Bobby showing some love to his fans after their question at the panel (and Emilie nodding her most enthusiastic agreement)
Rumple - The Heart of the Truest Believer
Guess who started ripping their s3 blu-rays? OUAT is in hi-def and everything is shiny. :)
Curiouser and curiouser. I know this sounds so wrong but TTR! Rowan you think its a little late at night that your parents would be playing?
Follows thisGrownups were weird.This was not the first time Rowan had had such a thought. The grownups she knew were always doing weird things.Mommy’s friend Ruby would lay out in the sun on warm days for no other reason than to darken her skin. Rowan thought it was silly to just lie around when you could use the warm weather for an excuse to play outside. What fun was sitting quietly? Mommy wore high heels that made running impossible. If she ever wanted her to chase her, Mommy would have to kick off her shoes first. That seemed like a lot of effort rather than just wearing more sensible shoes. Papa would spend hours in his office staring at boring papers that had no pictures. When she asked him what his story was about, Papa told her it wasn’t a story but a contract. Why would someone read something that wasn’t a story? Rowan had read the back of her cereal box once, but it wasn’t very interesting.But what she’d seen last night was even weirder than usual. She didn’t know quite what was going on, but she was pretty sure her parents weren’t really playing a game.For one thing, it was nighttime and all the lights had been turned off. How could you see to play? Secondly, Papa wasn’t wearing a shirt. Whenever he played games with her he was in his typical three piece suit. Papa never just went around without a shirt on. And finally, Mommy was making an awful lot of noise that didn’t sound particularly fun. Maybe that was because Papa was pinning her down. She assumed if they really were playing a game, Mommy was losing.She was pondering these thoughts as she sat at the breakfast table the next morning. She watched her parents carefully, noting that Papa was smiling slightly as he entered the kitchen. He walked up behind Mommy and kissed her neck while she was making Rowan’s eggs. Mommy blushed and giggled, and Rowan turned away not wanting to see."You guys are gross," she grumbled, feeling out of sorts. If there was one thing Rowan didn’t like it was not understanding something. And she felt as though she had no idea what was happening between her parents."If we weren’t gross, you wouldn’t be here," Papa mumbled, pouring himself some coffee and coming to sit next to her at the table."Rumple!" Mommy exclaimed, shooting him a look.Rowan wasn’t sure what gross kissing had to do with her existence, but she let it slide. She had more important questions to ask."What were you playing last night?" she asked, and Papa choked a bit on his coffee."What?" Papa sputtered."Last night Mommy said you were playing a game," she clarified. Papa was being rather dense this morning."That’s right! We were," Mommy said, walking over to the table and scooping eggs on to Rowan’s plate."It didn’t sound very fun," Rowan observed. "It sounded like you were hurting Mommy."Papa’s face turned very red as he stared into his coffee cup."Oh, Papa wasn’t hurting me sweetheart," Mommy said. "We were just playing a grown up game.""What’s a grown up game?" Rowan asked, her interest piqued.Papa still hadn’t looked up from his cup and Mommy looked lost."Rumple," she said, turning to Papa. "Can’t you explain? Didn’t you have this conversation with Bae?"Papa finally looked up, shaking his head."We had sheep," he said, as if that explained everything. Rowan was feeling more lost than ever."What are you talking about?" Rowan asked, getting frustrated.Mommy and Papa looked at each other for a long moment before Mommy let out a sigh and started to explain."When two grown ups love each other very much, like your Papa and I do…""Wrestling," Papa cut in."What?" Rowan asked.Mommy rolled her eyes, but Papa continued."We were playing a grown up game that’s a lot like wrestling. But only grownups do it, and only with people they love.""That’s silly," Rowan said with a humph."Yes it is," Papa agreed. "You should never do it."Rowan had more questions, but they were interrupted by the doorbell."I’ll get it!" Papa exclaimed, jumping to his feet and rushing to the front door. A moment later he