forestry

6

Oregon Logging Moodboard

Communication

Rating: E, Ship: Captain Swan

Disclaimer: None of the OUAT world belongs to me.

So this is my soft re-entry into the world of fic writing.

It’s a silly, smutty one-shot that wouldn’t leave my head while I worked on longer things.  Unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are my own.

TIA to anyone that reads!

Set directly after 6x17

Communication

The walk back to the house is charged, littered with touches and caresses, brief pecks foreshadowing the main event.

Henry’s wrinkled nose and refusal to meet their eyes as he volunteered to stay at Regina’s that night spoke volumes but neither Emma nor Killian could find it in themselves to be embarrassed.  Yes, her parents had been separated for longer than they had and she knows it’s selfish to be running off, barely pausing for the customary threeway hug Snow and David have been unable to give her for the last few weeks before almost throwing her brother into their arms, but right now there’s something else she needs.

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Agriculture and forestry : part 1

agriculture : l’agriculture

arable : cultivable

bark : l’écorce

barley : l’orge

barn : la grange

beech : le hêtre

beehive : la ruche

beets : betteraves

bumper crop : une récolte exceptionnelle

bush : le buisson

calf / calves : le veau / les veaux

chain saw : la tronçonneuse

corn : le maïs

crop dusting : la pulvérisation des cultures

crops : les cultures

dairy : la coopérative laitière 

dam : le barrage

deforestation : le déboisement / la déforestation

elm : l’orme

farm land (to) : cultiver la terre

farmer : l’agriculteur

fern : la fougère

fertilizer : l’engrais

fir : le sapin

foliage : le feuillage

forest : la forêt

forest ranger : le garde forestier

forestry : la sylviculture

graft (to) : greffer

grove : le bosquet

grow (to) : faire pousser

harvest (to) : récolter

hay : le foin

haystack : la meule

hemp : le chanvre

hops : le houblon

leaf / leaves : la feuille / les feuilles

lie fallow (to) : être en jachère

lumber : le bois de charpente

Life In Plan (1/2)

A Captain Swan Modern AU

Rating: T

Summary:

She’s 16 when he catches her, and their life goes on from there.

Disclaimer: None of the OUAT world belongs to me.

Although I’m not posting I have four WIPs that are taunting me.  This is me sitting down at 3:30am and saying “ignore them, just write something- anything”.



And I swear- despite appearances, this is Captain Swan, it’s not Liemma.



Part 2 will be posted later in the week.


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AO3

Life In Plan


She’s 16 when he catches her.

“Bad form, Lass.  Take that out of your pocket and put it back on the shelf.”  His hand on Emma’s arm, grip tight- there’s no chance of escape and his voice- low, commanding… Dangerous- brokers no room for argument… “Now.”  Reluctantly she curls her fingers around the pilfered candy bars and withdraws her hand from her pocket, briefly considering throwing them in his face to try and escape, but his hold on her is so solid she doubts it’s an option.

He must be new here- the ill-fitted uniform marking him as a member of staff, but his accent decidedly foreign.  He’s older than her, but not by much, and obviously much more observant than the other youths that work here- it’s the first time in three months she’s been caught.  Emma replaces the chocolate on the shelf, ignoring the pang of hunger that runs through her before meeting his gaze defiantly- challenging him to make his next move.

“There,” A smile washes over his face and his grip relaxes, although he doesn’t remove his hand completely.  "Was that so hard?”

“Yes.”  She bites back, determined not to agree with a word he says.

“Tell me Lass, at the end of the day, when stock goes missing, who do you think gets the blame?  Whose wages get docked?”  He raises his eyebrows in question, obviously expecting her to answer- but it’s honestly not something she’s thought about before… It’s not like she steals for profit.

“Tell me Boy,” Her lips curl back, a snarl in place, “Where else is my meal coming from?”  Emma gets the desired response- he jerks back, surprised, and she’s free.  Because she’s learned recently that no one expects a pretty blonde in glasses to be homeless, to be a runaway- and defying expectations gains her an advantage.  She should be running now, she knows this- the second his hand was off her arm she should have been gone- but now she wants an answer from him.

He regains his composure slowly, straightens up and extends a hand.  She looks down on it, bewildered, because just what is she supposed to do with that? It takes a few moments to realise he’s expecting to shake her hand.

“Liam Jones, at your service.”

“Emma Swan.  Whatever.”

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