell you want to call it; maybe it decided that it was finally time for Killian and I to be together. I wasn't 100% sure that he thought the same about me, and I wasn't sure if he was serious or not about the whole promise, so I just asked him," Emma confessed.

Mary Margaret was stunned again. It was surely going to be a morning she would never forget in her life. First, Emma was living with a guy whom she had a "relationship" with; second, Emma had told her that she was right; now, Emma was confessing to asking a man to marry her.

Now, Mary Margaret wasn't against the idea that a woman could ask a man to marry her, she was very much a feminist; but the idea that Emma would ask a man to marry her was just mind-boggling. Emma had never been the relationship type of person; and while Mary Margaret had wished Emma would find someone that made her smile and feel the way David made Mary Margaret feel, she knew she was grasping at straws (didn't stop her from trying to set Emma up, though). In a matter of days, Killian made Emma do a complete 180 in her thoughts on men and relationships; and Mary Margaret couldn't contain her excitement.

"You asked him?" she asked, wanting to make sure she really did hear it right.

"Yes," Emma rolled her eyes again, the torment of the questioning getting old.

"And he said yes?"

"Well, not exactly. I kinda attacked him," she blushed.

Instead of asking any more clarifying questions, Mary Margaret just arched an eyebrow, telling Emma to continue with her story.

"I could tell he was over thinking everything – so I kissed him. I didn't want him thinking. He always did that when we were young. I was always the mischievous one – jumping from trees and willing to do anything once without thinking, whereas he was always the one to think about what may happen. You know, there was a time when I thought we should climb a tree in the park near our homes. It was one we hadn't climbed before, but I wanted to climb it. It was one of the biggest in the area. I was running right up to it, taunting Killian to join me; yet he kept saying we needed to make sure it was safe first. That same look I saw when I was five, I saw Saturday afternoon. I didn't want him debating himself out of it," Emma explained.

"Ok, so what happened?"

"Well, he said he had always dreamed of marrying me, that he had always thought about it, but never thought it would happen. He also said he didn't want to screw anything up, so we should try it out first," she said.

"So that is why he is living with you?" Mary Margaret pondered.

"Yeah. For thirty days, we are going to act like a married couple. We are doing a trial run. And, if at the end of the month, things are working out, we will get married," Emma smiled, sending up a small prayer to whatever Gods may be listening, asking for them to make it the thirty days.

"And what does Henry think of all this?" There was a scolding tone behind the question.

"Henry doesn't know. And he isn't going to know either," Emma began. "You are the only one who knows, actually. We aren't telling anyone. Shit, I wasn't even supposed to tell you anything – but I can't lie to you."

"If Henry finds out, he is going to be pissed," Mary Margaret countered.

"I know, but we didn't want anyone influencing our decision. Killian was right; we needed to not jump into this. We need to make sure that it's what we really want. I don't want to screw this up, and I know that if I told anyone – well apart from you – that I would be setting myself up for failure," Emma countered.

"Alright," she conceded.

"Really?" Emma wondered, rarely did Mary Margaret conceded the way she did. Emma was kinda hoping that Mary Margaret would tell her that what she was doing was stupid, since a small part of her did think that.

"Of course! If you are happy, then I am happy. Sure, I may not 100% understand what you are doing; but it is kind of romantic if you think about it. Childhood crush promises to come back and make good on a promise one day and they have to get to know each other better in a short amount of time. Hell, Emma, that is what romance dramas are based on," her friend smiled, standing up to walk over. "I understand your hesitation to tell anyone – we all know Ruby can't keep a secret for crap – just don't forget you can always talk to us if you need to. You say Killian was the over thinker out of the two of you; but you probably do just as much overthinking as he does – just in different areas in your life."

The bell shrilled inside the room, signaling the start of the school day. They had ten minutes until the students would start infiltrating their rooms for homeroom.

Mary Margaret hugged Emma tightly. "I'm so happy for you."

Emma smiled as her friend left, happy that she was able to tell someone. Happy that things were finally starting to fall into place.

The rest of the week went by at the same rate that Monday did. Nothing exciting happened, but it didn't stop Emma from smiling as she left the school on Friday.

Monday night had her, Killian, and Henry eating homemade pizza and talking about Henry's upcoming field trip to Financial Park – an "amusement" park that was designed to teach middle school children how to budget and run an economy. David had found the place a few years earlier and ever since had taken the kids each year. Henry was claiming it was a stupid field trip. Who wanted to go to an educational amusement park? No one, that's who – at least according to Henry. Emma knew though that the experience would be good for him.

Emma was shocked, though, when a question came from Henry's mouth.

"Would you go with us Killian?" he asked before stuffing his mouth with a slice of pizza.

Emma was sure if anyone looked over at her during the question, they would have seen someone who had just been slapped in the face. Henry had never asked her to go on a field trip before, and now he was asking Killian.

"You mean like a chaperone?" Killian questioned.

"Yeah," he said. "Mr. Nolan was saying that there weren't enough teachers to go and he needed chaperones. I thought about you right away."

Killian's smile was too big to contain. Emma's matched when she saw the joy in his eyes.

"Well then, of course I'll go with you, lad," Killian answered after he took a few deep breaths – which Emma was pretty sure he took to calm himself from the excitement.

She didn't have to tell Killian just how big of a deal it was that Henry asked Killian to go with him. She didn't have to tell Killian how it was hard for Henry to form relationships with people – especially adults. She didn't have to tell him that Henry's time in the system had changed how he looked at people. Killian already knew.

"Even though you won't be living here?" Henry had to ask him the question that Emma was scared to ask herself.

What if their situation didn't work out? What if, after a month of living together, they decided that they weren't meant to be and he moved out? Emma didn't want to think about that. She wanted to keep thinking that in a month she would be getting married, and getting one step closer to adopting Henry. And seeing the way that Henry was looking at Killian, she really hoped that it would happen.

"Aye, even if I am not living here," he replied, giving them both the reassurance they needed.

Even if things didn't work out between them; she wanted Henry to not be affected. It was one of the main reasons she rarely dated. She didn't want him becoming attached to anyone that might not be around in a couple of weeks. But Killian was her friend, her oldest friend – and deep inside, she knew that even if they didn't work out romantically, he would always be her friend.

Tuesday began the same way Monday did – with Emma waking up wrapped in Killian's arms. Again, she had to fight the need to ask him to ravish her. He did kiss her passionately before he let her get out of bed to get ready. The way his lips moved against hers had her almost begging. Yet, she enjoyed just kissing him. It was like she was back in high school - making out with a boy on her bed, not wanting to go any further in case they got caught.

Before she knew it, it was Friday and there was a message from Killian.

Every day since Monday, he had left her a cute little note with her lunch. She kept each one – one inside of her planner that told her he couldn't get her kisses out of his head. Another she kept in her purse. Another she pasted up in her cabinet at school, next to the mirror where she hung up her coat; it told her how beautiful she was and how she was captivating. He was seriously spoiling her with the compliments, but she wasn't going to complain.

She had never had someone talk to her the way Killian did. Not only did he leave these little notes, but he told her every chance he got – when she was washing the dishes after dinner, as she folded the laundry, as she walked outside to collect the trashcans. Each time, she blushed.

The text she had received during lunch told her to not make plans for the next evening. He had planned a romantic evening.

She was clutching her phone, a huge smile plastered on her face when Henry walked in her classroom.

"Hey Mom," he sang.

She didn't notice him at first, causing him to ask again.

"Oh, hey, kid," she responded.

"What is it? Why are you smiling like that?" Henry asked.

"I'm not smiling like anything," she said, quickly trying to correct her face. "So, what are your plans for the weekend?"

"Why, you got a hot date with Killian?" his question came out and surprised Emma. He was unashamed of asking; in fact there was a laughter to his voice.

Emma wasn't able to respond. Did Henry really just figure out what was going on with the adults in his house, or was he just kidding around?

"You two aren't very sneaky, you know." His confession was all Emma needed to start hyperventilating; worried about what her son may think. This was exactly what she was concerned about.

He was right though. All those notes he left her, all the little compliments that were given in whispers weren't really stealthy. Emma didn't realize it at the time, but Henry was usually in the room when Killian would say something. Hell, he probably saw all the notes Killian left her. Shit, she thought, especially thinking about the note that talked about her kisses. That wasn't something she ever wanted Henry to read. It was like how she never wanted to know about her parents and their sex life. Sure, as she got older, she realized her parents had to have sex – how else would they have been "trying" to have kids – but she never wanted to know about it. She didn't even like watching them kiss. So, if she was in Henry's shoes, and read a note from her dad to her mom about them kissing, she probably would have thrown up. So how was he being so nonchalant about it?

"Henry…" she tried to start explaining the situation but no words came out. She just stared at her son, noting his smile and the brightness in his hazel eyes.

"It's OK, Mom," he said, reaching out to place his hands on hers.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she began. "I just didn't know how to tell you. It's always been me and you. I didn't want anything to change us."

"Like I said, it's OK," he smiled.

"You mean you're OK with Killian and I dating, and him living with us?" How was it that she had a kid like him?

"I kinda figured that he was more than just a friend when I met him. He couldn't stop looking at you. He makes you happy; that's all I care about." With his words, the bell rang, signaling the start of the next class period.

"Thanks, kid," Emma replied.

"And I'll ask Avery if I can stay the weekend again," he said with a wink as he walked to his seat.

She was hoping that tonight would be the night. The night where they finally found out if they were truly compatible. If the sparks that ignited around each other could cause a fire or would be quickly extinguished. Especially after the previous night's activities.

On Thursday, Emma finally had to take things into her own hands, quite literally. She was frustrated. The sexual tension between them had come to the highest it had been. She had been washing the dishes after another delicious meal that Killian had made. Henry had said something about needing finish a book report and retreated to his room. That left Killian sitting at the table staring at her. She knew he was staring, too. He wasn't trying to hide that. His eyes roamed over her body.

Maybe she had worn the dress on purpose.

She rarely wore dresses to school – they limited her mobility and she needed mobility in the science lab. But, she had a parent teacher conference that afternoon with a rather unruly child; so she picked out a dress. This dress was made for her.

It was a black and grey and fit tight against her body. The cap sleeves accented her strong arms. The fake a lapels of the grey top looked as if they could be on a man's suit; which made Emma feel powerful. There was a straight cut against her chest, which showed off just a slight amount of cleavage. The black skirt hit high on her waist, and showed off the small amount of curves she had.

Killian had been caught staring at her ass in the dress multiple times since she arrived home. Because of the tight fit of the dress; her ass looked even better than it normally did.

Emma was blessed with good genes. She really didn't have to work out to get the trimmed body she sported. That didn't mean she didn't exercise – she just didn't have to work really hard at it. She went every other day after school, using the middle schools weight room that they shared with the high school. She spent thirty minutes using weights and another thirty minutes running on the elliptical.

This week though, with Killian being here, and Emma not wanting to miss a minute of his company, she skipped the gym.

When she arrived home late, thanks to the irate parent who refused to hear that her precious son was misbehaving in all of his classes, she was met with a wonderful aroma. Killian had made homemade Chinese food. She didn't want to wait any longer to eat, so instead of changing, she took a seat with the two guys sitting at the dining table and dove in.

She had watched as Killian took in her figure as she came to the dining table. Every time she got up to get something, she caught him staring.

As she washed the dishes that were left over, she thought he might do something. His eyes were burning into her, so she was pretty sure his touch would sizzle if he made contact.

She felt him move towards her; the hairs on her arms were standing at attention as he inched closer to her. Her hair framed her face, so she wasn't sure what he was doing behind her exactly. But, she could still feel his eyes on her.

Suddenly she felt a large hand wrap around her stomach, pulling her back from the sink and the dirty dishes that laid waiting. His lips were instantly on her neck, pressing small kisses into her skin. She shivered from the contact, goosebumps rising.

"You look positively ravishing today, love," he whispered into her ear, making her lean her head back. It came to rest on his shoulder and his arms snaked farther around her waist.

"Hmmm," was all she was able to get out.

He twirled her around and kissed her. His hands came up from her waist to grasp her hair, pulling her head back to give him deeper access to her mouth. Her hands gripped his t-shirt, which he had changed into when he got home. She had only seen him in his uniform once since he moved in and it annoyed her a bit because he looked good in that uniform. Yet, the shirt he was wearing now was soft and Emma could feel his strength beneath it. She made a mental note to "borrow" that shirt.

His tongue danced with hers, his teeth nipped at her bottom lip, his hips pushed against hers. Her mind was starting to go blank.

His hands moved from her hair to her waist again, this time picking her up as if she was a ragdoll and placing her on the counter.

Within seconds, he was back, devouring her. Her legs instinctively opened up to allow him to move closer. The shirt she was still grasping with her hand was seconds away from being a wrinkled mess on the floor. The skirt of her dress was riding up and the tops of her thighs were exposed. One of his hands traced a line from the top of her pantyhose that was held in pace with a garter belt to the hem of her dress.

His other hand was working its way back up her body, grasping at her breast. He pushed with his hand, sending shocks through Emma's system as she felt him touch her, just as he moved his hips, teasing her through her panties. She was about to suggest they go to their room when a call came out from the hallway.

"Mom, my computer's broken," Henry shouted before appearing in the doorway.

Emma jumped down from the counter and had pushed herself far enough away from Killian to hopefully shield Henry from the truth – if only she had known he already knew – and started toward her son.

"Aye, let's go take a look," Killian responded, turning to shoot Emma a wink as he disappeared from the room.

She huffed a bit, blowing a piece of hair that had fallen in her face from its spot. She was frustrated. She wanted Killian; wanted to know what it would feel like to be pinned underneath of him, wanted to feel his hot kisses trailing down her body. She wanted to shake from ecstasy as he had his way with her.

Emma Swan was horny.

She walked down to the bedroom; hoping that she would be able to meet Killian there and finish what they started. She changed in the darkness of the room, not wanting to turn on the lights and face reality. The darkness held the sensual mood that had once been in the kitchen. She decided tonight wasn't the night for her traditional sleep attire, but for a slutty little piece of lingerie that she had gotten on her last trip into the city. It was something she did whenever she went into Boston with the girls. She would go to this little boutique and buy a pair of sexy panties and a bra. She didn't have anyone to show them off to; but she loved the way she looked in them and the confidence they gave her. So far, she had over 20 outfits in her dresser drawer that she was waiting to try on for a special someone; and she thought she had finally found the person who deserved to see her in them.

She had worn one little outfit to school today, underneath her black and grey dress. She didn't think Killian would get to see her in the dress, since most of the time when she got home from school, she changed quickly while Killian waited in the living room to hear about her day; but she was feeling sexy and decided it would be fun. Plus, maybe he would get to see if it tempted him into joining her in the bedroom. It was why she had worn the dress in the first place. She had hoped that Killian would be distracted enough by the dress to follow her into the bedroom and watch her change, seeing the surprise she had on underneath the dress for him. There was no way he would say no to Emma looking the way she did.

Too bad that stupid conference threw her plan for a spin.

Instead, she had to work with what she was dealt.

Now she just had to plan out how Killian was going to find her. Would she be lying on the bed with her stockings still on? Would she be waiting under the covers so that he would find her out as he slid in behind her? Would she wait in the bathroom and then walk out as he came into the room, showing off the outfit as a whole?

All of the ideas were good ones, but she wasn't quite sure which one Killian wouldn't be able to refuse.

She had decided to wait in the bathroom. In there, she was able to sit down and pump herself up.

It felt like forever before Emma took a glance at the phone she had brought into the room with her. It had been almost thirty minutes since she came into the bathroom, which meant it had been at least forty since Killian went down stairs with Henry. That was forty minutes without his hands on her body and it annoyed her.

The longer she waited, the more frustrated she got. What was taking him so long? She was pretty sure that all Henry's computer needed was a restart. It should have taken him a few minutes to turn off the computer and reboot the thing. It was a newer computer that Emma got Henry when she first fostered him.

The feelings from earlier were starting to dwindle, the passion and excitement diminishing. She was sitting in a lighted bathroom, in sexy lingerie, waiting for Killian, and he was taking forever. The tightness in her belly was only getting heavier. The wetness between her legs was still there, but she wished Killian was there with her to see how turned on she was just thinking about the things they would do together.

Emma's hands acted as if they had a mind of their own. They began to raise to feel her own breasts, but Emma imagined it was Killian. One hand dropped and began the same path that Killian's hand did earlier that evening. Her fingers dusted across her panties, sending sparks through her system, her hips bucking instinctually. She continued to move her fingers, as her hand grasped her breast through her lace bra. The lace rubbing against her nipple caused it to peak. She was thinking about everything she wanted Killian to do to her.

She thought about him taking her right there in the bathroom if he happened to walk in on her touching herself. She thought about them together in the shower, suds running down their bodies as he pounded into her from behind, her hands splayed against the shower door. She pictured them in her large tub, his head thrown back as she rode him. She saw them on her bed, with his head in between her legs, sucking and licking her until she begged him to stop, until she couldn't take it anymore. She wanted him to push her to her limits, to really take her in a way she needed to be taken. She wanted him to whisper dirty secrets in her ear as she leaned on all fours, his cock slowly dragging in and out.

She pressed her lips together tightly, in order to muffle the sound of her orgasm as she came , her hand leaving her breast and grasping at the sink for help.

It had been ages since she had an orgasm like that. Sure, she masturbated occasionally, she did have needs; but she never came so hard, especially not without a toy or a man.

The orgasm that she had was well welcomed, and relieved Emma a bit. She wondered where Killian was.

She peaked out the door to see Killian lying in bed, fast asleep.

Fuck, she thought to herself, he's been here the whole time.

Her feet didn't make any noise as she walked over to where he lay. His shirt from earlier was balled up on the floor. Emma picked it up and put it on. The soft feel of the cotton made her smile. The scent of him wafted over her. How long had he been in bed?

She wanted to wake him, wanted to finish what they had started in the kitchen, but he looked so peaceful. His lips were parted slightly and a small smile was there.

So, instead of waking him, she just crawled into bed with him, his shirt and her lingerie still on. Who knew, maybe there would be time in the morning.

As she wiggled herself into a comfortable position, she heard Killian move. Turning to him, she saw that he was still asleep, but his body must have sensed her presence, because he was now facing her, his body on it's side, arms moved to welcome her into his chest. Emma scooted over to place herself between his arms.

Sleep was beginning to take over as she heard Killian whisper something. It was mumbled as he was still dreaming, but she could have sworn he said I love you.

She arrived home, noting Killian's car sitting in the driveway. It looked good sitting in the spot, right in front of Emma's house. His Jeep wrangler was a deep blue color and it didn't have it's top on. Emma had never ridden in a car without a top, and she hoped they would take his car out that night. The night was already setting in. The sun hung low in the sky, casting gorgeous colors across the clouds. The breeze was slow, but brought in some cooler air from the sea. It was early October and they had been lucky that the weather was still nice. Emma could remember one year where it actually snowed for Halloween.

