#finally finished this it's been sitting in my art folder for like half a year

[gtoeve]

mob²

[statustemporary]

running home to your sweet nothings, chapter 2

STORY SUMMARY: His informality is refreshing; like water in a desert, Emma is parched and desperate for more.

“Take note, Princess, that I take no pleasure in pointing out the susceptibilities of your security or skills. It is my loyalty to you that wants you to remain safe.” There’s an earnestness to his voice and Emma feels her cheeks heat. His breath fans against her face in soft puffs as he speaks and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile.

“What have I done to earn such loyalty other than wear a crown?” she asks in an equally quiet voice. She’s breathless as she speaks but she yearns for his unfiltered response.

// or the four gifts of killian jones

RATING: M for Mature Audience (Implied sexual conduct, violence)

WORD COUNT: 9,002 words

TAGS: Alternative Universe, Enchanted Forest AU, Blacksmith!Killian, Violence, Implied Sexual Conduct

AO3

AUTHOR'S NOTE: had over 5k of this chapter sitting on my computer for well over a year. and have had 8k of chapter 3 for even longer than that (but who knows what of that will be kept).

anyway the first part of this chapter and the last part are my favorites, especially the first. the last part has been in my mind since i expanded this story beyond the prompt of gifts from killian lol. so yay for finally writing it! <3

having a lot of trouble staying inspired for ouat, especially over the last few months as i fundamentally disagree with some cast members stances. sorry not sorry for my inability to separate art from the artist. just trying to empty out my WIPs folder on my folder so i can fully move on. current WIPs will be finished. at some point.

anyway (x2) enjoy! sorry its been a year and a half lol

***

two and a half centuries ago.

late summer.

ella.

Her fingertips feel like fire.

Water crashes against the steep cliffs of Segovia and the freezing sea jumps up and nips at her exposed ankles. She pays no attention to the chill that travels her body or the way her sandy blonde hair whips in her face from the harsh winds. Instead, she keeps her eyes closed and hands held out in front of her.

Her magic gets weaker each time she uses it.

Magic had been thought to be extinct for years in Misthaven, the inhabitants losing it centuries back. The fairies retained their magic but even with their resources, could find no reasoning behind the loss for Misthaven’s people. Some of those in Misthaven believed that the Dark One was draining the land and its people of their magic for a dark curse but none had been cast. Others felt the magic was limited and once it was gone, there was no replenishing it.

And then Ella had been born as a product of True Love, and the first glance at pure magic in nearly three centuries. Her magic was respected by most and feared by others. When the Second Ogre War started a year ago, it became an expectation that she’d use her magic to help Misthaven succeed.

So she did. Her mother always told her to have courage and be kind, and what better way to live that to the fullest than doing all she could to protect the other citizens of Misthaven from a hostile takeover by the ogres?

Except… her magic is waning.

Like a wet cloth being hung to dry, she feels herself slowly losing her magic until there is close to none left. It is proving to be a problem on the battlefield as she doesn’t have the energy or the magic anymore to keep Misthaven from sending in soldiers.

Without her magic, she has no way to protect Kit.

She feels a momentary surge of energy flow through her body as her magic weaves through the dirt and pebbles on the cliffside, feels it singing as it circles a collection of ferrum.

There’s not much left, she thinks to herself of both the rocks and her magic.

Her work is hasty and not as clean as she wishes it could be but she knows that time is against her now.

Ella pulls the ferrum rocks from their place in an alcove on the cliff and piles them on a flat area. The sea water is getting rougher and wets her hair, her dress beyond repair from how the elements have thrashed it about. She quiets her mind and focuses on her Kit, letting her magic flow through her for one of the last times.

Black hair with a curl to it she loved to run her fingers through. A big heart guarded behind a charming smile. Those piercing blue eyes that could keep her rooted to the spot. He had her heart from the moment they met on horseback and she never looked back.

Her hands are burning as she opens her eyes. The rocks have transformed from separate entities into pieces of armor. Lining the edges of each piece is a design born from their love.

Stags to symbolize their first meeting. Shoes to symbolize how they found one another. A vine to connect to the three symbols together, representing their partnership and bond.

