#I’ve been so busy but I need to art more to keep me sane

[sherbetlemonss]

@fenroweek2024 THEYYYYYY THE THE💥💥‼️‼️‼️

This doesn’t really fit the prompt but it was for day 5 superhero/rival,,,,, ya 😭😭 I only had this idea for gizmoduck sorry 💔💔

[amusedyan]

Monthly Meetings

A Peaky Blinders commission!

Words: 2k

Once a month there was a meeting. It was something dreaded by both parties, but one that was necessary- it was neutral territory, where mutual suggestions were discussed, grievances were gone over and business settled. No one officially came armed- but that was never written into the deal. Just like it wasn’t discussed that both parties came with a small coterie of their most trusted, each eyeing the other and waiting for a twitchy trigger finger.

Tommy Shelby was never on time to any meeting.

He came early when he was the one to suggest it- to get the drop on the other person, to make an impression. You waste my time, and you have no right to ask anything of me, was the goal there. When told to meet someone, he always made it a point to arrive 5 minutes late, because you aren’t worth my time.

This meant that meeting Alfie Solomons put him in an uncomfortable position- he had to come on time. And sometimes Alfie was there already, smug, or sometimes Alfie was late and dismissive about it, but with a stack of papers and grievances to make up the difference.

Tommy was continually unimpressed with the Jewish mobster, though you could color him surprised when word got out through the grapevine that Alfie Solomon had started going steady with some bird from the local flower shop.

He’d never figure him to be one to settle down, but those same rumors claimed that he ws continually trailing after her. Considering how…temperamental his associate could be, Tommy could believe it.

When Alfie actually entered the restaurant, Tommy reflected that the rumors must be true because the man was practically glowing. More importantly though, his usual stack of gripes was noticeably absent.

“Tommy-boy!” The man grunted, taking his seat at the table. There was already whiskey poured- courtesy of Tommy, of course.

“Alfie,” Tommy greeted, watching the man settle.

It was such a waste of his time to come here, and it took active work not to lose his temper about it. He could be home now

“So, to business. Would you like to begin?” Tommy offered magnanimously.

Alfie drank from his glass and winced at the taste. “Shit, that is,” he mused, shaking his head. “How’ve you been, Tommy? How’s life treated you?”

Suspicion colored Tommy’s thoughts. What was Solomons up to? Small talk wasn’t part of the meeting, ever. As if reading his thoughts, Alfie chuckled. “Don’t be like that, Shelby. I’ve been advised to try diplomacy.”

“By your new conquest?” Tommy countered. The expression on Alfie’s face closed off, and no longer was he looking at a man blatantly in love and feeling charitable to the whole world for it. It made things much easier to deal with. But a moment later, a sly smile crept across Alfie Solomon’s face, and Tommy wasn’t much fond of that expression.

“You’d know all about conquests, wouldn’t you, Tom?” Alfie folded his hands across his midsection and leaned back against his seat, leveling Tommy with a look just as cold.

Fury unfolded, and beside that, fear. What did that mean? Who had talked?

Chuckling, Alfie waved it off. “Now, there’s no need for that look, my good man. There’s been whispers, same as there have been for me. About a pretty girl. What’s her name?”

“We aren’t here to discuss women, Alfie.” Tommy said flatly, trying not to growl. From the corner of his eye, he could see Finn watching intently. He was waiting for a signal. No, he needed to reign it in.

Alfie was just intent on pushing his buttons though, grinning broadly, damn near leering at Tommy. “Well, her name’s Margaret.” His finger drummed against the glass, the ring he was wearing clinking methodically. “I doubt her name’s in your network, yeah? Every fucking thing else, but not that.” He shook his head. “Beautiful name.” And there was that lovesick look again.

“Is that all?” Tommy asked. What would it take to get the meeting back on track? Alfie eyed him, and reached into his coat-

Finn and Isaiah were drawing their guns, Alfie’s men were responding-

“SIT THE FUCK DOWN!” Alfie boomed, stilling the room. Tommy saw that what he’d withdrawn was his wallet.

“What are you planning, Solomons?” He asked, withdrawing a cigarette from his case.

The Camden bastard rolled his eyes and withdrew a photo. “Here,” he grunted, “have a look at this.” He handed it over to Tommy.

And honestly the last thing that Tommy expected to see was the image of a young woman posing for the camera. Rather lewdly, to put it mildly. Like a whore if you wanted to be blunt.

“My Margaret,” pride dripped from Solomons’ voice, like he hadn’t just shown off the parts of a woman that only her husband would see.

Tommy weighed his answers- would Solomons light up with fury if he complimented the woman? Or would he be offended if he didn’t? The trouble was that you never knew with him. He took a contemplative drag of his cigarette.

“Lovely,” he settled on.

Alfie scowled. “Oh like yours is any better,” he taunted. “C’mon, let’s see ‘er then.”

“I don’t have pictures of my woman on me, Alfie.” Tommy said, unable to stop the slight condescension from creeping into his tone, like he was talking to a child, or else someone very simpleminded.

“Well why the fuck not? How’m I s’posed to know if this woman exists, eh?” Alfie accused, smacking the table.

This was all very confusing honestly. What the hell was he playing at? “I didn’t claim she was real.”

“What man doesn’t have a picture of the woman he loves?”

“What man carries filthy pictures of his?”

“Oi mate, those are fuckin art!” Alfie argued with surprising vehemence. It was a strange hill to make a stand on, but hey, he could relate.

“Whatever you say, Alfie,” Tommy sighed and blew out another cloud of smoke.

It was raining now. Storm clouds had been gathering all of yesterday, and he’d been able to taste the moisture, along with the filth in the city air. Rain was ugly here, didn’t clean a fuckin’ thing. He found himself thinking, longingly of the estate. The Shelby Estate, a grander name than something like Arrow House. But little things like a name change kept your feet on the ground. Sylvia would be there, reading. It was raining, so she couldn’t ride today.

At first she’d hated being in the house. She’d wanted to be back in Birmingham. Always liked the action, wanted to support him. It had been charming before, but now that they were together, it couldn’t be tolerated. Too many risks.

“Are you fucking ignoring me, Tommy-boy?” Alfie’s voice was dangerous now, angry and short. Shit. He stubbed out the remains of his smoke in the ashtray.

“No, Alfie, I’m not ignoring you,” he said on the exhale. Clearly, he reflected, nothing was going to get done with this meeting. It was a shame, but at least that meant things were secure where they stood.

Either Solomons was happy or about to betray him again.

“So, I’ve told you about my Margaret, tell me about your girl.” Alfie ordered, pouring another drink.

“There’s nothing to tell,” Tom said, but at the disbelieving look on Alfie’s face, he shrugged slightly.

“I just don’t understand how a man can have a woman and not want to talk about her. Obviously you’ve heard how proud I am, but you? Are you ashamed?” It sounded like it was amusing- the idea that Tommy Shelby would be ashamed of anything in his life.

But the idea of being ashamed of Sylvia? That struck a nerve and that pissed him off properly.

“I’m not ashamed of her.” He snapped.

Alfie’s grin was positively disgusting. “So she does exist? Well, come now, what’s her name?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Then he spoke begrudgingly, “Sylvia.”

“Sylvia, aye.” He nodded, turning it over. “She a gypsy like you?”

“No. She is not a gypsy.” Eye contact was key. “It wouldn’t matter either way.”

“So why don’t you talk about her? I could talk all day about mine, as I’m sure that you’ve noticed,” of course he had. “You move her in yet?”

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell,” Tommy mocked, making Alfie roll his eyes.

“Neither of us are gentlemen, Tom, no matter how you fuckin’ pretend. I moved Margaret in almost right away, you know? We just, we just had this connection- I saw her and I wanted her. Sent her gifts every day, came into the store when I could- her smiles, they lit up my fuckin’ life.”

“I’ve never known you to be so open about your business, Alfie. Aren’t you worried that someone might overhear?” It wasn’t a threat, not at all, not for once. This hit a little too close to home for it to be anything more than idle curiosity, and luckily Solomons knew it.

“No, mate. I need her to know how much I love her. And I need other people to know. Because if someone thinks that they can hurt her? I will…” he laughed, and it didn’t sound sane at all, but it didn’t bother Tommy, “well fuck, I think I’d burn the fuckin’ city down. But,” and he looked at Tommy, and that affable, unstable mask came off for a moment, and Tommy was looking at the emptiness that came from the war, the same emptiness in every soldier who’d been in the field, “but I think you know that, don’t you Tom?” He sighed and shook his head. “I figured, hell, if anyone on this Earth knew what I felt- how far I’d go- it’d be you.. And you do, don’t you?”

Tommy thought about Sylvia. He always thought about Sylvia.

He did horrible things on a daily basis. What would he do if something happened to her?

And the thing was, Tommy didn’t even need to ask himself that question. He’d known the moment that he’d seen her what he’d do for her, what he’d already done. She was safe, that was what he told himself, she was under constant watch, by men he trusted, where he didn’t need to worry about someone running off with her, or an accident, or any of the things that could take her away.

“And you just keep her in an apartment?” He muttered.

“How else would I see her?” Alfie countered evenly. “I take it you don’t?”

Tommy didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to, not in the context of the question.

“No, no, the way I see it, it’s better that I can keep an eye on ‘er. I get to come home to a nice meal, lovely company, and everyone knows what’ll happen if they fuck with her. You keep yours,” and he pointed at his business associate, “in some isolated fuckin’ kingdom and what happens? People get curious. You can’t see her as often. She goes missing. There’s no fuckin’ neighbors to pay to keep watch.” And hell, that was actually a very good point, but he didn’t want to hear that from Solomons.

“Let’s just agree to disagree.”

“Oh I fuckin’ disagree, mate. You don’t get that shit in hand-“

“And what might happen, Solomons?” Tommy asked calmly. He knew what this was- this was Solomons trying to knock him off his game, disturb him. And why? What the hell did Solomons have up his sleeve? “What are you planning?”

“Well I dunno mate.” The glass in Solomons’ hand was empty now, “what do you think I’m planning?”

“I think you’re just being a prick.” The other man barked out a laugh.

“Fair enough, so- grievances.”

And there it was.

When it was over, Tommy went over the meeting- all of it, bullshit included- in his head, thinking it over.

Alfie Solomons was a two faced bastard.

But Tommy found himself making plans to go visit Sylvia as a surprise, nonetheless.

[kyber-crystal]

Unspoken Words

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: 4.2k (I POPPED OFF LOLLLLL)

Summary: In which the night before being deployed on a covert black-ops mission overseas with Natasha, you write Steve a secret love letter that you never intended to give him. But, it still ends up falling into his hands.

Warnings: fluff, soft angst, cute steve hehe

A/N: once again, shamelessly stole this idea from the kdrama im watching adsfasdf

To Steve.

You always told me it was time I found someone who cared for me just as much as I cared about others. For the longest time, I had myself believing I was set for life since I already had the team. That I didn’t need to find a man to sweep me off my feet and take his last name, to have as my own, as every time I seemed to let my feelings wander astray, it’d end in tragedy.

After waiting for too long to say this, I guess I'm gonna come clean now, so brace yourself. I felt as if this would be easier for me if I was saying it on paper rather than in person, so here you go.

I realized I'm in love with you. You never leave my mind. You're always there, mentally, if not physically. It's hard for you to comprehend all at once, I know, it's hard for me to wrap my mind around, too. It still feels unreal that I'm actually admitting all this to you. I could've sworn I'd only acted this way in my dreams, but hey, reality can sometimes come up behind you and slap you in the face, you know?

In the middle of the storm, a war that rages on in my mind, you’re my safe haven. You’re the gentle center who keeps me steady and prevents me from teetering over the edge and losing my grip on reality. You keep me centered, and I don’t know what I’d do without you by my side. Steven Grant Rogers, I’m in love with you. I know, it doesn’t seem real. As crazy as it sounds, I’m hopelessly in love with you.

Steve, you are my one stability in a chaos-ridden world and I thank you endlessly for that. I so desperately needed something to hold onto, something to convince me I was still alive and breathing and somewhat sane. It's hard for me, it's hard that only today I've accepted the feelings I'd been harboring inside for years. But I've decided to admit defeat and admit I've officially fallen in love with you. Because what I'm beginning to feel now is far too strong for me to ignore; it's impossible to keep up this act when you're all I can seem to think about.

It's all strange, honestly. The feeling of butterflies flying around my stomach and tickling my insides makes me feel as if I'm up in the sky, my head in the clouds, but it also overwhelms me and makes me scared at the same time. The fact that I'm in so deeply in love scares me because I know when I'm really in love with someone, it's hard to escape once I've completed the act of falling for them.

Weird, right? Who knew the great Y/N was so capable of being a romantic sap?

It feels dangerous yet completely safe at the same time, as if someone's given me peace and my heart is dancing around in my chest because it's so happy, at the same time there is a Captain America-shaped hole there in the center that I was never aware was there in the beginning. My chest aches at the thought of having to leave you or you not reciprocating my feelings, but I know I might just suffer that fate, since the world as I know it, isn't kind whatsoever. I should know this better than anyone, after fighting countless battles.

It scares me more than excites me, how you can go from being really close friends to then being completely infatuated and in love with them and wondering how you were ever able to go on with your daily life without them, because I sure as hell can't imagine that now. In the beginning, I told myself it's not right, I still had so much of my life ahead of me, so much time to plan out what I'm going to end up like in the future but my brain is screaming no, no, it is right, it's meant to be.

The team tries convincing me to do something about it but I'm terrified. Terrified that I'll have to bring down the thick and heavy walls I spent so much time building up in the fears of being hurt and damaged and my heart shattered to a million jagged pieces.

I know most people would consider me to be foolish and naïve for spilling my feelings through a sappy love letter, but it's true when I say I love you so much more than I could ever love myself. You're my best friend, and as cheesy as it sounds, you are my everything. My anchor.

I fell for you all on my own. Not because I was pressured to or anything, but because I made the decision myself. I don't just give my heart to you by default as if there's no one else available for me to open up to. It's because I choose to. Every day that I wake up, every day we're fighting for our lives or fighting each other or going about a normal day or whatever, I'll keep choosing you over and over again, and I hope someday you'll do the same.

I love you more than you know. And if you don't feel the same way, then it's perfectly fine. I understand, and I'll wait for you as long as it takes, no matter what.

Whatever it takes.

Y/N

You let out a long sigh and set down your pen, folding the paper up into fourths and tucking it under your lamp before pushing yourself away from your desk and standing up, stretching your arms in the air. What even was the point of doing that, anyways? It’s not like Steve’s just going to come in here and read the letter. 

The downside of living with the Avengers was that word got around very quickly, especially about your love life. There was no hiding anything from anyone, as they’d find out one way or another. If Tony didn’t find out first, it was Natasha, Sam, or Bucky who did.

“Hey, Nat,” you spoke without turning your head to look at who was behind you, knowing your red-headed best friend was leaning against the doorframe, observing you carefully. 

“Y/N,” Natasha nodded and made her way inside, sitting at the edge of your bed and you took a seat next to her, as she rested her head on your shoulder. “You alright? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

“Something tells me you’re not.”

“Did Wanda read my mind for you?” you raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

“No, she didn’t,” she replied honestly, “she’s busy baking cookies with Vis and Peter right now. You think you wanna tell me what’s up? As your best friend, I’m obligated to know what’s going on.”

You closed your eyes and let out a long sigh. "You know what it is."

"You mean who?"

"Why am I letting this happen to myself?"

"You can't control who you fall for,," she explained. "Your heart sometimes just has a mind of its' own."

“He’s Captain America,” you deadpanned.

“And you’re the badass Y/N!”

“I shouldn’t even have feelings in the first place. And I shouldn't have written that love letter that I won't even give him anyways, or...you know."

"You wrote him a letter?"

You got up and tugged the letter from underneath your lamp and gave it to her, watching as her eyes scanned over the paper with your tidy, typewriter-like handwriting filling the sheet from top to bottom.

"So..."

Natasha handed the paper back to you. "Why can't you just tell him?"

"Because he doesn’t like me back."

"You should tell him at some point. Keeping this all to yourself isn't healthy."

"You sound like Tony."

She chuckled lightly. "What?It's the truth."

"Fine," you threw your hands up in the air in defeat, "I’ll consider telling him after we get back from Kyiv. I’m only considering it. And if I do confess...will you take me out for shawarma? Bucky took me last time and I barely got to eat anything because he stole most of my food."

"Alright, I promise," she laughed. "You got a deal."

...

SHIELD was always taking advantage of your almost unparalleled skill in the art of covert espionage and hand to hand combat and sending you off. Normally, it would last no longer than a few days or weeks at a time, so to hear that you'd be gone for four whole months made Steve feel sick to his stomach. He was dreading having to watch you leave, because it would mean spending the next third of a year by himself, without being able to see your face or your smile or simply have you around for some good company.

You pulled him aside after dinner one night to tell him the news.

"Nat and I were called in by Fury early this morning. We're being deployed to eastern Europe to stop a nuclear missile launch."

"How long will you be gone?" He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible, but it was a dead giveaway that he didn't want you to go at all.

"Well...if things go right, 3-4 months."

"And if doesn't?"

"Six, maybe seven."

Steve felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at your answer. "Why is it gonna take so long?"

"I don't know," you sighed, "just trying getting in and out isn't a very short process. We have to maintain low profile for a while before we infiltrate the base. If we're discovered too early on...then...well, we're basically screwed."

"Oh."

"Hey, I'm going to be fine, if that's what you're so worried about," you took his hand in yours and squeezed it tightly, "I know you're thinking I can't handle this, but I can. Nat and I are gonna look out for each other. I promise I'll be okay."

"When are you leaving?"

"First thing in the morning. We gotta go at four."

You didn't have to add on another sentence to tell him it meant you were unable to say goodbye to anyone. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat and trying to ignore that weird feeling in his chest as you kept holding his hand, not letting go even when you had the chance to.

Later that night, you were able to get five hours of sleep before Natasha came in to wake you up and you got ready. When she noticed how your eyes had lost the light to them and your shoulders slumped as you boarded the jet, she knew something was up.

Guilt clawed at your insides. You should’ve told him you loved him before you left, you idiot. What if you don’t make it back alive? Hm?

A set of footsteps echoing across the hangar bay suddenly made you turn around. You turned around to see Steve, jogging towards you and calling out your name. Knowing it was only a matter of minutes before you finished boarding and took off for a mission thousands of miles away, with very little ways of communication as you were supposed to be as discreet as possible when undercover, he didn't want you to leave without saying goodbye.

A mix of surprise and relief is on your face when you see him. You shake your head and give him a reassuring look, that everything was going to be okay and you'd be just fine.

"What are you doing here? You should be sleeping," your brows furrowed together in confusion as you unloaded your weapons, tying up your combat boots. "I thought you���"

Steve quickly comes forward and crushes you into a tight embrace that tells you he's going to miss you much more than he's letting on. You were quick to return the gesture, wrapping your arms around his torso and squeezing him back, resting your head against his broad chest.

"Stay safe out there," he murmured into your hair, pressing a light, fleeting kiss to the top of your hair.

You don't question his sudden act of sentiment, and just gave him a small smile in response. "Don't worry. I will."

With that, you turned around, stepping back up the ramp with Natasha. The gates to the hangar bay slid open, and within seconds you had taken off.

Steve stands there for a while even after the Quinjet is out of his sight, and it's only when Bucky pulls him back inside that he realizes he's been standing there for over an hour without moving at all.

The first few weeks pass by in a blur. He hardly eats, he hardly sleeps, he hardly even gets up for his morning runs or trains at all. After the first two months came and went, Tony grew rather concerned seeing him deteriorate and decided to ask him what was going on.

"Tony, I'm fine."

"Like hell you are. What's up with you? You haven't eaten a solid meal in over two months. You've lost some weight around your face, you almost look like a skeleton. When you haven't gone on your morning runs in forever, I should have a reason to be worried about you, Cap."

"It's been five weeks and she hasn't checked in with us yet," he stated plainly, gulping down his third cup of coffee of the day. "She should've called a week ago."

"God, I never thought you'd be the one to get so worked up over a girl," the billionaire let out a long sigh, pouring himself a cup of coffee as well at the kitchen counter before taking a seat at the island next to him, "but here we are now."

"What if she got injured?"

"Her and Nat are looking out for each other. I'm sure she's fine. She's going to be okay, so why don't you eat something solid for once? Tell me what you wanna order, I'll get it for you."

Thanks, Tony. I'll take Thai." (You and Steve often ate Thai takeout together.)

"Anytime."

Way over in Ukraine, you and Natasha were sitting on the bed in your hotel room watching the news on TV in silence because neither one of you felt like sleeping yet, until she decided to speak up.

"Why haven't you called Rogers yet?"

"I...don't know."

"He's gotta be missing you like hell, you know."

"I know. And I miss him too...a bit too much. That's why I can't call him. Because every time I hear his voice or see something that reminds me of him, it makes me fall even more in love with him and I can't afford having that. I don't want to risk getting hurt. Besides...I already summoned every last ounce of willpower to write that letter."

"You really should give him a call. It's not doing your heart any good to purposely drain yourself of him."

"Fine."

Steve had somehow allowed himself to get roped into a Mario Kart showdown with Bucky and Sam, when his phone suddenly lit up with a familiar number he could recognize anywhere. Your contact picture filled up the screen: you grinning wildly as his arms wrapped around you from behind, Pietro photobombing in the back as he made heart signs with his hands.

He picked up the phone and answered it after only one ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Steve," you spoke over the phone, "how's it going?"

"Hey," he couldn't help but break into a smile, "are you alright?"

"Yeah. We got the data files downloaded onto the flash drive and then destroyed it yesterday. So for now, we're just waiting around and maybe doing some tours of Kyiv while we have time."

"What time is it over there?"

"Half past midnight. You?"

"2:30."

"How are you holding up?"

Bucky and Sam looked over at that exact moment, wiggling their eyebrows up and down as they gestured for Steve to say something. "I'm doing fine. Got pulled into a Mario Kart deathmatch with the two idiots."

"Tell Bucky and Sam I send my regards and that I'm bringing back those baguettes I promised for when we stop over in Paris," you told him.

"I will. It's good to hear your voice, Y/N."

You couldn't help but feel your heart flutter at those words. "It's good to hear your voice, too. Look, I'm sorry...but it's getting late, and my data on my phone is low, Fury didn't give me an unlimited plan so I gotta go now. See you soon."

"Okay. Try to get some good sleep, alright? I don't want you getting hurt because you didn't get a good night's rest the night before. See you."

"COME ON, MAN!" Sam yelled as soon as you hung up. "You didn't even have the decency to say 'I love you?'"

"I love her, but not like that."

"Sure you don't. I saw the way your face lit up when you picked up the phone."

"Two months," the super-soldier let out a sigh of disappointment, setting down the controller to watch him and Bucky tear each other apart on Rainbow Road, "two more months."

He picked up his phone again and clicked on his camera roll, mindlessly beginning to scroll through until one picture caught his eye. It was during summer break when you were vacationing in the Bahamas for two weeks along with several SHIELD agents, and Coulson had taken the team picture. Fury had somehow been convinced to come along as well.

As his eyes scanned all the faces in the picture, he came across himself and noticed that he wasn't smiling at the camera, but at you instead, and you were doing the same. Both of you, gazing into each others' eyes as if the two of you were the only people left on Earth.

He felt a pang in his chest as he realized, at that moment, that he was in love with you and hadn't gotten the chance to tell you so before you left. And now, it could be too late.

The letter ends up reaching Steve much faster than you'd anticipated it to. The next day, he went to drop off the sweatshirt you left in his room last time you’d had a movie night together and comes across a single sheet of paper lying out on your desk.

All the color quickly drains from his face when he realizes this wasn't actually meant for him to read. He knows what he'd just done was wrong, but the fact that he was so oblivious to how you felt about him makes him feel even worse.

...

The mission had gone extremely well. You and Natasha were in and out of that base probably faster than you could summon Tony after yelling out that one of his suits had been tampered with.

Natasha thought it'd be fun to surprise him by coming back a month early and could tell instantly that you loved the idea, judging by the way your eyes lit up when you boarded the Quinjet.

You decided to call him again on the flight back as she sat at the front piloting the jet.

"Steve?"

"Hey. What's up?"

"Uh...I'm afraid there's been a change of plans."

"What plans?" His voice quickly grew worried as he tried masking his disappointment at the fact that you weren't announcing your return.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, I'm sorry, but...I just wanted to call you to update you on what's happening. Signal's not very good up here, Nat and I are flying out again so I'll call you when we touch down."

"Okay. Talk to you in a bit."

After making a quick pit stop at a bakery in Paris, you were up in the skies again, zipping back towards the Avengers HQs where the rest of the team was waiting.

"You know, I think Rogers is in love with you," Natasha gave you a knowing look as you touched down.

"What makes you think that?"

"When you guys were going after Bucky...I think that's when it all happened."

"But that was several years ago?"

"Exactly."

You unbuckled your seatbelts and stood up, picking up your duffel bags as the opening gates dropped down and you stepped off the ramp to an awaiting Bucky, Sam, Clint and Peter.

"Y/N!" Peter rushed forward, squeezing you in a tight hug. "Hi! You're home early!"

"Yeah, I am," you grinned ruffling his hair as you pulled apart. "You make sure Bucky and Sam didn't misbehave?"

Sam shot you a glare as Peter replied. "Well, they were alright. Happy dropped me off here yesterday and I monitored their Mario Kart matches to make sure nobody killed someone, so yeah. Clint was good too."

You went over to Bucky as Natasha went to talk to Sam and Clint about mission details."

"Y/L/N."

"Barnes."

"How was the flight?" His hard expression softened slight as he gave you a quick hug. "I heard everything went pretty well."

"Yeah, it was okay. A bit jet-lagged, but other than that I'm fine. And speaking of flight! I got you guys something."

You motioned for Nat to bring the box of pastries from the jet, and as soon as she did everyone's eyes lit up with excitement.

"Dude, you're the best," Sam exclaimed as he bit into an eclair. "I love Parisian pastries."

"We don't wanna be here too long, now do we?" Clint spoke up. "Y/N, I think you have a special someone to surprise inside."

"Oh?" you raised an eyebrow at the archer before following him and the others inside the compound.

Steve was busy reading a news article on his phone at the kitchen island, sitting there in a plain grey T-shirt and dark jeans when he looked up and met your gaze.

"Hey, soldier," you greeted with a smirk, "miss me?"

His face broke into a grin as he set his phone down. "You're back early."

"Fury was a bit more lenient this time," you shrugged, taking your hands out of your jacket pockets, "so he let us go. Since we got the job done pretty fast."

He chuckled lightly, pulling you close in response and wrapping his strong arms around you. "I'm glad you're back."

"So I take it you really missed me, huh."

"You could put it that way."

"Like hell he missed you. You should've seen him while you were gone, Christ," Sam groaned. "He wouldn't eat anything solid for an entire week."

"Oh!" Wanda piped up, "I believe he has something to tell you? Right, Steve?"

"No, I don't?"

"Uh, we'll leave now, then," Clint awkwardly cleared his throat. "Let's give these two a minute."

With that, they calmly filed out of the kitchen, leaving the two of you to yourselves.

"You look tired," Steve raised an eyebrow at you as he noticed the dark circles under your eyes.

"You look worse," you joked, earning a small laugh from him as you circled your arms around his torso. "I'm just a bit jet-lagged. The ten hour time difference wasn't very kind to me."

"Well, I'm glad you're back," he breathed out, "I missed you."

"Ah, there it is," you mumbled into his chest. "But yeah, I missed you too. And here I was starting to think Captain America didn't have the heart to care for someone so much."

"Only for you, Y/N," he chuckled, pressing a light kiss to your forehead, "only for you."

“Wait a second,” you pulled away and saw a familiar piece of paper sticking out of his jacket pocket, “what’s that?”

Your eyes widened as you pulled it out and realized it was the letter you’d written him several months back. “Oh shit...”

“Was I not supposed to read this?’

“NO!”

“It was addressed to me, though...?”

“I never meant for you to read it!” you hissed, “Now give it back!”

“Ah ah ah! I don’t think so.”

You let out an annoyed groan, going up on your tiptoes to try and snatch the paper out of his hand. “Screw you, Rogers. Why do you have to be so damn tall?”

You jumped up and down in an attempt to get the letter back for several minutes until you finally gave up, arms growing sore. When he towered half a foot above you, it was hopeless.

Your hands landed against his chest as you let them fall and you just stood there for a few seconds, or minutes, maybe, in utter silence, with his warm breath falling against your neck and you hated yourself for wanting this moment to last longer. 

The air was suddenly buzzing with anticipation, like the world was holding its breath to see what was to come next. Steve’s gaze lingered on your lips before he tilted his head downwards, placing a hand on the small of your back and pulling you in for a kiss. 

His lips met your own so softly, so gently that you swore that you were dreaming for a split second, and you let out a sigh as your arms slid around his waist and tightened their grip around him. 

“In case I haven’t made it obvious enough, either,” he hummed, “I’m in love with you too.”

You felt heat rise up your cheeks. “You weren’t supposed to read that!”

“Too bad,” he smirked, resting his chin on your head, “I read it already, three times. You bet I’ll be keeping this for myself.”

“I hate you so much.”

“That’s not what the letter says.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Fine! I love you.”

Steve laughed lightly. “I love you too, Y/N.”

[hetacon]

Prom Queen: Chapter 2

First || Previous || Next

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Word Count: 1,900

Pairings: Endgame Prinxiety, Platonic LAMP, more could be included at a later point

Warning: Swearing, food mentions (Let me know if I missed anything, this one seemed fairly tame!)

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Summary: He missed Roman. High school had been, in the grand scheme of things, largely without his best friend.

(Make sure to read the notes at the end if you want to hear my thoughts on the chapter! As always, feel free to let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for this story or just my art and writing ones in general! Enjoy!)

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High school wasn’t great but it certainly didn’t seem to be terrible either. That’s what Virgil was gathering from the whole experience anyways. It definitely didn’t hold as much of the awkwardness in terms of trying to find himself and who he was as a person like middle school had brought about.

But still, there were still a fair share of complications. Roman’s popularity throughout the years had started to become one of them.

Neither of them had honestly expected it really. Theater put Roman in the spotlight, both literally and figuratively, that was where part of his newfound popularity came from. With that little bit of exposure, people started to take notice of him.

First it had been Roman running late to English a few times when they started out freshman year.

That expanded to Roman joining some clubs Virgil was content to stay out of for a couple days in the week.

More interaction with more people meant Roman got to talking with some interesting people from student council through his Model UN club meetings, including a familiar face from theater serving as their stage manager in the upcoming fall production.

“Hey guys, there’s someone I’d like you to meet!” Roman said excitedly as he dragged along a guy that looked around their grade, firm hands on his shoulders. Roman beamed as Virgil and Patton looked up from Virgil’s phone. “This is Logan!”

Patton smiled at Logan and held out a hand. “Patton Hart, it’s nice to meet you Logan!”

At the sight of Patton’s hand reached out to him, Virgil noticed Logan visibly relax, reaching out to shake Patton’s.

“Hello Patton,” Logan merely said with a nod.

“And of course, Logan, I’ve told you about my best friend Virgil,” Roman’s voice cut through, Virgil’s gaze flickering over to the impossibly widening grin on Roman’s face at that little detail.

Logan nodded once more. “Ah yes, Roman talks about you often.”

“Nothing but bad things I assume?” Virgil snorted, smirking at Roman’s mock gasp of offense.

“No, he speaks rather highly of you, Virgil. Oftentimes it gets in the way of things such as letting him running lines and letting me work on my own work for his play,” Logan commented, giving Roman a pointed look towards the latter half of his statement.

“A boy can’t talk about his best friend? Harsh, Specs!”

Patton laughed at the two of them bickering. “So how’d you and Logan meet?”

“Model UN, he’s done a much better job than I have! He’s trying to show me the ropes but he’s definitely much smarter than me at it!” Roman said with a chuckle, sitting down with Logan doing so as well.

“He says that but he isn’t doing too poorly, honestly Roman,” Logan sighed.