returned with Uncle David and Aunt Mary-Margaret, cradling a baby Neal, with him. They exchanged pleasantries with Mommy before sitting down at the table with steaming cups of tea.Her parents were weird, but the Nolans were nice. Maybe they would be able to answer her questions better."Hey, Mary-Margaret," Rowan said, interrupting David telling Papa something about an ice storm outside town."Yeah, Rowan?" Mary-Margaret returned sweetly. She was Henry’s grandma, but she didn’t seem old enough to be a grandma. Rowan only had one grandparent and Moe was pretty old."Do you ever wrestle with Uncle David?"Aunt Mary-Margaret looked confused for a moment. Uncle David and Papa had stopped their conversation and turned to look at her. Mommy was shaking her head, but Rowan needed answers."No, of course not, sweetie," Mary-Margaret replied."Anyone need more tea?" Mommy said loudly, but no one was listening to her.Rowan was stumped. Uncle David and Aunt Mary-Margaret were grownups who loved each other. Why wouldn’t they play the same game her parents did? She decided to clarify."Mommy and Papa were wrestling last night," she explained. "Mommy was yelling really loud.""Oh God," Mommy said, dropping her head into her hands. Aunt Mary-Margaret’s eyes widened and her face turned beet red. Uncle David started laughing as if she’d just said something funny and slapped Papa on the back."Oh, that kind of wrestling," Mary-Margaret replied, her voice curiously high pitched. "Well that’s just something grownups do."Aunt Mary-Margaret glanced over at Mommy who still had her face in her hands, and she started laughing too."I’m sorry," Mary-Margaret gasped out. "I shouldn’t laugh. I’m sorry."Rowan glanced back and forth between the Nolans, both laughing uncontrollably, to her father who was sitting back in his chair looking smug and to Mommy who looked absolutely miserable."I mean, the same thing happened with Emma," Mary-Margaret continued. "But she was twenty-eight.""That’s somehow worse," Mommy said with a giggle.Then all the grownups were laughing and Rowan felt completely left out of the joke. She stared down at the eggs on her plate, moving them around with her fork.Grownups were so weird.
Title: Storm Clouds and Puddles (Part Three of the Sunshine and Showers Verse)
Prompts: Hidden waterfall, Lean on me, Don’t change
This is the last segment of this verse - I couldn’t make the next prompts fit and I was out the round following that. It was nice to write something again, I hope you all enjoyed.
His vision is almost completely obscured, his eyes hidden behind the cascade of water surrounding him, his person protected only by the flimsy material of his umbrella. Still he stands, staring at the building as if trying to penetrate the walls with his non existent x-ray vision. Trying to memorise the corridors, the sounds, the lights, the sights, the people.
He is leaving tonight as planned. He is leaving without seeing her, will likely never see her again. What could have been, is not to be. He sighs at his melodramatic thoughts, as if it would have stretched as far as dessert anyway.
He blinks forlornly and turns to leave. His feet, encased in fine Italian leather, shy away from the large and growing puddles and his vision is pulled from the street, and its many uninteresting buildings, in an effort to assist in keeping his shoes dry. His hands are occupied with umbrella and blasted cane and so he is wholly unprepared and unequipped when a passer by, doesn’t so much pass him by as slam right into him.
There is confusion in the collision, too many arms and feet and stick like objects, but by some miracle, they both stay upright, his umbrella sheltering them from the worst of the weather. His body is crushed tightly against that of another, unknown person, arms intertwined.
He takes a step back, the close proximity of another human clouding his mind. There is a chastising remark on his tongue, but as his foot hits the pavement his bitter comment is replaced by a hiss of pain and the sudden realisation that his cane is no longer supporting any of his weight. He struggles to hold on to his balance and ends up with a hand on the stranger’s shoulder to avoid the embarrassment of landing on his backside in a puddle.
“I am so sorry. Are you hurt? I wasn’t looking, I was ..” The accent snaps him out of his pain for a moment before he looks into startling blue eyes.
