#Tumblr only recognizes the first five tags for searching purposes but

[fadingstrawberrynightmare]

order of writing. below is first. tags second. picture of text from friend and text after it are last.

by anticipating my needs when you thought I was distressed you are continuing to carve a place in my heart

I do think I would be at my best with two. specifically these two.

my friend is right. but do I even have the capacity to employ this in a way that allows me to enjoy you in all of the ways that I want

[zktop10]

Author Feature: MarkedMage

Here we are a week late

MarkedMage (on Tumblr as @markedmage​ ) is next up on our feature list. 

I normally hide ~saucy~ fics under the cut but that kinda defeats the purpose so here is my message for minors:

This list includes fanfics that are not suitable for minors. Please recognize that adult content is contained within some of the links and they are not meant for you. This is merely done to showcase the work of one author. Reader discretion is advised.

For the rest of us, please check out the fics and share the love!

Title: And Maybe We're Like Fire and Ice Rated: M Summary: It's an easy kind of love, the way Zuko loves her, and the way she loves him. It's simple in the way a turtleduck needs a pond to swim, the way a dragon needs fire to breathe. How the airbenders rely on the wind to carry them to the highest turrets on the temples, how the blood in the human body needs the heart to live. It's simple in the way fire ignites the world, and water soothes the burn. Like yin and yang, push and pull, hot and cold, ice and fire. Score: 8.8 / 10 Rated M One Shots: 5.3 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Smut, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Post Canon

Title: With Calloused Hands (I Tasted the Softness of the Moon) Rated: T Summary: They stay there in silence for a moment, a ragtag group of people from all corners of the world, pulled together to save it. Two Water Tribe siblings, one a strategic genius and the other master waterbender; a Kyoshi Warrior, fierce and beautiful like her namesake; the world’s greatest earthbender, and the Avatar, the last airbender. Katara opens her eyes and looks down at the one person who has brought them together in Caldera city. Her burning boy, her brilliant flame, the Fire Prince who took lightning for her.

Katara and Zuko, and what comes after. Score: 8.4 / 10 Rated T One Shots: 8.5 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Post Canon

Title: A Quiet Collision of Destinies Rated: M Summary: Later she’ll touch her lips and realize that kissing Zuko is like watching a new constellation form; awe inspiring and breathtaking, igniting a fire within her belly and making the stars dance in her eyes.

Zutara week, day one: Reunion

Part 1 of The Moon and All Her Stars Score: 8.2 / 10 Rated  One Shots: 3.4 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Zutara Week, Series, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Smut

Title: Ten Truths Rated: T Summary: Something pushes at the edges of Zuko’s consciousness. He remembers all those moments with Katara, the moments of shared silence where she waited, patiently, until he was ready to talk. He remembers how she pulled each little truth from his lips with just her gentle gaze and her willingness to listen without judgment. He remembers how they learned to trust again, in the simple breaths where truth became reality, where he talked and she listened. He looks at her again, sees the gentleness in her eyes, and knows it is time. He’s ready. Score: 8.1 / 10 Rated M One Shot: 8.0 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Zutara Month

Title: i can feel it in my bones Rated: E Summary: Zuko's not planning to get drunk tonight. However, his demise comes in the form of tantalizing brown skin and deep blue eyes, and well, he's never been good at keeping promises.

Zutara week, day three: Fuse

Part 3 of The Moon and All Her Stars Part 2 of Modern dorks Score: 7.5 / 10 Rated E One Shots: 0.8 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Zutara Week, Alternate Universe, Modern Setting, Series

Title: i've been so many places (but you're the one i run home to) Rated: T Summary: “You have the greatest love story ever told,” Yue says. “You have been able to love the same person across two different lifetimes. It’s a love that exceeds time, lasting longer than tomorrow and farther than eternity. The love Oma and Shu held for each other carried on to this lifetime, but it is the love between you, Katara, and Zuko, that keeps it going.”

This is the tale of Oma and Shu. This is the tale of Katara and Zuko.

Zutara week, day seven: Rebirth

Part 7 of The Moon and All Her Stars Score: 7.4 / 10 Rated T One Shots: 7.2 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Zutara Week, Reincarnation, Series

Title: just relax (the world isn't watching) Rated: E Summary: Katara's first time. Someone's a little nervous.

(Hint: and it ain't Katara.)

Zutara week, day five: Hesitancy

Part 5 of The Moon and All Her Stars Score: 7.3 / 10 Rated E One Shots: 0.7 / 10 Tags: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Zutara Week, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, Post Canon, Smut, Series

Title: Urano Metria Rated: T Summary: "You gave me the stars."

Zutara week, day four: Celestial

Part 4 of The Moon and All Her Stars Score: 6.9 / 10 Rated T One Shot: 6.6 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Zutara Week, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Post Canon, Proposal, Series

Title: You Never Walk Alone Rated: T Summary: "To me, you're my world, but to the world, I wanted you to be seen as you are, my equal."

Zutara Week, day two: Counterpart

Part 2 of The Moon and All Her Stars Score: 6.4 / 10 Rated T One Shot: 6.1 / 10 Tags: One Shot, Zutara Week, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Post Canon, Series

Title: and you can have this heart to hold Rated: T Summary: "You got me a wolf."

"I did."

She searches his gaze, blue boring into gold. "Why?" She asks, voice soft like starlight.

He cups her cheek, and she leans in, eyes closing. When she opens them again, he's got a fond look on his face, a gentle, crooked smile, reserved only for her, touching his lips, and he strokes his thumb along the noble arch of her cheekbone.

"You know why," he murmurs, and leans in to kiss her again.

Zutara week, day six: Affirm

Part 6 of The Moon and All Her Stars Score: 6.2 / 10 Rated T One Shot: 5.8 / 10 Tags: Zutara Week, Alternate Universe, Canon Divergence, Post Canon, Series

[writing-with-olive]

Expanding your reach

There’s been a lot of talk in writeblr recently (and for a while now) about the importance of interacting with other people’s posts beyond just dropping a like and keep scrolling, and while that is important for helping creators grow their reach, there are actually a few things you can do yourself that can also help. 

*note: this is in no way meant to replace the conversation about interacting with others, nor is it meant to blame creators for not having reach because that sentiment is toxic and unproductive. Rather, it’s tips creators can choose to impliment or not in addition to the ask that people do more to interact.

Anyyywaayyy...

1) Tag your shit 

Tumblr’s search algorithm works pretty much exclusively on tags (it’ll sometimes put things on your dash based on people you follow, but don’t rely on that). Basically, the more tags you put, the easier it is for people to stumble across.

The first five tags on your post will be the ones that will make your post show up in tags people follow (for example, if someone follows #writing advice and that tag is in your first five, it will show up in that person’s tracked tags). A general rule of thumb is to put popular tags in your first five. For writing, those might be (#writing, #writeblr, #spilled ink, #writing humor, #writing advice, etc). Which tags you choose will depend on the content of your post.

The first twenty tags (including the first five described above) will show up when you put something into the search bar. When it comes to these, do not hold back. The more tags you put, the more likely it is for someone to see it. Key think: make sure tags are relevant to your post. If you tag a post that’s an advice post about worldbuilding and tag it #writing memes, you’re not going to gain a lot of traction based off the tag because people will search that looking for -- you guessed it -- Writing memes! 

All tags on your post will show up in the blog navigation search bar, so if you have specific tags for say, original posts or something, the place to put that is often after your original twenty tags if you have a lot.

Another important thing: tags on reblogs don’t show up EXCEPT within a specific person’s blog! This is to keep popular duplicates from showing up in the main search engine but it also means that if you don’t have any tags on your post, the only way it’s going to get passed around is through reblogs and we’ve all heard how that’s going.

(more tips below the break)

2) Reblog your own stuff

This is one that helped me a lot when I was getting started, though now I don’t do it as often. BUT it is seriously 100% okay to reblog your own stuff. Like with tagging, it helps with visibility, as it pulls it to the top of your dash, and it slaps it on all of your follower’s dashboards.

Similarly, if there’s a post you’re especially proud of, don’t be afraid to pin it (click on the three little dots in the top corner to get a dropdown with the option to pin your post). This won’t necessarily make it easier to stumble across, but it will be the first thing visitors to your blog will see.

3) Be consistant (depending on what style blog you run and its purpose, this one can be optional)

This is more aimed at increasing follower count than reblog count, but more followers usually means increased chance of reblogs, at least in some capacity.

People are frequently drawn to blogs because they are drawn to the content. People also frequently don’t reblog things they don’t like. Basically consistancy will help with visibility because people are more likely to engage in content they signed up for. 

Personally, I have also found that having a regular posting schedule/clear hiaitus posts to be helpful as well so that people don’t assume you’re a dead blog. Your posting schedule, should you choose to impliment it, can be whatever you want (schedule post/queue makes it fairly easy to post on time), though I would recommend putting the schedule in your bio or somewhere where people can see that you have a posting schedule. With hiaitus, what I do that works for me is make a post saying I’m going on hiaitus for at least X time and that I will update on X date. I also put in the tags what date I posted it. This can help assure your audience that you’re not a dead blog, while still being able to take time away for yourself because PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOUR MENTAL HEALTH!

4) Interact with others and be a part of the community

Two reasons for this: a) you can’t expect others to interact with you if you don’t interact with them. b) the more you interact, the more likely it is for them to see you and possibly check out your blog.

Some ways to interact: 

Comment

Reblog

Take part in tag games (no one’s going to get mad if you jump in without actually being tagged - go for it!)

Send people asks and take part in ask games 

Ask to be put on taglists

If you’re posting content that involves taglists, let people know that they can join if they want - (they’ll get regular updates when you post, so they’re more likely to see your stuff)

5) Make your blog a nice place to be

I’m not talking about the aesthetic so much (though do what you think looks good), as I am talking about how you conduct yourself when you’re on your blog. 