“Yeah yeah, but not as good as you. Now hush and let me tell them my story!”

Roman considered joining student council by the end of freshman year but decided theater was already a large commitment.

Sophomore year rolled around before Virgil knew it and Roman was cast as the lead role for the fall production as well as getting on the sophomore homecoming court.

Homecoming carnival was fairly nice as Roman practically dragged him and Logan along. Virgil didn’t have half a bad time though he admittedly just stayed by Patton who was working at one of his club booths. Roman was surrounded by too many people at one point for Virgil to really want to follow him anyways.

Spring semester of sophomore year was pretty uneventful aside from Roman somehow getting even more popular. Virgil could barely get a word of conversation in with him after their school’s spring production of Beauty and the Beast, despite him going to nearly every night of the show’s run. Patton was good company during one of the nights though and the two went out for milkshakes afterwards.

“Virgil! Gosh, I really don’t need you seeing me cry,” Roman laughed as he scooped Virgil up in a tight hug before pulling away. “You didn’t have to come for closing night!”

“I wanted to, you know?” Virgil asked. “Also holy shit are you hot.”

“Oh trust me, I know! My sheer beauty is truly a thing to behold!” Roman teased, only for Virgil to shove him with a snort.

“Congratulations Roman, you did a great job!” one of their classmates said in passing.

“Thank you Cissy!” Roman called after her with a proud grin on his face.

“No, you know what I mean, you must be dying under the lights,” Virgil chuckled.

“Oh, that-!”

“Roman, you did amazing, look at you!” another person said, coming over to give Roman a hug.

“Thank you, and thank you for coming!” Roman replied.

“How could I not? You did great!” the woman said. “Hey, have you seen Chloe around? I’ve been trying to find the poor girl for ages, she might’ve been swamped.”

“I think she might’ve gone to go change, I think she’ll be out soon!”

Virgil zoned out a little as Roman continued to make conversation for a little longer.

“Ro, you down for going to get ice cream after you free yourself from your wire prison?” Virgil asked once he thought Roman’s attention was finally back on him but a hand was clapped on to Roman’s back.

“Hey dude, awesome job, how’d your voice hold up?” one of the other actors, Justin if Virgil remembered correctly, asked.

“My throat is honestly totally killing me, I can’t wait to drink my weight in tea when I get home,” Roman laughed, wincing for emphasis.

“I feel you, I think I’m going to head home after I change,” Justin said, running a hand through his hair and fixing his glasses. “You planning on going out with the rest of the cast afterwards?”

“Nah, Virgil and I are going to get ice cream and then I am going to sleep like there’s no tomorrow!”

“Fair, fair, I’ll see you on Monday!”

By the time that Roman was finally free, a dozen people had asked Roman for picture and Virgil, with a quick text, told him that his mom had to pick him up unexpectedly.

Logan started to hang out with Virgil and Patton during lunch by the time junior year came by, only skipping a portion of Wednesdays in order to go to student council meetings.

By this point in their time in high school, lots of changes happened but some things still stayed pretty consistent. Roman decided against auditioning for the fall play but still seemed to remain as busy as ever with the theater competitions he was now taking part in, fitting in clubs in seemingly any place possible. Logan had become the junior year president for student council, still taking part in Model UN and a few AP classes definitely keeping him busy. Patton had been the one to change the least aside from Virgil himself. Virgil was happy that both he and Patton were both taking AP studio art. Apart from that, the two of them just focused on trying to stay sane.

Prom came up during their junior year as a topic of discussion (seeing as only the juniors and seniors could go on their own) and the four of them decided to go together as a group. It was a disaster in Virgil’s opinion and he had to leave early when Roman was asked for a dance by one of the popular girls in their grade. He felt sick to think about it.

Virgil stared up at the ceiling for a while the night of prom after he’d gotten back home, trying to figure out what was even happening at this point. A girl had asked for a dance, Roman accepted.

Except suddenly, Virgil remembered just how many times Roman had arrived late to lunch, how many times he’d sat down only to realize he’d had club meetings, how many times Roman would be preoccupied with rehearsals and homework and conversations in the halls before English. The study sessions at Roman’s house had become minimal and Virgil’s interactions with Roman’s brother Remus were more frequent than the interactions with Roman himself.

He missed Roman. High school had been, in the grand scheme of things, largely without his best friend. It still didn’t feel right, like he was missing something with the realization he’d come to.

As soon as he thought of Roman asking him to dance and kissing him though, he knew.

Virgil cried for a while that night.

Suddenly after prom, Roman dropped most of his clubs.

“Why’d you stop going?” Patton asked during their current conversation, taking out his lunch. He offered Virgil a cookie who took it reluctantly.

“Eh, I don’t know, I’ve just been so busy you know? Wanted to see if it helped,” Roman offered as explanation, shrugging. “Oh hey Logan, did you finish studying for our APUSH test today?” he added as the aforementioned took a seat at the table, finished with his student council meeting.

Logan nodded and wordlessly handed his notes to Roman with a roll of his eyes. “I knew you were going to ask.”

“You know me well Specs! I swear, he’s really going nuts with AP test prep, huh?” Roman asked, flipping through the neatly written notes.

“Teachers tend to overprepare us for AP tests, I promise it’s worth it.”

Patton sighed and turned to Virgil, letting the other two talk over their test next period. “Hey Virge, do you want to come over to my house today? I got some new paints I wanted to try out but I’ve been waiting for you to come over,” Patton tried, smiling hopefully at him.

He really didn’t have anything better to do that afternoon so he nodded. “Yeah, sure, do you want me to bring anything?”

Patton shook his head. “Nope, just yourself!”

Virgil nodded.

Summer came around and Virgil started to spend less time with Roman. His family had dragged him on more than one trip so luckily he had a good excuse. Roman certainly didn’t seem very available either so it wasn’t exactly hard for their schedules to conflict.

With a week until senior year started, Virgil went to help Patton walk his dog.

“Hey Pat..?”

“Hm?” Patton asked, looking to him with a smile.

“What would you think if I wanted to... I dunno, change my style I guess?” Virgil asked, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater.

“Hmm... Well, what are you thinking about? Like, just a little change? Starting from scratch?” was Patton’s response. “Not for any reason, I’m still supportive no matter what you want to do!”

Virgil thought on it as they continued walking. “I don’t really know yet, I just know I want to change it I guess?”

Patton nodded. “Well I say do it! You can always change it back!”

With that, they moved on to other subjects. Patton was excited about school while Virgil ruminated on Patton’s questions.

The day before senior year started, Virgil knew what he was planning on, staring at the hair dye in his hands.

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Hey hey hey, we are finally going to be getting into the actual conflict! Gosh, I’ve been waiting for the chance to do so, the next chapter will definitely be interesting!

I will say I had a bit of trouble with this one. The last chapter starts off with the first day of freshman year but I just felt it was a good way to set up the dynamic. I wanted the story to be set in either junior or senior year though mainly due to the maturity level at that point. It feels more comfortable and lets me have more room with what’s to come! I tried to get there without just saying “Look, here’s a time skip, wow!” I really hope I did it well, it feels a little clunky!

I hope you guys liked this chapter and as always, feel free to chat with me in the comments! I love hearing your guys’ opinions!

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Taglist: @artissijules, @virgils-paranoia, @its-the-cat-queen, @myyoutubecorner, @marshmallow-the-panda, @anotheregofanficblog, @tssidesfamily, @shapa-likes-art, @isabelle-stars, @falsemood, @prinxiety-shipper101, @katlikethesword

[kirstinmaldonado]

Chapter One 2.0

Hi there!

2020 really hit the fan, eh? We went from romanticizing about having “Roaring 20’s”-themed shenanigans to…feeling like we’re in the 2.0 of our era!

“I just wanted to wear the fun dresses, nothing more!!”

Oy vey…I attribute that incredibly basic thought to my love for themed parties, not an insensitive privilege or lack of awareness. At least I hope! It’s so important to be aware right now, it HAS been in everything that’s going on in the world, but especially with this virus.

I hope you guys are staying as sane as possible. As SAFE as possible for you and those around you!

I have re-started this blog so many times within the last year and EVERY time I would get this anxious feeling in my stomach about how well it would do or how it would be received. I looked back on my old chapters and thought wow, can I even be that inspiring anymore?

Now given our current situation, I feel the need to at least try. To put myself out there without insecurities! In all honestly, this can and SHOULD be much bigger than just me.

I want to create a safe space where we can inspire and motivate. Achieve and dream. Cry and fight. Be the best versions of ourselves and hey, sometimes the worst when we all have our off days.

With the current climate, I think it’s important.

It feels nice to talk to someone.

It feels nice to connect.

I think we can all help each other through this by sharing safety tips, stories, dreams for 2020 we can STILL make happen, and just overall being a part of that special community of honesty and love that you guys helped build back in the day! I am so, so thankful for you all. While we may have to physically distance ourselves, that doesn’t mean we are alone.

We won’t let this virus knock us down! If anything, I think it has been incredibly eye-opening. I think it’s allowing us time spent where we would have been too busy otherwise. To paint. To cook. To clean out the closet under the stairs aka the dust bunnies of 2016. To blog <3

You guys. It’s CRAZY that my last blog post was the beginning of 2017, given that I feel it was such a huge part of my life!

2017 was such a huge year for me in truly every aspect. It was incredibly chaotic, very high and very low. The worst of times, the best of times, a la Dickens fashion. You know I love to feel poetic.

Now it’s taken me some time to get back on my feet, even time since the original idea to re-start the blog, but even though I am all evened out and rejuvenated with life I tempted my past.

I visited my shadow. Cue somber music.

The shadow, although initially four years my junior, left me surprised with how incredibly articulate her thoughts were, as if she had stabbed into herself and let her heart, her soul, bleed in to words on paper, crying out, teaching, fighting for life and happiness and regrettably at times ridden with denial and hypocrisy. Maybe she wrote to remind herself what to do. Maybe she already knew and chose not to follow it or was uncertain.

Hey. Maybe she was just terrified of what she was actually thinking.

Maybe she was settling with her feelings because so much of her life had been heavy with poor examples and disappointment that she craved something to hold onto. She’d turn her rose colored glasses to any ounce of sunshine and try to cast it to memory. She didn’t know how to resolve the conflicts in her life so she’d brush it off and bury it away. She’d be silent. Why not be happy with the happinesses she was given, even if they came with faults? Why would she deserve anything more than what she had?

I was truly impressed by my full blog compilation, my poetic diss to myself, in a way. And truly…I hope in four MORE years I’ll still be impressed by Kirstie 2.0, and 3.0 and so on.

It made me tear up. To know where I was in life through those rollercoaster years but how well I was expressing myself on my blog. My safe place. My place where I felt I could truly be me.

Thank you for being there for me.

I’ve missed it. Life threw me for a loop for a while! I’ve loved every second of my adventure since then. From kirstinTM to Broadway and living in NYC to tour to Christmas to new pup additions (shoutout to the Floofster) and getting to explore the world with old friends and new. I’ve gotten healthier, stronger, hopefully wiser!!

I got to spend time getting to know me. And how my friends and family play such special parts in my life.

So pardon the absence, but now I’m back! I’ve missed connecting with you all!

I promise we will find ways to keep our heads high toward the future. We thought 2020 would be our year…and even though it in a million ways hasn’t been what we anticipated (when is any year, though?!) it does not mean that we have to roll over, quarantine-belly up, and submit to failure!

My hope is that we can inspire each other to be safe, great, healthy, and most of all happy. I’ll be sharing what is on my mind, what activities I’ve been up to (inside my house of course), maybe some recipes here and there if I’m feeling crafty!? Let’s find ways to positively occupy our time while simultaneously doing something that fuels our minds and passions!

I’ve seen a quote floating around that I wanted to leave you with. The words spoke to my heart and the situation in a very Princess Mononoke way. Love you all so much and stay safe out there!!! Till next week!

“And the people stayed home.

And read books and listened, and rested and exercised,

and made art and played games,

and learned new ways of being and were still.

And listened more deeply.

Some meditated, some prayed, some danced.

Some met their shadows.

And the people began to think differently.

And the people healed.

And, in the absence of people living in ignorant, dangerous, mindless and heartless ways the earth began to heal.

And when the danger passed, and the people joined together again,

they grieved their losses, and made new choices,

and dreamed new images,

and created new ways to live and heal the earth fully,

as they had been healed.”

Written by Kitty O’Meara, inspired perhaps by an Italian poem by Irene Vella (whose immuno-depressed husband has been ill during this period of Coronavirus)

[airi-p4]

Songfic: The listening

Hi! I can finally share this songfic I finished a while ago!  It’s based on the song ‘The listening’ by Lights. (After hearing the lyrics I thought it was so Marinette and I had to write it down. It was HARD. But I think I managed well enough?)

Notice: Song lyrics are in bold. Notice2: Scroll slowly! There’s art included 💙 Notice 3: A comic based on this fic is -> HERE <-. I recommend to read the fic first, though.  AO3 Comic: The Listening ________________________________

Marinette POV

What the hell I’ve just-!? Is this for real? Oh no!

I mean- it’s usual Marinette to stumble, trip on her own feet and mess everything up... but kissing Luka out of the blue? On his lips? That’s new. Problematic, even. Not because I haven’t been wanting to kiss him for a while- of course not (I’ve been dying to do so)-, but because his blue eyes are staring back at mine, confused, surprised, indecisive and expectant. I certainly took him unprepared. Not that I was prepared either! With mere seconds to think, panic is taking over me.

"Please excuse me, I'm not thinking clear. It must just be stress…"

Shit. I can feel my cold sweat down my spine as the hotness on my cheeks increases, and my nervousness is ready to take my body next. Not that I’m lying: I really am stressed out and I can’t find inspiration. But today… It's not really stress what took me here. I still have tons of work to do, yet here I am: with Luka at the park, messing things up again.

"I- I just saw you from my balcony and I thought to say hi...

But I likely shouldn't be here…

I’mSorryForDistractingYouWhenYou’reMeditating-! IShouldNotHaveKi-DoneTha-! Ugh…” Here I am, rambling again… “I'm such a mess…"

Why am I so bad with talking when it involves romantic feelings? Everyone knows what happens when Marinette is in LOVE. Stumbling, tripping, mistakes… and unexplainable stuff like the kiss just now. A complete mess...

'I never really ever know what to say When all of my emotions get in the way I'm just trying to get us on the same page'

Why can’t I just confess to him already? I’ve been trying to confess for a while. Opportunities to do so always either wasted or ruined by a hurricane of emotions. Words always incoherent and incomprehensible- and that's only when they actually make it out of my mouth... 

I always get it better right afterward When all the wrong impressions are said and heard

Luka always manages to give me some encouragement after, a different meaning to my words even, so I don't feel embarrassed after the failed attempts to confess my feelings to him.

How come I can never get the right words, I need to convey

Why is it so hard to say those words? Why can’t I convey my feelings to Luka? Why is he not getting my message? It’s been a while since I noticed my feelings for him. I really want to confess and tell him how I feel. I need to!

And yet, chances to confess are not outnumbered. Most of the time I’m either busy or rushing somewhere. Interferences. It’s always the interferences.

Wish I could explain the things that I have to work out

School, sewing, commissions, helping out at the bakery, being Ladybug… add recently becoming the guardian of the Miraculous and having to deal with Lila’s lies, too.. and even more: new feelings for the guitar boy… It’s too much for a 15 year old girl. I doubt anyone but Tikki knows actually how much pressure and stress I’m under.

I don't feel right What has come over me, I'm about To lose my mind

I’m overwhelmed with responsibilities, excuses, work and recently, Lila’s lies have become unbearable. I can't keep up with everything, resulting in me failing at everything. Maybe that's why my feet took me here, in look of Luka’s calm and freedom.  

Maybe I’ve already lost my mind. No, I must have. I mean- kissing Luka like that isn’t something normal sane Marinette would do, that’s for sure...

I never really ever know what to say When all of my emotions get in the way

I’m determined to tell him my feelings, yet here we are again: messing things up and wasting my chances to do so. It’s frustrating how I can't make sense around Luka anymore...

I'm just trying to get us on the same page (Wish I could explain)

If only I could confess! And I can't tell him everything I'm going through either...

Why is it so hard to tell Luka I want him by my side? That I want to spend more time with him? I just want him to like me as much as I like him. Why is it so difficult to explain my feelings?

Just like the kiss right now. I’ve really done it this time...

I always get it better right afterward When all the wrong impressions are said and heard

But I’m Ladybug, so I’m going to find a way to improve the situation… even if it’s too late to erase the kiss or the embarrassment I’m feeling right now, I have to find a way to dismiss any misunderstanding.

How come I can never get the right words, I need to convey

But how can I tell him? Why can't I just tell him my feelings?

Wish I could explain

I want to tell him. I wish to tell him. I wish to explain that I kissed him because I love him.

And despite all these minutes of random thoughts, he's still staring at me. Waiting. Immobile. Impassible. With breathtaking handsomest.

Why can't I just get something else to do my job and convey my feelings on my behalf? Like:

Can I let the trees do the talking

They would definitely not stumble as much as me, as wise, flowing and calm as they are.

Can I let the ground do the walking

At least the ground won't be calling my body as a magnet if he was! Surely no tripping or falling either. The ground would be good to do the walking...

Can I let the sky fill what's missing

Ah, yes. I feel what I'm missing is as massive as the sky. I wish I had something or someone to fill me for my incomplete imperfect self. Something to make me forget about all the work and pressure I’m under. It would be nice to, even if just for a while, become one with the sky. Serene. Vast. Clear. Blue. The same color of the eyes that are still focused on me while I look up at the sky: so pretty...

Can I let my mouth do the listening,

That one is the silliest. I’m really out of my mind, aren’t I? How is the mouth supposed to listen? It doesn’t work like that, does it? The thought makes me close my eyes and sigh.

And that’s when Luka’s silence ends. He doesn’t speak. His voice never leaves his throat… No words are pronounced.

Yet I can hear: my mouth can hear.

Not my ears, not my eardrums. But my MOUTH. My mouth is doing it: The listening. And I can hear as clear as pure water. With Luka’s lips pressed over mine, his message is conveyed clearer than a cloudless summer sky, over and above from what words could ever express. How is it even possible? How can my mouth do the listening? I don’t know, but I don’t care.

My mouth has listened to him and I open my eyes again.

‘I love you’

The received message is automatically amplified by Luka’s expression: his loving smile and the soft look on his eyes. And I’m melting.

Ah, those sky blue eyes. Like the sky that I wish it would fill me.

His calm and steadiness could become my ground to secure my walking, to always take the right path- his same path.

And his wisdom, flowing and natural self could certainly help me with my talking: say the right thing at the right time, express my true feelings, stop the stumbling and keep a steady flow of words... Or talk without words, like he just did. Could I do that too?

A match with Luka would mean all the Chinese elements aligned for me: the wood of the trees, the earth of the ground, the water of the blue sky, the fire of his lips and the metal of his golden heart.

And that’s it. All that I need. With only one way for me to describe it:

‘Perfect balance’

Before that, though, I still have to assimilate what has just happened. Is it even real?

I need to answer him, but the old same Marinette is back in action, stumbling and panicking. I can’t help it but wonder how to express myself properly. How can I talk when I’m speechless?

I never really ever know what to say When all of my emotions get in the way I'm just trying to get us on the same page I always get it better right afterward When all the wrong impressions are said and heard How come I can never get the right words, I need to convey

Wish I could explain

Oh. Maybe I don’t need words. Can his mouth do the listening too? Can I really explain it this way too?

What I mean to say

Will he understand it?

My lips brush against his again, more confident this time, wishing for him to understand my feelings….

And yes, it seems his mouth can also do the listening.

Now, after all the chances I missed or wasted to express them, my feelings can finally be conveyed:

‘I love you’

And my mouth can listen his once more as his mouth corresponds mine:

‘I love you too’

FIN

[theotherackerman]

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: Any recognizable elements belong to Attack on Titan.

NOTES:

Friday January 22nd

chapter twenty-five: said i'm fine but it wasn't true

It was Mikasa and Levi’s grandfather’s birthday.

Mikasa only knew it was by the calendar in the kitchen.

“He was an ass anyway. You didn’t miss much by not knowing him,” Levi informed her as he did every year.

Armin and Eren left that afternoon.

--------------------

Apparently being a dumbass was contagious.

While Zeke was trying to process the file Levi had given him, Armin had dropped Eren off back at the house on Friday morning.

"Niccolo and Sasha broke up," Eren informed him. "Well, not that they were actually together yet…"

Zeke groaned. "Why?"

"Apparently, he had some issues with her still being friends with Connie...is Pieck drunk on our couch? It's not even the afternoon!"

"You're one to talk, tiny Jaeger," Pieck said from the couch.

"Oh see that dumbass there just broke up with her boyfriend too," Zeke said as he pointed at her.

"He wasn't my boyfriend!"

"Wait, is this the mystery guy? Who was he?"

Pieck face planted into the couch and mumbled something that Eren and Zeke didn't understand.

"Is she drunk?" Eren asked him.

"On sugar probably. She already ate the last of the ice cream."

Eren didn’t say anything as he went to his room upstairs.

Zeke looked over the still face planted Pieck.

“Will you go talk to him already? It is not too late to go back and tell him you are a dumbass,” Zeke said as he looked at the scans of the file on his computer.

“It is! I broke his heart and now he’s going to go out with a younger woman.” Pieck said as she sat up.

Why did Zeke have to be the only sane one in his group of friends?

“You didn’t see his face, Zeke. I destroyed him and just left. Without looking back.”

“Pieck...go back. Go admit your fuck up.”

Zeke had seen Pieck cry a handful of times. Once when her father had been diagnosed with cancer and the other when Dina had died.

But not like this.

Pieck hadn’t been in many relationships. She always said things like she was allergic to relationships or why waste time on something that statistically wouldn’t work out. No, Pieck was married to her art.

It was this moment that Zeke realized Pieck had said all of these things to keep herself safe from this.

The tears were streaming down her face.

Eren came downstairs and stopped there.

“Pieck….” Eren said as he crossed to Pieck.

“I just see him in my head. I go back and he’s already with her. She’s so much younger and prettier than I am. I just...I can’t. Eren, I’m sorry,” Pieck apologized.

“Why?” Eren asked.

Zeke moved from the table over to sit next to Pieck.

“He’s your friend and you’re going to find out very soon. It’s Jean. I’m sorry,” Pieck began crying more.

Zeke did not have the first clue about what to do. Neither did Eren.

“I’m going to make a phone call,” Eren said before stepping out of the room.

“Don’t! It has to be over. I don’t want to feel this….anymore..”

“Okay,” Eren said. “I won’t call Jean.”

Eren stepped out of the room.

After what happened with Armin and Mikasa, Eren said he wouldn’t lie about things like this anymore. But Eren had to lie this time.

He went out of the room and pressed Jean’s contact in his phone.

“What do you want, Jaeger? Now is not a good time,” Jean’s voice rang out on the other side of the phone.

“Are you in love with Pieck?” Eren asked.

“What? Why is that any of your business?”

“Because she’s crying to Zeke in my living room right now.”

“She’s the one who ended it. Not me! So don’t come at me about it.”

“I’m not. I just..”

“What do you want me to do, Eren? Beg her to stay? I told her just to say the word and I’d tell my mom not to set me up on a date. I told her I loved her. She said she didn’t feel the same. She said she didn’t love me and it was just sex. So no, I’m not fucking begging her when she’s made her feeling perfectly clear. We’re not you and Mikasa. If she wanted to be with me, she had the chance.”

Eren couldn’t argue with that.

“I’m sorry,” Eren said after a moment.

“It’s whatever. I’ll bounce back. I mean how can I not? I’m me.”

“If you need to talk…”

“You’d be the one I’d call?”

“If anyone knows about losing the one they love…”

“Well, you’ve got a point there. You do know about fucking things up, don’t you? You idiot. How is that going by the way?”

“Good.”

“Good. Don’t do that again.”

“Oh. Don’t worry. I won’t. By the way, why didn’t you make a move on Mikasa when we were broken up?”

“Because unlike you, I’m not an idiot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dropped that idea the day I asked her out and she turned me down. She told me she had feelings for you and then when I saw you two together the next day, I knew. You two were meant for one another. Even if you’re an idiot who fucked it up, I wasn’t. I knew there was no way I could compete with you...when it comes to Mikasa.”

“Did you just say something nice to me?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Okay, horseface.”

“Fucking idiot.”

“...you want to get online and shoot some shit?”

“Give me ten minutes.”

“Don’t pull my rank down.”

“Don’t pull mine.”

--------------

Pieck eventually stopped crying.

Zeke patted her on her back while she cried.

And Pieck cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.

She was done.

“So teach me another song.”

“Do you..”

“No.”

“Okay. Yeah, sure.”

----------------

Mikasa’s writer’s block had begun to disappear. She spent most of the day in the sun room writing lyrics to one of the unfinished pieces she had from Historia.

Annie had given up on work half way through her shift and shuffled into the sun room where Ymir was restringing her acoustic guitar.

The sound of power tools in the basement could be heard.

“They having any luck down there?” Annie asked before she sat down in one of the chairs.

“They brought up some ripped out carpet,” Ymir said as she tightened the string down.

“So this is actually happening. We’re going to record,” Annie gave a small smile.

“We’ve come a long way in a little over a year,” Ymir replied as she finished tightening the string down. “Speaking of coming a long way, how’s our social media numbers looking?”

Annie sighed, “well, Facebook sits at the same numbers. Twitter gained a few. YouTube has gone up. Instagram is the problem. We’re dropping views on whatever we post in the feed.”

“Why?” Mikasa asked as she stopped playing.

“It’s the algorithm. The more people who see and interact with our stuff, the more it spreads but it has to show up on the feed first. We’re fucked sometimes. I’ve been trying to put everything into stories where I can but people still have to interact with it.”

“You remember the days when things were just chronical on our feeds?” Ymir asked. “Now you have to be a math genius like Annie to get anywhere.”

“To be fair, I still haven’t beat it.”

“You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“We all need to interact with the posts. That’ll help too. I know we have been but we have to keep it up.”

“Just tag me in that shit and I’ll share it everywhere. Speaking of genius...are we going to have another new song or what?” Ymir asked as she looked over at Mikasa.

“I’m working on it. Have we thought about the idea of collaborating with The Restorationists? Their follower numbers are larger than ours. Plus, they just got a new bassist. Might be a good idea to see if they want to do a livestream with us or something,” Mikasa said before she shrugged.

“What about Niccolo and Sasha?” Ymir asked.

“Yeah, I’m worried about that too,” Mikasa sighed.

“Wouldn’t hurt to ask,” Annie shrugged.

-----------------

Sasha kept her word of not speaking to Niccolo for a little bit. He didn’t try to contact her and she didn’t try to contact him. However, as Sasha had said, the farm was doing great at the farmer’s market. Mr. Blouse even gave both Sasha and Historia a bonus when they finished work today.

“I don’t know how we’re going to have four guitars,” Ymir scoffed.

“And a bass,” Annie added.

“Yeah, that too. I love the song as much as you all do but I’m wondering how we’re going to pull it off.”

“What about a collaboration with The Restorationists?” Annie asked.

“Oh yeah. Niccolo did tag us on their Instagram. We should do that,” Sasha said.

“Even with you and Niccolo being all….whatever?” Ymir asked.

“I can be professional. Besides, I thought you all wanted this to be a more stripped down song. I can use the cajón,” Sasha shrugged.

“What the fuck is a cajón?” Ymir asked.

“The percussion box,” Sasha answered.

“Then just call it that!”

“This song is pretty personal, Historia. I’ll leave it up to you,” Sasha said before she hit the cymbal, causing Ymir to jump.

Ymir responded with a very horrible sound from her bass.

Annie sat down on the piano bench next to Mikasa and Historia as she sighed.

“It is pretty personal,” Mikasa said as she looked over Historia.

“We need four guitars, two percussion, and a bass. Can they read music?” Historia asked.

“Eren can,” Mikasa answered.

“Pieck is their bassist now. She can read music,” Annie said.

“Didn’t she work at the tutoring center with you for a while?” Ymir asked.

Annie nodded.

“Small world,” Ymir said.

“That leaves Zeke and Niccolo,” Historia said.

“Niccolo can,” Sasha answered before looking down.

Levi walked by the sun room with Sawney and Bean following him.

“Hey Levi, can Zeke read music?” Ymir asked.

“Why would I know the answer to that?” Levi asked as he stopped.

“He’s your therapist. Maybe you two bond over music or something. I don’t know but do you know?”

“No, I don’t. It really doesn’t come up in conversation.” He continued on his path with Sawney and Bean followed him.

“I’m sure Zeke can read music. I can always call Eren after practice,” Mikasa said as she turned to the next page of her sheet music.

“Are you okay with it being a collaboration, Mikasa?” Historia said.

“I’m okay with it,” she smiled.

“Guess that settles that. Just need to ask The Restorationists. Do you want me on bass, electric, or acoustic for this song?” Ymir asked.

“Acoustic,” Historia and Mikasa said at the same time.

“All of our band…” Historia started.

“On acoustic,” Mikasa finished.

“Add their band here,” Historia said as she pointed to the music.

“Should we do all five of us singing this lyric here?” Mikasa asked.

“Wait, I didn’t agree to sing on this song!” Sasha said as she stood up from her drum set.

“Oh yes, let’s do that. That should be low enough for everyone to sing, right?” Historia asked.

“It’s hopeless, Sasha. They’re in the zone. They’re not hearing a thing we’re saying,” Ymir said as she put her bass down on its stand.

“If that’s the case, I’m going to go figure out what to make for dinner,” Sasha said as she left the sun room.

“I’m going to go make myself some more tea before I get morning sickness again,” Annie said as she placed her guitar on the stand.

Historia and Mikasa were left alone in the sun room to continue work on the song.

While Rod Reiss sat on his throne, his daughter was dismantling it in her music.

[junggoku]

Lemon Curls and Latte Art - Ethan Ramsey x f!MC

book: Open Heart

pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Nina Valentine)

word count: 6,679

summary: Ethan’s been having a tough time with a case and desperately needs some coffee and time away from the hospital. His small impromptu trip to his favorite coffeeshop may just become more than he expected. (Alternatively: local doctor man goes to get coffee. Gets roasted for 5 minutes straight by cute barista.) A coffeeshop au

A/N: Soooo first and foremost, I’m super excited about this. I’ve been surprised at the lack of coffeeshop au’s in this fandom so I decided to take matters into my own hands. I’d like to give all my love to the wonderful @namkook​ for keeping me sane through this whole project and for helping me every step of the way. I love you and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you for putting up with my constantly annoying you with this. I typically don’t like my writing, I’m so proud of this one and I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I did when working on it. Without further ado, buckle in and enjoy! She’s a long one wheew

Sometimes it was easier to just drown it all out. The rustling of the nurses as they moved about. The moans and groans of patients as they anxiously waited for their diagnoses. The shrill voices of interns trying to suck up to him to better polish up on their resumes, instead of focusing on their damn jobs.

On that particularly busy afternoon, Dr. Ethan Ramsey felt it was especially crucial that he drown out all the background noises and forget about his surroundings for a moment, if he was going to hang onto his sanity.

He had been pouring over a patient file all morning, having reached an impasse. When something like this happened, it was best for him to go out and clear his head. Sighing heavily, Ethan pushes out of his leather chair, leaving the mountains of scans and paperwork behind him as he closes the door to his office with a resounding thud.  

-----------------

Day 1

The chime of the bell above the door signaled his arrival into Derry Roasters, a soft click of the hinges punctuating through the air as his eyes adjusted to the gentle lighting in the quaint coffee shop.  

The scene was completely opposite the hospital, with almost all of the tables here being empty save for an elderly man in the corner with his book. It seemed the cafe was experiencing a quiet afternoon, soft music playing from the small speakers lodged in the ceilings.

Whenever Ethan was stuck with a case he couldn’t quite figure out, he found himself wandering to the coffeehouse, a humble mom and pop establishment that made decent coffee. It was a step up from the caffeinated dishwater the hospital cafeteria served and he didn’t hate it at the very least. It was also close enough to the hospital that he could get to it by foot, but far enough that none of the gaggle of bright-eyed parrots interns would follow him to kiss his ass.