Entering her house, she heard music coming through the speakers that were sitting in her living room. She had never pegged Killian for a country type of guy, yet Luke Bryan crooned through the speakers. The song felt right for the night that was starting.

"Killian?" she yelled, dropping her bag in the entryway and kicking off her shoes.

She heard him respond from the bedroom and headed that way to find him. When she entered, he was sitting on the bed, pulling on his boots.

"Hey," she said.

"You ready for tonight?" he asked, a smirk appearing on his face. He was up to something. Emma just knew it.

She just smiled at him from the doorway.

He stood up and she took him in. His hair was getting too long and she knew he would need it cut soon, but she liked it. His blue eyes sparkled, the lining of charcoal around his lids made them pop even more than they normally did. His clothes were casual, the green of the shirt stretched nicely across his chest. A bit of chest hair poked out the top.

His boots made a light sound as he came to stand in front of her. She couldn't meet him in the eyes, knowing that if she did, a huge grin would appear on her face, giving away her happiness, a happiness she wasn't willing to admit yet.

"Well?" he said, pulling her chin up, making her look at him.

"Yeah, I'm ready. Do I need to change?" she questioned, looking back down at what she was wearing. She had been wearing her favorite pair of jeans and a green top that matched his. She wondered if he had picked out the shirt based on what he saw her picking out the night before.

"No, you look wonderful," he smirked. "And you don't need to change."

She wanted to crash against his lips at that moment, not wanting to leave the bedroom. She wanted to stay where they were, in their little bubble. She had already felt the attraction between them begin to ignite when she entered the room and she didn't want to lose it. The way she felt in the room was something she wanted to grow. The bubbling in her lower stomach grew as each second passed.

Killian, though, was on a mission. He grabbed her hand and led her down to his Jeep. The only stop they made was to grab her purse from the entryway, picking up two hats and sunglasses as well.

Emma was giddy with excitement as she climbed up into the Jeep and buckled her seatbelt. Her cap was secured on her head, her makeshift ponytail popping out of the back.

"So, where are you taking me tonight?" she asked as Killian climbed into the driver's seat and started the ignition.

"It's a surprise, Swan, but trust me, you'll love it," he smiled as he put the car and gear and backed out of the driveway.

The drive to Killian's mysterious date was a thrill ride. Emma wanted to throw her hands up and feel the breeze on her fingers. She wanted to pull herself up and bask in the diminishing sunlight that was coming through the trees. Her hair whipped around her head even though the hat was keeping most of it in place. The smell of the asphalt and engine was something she had never experienced before and Emma didn't think it would smell as wonderful as it did. If Emma had to put a scent to a mood, what she was smelling was adventure and new beginnings.

Storybrooke was a pretty small town; going anywhere will take less than twenty minutes. So as they hit the forty minute mark on being in the car, Emma's excitement over the date grew. Not that she wouldn't enjoy a nice night in their town, she just wanted more.

After an hour of driving, they pulled into the parking lot of one of Emma's favorite places – Dave and Buster's. She loved playing games there, plus the food was decent and the drinks strong and cheap. The atmosphere was what she went for, though. It was rare that she got to go there, since it was an hour away and she always spent too much money there. But, at least once every two months, she packed Henry into her car and they spent the night playing games and binge eating appetizers. Henry always stuck to the driving and shooting games, while Emma liked the coin dozers and trivia games. At the end of the night, they would pool their tickets and get a prize for the house. In fact, there was a little stuffed penguin in the guest room that they won the last time they went there.

Emma's smiled grew as she walked towards the restaurant.

"I'm guessing I picked a good place?" Killian questioned, reaching out to pull her hand into his, holding it tight as they walked inside.

"Yes! Henry is going to be so jealous he missed this," she exclaimed. However, she had to ask, "But why did you choose this? I thought you were planning a romantic evening? You know, a fancy restaurant, walks along the beach, candlelight."

Killian laughed a deep chuckle. His head tilted back a bit as he tried to contain himself.

"Swan, romance comes in many forms. It's not all candlelight and moonlit walks in cold water. Sometimes, it's simply knowing the person you are with and doing something with them that they would enjoy. I know you, Swan - you don't want walks along the beach or a stuffy dinner at some restaurant that is overpriced. You want fun, excitement, and the thrill of a game," he said, pulling her towards him, his arms wrapping around her waist.

She had to admit, he was right. Emma didn't enjoy the traditional romantic shit that most girls like. She found it all too clichéd. Romance didn't equal love. It didn't mean that the person knew you. Emma would have hated a fancy dinner, at a restaurant where she would get hardly enough food for an outrageous price. She loved chains and loved the fun that some of these restaurants had. She wanted something different, and Killian was giving it to her. He must have remembered how she hated the beach as a kid. Sand sucked. It got everywhere and Emma hated the way it made her skin feel. She hated that she would find sand in placesc for months after a trip to the beach. She preferred the pool over the ocean, too – in a pool, she could see everything, whereas in the ocean, she never knew what was swimming around her feet.

While she was in her mind, he placed a kiss on her lips. It was a quick kiss, similar to all the other ones he had placed on her as she was leaving for the day or they were laying down to go to bed, but this one held a small promise. A promise saying there was more to come, that there would be some traditional romance if she was only patient enough to let it happen.

"So, what do you say love, you ready to play some games?" He wiggled his eyebrows with his question.

"Bring it on, Jones," she winked and pulled him into the restaurant.

They played for hours, snacking and drinking every so often. Emma enjoyed Killian's company, and the ease at which they talked and flirted.

"So, other than the douche you dated in high school, who else struck your fancy, love?" he questioned as they took a break from the games, sitting down on the high chairs they had claimed a few hours earlier.

"No one else really. Neal was my first, and only real, boyfriend," she confessed, heat rising to her cheeks. She was embarrassed by the fact that she hadn't experienced what most got to.

"Really?" he asked, a disbelieving tone laced his words.

"Yeah. It wasn't for lack of trying either," she explained. "After Neal, I took some time to myself. I had spent a good portion of my teen years dating the same person, so I wanted to just have time to myself. Mary Margaret tried to get me to date during our later years at college, but no one really made my heart stop, ya know?"

Killian just nodded his head. There was something he wasn't telling her.

"I'm not a virgin though," she blurted out, the redness showing in her cheeks.

She was pretty sure it was one of the most embarrassing moments of her life; divulging her sexual history to a man she was pretty sure she would marry in such a brazen way, but she had to let him know. Maybe it was the look he gave her when she told him there hadn't been anyone of importance in her life. All she knew was that she couldn't go on another minute without him knowing that.

He just raised his eyebrow in response. There was no noise coming from him. He just took a sip of his water and ate a buffalo wing.

"I mean, I lost my virginity to Neal a few weeks before I found him cheating on me. In college, I had a few drunken one night stands, but none of them meant anything," she explained, rambling on, hoping Killian would interject.

"It's hard to believe they didn't want anything more," he finally said.

"They did, I didn't," she began. "August was the first guy I was with after Neal. Mary Margaret tried to get us to date; she was obsessed with August. He wanted to be a writer and she thought that was romantic. We hung out some; he didn't want a traditional relationship, and I didn't want any kind of one, so we went our separate ways. Jefferson was the other. That's a story for another night, but after the craziness of that, I decided to just stop trying."

After Neal, she didn't want anything serious. She didn't want to put herself through that all over again. The pain and betrayal she felt, combined with the suppressed feelings she still had about being adopted, made it hard for her to really trust anyone not to leave and abandon her.

"I'm not either," he said, looking up from his wings. "A virgin that is," he added as Emma's curious look crossed her face.

"Oh?" she asked, a pang shooting through her chest.

She shouldn't have been upset. They both had separate lives before he moved back home. Of course it wouldn't be weird for both of them to be sexually active. Yet, she was a bit sad that someone else knew Killian in a way she so desperately wanted to know him. She had to wonder if he felt the same when she confessed her status to him?

"Yeah," he started, "her name was Sophie. We weren't dating or anything. Well, at least we weren't serious. Or, I wasn't. She had had a crush on me for years. All of my friends were dating and losing their virginity, so I thought, hell, why not?"

Emma leaned forward, her elbows coming to rest on the high table they had chosen. Her hand reached forward and picked up a French fry, and popped it in her mouth. She mimicked Killian's facial expression and raised an eyebrow, silently asking him to continue.

"I felt like shit about it afterwards; still do. The whole experience was just crap. Of course it was, we were young and had no fucking clue what we were doing, no pun intended. It was awkward and just plain bad. And afterwards I acted like nothing had happened, and ended everything with her," his eyes held sorrow with the confession.

"Ouch," Emma responded.

"Aye, I was an ass about it. Thankfully, Sophie was a lady. She never spread rumors or anything. She did confront me at graduation though, asked why I had been such a jackass to her. I apologized, blamed it on being a teenage boy. She went on to marry a local boy, has three kids now," he said as a way of wrapping up his story. There was something more he wasn't telling her, but she wasn't going to press it.

"She wasn't the last though, was she?" Emma asked, not really sure if she wanted to know the answer.

She was pretty sure Killian had other conquests. Someone that looked the way he did probably had women throwing themselves at him left and right. Plus, the way he acted after Emma would mention something, told her there was someone important in his history that he hadn't mentioned. Emma could also tell things with that person didn't end well, and not because of him.

It hurt her heart to admit that to herself, but she knew Killian had been in love before. He had been able to experience something she had never really felt. Jealousy filtered through her veins. The woman who once held his fancy, his heart, whom had his love, turned Emma into a green-eyed monster. She knew it wasn't right to think it though. They hadn't been in contact for years, she couldn't hold it against either of them. But she knew, if she had had that chance, no one would have gotten to know Killian in the way she so desperately wanted to know him.

"No, she wasn't," he said, reaching up to scratch his ear.

Emma wanted to pull his hand away. To hold it close. To take the hesitation away. She wanted him to feel he could tell her anything. She was; or at least she was getting there. But, at least she knew he would never hold anything against her, that he would forgive her for anything she had done. At least, she hoped so.

"You don't have to tell me," she said, reaching across the table, ignoring the food placed between them.

"Thanks, it's just hard," he began, reaching out to grasp her hand, "I've never talked to anyone about Milah before; well, anyone other than Liam."

He chuckled when he mentioned his brother's name.

"I get it," she said, rubbing circles against his skin.

"Milah was the first girl I thought I loved, she was the first person to get me, and really get me. Liam hated our relationship; and looking back on it now, I get why."

Emma listened intently as he began to weave his tale of Milah.

She was surprised to hear about their age difference, her mouth popped open at the confession. It was hard to picture him with her. It didn't matter that he described their relationship in great detail, his eyes shimmering as he reminisced on their time together. It didn't matter that she could hear his feelings for the woman. Emma just couldn't picture it.

It was hard to picture a young Killian falling for someone old. Even though he described her as young, with deep brown hair and bright eyes; all Emma could see was an aging woman who was desperate to feel young again. She saw wrinkles and the passage of time. She saw someone who took advantage of young boy, one who was still processing his mother's death, his father's departure and the loss of a life he so desperately wanted to live. She saw a seductress, she saw red.

She tried to listen as he continued to weave their story. She heard him discuss how they hid their relationship for years, trying to hide from the judgement that they were sure they would face. She heard him talk about the college years; how Milah wanted to party and the lack of support he received from her.

She tried to keep her mouth shut. She didn't want to rag on his previous relationship - it was over and done with, and she was his future. But it pained her to hear how horribly he was treated, how there was no real support. It angered her that she hadn't been there to stop the whole rotten thing.

"You're awfully quiet over there, Swan." His voice pulled her from her thoughts.

"I'm just taking it all in," she explained, trying to keep any hint of judgement from her voice. It wasn't Killian's fault he fell for Milah. You can't help who you fall in love with. But Emma couldn't believe that Killian had let that woman take advantage of him for so long.

"Looking back on the relationship, I can see all these red flags, but in the moment, I was only focused on what she was giving me," he added.

"Well, it's all in the past now. All of it is; we learned from our past and now we can move forward," she suggested.

"Aye, that we can," he said, his eyes meeting hers.

There was something different in them now. It was if everything that had been holding him back from being with her was now non-existent. The way he looked at her was deeper somehow. Even though she hadn't said much, just letting him tell his story; it was as if just the act of listening to him cured him of some ailment.

"Let's go home," he suggested, but didn't wait to hear her response. There was a hunger to his voice, an impatience. Maybe he was starting to feel what she had been feeling.

His hand was already grasping hers, pulling her towards the door.

The drive back to their place, Emma smiled as she thought about her calling it their place; was silent. The tension between them was electric. His hand rested tightly on her thigh, sending shocks through her system every few seconds when he would loosen his grip, rubbing his fingers along her jeans.

Emma was thankful Killian had stopped drinking earlier in the night. If he hadn't, she was sure she wouldn't be able to last a Lyft ride back to her house without her lips on his skin or feeling his hands run against her back. She would have made out with him in the back of that imaginary Lyft; probably scaring the driver and getting her a one star rating.

Killian had settled up their tab right before she blurted out that she wasn't a virgin. So, they were able to make it to the car without stopping. Killian's hand still grasping hers, while he held a bag with prizes in the other. Another thing he had thought of. While Emma's brain was drunk on the presence of Killian, and the vodka she had been sipping on, he had been planning the evening out.

Whether he had been planning to pull her from the restaurant after the confession of Milah, or not, wasn't something Emma wanted to focus on. Instead, she wanted to think about what was waiting for her when they got home. If the heat that was radiating off his hand was any indication, she would finally see if what she had been feeling all along was true; and she couldn't wait.

Killian's POV

Telling Emma the broad story of him and Milah had been cathartic. It was like all the shit he had been holding inside, all the toxic thoughts from his past relationship, had been cleansed. He was a new man. All from simply telling his best friend about her.

He didn't tell her some of the more horrible details. Not that he was scared to tell her; he could just tell she didn't need to hear it. He watched her face as he recounted the relationship with Milah. With each passing moment, with each new confession, he saw every emotion she was feeling. Most of the time, Emma was a statue, hiding her true feelings; but she couldn't hide them from him, not any more. He had seen the passion and once that had been shown, he quickly began to see everything else.

Emma couldn't hide the disgust in her face when Killian mentioned their age difference. She tried to keep her face stoic; trying to hide her real feelings, but she failed. He had seen that look a million times when friends had found out about their age difference or when he and Milah would walk down the street hand in hand. Most of the time, the faces didn't bother him; but seeing the look on Emma's did. It was something that had always worried him, as evidenced in the letters he wrote to her. He was worried of the judgement from Emma; worried about what she would say. Yet, even though he saw the disgust and worry on her face, he knew it wasn't directed at him.

When her eyes met his during his story, they told him that all she cared about was his well being. All she cared about was him. He knew that if they didn't have any unanswered feelings between them, and they had been friends all along, that Emma would have been supportive of him and his relationship - once he had been a bit older and if Milah's behaviors had changed.

Once he finished and he heard Emma state that it was all in the past, he knew they were both ready to really try this relationship out.

He had been waiting patiently. It took every ounce of his will to do it, but he made sure there was no rush to what they were about to do. He wanted them both to be ready for it because he knew deep down that once he had Emma Swan, once he felt her beneath him, once he had her, he could never let her go. He knew what his feelings meant. And after watching her listen to him, after seeing the emotions cross her face as he described the love he once had for Milah, he knew her feelings matched his.

There was nothing but their breathing as they drove back to the home he now considered his. Her breath spreading up with anticipation as they walked from the Jeep into the darkness. Outside, they had the stars and moon to light their way. He was able to steal glances, just to see how the moon reflected off her features as she watched the road. But now that they were inside the house; the darkness engulfed them.

Killian could swear there was an audible crackle of static as they stood in the entrance way; both a bit unsure of what was going to happen.

Ideas floated around his brain the whole way home; from not bothering with ceremony and taking her right in the hallway to making the entire ordeal last all night, only giving into their urges as the sun rose the next morning.

Neither one of them initiated what happened; not really. Or, they both started it. Their bodies crashed against each other as they came together at the exact same moment. Everything had been leading to this - to this exact moment. All the shit that had happened in their lives were leading them to this.

His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her to him as her hands fisted his shirt, helping the movement. He heard her pant quickly before his lips met hers. They kissed as if they had never kissed before, saying everything they hadn't been brave enough to say aloud. It was strong and forceful, demanding. It was like an eruption that had been building up for thousands of years.

The tension was finally cut and there was no going back. In a million years, Killian knew no one would ever compare to Emma. Not only did she make him feel alive again, she understood him, down to the smallest atom in his body. They were made for each other, and the moan that escaped her mouth as he kissed her told him as so.

Without breaking the kiss that was still happening, his arms snaked down around her ass and lifted her off her feet. He felt her fingernails scrape against his scalp before she hooked her fingers around his neck. He walked them towards the bedroom, deciding he wanted her in their bed for the first time. They had the rest of their lives to christen the house.

Their clothes still clung to their bodies as they made their way into the room. A soft light shone through the windows that framed the bed, casting a soft glow on everything it touched. He was stunned at first, standing in the center of the room, trying to make up his mind on what to do next.

With Milah, there was never any chance to take pause. She dominated him in the bedroom, telling him exactly what she wanted, when and how. With Emma, things were different. He could already tell they were equals. Yet he also knew she would let him take control. So he had to decide-would he undress her here or on the bed? Decisions, decisions, he thought to himself.

He wanted to see all of her, so it was the bed he decided. He walked her over, lips still pressed together, tongues still in their dance. He gave her ass a squeeze, making her pull up and away from him with a delicious moan. Without ceremony, he tossed her on the bed, causing her hair to fan out around her. Her hands went to her shirt as she giggled, pulling it up over her head. He didn't need to tell her what he wanted, and she didn't need to speak. Their bodies already knew what to do.

The shirt he was wearing stayed on, since it would have hindered his view of Emma. He would have missed her shimmying out of her pants, her tight body coming to rest on the bed. The sight before him had him sucking in a breath, a hiss escaping his teeth. She was breathtaking. Her pale skin was set off against the deep blue of the bra and thong she was wearing, the lace that surrounded the fabric looking delicate against her body. He was in heaven.

She eyed him, raising her eyebrows, in a motion that told him her patience with his clothed body was waning.

He quickly tore off his shirt and pants, standing before Emma in his boxer briefs, allowing her to fully take him in - his erection standing at attention, waiting to feel Emma around him. A smile crossed her face, and her eyes burned into him.

He was on her in an instant, her legs opening to allow him access to her. She sat up on her elbows to meet him and his lips begged for more. He moaned loudly as his erection came into contact with the apex of her thighs, feeling the heat radiating off her skin. His hands roamed her body, mapping every inch of her.