Some good things to do are:

Being friendly and respectful

Giving people the benifit of the doubt

Avoiding snarky responses or answers (sarcasm is okay, as long is it’s clear that it’s lighthearted and not intended to be hurtful or mean)

Avoiding posting or spreading offensive, harmful, or dehumanizing content

Avoiding pointless or toxic drama

Basically, once people associate you as not a nice person, or not someone they want to interact with, they won’t interact with you (except sometimes to antagonize), and you are probably never going to win them back. So if you have to take out your frustration, do it away from your blog, and preferably somewhere that isn’t public because a) no one likes that, and b) it will never make you look good.

But say you do mess up - you realize you’ve hurt somebody without meaning to, or you’ve done something that just wasn’t okay. Then what?

Apologize. If you’re realizing what you did on your own, make a post explaining

that you’re sorry for what you did

you understand why it’s hurtful (explain the why)

what your intentions were (if that’s relevant, sometimes it’s not)

that you recognize that your intentions and what happened did not match

if there is something to do to fix what was done beyond apologizing, explain what you will do.

If someone else called you out on it, do the same thing as you did above, and also remember not to get super defensive. If you believe you were not in the wrong, do a bit of research before responding - you may have crossed a line you didn’t know existed. If you do that research and you still believe that they’re wrong, do not attack them, and PLEASE be civil with your response. Otherwise you’re going to get swept up into petty drama with a lot of big feelings involved and that never ends well.

Remember - apologies are not meant to be ways to get attention, and you should not do the whole “wo is me” gig - it undermines the whole point. Instead, it’s about recognising that you messed up, and doing what you can to make repairs. 

6) Celebrate your wins

Maybe one of your posts did really well, or you get to a certain follower count - don’t be afraid to celebrate!

This can be something like a post saying “I just reached x-milestone, I’m so excited!”

Or you can do something special. For example, when I got to a follower milestone, I did a bonus post every day for the week.

Remember that it’s not about “we have to get to x-milestone in order to do the thing,” but it’s “hey we did the think that’s awesome!”

I know this post got long, so I appreciate that you’ve stuck with me this far - I hope you have a wonderful day :)

[captcas]

Worth Fighting For (8/?)

WORTH FIGHTING FOR by capthamm

Killian “Hook” Jones is a dominate up and comer in the UFC while Emma “The Savior” Swan’s career was cut short. When Hook’s manager moves up and the office brings in UFC’s youngest legend to keep him in check, will either of them be able to handle it?

read on ao3 // tumblr: ch 1/ ch 2 / ch 3 / ch 4 / ch 5 / ch 6 / ch 7

[CHAPTER 8/?]

Nervous is an understatement– no, it’s the understatement... of the century. The ride up was easy, she purposely cancelled their check in meeting yesterday to be sure they at least had work to talk about for the two hour car ride. Her plan worked, and their conversation rarely shifted into anything remotely personal. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be friends with him, but this entire “weekend away” will be easier if they keep things strictly business. She was reluctant to text him last night– typing and retyping her messages a dozen times. All it took was five minutes of back and forth and all her nerves settled and she found them talking in an easy rhythm.

She doesn’t want to analyze what that means.

Emma isn’t sure what to expect for the rest of this weekend, but as Killian pulls the car up to the lobby of the hotel Regina booked for them, she feels like she wants to vomit. She hasn’t stepped within 5 miles of a UFC event since she found out she was pregnant with Henry and while she knows most of the focus will be on the fighters, she can’t help the pang of anxiety at the thought someone might recognize her.

Killian parks and tells her that he’ll unload the car if she doesn’t mind checking them in. She nods and he smiles brightly, seemingly oblivious to her nerves. The hotel is nothing fancy, your standard Holiday Inn, but it does have a lobby bar which she’ll definitely need after tonight.

People are definitely going to recognize her. Breathe.

She walks up to the front desk and a sleepy-looking man clicking behind the computer. She has to clear her throat to snap him out of his tired trance. “Oh, good morning, ma’am. How can I help you?” He punctuates his sentence with a yawn and Emma chuckles to herself.

“I’d like to check-in me and my, uh, co-worker, please. The rooms should be under Mills?”

The man nods and types a few things into the computer. “Ah yes, a double room for Mills Management already paid in full. I presume you are Miss Swan?”

“Yup, that’s me. There should be a second room for a Mr. Jones… under the same reservation?” The man furrows his eyebrows and Emma’s stomach drops– this cannot be happening.

“I’m sorry Miss Swan, I only see one reservation under that name.”

Emma sighs and searches for her company card, “That’s no problem, could we just book a second room please?” As she finishes her sentence, she feels Killian at her side.

“Everything alright, Swan?” She nods. She catches herself subconsciously fidgeting with the sleeve of her jacket while the tired gentleman continues to click away on his computer and knows she doesn’t have the resolve to explain what’s going on right now to Killian.

When the worker finally speaks, Emma’s fear materializes in front of her, “I’m sorry, Miss. It seems we are full tonight, there’s some sporting event here this weekend that’s had us booked up for a while. That’s probably why your company could only get one room…”

Emma feels Killian stiffen at her side once he realizes what’s going on. She’s surprised when he speaks, “Surely you must have something available, mate. A last minute cancellation?”

The man shakes his head, “I’m sorry, sir. Yours is the last room.”

Emma walks away from the counter, the world suddenly seeming rather small. She hears Killian ask the front desk worker for a moment before she sees him sit next to her. When did she sit down?

Killian grabs the tip of her chin, forcing her to look at him. She swears there’s a spark at his touch, not to mention how comforting his presence is overall— get it together, Emma. He’s speaking but she hasn’t been paying attention, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I simply said we can find another hotel, love. I’m sorry this was all messed up, Swan. I can call Regina and get this figured out.”

The genuine care in his eyes, and probably the overuse of those damn pet names, is the only possible explanation for what she says next. “It’s fine.”

Killian practically falls off the uncomfortable lobby couch they’re sharing. “I’m sorry, love?”

“It’s fine. I mean, as long as it’s fine with you, I’m fine. We’re both adults, right? And we drove all the way here and no other hotel is going to have space, plus weigh-ins are in an hour so we don’t really have time… I’m just saying it’s all we’ve got and we’ll be fine. I can take the couch or we can switch off or we can just be fucking adults and– if you want to cut me off that’d be great?” She’s used to him stopping her babbling but he’s just staring at her like her face is melting.

He shakes his head and it seems to bring him back to reality, “Sorry, love. Aye, you’re right. It’ll be fine.”  She can’t help but let out a rather obnoxious laugh when his hand immediately finds the back of his ear. The tips of his ears turn bright red as his hand snaps back to his lap. “Uh, right then. I’ll go talk to the front desk then, aye?”

All she can do is nod. Emma’s not sure what came over her, but for a split second sharing a room with Killian didn’t seem like that bad of an idea– she’d be lying if she said her opinion changed in the following seconds. She sort of zones out, probably in some sort of rash decision shock, until Killian is back by her side, this time with a pair of keys and their suitcases.

The rush of disappointment that runs through her when she thinks he actually managed to get two seperate rooms is honestly ridiculous. “Oh, uh, did they end up having an extra room?”

Killian looks confused until he follows her eyes to the two keys in his hand, “No, lass, just thought it best we both have a key.”

She sighs with what she refuses to recognize as  relief and seriously hopes Killian can’t read the actual minefield happening in her head right now. “Oh, ha, duh! Should we drop our stuff off and head out then?”

He eyes her warily– most likely shocked she agreed to this at all, let alone is handling it so well, “Aye, lass. Room #404. Let’s go.” He smiles at her and her stomach does another flop. She tells herself what she told Killian, they’re adults they can handle bunking together for two nights, but she ignores the overwhelming feeling of anticipation in her chest that won’t seem to settle down.

. . .

As they walk back to the car after dropping luggage in their room– their room – Killian is still replaying the last ten minutes in his head. He subtly pinches himself to make sure this isn’t some crazy dream he’s about to wake up from.

He knows it’s not— the slight brush of her knuckles against his as the walk is the realest thing he’s felt in ages.

Fuck.

The car ride to the weigh-ins is more awkward than Killian thought it’d be, about halfway through, he can’t help but break the silence, “Look, Swan, I know this isn’t ideal. I can call Regina and we can surely figure–”

“I’m terrified to step foot in the arena again.”

He’s a bit shocked at her confession; he’s grateful, but unsure why Emma keeps letting him in. She’s playing with her sleeve again and he can’t help but reach over and stop her— her fingers automatically wrap around his and he feels every ounce of oxygen leave his body. Somehow he manages to speak, “Swan, it’s going to be ok.”

“How can you be so sure? What if people start asking questions? What if I accidentally slip up about Henry? What if this is a total disaster?” She’s looking at him like he holds all the answers and while he’s positive he doesn’t, for her he’d try to figure out anything.

“None of those things are going to happen, love. You’re going to be a brilliant manager and -should you want to be- a happy sight for UFC die-hards, and when this is all over, you’ll go back to being a secret super mom. I have no doubt.” Killian’s not sure he’s capable of doubting Emma.

She’s smiling now— it’s soft and humble but it’s a smile all the same. She looks down, studying the end of her sleeve intently before speaking quietly, “You really think so?” Killian can feel her looking at him again— his senses continually on high alert when she’s around.