Crossing the distance of the room up to the front, Ethan stops right before the register. Having seen not one soul behind the counter, his hand found its way to the small silver bell waiting by the tips bucket, ringing it albeit impatiently. There was normally always someone waiting up at the front, the usual barista－a short and kindly old lady, her slightly stout face adding to the welcoming atmosphere－felt it necessary to be present at all times to best serve customers so they did not have to wait long. So much for that. Their service is going to shit.

A bright ding reverberates throughout the shop, ricocheting off the walls. With a purse of his lips, he waits for a few minutes for someone to respond to the bell, the dimple in between his eyebrows growing more prominent the longer time stretches.

About to forgo the coffee and just head back, his ears pick up a foreign sound coming from somewhere. Is that...singing?

Singing was perhaps too generous a term. There was a faint humming emanating from behind the door that led to the back, and his ears tickled as it continued for a few more seconds, before the door swung open and a figure stepped out.

Ethan’s train of thought stutters for a brief second as ice blue eyes meet a warm chocolate brown, wide and doe-like staring up at him in surprise.

She’s new.

Silence envelops the room and Ethan finds himself studying the woman in front of him as he does with everyone, an occupational habit he’s honed over the years.

Long, dark brown hair cascades over her shoulder like a wave, a pair of chocolate brown eyes to match the curtains as they peer up at him, a hint of curiosity in them. The new barista is donning a polo the color of mustard paired with the black apron of the coffeeshop. His eyes glance over the silver name tag that brandishes the name “Nina”. Next to the tag, a small frog pin sits crookedly, the silver lining a bit dim from what he expects comes from overwear.

In his musings, he doesn’t notice the barista, Nina, pursing her lips, “Are you going to order something or are you just gonna stare at me all day?”

Shaken out of his thoughts, he raises a brow at the bland tone of her voice, before deciding to ignore it, “The Vienna.”

Slipping his card from his wallet, he sets it down on the counter as she rings up his order, sliding the piece of plastic back to him once she’s finished.

Wordlessly, he starts moving over to a table nearby when she pipes up, “What? No ‘thank you’?”

He spins around, a brow quirked as he meets her eyes. The slight curl of her lips tells him she’s mocking him and his lack of a response.

“Thank you.” He speaks, voice flat and face unimpressed. Her lips twitch.

“Gee, you’re a real charmer, aren’t you. I do need to know if you want this here or to go,” Eyes lit with mirth, Ethan itches to end this interaction and head back to the hospital. So much for that break.

“To go.”

The smirk doesn’t leave her face as she turns around and gets to work, and Ethan is eternally grateful for the conversation being over.

A few minutes pass by before he hears his name being called. Striding to the pick up station where the barista placed his order of Vienna in a styrofoam cup, her cheeks lifted into a winning smile, one she must use on all her customers.

Ethan picks it up promptly, the desire to get back to work coursing through him strongly the minute he glimpses at her face (his mistake) and finds that she’s still staring at him with a strange amusement lighting her eyes.

“Hope it's to your liking, Dr. Ramsey.”

“How do you know my name?”

Nina raises her brow, and throws a look at the elegant Dr. Ethan Ramsey, etched into the fabric of his white doctor coat, “I’m assuming that’s your name since it says so on your coat. If you were trying to go incognito, maybe lose the coat next time.”

With a wink, the barista spins around and disappears behind the door to the back, not giving him time to answer to her quip. Something pricks at the back of his mind as he watches her go. Casting a quick glance down at his coffee cup, the letters Ethonk are scrawled on the curved surface, and he couldn’t tell if he wanted to laugh or groan. More the latter probably.

Sighing for what was possibly the millionth time today, Ethan tightens his grip on the cup and makes his way out, feeling more annoyed than when he had come. I’m not coming back here.

--------------

Day 2

Why am I here?

He sincerely had no idea why he found himself lingering at the front of Derry Roasters a few weeks later, shoes avoiding the crunch of leaves under his feet as a delicate autumn breeze curls through his hair and rustles the pages of the book he had nestled in his arm.

Ethan had initially planned to not come here again for a long while, having no desire to run into that impudent barista from last time, Nina, her name was.  

Annoying.

Shaking away the thought, he pushed the front door open and strode into the cafe, the click of the latch bolt falling back into its frame announcing his arrival once more. The shop was fairly empty again at this time, being so long after the busy lunch rush hour.  

As usual, Ethan made his way up to the register, but his steps faltered for a half second when he noticed a new addition to the counter by the pick up area: a small potted cactus, its thorny arms appearing almost golden bathed in the gentle autumn light streaming in through the windows.  

A little curious, he continues walking and taps the bell once when he makes it to the front.

Unlike before, the door leading to the back whipped open almost immediately after the ding, and out came the petite barista, long brown hair tied into a loose ponytail today. Small specks of what looks like cream powder dotting her cheek and on the sleeves of her peach-colored blouse, the brunette saunters over and plants herself directly across him.  

Chocolate doe eyes instantly find his blue ones and Nina flashes him an amiable smile. Or it would be amiable if it weren’t for the twinkle of mischief he catches in her gaze. He bites back a mental groan.

Ethan opens his mouth, prepared to just tell her his order quickly so he could leave, when she beats him to it.

“Did you see Henry?” Her voice is a little hushed, conspiratorial. Bemused, his eyebrows furrow in place of a question.

“...Henry?”

The barista nods her head in the direction of the pick up station, eyes darting to the potted plant he saw earlier and back to him, “Henry!”  

He’s not sure how to respond. Nina waits for a few beats before crossing her arms across her chest, ogling him for a reaction, “We just got it yesterday. I thought it’d be nice to spruce up the place,” She leans forward, her apron brushing against the register.

“You don’t feel a connection with it?” She pursed her lips, brown eyes twinkling with mirth. The furrow in his brows deepens, not quite enjoying the way she was eyeing him.    

“Why would I feel any connection to a cactus?”

“Well, you are one emotionally,”

Ethan lets out a short scoff, his expression wholly unimpressed, “We’ve had a grand total of two interactions.”

“And the two were all I needed to know everything,” Nina tosses him a tiny smirk, seemingly relishing in getting under his skin, a frown beginning to mar his features. How tedious.

Sighing deeply and already feeling exhausted, Ethan ignores the quip and barrels forth, “The Vienna.” He tosses his card on the surface of the counter, almost impatient as she gingerly grabs it and rings him up, saying nothing more all the while.

Not giving her an opening, Ethan snatches his card out of her grasp the minute she’s done, and turns around to find an empty table far away from the register.

“I’ll bring it over to you when it’s done,” He hears behind him as he continues moving.

Settling into a table in the back corner of the coffeeshop, Ethan sinks into the leather chair and opens his history book, determined to ignore and forget his interactions with the barista so he can take a break. Why he came back here when he already predicted this happening was beyond him. He won’t repeat the mistake again.

A few minutes later, Ethan feels a presence in front of him and peeks from his book to find Nina placing his cup of Vienna on the table. Turning his attention back to his pages, he reads another line from Robert Service before glancing back up.

She was still standing there. Hands clasped together in front of her chest, Nina was peering down at him, blinking innocently.

“...Is there something wrong?”

“No,” She answers, giving a slight shake of her head in emphasis. She still didn’t move.

“...”

“...”

“...Did you want something?”

Her expression shifts promptly, fixing a saccharine smile his way and a sense of dread creeps up his spine.

“Well you see,” Nina sweeps an arm around the expanse of the room, where only one other patron beside him was sitting in the opposite corner, tapping away on their laptop, “no one’s really here.”

He feels a budding headache pricking, “And what does that have to do with me?” He asks, tone flat.

Her large smile widens a little more, “I’m bored and you’re the most entertaining thing here.”

There’s a brief moment where the two of them did nothing, a staredown ensuing with the only sound coming from the ceiling speakers and the tap, tap, tap of the laptop.

Pressure behind his eyes growing, he brings up a hand to scratch at his stubble. Yes, he really regrets coming here today.

“Well what do you want to do then?” The defeat in his voice is evident as Nina starts shuffling over to the chair opposite him, appearing so pleased with herself Ethan could only breathe out another sigh.

“If it’s cool with you-”

“It’s not,”

“-I’m just gonna hang out here with you,” She plops into the leather recliner and beams at him, eyes scrunching into two crescent moons. Huh. “Besides, I’m doing you a favor really.”

His annoyance fading just a smidge, he eyes her, distrustful. Closing his book with a small thud, Ethan leans back, sinking further into the plush material.

“How on earth is you neglecting your work and bothering me when I’m trying to read you doing me a favor?”

Nina flicks her chin at the cover of his book. The glossy surface catches the warm rays of sunshine drifting in through the windows, the text Comrades!: A History of World Communism almost swallowed whole by the natural light.

“I am doing you a favor,” The steam from the coffee mug wafts up and swirls in the air between them, “I’m sure you’re already busy being a doctor full-time, I’m giving you a chance to take a break from your communist endeavors so you can actually enjoy your down time.”

Seeing no point in disagreeing when she looked determined to stay there, Ethan takes a sip of his Vienna, the liquid still warm and settles pleasantly on his tongue. Over the top of the cup, he catches Nina leaning forward slightly as though waiting for his reaction.

Putting the mug back down, he turns his head to the window, content on ignoring her still and watching the people strolling up and down the street outside.

Her quiet voice breaks him out of his reverie, “What’s it like? Being a doctor?”

At the question, Ethan turns his gaze on the barista, finding her peering at him with a mix of curiosity and...admiration?

He shrugs, “It’s alright.”

“...That’s it?” Her head tilts to the side, eyes widening as she silently urges him to elaborate. He’s not sure why he’s humoring her, but he relents and continues.

“It’s...it gives me opportunities to figure out the mysteries of the human body. To find ways to conquer and defeat the things that defeat us,” He keeps his gaze on her, watching as the brunette follows his every word like he’s telling her some universal truth.

Nina nods, seemingly soaking in his explanation and satisfied with it, “That sounds really cool. You’re like a hero,” She laughs a little, a tenderness in it that confuses Ethan, but he doesn’t say anymore on it. Hardly.

A beat of silence falls over them again. There’s no awkwardness in it though and Ethan’s content to let it stretch on.

“I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger.”

The spell is broken and Ethan’s attention is now directed solely at her, the barista tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. When he doesn’t speak, she continues, “Always wanted to help people. It just seemed like the perfect job for me to defend those who were fighting for their lives. For their second chances.”

The small frog pin on her apron gleams as she fidgets, light from outside hitting its metallic surface.

“Why didn’t you?” He finally asks, albeit hesitantly, “Become a doctor.”

A wistful look crosses her face and she smiles, “My brother’s health deteriorated and he  collapsed as I was graduating from high school. Things just never worked out,” Nina pauses and considers the room, Ethan noticing for the first time that the other customer had left, no more tap tap-ing sound to be heard.

“But it’s whatever. I like working here. And at least I get to keep my sleep schedule,” She jokes, eyes landing on him again.

Ethan doesn’t speak for a long moment, holding her gaze. At the lack of reaction, Nina begins to squirm, appearing nervous, but doesn’t prod him.

Finally, he finds his voice, uncharacteristically timid, “This place is lucky to have you.”

A blink and a beat later, and a glowing grin stretches across Nina’s face. She chuckles, a soft pink flush dusting her cheek.

Waiting another beat, Ethan clears his throat and begins to move, grabbing his book and nudging the now-drained cup of Vienna away, “I should head back. I have work. At the hospital.” He holds back a grimace. Moron.

Nina tilts her head, the action releasing a couple of strands to fall from her ponytail, “I would hope so, since you’re wearing your white coat,” She snorts when she sees the unimpressed expression on his face, “Go save lives, Dr. Ramsey.”

With that, the barista turns and heads back to work, humming softly as she goes.        

A feeling he can’t place courses through him, sending a slight shiver up his spine as he steps out into the street. Just a chill. With that, Ethan makes the familiar walk back to Edenbrook, the gentle breeze returning and dances through the soft locks of his hair the whole way.

---------------------

Day 3

“Quit stalling already and drink!”

Grumbling, he lifts the cup to his lips, taking a cautious sip.  

The silence settles throughout the room, and Nina leans forward just a little bit, in an attempt to gauge his reaction. He tries to keep his expression blank.

“...Well?”

“...”

Ethan lets the silence linger for another moment before bringing the cup back to his lips. Slowly, a smile begins to bloom across Nina’s face, bright and smug, “Heh. So what’s the verdict, Doctor?”

He refuses to give her the satisfaction of a reply, instead determined to keep his eyes trained on the inside of his coffee cup. His ears pick up a tinkle of a laugh.

“I told you you’d like it,” The barista giggles, her eyes forming crescent moons, as she attempts to stifle the full force of her laughter. Placing a hand on her hips, Nina gazes at him, her self-satisfied grin making a home on the corner of her lips. Ethan decides, right then and there, that he hates it endlessly.  

He especially hates how that cheeky ass smirk makes her eyes sparkle more.

Releasing a bone-weary sigh, Ethan sets the mug down on the table and leans back in the chair, training ice blue eyes on the brunette across from him, “I tried it. Are you going to tell me what it was now?”

Still beaming, Nina sinks down into the soft leather chair opposite him, hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of dark hair behind her ears. Crossing her legs, she glances down at the drained coffee cup, “Espresso Romano. As you can probably guess, it’s a shot of espresso with a slice of lemon served on the side and rubbed on the rim.”

A soft calming song plays in the background, the notes resonating through the air and floats around them, framing the little pocket of the world they were occupying. Nina looks back up at Ethan, holding his gaze as she continues, “The lemon’s zestiness brightens the drink and cuts off the bitterness. Which, no offense, but that looks like something you could use some help with.”

Biting back a retort on the tip of his tongue, he picks up the discarded lemon curl, long fingers absentmindedly playing with the garnish. The silence settles once more between them as he takes in what she said.

In a voice so quiet he’s hoping she doesn’t pick up on it, the words leave his lips: “It’s decent.”

The crescent moon smile she gifts him with tells him that she heard it loud and clear. He doesn’t say anymore, but he doesn’t need to. She hears the rest of what he left unspoken.

“Such a way with words. You really should’ve been a poet instead of a doctor,” Amusement never leaving her eyes, she leans over to pick up his mug and plucks the lemon peel out of his hands, dark brown hair falling over her shoulder at the movement. Soft afternoon sunlight streams in, bouncing off the tan of her skin and for a brief moment, she looks like she’s glowing. Ethan frowns, averting his attention to the space behind her instead.

Humming quietly, Nina stands up and turns, the soles of her white Converse squeaking in protest. Tossing him one more knowing smirk, she begins her trip back to the register, the arm of his empty cup resting on the crook of her finger. A minute later, she disappears through the door into the back area, the gentle music from the ceiling filling up the room in her stead.  

Ethan releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and glances back out the windows overlooking the street, the faint taste of lemon still sitting on his lips.  

---------------------

Day 4

The coffeeshop feels a bit different in the mornings, fresh dew and the gentle rise of the sun blanketing the room, wrapping it in a peculiar warmth. The lack of customers at this time adds to the ambiance, though Ethan doesn’t pay much mind to any of that at the moment. Instead, his attention is aimed at the disheveled barista in front of him and the mayhem surrounding her.  

The next time Ethan walked through the doors of Derry Roasters a week later, he was met with what he could only describe as chaos. A collection of discarded coffee cups littered the counter and drops of milk and cream dotted the floor all around Nina. The brunette ran a hand through her long hair frustratedly, apron stained with liquids.

A quick explanation told him that she had been attempting to perfect the craft of latte art, though Ethan would argue that you can’t perfect something you didn’t even have the basics for. Recognizing that her skills were abhorrent and wanting to please customers, Nina had made it a habit to arrive at the cafe very early in the mornings, where she could practice in solitude. And that was what he had walked in on when he dropped by, having thought to get coffee before his shift later that day.  

He watches her struggle with the milk for another minute, bumbling around like a newborn, before peeling off his white coat, a strand of hair falling just over his eyes at the motion. Nina turns at the rustle beside her and is greeted with Ethan’s tall figure peering down at her handiwork.

Startled, she takes a half step back, eyes wide in surprise, “What...are you doing?”

In place of a response, he rolls up the sleeves of his button down shirt and helps himself to one of the aprons hanging on the coat rack by the back area.

“Watching you spill milk on yourself like an infant is getting painful. I used to work as a barista through undergrad so I remember some things...” He pauses, gazing inside one particular mug that was housing what resembled more creamy vomit than coffee, “...though I’m skeptical if it could even help you at this point.”

The flat tone of his voice must have irritated her, as she shoots him a mild glare, a cool determination flashing in her eyes, “That sounds like a challenge, Doctor.”

“It definitely will be.”  

A couple hours later, the work area resembles a battlefield, thermometer and portafilters thrown haphazardly all over the counter, milk and coffee powder strewn across its surface in reckless abandon.

Ethan shakes his head, arms crossed over his chest and focused intensely on the mess she’s making, “You’re not doing it right.”

Nina groans, the sound tickling his ear. Her grip on the pitcher slackens which promptly spills more of its milky contents all over the counter.  

“I’m doing it exactly as you said. You just suck at teaching,” She mumbles, tsk-ing a little at the new addition blooming on her apron. Taking in the growing clutter decorating the counter, Nina lets out a sigh before turning to Ethan, “This feels hopeless.”

“Giving up already, rookie?” He quirks up an eyebrow, a corner of his lips twitching.

She stops and blinks at the nickname, but doesn’t comment on it further, “No!...Just. Ugggh,” With a loud whine that sounds awfully like a puppy’s, Nina sets the pitcher down, knocking it into the thermometer that was sitting nearby. Placing a hand on the surface of the counter, Nina leans into it, sagging with disappointment. The chagrin expression on her face so directly contrasted her usual bright grin that it makes his chest throb strangely.

Clearing his throat, Ethan glances back down at the mugs, highlighting all her failed attempts. Despite the mess, he could still see her progress, the more recent works showing slight improvements.

With a flick of his fingers, he starts selecting some of the cups out of the batch, “These aren’t too bad. The shape is starting to take place.”

Not looking entirely convinced, Nina skeptically eyes the attempts he singled out.

“You sure?” She points to one, “This one looks like a bad rendition of the Scream.”

Gently, Ethan nudges the pitcher and the thermometer towards her, voice quiet but firm, “It’s an upgrade from the foamy blob you made earlier. You’re getting there. You just need to keep working on your technique.”

Releasing a sigh, Nina relents and pours more milk into the pitcher, readying for another round.

Delicate sunshine slants through the windows and catches on the tips of her hair as she bends forward, eyes narrowed at the face of the thermometer. Ethan keeps a watchful eye on her movements, leaning towards her a fraction more.

Despite the intensity coming off of Nina as she tackles the task, Ethan feels curiously light, as though the usual restlessness humming under his skin was dimmed. Hovering a little closer, the weak scent of apples from Nina’s hair tickles his nose, as she turns to heat the milk. Grabbing the steam wand, she inserts it into the liquid and turns it on, the thermometer clinking onto the side of the pitcher.  

When she gets to the part of pouring the milk into the coffee, the hand holding the steamed milk trembles slightly as she tips the wide-mouthed cup of the espresso forward in her non-dominant hand. Stepping ever closer and settling right behind her, Ethan leans his head down until it practically rests on her shoulder, her back to his chest, and brings a hand forward to steady her grip.

At the contact, the warmth of her skin spreads through his fingers, scalding in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

This close to her he can hear the intake of breath, the slight shudder in her voice as she continues, concentrating on the feeling of his hand and the milk as it spills into the espresso.

Morning light grows warmer as the sun rises up higher in the sky, and Ethan loses track of time as he watches Nina pour the foam, successfully forming an asymmetrical flower. The minute she finishes with the last drop, the barista sets the pitcher down, staring wide eyed at her work.

Turning her head slowly, she fixes her stare on him, a look of utter disbelief on her face, “...I did it.”

Ethan’s lips quirk and he nods once, “You did.”

There’s a pause as it sinks in.

“...Oh my god! I did it!” Elated, Nina leaps towards Ethan, throwing her arms around him in a bone-crushing hug.

“Oof,” He braces himself at the force of her knocking into him. Letting out a snort, Ethan finds himself chuckling at the brunette’s joy, a small feeling of pride spreading through his chest, having spent all day trying to get to this point.

The moment lingers, Nina’s arms still wrapped around Ethan’s broader frame, the thumping of her heart beating against his rib cage. In a tiny, slightly muffled voice, “Thank you.”

Tilting her head up at him, she awards him with a gentle smile, the softness of her face accentuated by the tender curl of her lips, “Seriously. It was thanks to your help today. Guess you really are a good teacher,” Nina quips, a levity about her now that made it difficult for him to look away.

Ethan smirks, “Of course I am. I’m good at everything.”

The barista rolls her eyes all the way up to the ceiling, “Glad to see you’ve got a strong ego.”

“Was it not earned?”

“...Okay yes, but it doesn’t mean you have to be annoying about it,” She grumbles, lips forming a pout.

It takes Ethan another minute to realize that neither of them had moved, the both of them still wrapped around each other. The warmth of her skin bleeding through his shirt, the faint apple scent of her hair tickling his nose once more and he unconsciously leans down.

Nina’s eyelids flutter as she moves towards him, and soon he’s close enough that he can count every speck of caramel in the brown pools of her eyes. The pink of her lips. The small shudder of her breath. Every second that ticks by is another he’s falling...Wait, what?

Ethan jolts, his thoughts crashing to a stop, his entire body tensing. Sensing the change of mood, Nina halts as well, pulling back slightly to look at him, brows furrowed in concern, “Are you alright, Ethan?”

No. He doesn’t respond as he starts extricating himself from her grasp, peeling away from her. The groove in between her eyebrows deepen as Ethan hurries to place some distance between them.

There’s another moment of silence that blankets over them, but this one is different. It’s tense, making Ethan’s gut churn a little.

“...Did I...is something wrong?”

Unable to meet her eyes, he holds back a grimace, hearing a tremble of hurt in her voice as she asks. He stays silent for another beat before glancing in her direction, not meeting her gaze, “No, it’s just. It’s...I gotta go. My shift starts soon.”

Not waiting for a reply, Ethan yanks off his apron, roughly throwing back onto the rack before hastily grabbing his white coat and rushing out the door, never once turning back to look at the barista, whose eyes never left his back as he briskly walked off back to the hospital.      

-------------------

Day 5

“You’re still here, Ethan?”

At the sound of the voice, Ethan looks up from a patient’s x-rays he’d been examining, finding his colleague, Dr. Baz Mirani, standing in the doorway of his office.

Throwing a quick glance at the wall clock, it read 11:54 p.m.

Damn. It’s this late already? He’d completely lost track of time.

Rubbing a tired hand over his chin, Ethan releases a sigh before packing up his things, and leaving his office for the night, brushing past Baz on the way out. He wasn’t going to be able to do much more tonight.

A full effect of autumn had taken root and blanketed across the town in the past month. Stepping out in the night, Ethan lifted up his face, the scent of the fall leaves and cool evening air caressing the tip of his nose. As he moved closer to his car, a restlessness buzzed under his skin and he was unable to shake it no matter how much he tried.

He’d been feeling this way for about a month now. Ever since then.

A flicker of brown eyes and soft smiles crosses his mind and a gnawing apprehension sits in his throat, one that feels suspiciously like guilt. Guilt and...something else Ethan doesn’t want to define yet.

Sighing once more into the autumn night, he reaches his car door, ready to go home to his bottle of scotch waiting for him. The feeling continues to nip at him though, and he pauses when reaching for the handle of his car, the weight in his backpocket feeling much, much heavier.  

Maybe...He suddenly...felt an urge for some coffee.

Before he could talk himself out of it (this is a bad idea), he leaves behind his car and takes off in the direction of the coffeeshop, his footsteps slow and effortful.

The lights are still on when he reaches Derry Roasters, the blinds of the windows all pulled down save for two that overlook the counter. His eyes immediately land on the barista, sweeping away at the floor on the other side of the register, expression tight and disappointed.

The guilt started to creep back in at the look on her face.

This really was a bad idea. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to talk to her yet, after his abrupt exit last time. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be ready, but he certainly wasn’t today.

Backtracking, Ethan began turning back in the direction from which he came, but the movement catches her eye and right away, Nina glances up, brown eyes connecting with blue ones. Ah shit.

Seeing him, the barista’s expression tightens a fraction more, a cool gleam flashing across her eyes, and she frowns before beckoning him to come in with a quick nod of her head.

A weary sigh leaves his lips as Ethan ambles over, the ding of the bell ringing out like it was announcing his execution. The minute he walks in, Nina folds her arms across her chest, still wearing her black apron over the pale blue sweater she donned today.

“Did you need something?” She asks after a long, tense moment.

He doesn’t reply, the lump in his throat growing as he hears the familiar line, ones uttered by him not too long ago. The circumstances in which they were said so different.  

She presses forward when he doesn’t speak, “You haven't been around much lately.” It sounds a little like an accusation.

“My coffee machine’s working again. So I didn’t really need to come here anymore,” He tries to hold back a grimace at how calloused he sounds.

Nina’s frown morphs into a glare and Ethan’s sure he’d rather be toughing it out in the Amazon right now than having to be the object of this woman’s current woe and ire. He’d rather be anywhere else.

He regrettably continues to dig his own grave, “There wasn’t much else this place could offer since I could just get coffee from my office now,” Why the fuck-  

“Well sorry I don’t have much to offer a world renown doctor,” A tinge of bitterness laced in her tone and he holds back a wince.

It was strange how easy it was for him to deal with the people at the hospital, never finding any need to mince words with idiots with fat pockets, and vultures trying to increase their profits at the expense of others. With his patients, always doing his best to be honest with them as they faced their own battles everyday, fighting for their lives. But here, in front of this woman who miffed him and intrigued him to no end, Ethan always found himself hesitating and clumsy with his words.

He stays quiet for too long and his silence, his lack of anything annoys her.

“You really are a cactus,” Nina mumbles, tightening her grip on the broom, keeping her eyes trained to the ground.

Taking a steadying breath, the barista glares pointedly at the crack in the floor before speaking up again, “You’re always like this, you know. I’ve talked to you like five times, and even I can tell you what you’re like.”

He doesn’t speak, the tension in the air making it difficult for him to cut through, his throat closing.

Nina holds up her hand, dainty fingers curled into a fist before she begins counting, “You always have to be sarcastic or ironic about something,” She lifts up a finger, “You’re always grumpy and kind of an asshole,” She puts up another finger, “You’re so closed off it’s sometimes so hard to talk to you because I have no idea what you’re thinking,” She pauses, ticking off another finger as the edge of her glare starts to fade, “...You never say what you mean. You’re so emotionally constipated and you make a habit of running away. You can’t just admit you like something and you always have to find a roundabout way to-”

During her tirade, Ethan had inched closer to her, slipping out what he had hidden in his back pocket. In one swift motion, he presents it to her, shoving it right under her nose and effectively cutting her off mid-rant.

Nina blinks, staring down at the trinket. A small frog keychain sits in the palm of his hand, the plush material appearing velvety under the beam of the ceiling light.  

“...What?”

His other hand reaches up to scratch the back of his neck as she peers up at him, wide-eyed and confused at the gesture, “I saw it a while ago. I don’t know why I thought of you but I bought it.” He nods at the pin clipped dutifully on her apron, right next to her name tag.

A long stretch of silence envelopes them and Ethan’s not sure what to classify this one. It didn’t feel comfortable nor was it tense like before. The brunette continued to stare at the item in his hand before gingerly, almost shyly taking it into her hands, rolling it a bit between her fingers.

After another long moment, she speaks up, “My brother...always liked frogs,” Voice airy, she keeps her eyes on the plush and continues, “He got sick a lot, and they always made him feel better. So I would always be wearing them and bringing them to him whenever he got sick again.” Nina glances up at him finally and he notices her eyes glistening with emotion.

“He’s alright now, but I guess old habits die hard. I’ve grown attached to frogs myself,” She chuckles.

Ethan watches her, blue eyes lingering on her frame before finding his voice again, “I’m glad your brother is fine now. You’re a wonderful sister.”

Nina remains quiet, eyes still fixed on the gift and Ethan’s not sure why he feels the need to keep going, “I found it in the gift shop at the hospital.”

There’s another pause as Nina freezes again. As the seconds stretch on, Ethan’s worried he overstepped. Maybe don’t tell her that. Preparing to backtrack and excuse himself from this scenario, he readies an apology on his lips, when he’s interrupted by the sound of a snort.          

She’s...laughing?

Bemusement takes over his face as he blinks, watching as the barista starts curling over, laugh growing in intensity and volume. One peek at his face and she’s launched into another fit.  

Nina continues to laugh, her body shaking as the amusement runs through her small frame. Ethan stands there silently, not sure what he should be doing as the barista keeps giggling, hand clutching the keychain tight in her grip.

Finally, after what feels like ages, Nina’s laughter subsides, fixing her posture and settling her gaze on him, something that Ethan can’t define sparkling in her eyes.

A fond sigh leaves her lips as she regards him, “You make it hard to stay mad,” She lets out, voice delicate like a whisper.  

Nina links her hands behind her back, expression happy and radiant, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from her. In his daze, he doesn’t notice her moving, approaching quicker than he has time to form a coherent thought.

Nina practically skips towards him, closing the distance between them. Ethan almost reflexively took a step back, the sudden proximity shocking him speechless as he catches the caramel flecks in her eyes, sparkling and utterly captivating.

“So,” Drawing out the one syllable, Nina’s eyes crinkle into those familiar crescent moons, as she lifts herself up on her tiptoes and leans towards him, noses almost touching. Ethan finds himself rooted to the spot, completely at a loss before her as her eyes reflect like stars.  

“Are you gonna ask me on a date or what?”  

Fin.

taglist: @openheart12 @ethandaddyramsey @noboundariesplease @drethanramslay @ethanramseysgirl @senseofduties @messrprongs @x-kyne-x @ethxnrxmsey​ @newcolonies​ @choices-love-affair​ @sekizincimektup​ @nooruleman​ @fightingtheinevitable​ @kaavyaethanramsey @agent-breakdance​ @blueacacias​ @edith-eggs1​  

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: Here

Rating: Teen & Up

Chapter: 1/? (More chapters to come a little later in Dec + Early Jan!) 

Summary: A loose crossover between Carry On and parts of I'll Give You The Sun. "He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured."

Carry On Countdown, Day 10 - Crossover @carryon-countdown​

Tags: Fluff, Getting Together, Meet-Cute, Social Anxiety, Crossover, Pining Baz, Artist Baz, Space Enthusiast Simon, Star Gazing, Anxious Thoughts,  Carry On Countdown 2020 Day 10

Words: 2,145

Baz

I need to stop thinking about grey, slippery roads and black shrouds. About the purple under my Father’s dull eyes, and the red of my Aunt’s anger. I need to stop thinking about me - About my life. My head is too loud. Too noxious. I need someone else to take my mind for a while. I need to see. To paint. And so, I search for a subject. 

Dragging my binoculars across the bleak, colourless houses, I search, desperately, for even a glimpse of a hue. But the colours are slipping from the world again. They always do when I’m trapped in my head.

And then I see them - The movers - so far from colourless that I’m dizzied. They’re great work horses, both of them - One chestnut, and one palomino - Hulking a grandfather clock up the house-next-door’s stairs. I’m zooming in, before I have time to reconsider - Into the stretch of navy against the flex of their arms, the rose flush of their foreheads, the tan swath of smooth stomach revealed each time they lift their arms. And then ... Shit. 

I drop the binoculars onto the floor, my body following swiftly behind them. Because, on the roof of the house, there’s a boy pointing a telescope directly at me. Fucking Hell. How long has he even been there?

I risk a glance over the top of my windowsill. He’s wearing a tatty purple jumper, and there’s a mess of bronze curls tangled atop his head. Even without the binoculars, I can see that he’s grinning at me. Is he laughing at me, already? Does he know what I was doing? That I was watching the movers? Does he think that I’m ...? He must. Why else would I be ogling them. God. I feel the dread pinching at my throat, and try to tether my mind, so that it doesn’t get away from me again. Maybe he’s just a smiley person. Maybe he thinks I was looking at his clock. That’s equally as plausible, surely? And, I mean, he has a telescope. Dickheads don’t tend to have telescopes, do they?