One of his hands came to rest over her bra, fondling her though the fabric. She moaned into his mouth, urging him on. A heel of her foot pushed into his back, making him press into her harder. She needed him desperately and he wanted nothing more than to give himself freely to her.

His other hand snaked down her body, until he pulled him away from her for a moment, allowing his fingers to skirt over her panties.

"Shit, Emma," he said, when her felt just how wet she was for him. "You're soaked."

A small smirk crossed her face before a look of agony followed.

"Please," she begged.

The agony was of passion, and her need for him to take her. He had seen a sample of the look on her face before, when things almost got out of hand, but the desperation on her face now wasn't something he could ignore. He wanted to please her, to make her scream in pleasure.

His fingers played with the fabric of her panties, spreading the moisture around.

"Are you sure, love?" he questioned.

"Yes!" she screamed as his fingers danced over her nub through the fabric.

The panties that were soaked with her juices were quickly removed, his large hand taking their place. He moved from on top of her to her side, allowing him to not only watch her as he teased her into a frenzy, but also to watch what he was doing. He wanted to watch his fingers move through her folds, watch as her hair curled in between his fingers.

"Fuck, Killian," she moaned as his fingers picked up their pace. His other hand exposed her breast from their cups, the slightly cool air hardening her nipples. He didn't want to miss what was right in front of him, but he couldn't help but lean down and take one of her peaked nipples in his mouth. As he suckled and bit, he slid a finger into her slick hot core. She bucked at the contact, but the moan that was screamed told him to keep going.

His eyes flicked up to see Emma's head thrown back in ecstasy, a slight blush to her face and her bottom lip squished between her teeth.

Moving slowly, his finger moved in and out of her, sliding out of her to ghost her clit, then descending back inside. He could see her getting closer and closer to release. Her walls clenched each time he pulled out of her, begging his fingers to stay inside. He wanted to keep watching her, wanted to keep seeing the build up, but he also couldn't wait to see her fall apart and to feel her do it all over again wrapped around his cock.

Adding a thumb into the mix, he took her nipple in his mouth, biting the tiniest bit and rubbing a hard circle into her clit right as he hooked his finger inside of her, sending a shock straight to her system. It sent her over the edge.

She yelled out a curse, contorting her whole body. He didn't know where to look, as every part of her was intoxicating and flushed with pleasure thanks to him. Her toes curled, grasping at the sheets. Her hands knotted in her hair, her head flung to the side as her mouth was thrown open in ecstasy. Her chest heaved. She clenched down on his finger hard.

He didn't withdraw the digit. He did stop all motions, though, allowing her to come down from her high. After he came, he was always so sensitive, and was pretty sure Emma would be too. Not moving allowed her to calm down enough, just enough. It was like a roller coaster ride. At least that was how Liam explained it to him when he was younger, inexperienced and needing advice.

He explained how roller coasters had a build up, then some action, like a loop or drop, but there was always a pause where the ride slowed and sometimes came to a stop, allowing you to get your bearings again, before sending you through to an even bigger thrill.

It was something Milah always commented on. She said he was her only lover who ever allowed her a true break before getting to the good part.

Shaking off the thought of Milah, he watched Emma come down from her high. Her breathing slowed, but the flush to her skin stayed. She was still slick as Killian started to play with her again, silently asking if they could continue.

"That was amazing!" Emma's exclamation was soft, but held so much emotion. It had Killian wondering if Emma's past lovers ever really made her come or it she just faked it.

"That wasn't even the best of tonight, love," he almost giggled, trying to sound sexy, but failing just a bit in his joy of hearing her so happy about what they just did.

"I can't wait," she said, reaching her arms up, to drag him back down on top of her, her lips pressing against his.

For the next few minutes, he built her back up. His touches were light and teasing. He didn't stay long in any place, his hands giving her entire body the once over. He grinded against her as he felt her tight ass.

He couldn't hold out any longer, especially with her wiggling beneath him, her body begging him to bring her to the edge again. She was soaked again, her juices glistening against her thighs.

Seeing it as he positioned himself above her left him wanting to taste her—needing to.

He kissed his way down her body, goosebumps rising along her skin with each peck. He loved the feeling of them - mixed with the heat of her skin, it was exhilarating knowing he caused it.

As he reached her pelvic bone, his kisses got longer, his tongue darting out to lick her skin, nibbling a bit too at the tight skin over her hip bones.

He breathed her in before getting to what he really wanted. Once his tongue hit her clit and he felt her almost explode, he was hooked. Between her legs was now officially his favorite place to be; she tasted sweet and smelled delicious. Her moans kept him going, not wanting to stop licking and sucking. He added in a digit or two for a short time to bring her right to the edge, before pulling them away.

The teasing was his favorite part—well, second favorite after seeing her come undone. He loved the little squeals of begging when he pulled away, her pleas. He loved the way her body responded to his and he didn't want it to end. He wanted her to drown in the pleasure he could give her. He wanted her to need it the same way she needed air to breathe.

"Please Killian, please let me come," She was hoarse as she begged, the whimpers surrounding the please were not only sexy but cute at the same time. She was completely at his mercy, and he knew he had her right where he wanted.

He gave into her pleading and didn't pull back the next time his fingers entered her and his tongue played against her clit. He even nipped at the nub a little, just as his two fingers curled inside of her, sending her over the edge for a second time. Her screams were even louder, with more pleasure mixed in. A huge smile crossed his face as he licked her down from her high, stopping as soon as her body stopped its release.

Before he had a chance to move atop of her; she was on him, using the surprise to move him against the mattress, tugging him up and flipping him, pinning him beneath her.

"I need you, Killian, been needing you," she mewed.

"Take what you need then, Emma; take it all," he said, almost as a beg. Now that she was on top of him, her thighs gripping his, her soaking wet core pinned against his strained erection, he needed her the way she needed him.

While he enjoyed licking her, tasting her, he wanted that tight quim around him.

They hadn't talked about protection, so he was surprised when she leaned over and reached for her nightstand. She pulled out a long trail of condoms.

The smile that crossed his face was bright. He loved that she was prepared, since it was the one thing he really didn't think about. It wasn't that he didn't care about it; but he felt it was jinxing it.

"I don't want to ruin the mood, but I'm clean. I'm also on birth control, have been for decades. So…" she trailed off, a bit shy. His smile grew. She was cute. They had just done some pretty dirty things and here she was, shy about protection.

"Emma, I will have you whichever way you feel comfortable. I'm clean as well, I actually have my last test in my drawer. The Navy requires a test each year," he explained.

She tossed the condoms to the side.

"I don't think we need these," she said sheepishly.

"If that is OK with you. It may not seem that way, but you are in charge, love," he reached up and cupped her cheeks, pulling her down to kiss him.

"Take me, Killian; make me yours," she said, deepening the kiss.

Killian had never been with someone without a condom, and he was pretty sure Emma hadn't either. He really was going to make her his.

It was awkward, but he was able to get his boxers off without breaking the kiss from Emma. Finally there was no barriers between them. They could finally be together in every way.

"You sure, love?" he asked one last time, wanting to be one hundred percent sure.

"Yes, Killian," she said impatiently.

She hovered above him, taking him in her hand, giving him a squeeze. He finally understood what he had been doing to her the whole time. The teasing squeezes on his cock were driving him insane. He fit perfectly in her palm, and even though he knew what was coming, he didn't want her to let go.

He watched as the glorious form that was Emma situated herself above him, his cock lining up directly with her opening. She slowly sank down onto him.

Her head was thrown back as she got used to his invasion. He closed his eyes, allowing the pleasure of her walls against him to wash over him. She felt perfect, amazing, heavenly. She was tight, fitting him like a glove. She took him in deep, pausing when she hit the base of his cock.

"Emma, you feel so good," he said, sitting them up so he could take her in a bit deeper. The moan that escaped her told him she liked the way he felt.

She didn't move at first, adjusting to him.

"You're so deep," she whispered, her head leaning against his neck, as his lips suckled at her neck.

"Move for me Emma," he said between nips.

He laid back down, his hands coming to rest on her perfect hips, ready if she needed help moving. The way her silhouette shone against the night backdrop accented each and every curve she had. Her breasts were heavy and hung beautifully against her. Her hips jutted out, giving her ass an even fuller look. Her arms were toned and firm as she reached up to hold onto her hair, that looked silver in the moonlight.

Slowly she raised above him, using her perfect legs to guide her. The movement of her thighs against his as she lowered herself back onto him was purely amazing. As she got used to his length inside of her, she moved faster, bringing a hand down to rest against his chest, using it as leverage. Her nails dug into him, as they interlaced with his chest hair.

Her rhythm was picking up, her breasts bouncing with her movements. He was in awe of her. One hand left her hips and came up to grasp one of them, pinching her nipple and causing her to moan his name loudly again.

"Fuck, Killian, it feels so good," she cried out.

"Ride me, Emma, keeping going," he groaned.

His hand on her hip gave her a squeeze, making her speed up.

Emma took the lead, pulling Killian's hand from her hip, placing it on her clit.

"Play with me Killian, make me come again," she purred.

"As you wish," he growled, rubbing his thumb against her clit.

He wanted to kiss her, to bruise those perfect lips even more, but he couldn't pass up another opportunity to see her fall apart, especially since the view was so different and fascinating.

"Fuck!" she stuttered as her walls clenched around him for the third time. He would never get tired of the feeling.

She fell apart around him, her rhythm being thrown off by her orgasm. He tried to keep up the pace, pounding into her as she rode through the high, but he was going to come undone inside of her; especially with small squeezes she was giving.

He came quickly, just as Emma was coming down from her high.

"Emma," he cried out, as he jerked up, his hand leaving her clit alone, his hands going back to her hip so he wouldn't fall away into a void that he was sure now surrounded him.

He collapsed back into the bed, pulling Emma onto him. Curling them onto their sides, he nuzzled into her, their naked bodies still entwined. There were beads of sweat around her neckline that he licked off of her, stroking her stomach.

She purred against him, sinking into him.

As they laid there, basking in the pleasure of their activities, Killian knew he would never want anything as much as staying in this moment. He was content and happy and from the sounds Emma was making, she didn't want anything different either.

They drifted off to sleep like that, curled against each other, in pure bliss.

#CSBB #Captain Swan Big Bang #Captain Swan #Captain Swan Fan Fiction

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ifishouldvanish · 5 years

Text

The Boston Hour (19/?)

In which Belle is an Antiques Roadshow super-fan and Gold is her favorite appraiser.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Belle arrives in Syracuse on Friday, which is just fine. RATING: T WORDS: 10,132 TMI’s: [boop] A/N: So... apparently it's been almost 2 months since I updated this updated literally anything? Oops.

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Read on AO3]

Rumford was only pretending to read the arts and culture section of the Syracuse Tribune.

What he was actually doing, was sneaking glances across the table at his son, who he was pretty sure was only pretending to be preoccupied with his phone.

Rumford would let his eyes glaze over a review of the local theatre’s production of A Doll’s House for a few minutes, then chance to peer over the A2-sized newsprint held taut in his hands. Their eyes would meet, and Neal would hurriedly take a bite out of his bagel and snap his attention back to his phone– as though he were engaged in some lively conversation via text.

Which was preposterous, because it was only seven-thirty in the morning.

Rumford had chosen his outfit with confident care last night– his purple shirt and his black pinstriped suit (not that pinstriped suit, but the other one, with the finer, more subtle pinstripes)– and as he got dressed this morning, he felt certain that Belle would fancy him quite a dish when she arrived in the afternoon.

Was downright giddy with the thought while he made himself his morning cup of tea.

Neal had dragged his feet down the stairs and into the kitchen some minutes later– and after watching him stare blankly at the open fridge for far too long, scratching at the patchy bit of scruff that had only begun to properly grow in last year, Rumford realized the unique opportunity that had been presented to him.

He’d still been waiting for the right time to share his special bit of news. And between his son’s groggy state, and his own unusually optimistic disposition, Rumford thought he just might be able to get the damned words out before his nerves caught up with him and ruined everything!

He could sneak it in somewhere, undetected, perhaps. “Good morning, son! I’m bisexual! D’ye sleep well last night?”

And Neal would grumble and shrug. “Huh? Oh, yeah, whatever, sure.”

And that’s when he would make his exit– “Anyway, I’d better get going! Shop isnae gonna open itself!” (That Miss Halloran had a set of keys and came in the same time he did was beside the point.)

It probably wouldn’t be until hours later, that Neal would even realize what he’d heard– and by then, Rumford would safely be twenty or so miles away from his son’s reaction, writing an insurance valuation for a collection of authentic German cuckoo clocks!

Yes, yes. That was how it was all supposed to unfold.

But what Rumford hadn’t counted on, was for Neal to be on such high alert. It was putting him on high alert.

Killing the vibe, as his son might say.

Rumford skimmed over the newspaper spread again.

An advertisement for the local symphony orchestra. A rundown of affordable entertainment in the area this month. An interview with Cora Mills, touting on about the new collection she was unveiling at the museum of fine arts next week. He’d actually read that one– curiosity having gotten the better of him. The thing was riddled with all her name-dropping and humble-bragging about what a challenge it was to curate the thing; casual mentions of how a not-so-modest personal contribution from the Mills family had made it possible for the museum to acquire that Picasso– which really ties the whole collection together, don’t you think?

Rumford let out a derisive huff through his nose and peered over the top of the newspaper again.

His own eyes looked back at him.

They darted away again, and Rumford’s finger twitched– hand reaching for his teacup to take a sip. This too, was preposterous, because his teacup was already empty– and had been the last four times he’d tried to drink from it.

He managed to stop himself, and drummed his fingers on the table instead.

The whole scenario was preposterous, damn it.

He’d come out to Belle like it was nothing that night in Storybrooke. So why was it, that he couldn’t get the words out in front of his boy?

He just needed to say it. Get it over with and off his chest.

So he coughed.

“Son,” he began before he could change his mind, “There’s… something I’d like to… discuss with you.”

Neal looked up at him, chewing on his everything bagel. Thoroughly.

Far more thoroughly than Rumford had ever seen him chew before.

“What’s up?” he finally asked, swallowing and dusting poppy seeds off his fingers. “Is it that renaissance artists-Ninja Turtles meme I posted on Facebook?”

Rumford furrowed his brows.

“‘Cause look–” Neal continued, “I know their namesakes are completely wrong. How they named the turtle with the short temper after Raphael and not Michelangelo– or the nerdy inventor turtle after Donatello and not Leonardo– is a massive oversight. I mean, Donatello was one of the forerunners of the Italian Renaissance! Why they didn’t name the leader of the turtles after him is beyond me! But it’s just a kid’s show, Pop.” He shrugged and tore another bite off of his bagel, returning to his phone. “Try not to look at it too closely.”

Rumford tilted his head. Was willing to admit he was at least mildly curious about these turtles now.

To himself.

He scowled back at his newspaper and turned the page. “No. It’s… I uh…” He shook his head, growing so terribly annoyed with himself. “Well, the thing is, is that… I um…”

I want you to know that I’m bisexual! I like men! And ladies! I used to have a big, fat crush on Jefferson, and in retrospect, I have definitely on at least two occasions purchased a new shirt and tie specifically because I thought he would like them on me!

Rumford swallowed hard. “I just…”

Did he? Did he used to have a crush on Jefferson? Or did he still have a crush on Jefferson?

How did these things even work?

Surely an attractive, charming person didn’t cease to be an attractive, charming person just because you met another attractive, charming person with whom you shared something special. Right?

Did it even matter?

After all, what was a silly crush compared to what he shared with Belle? Compared to love? To that feeling of trust and being wholly accepted by another person? Belle had said it herself, how she hadn't even told her best friend about her bisexuality because it felt like it just didn’t matter– so why should it be anyone’s business but his own that when he checked his emails every morning, he used to secretly hope there’d be one from Dr Bellamy? And how he'd quietly relished the first time he closed one of those emails with not just regards or warm regards, but warm-est regards.

“I…” Rumford began reaching for his empty teacup again.

Neal looked up from his phone again with raised brows, and Rumford could feel his nerves dragging the words back down to the pit of his tempestuous stomach.

There were some things that not even pinstripes could help.

“...Pop?” he asked. “You okay there?”

“Ah– yes!” Rumford cleared his throat. “See, I… I wanted to tell you... that I… love you very much!” he blurted.

There was a beat of silence, and Neal smothered a snort. “Uh… okay.” he said, easing his shoulders and taking another bite out of his bagel. “I love you too, Pop.”

The moment gave Rumford enough of a false sense of relief to nod and smile. But soon the table grew quiet.

Much too quiet.

“And–” he added, “I’m very, very proud of you!”

“Oh.” Neal covered his mouth as he mumbled around his food. “Cool. Thanks.”

“I just… wanted you to know that,” Rumford said– and he finally cracked and took that imaginary sip from his empty cup. “I-in case I don’t say it enough.”

Neal nodded slowly. Had the mind this time to finish chewing and swallow before reassuring him with a, “You do.”

“Good.” Rumford coughed and glanced at the watch he wasn’t wearing. “Anyway, I’ve got to get going. Open the shop an’ all that.”

“Yup. You go do that, Pop.”

“Aye,” he said, rising from his seat. “Gonnae… do that.”

Neal rolled his eyes and dropped what was left of his bagel onto his plate with an exasperated sigh. “Are you alright, dad?”

Rumford pretended to be too busy tucking in his chair to answer.

“...Aye. Aye!” he answered belatedly. “Of course!” Added a, “Why do ye ask?” for the effect of it.

Neal froze, a flash of sudden terror striking his eyes.

“Uh– Because– No reason!” he stammered. “You just… I don’t know! You’re like… quiet lately! And? You… you keep saying everything is fine! Which is like, highly suspicious. Because you’re you.”

Rumford darted his eyes around the kitchen and pouted his lips, feeling too exposed to deny anything.

Neal slowly relaxed back into his chair. “Is… is everything okay? With that… lady?” he whispered, as though someone might be eavesdropping.

Ha! Rumford thought. Of course!

His behavior had nothing at all to do with his semi-closeted bisexuality! He was just nervous about his visit from Belle!

A perfect alibi!

“That lady’s name is Belle,” Rumford corrected, grasping onto the red herring just handed to him. “And rest assured that things between us are…”

Magical?

Pure bliss?

Like a warm ray of sunshine on even his dullest of days?

Serious?

“Well, they’re more than fine.”

Neal eyed him skeptically for a moment, then smiled. “...Gross.”

“Make sure your room is nice and tidy, by the way,” Rumford said. “She’s–”

“I know, I know. This is your–” Neal took a deep breath and sighed. “Big weekend.” he finished with clearly feigned enthusiasm. “But don’t worry, Pop– my room will be the perfect balance of clean, yet lived-in.”