The last of her magic flares under her fingertips and Ella picks up the chest plate, lifting it to her face.

“Please take care of my love,” she whispers, sealing her plea with a soft kiss and a spark.

A feeling of emptiness envelops her in an embrace and she fights to wrap her arms around herself to keep out the cold it brings. She doesn’t have time to wallow in the loss of something so intricate to who she is. To stand there and focus on the ache in her heart or the hollow feeling in her chest is precious time wasted when she could be helping.

Ella takes a deep breath and marches past the longing in her fingertips for something just out of reach and instead gathers the armor she’s crafted. She cannot afford to let her emotions take control at this moment. That can wait for her lonely bedchambers late in the night when no one can hear her cry. For now, she needs to see her Kit off.

*

five and twenty.

early winter.

somewhere in the enchanted forest.

emma.

The flying simians attack on their fifth day.

*

Leaving Misthaven comes with an ease that unsettles Emma. The tension coiling around her shoulders refuses to alleviate as the castle walls become mere specks when she looks behind herself. Her posture remains rigid, her fitted armor, a gift from Killian, digs into her forearms from how restricted she keeps her movements.

Horse riding has never been a favorite activity of Emma’s. Being taught to sit astride a giant beast in the few moments of freedom she had growing up always felt more uncomfortable than liberating. Forever the black sheep of her family, her parents and their friends would guide their horses with ease while her confidence remained shaky.

Years have passed since her first riding lessons and yet unease still sits in the pit of her stomach. However, this time she can’t tell if it’s from the animal being squeezed between her boney knees or the mission she’s assigned herself.

She knows Killian believes her actions to be dumb, reckless, and completely unnecessary, but this is for her people. She has to protect them.

Besides, she will not let him throw himself on a sword just to spare her the slight inconvenience and possible danger. He’s much too important to her for her to let him volunteer himself like he tried. And he should give her more credit – he did teach her how to defend herself after all.

Emma ducks her head when a branch gets in her path and nearly falls off of her horse when she tries to sit up again.

A roaring laugh escapes a knight from behind her and she knows immediately that it belongs to Will Scarlet.

The knights that are with her trot through the forest without a worry as they move through Misthaven’s trees. This is just another day for them, another assignment, another potential battle. They have seen the worst of the worst and it has not scared them away yet.

Her bravado has been a front and she’s sure at least some of the most experienced of the group could read through it. But her people need her and if she must fake the confidence of a seasoned general, then she will do so, no matter how inadequate she feels.

The last and only time she’d gone to battle had been against Regina. The Evil Queen had caught them all off-guard, able to sneak into Misthaven by piggybacking on the magic of a fairy, they learned months after the fact, and Emma was unprepared, her magic unruly and uncontrollable.

“She must have been weak,” Emma tried to reason as Blue stood by her bed, her parents sitting at the foot.

“You have powerful magic, Princess,” Blue explained. “Magic belonging to True Love. Most magic users access their power through intellect. For them, it is a learned skill. You are rare, Princess Emma. You were born with it and you access your magic through your emotions. Emotions have the ability to create incredible magic, especially light magic, the likes of which the realm has never seen before.” She watched the fairy’s eyes slide over to her parents. Never before had she felt like such a fraud.

“The magic I used wasn’t light. I was angry. I wanted her gone,” Emma choked out.

Blue shook her head. “Anger is easy. It is the most natural emotion there is. The magic you used was made from love, Princess Emma. Love is the most powerful magic of all.”

She pulled her blankets tighter around her body, dragged her knees to her chest.

It certainly didn’t feel like love. How can ending someone’s life come from love? How can allowing them to suffer and not feeling remorse for it come from love?

Emma felt empty. She mentally reached towards her magic to feel it straining to return her call. What had always been an overabundance in her life – a threat to herself and those she loved – was barely there.

“What happened to it?” she asked, eyes full of tears and her hand shaking as she held it out of the blanket. “My magic,” she continued, voice cracking. “It – it isn’t all there. What happened to it?”

She missed the looks of sympathies shared between the three adults in the room before they broke the news to her.