Tugging at the ends of my hair, I stand. When he sees me he waves, but before I have a chance to reciprocate, he’s reaching into his pocket, drawing his arms backwards, and lobbing something straight at me. (Maybe he is a dickhead, after all). 

On reflex, I stick out my hand. The unknown object slapping hard against my skin, as I close my fingers around it. 

“Nice catch!” He yells. His voice deep and bright, with a definite Northern tinge. I decide that I like it. It suits him. 

But, I don’t know what to say back. So, I don’t. Instead, I examine his potentially dangerous ‘gift’ - Spinning the rock around in the palm of my hand. It’s small (About the size of a pound coin) and covered in irregular lightening-like cracks. What am I supposed to do with it? Do I throw it back? Why did he even throw it at me, in the first place? I don’t know, but I slip it into my back pocket for safe-keeping, anyway. 

When I look back at him, hoping for some kind of explanation, he’s turned himself back towards the sky. Too focused on looking through his telescope to notice me. Which, to be honest, is odd. I mean, it’s daytime. What could he possibly be looking at? 

Even though I’m curious, I don’t stick around to find out. I’m worryingly off-kilter, and I need to rebalance. I hadn’t prepared myself for meeting a new person. I wasn’t ready. And so, I run to the place that I know best, to recuperate - The Art Institute. Where I can carry out further recon on the studio. 

-------------------

It was a good, productive sketch session. Nobody caught me peeping through the window, and I was able to get a few decent body references down. But … I don’t feel my usual post-art calm. My mind is still racing (Although, with a different genre of thought than earlier). 

Every over time I have visited, the models have been women. Posing demurely, with a bowl of fruit or silks. Arms placed, to partially protect their modesty. I’m used to that. I’m prepared for that. But today … it was a bloke. 

I don’t have a problem with that (Not really). There’s nothing wrong with blokes. And there’s nothing wrong with naked blokes, either. I’m mature enough to handle that. A body is a body. A sketch is a sketch. And I’m an artist first, queer person second. I just … hadn’t expected it. And I don’t like to be caught off guard. So, I’m feeling slightly rattled. I just need to get home, and get back to normality. To safe things - Like a beach scene, or a self-portrait. Familiar things. No more surprises.

And yet, a few steps into my walk back home, I see the guy from the roof leaning against a nearby tree, the same lopsided-grin aimed over at me. I blink, confirming his existence, and then he’s talking. Stood, barely 3 metres in front of me, in the dirt. 

“How was class?” 

He says it like it isn’t the strangest thing in the world that he’s here, with me, where he really has no reason to be. Like it isn’t only just slightly beaten in its absurdity by me, sketching propped-up on a wall outside, rather than inside, the studio. Like we aren’t complete strangers (Because, no matter how much he may be smiling at me, we don’t even know each other's names yet).

‘Yeah, sorry, I kinda’ followed you. I wanted to check out the woods, but I wasn’t sure of the way. So … I just tagged along. Figured you wouldn’t mind. Don’t worry though, I wasn’t watching you the whole time. I was busy with my own stuff.” 

He points to an open suitcase filled to the brim with ... rocks? As if that’s normal. 

“My meteorite bag’s all packed.”

I nod like that explains something, but it really doesn’t. Meteorites? I thought those were in the sky, not on the ground. And what does that even mean? He just carries around pieces of infinity. For what?

I look at him more closely, studying his face for any sign of disingenuity. For any sign that he’s just having me on. But I find nothing. Nothing … bad, anyway. Just a deep dimple accompanying his crooked smile, and miles of tawny skin, speckled with moles. He exists in shades of orange and gold. He’s the sun. And I can’t look away.

“Stare much?” 

I drop my gaze, embarrassed - Staring down at his scuffed Nikes, as my neck prickles with heat. I don’t talk. What am I even supposed to say to that? Yes? 

“Well ... you’re probably just used to it from staring at that bloke for so long. You know … for your drawing.” I look up - Grey meeting blue. He’s eyeing my pad curiously. “He was naked?” He breathes in as he says it, like the words stole his oxygen. It makes my stomach plummet, but I try to keep my face calm. I think about him watching me, watching the movers. How he watched me, watching the model. He must know. And ... I don’t know how I feel about that, just yet. 

He looks down at my pad again. I don’t understand why. Does he want me to show him the drawings of the model bloke? It seems like he does. And some disturbed part of me wants to. But I doubt it. ‘Hey stranger, wanna’ see how I draw dicks?’ said no sane person ever. My stomach twists tight, and I’m out of control - My brain hazy amongst the moment’s tension.

“Look, man,” he sighs, half-smiling as he scrubs at the back of his neck. “I legit’ have no idea how to get home. I tried, but I just ended up back here. I’ve been waiting for you to lead the way. You don’t mind do you?”

I don’t think I mind. Do I? I don’t know. I shake my head, anyway, and point him in the right direction. 

-------------------

It’s a long way home, and we walk the majority of it in silence (Well, near-silence. The bumping of his suitcase creating a constant accompaniment to our steps). I try and resist the urge to look back at him. The urge to ask him all of my ‘Why?’s - Why did you follow me? Why are you still following me? Why are you collecting meteorites? Why were you looking at the stars in daylight? Why were you looking at me in the daylight? It would only make me more muddled. So, rather than relent, I take out my invisible brushes and start to paint behind my eyes. 

And, after a while, I feel myself settling back into my skin. The dancing trees and setting sun relaxing me, in spite of the moment’s unsteadiness. Or ... maybe it was him. He’s an alarmingly relaxed person (I mean, I don’t know anybody else who would just follow a stranger around, with zero self-consciousness), so it wouldn’t surprise me if he had some sort of ‘Realm of Calm’ thing going on around him. 

When we emerge from the woods, returning to our familiar concrete-laden pavements, he spins around and jumps in front of me. Ecstatic. 

“Holy shit! That is like ... the longest I’ve ever gone without talking in my life! I was holding my breath just trying to keep the words in. How do you even do that? Are you always like this?”

He’s a mile a minute, and I’m lagging behind.

“Like what?”

And then he’s laughing at me. I can tell that he’s a person who laughs a lot, from the way he lets it take him over so easily - His whole being lightening up, as the sides of his eyes crinkle, joyfully. But it’s alright, I don’t mind. It’s not a mean laugh. It just makes me feel a little bit fizzy inside (In a good way. I think). 

“Dude! Are you kidding? You do know those are the first words you’ve said all day, right?”

I didn’t, actually. But I don’t tell him that. He’d probably just think that I’m more strange than he, no doubt, already does. 

He’s properly cracking up now (Although, I don’t know what, exactly, I did that was quite so funny). “And then you’re all just like ‘What?’”. </p>

He makes an absolutely atrocious attempt at imitating my accent (Which leaves him sounding like some kind of drunken Prince Charles impersonator), and before I can stop it, I’m laughing outright, alongside him. Both of us hunched-over cackling, wholeheartedly, probably looking more than a little mad. 

Once we’ve calmed down, he starts staring at my pad again. Jesus Christ. I really wish he wouldn’t. I’m not going to show him my sketches. Not even if he begs. I’d never survive the embarrassment.

“So ... lemme’ guess. You do most of your talking in there?” He points down at my pad, and I feel the tips of my ears flood scarlet. 

“Yeah. Something like that.” My voice comes out mumbled and gruff. I didn’t mean for it to. He probably thinks I did it on purpose, though. 

He’s haloed under the streetlights, and I’m trying not to stare. But, it’s hard. His face is celestial - The sunshine of his soul peeking through his features. I want to say more, just so that he doesn’t leave. Our houses are right there but, I feel so ... multicoloured.

“I paint in my head sometimes,” I blurt. Dumb. So unbelievably dumb. “That’s why I was so quiet, I was painting.”

“Oh that’s cool. Saves paper, I suppose. Better for the trees, and that.” Stalling. He’s stalling. I’ve made it weird. I always make it weird. “So ... were you painting anything specific?”

“You.” Oh, fucking hell! I’ve ruined it - I’ve smeared on that last glob of un-erasable acrylic and ruined the painting. I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t even mean to say it, it just ... popped out. And now he’s stood, gawping, eyes wide and face flushed. I’ve embarrassed him. I’ve gone and dumped all my greedy keenness on him, completely uninvited, and now he’s drowning in it.

Everything feels tight. The air, suddenly too humid to swallow. I’m gasping - Waves of breath crashing, loudly, in my ears. Panic. I’m panicking. I need to - I have to go.

So, for the second time today, I run. Spinning on my heels and darting back towards my house, without as much as a ‘Goodbye”. Away from him. Away from humiliation. Back to my room, where I pull the blinds shut and open up my pad - Briskly skipping over today’s work. A blank page. A fresh start. I really am no good at talking the normal way.

[dustedmagazine]

Ian Mathers’ 2020: We’re stuck inside our own machines

I’ve had a song I loved in high school and haven’t thought much about since stuck in my head. The song “Apparitions” by the Matthew Good Band is a fine example of the alt rock of the late 90s; if you grew up then but somewhere down in the states (or elsewhere) instead of my southern Ontario you may well have your regional equivalents, and like this one they may not resonate terribly strongly outside of their time and place. It popped back into my head after a long time recently and of course 2020 has changed it a little. A song that as a teen I felt keenly as about loneliness (albeit also about how technology can feed into that) of course now plays on my nerves as another small piece of art about the way that most of us (those scared and/or responsible anyway) have only that relatively narrow, technologically mediated connection to the people we love. All of us, artists and listeners alike, are trying to fit our feelings and art and selves down these little connections, with some success.

On a personal level, 2020 wound up being stressful in ways we couldn’t have predicted even after the pandemic hit. In circumstances that could have seen governments on this continent support those unable to work (and those who shouldn’t have to), support those workers who are truly essential, support workers and renters and even landlords and small businesses, instead we got a near-total abeyance of those governments using the resources we provide them with to save any of us. On a personal level my wife and I were lucky enough to be able to work from home (not that it didn’t come with its own forms of stress, and now that I’m off until January I have several work/stress-related illnesses to recover from) but still saw friends and loved ones lose good, used-to-be-sustainable livings overnight, saw family businesses succumb to a near-total absence of effective government support after months of trying to keep above water, etc.

It is probably no surprise that this is not a situation conducive to listening to music, let alone writing about it; I have deliberately and happily kept busy on behind the scenes stuff at Dusted that I could still manage but looking, at the end of the year, at the amount I managed to actually create is demoralizing if not at all shocking. I’m not sure I think next year will be ‘better’ in many important ways, although at our job there is a growing feeling among coworkers that next year has to have some work/life balance because 2020 was, maybe more than anything else, unsustainable.

That’s not to say I didn’t spend a lot of time and emotion on music this year, and if nothing else constant sleep deprivation, stress, and panic meant I was probably open to being deeply moved by all sorts of art even more than normally (it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even read a sad or moving twitter thread out loud to my wife without getting teary, which is kind of… nice?). Funnily enough the band that did the most to keep me sane didn’t really put out anything in 2020. Personal favorite, Low, instead started, in early April, getting on Instagram with something they called on whim “It’s Friday I’m in Low.” With one brief break they have now done by my count at least 35 shows (catalogued here, by the way), every Friday at about 4 my time.

Admittedly it’s easier for Low to pull this off than some bands, since the 2/3 of the trio that sing are a married couple (they’ve had a couple of socially-distanced backyard shows with bassist Steve Garrington, but he’s mostly been isolating elsewhere). These shows have seen the band’s Alan Sparhawk take a mid-set break to do follow-up phone interviews with the acts featured in the COVID-curtailed touring bands series Vansplainingthat they started on YouTube, or just to give a tour round their vegetable garden and talk tips. It’s seen Alan and Mimi Parker draw on their impressive, 25+ year body of work (averaging 4-5 songs a set, I don’t think they’ve repeated themselves yet) and talk a bit between songs about pandemics, politics, song choices, and whether Alan should grab his bike helmet this time.

They’re not the only musicians out there speaking love and sanity (and playing music) into the strange digital interzone filled with hate and disinformation where we’ve all been forced to gather while locked down, but they were and the most consistent and steady signal being emitted each week. No matter how tired I was from work or what new symptoms I’d developed or what horrific thing I read into the news, even if I had to take an emergency nap while it was actually airing, every Friday the show was there. Once things do return to something more like normal, it’s one of the few things I’ll unambiguously miss about this weird-ass year.

So if that makes an argument for Low as my band of the year (admittedly again… it’s not like Double Negative has aged poorly, either), that does a disservice to those 2020 records I did connect with; even if there are still literally dozens I have to go through, many of which I expect to love, my top picks this year (if as unrankable by me as always) hit me as hard as any top pick in recent years did. So here I present a quick and informal top 5, which the rest of my top 20 following in alphabetical order. Here’s hoping for more time and space in 2021 for music, and even more than that, for more support for those who need it from those who could have been providing it all this time. (The Matthew Good Band, incidentally, always did best with their ballads. “Strange Days” is another I’ve had in my head these days; the image of moving “backwards, into a wall of fire” has stuck with me since the 90s and it’s never felt more grimly appropriate.)

Greet Death — New Hell

New Hell by Greet Death

This one is, in some sense, cheating; it came out November 2019. But that just means it’s the latest winner of my personal Torres Prize for Ian Being Late to the Party (so named because becoming slightly obsessed with Torres’ Sprinter just after I sent in my 2015 list was the first time I noticed that one of my favorite records of each year tends to get picked up by me just after I call it quits on the year, no matter how long I try to wait). This very doom and gloom slowcore/metal/(whatever, just know it’s heavy) trio at first felt very much like my beloved Cloakroom (whose Time Well has also won a Torres Prize) but sure enough nuances revealed themselves. Back in February it felt almost a little too negative, but then the rest of 2020 happened. And the extended burns of “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done” and the title track remain searing.

Holy Fuck — Deleter

Probably the record I’ve been trying to write about the longest in 2020, and the one I’m most disappointed in myself that I just couldn’t get the requisite paragraphs together. It’s a wonderful effort from the consistently great Toronto resolutely human-created (and —mediated) dance music quartet, one that both feels like a summation of everything they do well, and with the addition of some outside voices (including strong turns from the singers of both Hot Chip and Liars) a step forward at the same time.

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

As the year got worse, this roar of defiance only got more crucial for me to hear every so often; I was a big enough fan of it, even after writing it up for Dusted, that when they solicited fan footage for a subsequent music video you may just be able to get a glimpse of me in it. (I’m the one in a “No Tories” t-shirt.) My punk rock-loving twin brother was the one who introduced me to Spanish Love Songs and we were supposed to spend an evening in June screaming along to them live in a packed, sweaty room. I need that in my life again.

Julianna Barwick — Healing Is a Miracle

Healing Is A Miracle by Julianna Barwick

It’s a sign of what 2020 has been like here that even just this album title leaves bruises, and while I privately worried Barwick would have a hard time following up 2016’s sublime Will (probably my favorite record that year), it seems that continuing to take whatever downtime she needs to keep focusing and refining her particular muse has once again yielded amazing results. Anyone who thinks they know what a Barwick track sounds like should really check out, say, “Flowers”, but much of this record absolutely sounds like Barwick, just even better than before. She also boasted my wife and I's favorite streaming concert of 2020, an absolutely gorgeous rendition of this album with Mary Lattimore showing up.

Phoebe Bridgers — Punisher

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers

I joked on Twitter recently that I have far too nice a dad (and far too good a relationship with him) to be as obsessed as I am with Phoebe Bridgers’ “Kyoto”, but here we are. Like most of her generation, Bridgers’ social media presence ranges from shit-posting to inscrutable, but even though things are often just as hard to figure out in her beautiful songs (as they often are in life), there’s an emotional clarity to them that can just grab you deep down. Couple that with seriously impressive songcraft and the progress from her already astounding debut Stranger in the Alps and more than anyone else in 2020 I’m excited to see just where the hell Phoebe Bridgers is going to go, because it feels like she’s talented and hardworking enough to go just about anywhere and drag a lot of our hearts with her.

Other Favorites

Aidan Baker & Gareth Davis — Invisible Cities II

Anastasia Minster — Father

Deftones — Ohms

Hum — Inlet

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song

Mesarthim — The Degenerate Era

Perfume Genius — Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

Protomartyr — Ultimate Success Today

Rachel Kiel — Dream Logic

The Ridiculous Trio — The Ridiculous Trio Plays the Stooges

Sam Amidon — Sam Amidon

Shabason, Krgovich & Harris — Philadelphia

Stars Like Fleas — DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind

Five Reissues/Compilations/etc.

Aix Em Klemm — Aix Em Klemm

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII

Charles Curtis — Performances & Recordings 1998-2018

Coil — Musick to Play in the Dark

Hot Chip — LateNightTales

Ian Mathers

[scandeniall]

good & the bad [11/12]

| song 11: the good & the bad | good & bad masterlist | prev | next 

pairing: osamu x reader

summary/warnings:  Hang on to the moments when you're flying, he moments when you're crying. Hang on to the ones that hold you down./ straight up manga spoilers lol

wc: 1868

“Samu,” his name comes out barely above a whisper as you enter the dimly lit room shutting the door behind you. “Atsumu let me in. He said you haven’t come out at all today.” You softly say as you make your way deeper into his room, until you're standing at the space next to his desk where he’d been hunched over for the majority of the day. He still hadn’t said anything as you eye the content covering the surface. Lots of numbers. You notice the way he relaxes just the tiniest bit as you rest your hand on his shoulder. “You ok?”

“No.” The shortness of the answer doesn’t come as a surprise given, what’d he’d most likely been working on. You only nod, noticing the way he slides his chair back enough so that you could seat yourself sideways on his lap. “More shop plans?” Your question is only met with a nod. 

You remember when you met the twin. It had been during his second and your first year of university. The two of you crossing paths by mere chance. Essentially being in the right place at the right time. You met at an obscure cafe that you both tended to frequent, just never at the same time. It had been a place that had such few customers, that everyone wondered how it was still in business. However, it’d had the best damn yakitori you’d ever had. It had actually been one of the waitresses who introduced you two. Saying you were the only two people who ever ordered it from there, and that if it wasn’t for you two they’d considered taking it off the menu.

From there the friendship and eventual relationship blossomed. You found out he was in school for culinary arts, with a minor in business in hopes of opening his own food shop, eventually settling on Onigiri. That had been two years ago, and as a recent graduate he was ready to get it up and running. A process that proved to be a difficult one, causing his current stress. 

“I’ve been running these numbers and looking for suppliers all day. Kita said he can help with rice, but there's still fillings, and seaweed, and packaging. And now theres a problem with my location and actually pay for workers if I’m struggling now—fuck. Maybe I should have gone pro with Tsumu.”

He let out more than he’d initially intended and he blames the feel of your fingers massaging his scalp for the word vomit. It feels much better than the tugging he’d done at his scalp as he eyed the dizzying numbers for the millionth time. “Hey. Don’t say that. You know you wouldn’t have been happy doing that.” His gaze shifts from you to the papers covering his desk as you continue talking. “Besides, who the hell said opening a business was easy. If it were, everyone would be doing it-”

“Well it's obviously not,” your hand goes to clamp around his mouth so he wouldn’t interrupt again. “As I was saying. It's not easy, but you’re doing it. And in 80 years when you end up as the happier twin it’ll all be worth it. I know it’s stressful now, but that’s where your superhero volleyball strength should kick in. The same mental strength I’m sure it takes to get through games, physically pushing yourself past your limits is what you need now. It’s The mental strength to see this through Samu. You’ve got it, so just hang in there through the good and the bad.” The quietest of sniffles causes you to let out a laugh. “Wait are you actually crying right now at my stupid speech.”

Your boyfriend’s hands go to try and fail to push you off as you continue laughing. “It’s the hunger. I haven't eaten in hours,” Osamu counters as you roll your eyes. “Yeah, Alright. Come on let’s go get something. My treat tonight.” Hands tighten around your waist as you lean down to press your lips to meet his. The kiss is soft, lips ghosting against one another as you fight yourself smiling. Before you could push it further he pulls away a lazy smile on his face. “You said you were gonna treat me to dinner.”

Your annoyed groan does nothing but amuse him, but as you go to get up you find that his hands don’t loosen. “For someone who wants food you don’t seem to be making the effort to let me go.” Osamu only shrugs. “Thank you. For having my back.”

“Just remember, hang through the good and the bad. And stop being afraid to ask for my help. I’m here, always.”

——

‘I’m outside,’ your eyes gloss over the text before you start packing your backpack. Bidding your friends goodbye you quickly make your way down the steps of your school’s library before slipping into Osamu’s passenger seat. You eagerly accept the quick kiss he offers in greeting. 

“So you think this is the place?” 

“Hopefully. I’m ready to sign a lease already.” You nod humming along to the radio. Right now he was going to take a last look at the potential shop location before hopefully signing for it. You’d offered to go with him since you didn’t have any late classes for the day. Ever since your conversation a month ago he’d been just the slightest bit more accepting of help from others. 

“Oh, my friend gave me some of the logo drafts today. They look pretty good, you might have a winner there.” His hand goes to gently squeeze the skin of your thigh in appreciation. You had a friend majoring in graphic design who was more than willing to gain experience designing a logo for a business. Osamu was grateful for it. That was one last thing he had to worry about. 

“When i decided to do this, I thought i'd be on my own. According to so many people I was letting my talent go to waste going into food instead of sports.” This time your hand goes to offer him a comforting squeeze. “But— I’m thankful. For you, shitty Tsumu, Kita and everyone else helping me. But don’t ever mention that to my brother.”

You can’t help but laugh, swearing to secrecy. You remember how Osamu half told you that him and his twin got into a nasty fight about him quitting sports back in high school. It ended in them betting who would end up the happiest at the end of their life. Thankfully the two got over it as they grew into men, and now Atsumu acted as his brothers ‘official and professional taste tester.’ He’d even gotten some of his teammates to do taste tests for more opinions. 

—-

6 years later

“Thank you for all being here. I wanted to give a special thank you to the person who has held me down and kept me sane from the beginning. At least for the most part, sometimes they’re annoying.” Your jaw drops in a mix of amusement and shock at Osamu’s words. The mid size crowd around you laughs, even more as you go to push the man who doesn’t even falter. 

“The first Onigiri Miya shop opened 6 years ago. And today we’re here to celebrate the grand opening of the largest branch yet here in Tokyo. Thank you for being here, and enjoy.” Osamu quickly bows before cutting the ribbon open to the new shop and allowing people inside. 

As the last person trickles inside your left outside with your boyfriend and his twin, who was looking at you weirdly. He had a stupid smile in his face that seemed unusually genuine. “Would you stop looking at me like a weirdo. Let’s go inside” your walk is stopped by a hand grabbing yours. Your confusion is just marked by Osamu grabbing both of your hands. “Samu— what’s up?”

“This is weird. But not really,” You notice the twin starting to break his usual deadpan persona, even glancing at the blonde counterpart for a moment before taking a deep breath. A thought of what's about to go down briefly crosses your mind, but only for a point of a second, because there's no way. 

“A few years ago you told me to hang on through the good and the bad. To this day, I don’t even think you knew what you were really saying. But you said it, and I did it. I stuck through the long nights where I wanted nothing more than to pull my hair out and give up. At the beginning when everything was going to shit. When I was spending more to run the shop than I was making. When my first shop caught fire and nearly burned to the ground-”

“All about you huh. Way to be self centered Samu,” both of you shot a glare at the blonde. Osamu for the interruption, and you for- well you didn’t even know. You only bit back that maybe he was learning from him, causing a smile to tug at Osamu’s face.

“Anyways- but I also stuck through with the good. From getting enough money saved to open a shop, getting approved for the starter loan, to finding the best vendors and having the chance to sell and grow at professional games. Then I opened up my second, and third and now fifth branch.” You can’t help but smile at the memory as you nod.

“I couldn’t have done it without you. Your love, kindness, and everything that makes you, you. You hung in there with me as you went through your own life. You graduated, started working at your dream company, and started working your way up. All this while supporting me endlessly. You even went as far as putting money down for me, and working at the shop for free. You were there through every step of the way. 

You always told me to feel and don’t be afraid to ask for help, but the help you gave and continue to give is more than anyone could have ever asked for. During one of our midnight talks, you told me to hang on and love the ones who continue to keep me ground. You’re one of those people. The name of the shop. Onigiri Miya always had a nice ring to it.” Your eyes went through several emotions: confusion, realization, and now shock, as your boyfriend took a step back now getting onto 1 knee. You almost feel like you’re going to pass out as your mind runs blank. 

“I love you a whole lot. So, (Y/N) will you make the name on the shop yours as well and marry me.” You don’t even remember the words yes coming out of your mouth or even nodding. Apparently you did because you're met with metal sliding on your finger and obnoxious hollering from a twin who you didn’t even notice was recording the entire time. Arms that circle around your waist and a failure figure hugging yours breaks you out of your state of shock.

“Here's to handling the future together. And sticking through the good and the bad.”

a/n: this series is NOT written in song order which is why the prev/next buttons dont work and wont until its applicable. This is the 3rd installment and my first time writing osamu so this shit seems mad OOC but i also dont know his character that well, but this song made me go to this idea so?????? Also reread and take a shot every time i reference the fucking title god i hate myself

[sunca]

Hey congrats on starting your writing blog !! Could I request Narancia with 2 and 87 from the yandere prompts? Maybe in like a school setting of sorts? Thank you in advance!! 💕

"𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓎"

Yandere Narancia x reader(Yandere Prompts)

2. "Please pay attention to me."

87. "What do I need to make you love me back?"

~~~~~~

Scenario.

Warning : Death, blood, gore, physical violence, curse words, kidnapping, mentioned of stalking, yandere stuff, a bit of lust.

Count : 4030

Thank you. I appreciate it. (•-•)\💖

Sorry for the wait. I've been busy these days but as soon as I finished those stuffs, I went straight down to writing and fixing this.

Please accept this art as my apology. Long hair, fancy Narancia is a must and reader as a small chibi.

Requests still open. Thank you and I hope this brings satisfaction to you.

Sadly, I couldn't post this with read more. ;-; Forgive me.

I almost forgot. Recommended song for this.

Anson Seabra - Stay with me

~~~~~~

Sleepless nights and those stares which hunted you in the darkness. You tried to sleep soundly as much as you could but those nightmares picked you like a marionette and made you dance as they willed. Traces of fingers on your skin offered the ecstasy of waking up. Only to have chills rushing on you. Sweats and tears tainted on the mattress. The warmth of another person, the breeze would steal every night. The welcomed window with a broken lock in your view. An orange wrist band disappearing into the leaves of a nearby tree.

You hid your yawn with your book from your teacher. She shot a glance at you but you just tried to hide between your shoulders. Dark circles lingering around your eyes as you tried to wipe your tears away. You once again looked down at your book to greet with an x and its long lost number. y and z waiting for their soulmates. Numbers running around on your page playground. A discontented sign falling down along with your tense shoulders.

Slender fingers rested on his cheek. His chin stood gracefully on his palm. His captivating purple eyes sojourned on your back. You who couldn't concentrate won't be able to detect his enthusiasm for you. He planned to open his heart for you today. He could only wish it would go well. He can only wish. The echo of the bell rolling into the class directed his attention to turn to his dear friend.

Fugo closed his book and let it rest for a period. His hand reaching for the lemon coloured lunchbox and water bottle. Narancia then get attracted to your magnet but blocked by a girl who stood between you two. Narancia looked up to see her lunch box held tight to her chest. She then build up her courage to ask him to spend his precious time with her. He leaned back. Creating more space between him and her. Showing uninterested body language. A single worded rejection. His feet walking on your yellow path. You getting up to get some space from people, stopped in your tracks when he came into your view.

"Hey, (Y/N)! Nothing to do at lunch. Right? Come join us! You've been busy with that club and activities. I missed you," he whined with puppy eyes. You being your dithering self because of restlessness. "Sure," You replied with a small puff and smile, blinking your fuzzy vision away. His gleaming smile blinding you so easily. "Great! Let me grab my lunch box fast! Wait here!" He gleefully replied and headed back to his seat. A soft smile staplered on his cheeks.

The three of you sitting under the unfixed clouds. A baby tomato rolling under your fork. You listened to the back and front between Fugo and Narancia. This bickering was bringing out more headache for you. Then suddenly, Narancia wrapped his arms around your torso and faked a cry. "(Y/N)! See? Fugo is making fun of me! I just don't understand math and he's calling me 'stupid' again!" You let out a tired sigh and patted his head. "I'm calling you stupid because you are! 33×12 is 36? Oh. What a genius! How many times do I have to teach you that?!" Fugo looked as if a strawberry now. His face all red because of rage.

"Oh, Fugo. By the way, did you heard-," Narancia looked up at you. His hands not retreating back from you but holding more tightly. You were focused on Fugo and letting him know about the new series he caught upon. The two of you would buy the book together or inform each other about the news related to that series. You and Fugo having interest in a same subject once in a while. Narancia was not getting any of it. His eyebrows fusing.

"(Y/N)! I burned my hand the other day!" He put his hand in between you and Fugo's eye contact. You just nodded and patted him again but didn't stop communicating with Fugo. Narancia's hand slowly drafted back to your shoulder. Tears welding on his eyes. His cheeks swelling. He then slowly fell onto your lap. His hands closest to his heart which was aching for you. Both Fugo and you stopped in track. You looked upon a teenage boy in tears, sulking like a baby and resting on your lap.

"Please pay attention to me, (Y/N)."

His voice shaking. You felt bad for not giving him the attention he deserved and run your fingers through his hair gently. Narancia has always been like this whenever you ignored him a bit. You didn't want to speak it out loud but it slipped through. "Aww~ my baby," you wiped his tears away. Narancia started sniffing and sobbing. You picked him up by his shoulder and he sat up. "Don't cry. Don't cry~," Mischief in your sugary voice. "Aww~ There. There," you comforted him with a hug and caressed his head. Fugo scoffed and focused on eating again. Turning his gaze away from the two of you.

After a minute or two, the door to the rooftop swung. A pair of canary preying you in. Burgundy hair combed back neatly. His sharp jaw ready to slice anyone in two. His flawless face shining like silver. Turtleneck white sweater revealing his ravishing physique. Black jeans hugging his slender and long legs. The papers in his grip rustled as the breeze flowed in.

Once he saw you, he stormed up to you. You looked up at Kevin, your club's president. Narancia, on the other hand, didn't want Kevin to come and destroy his paradise, and he knew Kevin would be a bad new for him. As soon as he saw Kevin, Narancia glanced to you. Narancia didn't expect and want this to happen but here you are, looking at a boy other than him.

"Oh, Kev! What brought you here?" You greeted him and drew back your hands. Narancia didn't bother to move from your side. Fugo twisted his neck to look up from his lunch to your target. Fugo repositioned himself since he saw who was it and listened to hear whatever Kevin had to say. "(Y/N), Mrs. Smith said you made some mistakes in the paper sheets for the club. You better get there now and I have things to do," Kevin stood beside Fugo and waited for you.

"I will go there once I finish my lunch," you glared up at Kevin. Narancia was also glaring at Kevin. "She didn't look like she was busy which is unusual," Kevin insisted. Kevin's demand irked you and you rolled your eyes. "Fine," you groaned as you packed your lunch back up. Narancia complained as he clasped your arm. "(Y/N), you don't have to go." Narancia's puppy eyes striking your week spot but you couldn't say no to the class president. "I'm sorry, Narancia but I have to. I will see you back in class when this is over. Ok? No worries," you gave Narancia a reassuring smile and stood up. Narancia's eyes were narrowing at Kevin. Fugo noticed this and observed him carefully. So then, he could step in if Narancia was to burst out.