He checks the road before briefly finding her eyes— he needs her to know he’s sincere, “I have yet to see you fail.” She looks stunned at first— perhaps still not used to being believed in and he can’t help but wonder what made her this way— but then she nods resolutely and he feels as though he’s succeeded at least minuscully. It isn’t until she squeezes his hand, in a silent sign of appreciation, that he realizes it’s still entwined in hers. He squeezes back before giving her a soft smile that he hopes conveys everything he knows she's still too skittish to hear aloud— and he’s too afraid to admit. She smiles back and turns to look out the window.

He’s fascinated at the way they can communicate without saying a word.

The rest of the relatively quick drive is quiet, but comfortable unlike before. He practically felt the tension leave the car and when he turns into the parking lot, for Emma’s sake, he silently hopes it doesn’t return. It’s not that he is annoyed or unwilling to help her, but rather that it pains him to see Emma so unsure of herself— especially when he’s never been so sure of someone in his life.

This enigma of a woman turned his world upside down in a matter of two weeks, and while that should scare the hell out of him, he finds himself excited by all the what ifs.

Killian pays the parking attendant and finds a relatively close spot. He turns the car off but decides to let Emma lead— noticing she’s giving herself one hell of a mental pep talk in that passenger seat. In a feeble attempt not to rush her, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through the UFC tag on Twitter. It’s mostly predictions for match ups and betting on whether or not Nottingham will actually make weight but it keeps him busy until she finally speaks up.

“Ok, let’s go.”

He looks up and can read the nerves all over her face, “You’re ready, Swan?”

“As I’ll ever be.” She gives him the same determined nod from before and gets out of the car. He follows suit and takes a deep breath before walking with her towards the arena. He uses the short trek to fall into character, almost forgetting to be “Hook” in Emma’s presence.

She makes it so easy to be just Killian— to want to be just Killian.

They take one more deep breath in unison before walking through the large glass doors into the brightly lit arena.

. . .

The first thing she notices is the familiar smell of concession food, followed closely by the absolute blinding light of the arena’s fluorescents. She resists the urge to grab Killian’s hand like she did in the car, but she could really use a sturdy reminder she’s not alone. She hazards a glance to her side, the reminder of his presence enough for now. They make it maybe 300 feet without anything happening.

Then, with the flash of a camera, it feels like everything is happening at once.

“Miss Swan!” “Over here!” “Savior!” “Emma Swan!” “Why did you leave?” “Why come back now?” “Why Hook?” “Hook!” “Jones!” “Mr. Jones, quick question!” “Swan! Jones! Right here!”

It’s worse than she imagined and she can’t help but wish she had somewhere to hide. Sometimes it’s a good thing Killian can practically read her mind.

She feels him tower over her and her nose bumps into his back. “Stay behind me, Swan. It’ll be alright.” She nods against him as he pushes through the crowd. She hears him mutter a few “excuse me”s and “no comment”s, not giving the press much of anything. He’s also doing a good job of remaining mostly calm. As his manager, she should probably be encouraging him to talk to the press, but it’s hard to want to give them anything when they act like this. She hates the press.

He can make a statement later– right now she just wants to get to their seats.

And they do, the usher stopping the press at the entrance to their floor seats. As soon as they walk through the tunnel, Killian finds his place back at her side and she smiles at him gratefully, not sure she’s calm enough to form words right now. He makes sure she’s settled before sitting next to her.  “You alright, Swan? I despise those bloody pricks.”

She chuckles, his words mimicking her thoughts almost exactly, “Ha, me too. No harm, no foul though.” Emma watches the tension leave his body and can’t help but notice the muscles in his neck relax. She realizes she’s staring and speaks up to fill the void between them, “Thank you, by the way.” She looks away, not used to being taken care of by someone other than the Nolan’s or Ruby.

“Don’t mention it, love. Now I should probably make some sort of statement–” He scratches behind his ear, seemingly hesitant to leave her.

“Yeah, for sure… I suppose I should be telling you that.” He smiles and she nods, an unspoken reassurance that she’ll be alright.

It takes almost a half hour before Killian returns, Emma is nose deep in predictions for tomorrow night’s card and jumps when he clears his throat. “Jesus, Killian. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Apologies, lass. Your purse seems to be saving my seat.” She laughs as she moves her purse– studying him as he sits. Killian seems to be in a much better mood than before and she hopes that means his statement went well.

“How’d it go?” She’s not sure why she says it so nervously, but she can’t help but feel this intense energy between them whenever there isn’t something concrete to talk about. It’s weirdly comforting and not at all unwelcome.

Another thing that scares the shit out of her.

“Quite alright, Swan. Don’t worry, Regina won’t fire you yet.” He winks and she realizes she wasn’t asking as his manager but rather as a genuinely curious friend. She supposes she should be more focused on her actual job than the man she’s supposed to be doing it for, but she can’t seem to shake him. She doesn’t want to. She rolls her eyes and he smiles brighter. “In all seriousness, love. It went well. I talked up my brilliant new manager and how excited I am to get back into the octagon.”

She stiffens at the mention of her, nervous the questioning went further than she’d like it to. She trusts Killian, but the paparazzi are brutal.  “Relax, Swan. I didn’t take any questions.” He has this uncanny knack for always knowing what to say– and what not to say. He ends the conversation and steers it into more comfortable waters, “Popcorn?”

She snorts, not realizing he’s had a red and white striped bag in his hand this entire time, “Thanks, but isn’t concession popcorn a huge step outside your strict training diet?”

He throws his head back in a genuine laugh Emma’s only been able to witness a handful of times, “Yes, Swan. Butter and salt are most definitely not allowed.” His gaze turns sincere and Emma can’t help but gulp a bit. “I didn’t do it for me.”

She knows on the surface they’re talking about the popcorn, but deep down, she also knows he’s implying so much more. Everytime Killian talks, it’s laced with innuendos and double meanings, and while Emma should be scared that those double meanings are becoming more heartfelt than flirty, she can’t find it in her to be anything but excited. For someone who has run her entire life, her heart seems pretty intent on staying right here. It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and as weigh-ins begin, she finds comfort in his presence, completely forgetting about the fact they’re headed back to the same hotel room and into uncharted waters.

[donteattheappleshook]

Stone Hearts Chapter 9

Down to the wire with this one! Working from home is somehow making it harder for me to find time to write!

I apologise in advance, I decided to explore Killian’s point of view and... it only made it angstier. 

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

Summary:

Emma should have known. She should have known that they couldn’t just go to the underworld and not suffer any consequences. She should have known they’d bring something back with them.

Cannon Divergent after 5x21 Last Rites. No Hyde. No serum. No Evil Queen split. No prophecy. No season 6.

Read from the beginning on Ao3 or FFn because tumblr eats all my italics.

Rated E

Chapter 9

When my time comes around / Lay me gently in the cold dark earth / No grave can hold my body down / I’ll crawl home to her

                                                                                  - Hozier, Work Song

It’s been six weeks. Six weeks since the King came to Storybrooke and changed their lives forever - destroyed their lives it feels like sometimes. Killian had been happy. He was pretty sure that he’d never been so happy in his entire life. Three hundred years and nothing had brought him as much joy as the moment Emma had agreed to marry him. He’d let himself live in the carefree bliss and the joy and sometimes, when he looked at her, he almost forgot all the darkness that had once been a part of his life. It was a fleeting respite but it was overwhelming. He knows now that he’s never loved this completely before and never will again. 

She’s it. She���s the one. It hadn’t been easy but that makes it all the more real, all the more powerful. He’d had to fight for her, work to make her trust him, make her believe in his love, earn her love and trust in return. And, when he had, when she’d admitted that she loved him back, he knew he'd never stop fighting for this woman. All of the darkness and the pain and the grief that had come before didn’t matter because it had led him to her, made him someone that she could rely on, and trust, and love. He would do it over again a hundred times. 

They had been so happy, so ready to start their lives together, and then it had been ripped away. She’s still here, he reminds himself as he glances over at where Emma is sitting with David, likely planning their next move, their next plan of attack. She’s not gone. She’s safe. 

Her face is puckered in a frown, one that she’s been wearing far too often since that terrible day. Six weeks ago they were laying in bed, dreamily debating an elopement. Now, they’re hiding out in the mines under Storybrooke, taking turns keeping watch, on edge every second of every day and every night. Six weeks ago his only purpose in life was to make Emma Swan as happy as humanly possible. Now he has a new one. To keep her safe, to keep her alive, keep her fighting, and to keep her… Emma. He won’t let the darkness and the tragedy that has swallowed their lives break her. He could never forgive himself if he did. 

She is everything. She and Henry and the few people they still have left. He knows she blames herself. She’s admitted it to him. Each time he tells her it’s not her fault. Each time she pretends she believes him. But as more and more people are lost to the Horned King and the Crocodile’s army, he can see the weight on her shoulders growing, pressing down on her and trying to snuff out the light in her heart. He’d told her once that it was his job to protect her heart and he’s not going to give up his post now. Not ever.

He walks over to where she sits, places a hand on her shoulder. He can feel how tense her muscles are under his fingers. Six weeks. They’ve lost so many people. There were nearly twenty of them when they first ran from the chaos on the street, the first attack. Now they're five. Emma, Henry, David, Ruby, and himself. Granny had been with them too until a few nights ago. They’d been discovered, hiding in the basement of her restaurant. She’d gone out in a blaze of crossbow arrows - just as she’d have liked it, Ruby said. 

They’ve been in the mines for three days now. For the moment they’ve managed to remain hidden. Nowhere is truly safe, their best bet is to keep moving. He can tell Emma is already inching to go. But Killian can see how tired Henry is - David too - though neither of them would ever admit it. But it was enough to convince Emma to wait one more night. Their hiding place is a gamble. The mines are a series of narrow tunnels and wider ones that make up rooms. They’re in one of those rooms now, one that has six narrow passages stemming from it, like spider’s legs, with them in the body. Their choice offers them half a dozen escape routes, but also provides just as many entrance points for any who wish them harm. 