Too much magic. Exhausted it. Body needed to recover. Might not come back.

She wept.

At least now, as she rides towards an unknown foe, she finds comfort in the fact that she’s not unprepared.

The sword Killian made for her bounces against her upper thigh as the horse below her trots down the dirt pathways. Its’ comforting weight at her side keeps the lessons he taught her in her mind. Their sparing sessions have made her almost as good of a swordsman as he is and holding a sword no longer feels awkward. His work has made her feel like the sword is an extension of her hand.

It also, unsurprisingly, feels like home.

Because with every remembrance of their sparing sessions, she recalls the feel of his lips against her mouth and his skin on hers. The way his raised eyebrow and smirk could make her heart race and how his presence made her feel like her magic was sparking back to life.

Her fingertips tingle and Emma glances down and imagines a faint glow surrounding them before the neigh of a horse breaks her reprieve.

Robin rides to her left while Will rides to her right, Lancelot and Little John scouting ahead with Dorothy following up behind. It is an odd group of knights that gathered at the barn to follow her along enemy lines but she trusts their abilities.

Robin, Lancelot, and Dorothy are the veterans of the group. The years of their training together totaling just shy of twice Emma’s age. Little John prefers to stay back, his tall stature a hindrance more often than not, but his abilities with a bow and arrow are lethal. Will is the youngest of the group, energetic like some of the pups on nearby farmlands and eager to prove himself worthy, though there’s an edge to his attitude that gives way to the wisdom learned on the streets he dragged himself from.

His sometimes-skittish behavior reminds her of what Killian must have been like as a boy before he and his brother happened upon Misthaven’s shores.

The trees are quiet for most of their ride. Branches and leaves sway in the wind, a soft rustling filling the silent air. Robin quickly established a system amongst the group – silence in the forest, ears searching for any sign of the enemy, and chatter allowed in the villages they pass. As they continue their journey, the villages become farther and farther between, silence becoming their most often companion.

The green of the forest brings a sense of comfort to Emma. They remind her of the color of her mother’s eyes and if she closes her own hard enough, she can imagine herself back at the castle, debating in the war room about next steps once Emma has news for her.

Her mother sends birds often. She realizes quickly that she must have her own system for ensuring one reaches her every few hours during the first two days. As much as this is her first big journey away from the castle, one her parents tried to talk her out of, this is also their first time being away from her. So she welcomes the birds and sends her own short messages back, confirming her safety and decreeing no news.

Longing burrows in her chest as by the third day, the birds only come twice. When the sun rises on the fourth, her mother’s accompanying note breaks the news she would only be able to send one bird a day.

Loneliness fights to take hold.

“There was once a family in Arendelle who had a tutor staying in their home,” Will starts as they near the outskirts of a village. Their travel companions groan and Emma bites back a smile. Propriety is hard to drop, even for this ragtag group, but Will sheds it fastest and most often. The earlier chastising from Robin fell on deaf ears as, to all of their mortification, Will told the dirtiest joke to ever grace Emma’s ears.

The snorting laugh he earned from his princess seemed to only spur the knight on further, as every village they arrived at brought forth another joke.

It eases her burdens, lessens the stress on her shoulders, and lets her forget the danger ahead, even if just for a moment.

“The tutor came so often that he felt himself at home and even had a turn with the housemaid, the nurse, and the mistress herself.” Emma’s gasp only brings a wolfish grin to Will’s face and she spots from the corner of her eye the death glare that Robin is sending his way. “When the master of the house discovered this, he summoned the young man to his private chamber and said, ‘I find it unmannerly of you, sir, that in taking your please of my entire household, you have made an exception of me.’”

Her roaring laugh echoes in the quiet village and she notices that even Lancelot, propriety in the flesh, cracks a grin.

“Where do you come up with this stuff?” she wonders.

“The gutter, undoubtedly,” Dorothy pipes up.

“I don’t visit you that often,” Will shoots back, his grin widening at the hard stare and white-knuckled grip of his comrade. “I learned meself such a grand knowledge like any growing lad did – eavesdropping at the tavern.”

Robin’s horse trots forward just slightly as the man leans over to catch a proper look at Will. “All of that eavesdropping and not a single manner picked up?”