You headed to the teachers' office and prepared yourself. Kevin was walking on the corridor of the old, abandoned school building. He just needed to grab some stuffs from there. He was on his way until he saw a group of people in a class. He pulled the door open and shouted, "Students are prohibited to come here withou-," he saw an adult looking like a street rat handing a bag wrapped in tape to a student. "YOU! Outsiders are prohibited here too and state your busines -" Before his sentence ended, —wham!— his unconscious body fell onto the dusty floor with a thud.

Narancia tried his best to keep his serenity but something clicked in him. He threw his orange juice and stood up. "That motherf*cker!! $&j#fc;h-e)g£sv%y!!!" He cursed as the bottom of his shoe stamped upon the poor lunchbox. Noodles flat under, the sauce splashed across the concreted floor, the plastic scattered into pieces and his shoe fouled by the mess. Fugo noticed the buzz in his pants pocket and reached for it. Checking the ID, he then picked it up. "Pronto."

"Damn it!" Narancia exclaimed as he rubbed his shoe on the clean surface of the floor. "They're always trying to steal my (Y/N) away. A*sh*les!" Narancia kicked the air and his feet yeeted his shoe. Narancia was too furious to pay attention to Fugo or his talk. He then let out a frustrated sigh and hopped. "Yes. We'll take care of it. Arrivederci," Fugo hung up and shoved the phone back into his pants. He then reversed his direction back to Narancia who was putting on his shoe again.

"Narancia," he calmly called him to see his fumming face almost as if a tomato. "They're making a move now. Gior- Boss want us to take action. Bruno said he will send the info in 5 minutes," Fugo's sentences were short but held engrossing mystery in them. Narancia's face was dark and occupied with a wide grin which would inject a chilling trepidation to everyone sane but Fugo wasn't bothered. The thought of finishing an order perfectly enraptured Fugo as he couldn't wait to spend more time with his beloved who was in a cage. "Go fetch (Y/N) after this," Fugo shot a smirk and encouraged Narancia. The two boys communicating with their eye contact. You who thought Fugo and Narancia were normal teenagers and not knowing anything about their past, didn't even notice the foreboding gift future has in store for you.

When you entered the club room, you couldn't find Kevin anywhere. "MuMu, have you seen Kev anywhere? I need him to check these sheets," you asked a girl who was filling in forms. "Ah! He went to that old building in the west. He said he needed some files from class B," she answered and you smiled at her. "Thank you!" You replied and headed to there. Looking over the papers in your fingers again. "This will be fine. I guess...," you spoke to yourself.

Narancia and Fugo were checking out the rooms at the ground level. They entered the 5th room when you entered the hall. You then zigzagged and stepped on the first step of the stairs. 'Class B. Huh. That would be third floor.' You thought to yourself and rubbed your temple. "Wait. This building has three stairs. Right? What if I miss Kevin? I can't let it happen! I must hand in these today," you talked to yourself and hurried your steps. "Nothing's here too," Fugo looked up to Narancia. He was squatting and checking for footprints or any sign of their target were here or the packs since the info showed they stored some in here. "Let's move on," Narancia replied as he head to the stairs.

You arrived on the third floor and everything was a mess. There were plastic bags, dry leaves and dusts. You looked up to the sign on top of an entrance. It read 'E' and you moved on to get where you wanted to be. When you passed through class D, you heard something. You stopped in track and paid attention to it. It was as if something was being beaten. You backed to the wall and approached the back door of the third room. You sneakily opened the door a bit and peeked in. A strange scent hitting your nostrils.

There was a group of students and some people in normal attire. Smokes surrounding their heads. Cigarettes in between of their fingers. Some were staring down at the centre. You followed their gaze. A fist rose and fell like a tsunami. You couldn't see who was the victim since the desks and some males blocked it. You keeled for a better view and in between legs, you saw a familiar male with burgundy hair. Blood rivering down on his lips and chin. His nose all red. His face swollen.

You questioned why he didn't fight back and you covered your mouth. His fingers bending back in. Blood stained on his white sweater. Two knives attached to his belly. You started to tremble and your breath hitched. You wanted to step in and help Kevin but it would be around 15 against 1. You don't even stand a chance.

You gotta get out of there fast and affirm the teachers. When you raised your head back, the door swung open with a creek. You looked up like a cornered prey under the gaze of a predator. To meet with a pair of eyes staring down at you. A grin sent chills down your spine. You didn't waste any time and sprang for the escape. The shadow behind you chased you down. You were pulled back by a hand wrapping by your waist. "HELP-!" Your mouth covered by a hand.

"Did you hear that?" Narancia glanced at his friend who didn't turn away from his staring towards the ceiling. "Hear what?" Narancia had a confused expression. Fugo then looked at Narancia. "Narancia, call out Aerosmith. They might still be in this building," Fugo commended him. "Okay?" Narancia raised an eyebrow and spread his arms horizontally. "Aerosmith!"

You were struggling against two males. The others were staring or laughing at your inadequate struggles. You kicked, wiggled your body out, punched and did everything you could but nothing seemed to work until you remembered a method. You kicked the male in front of you where the sun don't shine and curved in your spine to smash that nose with the back of your head. The grip around you loosened. Your feet trying to be your life saviour, betrayed by a hand grabbing on one. Your face came in to kiss the floor. A crack rang in your ears and a light flashed before you. You tried to get back up but restrained by a pull.

You rolled around and punched anyone who was in sight. Your hand captured in a grip but you used all of your force and took your hand back. Your other hand reached something and you grabbed it. Panic swung your hand and —Shluk!— crimson liquid spattered. A glass shard deep in the throat of a student. Blood trailing down from his mouth and nose. He choked out and a daub of red landed on your cheek, soon to roll slowly to side. Your eyes went wide. You brought up your hand to wipe the burning sensation on your nose and hide that glup. You were stunned. Your brain tried to reload what you just did but errors delayed it.

Tap, tab, tap, dab, dap, dab, dap, swissh, dab, swissh, dab, dap, zwish, dab, dap, zwish, Dap, zwish, Dab, Dap, zwish, Dab, BAM!

The door swung open, brining you back to reality with a flinch. Your head spun and you saw a ray of hope along with two boys. Narancia's scanning fell upon you as soon as you goggled him. Your nose red. Blood smeared on your philtrum, upper lateral subunit and upper lip. Your obscured tears failed on you. The look in your eyes begged him to save you. Your lips quivering. Your quietened sobs emerging. "What the f*ck!?" A wrongdoer swore out loud and they prepared themselves by picking up some chair, wood stick, spiked bat, and pocket knives.

"Na-Narancia...," You ran towards him but your legs gave out and you crawled. Clinging on his leg. He crouched towards you. Holding your trembling hand in his. Your poor body shaking like a leaf. Tears streaming down on your exquisite cheeks. Your state in this situation and a murmur of your voice turned on the insanity inside him. "Fugo, I will leave (Y/N) to you," Fugo took over his role and supported you to stand up. Narancia's face was hard to read when you glanced at him. Narancia stood tall.

Your back leaned on the dirty wall. Your breath hitching and you hugged onto Fugo tightly. Burying your face in his chest. Snivelling all your emotions out. Screaming were heard in the distance. Fugo patted your back and separated you by your shoulders. "(Y/N)?" He called your name and you looked up at him. "I need you to stay here and not going anywhere. Ok?" he waited for your answer. You nodded while sobbing. He set up a reassuring smile and left you there. You sat there and wiped your tears away. When you glanced at Fugo, you saw him walking into that room.

"YOU BASTARD! YOU WORTHLESS LITTLE S*HT!! YOU SHOULD GO DIE IN A S*HT HOLE, YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING B*TCH!!" The dead hooligan lied flat under Narancia's shoe. Narancia's breathes were hitching, and veins were popping out on his forearm and the back of his hand. Blood painted the wall and floor red. The pool under his shoe sticky and thick. They deserved it. No one and by means that, not even a single soul is allowed to hurt his perfection whom he worship daily. Anyone who left a scratch on (Y/N)'s body will be left with a missing limb but made her bleed more than a drop? Haha. Ya gotta be kidding about it.

Fugo stopped him in track. "(Y/N) need you now. Go. I will take care of them," Fugo's hand on his shoulder, giving Narancia a proud smile. Narancia stepped back and cooled himself down. Fugo took out a glass bottle and a handkerchief. He opened the cap and enclosed the lid with the handkerchief. He then turned them upside down. Soon to be back in their position. He handed the handkerchief to Narancia. "Here. Take this just in case." Narancia took it and in a split second, there was a wide, merry grin on his cheeks. He put it in the skirt pocket. "Yea! Thanks, Fugo!" He exclaimed gleefully and ran out of the class with a jolly behaviour. Fugo chuckled at Narancia's usual behaviour and put the covering back on.

Of course. You must be waiting for him all this time. You need him like he needs you. You sinning his thoughts and nights. You who was defenceless. He who was resistless to you or your beguiling body. His hands not wanting to depart from your skin. His lips brushing softly on your throat. He was addicted to you. You who spellbound him, lured him in, ensnared him, planted a seed called possessiveness in him, seized his obsession only to yourself and inveiged him to come swoop your fragile soul from this heartless world. He's your knight in shinning armour after all.

"(Y/N)!" You heard a familiar voice. Your sugary name cloying him more and more. He was drunk upon the bewitching splendour of your beauty. Your voice ripping his stability bit by bit. His body towered you. Trapped you between his torso and the wall. You were in a daze. His tranquil smile avenging your cruel actions towards him. His loving gaze hypnotising the poor prey.

You turned your head to the source. A breeze revealing a dazzling boy to you. "Narancia!" You called your friend's name as you eyed him up. He who bathed in his enemies' blood. You wiped your tears again as you stood up. Observing the boy before you in terror. "I killed them for you~ (Y/N)♡," his voice sickeningly sweet. His usual cute smile inverted into a nightmare with blood staining on it. "Thi-This is wrong. So wrong...," you choked out. His eyebrows raised with disbelief. "What are you talking about, (Y/N)? This is the right thing to do! They hurt you! You are a perfection and I'm your guardian! If anyone try to corrupt you, they are devils and it's my duty to get rid of them! Hehe," he chuckled lightly. As if taking out the fire of life was nothing more than a joke to him.

"Naranci-" you were cut off. "I love you~" The grin not dropping from his face. "W-Wha-What?" You asked again not because you didn't quite catch it but because you didn't get what he meant by that. "I love you♡" An adorable giggle rumbled down his chest. "Wha- N-No! Liste-" you tried to speak again. "No? You don't love me?" The wretched look gushed down your throat like a blazing lava. Guilt's hands tightening around you throat. "No. No. That's not-" Your panic dragged and chucked you down the cliff.

"Then what do I need to do to make you love me back, (Y/N)?"

You stopped. You legitimately stopped. He wasn't trying to hear out what you had to spill. He wasn't even trying. It seemed as if he won't give up or drop that subject. No. He wouldn't and you have had it. You took a sharp breath in. Your legs spun and took a step farther away from him. Your back getting smaller and alarm bells rang loudly in his head. Your direction fixed on the stair. He pulled you back by your wrist and made you face him. His hand sneaking around your waist.

"Let me g-" your lips sealed with his. Your heart jumped like a rabbit and your mind reset itself. If you were just an innocent civilian, he wouldn't do anything to you but remember that time you helped him with that winsome smile? Remember that time when you let him rest on your lap? Remember that time you held him tight in your sleep? You have given him those blushes, those smiles, those giggles, those restless nights with only you in his head, those hushed moans and those vivid dreams. You have stolen his only heart and tried to flee with it. Did you think he was that stupid to let you go after everything he went through for you?

A white silk between the two teenagers sparkled under the orangy ray. The sun slowly dying on the horizon, letting his lover breathe and shine in the darkness with her small sparkling fairies. Your breathing uneven. Unable to leave his dusky purple soul. He fed upon your candy as his right hand flew up to cup your cheek. His thumb swinging left and right. Your cheek dough under his fingers. Your life like a droplet of rain in his palm.

His touches varied into needy ones. His desire asking for more as his lips once again sucked the life out of you. His tongue burrowing into you. Your hands constraining him away from you. Your head trying to break away from his grasp. Your brain sending red flags in your view. Your anxiety lining tears on your lower eyelashes. Your lung shrieking for the oxygen you needed. Him devouring on your sobs.

Your leg swung back to aim whichever part of his leg you can reach. —Wham!— he groaned and reached for his luckless shin. You didn't waste any time and hurtled wherever you can but far from this pitiful boy. Your legs wanting to give out under you but your brain forcing them not to. Your heart ringing in your ears. The stairs blurred in your vision.

You set your foot upon the second floor and aimed to make a U turn to descend more. Coincided with a yelp, your flimsy body was tugged back by a hand wrapping around your chest. Your nose and mouth were covered by a hand, linked with a cloth. Due to the intense exercise you had, you respired a small amount of chemical with a gasp. The sharp smell made you press harder into his chest, gratifying him more.

Your fists hitting his hands, pulling them away. Your body twisting in order to be freed. Your tears messy on your cheeks. Your limbs faltered. Your muscles relaxed. Your soul doors pulling the curtains. Your head rested on his shoulder. Your consciousness fell into the dark abyss. Pulling you along with it. A word echoed in the void.

"𝙎𝙩𝙖𝙮."

[allthelittlelostgirlsgrowup]

Love is History

*taps mic* is this thing on? (I stole that from Obama. He was still in office last time I posted my writing). 

So fun thing I did - write an angsty sequel to Love is Fiction. If you’ve never read it, it just got over 300 notes this past week. I figured it was time to dust this off from my drafts and complete it. 

I hope you like it and my voice sounds similiar to the last election year when I put this out. Honestly I’m so different now and I think this captures the changes I’ve gone through and the way I view relationships now opposed to four years ago. 

Love is History

“Art imitates Life right?” Belle closes the folder encasing a rough draft of her first few chapters.

“All good things come to an end.” Emma shrugs as if the concept of him being just a ‘good’ thing ending doesn’t devastate her. He was the best thing.

She thought she’d never write their break up.

“What’s the history?” Belle squints her eyes, nose crinkling as she watches Emma. Belle has been Emma’s ‘Editor’ since college. Now more official. She gets a paycheck, as Emma gets advances from a publishing company that started as a small mom and pop establishment. In the last four years, this little wagon wheel of a company is now a fleet of office buildings all over the US.

“You read book 3: “Wind’s Ally”” Emma leans back in her chair, studying Belle right back. “You know their history.”

Belle keeps her eyes on Emma, relaxing the tension in her face and suppressing a smirk. They’re at a bit of a stalemate here because Emma isn’t sure what more info is needed and Belle isn’t sharing her thoughts at the moment.

“Emma, I knew their history. They finished book 3 in a ‘happily ever after’ kind of way. What underlying issues could have brought them to this point? Why did Alysandra leave?” Emma considers the question. Why did she decide to destroy the happiest relationship she’s ever written? Why would a character who fell madly in love just change their mind? “Maybe, ask yourself why you left.”  

-/-

The sun is setting over the Manhattan skyline when she gets back to her apartment. She doesn’t know where she went after the meeting but her mind just got back to the present and she’s pissed.

Emma flings her keys across the kitchen island, kicking her heels off in a huff before stomping over to her bar cart. She pours his favorite whiskey into the anchor-etched old fashion glasses he got her one Christmas.

“History is a stupid word” she grunts to no one but a tilted glass, muffling the sound as the amber liquid meets her lips a second after. She’s taken up talking to herself these last few months. The first four were spent crying and avoiding her reflection. The loneliness finally set in one night and she made herself her own best friend. So she asks her best friend ‘why did you do it?’ as she feels the tension in her shoulder blades ease. Why? Why did Emma Swan leave Killian Jones seven months ago?

“Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

-/-

The nightmares finally stopped and she no longer wakes with a startle when she finds her bed bare of him. Its been 216 days. She’s cried herself to sleep at least 180. She’s been broken before, boys have left in more ways than one, and she has managed to wake up one day finding herself less damaged than all the others. Today might be that day for the Killian Jones saga.

Today is they announced the upcoming film and casting begins in a few weeks. She knows she needs to finish this novel, but she hasn’t finished much. She barely finishes lunch on most days, barely finishes a thought that isn’t dripping in Killian. It’s been seven months and he is everywhere, in everything. She thought progress was a slowly-operated escalator but she was finally on her way.

And then the congratulation calls come through. Text after text, email, voicemail and she’s sure in a week or two, she’ll get a card from Mary Margaret. She sorts through them looking for something she’ll never find and she has to rewind.

She left him. It wasn’t mutual and it wasn’t obvious. He had no clue. All the calls and texts he was going to send her were sent months ago when he was breaking down in voicemails and begging her to just tell him she was okay.

Congratulations, Emma, you saved him...from ever having to care about you again.

-/-

She doesn’t leave the apartment again until the 245th day. It is easy to stay inside with the modern advances in technology. People will bring literally anything to your front door. Except, maybe inspiration. That she has to go out and find.

She finds herself in Harlem. The Harlem Public Library. She has to get back to her roots. Sure, this isn’t Storybrooke, and no, she’ll probably never meet a pair of eyes as blue coconut as...but her work needs her to find a way to write.

She thinks of his face.

Three hours pass and all she has in a google doc is ‘why?’

-/-

Despite the first failure to launch, she finds she quite likes that library. She’s giving herself a pep talk this time, before she finds herself staring at a blank screen wondering why again.

“I left because I had to.” She looks at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. That’s the only statement she’s made to anyone, herself included. When her friends, her agent, her editor, and her heart ask, she tells them she had to.

She makes her way through her apartment, recounting the moments, hours, days leading up to it. There are very few things her mind makes enough sense to share. Everything else is so convoluted, so tangled up in self-loathing and years of agonizing loneliness, the average person wouldn’t get it. Some days, as she’s matured and healed, she finds even she has trouble understanding it.

There’s not a day that goes by she doesn’t spend half of it feeling nothing but regret. That’s the healthy part of her, the well-adjusted adult who grew from the little lost girl. She’s sane enough to know she threw away the best relationship she’s ever had. She’s sane enough to know she saved him from future hardships with her.

The sound of the empire striking back stirs her from her thoughts. Regina gets the Darth Vader theme as a ringtone so Emma never forgets who really owns her career.

“Hey,” Emma answers as she reaches her apartment door.

“Nice of you to finally answer your phone.” She can hear the glare in Regina’s voice. “You know you pay me to do this right? Not the other way around. Get your money’s worth, why don’t you.” Emma rolls her eyes as she packs her laptop in her messenger bag.

Regina Mills is a fierce woman, as charming as she is aggressive. She can pretty much get anyone to do anything she wants. Emma doesn’t practice in the ways of the force, but she’s certain Regina knows a Jedi mind trick or two, and as her agent, that comes in handy.

What doesn’t come in handy is her tie to Killian. Regina’s husband Robin happens to be Killian’s cousin. Emma avoided Regina’s calls for months after the break-up, afraid she’ll have to answer the same question she’s been asking herself all afternoon. Once she finally started accepting calls again, it seemed Regina had moved on to bigger and better things: A movie deal.

“Right” she sighs. “What’s my money bringing me today?”

“This isn’t money related, so much as a word of warning.” Regina’s tone doesn’t seem as sass-filled as before, so it’s clear she’s not the one wielding the threat. She actually sounds a bit sympathetic. “Belle and I pulled straws to see who got to break this to you, and I, unfortunately, pulled short this time around.”

“There’s a point here.” Emma urges, feeling ill-fated all of a sudden.

“Killian just moved to NYC.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Emma braces herself for pain, but is met with an absence of feeling altogether. Her knees buckle and she finds purchase against her kitchen island. “Emma?”

“When?” She whispers.

“Just a couple of weeks. He took a job with the NYC public libraries, he’s actually doing really well and has just approached Belle with an idea to get the youth excited about writing. There’s a chance you’ll run into him at the office, so I just...we both thought a heads up was necessary.”

“Which library?” because Fate is a nosy bitch and has no business showing up and guiding her to the man she ran from.

“Emma?”

“Which library”

“I think...if I recall correctly, his home base is in  Harlem.”

“I’ll call you back.”

-/-

She thought about leaving the country. At the very least, the state. She is overwhelmed, without a question just so damn overwhelmed. She has gotten so used to tears these days, she’s a little shocked she didn’t cry the minute she heard his name.

Her body had other ideas, because although she definitely meant to get on a train going the opposite direction, she found herself in Harlem 25 minutes later.

She sits in the middle of the library at an open table, clickity clacking as loudly as she can. Part of her really believes that maybe if she saw him, she’d remember why she left.

Another part is certain that masochism is her new favorite hobby.

He never appears.

-/- “Hey” Emma answers her phone going off for the eighth time today.

“Emma?” Belle sounds more relieved than usual. “Where have you been, I’ve been calling non-stop since 3.” Emma rolls her neck to view the time on the DVR.

7:45 pm

“Sorry, I’ve been reading all day.” she hasn’t talked to anyone for another two weeks. She does this far too often to still have a support system. Emma’s not sure she’d pour the same amount of effort into anyone who went radio silent every other week.

“We had a meeting at 2:30.”

“Sorry.” She shrugs, because honestly, nothing even matters.

“I’m coming over,” Belle says decidedly.

“No, Belle, you don’t have to do that.” Emma regrets answering on the eighth attempt. “Let’s reschedule.”

“We just did, I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Open the door.” Sure, she’s a small, sweet, meek-looking woman, but what most people don’t know about Belle is she could slay dragons with pure determination alone. In a battle of wills, she's even got Regina beat.

Emma peels herself off the sofa for the first time since noon, snuggie falling to the floor as she heads for the shower. If Bella can make the journey to her apartment, Emma can at least shower. Sure enough, 30 minutes later she’s greeting Belle at the door, a pizza in hand.

“Are you okay?” She sets the pizza on the kitchen island and wraps Emma in a hug. Emma tries to pull her head far enough to keep her hair from wetting Belle.

“Yeah, just...the creative process. Ya know.” Emma trails off as the hug ends. Of course, she’s not okay. ‘Okay’ people don’t stop answering their phones for weeks, they don’t stare at blank pages until their vision blurs. They don’t behave this way. This was her first shower in days.

“He was in the office yesterday,” Belle says after a long silence, just a full 3 minutes of her studying Emma from head to toe. Do her eyes just scream ‘Killian’ every time someone looks at her. “He said he called to congratulate you on the screenplay adaptation.”

“No, he didn’t.” She’s quick to dismiss. She scoured her missed calls for days looking for his name, he never called.

“How would you know, you never answer your phone, Emma.” She sits on a counter stool, tugging Emma to join her. “He’s going to be in every day next week, and I think…”

“No.” Emma cuts her off.

“Let me finish.” Belle opens the pizza box, sliding it toward Emma. “I think you should take a vacation. Get out of the city for a while, maybe visit Storybrooke, since you know he’s not there to run into.” Emma grabs a slice of pizza, not sure when she last ate but too preoccupied with the idea of leaving the city for a while. She ran to NYC. Now she’s running back to Storybrooke. Is he just going to chase her back and forth?

“Did he say anything else about me?” she hates the desperation gnawing at her.

“He asked me why…” Belle sighs “I told him we’ll all find out in book four.”

-/-

God only knows what compelled her to do the exact opposite of what Belle suggested and show up at the publisher’s office. Probably the same thing that led her to the Harlem library a few weeks ago. She bought a new outfit. She realizes she’s barely even worn jeans over the last eight months, and now she’s in a dress and heels like she has an interview to work here. She’s wearing makeup and perfume. She’s trying her best to cover up and signs of the wreck she’s been for months.

The office seems busier than it has ever been, many new, young faces bustling about. She keeps her features calm as she scans every inch of every room she enters for him.

“Emma?” Belle is hurried as she crosses the main floor to meet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I know.” Emma returns the hushed tone Belle is using. “I reworked some chapters, delayed the breakup, and gave more of Aly’s history.” and Belle nods, but is evidently not listening.

“He’s here.” Belle looks almost frightened. “So if you want to reconsider, I would do it now. Otherwise…”

“Swan?” no one calls her Swan. She’s paralyzed. What did she think was going to happen? How did she think she was going to react? When she paced around her apartment for three hours this morning, did she think she was going to just be okay? He would be here, he would see her and suddenly everything would be okay? “Emma…” He tries softer, less shocked, more timid.

This is the moment. In every love story, angst finds its way in, rips the reader’s heart out and although they’ve been bleeding for chapters now, they can feel nothing at this moment. Time is still, the lights are dim, and all we see is Emma and him.

He looks like himself, just more professional. He’s in well-fitted gray slacks, a navy dress shirt, his hair is longer though. He’s got more scruff on his neck than normal. His eyes are too blue, truly, for anyone to notice another inch of him. They stare at her, the same shade that’s been haunting her dreams, and she still struggles to define it. Everything. They’ve always been everything, no matter if it’s more cotton candy than blue coconut.

“Killian.” She swallows. Her throat makes this awkward gurgling sound and she wants to melt into the floor. Why is she here?

It’s suddenly so quiet but so loud. She can hear her heart hammering in her eardrums. No one says anything for a long stretch of time, maybe 2 seconds, maybe 3 hours, she can’t be sure. She just knows there is so much said in the silence.

“How are you?” She asks without thought. The look on his face is devastating.

“Sorry?” He mocks a laugh. “How am I?”

She’s not completely delusional. This is a thing humans say to one another, no? Why does it feel so foreign all at once, like she’s attempting English for the first time with a local?

“Killian” she sighs, releasing the most dizzying breath.

“I’m good” he grits, suddenly covered in constrained anger. “And you?”

And now they are strangers, all dressed up and nothing to talk about.

“Me?” Her tongue drags along her lower lip to buy time. “Good.” She nods.

“I’m just pleased everyone is good.” Belle smiles sweetly. “Now, Killian and I have a brief meeting, and afterward, if you’re still available, we can go over your rewrite.”

An exit strategy. This is quite possibly the only thing she could have hoped for.

“Swan was a bright young writer once” Killian grins, wickedly. “Why don’t you attend the meeting. We’re talking about a youth writing program.” He’s obviously bating her. How dare she show up on a day he’s here and act like she didn’t destroy him…

“Sure” she agrees. Partly because she’s too stubborn to back down from a challenge, and mainly because she did destroy him and there’s that whole thing about masochism she recently discovered about herself.

Belle looks beside herself. Her eyes narrow and she puffs her chest for a moment before leading them to a meeting space. Two more individuals join them, laptops ready to jot down notes and ideas. Her meetings are only ever with Belle so, for Emma, this seems like red carpet treatment.

He has amazing ideas. He loves the idea of bringing an artistic outlet to the children of Harlem. He was always so much more than a shelfer. He was always a dreamer, with these brilliant, compassionate ideas for helping everyone feel less alone, more encouraged.

She was always a fence, holding him back from the best parts of himself.

-/-

When the meeting concludes, Belle graciously thanks Killian for coming, makes promises of action, and attempts to say goodbye.

Killian, as good-natured and kind as he can be, has always had a persistently obnoxious side. He invites himself to the next meeting.

“This is only fair, Swan.” he smiles, though his eyes are full of darkness.

They regroup in Belle’s office after a bathroom break.

As much as Emma is dying on the inside, Belle looks absolutely disturbed by this. She can’t imagine the discomfort in being the third wheel of a breakup reunion.

“So...when we uh, when we left off, you were telling me why they broke up.” Belle sighs, knowing how awful this is. Emma smiles, hoping it lets her off the hook a little. After all, Belle told her to leave town. Emma decided to torture herself.

“Right.” Emma takes a large breath in, holding it while she pulls out her folder. Only releasing once its in Belle’s hands. Killian is studying her like he has a Chemistry final to take tomorrow and she’s the only hope. “Alysandra left Atlas for his…” She’s said it to herself. She’s made hints to others, but Killian has never had a clue. “For his own good. She’s derailed him from his journey. She’s made him less of a pirate, more of a…”

“More of a what?” Killian’s breath is sharp as it floods in through his nose and out through his mouth. “What did she do to him?”

“She reduced him to a caregiver,” Belle answers from what’s written in the text. “Alysandra took over the journey of discovery. She was suddenly the main character.” Belle looks up at Emma with a look she’d only be able to classify as “delayed understanding.”

“In a story about Atlas, Aly becomes the focus. Everything he does, he does for her.” Emma can feel herself losing composure, eyes stinging with tears, throat drier than a desert. Somehow, someway, she finds her way to Killian’s eyes. “He wasn’t living for himself anymore. He had no purpose but to love her. And it was destroying everything.”

She’s not sure if it’s understanding she expects, or maybe gratitude, for saving him from the needy monster that she is. She knows neither is what she received.

“Did you ask Atlas, perhaps… perhaps that’s what made him happiest?” Killian’s eyes are drilling into her like nails, pinning her against a wall.

She is less.

Speechless, motionless, hopeless…

Less sure she did the right thing. Less firm on her decision. Just so much less than she was the day before.

There’s movement after a long pause, not by her, but Belle, gently setting the files down and moving to leave them alone.

“Aly is an orphan” Emma explains and she can see his head start to shake, but she has to be firm. “Listen. She is not the strong-willed, rebel without a cause she pretends to be. Some days the sadness from being alone for so long stunts her. She spends hours upon hours laying awake wishing she could sleep forever. She can be a wreck, a mess, an impossible woman to love.”

Does it make it easier to talk about herself as if she’s someone else? She’s been doing it for so long, all the catharsis from writing herself into stories, just to unpack the things that plague her? Maybe she can have sympathy for anyone but her, maybe its the only way she can recognize how her behavior impacts others. Maybe the book is why she left in the first place.

“You make it impossible to love you, Emma.” She’s never seen his jaw trembling like this before. “And against all odds, through resilience and patience, I’ve found a way to do the bloody impossible. You can cover it up in characters you’ve based off of us, but this isn’t fiction. I was real. What we had...what we had was real. It wasn’t easy, but when you finally let me in, it was simple. We were happy.”

“You were happy?” She brushes tears from her cheeks as she shakes her head in disagreement. “Was it simple? To come home and find I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch? Was that the ideal relationship you dreamt of, to see all of your energy, love, and time wasted on someone who couldn’t get themselves off the couch?”

“So you got yourself off the couch now.” Killian stands, eyes frantically scanning Emma from head to toe. “Well done, it only took the motivation of ending a relationship to do it.”

“I did it for you.” and she believes that, with everything in her, she left for his own good.

“Did you now?” He seems so out of breath for standing still. “Or could you have possibly woken up one day and realized the weight of a relationship was what was pinning you to the couch. Was it that Atlas cared for Aly too much, or was it the expectation that Aly would have cared for him in return? Was breaking my heart easier than just trusting me with yours?”

And all at once in the middle of the ocean, she can see Aly waking up all alone in the captain’s quarters, searching the whole damn ship for a man who did what the men she loves always do.

“Maybe there were days you thought I was miserable�� he kneels before her as the ocean finds its way to this office. His eyes are ocean blue, always changing hues depending on if the sun is shining, or a storm is brewing or they’re in the deep. “But you weren’t afraid I’d die that way, always miserable, no...some part of you thought I’d leave before I let that happen. That’s the orphan I loved. You were never a mess. You were a survivalist.”

So maybe that’s their story. Aly watched Atlas change his life for her, and realized he’s going to live to regret it. Did the last seven months hurt less because it was her choice? If he would have pulled the trigger, would the bullet do that much more damage?

“I would have died miserable.”

-/-

The history she’s writing is hers and hers alone. When she was younger, when her heart was stolen and broken, when she always ended up alone. She was writing an escape plan.

This was the first time she was the one who left, and to quell the guilt of being her own worst nightmare, she forced herself to believe she was doing it for him. How many people have left her for her own good? How many times did she think that they were doing her a favor?

She’s been sitting motionless for who knows how long when Belle comes back. Killian is long gone but his words linger like those dizzy stars after a concussion. Her head is throbbing trying to make sense of it. This wasn’t just seven months spent believing the lie. Now she’s searching for the truth.

She gets anxious in monotony, like a stench in stagnant water, she is repulsed by the concept. She’s never wanted to do the same thing every day. She doesn’t want a picket fence, she wants…She does like a cute cottagey feel with a nice picket fence, she could…she could deal with a picket fence.