Killian doesn’t trust the beams either. There are hundreds of them, lining the walls of the tunnels, working to keep them from caving in. He’d inspected the wood when they’d first arrived, noticed how old and splintered they are. He recognizes the early signs of rot in some and the later stages in others. Years of life at sea has trained him to be weary of age and decay in wood. He tries to ignore it but it feels like a bad omen, hovering over him. A warning. But everything feels like a warning these days. 

Their lives are strange now - always on high alert. He feels as though they’re back in the jungles of Neverland and, while that is the place he fell in love with Emma, he had no wish to ever return to that way of life. They sleep in shifts, eat only when they have to and perform raids for food and supplies whenever they run short. Their raids more often than not involve Gold’s shop and Regina’s crypt, looking for a cure to the curse. They’ve spent hours pouring over books and spells and even stories. But it's been fruitless. They’re no closer to saving their family and their friends than they were six weeks ago. 

Emma has put up protection charms on all the access points to the mines. Every time he watches her do it, there’s a twisting in his gut. He can see how it drains her, the toll it takes on her body. But he doesn’t dare ask her to stop. He knows she wouldn't. She needs to protect them, feels she is responsible and therefore all of their safety is her burden. All he can do is support her, offer her encouragement and his unwavering belief in her. And, when she needs it, he welcomes her into his arms, hoping that he’s doing something, no matter how small, to make her feel safe. He loves her, loves her strength and her vulnerability and her intelligence and everything that makes her Emma. And he’ll do everything in his power to make sure she stays Emma. No matter what the cost to himself.

"You should be sleeping, Love," he reminds her gently as David gives him a nod and walks away to check on Henry. They both know Emma can take care of herself. She’s strong and has been independent her whole life. But they also both know how easily she can give up on herself. He knows that while David’s nod might be interpreted as merely an acknowledgement, it really means ‘I trust you - watch out for her’. 

“Uh huh,” she says dismissively and he knows she hasn’t heard a word he’s said. She might not even realize that it’s him talking. He looks over her shoulder to see what has her so preoccupied. A spellbook. He’s not surprised. She’d been driving herself mad looking for a cure for weeks. She was so sure that they could find a way to save everyone. But as their numbers dwindled he noticed that her search changed. She’s looking for a way out. He knows it's not for her. He knows she won't leave, no matter how much he might beg and plead with her to save herself. She will stay until her last breath, fight until her last breath. He won’t let that happen. He’ll die before he lets anything happen to her. 

He circles around the rock that she’s perched on, kneeling before her and trying to look at her face which is bent over the book in her hand. Her brow is turned down again. There are dark circles under her eyes. He tries to think back to the last time she slept. It’s been too long. Last night she hadn’t slept at all. The night before he’d convinced her to lay down with him for a little while but he was woken less than an hour later by her standing again, finding something to do. She needs to sleep. He reaches out and takes the tome from her hands. 

“Hey!” she snaps, probably noticing him for the first time. His lips tick up at her fire. She’s still in there. Her face relaxes a bit when she sees it’s him, but she looks at him like a petulant child who’s about to protest bedtime. He almost laughs. It’s not far from the truth. 

“The book will still be here in a few hours.” He sets it down behind him, intentionally placing it out of her reach. She narrows her eyes at him - she sees right through him and he loves that about her. 

“I just need a little longer. I’m almost done.” She sounds like an addict and it twists his heart to see her like this. He cups her cheek in his palm and her breath leaves her in a soft sigh. It’s almost immediate, his touch seeming to bring her back to reality, calm whatever storm is raging inside of her. This is his sole purpose now, to be a lighthouse in a dark sea, to bring her back safe. He runs his thumb over the purple smudges beneath her eyes. 

“When was the last time you slept?” She looks a little disgruntled and he nearly laughs. He’s reminded of the Underworld then, of how raw she’d ran herself in an attempt to save him. Now she has a whole town to save. “I can’t remember,” he pushes. “Can you?” 

“No,” she admits a little grudgingly. 

“Then perhaps it’s time you let Ruby take a shift, close your eyes for a moment.”  

“I just…” she starts and he can see tears welling up in her eyes. It breaks his heart. His beautiful Emma, his strong Emma, beaten down not by a villain but by her own self-loathing and guilt. 

“I know,” he says softly. She doesn’t have to explain.

“It’s my fault,” she starts and he can feel her shaking, knows she won’t be able to keep her tears at bay much longer. 

He shushes her, leans in so he can press his cheek to hers, place a kiss to her temple. He feels her grab hold of his jacket, turning her face into his neck. “It’s not your fault, Emma.” 

She pushes back and he braces himself for it. They’ve had this fight before. They’ll have it again. It doesn’t matter. He will never not fight her on this. It isn’t her fault. He knows each time she says it she’s hoping for confirmation, looking for a reason to blame herself more, to hate herself more. He won’t give it to her. 

“How can you say that,” she growls, letting her anguish out but still trying to keep her voice down. “I’m the sheriff! I’m the savior!” She speaks the last word with disgust and venom in her voice. “People were dying around me.” He doesn’t correct her. A part of him still believes that they can save them, perhaps it’s because he’s been around magic longer, has seen what it can do, the depths of its power. Perhaps it’s because he’s been around her, seen what she can do. But she’d started referring to their stolen friends as dead a week ago. 

“And I was too busy to notice,” she spits. “Too busy living in my own little world, running off and getting engaged, getting fucking love tattoos while people were dying.” Her words sting. He knows she doesn’t regret their engagement, doesn’t regret their commitment, but he can’t help the sharp pain in his heart as she blames their love for what happened, resents it. It must show on his face because a second later her hands take hold of his jaw, turn his eyes up to hers. “I’m sorry,” she sighs, her voice cracking. “I didn’t mean it.” 

He presses his forehead to hers. “I know,” he promises. Her hands drop back to his shirt.

“I just don’t know what else to do.” Her voice is so small, so desperate and vulnerable that it nearly breaks her heart. “What if I’m not enough this time?” There it is. She’s still holding him to her and he feels as though she’s trying to physically draw strength from him. He’ll gladly give her anything he has - anything she can take. It’s hers. He’s hers. He has been since she held a dagger to his damn throat. Whatever she needs, whatever she wants, it’s hers. And if now she needs his strength then he’ll give it to her the only way he knows how. 

“Then just be Emma Swan. Keep Henry in one piece. Keep Ruby from forgetting what it is to be human. Keep your father from doing anything stupid.” There’s a small, watery uptick in her lips and it lightens the heaviness in his chest to see it. “And come to bed so your fiance can get some bloody sleep.” Her laugh is weak and still sounds more like a sob, but she lets out a heavy breath, letting out all the anxiety and fear she’d been holding in. “You’ll figure this out, Love. I have nothing but faith in you. Not because you’re the sheriff or the savior. Because you’re Emma.” 

 She presses her forehead to his, nods lightly. They stay that way for just a moment, long enough for her to compose herself, to maintain the illusion that everyone doesn’t know how much she’s struggling. When he thinks she’s ready he stands and she lets him pull her up with him. 

Emma looks at her feet as they make their way to the pile of blankets and camping mats they’ve improvised into a sleeping corner. She’s practically asleep on her feet already, as though giving her body permission to relax was the breaking point for her exhaustion to fully consume her. Killian makes eye contact with the other three members of their party. They all offer him respective indications of appreciation and understanding. He knows they’ll keep watch, figure out who’s turn it is. They’re all just as thankful as he is to see her finally agree to rest. 

They reach the makeshift beds and Killian lays down first, taking her hand and coaxing her down until she lays next to him. She moves like a zombie, sinking onto the blankets with her eyes half open and curling onto her side. He reaches down, unlaces and pulls off her boots one at a time but doesn’t try to get her jacket off. Let her keep her armor on now. She needs it. He finds the softest blanket he can and drapes it over her, making sure she’s tucked in properly before he lays down beside her and pulls her to him, pressing her back to his chest. 

She’s already asleep. He places a kiss to her shoulder, another to the shell of her ear. He can’t help himself. Having her here in his arms is a reminder that she’s safe, that she’s alive, that she’s here with him. He’s being as strong as he can for her but the truth is he’s terrified. Terrified of losing her, of losing Henry, David, Ruby. His friendships in town may have been new but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t grieve their loss. Granny had always been kind to him. Snow had become one of his biggest supporters when others or he himself doubted his and Emma’s relationship. He can’t remember the last time he saw Belle. 

He pulls Emma even closer, holds on tighter. Not for her this time, for him. He takes her presence, the warmth of her in his arms, as a small selfish comfort. He knows she wouldn’t mind. They’ll fix this. They’ll save their friends, their family. He has to believe it because if he doesn’t then Emma won’t either. His belief wavers though so he focuses on his belief in her. He finds her fingers poking out of the blanket, laces his own through them. Her fingers close over his even in sleep. Above all else, he believes in her. 

***

He’s woken suddenly by David’s hand on his shoulder. His eyes open to see the other man’s face knotted in something. It’s not fear. It’s resolve. David looks determined, prepared, ready for a fight. Killian knows what that means. It’s time to leave. It’s time to run. They’ve found them.  

“When?” is all he asks as he sits up, keeping his voice low.

“Less than a minute.” David answers. “One of Emma’s protection spells went off. We think it’s the east entrance.” 

That’s less than a quarter mile away. He reaches for Emma’s shoulder. “Emma. You need to wake up. We have to go.” She’s up in a second, running across the tunnel. 

“Where’s Henry?” 

“I’m here,” the boy announces, running to his mother’s side. 