She is soaked, her hair plastered to her cheeks and shoulders, her thin cardigan doing nothing to keep the rain from her.
“Belle.” He whispers, before remembering himself and switching back to his façade of indifference with a cough. “Miss French.”
“Cameron!” She beams up at him and he briefly wonders if the sun has come out again. “I’m so glad it’s you. Not that I am glad I nearly flattened you, of course. I’m so sorry about that.” She is talking a mile a minute and he isn’t really listening, just happy in his sad little way, to have seen her face again before leaving.
“Here,” her voice breaks through his thoughts as she shuffles closer. “Lean on me. Where’s you cane?” He watches as she looks around, a frown on her face. “Oh! Oh no!”
His eyes follow where her finger points and they both stare at his cane, lying half off of the curb and clearly cracked. He closes his eyes against the sight, his mind searching for a solution. His hotel isn’t far away, but he isn’t sure he can make it without his cane and he has seen how hard it is to hail a cab here. He can’t help the sigh that escapes him.
“I am so sorry, this is my fault.” Belle whispers, her teeth worrying her lower lip. “Let me help you back to your hotel, OK?”
He bristles. “Despite what you may believe, Miss French, I am perfectly capable of making my own way. I’m sure you have a hundred other, more important, things to be doing than escorting a dried up, old cripple to his hotel. I know how busy you are.” He spits the last words at her, still hurt by their failed ‘date’, and turns to leave her, fighting with his teeth clenched against the pain in his leg.
He takes a few steps, and those few steps are all he needs to convince him to either swallow his pride and ask for help or suffer water down his neck and use his umbrella for a makeshift cane.
She makes his mind up for him, as the women in his life have been wont to do, skipping behind him and grabbing his arm, somehow managing to provide support rather than adding extra weight.
“I’m heading your way.” She trills and he avoids looking down to her, avoids the pretty smile he is sure she is throwing his way. “And your umbrella is very inviting!”
He can’t hold back the half snort, half laugh her comment produces and he shrugs, allowing her into his space.
“I read your book, you know?” Her voice is soft now, barely audible over the rain, as if she is cautious of her words. “I couldn’t put it down. I … umm … wanted to have read it before our dinner, but that wasn’t the only reason.”
He stops short, pulling her to a halt beside him.
“You read it all?” He questions, suddenly burning again to hear this petite woman’s praise or criticism of his words, his life. His head tilts a little and he finds himself looking into her soulful eyes. Eyes that know him now, far better than he knows her.
“Every page. Cameron.” She coughs, her eyebrows pulling into a small frown. “Mr Gold. It is, without doubt, your best book to date and I would so love the opportunity to talk with you about it.” She briefly releases his arm, standing close enough to still offer support, and roots around in her purse producing a bundle of papers.
“I have so many things I want to ask you.” She waves the papers in his face, as if it isn’t obvious and he can do nothing but stand and stare at her, hope once again blooming in his chest.
She bites her lower lip, twisting it between her teeth like candy before looking down.
“I’m sorry.” She says, her bright enthusiasm dulled, her voice bereft of her passionate edge. “It’s too much. I’m too much.”
She starts to move again, trying to drag him with her. While her efforts fail to physically move him, she does manage to drag his brain and voice back to her.
“No, no.” He calms, placing his hand gently over hers on his arm. “You’re not too much, it would be lovely.” He tries a smile and he knows he succeeded when he sees it echoed on her face.
“Have lunch with me?” He urges, hoping it is somewhere near lunchtime.
She nods, her face brightening again and giving up on trying to propel him forwards.
“Just let me nip back to the studio and change.” She motions her soaking clothes but his hold on her hand stays firm.
“Don’t change.” He whispers, fearing that something will interrupt them, get in the way and they will never have their chance.
Belle thinks for a moment, understanding his unspoken concern.
“Room service and a fluffy bathrobe?” She counters, this time moving him with her as she starts to walk.
“That will do nicely.”
He hopes it isn’t much effort to persuade the hotel to let him keep the room on for another night, or so.