Rumford smiled. “I would appreciate that, thank you.” he said, beginning to clear the table.

“Uh… hey.” Neal coughed. “Why don’t you go on and head to the shop already? I can clean up.”

Rumford proceeded to wipe the crumbs off the edge of the table and onto his empty plate. “No, no. It’s fine. I still have a few minutes–”

“But I want to.” Neal insisted forcefully, donning a stiff smile.

Rumford paused and tilted his head at him. Could feel another knot beginning to form in his stomach.

“You’ve been cleaning up after me for eighteen years, Pop. It’s the least I could do.”

“Oh.” He blinked, shakily setting his plate back down. “O-okay.”

What was this? Rumford thought. Was there some kind of covert Stepford Sons program happening under his nose?

“I can sweep the floors and shi– stuff, too.” Neal offered. “Even pick up your dry cleaning– that way you’re all set to look sharp for your girlfriend this weekend.”

Rumford scoffed. “Now you’re beginning to sound highly suspicious.”

Neal stood up and crossed the table, maintaining an unsettling degree of eye contact while he took the plate and teacup from him. “Yeah, well… I start moving into my dorm next week. If I’m going to survive art school, I need to learn how to give off an air of mystery.”

Rumford cautiously slid his jacket off the back of his chair. “Alright… well that case, the baseboards in the bathroom could use some mystery.” he said, poking his arms through his sleeves. “We should make it back here at–”

“Perfect.” Neal smiled. “Say no more, this place will be spotless for when mom gets here.”

Rumford stopped buttoning his jacket. “What?”

Neal froze. “...What?”

“What did you just say?”

“Nothing.”

“You said–”

“I said the place’ll be spotless.” he repeated.

Rumford took a deep breath. Considered his next move.

“Your… mother told me she was staying at a hotel,” he said innocently, as if the whole thing was of no concern to him– but make no mistake, it very much was of great concern.

There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence before Neal barked out a laugh. “Did I just say mom? I meant Belle, obviously.” he scoffed. “God. So embarrassing, right? You ever call a teacher ‘mom’ on accident? It’s so weird!” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “S’like, ‘Thanks brain! Just what I needed! Another horrifying memory to keep me up at night twenty years from now!’ ...Right?”

Rumford slowly resumed his buttoning. “Right…”

Neal noisily tossed the dishes in the sink and spun around. “Anyway, yeah. You should get going.” he said. “Wouldn’t wanna be late– Boss’ll never let you hear the end of it, am I right?”

Rumford brushed his hair out from his collar and scoffed, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach. “I’ll have you know that I am very lenient with my employees, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, but it’s best to lead by example, I always say.” Neal said, beginning to shoo him out of the kitchen and down the hall. “Have a great day, dad! Sell lots of old stuff!”

Rumford balked at the front door, refusing to step outside just yet.

His son never said “ best to lead by example”!

“Neal. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He scoffed. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

Rumford’s hand drifted up to his lapel, but there was nothing there– no pink and purple and blue to answer for him– so he just narrowed his eyes, ignoring the way his conscience wrenched his heart in protest of the lie he was about to tell his son. “...No.”

“Then neither is there nothing I’m not telling you, either.” Neal said.

Rumford furrowed his brows, trying to decide whether or not that response was even grammatically correct.

Decided it was too early in the morning for that.

“...I have to get to the shop.” he said at last.

“Okay!” Neal said, already closing the door in his face. “Later Pop! Have a good day!”

“You too–”

Thwack!

Rumford flinched and blinked at the door in front of him.

His son was up to something. Hiding something. Of this he was certain.

Nevertheless, a smile soon crept over his face, reflecting back at him in the glass.

Belle was coming today.

He was going to woo her. Sweep her off her feet. Tell her little nothings that would make her giggle and blush.

He was going to have a great day.

*****

MR GOLD

PAWNBROKER • ANTIQUITIES DEALER • PERSONAL PROPERTY APPRAISER • CONSERVATION & RESTORATIONS Certified and accredited by the ISA, ASA, and AAA.

Belle smiled at the lettering on the shop’s window, feeling a ridiculous sense of pride over Rumford’s qualifications. Personal property appraisers in the United States didn’t require any state or federal licensing in order to practice, so that Rumford still took the Uniform Standards of Professional Appraisal Practice seriously enough to maintain membership in all three major professional personal property appraisal associations was, well– undeniably sexy.

It had been a long, albeit scenic drive from Storybrooke, and as Belle had made her way down South Salina Street, she found it no wonder that Rumford had chosen Syracuse’s historic district to open his shop. She could recognize all sorts of architectural styles from the buildings she passed– Victorian Gothic, Art Deco, and Beaux-Arts! Italian Renaissance Revival and Italianate!

She’d found Rumford’s shop in a charming Federal style building and managed to secure herself a parking spot right in front.

Her man was waiting inside.

All there was left to do was walk in.

Oh, she’d dreamt of this day. More than a few times.

She’d open the door and step inside, her heels thumping loudly on the hardwood floors announcing her arrival. He’d be in the corner, dusting off some trinket, and pause to look at her.

“Hello,” he’d say. “Please, come in. Is there anything I can help you with?”

As a matter of fact, yes– there is,” she’d say, approaching him closely. “...Dr Gold.”

He’d admire her chutzpah. Stop and set down the piece he was dusting. Wet his lips. “And what might that be, dearie?” he’d ask with one of those crooked smirks on his face.

She’d gently drag a finger along the length of his tie before giving it a sharp tug, pulling him toward her. “This,” she’d tell him, and she’d press her lips to his, and he’d be totally into it, and they’d make out and end up doing it in an antique chair or something.

At least, that’s how it usually played out in her dreams. But this was no dream. She was really here, and she’d already made out with Rumford one and a half times in actual, real life.

No, no. This would be very different.

Because she was in love.

She was going to walk in there and give him a peck on the cheek– and he was going to blush and smile and just look so cute!

Belle opened the door, and a bell jingled musically overhead.

It was bigger than she was expecting, filled with bookcases and cabinets that blocked her view. They were all filled to the brim with little trinkets in a charming cacophony of sizes, colors, uses, and styles. The shelves and armoires formed little walls around staged dining and living room sets– some matching, while others were made up of eclectically paired end tables, sofas, and accent chairs, forming their own little found families. Heavy oak desks were scattered about, each of them topped with an old typewriter and no less than two antique lamps. Clocks and paintings covered the walls, while little frames and other such Objets d’Art covered every available surface.

Belle’s eyes settled on a glass cabinet filled with books, and she drifted toward it without a thought. Encyclopedia sets and atlases took up most of the shelves, but the remaining space was occupied by the likes of Mark Twain, Hannah Crafts, Louisa May Alcott, and Edgar Allan Poe.

She couldn't help herself. Reached a hand out to open the cabinet and–

“Looking for Mr Gold?”

Belle jumped and pulled away from the case, finding a young woman with blonde hair smiling at her. Her loose flannel and combat boots were a far cry from Rumford’s suits, and a stark contrast to the elegance and delicacy of the furnishings that surrounded them.

“Well– you won’t find him in there,” the girl chuckled, leaning against the case and patting an hand on it. “This here is just reference books and American literature.”

“...O-oh.” Belle managed. Words were hard when one's heart had just leapt out of their chest.

“In fact, you won’t find Mr Gold anywhere,” she said, hiking her brows.

“I-I’m sorry,” Belle said, “This is his shop, isn’t it?”

“Well, of course it is.” She nodded at the lettering on the window. “It’d be bonkers if it wasn’t– seeing as it’s got his name on the window an’all.”

Belle looked back and forth between the window, the girl.

This wasn’t how she imagined her first visit to Rumford’s shop at all. Was expecting a lot more… Rumford.

“You’re Belle,” the girl said, and extended a hand. “Name’s Tilly.”

“It’s… lovely to meet you, Tilly.” Belle slowly shook her hand, feeling more confused by the second.

Where was Rumford?

Sure, she was over an hour early– but she had an excuse for driving well over the speed limit!

Whoever decided that sixty miles an hour was an appropriate speed for a three lane highway, clearly never had to drive an excess of 400 miles to spend time with a man as charming and sexy as Rumford!

Anyone would develop a lead foot!

A set of heels began clacking across the floor, and Belle snapped her head around to look. Strutting toward them was another young woman, with bright red hair. She was dressed far more professionally in a pencil skirt and silk blouse, but as she got closer, Belle noticed she was wearing glasses with magnifying loupe attachments that made her look like some sort of mad scientist.

“Welcome to Mr Gold’s pawn and antiques!” she greeted brightly, extending a manicured hand. “I’m Ariel. What can I help you with today?”

Belle glanced anxiously around the shop– hoping a familiar, handsome face would come and sweep her away. “Um… well, I–”

“Psst.” Tilly nudged Ariel’s side and whispered something into her ear.

Her brows creased. And then, “Oh!” she gasped, “Are you sure?”

“Uh-huh,” Tilly nodded and cupped her hands over Ariel’s ear, whispering something too hushed for Belle to make out– something about pie?

A smile slowly spread across Ariel’s face. “You’re Belle?” she asked, and Belle didn't have anywhere near enough time to answer before she went, “Oh, this is so exciting! I mean, wow! Look at you! You're like, really cute!”

“Oh.” Belle chuckled uncomfortably, wrapping her arms around herself. “Uh… th… thank you?”

“But gosh!” Ariel shook her head, as if snapping out of a trance. “You must be looking for Mr Gold!”

“Yes!” Belle leapt at the mention of his name.

Yes, yes! Rumford! Where was Rumford? She needed to give him a kiss so she could see him blush! And maybe tell him she loved him! Was it too soon for that?

“I mean, yes,” she cleared her throat and smoothed out her skirt. “I um... I am.”

“I’m sorry!” Ariel laughed. “You're a bit early. Mr Gold is out on a house call at the moment. He should be back in–” she squinted at her wrist watch, blinking and shaking her head before adjusting one of the loupes out of the way so she could see properly. “...About fifteen minutes.”

Belle frowned. “A house call, you said?”

Ariel struggled to blink her eyes into focus a second time before giving up and taking her glasses off. “Yeah! We get a lot of those, actually. If the client has like, I dunno–” she shrugged, “something big that would be too much of a hassle to bring in?”

“Or a lot of something smalls.” Tilly said. “We once had a guy with a collection of over six hundred model trains.”

Belle’s lips parted, her eyes glazing over as she tried to picture it.

A house call.

Perhaps another place, another time, another universe.

Herself, with a massive collection of things in need of appraising. Rumford knocking at her door, prepared to take inventory of it all. He’d probably walk around with a little clipboard as he inspected each item with care, and she could offer him a cup of tea as he worked. Maybe a storm would hit, and it’d be far too dangerous for him to drive. She would have no choice but to insist he stay for dinner. He’d have no choice but to accept. And then she could ask him if he’d mind it if she changed into something more comfortable. Like a silk négligée.

“But, don’t worry!” Ariel said, squaring her shoulders. “Mr Gold gave me a specific set of instructions for what to do in the event that you arrived before he got back!”

“Oh.” Belle tucked her hair behind her ear, and her silly scenario behind a polite smile.

“The first of those instructions was to offer you a bottle of water and-or a snack.” Ariel explained dutifully, lifting her chin.

She could be the lonely, recent divorcee looking to part with all her ex-husband's material possessions (now hers, of course) so that she could finally pursue her dreams of traveling the world. Rumford could be… Rumford. He'd have to stop by the house a few times– because there'd be so much for him to appraise– and they'd strike up a heated romance. There'd be conversations that got too intimate, looks that lingered too long, until finally– on the last of his visits– they'd fall into bed together. They’d lie in each other's arms afterward, and she'd lace their fingers, look into those brown eyes and whisper, “Come to Paris with me.”

Ariel cleared her throat. “...Might I interest you in a bottle of water or a snack? Belle?”

“Oh. Oh, no thank you.” Belle chuckled and shook her head.

“Mr Gold ordered a charcuterie board fresh from the deli a few blocks down just for the occasion, that's got six different cheeses!” Tilly added to tempt her. “...That’s how you know he cares–” she winked. “He tries to feed you.”

Belle nibbled her lip. “Well, maybe when he gets back,” she said. “We can um, try to feed each other.”

Tilly scrunched her face. “Huh?”

Surely little cuts of cheese would be as sexy and fun to feed Rumford as cookies or strawberries, right? Maybe a dollop of Brie on her finger so he could–

“Alright then!” Ariel clapped her hands together, snapping Belle out of her fantasy again. “The second thing was to give you a brief tour of the building, starting with showing you where the restroom is in case you’d like to use it before we begin.”

“Oh, I’m fi–”

“Right this way, please,” she interrupted, spinning on her heels and heading to the back of the shop. Belle followed after her, dividing her attention between her host and the lovely bits and bobs everywhere. They neared the sales counter, and rows of sparkling watches, rings, and pendants lined the glass case.

“This building was built in 1847 and originally served as the offices for the Syracuse Times newspaper,” Ariel began. “The newspaper went defunct in 1923, and the building was abandoned until 1930– when the city took ownership and repurposed it into low income housing.”

There was sound of a car driving by, and Belle quickly looked over her shoulder to see if it was a certain black Cadillac.

It was a just a Honda.

“During the war,” Ariel continued, “the units were vacated and the building faced neglect, which led it to condemnation in 1944. But then– in 1948– it was purchased back from the city by the Mills family as part of a historic preservation effort. After the repairs were completed, it served as a department store, and throughout the seventies, the upper floors were renovated and converted into luxury apartments. However– as the other buildings in the area continued to decay, so did the value of the here’s the bathroom on your right.”

Ariel stopped abruptly at a door marked Women, and Belle almost stumbled right into her.

“Oh. No, I’m fine.” she assured. “Please, go on.”

Ariel blinked. “Right, then. Where was I?”

Tilly slumped against the wall and folded her arms over her chest. “The part where they tried to gentrify the block for the third, fourth, and fifth times, I believe.”

“Ah.” Ariel smiled. “Yes. You see, this retail space was an art gallery in 1989, a designer boutique in 1993, a posh nightclub from 1994 to 1998, and then another art gallery– all before Dr Gold first leased it in 2003 after having moved from Glasgow with nothing more than his wife and son, two PhDs, three Master’s degrees, and a dream. It’s been Mr Gold’s Pawn and Antiques ever since, making his shop the longest-running business on this block in over fifty years!”

“Oh wow…” Belle marvelled– not that Rumford being a sensible and successful business owner came as any surprise!

“Mr Gold’s Pawn and Antiques has become quite a fixture here in Syracuse’s historic district.” Ariel boasted. “You’ll find it mentioned on several tour programs in the area, and has been featured in several national publications dedicated to the fine practices of pawnbroking, antique collecting, and antique restoration.”

“Some of which I hear have readership in the dozens,” Tilly deadpanned.

Ariel pursed her lips and slowly turned to Tilly with a scolding look. “Anyway, Belle,” she said, “Feel free to have a look around, and if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to–”

“What's it like working with Rumford?”

The question had leapt out of her mouth without her permission, but all her enthusiasm. “You know. Out of uh, curiosity. Because… sixteen percent of couples meet at work? And it's… a side of Rumford I haven't really…” she cleared her throat, “Well, I mean technically he was working when I met him, but–”

“It's amazing!” Ariel squealed. “I was only hired as an assistant, but over the years, Mr Gold has taught me all sides of the business. Pawnbroking, market value appraisals and insurance valuations, jewelry and watch repair...” She leaned in and lowered her voice to a whisper. “He started letting me make inventory purchases last year– I don't even have to check in with him if it costs us less than five hundred dollars!”

Belle laughed with giddy excitement. Could it be, that Ariel shared her enthusiasm for all things Rumford?

“He must think very highly of you,” she said. “I don’t imagine Rumford would entrust such responsibilities to just anyone.”

“You think so?” Ariel asked, and Tilly rolled her eyes. “Because I mean, it’s such a privilege working with Dr Gold. He’s just… the best in the business. You know, my father always used to tell me I was wasting my time hoarding junk. But then one day I saw Dr Gold recount the provenance of a fork on TV– and that’s when I realized I could actually make a career out of it!”

Belle gasped and inched closer. “I remember that episode!”

Of course, she remembered all the episodes– but it wasn’t every day (or any day, for that matter) that she got to talk to someone about the Roadshow!

“Milwaukee Hour Three in 2012?” Ariel asked.

“Mhm! That’s the one!” Belle nodded. “He was wearing a navy suit that day,” she sighed. “Looked so handsome...”

Ariel opened her mouth to speak, but cut herself off. “I… can't say I noticed. But–” she continued, “it was the same Milwaukee event where he appraised a set of antique corkscrews!”

“The ones that came in the cool wooden box!” Belle remembered.

Ariel gasped and pointed an affirming finger at her. “Yes! My favorite was the brass one that looked like–”

“A seashell!” Belle finished.

Ariel’s mouth opened wide into an awestruck grin, and Belle could only mirror it right back.

“I’ve never watched an episode of Antiques Roadshow in my life.”

They deflated then, their little moment over, and turned to look at Tilly.

“Mr Gold caught me trying to steal a Rolex.” she said. “Well, six Rolexes. ”

“Oh my.” Belle raised her brows and blinked. “That sounds like quite a story.”

“Mhm.” she nodded. “He asked me how much I expected to sell ‘em for, and when I told him, he laughed and said they were worth at least a hundred times as much– and that if I wanted to sell them, I might as well do so from behind the counter and earn a proper commision.”

Ariel wrapped an arm around her shoulders affectionately. “Tilly here snuck her way into our jewelry case and into our hearts.”

Tilly returned the gesture, and Belle thought the two of them looked liked sisters, hugging like that. “Working for Mr Gold is like having a second dad, really,” she said. “An awkward, fancy, dad.”

“He is, isn’t he?” Ariel thought out loud. "You know, I had my first Marine ball with my boyfriend last year, and I was telling Mr Gold how nervous I was, because I’d never been to anything fancy like that before? He spent the rest of the week teaching me table etiquette and how to Waltz!” she laughed. “Had me reformed into a proper lady come Friday!”

Belle drew in a deep breath, her mind already sprinting through the possibilities. “...Rumford knows how to ballroom dance?” she asked.

“Mhm!” Ariel nodded. “Said his aunties taught him.” She stared ahead blankly for a moment, then clicked her tongue. “I remember his allergies were really bad that day…”

Tilly snorted and traipsed back over to the sales counter. “I don't think those were allergies.” she said, pulling up a chair and sitting down.

“Uh-huh,” Ariel nodded. “Oh yeah. He said the ragweed was making his eyes–”

“If those were allergies, then he must have also been allergic to the time I told him I got my GED.” Tilly said, slipping her phone out of her pocket and tilting back in her chair.