“Everybody grab your stuff,” she orders. “We need to get out of here n-”  her words are cut off as something rolls to her feet. It’s small. He can’t quite make it out but it looks like a little, glass sphere. Emma stares at it for a second, shock taking over her, but that’s all the time it takes. He sees the smoke inside it now. But he’s not quick enough, he’s too far away. He shouts her name as the smoke glows dark purple. Emma barely has time to put her body between it and Henry before the globe shatters, sending the smoke billowing through the room. 

He runs to her, grabbing hold of Henry’s shoulder, his hook on Emma’s arm. David and Ruby are right behind him. 

“Is everyone okay?” David asks but Killian barely hears him, too focused on Emma and her son to care or notice his own wellbeing. Ruby is already in her wolf form but she gives a low howl that is interpreted as her being intact. 

“Yeah,” Henry says and Killian takes a moment to make sure he’s not putting on a brave face - checking him for cuts or burns or bruises - before turning to Emma.

“Love?” 

She looks at him, nods. “I’m fine.” The relief that courses through him is overwhelming. But it doesn’t last long. If they’re all unharmed, then what was the point of it? Was it a distraction? Some kind of curse? He doesn’t have time to deliberate it. They can hear them coming now. Their voices shouting and their steps echoing through the vast, empty spaces. 

“Grab on to each other!” Emma orders. They do as they’re told, gathering around her to make the spell as easy as possible. She shuts her eyes, concentrating. Nothing happens. He looks at her carefully, sees her frown deepen, sees her concentrate harder. Still nothing. She opens wide, panicked eyes on him. 

“What’s wrong?” David asks. 

“I don’t know. It’s not working. My magic…” She looks down at her hands, steps back. She throws an arm out towards an empty corner, away from them. Nothing happens. “Something happened to my magic.” 

He feels his heart plummet to his stomach. That’s what it was. The ball, the smoke, it’s stunned her magic, trapping them in here. “Run!” he shouts, drawing his sword. He sees David do the same, just as their attackers appear in the open mouth of the tunnel. 

“That way!” David shouts, pointing at one of the narrow passages on the other side of the cavern. They all head towards it, but before they reach it two men emerge from the opening. Ruby lunges at them, takes one down, her teeth fastened on his shoulder.

“South!” Emma shouts, pointing at another entrance. The others are starting to close in. Killian swipes at one with his sword, catches him in the side and tries not to look at the man’s face as he goes down. He hears a gunshot behind him and looks up in shock just in time to see a woman fall at his feet, a bullet wound in her shoulder and a dagger in her hand. 

He looks back where the shot came from, sees Emma standing there with her weapon raised. He nods at her in thanks before heading towards the south exit, grabbing hold of Henry on his way and pushing him along. They’ve only just reached the mouth of the tunnel when they see another five coming through the other side. 

“No good,” he shouts, desperately looking around for the next safe exit. There are two to his left and one to his right. All of them have people coming through. David and Ruby are doing their best to ward them off. The sound of Emma’s gun is deafening in his ears. He still has his hook on Henry’s shoulder, guiding him out of the way of danger. He doesn’t know how much longer they can keep them at bay. They’re outnumbered nearly five to one. Killian cuts down another attacker, feels Henry grab his dagger from his belt and lunge at someone. 

He looks to Emma who is holding her own. “Emma! Your magic,” he asks, shouting at her across the madness. She shakes her head. It’s still gone. There’s only one exit left. Only one that doesn’t have people funneling out of it, trying to kill them. He knows why. There’s nothing beyond it. Just a little opening, a dead end. Maybe, maybe they can get in there, hold the imposters off as they bottleneck through the tunnel, keep them at bay long enough for Emma’s magic to come back. Killian knows the tunnel is a hundred yards deep and only really wide enough for one person at a time, maybe two. He looks around. They don’t have many other options. 

“David!” he shouts. David meets his eye and Killian nods at the last tunnel. David looks back, takes down another man, and turns to Killian. He knows he understands. “Emma! Ruby! Follow him!” he orders. The two start backing as quickly as they can towards the narrow tunnel, cutting people down as they go. David is the first through, Ruby following closely behind. He can see Emma standing there, waiting at the entrance. 

“Emma, go!” he shouts at her as he and Henry make their way to her. 

“Not without you!” He’s not sure if she means him or Henry or both but he knows she’s not moving. Bloody stubborn woman! They reach the tunnel and Killian doesn’t waste a second, pushing her in ahead of him and then Henry next. He turns to slice at another woman with a gun as they try and run down the narrow passage. The stolen people are close behind them, cramming their way in, trying to fit as many as possible as they chase them, crawling over one another. 

Henry trips and Killian stumbles over him. Both of them are stuck on the ground for a second as two shells wearing Zelena and Lancelot’s faces grab at their ankles. Henry kicks out at them frantically and Killian can see the fear in his eyes. He slashes at their hands with his hook, piercing flesh but they seem to barely notice. He uses Henry’s technique and kicks the one holding the boy in the chest, pushing him back just enough so that Henry can get up. 

“Run!” He shouts at him. “Get to your mother!” The boy hesitates. “Go!” he roars and Henry does as he’s told. Killian gives another kick, another slash of his sword and manages to free himself, scrambling to his feet as he hurries through the tunnel. He can see them, Emma, Henry, Ruby and David, standing inside the room, waiting for the onslaught that is coming. He’s still only halfway to them. The creatures are at his heels. He’s running, twisted, as he tries to keep fighting them off and keep an eye on where he steps and ahead to the people he loves.

He meets Emma’s eyes. He looks at her, questioning, hoping, knowing she’ll understand. She flexes her fingers in front of her, tiny infinitesimal sparks shoot from her fingers and fizzle away. She looks at him with dismay, shakes her head. His heart plummets. Fuck. They’re trapped. They’ll be trapped in the tiny room as the monsters pour in, never stopping unless they’re dead and they can’t kill them. They know them. They can’t. 

Killian looks up at the beams that are spread throughout the length of the tunnel, notices their decay, their age. He knows what he has to do. A sense of peace comes over him. It doesn’t scare him like he thought it might. Maybe it’s because he’s lived so long already, already had more than his fair share of time on this earth. Maybe it’s because he’s already met his maker more than once. No, he thinks. It’s because of her. She’ll find him. He knows she will. 

He darts forward, not fighting now but just trying to put distance between himself and his enemies. He reaches the next support beam, pauses. He shouldn’t pause, he doesn’t have time. But he needs to see her, needs to look at her one last time, tell her one last time. He sees it in her eyes when she realises, sees her freeze, look at him with desperation and anger.

“Don’t you dare,” he can hear her warn him over the clamour. The chaos is deafening, he knows, but he can’t hear it. He only hears her, only sees her. It’s an appropriate choice of last words, he thinks, very fitting. He gives her the best smile he can muster, knows he can’t put everything he wants into it but that’s alright. She knows. 

“I love you,” he says before giving a swift, solid kick to the beam beside him. The wood gives easily and with it comes the tumble of rocks and earth as the mouth of the tunnel collapses around him. He steps back, putting himself between the cave-in and the attackers, holding them back, holding them off. The last thing he sees before the hands grab him is her face. He closes his eyes, keeps it in his mind, pictures every detail of every curve and soft edge and pale shade that he’s already memorized. Remember her. 

***

He woke with his heart racing in his chest, sweat soaking him, chilling him despite the heat that coursed through every muscle of his body. His hand came to his chest, grabbing it as though he could physically stop the pain in there. He looked down. He hadn’t been wounded, he had no injury to speak of. So then where was the ache and the burning in his stomach coming from? Why couldn’t he stop it? His breath was coming in fast, harsh pants and, try as he might, he couldn’t slow it. It was dark now. It took him a moment to realise that it wasn’t happening now, that it had been some kind of vision, some kind of trick while he slept.

Who had they been? He tried to remember the details of what he’d just witnessed but they were fading away. He hadn’t lived this, had no memory of it and slowly it was becoming just a medley of sights and sounds. Who were those people? Who was that man and why had he had his voice and used it to speak words that weren’t his own? 

“It’s okay. It was just a dream.”

He became aware then of a hand on his shoulder then, noticed the sounds of someone speaking. He looked to where someone else’s skin was touching his through his shirt, looked at the face the hand belonged to. It was her. The woman who made his stomach clench and his heart feel like it was trying to push its way out of his chest. He didn’t understand the way his body ached. 

Physical pain didn’t bother him. A blade or a bullet in his flesh did little more than slow him down for a moment. He could ignore it, push the sensation away and continue on. But the ache that her presence could incur wasn’t one he could ignore. He’d been wondering lately if it was even pain or some new sensation he wasn’t acquainted with. He didn’t know. He’d never experienced it before he met her. 

She’d been there, in the images he saw in his sleep. The man with his voice had called her ‘Emma’. Was that her name? He had heard her called many things since she’d been brought to the King’s lair. Miss Swan, Dearie, The Prisoner. The boy had called her ‘Mom’. But he’d never heard Emma. He tried to piece together what he could from the vision. She’d called him something - called the man with his voice something. 

Killian. She’d called him Killian. Was he Killian? No. He wasn’t anyone. He existed to serve his master. He had no name. But... she’d called him that before - when she was in the cell, when they were leaving, last night even. He thought the name again and his heart felt like it was trying to climb into his throat. He had the sudden instinct that he was supposed to know something but couldn’t recall what.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked, looking at him with her eyebrows pulled down. He looked down at his hook. He didn’t think so. He didn’t think talking was a sound decision. He’d come to know a few things about this woman, about her reactions to him. When he came near her she tensed. When he spoke she became aggressive. When he touched her she became violent. He’d done his best to avoid doing any of these things around her. 