She definitely does not want a husband though, or to be barefoot and pregnant, or…

There were times, she’d look at him fresh out of the shower, or in his sleep and he’d look so much younger, she’d wonder what their kids would look like. There have been times she’s searched her fingers as they moved across her keyboard and realized her ring finger would look nice with a natural stone set in some brass band. It was never anything he did that scared her. It was that she thought about more. The concept of more scared her, and the fact that she was greedy and foolish enough to want it.

Four years is a long time to not talk about marriage, but after they moved past her initial anxiety attacks over having a boyfriend, he never really pushed for much again. Moving in together was her idea. He kept enough stuff at her place and with Elsa moving abroad, it made sense to do it. That’s as far as she was going to take it. Another few years piled up and she was busy writing and he was busy being supportive of that, she recognized she was his sun. When he made sure she ate during the weeks she barely left the house, when he kept her house plants alive, when he did her laundry, reminded her to shower, and told her he’s proud of her too often to quantify, she knew she was his ship. An inanimate object, something someone can love so much and not receive the love back in return, and sure, he’s as silly as a pirate to believe a ship that holds itself together while he’s sailing on her loves him, and that’s just her role.

Hold yourself together Emma, that’s always been your role.

She started to get bitter and insecure. What is she contributing to this relationship? How is she making him any better? Has he even written many songs since they moved in together, has she gone to see him perform, has he performed? Some days she was so enthralled in her writing, she didn’t realize he wasn’t home all day. It was his day off and he was gone for longer than a workday. He could have been having an affair for all she knew. For all he did, he deserved to be having an affair, falling in love with someone who would be there for him, encouraging his dreams, and dedicating herself to him.

After that day, she started her drafts. Killian, you’re so much more than I deserved…Or Killian, your life paused the day you met me. And finally, after months, she left him with I need this to be over.

She’s a writer, a published author, an English major and an avid reader yet, through years and years of literature and just terrible romcoms, she never learned how to break up with someone. She never knew the words to say to him, so she said nothing. He called for three-five days, she’s not sure as she was in a sobbing-induced coma.  He sent texts, he sent freaking carrier pigeons, and she locked herself in a hotel room with her laptop and her broken heart. Finally, an email came in.

Emma, I’ve moved out. Everything I’ve left is yours…among the worn t-shirts you liked to sleep in and the novels we’ve collected over the years is my heart. Goodbye Love.

“Emma,” Belle brings her back to the present after a very long, painful trip into her past. “Are you okay?”

Why is that word even used to describe how ‘good’ something or someone is?

“No.” She glances over at Belle, she thinks to ask if she talked to him in the hall after he left, if he said anything, if he seemed ‘Okay’ himself but she settles back to a business mindset. Work is the only constant. “Aly left because she didn’t want to get left again.”

“And that’s how it ends?” Belle hands her the folder back. “You can do better.”

-/-

“The concept of fiction isn’t a lack of reality, it just hasn’t happened exactly that way yet.”

She hears his voice cascading down the ramp she’s sitting at the bottom of. It's been a week since Belle’s meeting and she made her way back to the library. Back to their roots. There’s so much history in this building, but the history she’s looking for lives within her. There’s a group of teenagers huddled together like they’re on a tour. Her fingers shake as she looks back down at her laptop.

“Don’t be afraid to use your own daily vernacular. It’s just as likely as any well-researched, powered by thesaurus dialogue, but it will come to you much more easily. That’s your voice.”

His voice sounds increasingly close. She wants to look but if they lock eyes now, while he’s busy, she’s back to being the center of attention. Why did she come here? Does she want to get back to being the center of his attention?

“Swan?” her stomach flips violently. She really didn’t think this through. Her neck trembles as she cranes to look up at him. “Hi.” He clears his throat, the group of teenagers studying them closely from behind him.

“Hi” she breathes. “Uhm…”

“Do you want to meet my junior author group?” He cuts in quickly.

“Hi.” She repeats, only this time her eyes travel across the young faces. “I’m Emma.”

“Emma Swan?” A young girl in the back pipes up. “You write Cap Zeph.” ‘Cap Zeph’ is a very popular Tumblr tag, Emma’s been told. She is now a mild-day D list celebrity with the news of the screenplay adaptation. She never published under her real name until this one, Killian’s idea.

“That I do.” Emma feigns a smile.

“Emma Swan” Killian begins, chest swelling “came up with the idea in a small town library.”

“Really?” another girl with wavy blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders asks.

“Yes, and Killian Jones worked there. He’s…evidently the inspiration. Hair as dark as night, eyes as blue as the sea he sails upon.”  Every girl and one boy in the group glance at Killian, amorously. Still handsome as ever. He looks down, scratching behind his ear and chuckling dryly.  She wonders if his throat burns the same way her eyes do or if this feels so natural he’s happy to fall back into it.

“Why don’t you all find some books to research personal voice from in the YA section, hmm?” He dismisses the group quickly. They share assuming glances and move to leave in pairs, surely gossiping on the way.

Being alone again is terrifying. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Why does she always go looking for him? What does she want? How can they come out of this okay? What is okay?

“What brings you?” Killian starts. He isn’t looking anywhere but her and the look in his eyes leaves frost on her flesh. His expression is so blank. She has no idea if he even wants her here after their last conversation.

“I was just looking for inspiration.” He nods.

“There are study rooms.” He adds, motioning in the direction she may find them. “My office is actually at a different location, or I’d…suggest…”

“Do you hate me?” it comes out without warning.

“No.” He winces. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s lying or because he wishes he were lying.

“Why not?” She asks. He flinches.

“Christ, Swan. Stop it.” He grabs a seat across from her at the small bistro-style table she’s been working on. She closes her laptop to remove barriers between them. “I hated myself for a while. I thought maybe I should have never lost sight of who you were. You’ve always been guarded. I thought I had broken down some of your walls. I should have never assumed I tore them all down.”

This voice within her tells her that it's no man’s job to do the work for her. Her walls are her own to remove.

“What about your walls?” Emma counters. She didn’t come for an argument, but Killian had trauma, he was damaged in theory, but always presented himself as such a well-adjusted, forgiving, kind, loving man. “Maybe you had to go brick by brick, but you knew they were there. I just watched you for years never act like anything troubled you.”

He laughs, loudly.

She’s startled more that she laughs in return than questions it.

“Emma, my love...of course I was troubled. I still am. I drink far too much and try to solve all of my problems myself without anyone’s help.” He’s still smiling as he confesses.”Hell, I didn’t tell anyone we broke up for months and it wasn’t because I thought you were coming back. I just knew I wasn’t going to let anyone worry about me.”

“You’re not troubled” she shakes her head but thinks back to every time he came home frustrated and sealed himself up before she could get a good glimpse of it. “Are you?”

“I spent an entire day at the marina grieving my dead brother, over a decade after losing him. Every time I went to leave and come home to you, I’d get upset again. I used to stay away until I could pull myself together.” His smile slips into something dark and Emma realizes all the ways they failed at communicating. “I loved you just enough to only show you my best parts. I never trusted our love enough to show you everything. And it’s not because you were sad every now and then.”

And she sees the orphan in him the moment she realizes being left behind were his worst fears, too.

“You thought I’d leave…”

“I think the term is ‘best-laid plans.’” His smile is back “Convince an author to fall in love with you, live forever. Only, with my luck, I get to read my heart get broken in the exact same way whenever I’d like. I was looking forward to your book, knowing I’d get to see us in love again.” She considers the part about him looking forward to her book.

“It’s as much my book as yours.” She means that. When she first wrote the Cap Zeph short stories, she had no plan of publishing. Killian pushed for her to immortalize this, to believe in herself and sell it. When the first went well, he convinced her to meet with Regina. “I mean, you are the entire series, after all.” He shakes his head and sighs.

She doesn’t have a response and the seconds tick by. It only takes a few before they reach an awkward silence where one person makes an excuse to leave. And then when do they see each other again?

“I should get back to my writers.” He moves to stand and she wants to jump up, but she doesn’t know what words follow that. She writes fiction. It's why this book has been so damn difficult. Writing their personalities into a fantasy of pirates and fairies, that's one thing. Writing history is another. She can build on what has already happened. This in-the-moment dichotomy, will they? Won’t they? Can they make it work? It’s disturbing.

He’s the quick thinker. Always a come-back, a pun, a literary quote…

“The only thing worse than a boy who hates you…” She opens her laptop nonchalantly, as if it won’t wound her for him to leave. “...a boy who loves you.”

Among the many novels they shared, “The Book Thief” was one of Killian’s most treasured.

He stares at her with wonder glazing his face. “If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.”

Maybe she’d burn every book in this library, for a chance to experience falling in love with Killian all over again, as if it weren’t a moment in history.

The screenplay would read ‘They share a look of longing’ and she’s not sure that’s how she’d describe it. ‘Longing’ seems more cliche and not nearly as descriptive as her quickening pulse would use.

This feels like a pivotal moment where she realizes that they don’t necessarily have to not be in love anymore. They could take a slow pace, like windchimes waiting for a breeze to bring them together. That’s all a Zephyr is.

“My number hasn’t changed.”

-/-

His number has. She gets a text around 1am. Are you up? It's odd, because Killian isn’t a booty-call kind of guy, but who knows what a breakup can do to a man.

I rarely sleep before 2. Her phone rings moments later.

“Hello?” her tone sounds like a question, but she knows it’s him.

“Swan, it’s Killian.”

“Yes, Grandpa, I’m aware.” She can’t help but chuckle. Almost too elated that he’s on the other end. She can hear him laugh on the other end.

“Do you remember the first time we started speaking on the phone? You wouldn’t give me your number until maybe the 18th date.” She didn’t trust herself then. They took things so slowly.

“You know I like a clean getaway.” Is it too soon to joke about always having one foot out the door?

“What's the escape plan this time?”  

“Probably the West Coast since you chased me here”

“I did not!” His laugh is vibrating against her ribs, setting the tempo for her heart.

Could it be easy all over again? One quote and he’s calling her? One call and they go see a movie? One date and…

And thinking about the end is how she got there, isn’t it?

“Did you plan on seeing me again? Knowing you were moving here?”

“Of course. I planned on seeing you no matter where I lived...I prepared for you to come into focus and the rest of my world to blur.” He sighs and she can hear his mattress settle as he moves. “I didn’t plan on seeing you in my library again.”

“Where else would I get inspiration. You’re my muse.”

They talk til 4am. She’s rethought every word she’s said these last seven months. She rarely moves without tension tugging at the back of her neck. Her thoughts are never clear and simple, not since she left. And here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with nothing but a familiar voice on the other end, she hasn’t second-guessed a word.

-/- She’s not sure if she should call it a date. He invites her to a scholarship meeting and sure, they’re dressed up, but because it's a business meeting. He talks to the team, Belle is in attendance, and she barely says a word.

But he asks her out for drinks afterward and suddenly she’s all he’s focused on, laughing about old times, discussing the interesting twist in literature they’ve both read recently. She asks him if he’s written any songs and he beams brightly when he tells her ‘only recently, Love.’

Sometimes love is familiar, like a book you’ve read a dozen times. There’s comfort in knowing everything and loving it anyway.

-/-

“Are you dating him?” Belle watches her from the doorway as Killian moves down the hall to his meeting. They came to the office together this time, maybe a peck on the cheek occurred before his departure, and maybe Belle witnessed it.

“I don’t know.” Emma tries not to think logistically about what’s going on. It’s been 4 weeks, she’s written 8 chapters and Aly is about to find Atlas again. “For the first time since I started, I know how book 4 will end.”

They go over the recent chapters and Belle seems subtly impressed but she’s holding back. Emma knows it's Killian-related. She just knows she can’t pry without being pried open in return.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it's beautiful. From tragedy to triumph is the Captain Zephyr way.” Belle hands the work back to Emma with a sad smile. “What makes it different this time? True love always finds its way back to one another, but how do we know they won’t split up again?” Emma knows this isn’t about the novel. They haven’t yet gotten back together to split up.

Does she know they’ll never separate again? Of course not. Killian is dedicated, devoted like a priest to the cloth. She is very aware that his heart is not yet healed, but eager to love her all over again. A few dates and late-night phone calls don’t make forever a promise anyone could keep.

“We don’t.”

-/- He’s walking her home after another fun night at a bar near her apartment. They’ve been casually seeing each other but nothing more than a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodnight has occurred. They get to her building in record time, too preoccupied by the conversation on who in Hollywood would make a handsome Captain Zeph. “Johnny Depp doesn’t have blue eyes.” Emma laughs. “You can’t just pick the most popular actors, and he’s already a pirate in another franchise.” They’re at the doors of her building and his eyes are boring into her. “Do you want to come up?”

And maybe it's because they haven’t had a real kiss in what’s very close to being a year now, but he seems almost nervous.

“I’m afraid I miss you too much.” he scratches behind his ear and looks down the road. When he looks back at her he seems shy.

“Chris Wood,” she comments. She liked him on Supergirl. “Come upstairs.”

It's the look on his face when he studies her apartment that makes her remember they broke up. As if she had forgotten months of trying to hold herself together, he reminds her that she broke him when his face floods with that loneliness.

“Killian...”

“This is a very nice place you have.” his eyes are darting from one corner to the next, lingering on the most significant differences. “So ‘New York’ it's almost as if you’ve never lived anywhere else.”

“Your apartment isn’t ‘New York?’” it's so weird that they’ve never seen each other's place when they’ve seen each other's souls.

“It’s just a place to lay my head.” He glances back at her with something almost accusatory when he says “You’ve gone ahead and made yourself a home.” And it has never felt like that, not once, when she was hiding away, when she would run home to it.

This place, this city has always been a foster home she feels like she’ll get kicked out of if she gets too comfortable. It wasn’t like their home together. Their home felt like roots. Here she feels like an implant that won’t take to the soil.

“The designer furnishings don’t mean shit to me.” Emma moves to the bookshelf, all new and shiny but it's just a box to keep what matters most. “Only what I’ve come here with is all I care to take. She pulls out a few books, “Wuthering Heights,” “The Book Thief,” and “Emma.” She hands them to him knowing they were always his.

“I wanted you to keep them.” He starts to give them back when she waves her hand.

“What do you need to not resent this place? To know I have everything you left tucked away in all these new places?” she motions for him to follow her to the bedroom and he slowly drifts behind, setting the novels on the coffee table. Her bed is covered in pillows dressed in his t-shirts instead of pillowcases. She keeps his cologne on the bedside table as if it were some expensive aromatherapy pillow spray. The blanket Granny from the local diner in Storybrooke made them lay at the foot of the bed, an anchor crocheted into the loops.

“I only drink whiskey you like. I only sleep in your t-shirts.” she sits on her bed, reaching for his hand to pull him down with her. “I don’t know what we are, and I can’t promise you I’m not a tragedy waiting to happen. I just know that I haven’t been able to erase an inch of you.”

He kisses her then. It's not on her terms, and he has only ever waited for everything to be on her terms. So when he pulls her in, hand cupping the back of her head, mouth open and adventurous, she gasps.

His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer to him, her hands pressed flat against his chest as his tongue enters her mouth with desperation. She fists his shirt in her hands, pressing even closer to him as her tongue reacts in kind. It has been the longest year without him and he’s kissing her like they’re running out of time.

All at once they’re falling as he lays her down on her back, continuing to claim her mouth as his property. Her hands start moving, tugging and fumbling with buttons and zippers and just much too much fabric for her liking. When she moves for his briefs he tugs back from her lips.

“Is this what you want?” Her response is to slip her dress over her head. Any questions to follow are puffed out in a husky tone against her ear.

Sometimes love is erotica, so she catalogs every second of it because nothing has ever happened quite like this before.

-/-

They spend the next few months together and she bangs out the rest of the book in record time. Regina and Belle throw her a submission party. She dodges questions about their future and tries to focus on the book.

“So Aly and Atlas together again,” Robin questions her as Killian returns with a drink for the both of them. She knows he’s not talking about the story. Killian has been very careful to not assume much about their status. Both of them have just stuck to ‘seeing where it goes.’

But it's not like they just met six months ago. They have history, they have four years of standing together at parties and being a couple. Do they have the luxury of casually dating? If all happiness is fleeting, do they dive face-first in it or wade in the shallow end.

“I love Killian.” She says firmly. It’s never not been true from the moment she realized it, in a foreign library miles and miles away from home. He is not easily erased, and it has become glaringly obvious it will only destroy her to try. “I always have and I always will.” Killian’s eyes have never been so doe-like. She’s never been so bold.

“I…” Robin’s face flushes, certainly not expecting her to speak so proudly.

“And I love Emma, if it isn’t ardently clear. She’s everything to me and I’m happy just to exist in her life.” He raises his whiskey to her and she follows suit like a gentlemen’s agreement has just been formed: To love one another without concern of what it means. As she takes a sip she realizes what everything means. He hasn’t pushed aside his dreams in the slightest this go around. He’s been focused and driven, ambitious and busy. Somehow, he’s still considering her ‘everything.’ Maybe what she thought was sacrifice all that time ago was really just love.

So they stay in love.

-/-

Another year goes by and the first film is set to release. Although Emma and Killian still pay rent at their separate apartments, they spend every night together. Sometimes it's downtown in Killian’s studio, and other nights it's in the heart of the city at Emma’s. Commitment isn’t measured by who gave what up. It has shifted to who stays. They both do, and every day they make the decision to stay, when it's 5 months since Killian has slept alone or 10 months since Emma had dinner without him. They stay together with one promise in mind. They love each other. And for as long as Love is Present, they will choose each other.

Love is History

“Art imitates Life right?” Belle closes the folder encasing a rough draft of her first few chapters. 

“All good things come to an end.” Emma shrugs as if the concept of him being just a ‘good’ thing ending doesn’t devastate her. He was the best thing. 

She thought she’d never write their break up. 

“What’s the history?” Belle squints her eyes, nose crinkling as she watches Emma. Belle has been Emma’s ‘Editor’ since college. Now more official. She gets a paycheck, as Emma gets advances from a publishing company that started as a small mom and pop establishment. In the last four years, this little wagon wheel of a company is now a fleet of office buildings all over the US. 

“You read book 3: “Wind’s Ally”” Emma leans back in her chair, studying Belle right back. “You know their history.”

Belle keeps her eyes on Emma, relaxing the tension in her face and suppressing a smirk. They’re at a bit of a stalemate here because Emma isn’t sure what more info is needed and Belle isn’t sharing her thoughts at the moment. 

“Emma, I knew their history. They finished book 3 in a ‘happily ever after’ kind of way. What underlying issues could have brought them to this point? Why did Alysandra leave?” Emma considers the question. Why did she decide to destroy the happiest relationship she’s ever written? Why would a character who fell madly in love just change their mind? “Maybe, ask yourself why you left.”  

-/- 

The sun is setting over the Manhattan skyline when she gets back to her apartment. She doesn’t know where she went after the meeting but her mind just got back to the present and she’s pissed. 

Emma flings her keys across the kitchen island, kicking her heels off in a huff before stomping over to her bar cart. She pours his favorite whiskey into the anchor-etched old fashion glasses he got her one Christmas. 

“History is a stupid word” she grunts to no one but a tilted glass, muffling the sound as the amber liquid meets her lips a second after. She’s taken up talking to herself these last few months. The first four were spent crying and avoiding her reflection. The loneliness finally set in one night and she made herself her own best friend. So she asks her best friend ‘why did you do it?’ as she feels the tension in her shoulder blades ease. Why? Why did Emma Swan leave Killian Jones seven months ago?

“Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

 -/-

The nightmares finally stopped and she no longer wakes with a startle when she finds her bed bare of him. Its been 216 days. She’s cried herself to sleep at least 180. She’s been broken before, boys have left in more ways than one, and she has managed to wake up one day finding herself less damaged than all the others. Today might be that day for the Killian Jones saga. 

Today is they announced the upcoming film and casting begins in a few weeks. She knows she needs to finish this novel, but she hasn’t finished much. She barely finishes lunch on most days, barely finishes a thought that isn’t dripping in Killian. It’s been seven months and he is everywhere, in everything. She thought progress was a slowly-operated escalator but she was finally on her way.

And then the congratulation calls come through. Text after text, email, voicemail and she’s sure in a week or two, she’ll get a card from Mary Margaret. She sorts through them looking for something she’ll never find and she has to rewind. 

She left him. It wasn’t mutual and it wasn’t obvious. He had no clue. All the calls and texts he was going to send her were sent months ago when he was breaking down in voicemails and begging her to just tell him she was okay. 

Congratulations, Emma, you saved him...from ever having to care about you again.

-/-

She doesn’t leave the apartment again until the 245th day. It is easy to stay inside with the modern advances in technology. People will bring literally anything to your front door. Except, maybe inspiration. That she has to go out and find. 

She finds herself in Harlem. The Harlem Public Library. She has to get back to her roots. Sure, this isn’t Storybrooke, and no, she’ll probably never meet a pair of eyes as blue coconut as...but her work needs her to find a way to write.

She thinks of his face. 

Three hours pass and all she has in a google doc is ‘why?’

-/-

Despite the first failure to launch, she finds she quite likes that library. She’s giving herself a pep talk this time, before she finds herself staring at a blank screen wondering why again. 

“I left because I had to.” She looks at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. That’s the only statement she’s made to anyone, herself included. When her friends, her agent, her editor, and her heart ask, she tells them she had to. 

She makes her way through her apartment, recounting the moments, hours, days leading up to it. There are very few things her mind makes enough sense to share. Everything else is so convoluted, so tangled up in self-loathing and years of agonizing loneliness, the average person wouldn’t get it. Some days, as she’s matured and healed, she finds even she has trouble understanding it.

There’s not a day that goes by she doesn’t spend half of it feeling nothing but regret. That’s the healthy part of her, the well-adjusted adult who grew from the little lost girl. She’s sane enough to know she threw away the best relationship she’s ever had. She’s sane enough to know she saved him from future hardships with her. 

The sound of the empire striking back stirs her from her thoughts. Regina gets the Darth Vader theme as a ringtone so Emma never forgets who really owns her career. 

“Hey,” Emma answers as she reaches her apartment door.

“Nice of you to finally answer your phone.” She can hear the glare in Regina’s voice. “You know you pay me to do this right? Not the other way around. Get your money’s worth, why don’t you.” Emma rolls her eyes as she packs her laptop in her messenger bag.

Regina Mills is a fierce woman, as charming as she is aggressive. She can pretty much get anyone to do anything she wants. Emma doesn’t practice in the ways of the force, but she’s certain Regina knows a Jedi mind trick or two, and as her agent, that comes in handy. 

What doesn’t come in handy is her tie to Killian. Regina’s husband Robin happens to be Killian’s cousin. Emma avoided Regina’s calls for months after the break-up, afraid she’ll have to answer the same question she’s been asking herself all afternoon. Once she finally started accepting calls again, it seemed Regina had moved on to bigger and better things: A movie deal. 

“Right” she sighs. “What’s my money bringing me today?” 

“This isn’t money related, so much as a word of warning.” Regina’s tone doesn’t seem as sass-filled as before, so it’s clear she’s not the one wielding the threat. She actually sounds a bit sympathetic. “Belle and I pulled straws to see who got to break this to you, and I, unfortunately, pulled short this time around.”

“There’s a point here.” Emma urges, feeling ill-fated all of a sudden. 

“Killian just moved to NYC.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Emma braces herself for pain, but is met with an absence of feeling altogether. Her knees buckle and she finds purchase against her kitchen island. “Emma?”

“When?” She whispers.

“Just a couple of weeks. He took a job with the NYC public libraries, he’s actually doing really well and has just approached Belle with an idea to get the youth excited about writing. There’s a chance you’ll run into him at the office, so I just...we both thought a heads up was necessary.” 

“Which library?” because Fate is a nosy bitch and has no business showing up and guiding her to the man she ran from.

“Emma?”

“Which library”

“I think...if I recall correctly, his home base is in  Harlem.”

“I’ll call you back.” 

-/-

She thought about leaving the country. At the very least, the state. She is overwhelmed, without a question just so damn overwhelmed. She has gotten so used to tears these days, she’s a little shocked she didn’t cry the minute she heard his name. 

Her body had other ideas, because although she definitely meant to get on a train going the opposite direction, she found herself in Harlem 25 minutes later. 

She sits in the middle of the library at an open table, clickity clacking as loudly as she can. Part of her really believes that maybe if she saw him, she’d remember why she left.

Another part is certain that masochism is her new favorite hobby.

He never appears.

-/-

“Hey” Emma answers her phone going off for the eighth time today. 

“Emma?” Belle sounds more relieved than usual. “Where have you been, I’ve been calling non-stop since 3.” Emma rolls her neck to view the time on the DVR. 

7:45 pm

“Sorry, I’ve been reading all day.” she hasn’t talked to anyone for another two weeks. She does this far too often to still have a support system. Emma’s not sure she’d pour the same amount of effort into anyone who went radio silent every other week. 

“We had a meeting at 2:30.” 

“Sorry.” She shrugs, because honestly, nothing even matters.

“I’m coming over,” Belle says decidedly. 

“No, Belle, you don’t have to do that.” Emma regrets answering on the eighth attempt. “Let’s reschedule.”

“We just did, I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Open the door.” Sure, she’s a small, sweet, meek-looking woman, but what most people don’t know about Belle is she could slay dragons with pure determination alone. In a battle of wills, she's even got Regina beat.

Emma peels herself off the sofa for the first time since noon, snuggie falling to the floor as she heads for the shower. If Bella can make the journey to her apartment, Emma can at least shower. Sure enough, 30 minutes later she’s greeting Belle at the door, a pizza in hand. 

“Are you okay?” She sets the pizza on the kitchen island and wraps Emma in a hug. Emma tries to pull her head far enough to keep her hair from wetting Belle. 

“Yeah, just...the creative process. Ya know.” Emma trails off as the hug ends. Of course, she’s not okay. ‘Okay’ people don’t stop answering their phones for weeks, they don’t stare at blank pages until their vision blurs. They don’t behave this way. This was her first shower in days. 

“He was in the office yesterday,” Belle says after a long silence, just a full 3 minutes of her studying Emma from head to toe. Do her eyes just scream ‘Killian’ every time someone looks at her. “He said he called to congratulate you on the screenplay adaptation.”

“No, he didn’t.” She’s quick to dismiss. She scoured her missed calls for days looking for his name, he never called. 

“How would you know, you never answer your phone, Emma.” She sits on a counter stool, tugging Emma to join her. “He’s going to be in every day next week, and I think…”

“No.” Emma cuts her off. 

“Let me finish.” Belle opens the pizza box, sliding it toward Emma. “I think you should take a vacation. Get out of the city for a while, maybe visit Storybrooke, since you know he’s not there to run into.” Emma grabs a slice of pizza, not sure when she last ate but too preoccupied with the idea of leaving the city for a while. She ran to NYC. Now she’s running back to Storybrooke. Is he just going to chase her back and forth? 

“Did he say anything else about me?” she hates the desperation gnawing at her.

“He asked me why…” Belle sighs “I told him we’ll all find out in book four.”

-/-

God only knows what compelled her to do the exact opposite of what Belle suggested and show up at the publisher’s office. Probably the same thing that led her to the Harlem library a few weeks ago. She bought a new outfit. She realizes she’s barely even worn jeans over the last eight months, and now she’s in a dress and heels like she has an interview to work here. She’s wearing makeup and perfume. She’s trying her best to cover up and signs of the wreck she’s been for months. 

The office seems busier than it has ever been, many new, young faces bustling about. She keeps her features calm as she scans every inch of every room she enters for him. 

“Emma?” Belle is hurried as she crosses the main floor to meet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I know.” Emma returns the hushed tone Belle is using. “I reworked some chapters, delayed the breakup, and gave more of Aly’s history.” and Belle nods, but is evidently not listening.

“He’s here.” Belle looks almost frightened. “So if you want to reconsider, I would do it now. Otherwise…”

“Swan?” no one calls her Swan. She’s paralyzed. What did she think was going to happen? How did she think she was going to react? When she paced around her apartment for three hours this morning, did she think she was going to just be okay? He would be here, he would see her and suddenly everything would be okay? “Emma…” He tries softer, less shocked, more timid. 

This is the moment. In every love story, angst finds its way in, rips the reader’s heart out and although they’ve been bleeding for chapters now, they can feel nothing at this moment. Time is still, the lights are dim, and all we see is Emma and him. 

He looks like himself, just more professional. He’s in well-fitted gray slacks, a navy dress shirt, his hair is longer though. He’s got more scruff on his neck than normal. His eyes are too blue, truly, for anyone to notice another inch of him. They stare at her, the same shade that’s been haunting her dreams, and she still struggles to define it. Everything. They’ve always been everything, no matter if it’s more cotton candy than blue coconut. 

“Killian.” She swallows. Her throat makes this awkward gurgling sound and she wants to melt into the floor. Why is she here?

It’s suddenly so quiet but so loud. She can hear her heart hammering in her eardrums. No one says anything for a long stretch of time, maybe 2 seconds, maybe 3 hours, she can’t be sure. She just knows there is so much said in the silence. 

“How are you?” She asks without thought. The look on his face is devastating. 

“Sorry?” He mocks a laugh. “How am I?” 

She’s not completely delusional. This is a thing humans say to one another, no? Why does it feel so foreign all at once, like she’s attempting English for the first time with a local?

“Killian” she sighs, releasing the most dizzying breath.

“I’m good” he grits, suddenly covered in constrained anger. “And you?” 

And now they are strangers, all dressed up and nothing to talk about. 

“Me?” Her tongue drags along her lower lip to buy time. “Good.” She nods.

“I’m just pleased everyone is good.” Belle smiles sweetly. “Now, Killian and I have a brief meeting, and afterward, if you’re still available, we can go over your rewrite.”

An exit strategy. This is quite possibly the only thing she could have hoped for.

“Swan was a bright young writer once” Killian grins, wickedly. “Why don’t you attend the meeting. We’re talking about a youth writing program.” He’s obviously bating her. How dare she show up on a day he’s here and act like she didn’t destroy him…

“Sure” she agrees. Partly because she’s too stubborn to back down from a challenge, and mainly because she did destroy him and there’s that whole thing about masochism she recently discovered about herself.

Belle looks beside herself. Her eyes narrow and she puffs her chest for a moment before leading them to a meeting space. Two more individuals join them, laptops ready to jot down notes and ideas. Her meetings are only ever with Belle so, for Emma, this seems like red carpet treatment. 

He has amazing ideas. He loves the idea of bringing an artistic outlet to the children of Harlem. He was always so much more than a shelfer. He was always a dreamer, with these brilliant, compassionate ideas for helping everyone feel less alone, more encouraged. 

She was always a fence, holding him back from the best parts of himself.

-/-

When the meeting concludes, Belle graciously thanks Killian for coming, makes promises of action, and attempts to say goodbye. 

Killian, as good-natured and kind as he can be, has always had a persistently obnoxious side. He invites himself to the next meeting.

“This is only fair, Swan.” he smiles, though his eyes are full of darkness. 

They regroup in Belle’s office after a bathroom break. 

As much as Emma is dying on the inside, Belle looks absolutely disturbed by this. She can’t imagine the discomfort in being the third wheel of a breakup reunion. 

“So...when we uh, when we left off, you were telling me why they broke up.” Belle sighs, knowing how awful this is. Emma smiles, hoping it lets her off the hook a little. After all, Belle told her to leave town. Emma decided to torture herself.

“Right.” Emma takes a large breath in, holding it while she pulls out her folder. Only releasing once its in Belle’s hands. Killian is studying her like he has a Chemistry final to take tomorrow and she’s the only hope. “Alysandra left Atlas for his…” She’s said it to herself. She’s made hints to others, but Killian has never had a clue. “For his own good. She’s derailed him from his journey. She’s made him less of a pirate, more of a…”

“More of a what?” Killian’s breath is sharp as it floods in through his nose and out through his mouth. “What did she do to him?”

“She reduced him to a caregiver,” Belle answers from what’s written in the text. “Alysandra took over the journey of discovery. She was suddenly the main character.” Belle looks up at Emma with a look she’d only be able to classify as “delayed understanding.”