“No…” Ariel dismissed with a playful roll of her eyes. “He just got a little emotional that day because he was so proud of–”

Tilly raised a brow at her, and Belle found herself smiling again. Did Rumford know his employees saw him as a father figure?

Oh, how she had the mind to kiss him! Again!

...Had it been fifteen minutes yet?

Ariel perked up and pointed a thumb at the door behind the counter. “Anyway, hey– I gotta watch in the back I'm working on right now. You wanna see? It's a vintage Cartier from like, 1930 or something.”

“Oh, I'd love to!” Belle nodded. Here she was, being invited to the back room of Rumford’s shop! Who knew what wonders lied beyond that door!

“Gah, it's so cool!” Ariel squealed, waving Belle over. “Come, come!”

She thrust the door open, and as Belle followed her inside, she didn't know where to look. There were boxes piled high on sturdy shelves and pieces of furniture covered with heavy tarps– some labeled with what she could only imagine were clients’ names.

A stately desk sat to the left, backed by a row of file cabinets, and Belle decided it must be where Rumford spent the better part of his days carrying out the less glamorous side of his work– hunched over a ledger or scattered pages of research with a creased brow.

Ariel led her to a long, wooden workbench on the opposite side of the room. The wall behind it was lined with crowded shelves and cabinets, and tools ranging from the tiniest forceps to the heaviest rubber mallet hung from a segment of pegboard.

“Customer brought this in last week,” she explained, taking her seat and putting her glasses back on. “Now, we only do quartz watch servicing in-house– we don't have the proper facilities to do mechanical watches– but we're taking care of all the cosmetic work on this one before we sending off to our watch guy.”

Belle sat beside her and it was only then that she saw it. The thing had a distinct rectangular face framed by white diamonds and a mesh link band in gleaming white gold.

“It’s beautiful,” she said in a whisper, scooting closer for a better look. “You know, for all the jewelry I've seen on the show– I’ve never actually seen what goes into repairing it.”

Ariel picked it up and held it under the light. “Few of the stones were missing, and a whole bunch of them are loose,” she explained, using a tiny pair of tweezers to point. “It’s a pavé setting, so the tricky part is tightening the prongs for one stone without loosening the stone next to it.”

She gave one of the outermost stones a wiggle to demonstrate, then swapped her tweezers for a pair of pliers and carefully nudged the prong into its rightful place. Belle watched her repeat the process a few times, moving from one stone to the next. At one of them she hesitated, and inspected the watch more closely. “See now, this one’s gone flat,” she said, and Belle tilted her head, squinting to see. “It can’t grip the stone at all, so it's gonna have to be retipped, and that’s a whole other–”

“Miss Halloran?”

Belle’s ears pricked at the sound of his voice.

Rumford. Rumford was back!

“Back here, Mr Gold!” Ariel hollered. She continued to work for a few seconds, then suddenly dropped her tools and jumped to her feet. “I mean, is there anything I can help you with, Mr Gold?” she offered, scurrying to the door. “Hang on, I'll be right–”

Ariel bumped into him at the doorway and froze, but that didn't keep him from peering over her– or rather around, as he she was considerably taller than him in her heels.

“Belle.” he smiled, face poking through the doorway.

Smoothing out her blouse, Ariel took a step back and let him in, Tilly following close behind.

Belle rushed to her feet, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Hi, Rumford,” she smiled back, but her voice only came out as a whisper as she drank up the sight of him.

Oh, what a dish he was! Looking so wonderfully kissable in his purple shirt and pinstripes!

“Oh, Belle,” he smiled again, making his way over and wrapping his arms around her.

Belle closed her eyes, relishing how warm and cuddly his hugs were. And how yummy he smelled. And–

“How was your trip?” he asked. “Didn't get lost on the–”

She cupped his face in her hands and reached up on her toes to peck him on the lips. “It was just fine,” she assured him.

“I-I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long. I tried to be quick, but I-I–”

“Hardly at all.”

“Good,” he relaxed. “That's good.”

Belle swept a lock of hair away from his cheek. “You look really handsome today.” she said softly.

He scoffed and looked away, cheeks shy and pink when he looked back at her. “You have a habit of saying that.”

“Well, you have a habit of looking handsome.”

His smile widened, and Belle felt him grasp her hand– and a tell-tale brush of his thumb against her knuckles let her know what was coming next. “I’d say you have a habit of looking beautiful, but I’m afraid it would be inaccurate; you, sweetheart, simply are beaut –”

Rumford paused with her hand only halfway to his lips when someone cleared their throat, robbing Belle of her kiss.

“You know what, Tilly?” Ariel said. “I think it’s past time we dusted the showroom.”

Tilly frowned. “What do you mean? I just did it the other–”

“I said I think it’s past time we dusted the showroom.” she repeated, jerking her head toward the door.

“Oh!” Tilly gasped. “Right, right.”

Rumford furrowed his brows. “The showroom looks fi–”

“Filthy! I know!” Ariel rolled her eyes emphatically.

“Shameful.” Tilly agreed.

“Anyway, it was lovely to meet you Belle!” Ariel said, opening the door to the closet and grabbing an armful of various cleaners, furniture polishes, and rags.

“Mhm! Charmed!” Tilly added, rolling out the vacuum. The wheels got stuck on the door trim, and she hoisted the thing up, dropping it noisily onto the hardwood floor.

“Easy now!” Rumford winced, “Watch the... floors.”

They hurried out of the room, hollering further niceties until the door slammed shut behind them, leaving Belle and Rumford standing in silence.

He darted his eyes back and forth between her and the door, rubbing a hand over his neck.

Belle bit back a smile, slowly wrapping her arms around him for another hug. She nuzzled against his shoulder and let out a happy sigh when she felt him hug her back.

Rumford's hugs had a way of warming her from the inside out and the outside in! Oh, if only she could fall asleep in his arms like this!

Well, she supposed that in a few hours she probably would be!

Belle slowly pulled away to see his face, and he stared back, the corner of his mouth giving a slight twitch– as though whatever he was feeling couldn’t be contained by his smile. He wet his lips, parted them as if to speak, but hesitated.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I-I got something for you.” he said at last. “A-a gift.”

Belle tried not to grin too widely. “I um, got something for you too,” she said.

“Oh,” he chuckled nervously. “You see, I– well, I was debating when I ought to give it to you, but… well, now you’re here, I– It seems silly to wait.”

Her grin broke free as she laughed, and his cheeks rounded into a smile.

“Well, my gift is um… perishable?” she said. “So–” she slipped away to dig through her bag where she’d set it on the workbench, carefully pulling out a white box. “It's um… Not much, but… well, I tried to remember your favorites.” she said, holding it out to him.

He hesitated, then opened the box.

“Oh, Belle…” he chuckled and shook his head, and Belle’s cheeks were already becoming sore from smiling. Had anyone ever given her as much cause to smile as her Rumford did?

She had a smile on her face yesterday, when she'd stopped by the bakery. But it wasn’t the promise of taking home some white chocolate raspberry cookies that had her in such high spirits, nor the mint chocolate chip, or the salted chocolate chunk and almond. No, no– it was the thought of the look on Rumford’s face when she gave them to him!

“I thought we could um, enjoy them later.” she said, licking her lips while she stared at his own.

“Sweetheart, this is too much.” he smiled.

“We’ll have to share them with the ladies, then.”

“P-please.” Rumford shook his head and walked over to his desk. Setting the box of cookies down, he unlocked one of the drawers and retrieved a small, oblong box adorned with blue ribbon. He had his own eager smile on his face as he walked back over and handed it to her. “O-open yours.”

Belle hesitated before plucking from his hands, immediately noting its weight– and a slight rattle inside that made her heart tingle and her palms sweat.

Jewelry, jewelry, jewelry!

Belle scolded herself for the thought. She was far from materialistic– but the significance of being gifted jewelry by one’s sweetheart wasn’t lost on her, either. Jewelry was serious! They were serious!

“I’m um… guessing it isn’t cookies,” she chuckled, tucking her hair behind her ear.

He wet his lips and blushed, rubbing the back of his neck again. “‘Fraid not.”

She slid the ribbon off the box, and her fingers trembled as she pulled the lid off.

“Oh, Rumford…” she gasped. “It's beautiful.”

A bracelet! A bracelet! A bracelet! Gold! A string of gold with little flowers dangling like fairy lights! Roses! Gleaming! As if the petals had been kissed with morning dew! Jewelry! Shiny!

“I-I saw it and I just… well, I knew I couldn't let it leave this shop unless it was on your wrist.”

She blushed and nibbled her lip, fighting back another smile.

Rumford gave the box a pointed glance. “May I?”

Belle offered her wrist to him and nodded eagerly.

She watched, practically vibrating, as he gingerly removed the bracelet from its box. Sucked in a breath when his fingers brushed against her wrist, warm and rough next to the cold, smooth chain. There was the gentle click as he fastened the clasp, and there it was! A little piece of Rumford she could have with her wherever she went!

She played with one of the little rosebuds, poking it with her finger, and smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

“D-do you like it?” he asked.

“Rumford, I love it. It’s perfect.” she assured him.

She admired it on her wrist again and had a fleeting thought, but oh no. She couldn’t dare.

He caught her sideways glance and tilted his head. “What is it?”

“Could you um… tell me about it?”

A small smile slowly bloomed across his face. “Oh, darling, I'd love to. Please– sit,” he said, gesturing at a lavish settee on the far wall. Its wooden frame was intricately carved with scrolling flourishes and acanthus leaves, and the whole thing looked like it belonged in the decorative arts wing of the Louvre more than it did the cluttered back room of a pawn shop.

Belle stopped short of it and turned around. “I feel as though I shouldn’t be sitting on this,” she admitted.

“No– go on,” he chuckled. “It’s fine. We’ll be reupholstering it next week.”

Belle frowned. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a French Rococo piece,” Rumford shrugged. He stared at it for a moment and scowled. “That Jacobean upholstery the previous owner had it fitted with is hardly appropriate,” he explained disdainfully, taking her hand and inviting her to sit. “It’s appalling, the sort of things people think they can get away with.”

“Oh,” Belle giggled. “Well, in that case–” she dropped herself onto the seat cushion unceremoniously.

He smiled down at her as he unbuttoned his jacket, but Belle's imagination only had but a few seconds to run with that particular visual before he finished and took his seat beside her.

She gave him a moment to smooth out his tie before squirming against his side, at which point he laid her hand palm-up in his lap and tucked his thumb beneath the chain of the bracelet, rubbing her pulse point.

There was no way he didn't realize what he was doing.

“Perhaps first, sweetheart,” he said, “You might... humor me?”

Belle shifted to face him better and wet her lips. “I'd love to humor you, Rumford.”

He scoffed and looked down at their hands. “I was actually wondering if... you might describe it to me.”

She smiled and tilted her head at him. “I don't understand.”

“For you to look at me and see someone worth your while, Belle– you must see the world far more beautifully, and in such more vivid color, than I do. The things in this shop have become so pedestrian to me over the years. I can't help wondering what it must be like, to see things through your eyes.”

Silly man! she thought. Did he really think she was going to let him get away with speaking such ill of himself?

Belle reached her other hand up to cup his cheek, searched those brown eyes for any hesitation, and when she found none, pressed her lips to his.

“Of course you're worth my while, Rumford,” she told him as she pulled away, and he blushed and smiled just like she imagined he would.

“Oh, Belle, I...” he trailed off and rubbed his thumb into another little circle on her wrist. “Thank you.”

“But let's see now...” Belle pressed her lips together and studied the thing closely. “Well, um… I'd say it looks like an art nouveau piece.” she decided.

He lifted her wrist up and lowered his head to peck it with a kiss. “Then you'd be absolutely, one hundred percent correct, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” she giggled. “Rumford…”

“Go on.” he said. “Explain your rationale, Miss French.”

Belle fought back a smile.

Miss French.

“Well… if it came from this shop, I imagine it must be from no later than than the mid twentieth century, and a floral motif like this would have gone out of favor come the 1920s.”

“Very good.”

“But um… other than that, I'm not so sure. It just… doesn't look like it could be any older than the mid-nineteenth century. I'm afraid I can't articulate why, though.” she admitted with a frown. “I just can't–” she shook her head and laughed. “Oh my, this is going to sound silly, but I just can't picture it being worn by one of the heroines of my Regency novels.”

“That's fine,” he smiled, and shifted beside her. “And perfectly accurate. You see– enamel first surfaced in European jewelry during the baroque period, pioneered by the French artist Jean Toutin of Châteaudun.”

“Oh,” she gasped, feeling her arm break out in goosebumps at his effortless pronunciation.

“However, its popularity never quite rivalled that of diamonds and colored gemstones. Enamel was prone to chipping, and so come the eighteenth century, innovations in cutting techniques made bright, sparkling pieces with brilliant-cut diamonds the standard. Little of these pieces survive, though. Diamonds– due to their immense value– were often refitted and reset into new, more fashionable pieces over time, rather than kept as heirlooms.”

“That’s a shame,” Belle frowned.

“Indeed. You'll find such pieces in museums, but they're incredibly rare in the antique market.”

“Do you have any?” she asked. “Here, in the shop?”

His eyes drifted up to the ceiling as he thought about it. “...Not at the moment, no.”

“Hm,” Belle accepted simply.

He smiled and wet his lips. “Now, while floral motifs gained popularity all throughout the nineteenth century, it wasn't until the rise of art nouveau that jewelers began to really revisit enamel for their designs. The avant-garde weren't concerned so much with the value or longevity of the materials used, as much as they were the merit of the designs themselves. Diamonds were used as accents rather than centerpieces–if at all– as you can see here,” he explained, rolling one of the small rosebuds between his fingers so that the small stone in the center could catch the light.

“I like that about it,” she decided. “Not so flashy.”

“I agree,” he said, and they were so close, and he was so close.

Belle laid her free hand over his, slowly brushing her thumb back and forth over his knuckles.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Her heartbeat quickened at the warmth and nearness of his voice, and she glanced back up at him. “Could you tell me more?”

Rumford scoffed. “Of course,” he said, wrapping his arm around her a little more tightly. “You see, many of these designs possessed all the… eroticism one might expect of any work of art from the movement. Nude women, mermaids and fae– all things far too scandalous or otherwise ostentatious for the average wearer. As a result, art nouveau jewelry was most often worn by glamorous showgirls or demimonde, who were–”

“Unmarried women with sugar daddies.” Belle cut in, wetting her lips.

Rumford smiled. “...That's right.” he said, wetting his own lips and brushing his thumb over her wrist again. “Good girl.”

Belle sank her teeth into her bottom lip and shifted in her seat. “I um, once read a book, where the protagonist was one such woman.”

His mouth curled into a crooked smirk. The same kind of smirk he wore in her dreams, right before they made out.

“That doesn't surprise me one bit, Miss French,” he said.

“Oh?” she teased. “And just what are you saying? Dr Gold?”

Was he being naughty?

“That one often becomes what one reads. And that you, darling, are as ethereal and bewitching as–”

The door to the showroom cracked open, and Ariel's arm reached through the opening, groping for the keyring hanging just beside the light switch.

“Sorry!” she hollered from behind the door, before knocking the keys off of their hook and onto the floor. “Forgot the– Whoops!”

Her hand withdrew, then reappeared along the floor, reaching again.

“Just ignore me!”

“Miss Halloran.” Rumford sighed. “For the love of– just come in, will you!”

Her hand froze, then disappeared again. “Okay!” she said. “I'm coming in!”

The door opened slowly and Ariel tiptoed inside, clearly trying to avert her eyes. She inevitably found them on the settee, and raised her hand in a tiny wave. “...hi.”

Rumford furrowed his brows. “Why is everyone behaving so bizarrely today?”

Ariel tilted her head. “I'm not– Oh!” she giggled and nearly dove to the floor for the keys. “There they are! Sneaky things!” She snapped back up and needlessly smoothed out her blouse. “I’m sorry– Wh-who's being bizarre?”

Rumford looked at the clock and sighed. “It’s four o'clock on a Friday.”

“Mhm,” she nodded. “Sure is, Mr Gold.”

“I think we're all eager to see ourselves home, no? Why don't you and Tilly start closing up?”

“Okay, sounds great.” she said, but made no move to leave.

Rumford raised his brows. “Miss Halloran? Was there something–?”

“Yeah. Yes. Um… Tilly was wondering if maybe she could uh–”

“Yes,” he smiled. “Yes, she can take the charcuterie board home.”

*****

Neal stopped scrolling through the app on his phone when he heard the front door crack open.

Over an hour earlier than expected.

Quickly plugging his phone into its charger, he jumped off his bed and bounded for the stairs.

“Hey, Po–” he froze midway when he saw her.

Tiny. Tiny brunette. In an even tinier skirt. The only thing about her that wasn't tiny were her shoes. Big, platform, stripper shoes. And yet, even with them on, she was still tinier than Pop.

So, so tiny.

Neal quietly retreated back up the stairs and watched the woman smile as his father gently removed her jacket. He pressed a doting little kiss to her shoulder and she spun around, giggling and making a comment about what a gentleman he was. He scoffed and Neal caught him blushing when he turned to hang her tiny jacket on the coat rack.

Pop turned to face her again and cupped her elbows, leaning in closely and rubbing little circles into her skin with his thumbs. Neal couldn't make out what he was saying, but given the context and the way she was blushing and demurely looking away, he had a few ideas.

He shook them away.

The tiny brunette nodded, they shared a quick peck on the lips, and Pop settled his hand on the small of her back, leading her toward the kitchen.

Oh, no.

This couldn't possibly the librarian he'd been telling him about. Pop told him she was younger and that she was beautiful– but surely this woman was too young, too… well, he wasn't about to use the word hot to describe a woman his dad was seeing but, if the platform shoes fit…

Neal finally continued his trek down the stairs, stomping loudly to alert them to his presence. He didn't need to walk in on anything he wasn't meant to see, after all. But when he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he caught his father in the middle of–

Grabbing a glass out of the cabinet.

“Ah. And here I was beginning to think there was an elephant in the house,” Pop deadpanned, stepping over to choose a bottle from the wine rack. “How many times do I have to tell ye tae stop stomping around like that? Old house like this, it–”

“Carries, I know.” Neal rolled his eyes.

Pop shot him a scolding look. “Do you?”

No correct answer to that, Neal quickly decided, and didn't say a word.

“Well, it's not important.” he dismissed, setting a bottle of wine out. “Son, I…” he spun around and rubbed his hand over the tiny woman's back, smiling at her. “I'd like to introduce you to Miss French.”

Yup.

Definitely his librarian.

This was no good. He wasn't supposed to be home for another hour, but she definitely wasn't supposed to be here for another hour.

It took Miss French a moment to finish making eyes at his father– a moment Neal used to muster as much calm as he could. No matter the fire and brimstone waiting to rain down on the three of them, the occasion called for politeness.