But that had changed. She didn’t seem tense now and they were close enough to touch. When he’d touched her face last night she hadn’t reacted violently. He’d felt a pull then, like his body was demanding that he touch her, hot fire burning in his chest at the sight of tears on her face. The same kind of fire that was searing in his shoulder now under her fingers - no, he realized, this burning was different, hotter, reaching into his bones, spreading through his body. 

He looked at her again. “Emma?” His voice was hoarse and cracked as he spoke. She didn’t become aggressive but a small gasp fell from her lips and her face looked like she was in pain - looked the way he felt. She was silent for a long time and he started to believe he’d guessed wrong, that the vision had misled him.

“Are you in there?” she whispered, voice breaking the quiet in the room. 

He didn’t understand her question, but his heart felt as though someone had grabbed hold of it and was squeezing tightly. He didn’t speak and slowly the expression on her face returned to normal. She shook her head. Her hand on his shoulder started to push him back down onto the mattress.  

“Go back to sleep,” she told him. “We should leave in the morning.” 

He let himself be pushed, lay down against the pillow and looked at her. He couldn’t stop looking at her. He didn’t know why. It was like there was a voice in his head, one that both wasn’t his and was all at once that insisted that she was important, not with words but with those strange, foreign sensations - blood rushing in his ears, the pounding of his heart, the racing in his blood. 

She stayed for a moment, her hand still on his shoulder as she looked at him. He felt his own brow pulling down of it’s own accord as she did. But he felt warm, he felt comfortable with her eyes on him. She raised her other hand and slowly - her fingers hesitating a few times, changing their mind - she brushed the damp hair off his forehead. Her fingers were soft and cool on his skin and he wanted her to keep them there but they were gone in a second. 

She stood, her hand leaving his shoulder for the first time since she’d arrived and he wanted it back. No, he needed it back. He needed her back. His heart pounded against his ribs so hard he thought they might break and his blood felt as though it had turned cold. He’d felt this before, as they escaped, and then again in her kitchen. There had only been one thing that had stopped it, made him feel like he wasn’t about to die, made the pain go away, took his mind off of it. Her. 

He reached out, nearly lunged off the bed, his hand catching her wrist. She whirled on him, looked at him, her eyebrows shooting up, and for a second he thought he’d done something wrong. She stared at his hand on her wrist and then back at him. She was waiting for him to say something, he knew she was, he’d become familiar with the way she looked at him, the way she held herself when she wanted him to speak. 

“Stay,” was all he said. 

He loosened his grip, not wanting to hurt her. She continued to look at him, tilting her head and doing that thing with her face again. He thought she might cry again and his heart gave a heavy thud. He didn’t want to make her cry. Finally, she moved back towards the bed, sitting back down beside him.

“Okay.” 

He thought his body would react violently again, thought his heart would hurt and his blood would burn him. Instead, he felt every muscle in his body relax at once, the fire and the ice and the pounding stopping altogether. For a brief moment he thought he had returned to how he used to be, to the empty dullness in his limbs. No. Where there had been nothing, there was warmth now, he could feel it, seeping out from the middle of his chest and into his languid muscles. 

He slid over to make room for her and as she lay down beside him he felt the warmth spread into his limbs and his fingers. He didn’t know this reaction, it was new and different but it was one he wanted to keep, wanted to hold on to, and it came from her. He realised, it was her that he wanted to hold on to. 

He reached out again, slowly, unsure, and wrapped his arm around her. He felt that same pull he had before, in the showers and in her cell earlier tonight, like something inside of her was calling out to him and, if he could just press her close enough, he might be able to hear it. The pull had been different then, more urgent, more pressing. Now it was stiller, quieter, softer. She hesitated for a second, and then slid against him, resting her head on his chest, her hand coming to rest over the spot where he knew the strange marking lay hidden under his shirt.

He felt dampness seeping through the material under her cheek, onto his chest and realised she was crying again. He loosened his hold, thinking he’d done wrong, hurt her, the softness in his chest being replaced by the racing of his heart again. But she didn’t pull away. She pressed herself closer to him and the feel of her wrapped around him calmed his heart once again. He lay his arm back around her as his breathing evened out. He let his eyes drift closed.

***

It was still early when Emma woke, the sky outside just shifting from black to the grey that welcomed the sunrise. It took her a moment to remember. When she first opened her eyes she forgot, smiled a little and snuggled deeper into the warm body beside her. He still smelled the same, still felt the same, strong muscles under soft flesh. So she forgot. It was easy to forget. Maybe she’d wanted to - just for a little while. For a little while it was any regular morning, waking up in the arms of the man she loved and finding him sleeping soundly beside her. 

That was what brought her back. Him sleeping. Never once since she’d shared a bed with him, since she’d met him really, had she woken before him. She sat up, letting the arm that had been slung around her slide off and fall to the mattress. She didn’t know why she’d stayed. She shouldn’t have. It was a mistake. All it did was confuse her, blur the line between what was Killian and what was… whoever this was. 

But she’d been tired and she’d been missing him and so she’d been weak. He’d looked at her with such a desperate expression on his face - one she hadn’t seen yet, not on this version of him. And maybe she’d hoped that on some level that meant something, that a new emotion had finally appeared on his face, one that wasn’t just fear or panic. If she was honest though, she’d really just wanted to be reminded of what it felt like to be held by him again, even if it was just someone wearing his skin. The illusion had been enough - not right, but enough. 

Now though, in the light of the early morning, the illusion was shattered and all she was reminded of was the fact that he was gone. She stood, needing to get out of this bed, out of this room and far enough away from him that she could think straight. She had to stop letting herself slip, stop trying to convince herself that this was Killian. He wasn’t Killian. Killian was, like everyone else, the summation of his life experiences, of his memories, of his loves and losses and beliefs and hopes and fears. This man had none of those. This man had none of the memories that made Killian who he was. Those had been ripped out, replaced by something dark and empty. But… he’d called her Emma. 

She made her way downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat before they left that wasn’t canned and salty. How long did dry cereal last? she mused. She decided to risk it, eating handfuls of stale cornflakes out of the box. It’s only a little past the best before date, really. 

When she was done, she found an old duffle bag in a closet by the front hall and began rummaging around the house, finding anything that might be useful and throwing them in. There wasn’t much, some rope that Henry had never brought back to the garage after some science experiment, matches, extra blankets and sweaters, a change of clothes, dry socks, a beat up old paperback - it wasn’t like she was going to have much in the way of conversation for the next little while. She wanted to cheer when she found a few fruits and vegetables in the cold storage, thanking whichever confused, well-intentioned man in her house had put the groceries away in the wrong place. 

She made her way through the rooms until she was back in the kitchen. She opened the knife drawer and almost laughed at the fact that she’d argued with her mom once about how pointless it was to keep the little plastic sheaths that came with them. Now she was glad she’d lost that argument. She threw a few in the bag, she’d have to find a more practical way to carry them later. 

She zipped up the duffle and tossed it on the counter - effectively knocking something over. She sighed, hoping it wasn’t something valuable - not that that sort of thing really mattered anymore. She slid the bag out of the way and saw that it was an old ipod dock, with a little blue ipod lying next to it. She reached for it tentitively - it was valuable. It was his. David had bought it for him months ago, thinking he would enjoy being able to listen to music whenever he wanted but probably wouldn’t be able to handle a smartphone. 

She smiled a little despite herself, remembering how confused Killian had been when he’d first been gifted it, already loaded with songs. It had taken a long time for him to figure out how it worked, practically driving Henry insane with repeated requests for him to add a song he had heard on the radio to his music box, and the three or four times he had to be shown how to do something as simple as select an artist before he mastered it. 

It was already on. Emma looked through it a little, remembering how many times he’d made her listen to the songs on his ‘most played’ - some of them folk songs she regretted introducing him to sometimes, some of them 80s hair bands that she really wished David had never shown him. She was surprised to find he had playlists - she didn’t think he’d known how to do that. She scrolled through them, smiling a little as she read the titles: ‘David recs - good’, ‘David recs – rubbish’, ‘Henry’s favorites’, ‘Jolly Roger alone’, ‘Jolly Roger with Emma’, ‘Jolly Roger with Henry’... 

Her breath caught a little. There was one that was simply called ‘Emma’. She opened it, there was only one song in the playlist, a song she didn’t know. She knew she shouldn’t, knew that it would probably do more harm than good… but she had to know. 

She plugged the device back in and turned on the speaker. She pressed play and a slow, soulful melody filled the room. She listened as the lyrics started, singing about a man who had lost his way and the woman who had saved him, about the love he held for her, a love that nothing could ever destroy - not even death. 

She caught herself on the counter, needing something to hold herself up, needing something to hold on to as tears burned her eyes and her cheeks. She could feel herself breaking down, learning this was how he felt about her. No, she knew this was how he felt about her. He had literally come back from the dead for her once. But to be reminded of it so suddenly and so overwhelmingly, it was like a message from the grave and it brought her grief back up to the forefront once again. How lucky she’d been to find him, and how cruel it was to have lost him. 

She didn’t hear him come down the stairs, the song continuing on a loop, filling the room and silencing his steps. He hesitated at the foot, looking at her with concern, his brows pulling up and his jaw dropping a little in a way that was just too familiar and she shut her eyes against it, turned around so she wouldn’t have to face him. It was too much, with the music and the memory and him here in his place… it was too much. 

She felt his hand on her back, shuttered at the touch, not in disgust or revulsion like she’d have prefered, but at the overwhelming comfort it brought her. His fingers slid to the spot just over her heart, his hook coming to rest against her hip and despite herself, despite everything that was screaming at her not to, she leaned back into his touch. 