“You give him too much credit!” Little John calls from the front.

“Oi! Just because I’m ordered not to kill you doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“Get a new line already, Scarlett!”

“Settle down, boys,” Dorothy says. “We’re getting close to the village center.”

Lancelot immediately adds, “Eyes out. Something’s not right.”

She registers the smell a few moments later and recoils in disgust.

Smoke. Wood. Flesh.

The distinct smell of burning flesh haunts her nightmares, lingers in the back of her throat as an aftertaste when her thoughts go astray. A quick succession of deep breaths keeps the urge to retch at bay. Still, she cannot will her horse to move.

“Princess Emma,” Robin calls softly, spotting and turning back to her. He lets the others go before them and she watches as they cover their noses and mouths with a cloth. It would be wise to do the same but her muscles won’t move. “Princess Emma,” Robin tries again. “Are you alright?”

“I – I’m fine,” she insists. He only nods and eyes her for a moment.

“Best cover up. You don’t want to be breathing in things like this.” He hands her a spare cloth and she ties it behind her head, mimicking Robin’s own movements. When she completes it, he gives her a nod and a smile, from what she can tell by his crinkling eyes. He gestures her forward but it takes a minute for her body to listen to her commands.

Their ride towards the nearby village settles a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Images of Regina flash in her head no matter how hard she tries.

She spends the walk reliving Regina’s death. The way her skin melted under her gaze. The lack of guilt for what she’d done.

It terrifies her how clear everything still is for her.

Keeping her mind in the present is the hardest part so Emma tries to listen for any noises from around them.

The village is still a half hour away yet the entire forest is as if all signs of life have disappeared. No birds chirping – not even the ones that her mother has been sending after her to keep in touch. No crickets making music, no bees buzzing, not even the rustling of the tree branches.

Silence has never terrified her as much as this.

Ten minutes from the center of the village and they see another person for the first time. They struggle to walk and burns cover most of their body. Like in a trance, they ignore every offer of help coming from Emma and her companions. She moves to get off her horse when the person throws up, blood decorating the forest floor, before collapsing into the pool of their own fluids. The sight takes her breath away and she has to blink away the tears.

“Stay close,” Lancelot warns as they reach the settlement.

Stragglers stumble their way down the streets of the village. Their clothing disheveled and singed in spots, thatched roofs gone from most of the buildings and some still burn as they enter. It looks as if a storm of wind and fire rolled through and the village has yet to recover.

Something large sails overhead, a bird looking much different than she’d ever seen before. Its cawing sounds are unlike anything she’s heard before and it sends a chill down her spine. Four days on the road and an unsettling feeling returns to the center of her chest. She works hard to calm her panicking heart and instead places her trust in the guards around her.

“Let’s find a place to settle for the night,” Robin says, eyes darting to the sky.

They discuss quickly and quietly where the best place would be and settle on an abandoned stable nearby. A river runs behind it and even that doesn’t make a sound.

The stable doesn’t seem to have been damaged by storms like so many homes have been in the village, meaning something else drove the family away. Her only guess is the nearby enemy encampments, but this feels like something more.

Almost like there’s magic waiting for her across the river but what little there is in her can’t reach far enough to grab it and understand what is happening.

Instead, they pair up and ensure that everyone has someone looking out for them. Emma’s never felt so vulnerable until she had to empty her bladder as Dorothy remained vigilant on all that surrounds them. Someone could come up behind them at any moment and her sword was lying on the ground at her feet, swallowed by her riding trousers.

She quickly finds comfort in pulling her dagger from her boot and holding it in her hand as she goes.

Most of the villagers don’t even spare them a second glance as they move about. There’s a haunted look in their eyes that makes Emma roll her shoulders in an attempt to ease the brewing tension. Odd shapes keep flying between the treetops casting unfamiliar shadows on the ground. The animals never come close enough to identify but Emma still feels their eyes glaring into the back of her head.

The group finishes the necessary tasks quickly before retreating back to the stables come nightfall.