“Hey.” He finally offered his hand out. “S’Neal.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Neal.” she smiled, giving a startlingly firm handshake. “Your dad's um, told me a lot about you.”

“Oh. Great.” he said. “Miss… French.”

“You can just call me Belle.” she said, looking back at Pop expectantly.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I'm sorry, darling. You keep telling me and I keep–”

“Rumford, it's fine,” she hushed, taking his hand and smiling up at him. “Besides–” she whispered without really whispering at all, “I think I might like it when you call me Miss French…”

There was a flash of something strange in Pop's eyes, and the corner of his mouth tugged into a crooked smirk. “Is that so?” he murmured in her ear and tugged her a little closer. “...Miss French?”

“Rumford!” Belle giggled and smacked his arm. She suddenly fell silent and nibbled her lip, and good God, Pop was smoldering at her.

Gross.

Neal cleared his throat loudly. This was fine.

He would just need to act as surprised as they were when the time came. “...Right, well. I just came down to grab a soda, so–”

“Please–” his father cut in, “stay. We're about to start on dinner. We're making your favorite pork chops with red wine sauce, you know.”

Oh, hell yes.

“Hmm… pass. I uh, have homework?” He lied, quickly nabbing a soda can from the fridge and making a bolt for the stairs.

“Homework?” Pop asked. “Son, your classes haven't even started.”

“Oh, right. Homework… I meant, I have um…” he snapped his fingers, pretending to think of something.

Pop sighed. “Have you heard from your mother?” he asked.

“Uh… yeah!” he answered too quickly, laughing nervously. “Yeah, she landed like, half an hour ago.”

“Well... aren't you picking her up?”

Neal took a few heavy gulps from his soda can. “No. Why?”

“She's your mother.”

He shrugged. “So? She's a grown woman. She knows how to get an Uber– which is more than I can say for you.”

“Unbelievable.” Pop shook his head, but Belle giggled.

She had a sense of humor.

This was good.

“Hey– mom's the one who wanted to move back to Livahpool,” Neal said. “That she has to hop an eight hour flight and an hour cab ride every time she decides she wants to see me is her problem.”

Pop pressed his lips together. “So you're meeting her at the hotel at least?”

Neal's mouth hung open.

That was it. He was cornered.

“Uh… see, here's the thing about that,” he said. “You uh… you said Belle was coming this weekend.”

“Aye.”

“Well, today's Friday , so… technically… not the weekend?”

Pop wet his lips. The way he always did whenever he was pretending to not be angry about something. “What are you saying?”

Neal took a deep breath and braced himself. “I... might-have-told-mom-it-was-cool-if-she-came-over-for-dinner-tonight.” he blurted out as quickly as he could.

“What.”

“I was trying to be nice!” Neal said in his defense. “I thought– you know! Family dinner! All three of us! A one night offering to appease the gods!” he explained, gesturing wildly with his hands.

Pop tilted his head. “Your mother is… on her way to this house? Right now?”

“...Yes?”

“Oh, bloody hell.” Pop groaned. “She was supposed to– she was supposed to stay out of my hair.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “You know what? It's fine. This is all… going to be just fine.”

“Yeah! It's just like, Christmas came early this year!” Neal said. “But… you know. Just the bad parts.”

Pop sighed again. “No communication in this house.” he muttered under his breath. “W-when did this happen? Ye didnae think to tell me, son?”

“It… slipped my mind?”

“Did it?” he asked, and that was also definitely a rhetorical question.

“It did until this morning!” Neal admitted. “And I was going to tell you before you left so you'd have time to mentally prepare yourself, but you were acting really weird and it was killing the vibe!”

Pop reeled back, clutching a hand to his chest. “I was killing the vibe!?”

Neal snuck a glance at Belle– who, to her credit, seemed more entertained than anything.

“I didn't think it would be a big deal?” he grasped. “I mean it sucks, but it's not like, an emergency.” He swallowed hard, and pulled his trump card– “Look on the bright side: It's not like my life was in danger!”

The corners of Pop's mouth pinched in a way that said, I'm not angry. I'm just disappointed.

“What!?” Neal whined. “You're always telling me to like, be nicer to her and crap!”

Pop sighed. “I know, son. I know…”

“Oh! Oh!” he clapped his hands together, “I’ll just call and tell her not to come!”

Pop glared back at him like he had two heads. “No… don't... do that.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause it's no’ proper!” he cried. He took a deep breath, and then another. “Look. It's… it's not your fault.” Pop said calmly. “She should have checked with me first.”

Belle rubbed his shoulder and hushed a few words of comfort into his ear. He looked back at her with a weak smile, which grew stronger when she pecked him on the cheek.

The whole thing felt so weird and foreign, and yet… nice, Neal thought.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled. “It's just– you know how she does that thing. Where she's all, ‘I miss you, I don't see you enough…’ And then you feel guilty, so you just agree with whatever she's saying, and next thing you know, you've sold your second born–”

“It's fine.” Pop said, with all the acceptance of a man prepared to face his death. “It's just one meal, as you said. After all, what's the worst that could happen?”

Neal knew better than to answer that.

A/N: Thanks for sticking with this story y'all. u da real MVPs.

There's lots of big things on the horizon here, but updates will probably continue to be slow while I work on my Rumbelle Big Bang fic.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #fic: the boston hour

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honeylikewords · 5 years

Note

Hey, K, I know it’s been days but you still feel like infodumping about Spiderverse? :o

pettyprocrastination said to jonedwardbernthal:Hello yes I loved into the spiderverse with my heart and soul please info dump I require sustenance

YES I DO WANT TO INFODUMP ABOUT SPIDERVERSE THANK YOU FOR ASKING

okay okay so i’m gonna put this all under a cut for those who haven’t seen the movie and wish to remain spoiler free, and i’ll also put a couple images so that mobile users (who sometimes automatically see the post, apparently?) to warn them to scroll past!

(pls enjoy my crappy ms paint warning banner ghskhgdk)

SO FIRST OF ALL I WANT TO SAY that genuinely, this movie changed my life. I have never been as excited or happy about a movie as I was with this one, and can find few (if any) flaws with it. I would have to be hyper-nitpicky if I wanted to point out anything wrong with it, but overall, I gotta say, this movie inspired me, made me cry, made me laugh out loud, made me shake and jitter with excitement.

I should point out that, yes, the visuals can be kinda jarring, especially for sensitive people like me who react to flashing stimulus and abrupt movement very poorly, but I honestly LOVED the visual aspect of the film. The character design is incredible, the animation is so unique and stunning, and every single person has this wonderful individuality in the way they look and move that it just blows me away. This movie is already a frontrunner for an Oscar in the animation category, apparently, and it’s easy to see why.

The writing is also impeccable, with a quick pace and genuine humanity to it, and it feels so bright and alive! The way people talk is so full of character and personality, and Miles’ codeswitching is adorable and fun to listen to, and everyone has such a special and unique personality that comes through how they speak. The voice acting is INCREDIBLE and the array of the cast is SO awesome and I LOVE everyone who was in it!

I literally am so excited about everything that I’m having a hard time keeping this post linear and sensical, but I just! Love it so much!

Some people criticize the film by saying that it’s not really the “first black Spiderman movie” because Miles “shares the spotlight”, but, honestly? That didn’t come across to me at all. This movie felt entirely centered on Miles. Yes, Peter B. Parker played a big role, but, like, every movie has supporting characters and co-mains. I understand the frustration, but that’d kinda be like saying that Captain America: The First Avenger isn’t Steve’s story because Peggy gets screentime and so does Bucky. But I also do get where people are coming from and I find the frustration very valid.

But I LOVE all the spider-people, and they didn’t actually overwhelm the movie. Peni, SpiderNoir, and SpiderHam all took backseats. They were fun additions, but didn’t ever detract from the experience of this being Miles’ story. Even Gwen didn’t derail the film, or even Peter B.! They all stayed in their lanes and moved Miles’ story along, more like the wheels propelling him than roadblocks obfuscating his progression.

I loved every one of the characters, and I got so attached to all of them; Miles’ family really stands out to me, because they are such strong and loving characters, and it is so, so sadly rare to see loving black families portrayed like this. Jefferson, Miles’ dad, is allowed to be flawed without ever crossing the line into “bad dad” territory. He’s allowed to be wrong but still love his son and be doing the absolute best for him. Even Miles’ “bad” uncle, Aaron, made me cry and love him. When Aaron died, I was horrified (mostly because, I mean, god, we really did not need to see another black man getting shot by a white guy...), but they also never demonized Aaron, or downplayed the tragedy of his loss. He was heroic, even in his mistakes, and I think that was really noble on the part of the storytellers.

The movie just feels so lived in and loved and human, and you can tell that it’s just a work of art and love and passion. It’s a game-changer. I legitimately consider it the best Marvel movie ever made, on par with Black Panther in terms of artistic value and importance. It’s the fun of Thor: Ragnarok and the art and significance of Black Panther rolled into one, unique, amazing bundle that has forever set the bar for how I want movies, especially movies intended for families and children to be.

“Anyone can wear the mask” means something. It may sound like a cheesy cop-out, but it means that we don’t have to look up to Perfect Pillars Of White Heroism as our standards. It means black children from Brooklyn are heroes. Jewish people are heroes. Women are heroes. Asian people are heroes. Even Miles’ parents are heroes, and it shows the wide gamut of good people and what we owe to each other. While neither Rio nor Jefferson Morales-Davis are “superheroes”, they are legitimate heroes, doing their part to make the world a better place.

Also, check THIS:

Just saying!

Anyway, moving on; the jokes in the movie are awesome, and my family has been throwing them back and forth ever since we saw the movie. SpiderHam’s t-pose ascension into the black hole and “keep this, it’ll fit in your pocket” had us in tears. SpiderNoir and the Rubik’s cube? Incredible. Peter B. crying in the shower? Artistry.

AND NOW FOR ME TO TALK ABOUT THE AFTER CREDITS SCENE BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN HOLDING IT IN FOR S O L O N G

When I read that Oscar had a cameo in the movie, I needed to know. It was the only spoiler I allowed myself to know about, and when I heard he was going to be Spider-Man 2099/Miguel O’Hara, I flipped. I read nothing else about the scene, and wanted to go in blind, but I researched Miguel and, well, you know, I fell in love!

His scene was SO good and SO funny and I LOVE Miguel SO much, you have no idea. I am SO excited for him to be in the next movie (fingers crossed!) and can’t wait to see more of him. I do hope they give him more screen time, because he’s a great character, and because it’d be amazing to have a Latino Spider-Man AND a Afrolatino Spider-Man! And because, you know, more Oscar is always ideal.

I love, love, love Miguel, and Oscar was so funny (he has amazing comedic timing and such great range, omg), and I am desperate to see more of him. I haven’t stopped bombarding my poor friend Cydney with love and affection for Miggy in, like, two weeks. I’m sure she’s sick of it by now. Also, I kinda wanna write stuff about Miggy, lowkey, as self-indulgence, but for now I’ll just keep that foolishness to myself lol.

Miguel O’Hara Is My Boyfriend Now ghdkhgkldhg

Anyway, the movie is chock-full of amazing things, both from an artistic/cultural standpoint and from a Marvel-fan standpoint: so many easter eggs and little surprises, so much amazing writing, so much amazing character design, just!! So! Good! Please go see it immediately, because I’m itching to see it again and don’t know how I can resist going in for a second watch.

Also, Peter B. Parker is Jewish and it’s canon and if you want to step up and fight me about it, feel free to, but I will kick your ass. I will. Know this. Jewish Spider-Man FOREVER, FOOLS. No one is allowed to thirst after him if they also ignore his being Jewish or disrespect it, so if you wanna love him, you gotta love his Judaism too, or I’ll fist-fight you behind the Denny’s at 3 am and knock you the hell out.

also john mulaney’s cussing outtakes for spiderham are the funniest thing on earth and i’m crying

OH and I have the art book for the movie and everything is so *kisses fingers like an Italian cook* B E A U T I F U L! And the soundtrack? BOY I TELL YA I was listening to it for WEEKS in advance even when there were only three songs released and some of those tracks are, like, incredibly powerful, whooh.

Anyway GO SEE SPIDERVERSE. I LOVE IT. ALL OTHER SPIDER-MAN MOVIES ARE DOOKIE BY COMPARISON.

I have more I could say but I’m so excited I’m bouncing around and going hog wild dgkgdhgkg i love spider verse

#spiderverse #messages #spoilers #into the spiderverse spoilers #miggy: LOOK AT YOUR FINGER LOOK AT IT YOU ARE POINTING AT ME #me wiping tears from my eyes: i cant believe i love you so freakin much #Anonymous

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barpurplewrites · 5 years

Text

Loopholes in romance

A prequel to Not in the romantic fashion, because @joylee56 asked how Gold ended up marrying Belle.

-x-x-x-

Gold was rapidly losing his temper, his patience had vanished an hour ago, leaving his tone sharp and curt. He could already hear his accent thickening, if his control on his temper broke then the fine gentlemen would receive an education in colloquial obscenity.

Gold prided himself on his calm and measured approach to business negotiations, there was an art to making a deal and writing the perfect contract. Of course, making a deal was always easier when one did not have to bend to the follies of fashion. He knew what the answer would be, but he had to ask.

"And why can't we follow the traditional process?"

Sir Maurice, old title, older family, land rich but tightrope walking on the edge of bankruptcy, huffed at him; "Because Gold the old ways are exactly that old. Only fit for those of the lower classes..."

The distasteful curl of Sir Maurice’s lip was fleeting, but Gold had been watching for it. No matter how much he needed this deal it still irked his finer sensibilities to be reduced to making it with one such as Gold. Needs must when the devil drives, and Gold had long known that any fine ideals could be put aside to keep the bailiff from the door.

"…these days the elite follow the example of our illustrious Queen and her beloved Prince. A blind wedding led to their happiness and so will it lead to yours and my daughter's"

Gold pinched the bridge if his nose and wondered for the tenth time if this was a sensible idea. The business side was sound; he would secure Sir Maurice's finances and have a controlling vote in all ventures current and future. But the road to secure the deal and a better place for himself in society was one he had avoided for all his forty years on earth; marriage.

And because of this frankly ridiculous fad sprung from the royal family he was expected to go in to the state of wedded bliss blind.

He'd put off marrying for a few years and now he was paying the price. The fashion had changed, and common sense had been tossed out of the window in the name of romantic foolery.

Gold could step back from this deal without losing any ground. Sir Maurice was the desperate party here, and while a marriage to Miss French would improve Gold’s social standing, he could continue to make his way without it. The quality folk of society might not like him, but their abysmal financial sense meant that they needed him.

Was he willing to gamble and hope the he and Miss French were compatible? Thoughts of his beautiful but oftentimes lonely house drifted through his mind and he decided that he was willing to take the risk.

"Very well, we shall follow the fashion. I will wed Miss French three months from now, and we will meet the first time at the altar."

Sir Maurice was quick to sign the contract and pour the port. Gold refused to let his reluctance show, but that didn't mean he didn't feel it, the apprehension that came with a gamble were the odds were out of his control. As he signed his name it hit him that in this instance the odds had a name and face, Miss Belle French was the variable he could not account for.

While Sir Maurice was making toasts to a happy union and a prosperous business future Gold masked the fear that rose within him. Had he just made a terrible mistake?

Gold was accustomed to fear. It had long been a constant companion, from childhood when he was never sure if his father would praise or mock him, from his teenage years when he had to duck his mother's hand and avoid her cruel words, to adulthood when he constantly waited to be ousted from the position he had clawed for himself in society. Gold knew fear well, and knew how to face it with feigned bravery, but in the question of his upcoming marriage he had no knowledge to draw on. So, he did the only thing he could think of and paid a visit to his friend Madden.

Jefferson Madden, Lord Hatfield, was considered charmingly eccentric by society at large. While eyebrows had been raised at his friendship with Gold, no one was truly surprised. Madden was simply the sort of fellow to form unusual friendships. Once the ladies and gentlemen of Madden's circle had perceived Gold's usefulness many had if not welcomed the lowborn fellow, then had tolerated him.

There were many whispered rumours about Gold’s roots, but Madden was the only person who knew the truth, or at least as much of the truth as Gold had been willing to share with him during a blunt conversation some years into their established friendship. Gold was an illegitimate son of a lord and his housekeeper. He had apparently been educated as a gentleman, in case his father needed a spare, as he bitterly put it. Gold had not offered the name of his father, and Madden had not pressed the matter.

Over the years Madden had seen Gold display all manner of emotions, but he had never seen this blend of desperation and fear on his friend’s face before. There was something more troubling Gold than the new marriage ideas.

"You are a braver man than I, Gold, it would take a shotgun to get me to the altar these days. Then again of course there are very few ladies I am not acquainted with, so the chances of a blind marriage for me are slim to none."

Gold took a sip of his brandy and asked hopefully; "Do you know Miss French?"

It was against the trend to provide a man with any information about his bride-to-be, but Madden frequently bucked trends for the simple pleasure of the shock it caused. In this case his friend was in need of reassurance and trends could go hang.

"By sight only. We have never been formally introduced. Sir Maurice has kept the young lady on a tight rein since her mother’s passing.”

Gold sagged back into his chair and stared morosely at his glass. Madden opted to be up beat and cheerful, sometimes his exuberance for a subject would cause Gold to reveal his feelings in the form of a quip or biting remark.

"Buck up old man, you've been wanting to wed for ages and now the date is only three months away."

"And I will wait blindly at the altar to exchange I dos with a woman who has never set eyes on me. What if she runs screaming from the church? What if she doesn't? Jeff?"

Gold's use of his given name told madden the depth of his anxiety.

"You are concerned that she will object to your appearance?"

Gold nodded and waved a hand at himself; "How could she not?"

Madden found nothing objectionable in Gold’s looks, if fact had his friend shared his inclinations he would have happily enjoyed becoming intimately involved with him. Gold had shown no interest in Madden’s subtly flirtations, and they had become a simple part of their communication, and nothing more. For some reason Gold thought himself repulsive.

"Why don't you casually bump into Miss French at a gathering? You get a look at her and she gets a look at you."

Gold snorted; "It is not permitted under these bloody stupid rules of romance."

Madden grinned and clapped his hands together; "Then we have a fortuitous accident to plan."

After much consideration Gold had conceded to an apparent chance meeting between himself and Miss French in a public setting where she was well chaperoned. His thinking in this had been if love at first sight was now accepted by society then revulsion at first sight would also be. He was adamant that there should be no shame or blame attached to Miss French if she took one look at him and refused to go through with the wedding.