“In a story about Atlas, Aly becomes the focus. Everything he does, he does for her.” Emma can feel herself losing composure, eyes stinging with tears, throat drier than a desert. Somehow, someway, she finds her way to Killian’s eyes. “He wasn’t living for himself anymore. He had no purpose but to love her. And it was destroying everything.”

She’s not sure if it’s understanding she expects, or maybe gratitude, for saving him from the needy monster that she is. She knows neither is what she received. 

“Did you ask Atlas, perhaps… perhaps that’s what made him happiest?” Killian’s eyes are drilling into her like nails, pinning her against a wall. 

She is less. 

Speechless, motionless, hopeless…

Less sure she did the right thing. Less firm on her decision. Just so much less than she was the day before. 

There’s movement after a long pause, not by her, but Belle, gently setting the files down and moving to leave them alone. 

“Aly is an orphan” Emma explains and she can see his head start to shake, but she has to be firm. “Listen. She is not the strong-willed, rebel without a cause she pretends to be. Some days the sadness from being alone for so long stunts her. She spends hours upon hours laying awake wishing she could sleep forever. She can be a wreck, a mess, an impossible woman to love.” 

Does it make it easier to talk about herself as if she’s someone else? She’s been doing it for so long, all the catharsis from writing herself into stories, just to unpack the things that plague her? Maybe she can have sympathy for anyone but her, maybe its the only way she can recognize how her behavior impacts others. Maybe the book is why she left in the first place. 

“You make it impossible to love you, Emma.” She’s never seen his jaw trembling like this before. “And against all odds, through resilience and patience, I’ve found a way to do the bloody impossible. You can cover it up in characters you’ve based off of us, but this isn’t fiction. I was real. What we had...what we had was real. It wasn’t easy, but when you finally let me in, it was simple. We were happy.”

“You were happy?” She brushes tears from her cheeks as she shakes her head in disagreement. “Was it simple? To come home and find I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch? Was that the ideal relationship you dreamt of, to see all of your energy, love, and time wasted on someone who couldn’t get themselves off the couch?”

“So you got yourself off the couch now.” Killian stands, eyes frantically scanning Emma from head to toe. “Well done, it only took the motivation of ending a relationship to do it.”

“I did it for you.” and she believes that, with everything in her, she left for his own good.

“Did you now?” He seems so out of breath for standing still. “Or could you have possibly woken up one day and realized the weight of a relationship was what was pinning you to the couch. Was it that Atlas cared for Aly too much, or was it the expectation that Aly would have cared for him in return? Was breaking my heart easier than just trusting me with yours?”

And all at once in the middle of the ocean, she can see Aly waking up all alone in the captain’s quarters, searching the whole damn ship for a man who did what the men she loves always do. 

“Maybe there were days you thought I was miserable” he kneels before her as the ocean finds its way to this office. His eyes are ocean blue, always changing hues depending on if the sun is shining, or a storm is brewing or they’re in the deep. “But you weren’t afraid I’d die that way, always miserable, no...some part of you thought I’d leave before I let that happen. That’s the orphan I loved. You were never a mess. You were a survivalist.”

So maybe that’s their story. Aly watched Atlas change his life for her, and realized he’s going to live to regret it. Did the last seven months hurt less because it was her choice? If he would have pulled the trigger, would the bullet do that much more damage?

“I would have died miserable.” 

-/-

The history she’s writing is hers and hers alone. When she was younger, when her heart was stolen and broken, when she always ended up alone. She was writing an escape plan.

This was the first time she was the one who left, and to quell the guilt of being her own worst nightmare, she forced herself to believe she was doing it for him. How many people have left her for her own good? How many times did she think that they were doing her a favor?

She’s been sitting motionless for who knows how long when Belle comes back. Killian is long gone but his words linger like those dizzy stars after a concussion. Her head is throbbing trying to make sense of it. This wasn’t just seven months spent believing the lie. Now she’s searching for the truth. 

She gets anxious in monotony, like a stench in stagnant water, she is repulsed by the concept. She’s never wanted to do the same thing every day. She doesn’t want a picket fence, she wants…She does like a cute cottagey feel with a nice picket fence, she could…she could deal with a picket fence.

She definitely does not want a husband though, or to be barefoot and pregnant, or…

There were times, she’d look at him fresh out of the shower, or in his sleep and he’d look so much younger, she’d wonder what their kids would look like. There have been times she’s searched her fingers as they moved across her keyboard and realized her ring finger would look nice with a natural stone set in some brass band. It was never anything he did that scared her. It was that she thought about more. The concept of more scared her, and the fact that she was greedy and foolish enough to want it.

Four years is a long time to not talk about marriage, but after they moved past her initial anxiety attacks over having a boyfriend, he never really pushed for much again. Moving in together was her idea. He kept enough stuff at her place and with Elsa moving abroad, it made sense to do it. That’s as far as she was going to take it. Another few years piled up and she was busy writing and he was busy being supportive of that, she recognized she was his sun. When he made sure she ate during the weeks she barely left the house, when he kept her house plants alive, when he did her laundry, reminded her to shower, and told her he’s proud of her too often to quantify, she knew she was his ship. An inanimate object, something someone can love so much and not receive the love back in return, and sure, he’s as silly as a pirate to believe a ship that holds itself together while he’s sailing on her loves him, and that’s just her role.

Hold yourself together Emma, that’s always been your role.

She started to get bitter and insecure. What is she contributing to this relationship? How is she making him any better? Has he even written many songs since they moved in together, has she gone to see him perform, has he performed? Some days she was so enthralled in her writing, she didn’t realize he wasn’t home all day. It was his day off and he was gone for longer than a workday. He could have been having an affair for all she knew. For all he did, he deserved to be having an affair, falling in love with someone who would be there for him, encouraging his dreams, and dedicating herself to him.

After that day, she started her drafts. Killian, you’re so much more than I deserved…Or Killian, your life paused the day you met me. And finally, after months, she left him with I need this to be over.

She’s a writer, a published author, an English major and an avid reader yet, through years and years of literature and just terrible romcoms, she never learned how to break up with someone. She never knew the words to say to him, so she said nothing. He called for three-five days, she’s not sure as she was in a sobbing-induced coma.  He sent texts, he sent freaking carrier pigeons, and she locked herself in a hotel room with her laptop and her broken heart.

Finally, an email came in.

Emma,

I’ve moved out. Everything I’ve left is yours…among the worn t-shirts you liked to sleep in and the novels we’ve collected over the years is my heart.

Goodbye Love.

“Emma,” Belle brings her back to the present after a very long, painful trip into her past. “Are you okay?”

Why is that word even used to describe how ‘good’ something or someone is? 

“No.” She glances over at Belle, she thinks to ask if she talked to him in the hall after he left, if he said anything, if he seemed ‘Okay’ himself but she settles back to a business mindset. Work is the only constant. “Aly left because she didn’t want to get left again.” 

“And that’s how it ends?” Belle hands her the folder back. “You can do better.”

-/-

“The concept of fiction isn’t a lack of reality, it just hasn’t happened exactly that way yet.” 

She hears his voice cascading down the ramp she’s sitting at the bottom of. It's been a week since Belle’s meeting and she made her way back to the library. Back to their roots. There’s so much history in this building, but the history she’s looking for lives within her. There’s a group of teenagers huddled together like they’re on a tour. Her fingers shake as she looks back down at her laptop. 

“Don’t be afraid to use your own daily vernacular. It’s just as likely as any well-researched, powered by thesaurus dialogue, but it will come to you much more easily. That’s your voice.”

His voice sounds increasingly close. She wants to look but if they lock eyes now, while he’s busy, she’s back to being the center of attention. Why did she come here? Does she want to get back to being the center of his attention? 

“Swan?” her stomach flips violently. She really didn’t think this through. Her neck trembles as she cranes to look up at him. “Hi.” He clears his throat, the group of teenagers studying them closely from behind him.

“Hi” she breathes. “Uhm…”

“Do you want to meet my junior author group?” He cuts in quickly.

“Hi.” She repeats, only this time her eyes travel across the young faces. “I’m Emma.”

 “Emma Swan?” A young girl in the back pipes up. “You write Cap Zeph.” ‘Cap Zeph’ is a very popular Tumblr tag, Emma’s been told. She is now a mild-day D list celebrity with the news of the screenplay adaptation. She never published under her real name until this one, Killian’s idea.

“That I do.” Emma feigns a smile.

“Emma Swan” Killian begins, chest swelling “came up with the idea in a small town library.” 

“Really?” another girl with wavy blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders asks.

“Yes, and Killian Jones worked there. He’s…evidently the inspiration. Hair as dark as night, eyes as blue as the sea he sails upon.”  Every girl and one boy in the group glance at Killian, amorously. Still handsome as ever. He looks down, scratching behind his ear and chuckling dryly.  She wonders if his throat burns the same way her eyes do or if this feels so natural he’s happy to fall back into it.

“Why don’t you all find some books to research personal voice from in the YA section, hmm?” He dismisses the group quickly. They share assuming glances and move to leave in pairs, surely gossiping on the way. 

Being alone again is terrifying. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Why does she always go looking for him? What does she want? How can they come out of this okay? What is okay? 

“What brings you?” Killian starts. He isn’t looking anywhere but her and the look in his eyes leaves frost on her flesh. His expression is so blank. She has no idea if he even wants her here after their last conversation.

“I was just looking for inspiration.” He nods.

“There are study rooms.” He adds, motioning in the direction she may find them. “My office is actually at a different location, or I’d…suggest…”

“Do you hate me?” it comes out without warning.

“No.” He winces. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s lying or because he wishes he were lying.

“Why not?” She asks. He flinches.

“Christ, Swan. Stop it.” He grabs a seat across from her at the small bistro-style table she’s been working on. She closes her laptop to remove barriers between them. “I hated myself for a while. I thought maybe I should have never lost sight of who you were. You’ve always been guarded. I thought I had broken down some of your walls. I should have never assumed I tore them all down.”

This voice within her tells her that it's no man’s job to do the work for her. Her walls are her own to remove. 

“What about your walls?” Emma counters. She didn’t come for an argument, but Killian had trauma, he was damaged in theory, but always presented himself as such a well-adjusted, forgiving, kind, loving man. “Maybe you had to go brick by brick, but you knew they were there. I just watched you for years never act like anything troubled you.”

He laughs, loudly. 

She’s startled more that she laughs in return than questions it. 

“Emma, my love...of course I was troubled. I still am. I drink far too much and try to solve all of my problems myself without anyone’s help.” He’s still smiling as he confesses.”Hell, I didn’t tell anyone we broke up for months and it wasn’t because I thought you were coming back. I just knew I wasn’t going to let anyone worry about me.”

“You’re not troubled” she shakes her head but thinks back to every time he came home frustrated and sealed himself up before she could get a good glimpse of it. “Are you?”

“I spent an entire day at the marina grieving my dead brother, over a decade after losing him. Every time I went to leave and come home to you, I’d get upset again. I used to stay away until I could pull myself together.” His smile slips into something dark and Emma realizes all the ways they failed at communicating. “I loved you just enough to only show you my best parts. I never trusted our love enough to show you everything. And it’s not because you were sad every now and then.”

And she sees the orphan in him the moment she realizes being left behind were his worst fears, too.

“You thought I’d leave…”

“I think the term is ‘best-laid plans.’” His smile is back “Convince an author to fall in love with you, live forever. Only, with my luck, I get to read my heart get broken in the exact same way whenever I’d like. I was looking forward to your book, knowing I’d get to see us in love again.”

She considers the part about him looking forward to her book.

“It’s as much my book as yours.” She means that. When she first wrote the Cap Zeph short stories, she had no plan of publishing. Killian pushed for her to immortalize this, to believe in herself and sell it. When the first went well, he convinced her to meet with Regina. “I mean, you are the entire series, after all.” He shakes his head and sighs. 

She doesn’t have a response and the seconds tick by. It only takes a few before they reach an awkward silence where one person makes an excuse to leave. And then when do they see each other again?

“I should get back to my writers.” He moves to stand and she wants to jump up, but she doesn’t know what words follow that. She writes fiction. It's why this book has been so damn difficult. Writing their personalities into a fantasy of pirates and fairies, that's one thing. Writing history is another. She can build on what has already happened. This in-the-moment dichotomy, will they? Won’t they? Can they make it work? It’s disturbing. 

He’s the quick thinker. Always a come-back, a pun, a literary quote…

“The only thing worse than a boy who hates you…” She opens her laptop nonchalantly, as if it won’t wound her for him to leave. “...a boy who loves you.”

Among the many novels they shared, “The Book Thief” was one of Killian’s most treasured. 

He stares at her with wonder glazing his face. “If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.”

Maybe she’d burn every book in this library, for a chance to experience falling in love with Killian all over again, as if it weren’t a moment in history. 

The screenplay would read ‘They share a look of longing’ and she’s not sure that’s how she’d describe it. ‘Longing’ seems more cliche and not nearly as descriptive as her quickening pulse would use.

This feels like a pivotal moment where she realizes that they don’t necessarily have to not be in love anymore. They could take a slow pace, like windchimes waiting for a breeze to bring them together. That’s all a Zephyr is.

“My number hasn’t changed.” 

-/-

His number has. She gets a text around 1am. 

Are you up?

It's odd, because Killian isn’t a booty-call kind of guy, but who knows what a breakup can do to a man. 

I rarely sleep before 2. Her phone rings moments later.

“Hello?” her tone sounds like a question, but she knows it’s him.

“Swan, it’s Killian.” 

“Yes, Grandpa, I’m aware.” She can’t help but chuckle. Almost too elated that he’s on the other end. She can hear him laugh on the other end.

“Do you remember the first time we started speaking on the phone? You wouldn’t give me your number until maybe the 18th date.” She didn’t trust herself then. They took things so slowly.

“You know I like a clean getaway.” Is it too soon to joke about always having one foot out the door? 

“What's the escape plan this time?”  

“Probably the West Coast since you chased me here”

“I did not!” His laugh is vibrating against her ribs, setting the tempo for her heart. 

Could it be easy all over again? One quote and he’s calling her? One call and they go see a movie? One date and…

And thinking about the end is how she got there, isn’t it? 

“Did you plan on seeing me again? Knowing you were moving here?”

“Of course. I planned on seeing you no matter where I lived...I prepared for you to come into focus and the rest of my world to blur.” He sighs and she can hear his mattress settle as he moves. “I didn’t plan on seeing you in my library again.”

“Where else would I get inspiration. You’re my muse.” 

They talk til 4am. She’s rethought every word she’s said these last seven months. She rarely moves without tension tugging at the back of her neck. Her thoughts are never clear and simple, not since she left. And here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with nothing but a familiar voice on the other end, she hasn’t second-guessed a word. 

-/-

She’s not sure if she should call it a date. He invites her to a scholarship meeting and sure, they’re dressed up, but because it's a business meeting. He talks to the team, Belle is in attendance, and she barely says a word. 

But he asks her out for drinks afterward and suddenly she’s all he’s focused on, laughing about old times, discussing the interesting twist in literature they’ve both read recently. She asks him if he’s written any songs and he beams brightly when he tells her ‘only recently, Love.’

Sometimes love is familiar, like a book you’ve read a dozen times. There’s comfort in knowing everything and loving it anyway.

-/-

“Are you dating him?” Belle watches her from the doorway as Killian moves down the hall to his meeting. They came to the office together this time, maybe a peck on the cheek occurred before his departure, and maybe Belle witnessed it. 

“I don’t know.” Emma tries not to think logistically about what’s going on. It’s been 4 weeks, she’s written 8 chapters and Aly is about to find Atlas again. “For the first time since I started, I know how book 4 will end.”

They go over the recent chapters and Belle seems subtly impressed but she’s holding back. Emma knows it's Killian-related. She just knows she can’t pry without being pried open in return. 

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it's beautiful. From tragedy to triumph is the Captain Zephyr way.” Belle hands the work back to Emma with a sad smile. “What makes it different this time? True love always finds its way back to one another, but how do we know they won’t split up again?” Emma knows this isn’t about the novel. They haven’t yet gotten back together to split up.

Does she know they’ll never separate again? Of course not. Killian is dedicated, devoted like a priest to the cloth. She is very aware that his heart is not yet healed, but eager to love her all over again. A few dates and late-night phone calls don’t make forever a promise anyone could keep.

“We don’t.” 

-/-

He’s walking her home after another fun night at a bar near her apartment. They’ve been casually seeing each other but nothing more than a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodnight has occurred. They get to her building in record time, too preoccupied by the conversation on who in Hollywood would make a handsome Captain Zeph. 

“Johnny Depp doesn’t have blue eyes.” Emma laughs. “You can’t just pick the most popular actors, and he’s already a pirate in another franchise.” They’re at the doors of her building and his eyes are boring into her. “Do you want to come up?”

And maybe it's because they haven’t had a real kiss in what’s very close to being a year now, but he seems almost nervous. 

“I’m afraid I miss you too much.” he scratches behind his ear and looks down the road. When he looks back at her he seems shy.

“Chris Wood,” she comments. She liked him on Supergirl. “Come upstairs.” 

It's the look on his face when he studies her apartment that makes her remember they broke up. As if she had forgotten months of trying to hold herself together, he reminds her that she broke him when his face floods with that loneliness. 

“Killian...” 

“This is a very nice place you have.” his eyes are darting from one corner to the next, lingering on the most significant differences. “So ‘New York’ it's almost as if you’ve never lived anywhere else.” 

“Your apartment isn’t ‘New York?’” it's so weird that they’ve never seen each other's place when they’ve seen each other's souls. 

“It’s just a place to lay my head.” He glances back at her with something almost accusatory when he says “You’ve gone ahead and made yourself a home.” And it has never felt like that, not once, when she was hiding away, when she would run home to it. 

This place, this city has always been a foster home she feels like she’ll get kicked out of if she gets too comfortable. It wasn’t like their home together. Their home felt like roots. Here she feels like an implant that won’t take to the soil. 

“The designer furnishings don’t mean shit to me.” Emma moves to the bookshelf, all new and shiny but it's just a box to keep what matters most. “Only what I’ve come here with is all I care to take. She pulls out a few books, “Wuthering Heights,” “The Book Thief,” and “Emma.” She hands them to him knowing they were always his. 

“I wanted you to keep them.” He starts to give them back when she waves her hand. 

“What do you need to not resent this place? To know I have everything you left tucked away in all these new places?” she motions for him to follow her to the bedroom and he slowly drifts behind, setting the novels on the coffee table. 

Her bed is covered in pillows dressed in his t-shirts instead of pillowcases. She keeps his cologne on the bedside table as if it were some expensive aromatherapy pillow spray. The blanket Granny from the local diner in Storybrooke made them lay at the foot of the bed, an anchor crocheted into the loops.

“I only drink whiskey you like. I only sleep in your t-shirts.” she sits on her bed, reaching for his hand to pull him down with her. “I don’t know what we are, and I can’t promise you I’m not a tragedy waiting to happen. I just know that I haven’t been able to erase an inch of you.”

He kisses her then. It's not on her terms, and he has only ever waited for everything to be on her terms. So when he pulls her in, hand cupping the back of her head, mouth open and adventurous, she gasps. 

His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer to him, her hands pressed flat against his chest as his tongue enters her mouth with desperation. She fists his shirt in her hands, pressing even closer to him as her tongue reacts in kind. It has been the longest year without him and he’s kissing her like they’re running out of time.

All at once they’re falling as he lays her down on her back, continuing to claim her mouth as his property. Her hands start moving, tugging and fumbling with buttons and zippers and just much too much fabric for her liking. When she moves for his briefs he tugs back from her lips. 

“Is this what you want?” Her response is to slip her dress over her head. Any questions to follow are puffed out in a husky tone against her ear. 

Sometimes love is erotica, so she catalogs every second of it because nothing has ever happened quite like this before. 

-/-

They spend the next few months together and she bangs out the rest of the book in record time. Regina and Belle throw her a submission party. She dodges questions about their future and tries to focus on the book. 

“So Aly and Atlas together again,” Robin questions her as Killian returns with a drink for the both of them. She knows he’s not talking about the story. Killian has been very careful to not assume much about their status. Both of them have just stuck to ‘seeing where it goes.’ 

But it's not like they just met six months ago. They have history, they have four years of standing together at parties and being a couple. Do they have the luxury of casually dating? If all happiness is fleeting, do they dive face-first in it or wade in the shallow end. 

“I love Killian.” She says firmly. It’s never not been true from the moment she realized it, in a foreign library miles and miles away from home. He is not easily erased, and it has become glaringly obvious it will only destroy her to try. “I always have and I always will.” Killian’s eyes have never been so doe-like. She’s never been so bold. 

“I…” Robin’s face flushes, certainly not expecting her to speak so proudly.

“And I love Emma, if it isn’t ardently clear. She’s everything to me and I’m happy just to exist in her life.” He raises his whiskey to her and she follows suit like a gentlemen’s agreement has just been formed: To love one another without concern of what it means. As she takes a sip she realizes what everything means. He hasn’t pushed aside his dreams in the slightest this go around. He’s been focused and driven, ambitious and busy. Somehow, he’s still considering her ‘everything.’ Maybe what she thought was sacrifice all that time ago was really just love.

So they stay in love. 

-/-

Another year goes by and the first film is set to release. Although Emma and Killian still pay rent at their separate apartments, they spend every night together. Sometimes it's downtown in Killian’s studio, and other nights it's in the heart of the city at Emma’s. Commitment isn’t measured by who gave what up. It has shifted to who stays. They both do, and every day they make the decision to stay, when it's 5 months since Killian has slept alone or 10 months since Emma had dinner without him. They stay together with one promise in mind. They love each other. And for as long as Love is Present, they will choose each other. 

[ngame989]

“Friends” - TGG SVTFOE Fanfic Collection Ch. 12

Writing: @ngame989​​

Art: @toxicpsychox​​

Editing: @ubercelloczar​​, @seddm​​

Alternate fic links - FFnet, AO3

Summary: Ludo needs help making friends and turns to Star and Marco for help, but things quickly spiral out of their control.

Comic Page

Masterpost

It's been an incredibly trying month for me and I'm unsure about a lot of things in my personal life now, but this isn't one of them. I'm so happy to finally be getting back to my feet so I can make more of the Starco content I want the world to see. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for your patience. (Also, fair warning, there’s one ever so slightly steamy Starco scene here)

“Have you ever wondered why heart thingies are hearts?” Marco stopped chewing on a bite of his burrito as he turned his full attention to Star. It wasn’t the most confusing thing she’d ever said, but it was up there. “Like, why does this symbol mean hearts and love and stuff?” she clarified, holding up a piece of heart-shaped candy from the post-Valentine’s Day shopping spree Eclipsa had taken her on weeks ago.

“Dunno,” he responded. “Maybe it’s what people used to think hearts looked like or something.”

“None of the hearts I’ve seen on hunting trips with Dad ever looked like this. Although one was made of chocolate.” She shrugged and popped the treat into her mouth, dumping some more from the bag into her mouth soon after. Her cheeks were puffed out, stretching her heart marks wide and Marco couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. “What?” she mumbled, still chewing. He pantomimed the sight in front of him, pointing to his own puffed-up cheeks. Star quickly grabbed two more candies, licking the backs of them before sticking them to Marco’s face, smiling quite smugly at her handiwork. “Now we’re heart twinsies!” She scooted around the table next to him and leaned in, snapping a selfie. “The kids will love this one.”

He swallowed the last bite of his burrito, thanking the heavens for the new Taco Baco location on campus. The other food options there were… lacking, to say the least.

“The Valentine’s Day Chocopalooza was a smash hit, but I have no clue how to follow it! I can’t have peaked after half a year, Marco!” The memories came flooding back: brownie batter as far as the eye could see, melted chocolate inflicting its goopy wrath on every surface in the kitchen, and so much frosting that he still didn’t want to even look at the stuff.

“I think they just like spending time with you. You’re really good with kids, Star. Besides, the only other holiday coming up is Easter, and you’re terrified of it.”

“It has a giant rabbit that lays eggs, Marco! How do you not see how horrifying that is?”

A loud cough from the bushes behind them might normally have only caught Marco’s attention for a passing moment, but another voice frantically shushed it. “Dennis, quiet! The giant bunny schtick is too good!”

“Ludo?” Star and Marco said in unison.

“Hello, Star and Marco!” Ludo exclaimed with an emphatic wave. “So wonderful to see you again! How’s your kid?”

“She’s not… she’s fine,” Marco relented, estimating that it wouldn’t be worth the hassle. “So… how’s it going?”

“Things are fine, family’s good. Bird and Spider told me to say hello.” He seemed even twitchier than Marco remembered. Dennis prodded his brother with a wing, clearly trying to be surreptitious about it and failing spectacularly. “Ahem, well, there is one teensy tiny issue… I ran into Bearnicorn a few days ago. I totally froze up! Things were pretty awkward last time I saw the whole gang and I think I’m finally ready to try again, but I have no idea how to do that. You might not know this, but I have some issues getting over things,” he stated earnestly. Star and Marco exchanged a bewildered glance - he couldn’t be serious, right? Wait, what were they thinking, Ludo could totally say something like that seriously. Ludo took a deep breath and continued, “But Dennis suggested that I come to you two for help, since I had actually managed to work everything out with you.”

Star munched on another chocolate heart as she mulled over what he was saying. “So you want our help to… make friends?”

The edges of his beak-mouth turned up in an ecstatic smile. “I would like that very much!”

***

“You’re sure about this, Star?”

“He’s not hurting anything, Mom.” Star didn’t glance up from the piles of clothing she was rummaging through at the sound of her mom’s wary question; it wasn’t an unfair one, considering the history involved. Even though he was friendly now, Ludo was too much of a wildcard to completely discount as harmless. Still, though, Star saw no reason to suspect any tricks up his sleeve (though there were probably some bugs there). The nostalgia of reconnecting with Ludo was oddly calming for Star, and considering how quickly Marco agreed to help Ludo with his issues, despite the craziness of midterms approaching, she guessed he felt the same. Drawer after drawer bore no fruit in her quest to find the sweater for Marco’s all-important psychology ensemble - the book and glasses had already been secured.

“Though I didn’t say anything, I admit I was initially hesitant about you two sharing living quarters like this, but I must say Marco’s organizational skills seemed to have rubbed off on you,” Moon said with a snicker. She bent down and checked under the bed, pulling out stray bags of cereal and bottles of soda that Star recognized from her and Marco’s late night movie marathons slash cuddle sessions. “...somewhat.”

Think Star, think! When was the last time you saw that dang sweater? Let’s see… he wore it on our Valentine’s Day date so it can’t be that hidden - it was a bit snug on him which made it extra adorably handsome. He’d said he’d wear it more if I wanted, and I fell over laughing when he wore it just last weekend before we… oh corn. Star now recalled where the sweater would almost certainly be as a wave of horror washed over her. She slammed the dresser drawer and whipped around for a mad dash to the nightstand, where- pegasus feathers. Moon had just found the sweater, which was great, and with it was the exact last box she wanted anyone else (and especially her mom) to find, which was... greeeeeeat. Star generally felt she had a solid, trusting bond with her mother, but she’d never been - and still wasn’t - the first person Star blabbed to about her personal affairs.

“Mom, I can explain-”

“Star, sweetie, I’m not upset. What you do with Marco is none of my business, you’re a grown young woman who is more than capable of making her own decisions. If anything I’m simply relieved that you’re taking such sane precautions. I may be old, but I’m not ready to earn my place in the Grandma Room quite yet.” Despite her embarrassment, Star had to admit she was eased by her mom’s understanding,. “And don’t worry,” Moon said softly, “I’ll handle the subject with your father for you, if you’d like.” And just like that, any comfort was washed away by a tidal wave of beet-red cheeks and incoherent sputtering.

Marco poked his head in, causing Star to yelp and jump off the bed. “Hey, you almost ready?”

“Yep! Totally, totally, totally ready and not discussing anything about our personal lives with mom!”

“Uh-huh…” Marco responded. “Well, I’m ready down there if you are. Oh hey, there’s my sweater. Good, we’ll need it... I, uh think we have our work cut out for us.”

Star was worried, but also kinda happy to have an excuse to leave the current conversation as soon as Mewmanly possible. She handed the sweater from her mom to Marco, who put it on as they walked downstairs to where Ludo was curiously poking around the living room.

“Oh, hello Star! I was just admiring your lovely castle. Bit small for my tastes, but what do I know, haha!”

“Yeeeeeeah…” She then leaned over to whisper to Marco. “So, like, what did he say so far?”

“He said that he tried practicing talking to people with garbage dolls.”

“Weird.”

“I don’t even know where to start, really.”

“Hey Ludo,” Star called out, walking over and sitting on the couch next to him. “So, bud, whatcha need us for here, exactly?”

“Ah, yes, well… I’d like to be able to talk to my old friends again without being their boss. You know, the whole scheming to defeat you… steal the wand… take over Mewni and rule it with an IRON FIST-” He had gotten so worked up that he was on his feet jumping up and down on the couch, but stopped and took a deep breath before chuckling. “Aha, see, there it is again! It’s usually not like this, it’s been months since I’ve even once brought up the wand in a game of cha-rads…”

Yeah, this might be a liiiiiiittle tricky. She tented her fingers as she came up with a plan. Could I… nah. Would it…? Mmm, no go. Wait, Star, duh! “ Alright, Ludo, it’s time for some patented psychomological work from Star Butterfly, H.P.D. We need to see what’s going on in your head.”

“Ooo, sounds fun! So for starters I think there’s some lice-”

“No, no,” she responded calmly, “I mean we need to find what’s making you tick.”

“Yup, I’ve got ticks too!”

Marco put a hand on her shoulder, his worried expression clear even to her peripheral vision. “Are you sure he should be in the same house as Mari-”

“Not now, Marco,” Star hissed, swatting his hand away while keeping her gaze trained on Ludo. “Why are you having trouble talking to your old friends again? What’s the first thing that comes to mind when I say ‘Boo Fly’?”

“Messenger.”

“Buff Frog?”

“Excellent spy.”

“Lobster Claws?”

“Putting his claws on the wand- oh, wait, I see now! This is like cha-rads but with just words! You almost got me!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re getting it! OK, one more… Toffee.”

“Candy! It’s so delectable with chocolate-”

“You know what, that one’s probably for the best,” Star murmured. “Well, Ludo, it seems to me like your biggest problem is that you aren’t even thinking about your old crew as regular people. Try this. Think of doing something you’d normally do with your brother.”

“Picking the worms out of our feathers to eat-”

“Yeah, no,” Star cut him off. She wanted to help, she really did, but she had a million other things on her mind and now was just not a great time for endless Ludo shenanigans. “I was thinking something less gross…”

“Basketball?” he cheerily offered.

“Sure. Imagine yourself playing basketball with your brother…” She paused a moment as he started miming out dribbling in his seat. “Now imagine doing the same exact thing but with Bearnicorn there instead of your brother.” His arms twitched a bit.

“Keep dribbling, man!” Marco called out encouragingly. Ludo shut his eyes in concentration and after a moment got back into his awkward, gawkish basketball form.

Ludo’s bulbous eyes snapped back open, frantic with glee. “Aha, yes! I think I see it now! Oh, thank you, Star and Marco! I’m off to go find my friends again!” With that, he bolted out the front door and scurried down the road until he was out of sight.

“You think that’ll work?” Star asked hopefully.

Marco sighed and hugged her from behind. “Not a chance.”

***

“Alright, we have a few minutes left in class so if anyone has any questions on the graded midterms I just passed back, let me know. Otherwise you’re free to leave. Have a good weekend!”

Marco hunched over in his chair as he quickly scanned through the multiple choice questions and short answers. A few stupid mistakes here and there, but still an A - he’d even gotten a smiley face next to his essay assessing some example personality type or another. All in all, things felt right. Karate, sword-fighting, and adventuring were important to him but he’d always felt the most fulfilled helping others with their problems - psychology just seemed right.

A high-pitched, squawking voice interrupted him. “Hey, dude, what did you get for number 12?” Marco looked up at another student - Matt, if he was remembering correctly - who was hovering over him at an uncomfortably close distance. Even with how much life had changed in the past few years, his academic reputation stayed the same.

“Uh, C,” Marco responded absentmindedly.