The horses stomp restlessly as they settle in during the late evening. The hair on the back of her neck stands up at their unease and the feeling spreads throughout their group. Wailing – the heart-wrenching, sore throat, dry heaving kind – echoes from different corners of the village and grief hangs heavy in the air.

“We won’t stay for more than a night,” Lancelot says. “One guard at all times. No one leaves this stable tonight. Is that understood?” A round of nods comes from the group and the knight assigns shifts.

“What about me?” Emma asks.

“With all due respect, Princess, I cannot afford to have you on guard. Rest. Your work is tomorrow.”

His decision is hard to swallow but Emma nods anyway. It wouldn’t do good to throw a tantrum among the people whose job is to protect her. She will let it slide for tonight, her stomach twisting in uncomfortably fast motions. But tomorrow she will take part.

It takes a great effort to not stomp and grumble on her way to her sleeping spot but apparently it still isn’t good enough as it gets a laugh from Robin. He lounges against one of the closed stable doors, a picture of ease with his legs stretched in front of him and his ankles crossed.

She halfheartedly glares at the man before she attempts to fluff the hay. It’s certainly a far cry from a palace pillow but it’ll have to do.

“Is everything alright, Princess Emma?” he asks. They are the only two at their end of the stables, the others working over a strategy near the entrance.

“I had hoped for better accommodations,” she answers after a moment, teasing smile on her lips. He grins quick even as her attention drifts to the huddle once again.

“Apologies, Your Highness. Next time we will find the stable with silk sheets and a feathered bed.”

Instead of continuing in a light banter, she keeps her focus on Lancelot. “You know I am capable with a sword,” she says, her tone questioning.

“Of course, Princess,” Robin answers. His lips quirk up as if entertained.

“Then I should be on watch as well. You all need as much rest as possible for us to continue our journey tomorrow.”

“While I have no doubts in your abilities, it is best for you to rest tonight.”

“I am not that tired.”

Almost immediately after the words leave her mouth, she fights back a yawn and fails. Robin grins at the attempt. He watches her for a moment before a somber expression graces his features. “You are not underestimated, please know that,” he starts. “But we have no clue what attacked the village. Your safety is our top priority and it will make all of our lives easier if you accept that as well.”

His words serve as a necessary reminder that everyone with her is risking their own lives for her mission. They are trailing the edges of enemy territory, an enemy that gets more terrifying the more they discover, and are hoping to sneak to the site for materials unnoticed. It’s a monumental task, one with no guarantee of return, and she bites hard on her tongue to repress the urge wanting to say she can do it on her own.

She’s felt like she’s been on her own for so long, trapped in her golden cage dressed as a palace. Forced to be her own friend and entertain herself, teach herself things her parents were too scared of, coping with her situation all alone.

She was on her own against Regina, her parents powerless to stop her. She was alone when she woke up in the infirmary months later and without an idea of what happened.

Always so alone, always so lonely.

Then Killian inserted himself into her life for one night and flipped everything on its head. Immediately they fell into the role of partners with a common task, working together silently, clicking right away. For the first time in her life, loneliness was not her only companion.

The time after he disappeared allowed that numbing loneliness to creep its way back into her life only to be banished once again at his return.

She loves her people and would do anything for them but in truth… He is who she is doing all of this for. He is who she will return home to.

Robin’s face holds a far-off look and Emma’s heart clenches at the familiarity of it.

“Do you have anyone you’d like to write a message to? I can have one of my mother’s birds deliver it…” she offers, hesitant and uncomfortable. As much as they have found a banter within the group over their days of travel, Emma still doesn’t know the knights guarding her on her mission. They are familiar faces, ones she’s seen throughout the palace over the years, but Killian is the natural extrovert, learning about everyone he meets. She barely remembers any of their last names but she’s sure he could recall every story they’ve ever told him.

He'd make a wonderful leader. His courage, strength, bravery, sense of justice… Killian is everything a people should hope their leader to be and yet he still deems himself unworthy for some reason. Despite that, they cannot deny themselves the connection that stretches between them. She closes her eyes and hears his voice in her ear about how they make quite the team. It becomes all she can focus on and she feels a warmth fill her body, the outside world sounding softer, more far away. The sensations stay with her when she opens her eyes again and even when she manages to let a yawn slip.