Willingly aided by Madden he had spent a month sewing the seeds of suggestion in certain well-connected ears. There was already quiet talk in the salons that it maybe wise to prepare for the possibility of an instant dislike occurring between bride and groom; a marriage unhappy from the start would spell problems for the production of heirs, and the dreadful possibility of scandal further down the line. The insane fad of blind marriage was still being lauded as the done thing, but now there was a little bending of the rigid rules that had been dreamed up for this romantic nonsense.

Gold had not been expecting to stride into the assembly and set eyes on the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. There was the expected kerfuffle about his presence, carefully started by Madden, and quickly picked up by Sir Maurice and some gossipy matrons. Gold made a formal bow to his intended who surprised him by returning a deep curtsey before he turned his back on her and allowed himself to be escorted out.

He waited on tenterhooks for her to make a formal rejection of their engagement. It did not come. Gold had to accept that he was marrying a woman he had never spoken to.

And he was terrified.

#rumbelle #sfw

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jaywhitecotton · 5 years

Text

Fuck Elvis

I used to play this terrible game with some monstrous friends at karaoke shows. It was all based on how Michael Jackson died at the right time and if he molested just one more kid we’d be screwed out of decades of music and nostalgia.

We’d then apply other artists to this molestation scale. Like if MJ set the standard at say 7 known kids we’re pretty sure he finger banged, how many could say Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler get away with?

Turns out - it’s one. One for sure, but I’m pretty sure there would have to be at least three before we as a society are willing to let go of Dream On or Bruce Willis’s meteor sacrifice.

Bob Dylan? So hard. Old white NPR people would blame the motorcycle accident and give up everything after to protect his earlier legacy, but comparing Michael Jackson to Bob Dylan’s importance? He’s got to be able to molest as many - if not three more kids - than the King of Pop, right? I mean Jewish or not, he is still white so that has to give him the edge over Jacko in what he can get away with.

Anyhoo

Comics have been acting like comedy has been bringing “truth to power!” and patting themselves on the back, but thirty years of Michael Jackson jokes couldn’t do what one documentary has done.

Proving if you really want any justice these days, you need to first invest in some production value and an editor who knows how to make criminal acts look especially bad.

The reactions are pouring in and people are very conflicted. Many questioning whether or not it’s ok to like an artist because of their lurid personal life.

Look, can we come to a consensus on just one thing?

Human beings have been giant flesh bags of hot garbage since the very beginning of our upright existence. We started out so bad, we’re not even sure of what are real beginnings were actually like.

And its not even people that are the worst either. Look at life itself.

Nature is gruesome and horrifying! Every nature documentary is inherently a horror movie missing the scary cello mood music. If you knew how much ducks gang-raped in real life you would burn any remanence of all those duck-themed shows from the 90’s.

Even the creation of space and time was the result of a destructive explosion that shit us out into the nothingness of space.

Disagree? Thinks humans are great? Cool. Keep in mind a lot of people watched a movie about a guy who sexually abused children and their first thought was “Can I still grab my dick and effeminately scream ‘ohhhhh’ whenever it gets super windy? Because I don’t want to live in a world where I can’t do that!”

To me anytime a person does something exceptional - THAT should be the thing that is celebrated. Like “Wow, you overcame being a piece of shit and had a moment of triumph for our species, well done ya piece of shit!”

Thomas Jefferson and the Declaration of Independence, Gandhi and Civil Disobedience, Beethoven’s 9th have all stood the test of time and those acts are worthy of praise.

Are we going to really miss Ignition (remix)?

I’m not saying any of these people’s flaws should be ignored, but seriously - there were plenty of slave fuckers, wife abusers, and piss-on-tweeners out there who not only did that shit - but didn’t even have the decency to form an experimental democratic republic placing power in the hands of the people, much less write a catchy tune.

We have got to start holding a higher standard for what we consider legit and meaningful art.

Is Trapped in the Closet really an achievement for humanity? Is the cinematic legacy of Space Jam ruined by the tainting of I Believe I Can Fly?

Was American Beauty and House of Cards our civilization’s finest cinematic moments? Has there been nothing else to watch?

Can we no longer backwards slide dance at house parties because a guy who dressed like a sequined private eye slept with kids?

I’m not saying you can’t still enjoy those things, or even question your feelings about them. I’m saying don’t make those things more important than they actually are. You can both think an actor should be castrated and get lost in visualized fiction.

Just as easily as you can decide to never watch again. It’s all disposable.

To me the real crime is needing a movie like American Beauty to be the pinnacle of human achievement because you got your first handy in the theater when it came out or whatever.

Not that anyone is exactly saying that, but you big bad wolves get my straw house point.

What is the value of achievement? How do we measure what’s important? I’m not sure. Maybe it’s what the consensus decides should stay. Maybe it’s the individual.

Sometimes it feels like a lot of our general arguments are between the perspectives of group thinking socialists versus self-motivated libertarians. Maybe they’re both right, I guess it depends on the situation.

Personally I think most the arguments about entertainers matters most to the people who have a vested interest in brands and making it in the ‘look at me’ industry.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m in the thick of it having done music and standup most of my life and have the same guttural need for a stranger’s approval, but sometimes I feel surrounded by people who treat every moment of their lives like a biopic. Selling themselves on social media as if they’re the subject of their own Rolling Stone exposé.

People who define themselves by the most disposable of expressions and since trying to be good and known is so difficult, decided it’s easier to just simulate success instead of working harder on the mediums.

You know, frauds.

I’m surrounded by a generation of ‘fake it til you make it’ personalities who thrive on all the shit I find utterly useless, meaningless and the worst crime - boring.

Entrepreneurs in narcissism who communicate through gossip and trade in brand expression, littering the artistic landscape with recycled lateral thinking dog turds.

It’s exhausting,debilitating, and absolutely the future as AI replaces our normal careers, forcing all of us into becoming Instagram models and Influencers.

And everyday I have to have deep sobering introspection trying to figure out if I’m not equally culpable in this terrible trap of meaningless thinking.

Not that there’s anything wrong with meaningless. Not everything has to have as everlasting an impact as Ode to Joy.

I mean really, what actually matters if we all die and whatever impact we had becomes erased regardless of whether or not it takes years, months, days or even minutes after we are laid into the ground?

Most of everyone who has been born has meant nothing and left no trace or measurement that they even existed at all. Think of all the stillborn babies who didn’t even get the chance.

Nature the cold hearted bitch strikes again!

People call me jaded and bitter for these thoughts, but I promise you - I hold no anger or selfish need to compensate my own lacking by exclaiming ‘people are mostly shit and none of this will stand the test of time’. I’m very fun at parties.

It’s just the people desperate to matter that think reality is inherently mean.

Celebrate the achievement not the person, but also - let’s not over inflate the achievement to validate our own petty need for someone to hear our folk song about getting a handy while watching American Beauty or whatever.

A quick story.

One of the most talented people I ever met was a dude from Philly named Perone.

Perone played bass and was known across the city as being this incredible player who for some reason just never found a project he clicked with.

I met him when I was 18 and homeless, living in a 24 hour diner he waited tables at. Everyone loved this dude and for some reason he took care of me. Hooking up free salads, sodas, bread. He was the coolest dude I ever met.

I was learning guitar and we both loved 70’s soul and blues music so we’d jam together which in hindsight was wild.

I had no fucking idea what I was doing and yet here was this genius jamming patiently along.

Teaching me without putting in a show that he was actually teaching me, if that makes sense?

Was he perfect? No. Not at all. He was charismatic as fuck, but obviously weighted down with some demons.

The weirdest thing I could say about him - and I don’t know how to even properly frame this was - he used to draw on bed sheets.

For years he had a dream about a woman he never met and would paint her face on the bed sheets and attach lyrics to songs he was writing next to her face. These sheets hung all over his walls.

Keep in mind he was living with a girl at the time. He had a kid, yet here were all these sheets dedicated to a fictional white woman he was obsessed with, hung like championship banners across his entire two bedroom apartment.

My last conversation with Perone was perfect. I sat strumming his guitar while he smoked meth out of a can of Pepsi, telling me how Michael Jackson was the King.

Every click of the lighter, every inhale and exhale would punctuate just how much Michael Jackson meant to the world and music.

How Motown celebrated their 25th anniversary with a tv special and Michael Jackson came out and destroyed with the moonwalk.

“Dude, (click) black people loved Michael (inhale). White people loved Michael. (exhale)Young people loved Michael. (cough) Old people loved Michael. (click) None of this race or generation shit mattered. (inhale) It was because of the music and HE did that. (exhale) He bridged everything together in that one moment. (violent cough) Michael Jackson is and will always be the King. (click) Fuck Elvis.”

That was twenty years ago. I have no idea if he’s still alive, earned a living with his music or met the woman he’d dreamt and painted for years. Or if instead he succumbed to meth, took his own life and or manages an Olive Garden.

I don’t know and I don’t have to. I miss him and appreciate the things we shared that mattered and helped me grow as a person, but that’s all it ever will be.

Let justice be done and handled by those involved in their situation and value only the things and constructs that have some permanence or growth in your own life.

Either way you will still die, and wether it’s alone and forgotten or if it takes centuries for people to forget you were a miserable deaf cunt who wrote some sweet jams - you’ll eventually be nothing.

Fuck Elvis.

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affcgato-archived · 5 years

Note

🕯 [bucky from fxrgxr]

it’s only been a few weeks since he was dropped back on the other’s doorstep - battered, bruised, but not broken by some sort of a miracle. it’s been… he doesn’t want to think about the fact that it very, very literally feels like a year & some change, but that’s only because he’s missing LARGE chunks of the past six years. it’s been eighteen months since they shared this apartment together. one year of Eames having been… they haven’t talked about that. he doesn’t know & really, he’s not sure he’s going to like that answer. then six months that he can only remember in patches of him having been held by the Red Room. that’s… definitely something Eames won’t want to hear, either. but they’re going to have to talk about it. all of it, really. eventually they’ll both have to open up & dig up those painful truths. it had already been hard enough to notify his family. Jefferson, out of all of them, had been the most understanding & had slotted himself between his younger brother & the rest of the world for the time being but he knows even that can’t last forever.

stretching sore limbs, he pushes himself up from the corner of the bed he’s quietly taken over, he gets to his feet & pads down to where he hears Eames moving around - kitchen, from what it sounds like. he exhales & leans against the doorway as he watches him. ‘ hey, ’ he offers softly after a few moments, his voice hoarse from disuse - or maybe for other reasons, he doesn’t even want to think about that. Stark had been the first person he’d contacted after he’d come down from the drug induced catatonia Pierce had left him with. all of his bloodwork had come back fine save for the drugs, but the abuse his body had been through… another thing on the long list they’re not talking about is the metal prosthesis settled by his side. it’s only a stand in for whatever Stark had decided would be his grand final product - he promised it would feel almost normal & Bucky can’t help but hope he recognizes that feeling when it happens. almost normal. the concept escapes him.

the power’s out because of course it is. a nor’easter is bearing down on the city, or maybe it’s the last few dying gasps of a hurricane that’s clawed her way north to them. he doesn’t know & he doesn’t really care. clearing his throat again, he wordlessly points to a drawer where he’d kept lighter & a few candles. the rest are scattered around the apartment in various places, but he makes no move to get the lighter or move to them for the time being. instead, he just watches the other silently as so many of his own questions bubble just under the surface. where were you? is probably the first one, but the more it claws at him, the more he realizes it probably doesn’t matter. he finally understands all of his teachers when they’d told him they didn’t care WHY his work wasn’t done, the important thing was that he didn’t have it & in this case, the only thing that matters was that Eames hadn’t been here, hadn’t communicated anything to him at all when he’d up & disappeared for a year.

his tongue drags over parched lips before he finally moves & grabs a glass of water, downing it a little too fast has he throws back the pills he’d been given. pills, therapy, a prosthetic. it didn’t seem like enough to heal the damage from things he couldn’t only barely remember on the periphery of the past year, but it would have to do. he sets the glass down a little too hard, shaking quietly. suddenly he’s exhausted. not physically, but… emotionally. they can do all of these things to fix his broken body but what can he even begin to do to bridge the cavern of silence between them? the rain comes down in sheets outside, tapping against the window & bringing him out of his head. standing there thinking about it won’t do anything, at any rate. he glances over at the other, gaze softening quietly as he takes him in. we need to talk sounds too hostile, but I missed you is an admission he’s not sure he’s ready to make, given how brittle his hold on his emotions currently is. if that sentiment wasn’t returned, that might break the fragile control he has right now & he doesn’t even want to think about that.

he settles on running his good hand up the prosthetic, the cold metal giving him a sensation to focus on that’s not likely to throw him back into the chasm of instability he’s been balancing above. he hadn’t had much presence of mind to look around the apartment - once it had been only Eames, but in the year the other had been gone, he’d taken it over with plants, paintings, & his own work for the gallery. the gallery… another thing likely lost to him. he’d loved the space with it’s perfect lighting & niche location tucked off the main drag of the city’s art district. unless Darcy had taken it over, it’s probably been long packed up. but he doesn’t dwell on that too long because something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye. pushing off the counter & wandering over to a table bathed in candlelight, he looks down at the familiar sight of scraped & battered leather of his sketchbook. not one of the ones he’d kept for work, his personal sketchbook. flipping it open, he runs his fingers over the familiar lines. the color spills over the page - soft watercolor contrasted with bold strokes of black ink.

‘ you kept it, ’ he says in wonder, looking further & seeing all of the rest quietly tucked off to the side as if they’ve been there this whole time, waiting for him to come home & finish them. you kept them all. kneeling, he picks up another, flipping through it. they’re all here. the ones he’d kept at the apartment, the ones from his gallery. each & every one safely tucked away, out of harm’s way. ‘ you kept all of them. why? ’

‘🕯’ for our starter where our muses spend the night together during a power outage. // @fxrgxr

#fxrgxr #→ james barnes #→ james barnes // ink heart (v.)#→ answered asks #long post #casually retconning some things #because I know I originally had Buck gone for a year as well #but that seems like overkill #you don't need a year to break someone #six months seems long enough to prove a point #Anon

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kylieinwashington · 5 years

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Monuments & Memorials

OK - I was toooooo tired to finish this last night - so here it is a day late.

Sunday, Nov. 25, 2018

It is almost 11:00 PM and we have been home less than 30 minutes. We topped 20,000 steps in our quest to see and understand most of the Monuments and Memorials that ring the Mall and/or live close by.

During breakfast this morning the girls - who knows who started it - began singing songs from Hamilton. It was so cute and went on and on. Finally we had to began our day so we headed out about 8:45. We had talked about the amazing gift James Smithson gave to the United States so of course our first outing this AM was to the Smithsonian Castle and James Smithson’s tomb - which looks a lot like a bathtub...

There are currently 17 Smithsonian Museums dedicated to science, history, art and culture and each one more fabulous than the next and free to everyone. The weather today was glorious. Sunshine and temps in the high 50 -maybe even the in 60! - had us shedding our coats and enjoying the two meals we shared outdoors today. (More on our rather crazy outside dinner later!)

From the Smithsonian Castle we walked to the Washington Monument when Charlotte was our teacher. Prior to our trip, I assigned all the kids the job of learning about a specific monument and being our teacher. They were all very excited to take the teacher role - and today was the day. Charlotte was well prepared and excited to present and she carefully positioned us to view the beautiful monument and hear her lecture.

The 555 foot Washington Monument is closed currently - and indefinitely, according to the sign - while they try to repair or replace the elevator that has not worked with enough regularity to open it to the public since the 2011 earthquake. It was open 3 years ago when I was here with Colin but closed again shortly after our visit. Charlotte was a font of information and had our deepest attention. She was very proud of her “speech” and so were we.

From there we walked to the World War II Memorial. We prepped the kids with lots of talk of World War II and sent them to speak to one of the many volunteers about several subjects.

They had much work to do in their notebooks and moved around the monuments identifying one feature after another and understanding the symbolism it possessed.

From there we went to Signer’s island, a sweet little island that has the signature of all the 58 signers of the Declaration of Independence. We talked about the risks these men were taking by signing the document as the action truly was high treason punishable by death. I asked the kids to make rubbings of several of the signatures and as we did that we talked about who among us would have had the bravery to sign that document.

The answer was simple - NONE of us. Yes, if it had been left to the 6 of us, we would still be subjects of England. Hmmmmm...

A picnic lunch was next and we sat in the magnificent sunshine and ate our lunch we had packed earlier in the day. Perhaps the most interesting part of lunch were the very friendly Washington DC squirrels.

Those little suckers KNEW we had food and they saw no reason why we couldn’t just share. (But we didn’t.)

After lunch and squirrel shooing we headed to the Viet Nam War Memorial. I CANNOT get through this without tears - no matter how many times I have been there. We started at the Nurses Memorial statue (which was strewn with long stem roses) and the kids did not disappoint to look, think, reflect and try to understand. I assured them that however they interpret any sculpture is correct but we pushed them to look deeper and think harder. They saw the dedication, fear and exhaustion in the eyes of the nurses. They identified the sandbags but didn’t know why they were there and when we told them they were horrified. I KNOW these kids got more out of the statue than 99% of all adults who view it.

Next we looked up the names of soldiers on The Wall, one from Ann Arbor, Saline and Boulder, CO and then went to find them. Moving.

We talked about the design of the monument and the designer. But nothing is more impactful that walking that wall and getting deeper and deeper into the list of dead and then actually seeing the name you are searching for - right before your eyes.

We finished this Memorial by visiting the Soldier’s Statues. Again the kids were very insightful and willing to be pushed pass what you see on the first pass. I love it.

Next up was The Korean War Memorial. Here we talked about the United Nations Coalition and the very clever way in which the designer of the monument used the 19 soldiers and the reflective black marble to tell us about the 38th parallel that still divides the Korean Peninsula. I was born during this hot mess and I am always struck with how long this has continued. Sadly hate has a long shelf life. :(

We walked right through the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial because we have big plans for that tonight but I could not miss taking this amazing pic!

Next we walked to the Franklin Delano Roosevelt Memorial. I love the way the designer uses water to represent the mood/health of the nation. I will forever be grateful for all the benefits of the CCC and the WPA. Brilliant. We talked about the soup kitchens and the “fireside chats” but mostly we focused on the quotes. Every single quote holds true today and I wish the leaders of our country would embrace his caring empathic thoughts.

I truly enjoyed discussing these quotes with these brilliant young minds and I have hope that maybe their generation can clean up the mess we are are making. Sigh....

Eleanor Roosevelt was next and we talked about “walking the walk.” She was the perfect example of this.

Next up was the beautiful Thomas Jefferson Memorial with teacher Kylie.

She was so excited and did a wonderful job - although she did have us move from the top to the bottom and right back up (our legs were sooooo tired) . The climbing, however was completely relevant and necessary because how else could we see the beautiful and significant frieze on the portico? Well done!