“Oh, that makes sense. And what about 13?”

“B.”

“And… 14 through 35.”

“Just talk to Mrs. B, man,” Marco irritatedly replied, shaking his head. Normally he enjoyed helping classmates if he could, but he had promised Star he’d helm the planning for the daycare’s Easter party on account of her phobia - well, that, and he’d heard Matt bragging about how he’d blown off studying to play the new Super Slash Sisters game all night long. He looked back down to check over one last page and grinned to himself. The final essay prompt hadn’t been for a grade, but instead asked a simpler question: Why are you here? Without context, it might have seemed odd or downright rude, but the teacher had spent the first few months of the semester encouraging all the students to reflect on their goals and what they hoped to gain from the psychology program. The blunt prompt had caught him off guard, but after realizing what it was asking, he’d spent probably about as much time as he had on the rest of the exam combined describing his experiences and motivations on Mewni that drove him to help and support others.

Of course, he couldn’t help but talk about Star at length as part of that. His adorable, brave, compassionate best friend that inspired him to be more. Where would he even be now without her? He could still be at college, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much. It was humorous to imagine: waking up, being driven to college by his mom, waving hello to Jackie every day (his foolproof plan to woo her had involved eventually moving past nodding, after all), getting straight As, working fruitlessly towards a red belt after classes, then… what? The world had so much more to offer him, and vice versa, and Star was the one who’d helped him realize that. The words had just flowed right out of his pen, paragraphs and paragraphs of glowing praise and affection, enough to leave his chest feeling as warm as it did when she was physically there.

“Hey, Marco, I have a question-”

Stirred from his contemplative state, Marco wheeled on the figure that had just tapped him on the shoulder, ready to tell Matt off for interrup- oh.

“Ludo? What are you doing here?”

“Oh, well, I was in the neighborhood and I thought I’d just drop in! But also, please help me. I did what you said but then I dribbled Boo Fly on the ground and he got really upset and-”

Marco sighed. Hope Star’s fine with me being late.

***

Most days, Star loved everything about her job. It was hard work, but it was so satisfying bringing smiles and warmth to the faces of the kids in her care and seeing them light up with stories to tell their families at the end of each day. Her hours were flexible, she got to spend time with Marco, and Antonio was a wonderful boss.

Today, however, was not most days.

Of freaking course Easter was Antonio’s favorite holiday.

The kids seemed to be enjoying his antics as he pranced around in a bunny costume, but for the life of her she just couldn’t understand why. Is it a normal rabbit or a person-sized one? No one even seems to know what it is! Does it lay bird eggs or rabbit eggs? Both are pretty horrifying if you ask me! If you get chocolate eggs in your Easter basket, does it lay them too? I’m not eating any soft brown rabbit droppings, Marco! They didn’t even get any days off for it, so Star was convinced the best thing to do was ignore its existence as a holiday entirely. Her incredibly valid concerns had largely been met with amusement, even by Marco, but Antonio had at least offered to let her keep her distance and work behind-the-scenes for the party they had planned, which was now going on in the main playroom.

Packing baskets with candy was easy enough. Chocolate, gummies, cookies, donuts. Candy corn for the humans and candied corn for the Mewmans - as much as the humans liked Mewman corn, they hadn’t quite accepted it as a valid dessert yet. There were a few special ones marked down as well. Some marshmallow mice for the Septarians, a ribeye steak for the Johansen - her third cousin or something like that, she wasn’t even sure exactly whose kid he was - and some dried bugs for the kappas… wait, since when were there any kappas at the daycare? She yanked the full list out from underneath the pile of sweets and quickly scanned it. 105? Aren’t there only 104 kids in the program this semester?

She almost missed it at the very top of the list: “Manudo Avarius”. She vaguely remembered hearing about a sibling with that name at some point… maybe they just joined? Something still seemed off to Star but she pushed it aside and finished the last of the baskets just in time for the end of the party. As the kids left, Star cheerfully handed out the baskets to the tune of joyous squeals from the kids and careful warnings from the parents to not eat too much at once. Pffftt, come on, I eat cake for breakfast and I turned out fine!

Curiously, she hadn’t spotted anyone that resembled Ludo yet even as the remaining crowd dwindled to almost nothing. Antonio had already begun to put away decorations when she finally spotted the figure, taking the basket over to them. But when they turned around, showing a braided beard… oh pegasus feathers.

“Star Butterfly! So good to see you again.”

“Hey Ludo,” she said. “Are you picking up Manudo?”

“Why would Menudo be here?”

“Well the paper said Manudo-”

“No, no, that’s not how it’s spelled, but besides, I’m here by myself. A large man with a magnificent beard asked me for my name and told me I was missing a party with lots of sweets! He kept calling me a child and I said I was a man and that my name was Ludo, but who cares when there’s free chips, am I right?” He reached into one of the five chip bags in his arms and stuffed a handful into his beak.

Man-udo. Dangit, Antonio. “So… good to see you, but what brings you here?”

“Well, I talked to Marco just the other day because it still just wasn’t working, but then I tried something else and that still didn’t work, so now I need your help again. It all started on Tuesday-”

Star slumped down into a beanbag chair and reached into the basket, deftly avoiding the bugs as she searched for cookies to nibble on. This is going to be a while.

***

“So what did you say this place was?” Tom asked as he glanced around the restaurant. The vibrant cherry-red booths and soulful singer crooning over the speakers created a very different atmosphere than anything in the Underworld, but he liked it.

Sitting across from him, Marco downed another fry and took a sip of his water before responding. “Diners are the best places to go for comfort food. Burgers, onion rings, waffles, all that kinda stuff. Emilio’s is the best in town.”

Next to Marco, Star was wolfing down onion rings by the handful. “The secret is that he hired a bunch of Eclipsa’s old chefs, so they make great Mewman and monster food too. Don’t tell Mom but their Mewnipendence Day pies are the best I’ve ever had - though they don’t call it that anymore.” She was still chewing when she spoke, but after so many years of knowing Star he had no trouble understanding her garbled words. “It’s really cool that Emilio was able to get back on his feet after the incident.”

“What incident?” Tom asked, eliciting an irritated groan from Marco.

“So basically, a few years ago, Ponyhead and I-”

“Oh boy, a Ponyhead story,” Janna sarcastically said, rolling her eyes, and Tom elbowed her side.

An older man with olive skin approached the table. ““Does everything taste alright? If your dining experience isn’t absolutely perfect, please let me know, I can get you anything. More to drink, dessert, maybe some mushrooms...”

“It’s great, Emilio,” Marco mumbled.

“Good, good…” Emilio was smiling a bit too hard as he backed away, his eyes lingering on Marco’s meal.

Marco caught Tom’s curious gaze and buried his head in his hands. “Look, it’s a long story. There was this pizza, then spiraling alcoholism, then a bit of arson…”

Janna’s hand, resting on Tom’s leg, unconsciously twitched as she perked up. “Woah, OK, now I actually do want to hear this.”

“Too late, no take backs.”

“Aww, you’re no fun.”

“So anyway, we picked the restaurant this time so have you two decided what we’re doing after?” Oh crud, we forgot to plan. Tom’s initial instinct was to claim a beginner’s mistake, since it was only the second of their monthly double dates and their first time planning the after-dinner entertainment… except the actual reason was that he and Janna happened to get into their first major makeout session the night they had set aside for planning, burning thoughts of accomplishing anything else to a crisp in the process. Star and Marco were the last people that would be squicked out by romantic affection- that wasn’t the problem. After years of slacking on responsibilities and having any kind of social life at all in a misguided attempt to chase after Star, he couldn’t help but feel extra guilty over this specific lapse.

Janna leaned in, whispering in his ear. “Can’t we just hit up the Sands of Eternal Torment?”

“For the tenth time, Jan, no,” he hissed through his teeth. “There’s, like, a 25% chance you’d all have your souls violently ripped from your bodies.”

“Only 25? Ew, nevermind, just let them pick.” She leaned in even closer, her breath hot in his ear. “If it’s somewhere boring, we could always just sneak away and-”

“Good evening!” Tom squeaked and quickly turned his head at the sudden boisterous call from his other side, almost smacking Janna in the temple with his horn in the process. It was an incredibly short bird creature with a thick grey beard - a kappa, if Tom was remembering correctly. It wasn’t their same waiter from before, but hey, what did he know about how Earth restaurants worked?

Tom held out his glass, but the supposed waiter ignored it. “Yeah, can I have a refill on the demonade, please?” Star and Marco glanced over at the waiter, their eyes opening wide before they both groaned and smacked their faces on the table in unison. Alright, maybe he’s not a waiter then.

***

“Star...” Marco uttered. Star removed her wandering lips from his neck and propped herself up to look lovingly at him, shivering slightly as she abandoned the warmth of his bare skin. It had been probably over a year now since they’d first become more intimate like this, but the fire still burned just as hot. Heck, it was better now than those first forays, Star reckoned; with time came confidence and experience that let them enjoy themselves and each other to the absolute fullest. They’d both had busy lives the last few months or so, and with the end of the semester fast approaching Star knew they would be even busier soon, but none of that seemed to matter in this time they’d taken for themselves. Even after a break for a shower and snacks, their present cozy state under the blanket with nothing between them still felt as radiant as any proper afterglow could.

“Mhmm?” A devious thought crossed her mind, but she tried her best to feign innocence as she slowly slithered down his body, leaving fiery trails of kisses down his chest and sweet, sweet abs.

“Not that I don’t like, you know, doing this but I don’t, uh, know if I have it in me for another rouuuuuuuu-” His voice shot up an octave and his whole body jolted as she blew raspberries on his belly button and snuck her arms up to tickle around his armpits. “Star, please- I can’t- I’m- can’t breathe-” he sputtered out between hysterical bouts of laughter.

She was laughing too by the time his flailing pushed her off of him. Before he’d even collected himself, he lunged forward, trying to catch her with a determined-but-still-goofy grin on his face. Star dodged and backed away from the bed entirely as Marco grasped at her limbs. He finally gave up, lying on his stomach while resting his head on his chin and staring up at her. Even though his tush was right there for the ogling, Star was instead captivated by his enamored gaze and dopey smile.

“Dangit, Marco, you know I can’t resist that look,” she huffed, allowing him to take her hands and pull her next to him on the bed.

“I know,” he said smugly. “You’re not the only one who can weaponize being all lovey dovey.”

“The student has become the master,” she quipped, their hands still joined between them as they lay on their sides.

“But I do mean it, Star. I love every single part of you, and that’s not gonna change. Things have been hectic lately for both of us, but stuff with the daycare, what you want to do for a living, Ludo… we can figure that all out. Just reach into your pocket if you need me.”

She gently patted his head, running her fingers through his freshly shampooed hair. It was alluring to smell, to hold, to feel brushing up against her. Though the problems they faced now were of a different kind than the forces of evil that they’d spent their earlier years tackling, his presence was still what she needed most to ground her and make everything feel alright. Her face dipped in for a kiss, initially short and sweet but quickly succumbing to a familiar hunger. She pounced on him but miscalculated her momentum, rolling the whole way over him and pulling him with her so he lay on top. Not complaining, she thought as she hugged him close and indulged in the sensory bliss of his skin on hers.

He lightly rested his forehead on hers. “Do you, um, mind if we maybe don’t, y’know…” he trailed off sheepishly.

“Marco,” she crooned, holding his face in her hands. “How many times do I have to say it: I don’t want to do anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“I-I can try that, um, thing again, though, instead if- if you want?” Oh sweet, sweet Marco. Even after years together, he still couldn’t rest until he was sure he’d done everything he could for her.

“Yeah,” she implored, breathy with the mounting anticipation as he began a trail of kisses downward.

“What thing are you two talking about?” Time seemed to stop as any building pleasure completely evaporated. Marco grabbed the crumpled bedsheet and pulled it over the two of them as the couple stared at the window in complete incredulity to where Ludo was standing on a flapping Dennis’s back. “Well, anyway, I need some more advice-”

“GET. OUT!”

***

Marco rested his chin in his hands while Star paced in front of him. Three months. Three months of Ludo showing up at the most inopportune times, three months of Star trying and failing to feel satisfied with her efforts at the daycare, three months of a semester so intense that they were both at their wit’s end with all of it. Ludo had once again come to the college for advice after his 26th attempt to regain his old friends failed just as catastrophically as the previous 25. He was persistent, Marco had to give him that, and the old monster crew had even been pretty supportive when Star and Marco had tracked them down themselves and explained the situation. The issue seemed to be entirely from within Ludo’s own mind, which made it a dozen times harder to solve. It was the last day of the semester and they’d been haunted by thoughts of every minute of summer vacation spent throwing themselves at the brick wall of Ludo’s psyche, so they’d made a pact that today was all or nothing. Neither wanted to ditch Ludo, he wasn’t a bad guy, but enough was enough.

“Any ideas?” Star piped up, sounding entirely lost and uncertain as her gaze kept nervously darting over to Ludo who was brushing his beard and snacking on its droppings in the empty playroom. “We’ve tried psychology, reverse psychology, pep talks, reverse reverse psychology, all-you-can-eat chips, ygolohscysp-”

“Which still isn’t a thing,” Marco interrupted.

“Well I’m sorry, I’m not the one with a fancy degree, Marco!” she growled, tossing her arms out. “Ugh, sorry, this is just so frustrating. Doesn’t he have, like, a thousand brothers and sisters he could hang out with? If he can’t relax around the monsters, why does he always have to pester us when he could-” Her pacing instantly halted as her eyes opened wide. “Oh crud.”

He stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder reassuringly, unsure whether her apparent epiphany was a good or bad thing. “Star?”

“He came to us for help becoming comfortable around his old pals again because he already was comfortable around us.”

“Way too comfortable,” Marco muttered with a wince that Star mirrored. They were still a little bit traumatized from the shower incident. “But that means-”

“He never needed his monster pals, he just needed… friends,” she said just as he had the revelation on his own.

Marco smacked his forehead and sighed. “And he spent so much time fixating on this one thing, and we spent so much time just trying to solve his problem and shove him out the door, that we never tried just… being his friends.”

They both looked through the little window into the playroom, where Ludo saw them and waved with a giant smile.

Star buried her face in her hands, messing up her hair like she was prone to do whenever she was feeling frazzled. “Ugh, I feel terrible.”

“Same, but… we can’t be his only friends, though. I feel bad for him, but I don’t know if I have it in me to be his BFF.”

“You’re right, you’re right, but who else could even handle that? Who? The guy’s so hyper and weird, ugh, he reminds me of me as a kid, except way less cute.”

“...a kid.” They both mumbled simultaneously. It was as if a single lightbulb had gone off above both of them at once as all the pieces fell into place. “That’s it!”

Star bolted out the door to gather the handful of children that hadn’t been picked up yet while Marco got Ludo. A few minutes later, they met up at the rec center basketball court where Antonio helped them set up some kid-sized hoops. It took a bit of coaxing, but after a few minutes Ludo was having the time of his life tossing the ball around. The kids seemed to enjoy it, too, as he regaled them with tales of his adventures on Earth (and a few about a space princess with a cyclops and robot for friends that Marco was pretty sure he made up). Star and Marco had joined for a few games but both decided to just step back and watch from the bleachers for a while.

As they observed the scene, listening to the ecstatic wails of everyone on the court as they ran around with the ball, there was a smile on Star’s face that was more content than Marco had seen in a while. “See? You made their whole week just by giving them someone fun to play with,” Marco said, lacing his fingers through her hand. “They like you a lot more than they like balloons and candy.”

“Even I don’t need candy with you here being so sweet,” she cooed, nuzzling into his shoulder, neither taking their eyes off the courts. Ludo passed the ball to Trevor, who spun around and passed it back in a fluid motion that allowed Ludo to score. The blissful, carefree sight was soothing after the intensity of Marco’s life lately. Just some kids and a small bird man having fun playing a game together… life didn’t always have to be so complicated. The serene moment abruptly ended when Ludo’s beak caught on the rim, leaving him dangling above the ground and shrieking for help. As Star squeezed Marco’s hand, sighed, and stood up to go help the poor kappa, Marco knew it could never be truly simple either.

[mrsdobrik]

My Name Jeff - Chapter 4

Everything was dark and silent. She felt the car door opening beside her and could hear the bustling sounds of the busy L.A night. She extended her hand and felt his strong arm, he guided her, still blindfolded, to their final destination. He opened the door and, placing a hand on the small of her back, led her inside. The smell that filled her nostrils felt familiar even if she couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was exactly. 

Suddenly her eyes were uncovered and she found herself standing in front of one of her favorite paintings. She looked around till her eyes met her date’s. 

“How did you pull this off?” She looked around with tears in her eyes. They were standing in the center of an empty art gallery, a table full of her favorite foods stood before her and the view… the main event was the original of one of Y/n’s favorite paintings. She had mentioned it to Jeff (David) during one of their long phone conversations. 

“I know a guy who knows a guy…” David explained. 

“Jeff… this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t believe this.” Y/n felt speechless. She stood there admiring the technique and the color for a long minute.

“I thought you might appreciate having a nice view while we eat.” David said, pulling out a chair for her. “And of course answer some questions.”

“Thank you. This is literally insane, like out of a movie.” She uttered the words looking straight into his eyes. 

“You’re welcome. Now, question eleven, wasn’t it?” David said 

“Right… but don’t act like this is not a big deal. It’s huge. Question eleven is take four minutes and tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.” 

“You go first” David spoke with panic in his voice. 

“Okay… so… I was born here in California. Have two much younger sisters, Alana is 9 and Emily is 7. Alana was born with a heart deficiency that has required a lot of expensive surgeries and treatments over the years which have left my family in pretty severe debt. I started working when I was sixteen to help pay those bills and I busted my butt to get a full scholarship. That  same scholarship requires me to keep my grades up so my college experience has basically been studying and working and working some more. I have two jobs, one as a barista at a coffee shop near campus and one at an art gallery just doing paperwork. I’ve loved art for as long as I can remember and I basically taught myself how to do it, I was never formally trained till I started college. So basically my life this far has been work, school and caring for my sisters.” 

“I’m sorry.” David whispered, taking her hand in his over the table. 

“It’s not your doing.” She shrugged. “Your turn”

“I was born in Slovakia, I moved to Illinois when I was six. I have 3 younger siblings, Ester, Sara and Toby. I spent most of my childhood and teen years living in a suburb of Chicago called Vernon Hills. When I finished high school I took one semester of community college before realizing it wasn’t for me and I moved to L.A with a bunch of friends.” He told his own story, just leaving out the past five years. 

“And so… sociology? Photography?” She questioned. 

“I’ve always loved taking pictures of my friends, capturing the moments we spend together. Photography is just a cool name for that.” He once again told a half truth. “Sociology is not really my thing.” He scratched the back of his neck. 

She smiled at him. “Question 12?”

“Go” He smiled back. 

“If you could wake up tomorrow having gained any one quality or ability, what would it be?” She asked.

“Time travelling” They replied in unison. They both thought back on their first date, noticing About Time was both their favorite movie. 

“Thirteen. If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe I would like to know if I’ll ever find like… the love of my life or something like that.” He replied nervously. 

“That’s funny, that is the one thing I would never want to know.” She chuckled. “It’s like… what if the answer is no? Is a life where you know you will never find love worth living?” 

“You’re right. What would you want to know?” David asked deep in thought. 

“That my sister’s life will be a happy one. How long she lives matters, but to me the quality of that time is more important.” She answered candidly. 

David gave her a sad smile. 

“Let’s move on” She sighed, discreetly drying a small tear of the corner of her eye. “Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?”

“I would like to be a late night host some day. I haven’t done it because the chance hasn’t presented itself yet, but I’m working on it.” He chuckled. “What about you?”

 “I would love to have one of my paintings exhibited at a gallery. I haven’t shown them to anyone because… I’m scared of rejection, of what might happen if I’m told I’m not good enough. My art has been my escape, the one thing keeping me sane through the tough patches so I don’t want that relationship to be ruined.”

“Wait, no one has seen your paintings? Not even your family?” 

“Nope, no one. Just my teachers and only for assignments, never anything personal.” She shook her head with a small smile. “Next question: What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?”

“You go” David deflected. 

“Getting that scholarship probably” She said. 

“Mine would be… probably getting that painting for the full night.” He chuckled. 

“That is no small feat! I’m honestly still in awe that you pulled it off!” She laughed. “What do you value most in a friendship?”

“Loyalty,” David said. 

She replied with a “Same here. What is your most treasured memory?”

“This is getting deep. I honestly don’t know! Probably coming here to America when I was six and surprising my mom. She thought I would be flying in the following week.” He smiled at the memory. 

“Wait so you flew here by yourself? You must have been so scared!” 

“I totally was, but I’ll never forget that day. Yours?”

“Any Christmas we got to spend together as a family” She recalled. 

After that they gave up on the questions for the night and David asked Y/n why she loved the painting so much. She told him the story of the artist, how he was considered insane and ended up painting from a mental hospital. Then she told him about the painting itself and what each of the objects that appeared in it represented. 

David loved hearing her talk about art, her eyes glimmered with excitement and her voice became more certain. You could tell she was in her element, you could literally see her passion when she talked. 

After dinner they went for a walk, hand in hand they strolled down the streets talking, kissing and laughing till their feet hurt. David’s hand tangled in her hair as he kissed her softly, the taste of chocolate and strawberries was still on her lips. His free hand settled on the small of her back, pulling her close to him. As he pulled away he saw her face, her smile and felt a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t forget that he was lying to her, he felt disgusted by his own actions and started wondering how he would ever be able to tell her the truth without hurting her, without losing her forever. 

“Are you okay?” She sounded worried, her brows were furrowed in perplexity. 

“Yes, I’m fine. It’s getting late. I should take you home.” He said, breaking his train of thought. 

“Umm… okay…. Did I do something wrong?” She pushed, bewildered by the sudden change. 

“No, not at all. I just remembered something…” 

“Oh god, you are going to ghost me, aren’t you?” Y/n spat out nervously. 

“No, I would never do that. We are fine, I promise.” David chuckled, caressing her cheek. 

“Okay” She smiled. 

David dropped her off without a kiss goodnight. He could feel himself getting closer to her, especially since they started playing the questions game. She was being honest and real and every answer he gave was a half truth. He was in deep, the only question left was whether he could find his way out. 

He drove for a few more minutes before pulling over. With shaking hands he pulled out his phone and called the one person he knew would give him the most shit but who was his one hope to get out of the fucked up situation he had gotten himself in. 

“Dave? What’s wrong? It’s like 2am” Jason said on the other side of the line. 

“I need your help.” 

[oldsoldierr]

The Carnation ~ Part 3

summary: the media always told you that the famous art critic bucky barnes is an arrogant, rude playboy and you agree, but something still draws you to him. is there a deeper reason to why he acts the way he does or is he the class A jackass you first met?

art critic!bucky x artist!reader

word count: about 2.1k

series masterlist ~ part 1~ part 2 ~

“Ms. y/l/n, this is NYU Langone Health, you need to come to the hospital as soon as possible. James Buchanan Barnes has been in an accident.”

You didn’t bother listening to the rest of the voicemail. You were exhausted but adrenaline shot through your veins. You jerked up standing wide awake. You ran out of your apartment with desperation. 

Your insults to him could not be the last words you told him, they just couldn’t. Cause though part of you hated him, part of you knew Bucky had become part of your life far more than he knew. 

You sprinted down the stairs back down, the way you had just a couple of minutes prior, but with new determination. You jumped over the last couple set steps with a boom you knew would echo through the halls and would leave a couple of complaints but you didn’t care. You didn’t even care to think about why the hospital had called you instead of a family member or even Steve. You threw yourself in your car and just started pulling out. Your car was already on the road when it occurred to you you didn’t know where the hospital was. 

“Shit.” You didn’t have your phone with you cause you forgot it on your couch in your haste. Your brain really wasn’t helping you out today. 

The rest of the drive was a blur as you got lost in your thoughts. Everything was cloudy in your head. Somehow, muscle memory must’ve kicked in cause you made it to the hospital. You didn’t have time to be confused though, as you run in, the doors slamming open. 

You quickly scanned the room looking for the front desk. You must’ve looked like a lunatic. You were breathing hard and your hair was a complete mess from running. 

You still managed to reach the front desk asking, “I want to see James Barnes, he--” You gasped for breath. “--he was just in an accident, came in a couple minutes ago.”

The receptionist looked at you with a concerned look on her face but just clicked her keys on the keyboard. 

“Miss, could you tell me the patient’s name?”

“James Barnes,” you told her. She typed some more.

“Are you a relative?” she asked annoyingly calm for your stressful day.

“Uh, no, I’m a--” What were you? You tentatively continued, “a friend, I’m a friend.” She looked you over.

“And your name?”

“Y/n y/l/n.” More keyboard clicking.

“Ah, yes. You’re set as one of his emergency contacts.” 

What? You thought. The receptionist continued.

“James Barnes is in room 206, go right into that hallway, take two lefts.” You let out a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” you said breathy.

“Oh, and--” She stopped you before you started speed walking again. “You better make it quick, he’s going to have surgery in a couple of minutes.” You nodded in acknowledgment. 

You walked down the hall, two lefts counting the rooms.

“...194, 196, 198, 200, 202, 204, 206-- aha!” You were about to burst in when you realized it probably wasn’t the brightest idea, so you settled for a gentle knock. The reply came immediately.

“Who is it?” It was the same voice you had fought with on the phone a mere hour earlier, but it sounded much more gravely and in pain. You cleared your throat.

“It’s um-- it’s y/n.” The pause between his answer felt like hours even though it couldn’t have been more than a minute. You bit your lip anxiously. You heard him shift in his bed before saying, “Come in,” as if he was too weak to retort with a nasty reply.

You warily pushed the door open. There he was, looking as good as ever, on an off white hospital bed. The only change you noticed in his appearance was windblown hair, and more importantly, some blue, shockingly large shards of glass inserted in his left shoulder, bandaged with some white newly scarlet dyed medical tape. You subconsciously moved closer to him.

“...what happened to you?” you uttered under your breath without meaning to. Your arm reached out to skim his wound. He winced, his face contorting in pain. Realizing what you did you stepped back. 

“Oh-- sorry, um--” You didn’t know what to say. Bucky hissed from the pain.

“It’s alright, I can handle it.” his response wasn’t full of venom, just strained. It reminded you of his voice after you had yelled at him in the car and all the guilt from before flooded back into you. You looked down at your feet.

“Hey, uh, I’m really sorry about earlier. I,” You took a shaky breath, “I didn’t mean any of it. I was just riled up. I-I understand if you if can’t forgive me, but I just needed you to know, you’re not any of those things I said.” You don’t know what you were expecting when you said that but you weren’t expecting Bucky to chuckle sadly.

“No, no, you were right. I’m arrogant and selfish. I’ve known for a while but you’re just the one who said it out loud to me first. Guess I just didn’t want to confront the truth.” He tilted his head toward you with a smirk before avoiding eye contact again. “I’m really sorry for being such a jackass to you.”

Did--did he just apologize to me?

“It’s okay,” you replied sheepishly. You gave him a smile. 

“To be honest, you aren’t that bad anyway.” He made a faux shocked look.

“Did you just give me a compliment? I am truly baffled,” he teased. You almost slapped him but realized it would probably actually hurt due to his injury.

“Damn it, he’s back,” you said cheekily. Your face faltered a bit though when you looked back at his arm.

“What happened?” you wondered out loud. Bucky twiddled his thumbs nervously at the question.

“It was nothing,” he brushed off.

“A vase on a shelf just fell off onto me. A freak accident.” 

“Oh,” you replied, but you were dubious of his answer.

“Where’d it happen?” You pried more. You swear for a moment his eyes widened nervously. He scratched his face.

“It was just in my office,” he skipped over. You sensed an awkward silence coming. Luckily the nurses ushered you out before that happened for Bucky’s surgery. You briefly mumbled good luck and walked back past the waiting room, out the exit, and into the parking lot. You knew it was going to be a long night of waiting and worrying. Despite that, you still couldn’t get a question out of your mind. 

Why did Bucky lie about how he got his injury? You pondered as you walked. You shook your head to clear your mind because it wasn’t any of your business...right? You clicked your car keys and unlocked the door. 

You switched on the light and felt around your car for a minute. You found what you were looking for with an “Aha!”. It was the drawing of the carnation. 

You found some more art supplies and closed the door. You swiftly walked back to the waiting room, scanned the room for a chair with no one near it, and sat yourself down. 

The one thing that had always gotten you through your hard times was art, and it was going to get you through this one. 

For 8 painful hours, you waited. Your brain drifted to the thought of Bucky dying many times, but every time it did, you just forced yourself to work on the drawing. Even when the piece looked done, you just kept adding. It was the only way you were keeping sane. Multiple times you had almost fallen asleep before jolting awake. It was hell. 

But finally, when you felt like you were about to pass out, you felt something tap your shoulder. That surprised you so much you jumped in your seat. It was a doctor.

“Miss-” she looked down at her clipboard. “y/n, I’m Doctor Reed. I have an update on James.” That got your attention. You nodded for her to continue. She cleared her throat.

“I have some good news and some bad news. Do you have a preference on which you’d like to hear first?” You shook your head, your anxiety was growing and you really just wanted to get this over with. 

“James is okay. The surgery went very well and he should be free to leave in around two to three weeks, though we’ll keep you posted.” She took a deep breath before resuming. “The unfortunate part is that...we’ve...we’ve had to amputate his arm.”

Your hands moved to cover your mouth as water flooded your eyes.

“We did everything that we could, but his cuts were infected before he arrived. If we chose to keep his arm, best-case scenario, he would’ve had a dead limb.” You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“...And worst-case scenario?” you asked knowing you’d regret it. Dr. Reed hesitated.

“He could have died.” She kept talking but you couldn’t listen. It was all a blur.

 He’s alive, he’s alive, you reminded yourself. You took an uneven breath.

“Can I see him?” The doctor nodded. 

“You can, he may still be a bit woozy from the pain killers.” You muttered a thank you and collected your things, and allowed the doctor to escort you to his room. Your felt half dead but you kept walking.  Remembering the path from earlier you found room 206 easily. 

Without bothering to knock you pushed the door halfway open. His eyes were glassy and drooped. At the sight of you, he tried to scramble up to a sitting position but failed. He helplessly fell back onto his bed. 

That’s when you opened the door completely to see a cavity where his left arm was supposed to be. You held in a gasp. You dropped your art things in a chair and rushed to his side.

“Are you alright?” you asked.

“Mmmm, were you worried?” His voice sounded sloppy and uncontrolled. Like he’d just woken from a year’s nap.

“Yeah, a little,” you replied with endearment, the ends of your mouth twitching upwards. Bucky proceeded to GIGGLE. To say that was amusing would’ve been an understatement. That was until he grabbed you by your shirt and pulled you closer to him.

He whispered loudly, “Can I tell you a secret?” You smiled and answered expecting a stupid, drugged joke.

“Sure Buck.” He somehow pulled you even closer. You could feel his breath. His lips parted.

“It wasn’t a freak accident.” You pulled back, alarmed.

“What?” He shushed you.

“My marketing agent and I have been arguing for a while. Tonight he got super mad at mee,” he said with childlike movements, elongating each syllable. You were frozen in place as you listened.

“Cause the tabloids heard me talking to youuu. They think you’re my girlfriend, but that would ruin my brand as a playboy. Or that’s what he says,” he continued.

“My agent found out and we started to argue. When I wasn’t looking he,” He looked around jerkily. 

“You promise not to tell?” He questioned. At this point, you were very freaked out.

“Uh, yeah, of course. What-what’d he do?” He looked at you, obviously not understanding the weight of what he was saying. He opened his mouth to speak.

“My marketing agent broke the vase on me.” 

Oh shit.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“Shouldn’t you tell the police? Like right now?” you said, starting to panic.

“He’ll be long gone by now anyway.” He began to drift off. 

“No, wait--” It was no use. He nuzzled into his shoulder and proceeded to fall unconscious again. You were hyperventilating.

What were you supposed to do now?

sorry this chapter took so long! my internet went down for a couple days :( anyways, feedback is always welcome! thanks for reading!

series masterlist ~ part 1~ part 2 ~