Robin has a soft look on his face as their eyes meet. “Thank you,” he says. “I’ll scribe something in the morning so you’ll have it ready.”

She nods her head and settles in, back against the bale of hay. The armor, a gift from Killian a few years ago, digs into her arms and waist. She shifts unable to find a comfortable lounging position and stifles another yawn to Robin’s amusement.

“What?” she huffs.

“Nothing, nothing…” he trails off with an amused smile. “You just remind me of my son. Roland.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, he’s also quite stubborn to sleep.” He pauses. “He’s five.”

A roll of her eyes earns another chuckle from his direction but Emma concedes and lays her head down.

Sleep finds her in a light sort of way, dangling on the edge of consciousness and never letting her slip deep enough to dream. It is the sleep of someone on alert.

The creaking of the stable door is quiet for the most part but the sound still dances in Emma’s ears. She awakens, eyes blinking slowly as she tries to adjust to the darkness of the stable. Little John’s tall figure fills the only light coming into the stables from the gap in the door and Emma barely realizes, based on the shift rotation, that it’s the middle of the night.

“Whatsthematter?” Her words slur together as sleep circles the borders of her consciousness. A soft rain patters against the wood roof and she can hear the soft stomps of footsteps in mud.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Little John says in a quiet urgence. He keeps turning his head to look out the door and Emma struggles to sit up with her armor on.

“I’ll help,” she manages to say but before she can get up, Little John is outside, the stable door slamming shut behind him. The sound reverberates around the enclosed structure, immediately waking the other knights. They rush to a standing position and bombard her with questions that she doesn’t have answers to. Her mind runs blank and she only relays the short sentences they exchanged.

Robin picks up his crossbow from beside his sleeping area and slings it over his shoulder.

“You are not going after him,” Lancelot says, stepping into Robin’s path.

“Little John is like a brother to me! I’m not leaving him alone out there!”

“And going out after him, in this weather and in a town as dangerous as this, will weaken all of us.” Lancelot breathes out heavily, glancing at the stoic expression on Dorothy’s face and the crestfallen look on Will’s. “We will search at dawn. We will be able to track his footprints in the mud then. For now, rest.”

Robin stands still in a stare-off with Lancelot. Though neither one moves, their eyes dart around, a silent conversation amongst comrades, until Robin steps back in defeat and practically throws his crossbow to the ground. Will moves forward in a quick motion and brings Robin to a far corner of the stables, whispering quiet reassurances to the older gentleman.

“We’re going to find him, alright?” Will says in a whisper that just barely makes Emma’s ear.

“Come on,” Dorothy says from her other side and Emma jumps. “Get back to sleep.”

“But –”

“No buts. Sleep is the best thing you can do right now. Got it?”

Emma nods, sighing heavily. Her eyes watch the different knights amongst her. The ability to read lips is not one that she possesses but she still tries, to no avail. Her questions go unanswered as they talk to each other and not her, and exhaustion tugs at the back of her mind again.

So she lays her head on a bale of hay and clutches her dagger under the folds of her riding outfit with one ear out for the slightest noise.

The next morning, the group sets out to look for Little John. A search that very quickly becomes useless. Little John’s tracks stop five feet from the stable with no indication of where else he could have gone.

Dorothy growls in frustration. “It doesn’t make any sense. There’s nowhere he could’ve gone. His tracks stop right here. Nothing more.”

Robin mumbles to himself while he alternates his glare between Lancelot and the ground. Emma’s heart feels for the Black knight. Leadership means making the tough decisions and she knows from the look of apprehension on his face that his next plan will not be a popular one.

Expectedly, there is a fight about pausing their search to continue forward with the mission. Lancelot stands his ground though and within a few hours, they’re back on their trek, horses trotting through the forest grounds. Everyone does double duty with their eyes scanning the ground for any clues of Little John’s whereabouts with no success.

Will slows his horse to come beside Emma by the late afternoon. “How are you holding up?” he asks.