This ended our major walking tour and all we had to do was jump on the Circulator bus and head to Union Station for dinner and our tour to see the remaining significant monuments. But we missed the bus by about 3 minutes and had to wait for 27 minutes for the next one. Then it was the slow roll to Union Station. Gwynn read that restaurants in Union Station close at 6:00 on Sunday and our tour was a 6:30 and as the bus creeped down the roads the time ticked away. To make things more stressful the inside lights of the bus stayed on which meant NO ONE could see outside and IF the driver was announcing the stop he was doing it in a tiny whisper - so we had no idea where we were and when we needed to get off. I kept looking out of the window only to see myself which was NOT helpful. I had a map but I needed just ONE POINT OF REFERENCE - (just like the astronauts in Apollo 13!) - and finally Dylan said - Hey there is the Washington Monument!” Bingo!!!!

We FINALLY arrived at Union Station at 6:01. The kids are hungry - but not quite HANGRY - but it couldn’t be too far behind. BUT the food places were open although people were already lining up for our tour we grabbed some food and went outside to wait. We got food ASAP and headed outside where we ate on something that worked as a table but was NOT a table.

We boarded the bus to this view:

We spent 30 minutes at the MLK Jr Memorial and the kids used every second filling in their books and talking about the amazing quote on the walls surrounding the Memorial. This makes my heart sing!

We spent an additional 30 minutes at the Lincoln Memorial and believe me that it was NOT enough time. But what a wonderful time.

Finally, teacher Dylan was up for the Marine Corps Memorial - Iwo Jima. He was prepared and fabulous. I was very proud of all of our teachers today - and so were they.

Finally we boarded the Metro and headed “home.” To say we were tired would be an understatement.

But I can say we had a day filled with education, thoughtful discussion and discovery - and THAT my friends is a day well done.

Stay tuned.

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pride-vns-blog · 6 years

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LGBTQ VN Week: Day Two! (6/19)

Welcome back for my second day of LGBTQ visual novel recommendations! If you didn’t check out my first post, I recommend at least skimming the "One note before we get started” section to get a handle on what this series of posts is. (And especially, as the case may be, what it isn’t.)

Today’s topic is “crafty creative design”, so I’ve pulled out Marccus’s Eldet, Geek Remix and ChicMonster’s Pairanormal, and Team Rumblebee’s Love Is Strange to talk about their development teams’ ambition (and ability to deliver), followed by a discussion with Boys Laugh+ about their 2017 NaNoRenO entry, //TODO: today!

Keep on reading to hear about treasure hunts with hot guys, mysterious twists and turns, power in reimagined narratives, and why taking time to look for brand-new visual novels you’ve never heard of before can be worth your while!

ELDET (MARCCUS)

Kickstarter Tagline: "A medieval fantasy themed visual novel with emphasis on LGBT characters and people of color.” Genre(s): Historical fantasy. Release Date: July 1st, 2017(?) (updated demo); TBA (full version). Content Warnings: Fantasy violence.

When it comes to aiming for new heights with visual novel storytelling and art, Marccus’s Eldet is one of the most standout examples of ambition — if it’s a possibility or a feature you could potentially implement, you’ll probably be able to find a mention of it somewhere in Marccus’s Eldet development updates on Kickstarter. They’re jam-packed with information about ways he’s exploring different ideas for interlocking narratives, replay value, or using the absolutely gorgeous art to its full potential. If the final version lives up to even a tenth of what Marccus has demonstrated working to include over the past two years, that ambition and drive to see things through as much as possible will almost definitely provide one hell of a visual novel.

Strictly looking at the demo alone, though, still provides a uniquely detailed experience where focus on trying out new things that suit the story is crystal-clear. The writing is sharp and captivating, with an interesting plot and gorgeous scenery that’s complimented by a smart use of animated effects. There have been more and more visual novels that have branched into the use of things like Live2D or animated sprites, but for me as a player, it’s been interesting to see how far use of effects like that can go before they just plain old start to be distracting. Idle animations or things like blinking and breathing can be charming, but the uncanny valley is very real and very easy to dive headlong into if you’re trying to include as many of those as possible.

So Eldet’s demo is noteworthy to me not just for trying out all of the visual effects it can manage, but even moreso for knowing by and large where to place those effects and varying sprites for the best possible impact. Characters are integrated into different backgrounds for special conversational scenes, or specific parts of event graphics glow, and none of it — to my eyes, at least — felt overused or poorly-executed. In fact, it all seemed especially suited to the fantasy genre Eldet is fitting itself into, with all of the pieces working together to create a world that feels alive and breathing. And it’s a world that seems well worth waiting for a final version of!

Eldet’s demo is available now on Kickstarter; you can also keep up with the final version’s progress on its development blog, or follow Marccus on Twitter and Patreon (18+).

PAIRANORMAL (GEEK REMIX, CHICMONSTER)

Itchio Tagline: "Love is a mystery and so are ghosts.” Genre(s): Mystery, romance. Release Date: April 1st, 2018 (Chapter 1); TBA (Chapters 2+). Content Warnings: Glitches and static (can be turned off); jumpscares.

There have been a couple "real person dating sim" visual novels in the past few years, but I've never really been all that interested in actually playing any of them; I can see the connection back to all those elaborate magazine quizzes about which celebrity you'd date, so I think they're interesting conceptually, but none of them have really pulled me in. I'm equally wary of the trend of Western visual novels from first-time developers that want to "subvert genre conventions" because of how many have fallen woefully flat of even understanding what that means beyond a very limited scope — I'm talking "oh, I don't really like or play any visual novels, the whole medium isn’t for me" visual novel developer commentary, here — so if an EVN promises a twist on a genre, or even if its players do, it's unfortunately a lot harder to sell me on it.

To my pleasant surprise, Pairanormal's demo sold me on both its "real person-inspired characters" aspects and its departure from the dating-based focus I'd been expecting into sharing space with another genre! I don't want to spoil anything about the plot, but upfront, the turn in the demo alone was a genuinely interesting look at a “blank protagonist” and well-served by being placed where it was. That’s to say nothing of the charming art style! Mechanically and visually, it's also one of the most interesting visual novels I've played; the character movement, the individual soundfonts, and the pacing of the dialogue all come together to work consistently well. (I love smartly-used soundfonts! Please give me all your VNs with good soundfonts!)

Even as someone who's watched a handful of YouTube playthroughs by two of the YouTubers being shown here, Mari and Stacey of Geek Remix, the writing in Pairanormal was sharp and fast-paced enough to actually make my brain draw a pretty easy divide between the real Mari and Stacey versus "Mari Sashimi" and "Stacey Croft". I'm sure there's plenty of rewarding jokes for their primary audience of a Geek Remix fanbase, too — but one of the strongest merits of Pairanormal for me as a player was the experience of having so little personal familiarity with most of the people these characters were based on and still finding the characters enjoyable, well-defined, and interesting.

Chapter 1 of Pairanormal is available now for free; you can also follow development of the coming chapters on Chicmonster’s Patreon, Twitter, and Itchio.

LOVE IS STRANGE (TEAM RUMBLEBEE)

Blog Tagline: "A fanwork based off of Life is Strange.” Genre(s): Slice of life, romance. Release Date: April 1st, 2016. Content Warnings: Drug use; underage drinking; mentions of severe bullying.

Do those characters and that title look familiar? If you’ve paid attention to the gaming scene at large in the past three years, you probably recognize the acronym "LiS” or Max Caulfield’s character design — Team Rumblebee’s 2016 debut project, Love is Strange, came to life as a Life is Strange (DONTNOD Entertainment) fanmade visual novel! In Love is Strange, set a year later after the original game in a completely different timeline, protagonist Max never gained her canonical magical powers and many of the tragedies that gripped Arcadia Bay never came to pass. Instead, she’s given a week to team up with one of her four love interests — Chloe, Kate, Rachel, or Victoria — and win a photography contest together.

There’s a lot to love about it beyond any connection you may or may not have to Life is Strange itself — everything, from the art to the music to the writing, pulls together seamlessly. But the biggest strength of Love is Strange as a fanwork, in my opinion, is the way it’s not trying to totally remove itself from the original canon tonally or trying too hard to conform to that tone without it seeming natural. Max’s character arc is reflective of some anxieties she’d had in the original story, which goes doubly for the explorations of her love interests’ arcs, but it’s fundamentally a different story where her priorities are different. Love is Strange loses what isn’t necessary or what doesn’t help the story — including the teacher-turned-[spoilers] from the original series, Mr. Jefferson — then fills in a lot of the blanks with the same charm and same compelling characters that captivated fans in the first place.

My favorite example here is Rachel Amber, one of the four routes but the lone one who never appeared in the text of the original Life is Strange itself, and a route that felt as wholly comprehensive as the rest. Love is Strange takes the perpetually absent, long-since-departed Rachel and recreates her from whole cloth, giving her a distinctive speech pattern, a history, and a set of beliefs that all work together as a perfect answer for the void around her character in the original text. She feels as real and authentic as the rest of the pitch-perfect cast, a character it’s difficult to imagine the original Life is Strange without. So in both enhancing the original text’s characterizations without ever losing its charm and standing alone as its own thoughtful, genuine F/F dating sim that is just as enjoyable without any fondness for the canon, Love is Strange easily cemented itself as one of my favorite visual novels — so strongly, in fact, that I’m still planning to cheer on Team Rumblebee’s individual and collective outputs for years to come.

Love is Strange is available now for free on the development blog. You can also follow Team Rumblebee on Twitter, Tumblr, and Itch.io to be the first to know if they decide to release anything next!

//TODO: TODAY (BOYS LAUGH PLUS)

Itchio Tagline: "A visual novel about figuring out life with the help of an AI.” Genre(s): Modern sci-fi. Release Date: March 31st, 2017 (Part 1); August 2018 (Part 2). Content Warnings: Depictions of severe depression.

Player personalization is one of the more tricky things for developers, largely in part because there’s no way to write something every player will be happy with; while some people prefer being able to insert themselves entirely into a protagonist with minimal predefined personality and more vague actions, so they can headcanon more easily, other audiences would rather explore specific situations with a smaller number responses that each more clearly reflect the defined protagonist’s personality. It’d be nearly impossible to please both of those groups at once — and there’s dozens of other, more specific takes that other players can have on visual novel protagonists!

As someone in the latter camp out of just those two examples, I thought //TODO: today’s handling of their protagonist Teal (plus their love interests Joyce and Phoenix) was right up my alley, so I reached out to Felix and Rohan of Boys Laugh+ to talk about their work on its story!

IVAN: Pleasure to be talking to you both today! Can you give me the elevator pitch of //TODO: today that you might give to an interested attendee at a con? You're both free to answer this if you'd like, haha.

FELIX: Sure, thanks for having us! //TODO: today is a slice of life visual novel about the aspiring artist Teal who already struggles to make ends meet but things get a little more complicated when an AI suddenly appears in their computer, with the intention to help Teal get their life back in order.

Perfectly put! (I like the phrasing of "aspiring artist Teal", haha, I feel like I'm reading their Twitter bio.) The gender/sexuality/pronoun options (and what I've seen of the dialogue variations) for the protagonist plus the romanceable characters are comprehensive, but never in a way that feels insincere or bland. I really feel like Teal's character — and that of both love interests — shines through strongly no matter what! What went into designing the personalization system as it currently exists, and why did you choose to include it in the first place?

ROHAN: Haha, yeah, Teal is the type who's a bit insecure about their art. So it's easier to say "aspiring artist" even though Teal has been drawing for a while. :'D Although our protagonist has their quirks and own background story we wanted the player to be able to identify with Teal. The player can choose to change Teal's name in the beginning of the game too. And the gender and sexuality options are based on this idea. :3

Back when we were developing the concept for //TODO: today in 2017, we had a close look at other recent VNs. And Date Nighto's Hustle Cat got us thinking about using "they" pronouns then. Hustle Cat's protagonist "Avery" has a gender-neutral design too. That got the ball rolling for us to think how we could make the typical romance situation in //TODO: today inclusive and enjoyable for queer people as well!^u^

FELIX: We also tried to keep the additional work for this fairly small. For the three main characters all pronouns and their variations are stored in variables. That makes it pretty easy to use the same base dialogue regardless of the characters' gender. But in addition to that, we used conditional statements to add some custom dialogue whenever it made sense. The romantic preferences are pretty much the same. They mainly decide the gender of the romanceable characters but there are a few moments where dialogue varies depending on the preferences the player chooses.

That also means that there are some things that people will miss if they don't make a specific selection of gender or romantic preferences but we wanted to make sure that those choices are also part of the characters and the writing and not purely cosmetic. All in all we tried to make the game as inclusive of LGBTQ identities as we could without making the scope unrealistically big for a two person team.

I think you definitely struck a good balance there! If I'm not mistaken, the two of you work in Ren'Py, right? What kind of Ren'Py limits or perks do you take into consideration when working to augment a story with more complex pieces of code other than dialogue variables, like deciding what your upcoming project Defaction's cellphone (?) can do? Anything you've unfortunately had to give up on? (And are there any lines of dialogue or features you're especially proud of including in //TODO: today?)

FELIX: Yeah, we're working in Ren'Py. I can't really think of any limits aside from smaller issues where different systems and languages intersect but there have definitely been a lot of perks! I really like Ren'Py's screen system which is where at least 80% of the work for the phone in Defaction happens.

The python integration is also really nice. In //TODO: today I barely used any python aside from if-statements and variables but being able use custom code pretty much anywhere in the script makes the engine really flexible!

As for feature decisions, so far we mainly based them on what we wanted to include from a narrative design standpoint and then tried to figure out how or if we would be able to implement them. I can't think of anything we had to cut for technical reasons so I think it worked out pretty well so far :'D

//TODO: today was the first bigger visual novel I worked on and aside from the gender and preference options for the characters, something I'm pretty proud of are the optional work and gaming scenes. They are pretty much the first piece of non-linear writing I ever did and it was a fun challenge to make sure they make sense regardless of what in-game day the player sees them on.

ROHAN: I think the most obvious feature we're proud of are the preference options we included, haha. We really wanted to take a few steps aside of the otome or exclusively hetero male-oriented genres out there. And to make the experience feel tailored to the player there are the dialogue features Felix has described before in combination with the visual designs of Joyce, the AI, and Phoenix, Teal's bookstore co-worker.

It's integrated into the story that Joyce has been made just for the Teal. Other AIs in the world would look different depending on their owners. That's why you get a feminine or masculine looking Joyce that match the player's preferences.

Of course there are limitations, I mean, we can't read the players mind to know what they like. And we couldn't include too many unique character sprites due to the scope. But I'm very happy about how the different designs turned out in the end. It was generally fun to visually design the game. Cute colours everywhere! >u<

On another note I think what really went well, too, was how AI Joyce behaves. We took some liberties with sci-fi magic, but Joyce is a being with their own set of characteristics, goals and values. They were made to serve, yet they're on eye-level with Teal and you get some funny situations out of it.

That's right, I'd completely forgotten that the work and art contest scenes weren't confined to the story's timeline on any specific dates — they definitely always felt like they matched up. And I'm so glad you brought up the designs, Rohan, that was actually my next question! The overall world design and character stylization of //TODO: today clearly had a considerable amount of care put into making sure they all meshed well and looked good individually! Can you talk a little bit about why you settled on the design aesthetic you did and what influenced //TODO: today's style or character designs? (Also, who are each of your favorite characters out of the cast, visually or personality-wise?)

ROHAN: Ah, well. First and foremost we were under a good amount of time-pressure during the NaNoRenO '17. Thus I had to decide for an artstyle that I could pull off for the game's assets to be produced in time. There's no complicated shading, not too much intriciate line-work. It was also the first time for me to create art for a visual novel. I was mostly a concept artist before. So I wanted to play it safe. That's one part of the story at least.

The other thing was that by the end of 2016 a lot of artists have emerged online who experimented with reduced palettes, pastel tones and comic and anime inspired shading. I was really intrigued by the charm of this combination. I wanted to make myself feel okay that although I'm a guy I can express myself in shades of pink, haha. This kind of aesthetic also matches the overall cute but realistic story of //TODO: today. I wanted the reality of the game to feel like our world but with some intense photo filters on top, haha. And my favourite character(s)? As the artist who designed them, I'd say visually all of them! xD But character wise, I think it's a close head-to-head of Joyce and SuuJ. <3

FELIX: I think my favorite character is Snow. I also really like Zen's design and his relaxed personality, but Snow was really fun to write! They're reserved and don't show much about their insecurities or problems, but Snow is still fairly confident and mature for their age.

I think a lot of that personality was also inspired by the art. Snow's design really brings across how introverted they are and because Snow doesn't have a lot of facial expressions, this definitely influenced the way I wrote some of their dialogue.

As a big fan of pastels/pinks, I can definitely empathize with that desire to express it more in art regardless of gender, haha! If you could each add any one feature to your projects that's currently beyond of your technical/artistic capabilities, a "wildest dreams" kind of thing, what would those two features be?

FELIX: I'm really intrigued by the idea of procedural narrative. Not in the sense that a story is random, but rather that it's systemic and somewhat non-linear. That's not really something you can just add to any project though and it probably also involves a lot of trial and error before it works but maybe one day :'D

ROHAN: Oh, nice question! I think it would be super cool to have hand-drawn animated cutscenes in a game. But that's completely beyond our budget of...everything...right now. TuT

Haha, I would love to play a procedural visual novel with animated cutscenes! (Although those two things combined would add even more work to each other, huh? #gamedev!) One final question — do you two have any LGBTQ visual novel recommendations from any other teams or creators?

FELIX: Ladykiller In a Bind left a pretty strong impression on me. In general, Christine Love's visual novels are usually really interesting mechanically in addition to their LGBTQ themes.

Most people probably already heard of Butterfly Soup but I really liked how heartfelt it is and the way the story is told!

And we already mentioned Hustle Cat, which is interesting in the way the main story and the romance routes are intertwined in addition to allowing you to romance all characters regardless of gender.

ROHAN: Hahaha, just imagine creating cutscenes for every generatable piece of story. That would be a killer xD And yes, I'd agree with what Felix wrote. The games by Christine Love, are really well written. Butterfly Soup is a fun ride and way too relatable for people growing up with Asian families. I also play The Arcana on my phone right now. I don't like the payment system too much but the story and characters are well-developed. And the artstyle is just gorgeous!

But one should also keep an eye on indie devs who aren't too well-known. Visual novels seem to generally be on the rise right now and we'll surely find some nice surprises if we keep looking! :3

Definitely agreed that people can find some really pleasant surprises by doing deep dives into places like Itchio's VN tag — or hopefully even from my list and these interviews, haha! Thank you both so much for talking to me, Rohan and Felix, it's been a pleasure.

The first half of //TODO: today is available now for free, or you can follow Boys Laugh + on their Twitter and Itchio accounts to find out more about their progress on the second half!

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