She felt him tense for a moment and then his arms slid around her waist, pulling her to him as though they’d done this a million times, as though he wasn’t a stranger, an imposter wearing the face of the man she was grieving. He rested his chin on her shoulder, turning his face into the crook of her neck and the feel of his beard against her skin, of his hair tickling her ear was so familiar, so much better than anything she’d felt in a long time, that she gave in. She just wanted something good. 

She turned in his grasp and slid her arms around his neck, laying her head on his shoulder and letting him wrap his hand and hook around her, pull her in closer. If she closed her eyes really tight, and ignored every screaming voice in her head, maybe she could forget that it wasn’t him.

They stood there for a long while, just holding each other. Emma was so focused on not noticing what was happening that she was surprised when she realised that they were swaying. Just a little, softly side to side - he was swaying them, in time with the music. His cheek was pressed to her temple. He was humming. The sound of it brought her right back to a morning, ages ago now, when she’d woken up to him humming a song under his breath. She hadn’t known it then but she knew it now. 

A small sob rocked her shoulders and she moved to pull back, to draw away from him and the pain that standing here in the middle of their kitchen, dancing with his ghost was pressing down on her. But she didn’t go far, couldn’t bring herself too. If she stepped back, left his arms and felt the cold air on her skin where she’d been pressed against him - it would feel like losing him all over again. She could only live through that so many times. 

He didn’t open his eyes. That was easier. If she looked into them she’d see who he really was, see that it wasn’t him. Like this she could pretend, she could hope. She closed her own eyes, pressed her forehead to his. Her cheeks were wet again. She couldn’t remember the last time they’d been dry for longer than a day, an hour even. He must have felt it somehow because his hand slid up from its place on her hip, found its way to her cheek, holding her to him as his thumb swiped at the hot tears there. 

She knew it wasn’t him. She knew this wasn’t the man she loved, knew that he barely knew who she was, let alone who she was to Killian. But he looked like him and he smelled like him and he felt like him and he was kind somehow, gentle - he cared. Her body hadn’t accepted that Killian was gone, it still missed him, still waited for him, still needed him. The feel of his face so close to hers, his breath on her lips and his thumb on her cheek was just so familiar and so much more than anything she’d felt in so long. She leaned into it. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t him. It was enough for now. 

Her lips pressed against his and he froze. She should have pulled back. She shouldn’t be doing this. But she needed it, so she pressed forward, bringing her hands to the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him there. He was so still against her, his mouth soft but unmoving under her own. She was coming to her senses, realizing how stupid it was to think that kissing this person would be anything like kissing Killian, when shifted. 

His lips parted, a shaky breath leaving him, breathed into her before his arm tightened around her and he pushed back, his mouth capturing hers in a way that was so familiar that she wanted to laugh and cry all at once. It’s not him. It’s not him, she reminded herself as he continued to explore her mouth with lips and teeth and tongue, as she continued to let him. 

He didn’t kiss the same. He tasted the same and his movements were familiar, but the feeling behind it was different. Where Killian’s kisses were passionate, romantic, teasing, this kiss was pure desperation, searching for something that he couldn’t find. Muscle memory. Muscle memory and fear. He was shaking even now. She could feel it. 

She pulled back finally, and he tried to chase her but she caught him with a hand on his cheek. His breathing was heavy and when she opened her eyes she could see how pained he looked, how uncertain and how scared. She shouldn’t have done it. She’d been selfish and in her selfishness she’d tormented this scared, confused soul that had only shown her kindness. He wasn’t Killian. She didn’t love him and he didn’t love her but what had been done to him, what he was, wasn’t his fault.

She stepped back and he only resisted, only tried to keep her close, for a second before he dropped his arms and let her move out of them. When he opened his eyes there was something new there, something she couldn’t place. 

They were still standing across from each other, still only inches apart. She was trapped between him and the counter behind her. But trapped was the wrong word. She didn’t feel unsafe around him, not anymore. But the way he was looking at her was stirring up emotions she didn’t want to deal with. Not now. They had to get somewhere safe first. She could unpack what she was feeling, try figure out what he was feeling, later, when they were hidden. 

“We should go,” she told him, turning her gaze away, finding something else to focus on. She couldn’t look at him anymore. With every new emotion that played out across his face he looked more and more like the man she’d lost. He stepped back, giving her room. 

“Do you have everything you need?” she asked. He was back in his clothes and she figured anything he had was in his pockets as he hadn’t brought anything else with him. He nodded. She moved to get her bag and froze when she heard him speak. 

“Where are we going?” he asked. His voice took her by surprise. He used it so rarely that she’d wondered for a while if he knew how to speak, and then had wondered if he was avoiding speaking to her for a reason. At first she hadn’t minded, preferring not to hear Killian’s voice come out of a stranger. But now… it didn’t bother her so much. She liked it when he spoke. It was comforting, a reminder that there was someone in there, that he wasn’t just a shell. 

She reached into the bag, threw him an apple. He caught it against his chest, looking a little surprised, and the corner of her lips curled up. “To Regina’s.”

[allimariexf]

Burning Souffles

Relationship: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak

Rating: E (honestly it’s more like M, but I’m keeping the E in anticipation of the E-rated epilogue I’m still planning to write someday ;)

Tags: post-7x13/ Arrow (TV 2012) Season 7/ Canon Compliant/ Angst/ Romance/ Action (just a little)/ Drama/ Feelings/ Eventual Fluff/ Family Feels

Summary:

Felicity really needs to have a talk with Oliver. Which they will really, definitely do just as soon as she stops being kidnapped.

Notes: Forgot to share this on tumblr! 

Read on AO3 here | Ch 2 Breaking Windows | Ch 3 Falling Apart | Ch 4 Believing in Love | Ch 5 Making Room in a Broken Heart | Ch 6 Coming Around Again | Ch 7 So in Love with You

Chapter 1: Nothing Stays the Same

If my best isn’t good enough then how can it be good enough for two?

God dammit, why did song lyrics always pop in her head to serve up their hard truths at the worst possible moments?

Like now, for instance. When Felicity found herself tied to a chair in a dark, dingy basement, and no one the wiser about her location. And also pregnant. With no one outside of herself and the hospital aware of that particular detail.

Oh god, if she got murdered here it meant Oliver was going to find out about their baby...their baby...their baby...from the hospital. Or the Medical Examiner’s office. She squeezed her eyes shut at the thought. Nope, not going to think about that. What she was going to do was sit down and have a talk with him - a real talk - just as soon as she was out of this predicament.

It wan’t as if she hadn’t been trying to reach him. For days, weeks, months really. Since William, since Emiko. Since Slabside. It had been a hell of year so far, for both of them.

But Oliver was hurting, and he needed her. So she’d stepped up. She’d put her anger, her fears, her identity crisis aside, because his need was more immediate. He needed her, and moreover, she wanted him to need her. She needed him to need her.

Third verse, same as the first.

There had been signs that he was beginning to let her in. A tiny smile here, a squeeze of her shoulder there. A hand extended toward her, seeming to offer more than just the contact of skin on skin. But the tragedies kept rolling in one after another, and it felt like every step forward was followed by three steps back. Or worse.

Like that morning.

A shiver of something dark and foreign ran down her spine at the memory of the confrontation in their bedroom. The most recent one, that is.

When she’d said her goodbyes to Curtis a few days ago, something he’d said had struck her. “It feels like you’re struggling to find your purpose too.” It was like he’d found the one weak chink in her armour and driven a knife right through it. Since then, she hadn’t been able to get the words out of her head.

Ever since Oliver had come back from Slabside, unmasked, and begun working with the SCPD, a tiny part of her been struggling to understand where she fit in. John and Curtis had ARGUS, Dinah had the SCPD, and Rene seemed content doing whatever he was doing. It took her awhile to realize that deep down, she had been hoping that Oliver’s return would somehow cause the team to re-form, and she’d be able to take her rightful place among them.

And while that hadn’t immediately happened, she’d believed things had finally started to come together once the rest of the team was deputized to work alongside the SCPD. She’d quietly begun setting up a place for Overwatch in their living room: adding an extra computer or two, and installing and improving dozens of programs that the team had always relied on for monitoring, tracking, searching, communicating, and cataloguing. It felt amazing.

But that morning Oliver had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that things were not back to normal.

She’d approached him cautiously, aware that she hadn’t exactly informed him of her resumed vigilante activities. She expected him to be surprised. She hadn’t expected him to be angry.

He was standing at the dresser pulling a sweater over his head, and she fit herself against the door frame, watching him. Even now, after all these years, she was stuck by how startlingly beautiful he was, all long lines and hard muscles and perfect bone structure. When his head emerged through the hole in his shirt, he sensed her gaze and turned toward her expectantly.

She still wasn’t used to the distance in his eyes.

“So, I know you probably have work lined up for you already, like assigned cases or something like that,” her chipper tone faded just a little bit, because the truth was she didn’t know; he hadn’t actually told her very much about his new job at all, “but in case you and the team were looking for something to do, I got a pretty solid lead on something this morning.”

His eyebrows drew together. “A lead?”

“Yeah. It turns out there’s been a series of thefts from the Star City headquarters of about a dozen different chemical companies - nothing too noteworthy, when taken individually. But my program gave me an alert because it turns out that, taken together, the various chemicals that were stolen can be used to make some pretty nasty stuff of the explosive variety.”

Oliver’s face stilled as she spoke, which should have alerted her that something was wrong, but Felicity was excited, and when Oliver spoke his tone remained deceptively mild. “Your program? Which program is that?”

“Oh, nothing special, just my usual algorithm that analyzes reported criminal activity and seeks patterns in the data.” She smiled, feeling that tiny surge of pride that always accompanied her small accomplishments as Overwatch, a feeling of having made a difference. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed that feeling.