Her mind has been elsewhere the entire ride. Killian occupies most of her thoughts, a centering focus that keeps her from losing herself in despair. The way he raises a single eyebrow at her to tease, taunt, and flirt. The feeling of his arms around her waist. How he loves to use the rough skin of his stump to tickle her side. His eyes, bluer than any ocean she’d seen with depths of untold stories he’s yet to share with her.

She focuses on what will happen when she gets home. He’ll no doubt want to reprimand her for kissing a commoner in front of the guards, regardless of the fact the commoner was him, and she’ll try to ignore his pushes to talk.

But then Emma remembers how one of those guards is now missing and her “when she gets home” turns into an “if she gets home”.

If she still had her magic, she could’ve found Little John by now. She could have magicked herself to the cliffs of Segovia and home within a day. No one would have disappeared. Her kingdom wouldn’t be closing in on a nearly six-decade war with more losses than stars in the sky and already stretched incredibly thin. Killian wouldn’t have been inspired to sign up and he’d still have his hand.

Anger races through her blood and she feels her body grow warm, cheeks get hot under her fury. It all leads back to Regina. Living off of revenge against a child who was manipulated when she thought she was helping… the pain of her refusal to see the truth – see that Regina’s mother was to blame and not young Snow – led to more death and destruction than any of them thought possible. The Ogre Wars hadn’t harmed them this deeply. It’s all Regina’s fault.

Her thoughts stop in a sudden beat as Emma gasps, dropping the reins of her horse. Her hands feel hot to the touch, almost like they’re burned. Flexing her fingers does little to ease the pain and she ignores the way her hands start to shake.

She must have been subconsciously wringing the reins too hard to cause such a sensation.

Will rushes to grab the fallen reins. “Princess?” he pushes. “Are you okay?”

She clears her throat and clenches one hand in a fist while the other takes back the leather straps.

Is she okay? Absolutely not. The weight of her mission is starting to bear down on her shoulders. Little John’s disappearance has thrown her off and she already feels herself slipping away from reality. But she won’t tell Will that. Instead, she pivots the conversation and meets his eyes in a firm stare.

“I promise that I will get you all home safe. Got it?”

He hisses in disappointment. “That’s not an answer to my question.”

Emma huffs. “How are you doing?”

“I asked you first.”

“You’re not serious…”

“Deadly,” he deadpans only to wince and Emma’s sure his mind has gone to the same place as hers – Little John.

So she whispers, fiercely and filled with determination, “I promise.”

*

They stop in the middle of the forest in the late afternoon. Tension fills the air with every moment of silence until it becomes suffocating but no one does anything to break it for a long time. Little John’s disappearance weighs heavily on them all but their mission is, as much as Emma hates to say it, more important. If Killian is right and the minerals have been replenished since its last harvest a few hundred years ago, it could save hundreds if not thousands of their people. It could put this senseless war to an end once and for all.

They just needed to survive until then.

Lancelot sets his orders that this will be their camp for the night with two guards on the lookout at all times. The risk of riding in the dark after what happened to Little John has them on edge. They wanted to look their enemy in the eyes as they extinguished the life behind it.

Everyone in their group has killed before. It was a cruel casualty of war. But Emma could never relish in the suffering to come from such a death. Regina’s last minutes play on a constant repeat behind her eyelids and she cannot imagine adding anyone else to that scene.

Hunting occupies half of the group’s late afternoon hours while the other half sets up their tents. It is a tricky endeavor, as Lancelot’s orders are to establish one large makeshift tent for everyone. Safety, he had reassured her earlier.

By the time Will and Dorothy return with a number of small game hanging between each of them, a fire is being stoked in the middle of the tent and sleep schedules have been arranged. Dinner is a quiet affair with a heavy tension hanging over their heads like a storm cloud. An empty space sits between Robin and Will where Little John would have sat.

Their silent meal is broken when Robin clears his throat.

“I would like to still scribe that letter, if it’s alright,” he directs to Emma, his gaze leaving the burning fire only after he has finished speaking.

“Of course,” she answers softly. Swallowing, she looks around the group. “Does anyone else have anything they’d like to write home?” For a moment, she feels as if she’s requesting their departing words to be left for family. For what other reason would they need to write home only days after leaving?