But that feeling evaporated rapidly as she watched Oliver’s expression shift from still to stony to stormy so quickly that she could only track it because she knew him so well. “Why are you running that program?” There was absolutely no mistaking that tone in his voice.

Just as there was no mistaking Felicity’s predictable response to his challenge. She pushed off the door frame, straightening her spine and stepping toward him. “Why shouldn’t I be running that program?”

He blinked at her and breathed deeply through his nose while his eyes never left her face. She recognized the signs of him gathering his composure, but what struck her was the realization that this might be the longest he’d kept his eyes on hers in months. “Felicity.”

She looked aside abruptly, not wanting him to see the emotion that was suddenly rising in her eyes and clogging her throat. She blinked, swallowed, and waited for him to continue.

His voice was surprisingly gentle, which only set her on edge. “You can’t…”

Her eyes snapped to his. “Can’t what, Oliver? What can’t I do?”

He looked away. “I work for the SCPD now. I have to take my assignments from them.”

She stepped toward him, hand outstretched. “Okay then. I’ll put what I have on a thumb drive and you can take it to Dinah. Call it an anonymous tip, or whatever. Then she can assign you to the case.” She smiled tentatively. Willing him to consider the logic of her proposal.

“It’s not that simple.”

Her hand landed on his chest, fingernails scratching lightly against the fabric of his sweater. “I don’t see why it can’t be. With you and the rest of the team deputized to work in the city, with the full support of the SCPD, we can be even more effective than we used to be.”

Oliver stepped back abruptly. “There is no team, Felicity!” He paused, and Felicity snatched her hand back from where it was still hovering between them in the sudden silence. He shifted wary eyes toward her. “I need you to understand that.”

Felicity gaped at him, ready to argue but suddenly speechless.

“I need you to stop pretending that things haven’t changed.” His eyes were earnest, pleading. And they left Felicity gasping as if he had slammed her in the face with a brick.

She stared back at him, the blood rushing loudly in her ears and drowning out any sense of reason. Her breaths were shallow and rapid, but her voice was calm. “I know things have changed, Oliver. That’s the one thing you have made very, very clear.”

“Felic -”

But she was already walking away, and he didn’t follow. Five minutes later, as she sat at her computers blatantly disregarding his wishes, she heard him wordlessly leave the apartment. 

(Continued in chapter 2, linked above!)

[unfortunate-rp]

Congratulations, GISE! You have been accepted as your original character, PAMELA LUGO. I’m really excited to see Pamela on the dash! She’s got an interesting background that I think will be great for the plots to come! Please be sure to complete the steps listed on the NEW MEMBER CHECKLIST and send in your account within the next 24 hours.

Well, young lady, have you been good to your mother?

OOC INFORMATION

Name: Gise

Age: twenty two

Pronouns: she / her

Time zone: GMT -6

Activity Level (Please give a number from 1-10 and an explanation): I would say 8.5 because while I currently have a lot of free time, writing inspiration doesn’t always strike exactly when we want it to. Still, I’ll be available almost all the time for plotting, direct messages and so.

Tumblr account (for contact purposes): REDACTED

(If applying for second character) Characters played: n/a

How did you find us?:  through the ‘asoue rp’ tag

Triggers: n/a

ORIGINAL CHARACTER APPLICATION

Character Name:  Pamela Lugo

FC: Melissa Fumero / America Ferrera

Date of Birth: April 8th

Age: thirty five

Character Quote: “If you reach for the stars all you get are the stars, if you reach for the heavens you get the stars thrown in.”

Gender: cis female

Pronouns: she / her

Sexual Orientation: undetermined

Occupation: Astronomy Art Specialist at Orion Observatory

Affiliation: V.F.D (firefighter)

Neighborhood: The Homes at Poplar Grove

Personality: (witty, curious, kind | stern, impatient, elusive)

BIOGRAPHY

Most of us get our names picked for us when we’re barely a few days, or even a few hours, old. Pamela picked her own name when she was a few, four to be exact, years old. Surely she had had another name (for two years at least) before she arrived at Miss Finch’s home for Orphans. All she arrived there with was a set of pyjamas, a star-patterned blanket and a confused expression. It was never explained to her why or who had brought her there.  She wondered about growing up, there wasn’t much free time about Miss Finch’s to sit and wonder. Though the people were kind, the chores were far too many. And whatever free time she did have, she spent at the Library.

An important reason was that her own life sometimes seemed to her too dull to spend as herself and in that one crowded home. The other, that the Library had newspapers going back decades, and once she’d gone through those of the year she arrived at the home, she kept looking back and back, searching for any clue, any photograph with a face that looked faintly like hers. Her blanket seemed an important clue for her, because she knew she couldn’t have picked it herself. Thus, anyone who wrote or drew or had anything at all to say about the stars became an interesting daydream. From two of those subjects she came to choose the name Pamela and the last name Lugo. As she grew older it seemed fated, as she discovered the stars were also her favourite thing to write, draw, read and talk about.  By age nine she had intricate knowledge of constellations and how to work a telescope, as well as a commonplace book filled with notes and illustrations.

When the orphanage funds grew thin and her future seemed dim, the door on future books and schools closing, a new opportunity opened. It came in the form of a note, written in a yellow piece of paper slipped inside one of the books she checked out most often from the library. It stated that a mysterious benefactor would help her pursue a career in Astronomy as long as she promised to make use of that career in the Orion Observatory.  She dismissed it, but a few days later, on the taxi ride back home from the library, the driver revealed the benefactor to be a Secret Organization, as well as the reason they needed someone trustworthy and well versed in all literature to look after a particular parking spot in the observatory.

And so, she finally found the two things she had always longed for in life: people to belong with, and the opportunity to do something extraordinary, even if through the seemingly ordinary. She grew up to do just that, eventually finding the perfect job in Orion Observatory. But good things can only last so long, and as the organization started breaking down in two, she had no choice but to align with those doing the noble thing. Little did she know things would only grow worse from Sybil Halloway’s murder on …

CONNECTIONS

Co-Worker to GEORGE JOHNSON George Johnson is one of the guards at Orion Observatory. She is one of the very few people Pamela makes a point of greeting and making small talk with at work, for he is vital in her role of guarding the messages passed along at the Observatory.

ADDITIONAL NOTES

Pamela gave up on the idea of finding her family many years ago. Her devotion for V.F.D runs as deep as blood, to the point where it has surpassed and replaced her childhood dreams of growing in the Astronomy Art field.

She is a quiet, secluded person. The schism within the organization has made her even more so.  Though her talents have earned her a good salary, she remains modest and does not like to flaunt or draw any attention to herself, not even at V.F.D parties or balls.

She is currently working on the development of an Astronomy related code for her side of the schism. She thinks old codes are untrustworthy since both sides know them, so this project feels of the uttermost importance for her.

What potential plans do you have for this character? I want the moral greyness of V.F.D to become more apparent for her. Even if I think she will always remain loyal to her side and the organization, I’d like the events of this roleplay to present a conflict for her that forces her outside an isolated, black and white perspective of the world.

What do you hope to bring to this roleplay with your character? First of all I’d like to bring someone who can help the plot move along in quiet ways. Just the passing along of information can be very important. And like I mentioned, I’d like to bring in someone who grew up within the Organization and is mostly – and consciously – blind to its flaws. Someone who can lure potential volunteers in by selling the V.F.D she believes in, and who is determined to protect it.

Anything Else? Why it was Into the Spider-Verse and it was awesome, thank you for asking.

WRITING SAMPLE

Ah, so it was quarter past eleven already. She had set her alarm for that time just in case she lost track of time – and she always did.  It was raining, too. She quieted the alarm and relished in that quiet for a moment.  There was only the soft sound of the raindrops against her window and the faint footsteps from up in the Main Telescope room. For a telescope room they were an awful lot and awfully noisy, she thought. Maybe once she would’ve liked to be in that room, peering for her assigned five minutes.  Or it could be ten now. Surely they would’ve given her fifteen, because she had once liked to imagine she’d always be the one to say the most interesting things in the room. Don’t get her wrong, she still enjoyed herself immensely on the rare occasion she used the telescope, but now … now she liked it quiet.

Or at least quiet enough to listen to any odd footsteps. Not that they were a frequent thing, yet she was frequently alert for them. And for any headlights lighting up her window view. For everyone else in the Observatory, it wasn’t a great view. It actually made one of the ugliest ones. Many argued she should argue for a move, because it didn’t allow her to look at much except the parking lot and a bit of the sky. However, it was perfect for her.  

It was perfect because, should anyone park there at night, it was her job to keep an eye on it. By now she recognized the few who took the spot –taxis, most of the time – and found looking at it expectantly as thrilling as the night sky. Thrilling in every way, exciting and tense. It was the tensest when the park in question wasn’t a taxi, since taxis was what her associates preferred to drive in.  And as a pair of headlights, somewhat squared and bright, moved in, she realized it would be one of those nights. She leaned a bit closer to the window, making her chair squeak – quick note, a better chair was something she shouldargue for.  The car stood still, and when someone finally exited from it, she was more tense than excited to make out a silhouette she didn’t recognize.

Tiptoeing, she made her way downstairs, and sneaked into the accountant’s office. They always left at five, so the lights had been long turned off and the windows long closed. She peered from them, and the figure stood right where she’d left it. Tick tock, half an hour went by, and the figure didn’t move. She rushed back upstairs to turn her office’s light off, grab her purple coat, and make a casual exit. Just an excited employee staying a little bit longer under the night sky.  Casually she strolled past the figure, who was a man in a black coat and hat.

“Goodnight sir. Are you here for our midnight Verified Firmament Display?”