“I reckon I have a few things I need to receive an update on,” Will says. He leans forward on the log beside her and spreads his legs apart so his knee can nudge hers in a gentle show of support. “I have a few bets I need to collect on.”

Dorothy rises to the bait even if her words sound the slightest forced. “I think you mean debts to pay.”

“I beg your pardon,” he huffs. “I am an excellent gambler.”

“Is that why your bets have paid for Ruby’s new wardrobe?” Dorothy smirks and continues, raising her sword in front of her as she examines it in the firelight. “I believe this came from a wager settled last month.”

“Oi! Ruby is a cheat and you know it!”

“I’ll be sure to mention that in my letter to her.”

The group gains volume as their teasing returns slowly. Emma’s eyes dart across the bonfire to Robin and she sends a nod of thanks. Little John’s fate still hangs heavy in the air but for a moment, they have a reprieve.

Before the fire dies down, the group settles near to write their letters.

“Who will you be writing to?” Dorothy asks Emma as she grabs her own parchment.

Lancelot grins and looks up for a moment. “Killian, of course.” Her mouth drops open in surprise at the normally quiet leader speaking up with such a taunting line. Mind focused on her own words, she half listens as Dorothy details what she plans to say to Ruby and how Lancelot is best dictating his letter to Guinevere.

Will smirks as he looks to Emma from the corner of his eye. “I’m writing to my Anastasia,” he says proudly, though his voice is low. Dorothy and Lancelot handed her their letters before taking the first watch and Will doesn’t want to disturb Robin’s heavy concentration. “I’m going to marry her when I get back.”

“You’re engaged?!”

“Oi! Don’t sound so surprised! I’m quite the catch, ya know.” Will’s grin only widens.

“Not surprised, just offended I was not invited to the wedding.”

“Well,” her companion drags out. He scratches behind his ear in a nervous tick, a movement that has her heart yearning for Killian. “We’re not engaged yet. I still have to ask her.” He clears his throat and straightens his back. “But I will, the moment we return. Well, after I ask her father.”

Emma smiles softly as she watches Will’s lovesick expression. “You truly love her,” she says, more to herself than to him. Still, Will gives her a small smile and a nod.

She feels a rush of warmth in her stomach as she listens to Will’s words of love for Anastasia, her mind wandering to Killian once again. She misses him terribly and wishes he could be beside her but she knows the best place for him is back home, preparing for their return.

Well, some of their returns.

When the scratch of Will’s quill comes to an end, Emma chances a glance at Robin before asking quietly. “Little John… did he have anyone back home?”

A sharp inhale. “Little John kept personal things to himself, mostly,” Will says regretfully. His gaze casts a burden across the fire. “I’m not the best person to ask.”

Robin keeps to himself as he starts, scratches out, and then restarts his letter to Roland. Emma wonders how close they were to the missing knight. Did they grow up together? Are their families close? Emma bids goodnight to Will before she stands from her log and walks around the fire to Robin.

“Are you telling him to be asleep by sunset?” she asks with a small lift of her lips.

Robin huffs, glancing up briefly. “If only that were enough to get him to bed on time.”

“You should tell him it is by orders of the princess.” The grin their share is fleeting but it offers a momentary reprieve from the day’s events.

“You may sit if you’d like, Princess Emma.”

Sitting presents a challenge each time she attempts it due to the soreness of her muscles. Horse riding and trekking like they have been is far from her usual activities. She leans awkwardly to the side before nearly tipping over completely as her bottom situates itself on the log. Her eyes gaze into the dwindling flames before her while Robin scrawls his name and folds the letter.

He holds the parchment out to her with a sad smile. “Little John was married once,” he says. Her fingers gingerly take the letter from his and she feels the weight of his words, her shoulders dropping beneath it. “She was a beautiful woman. Long dark hair and a smile that spelled trouble. She bewitched him from the first moment.” Robin laughs. “They had a son as well.”

Her companion’s smile drops and at that, so does Emma’s stomach. For she sees the turn of events before her eyes in the pause Robin takes. She sees the grief coloring his face and the regret that fills his eyes.

“Little John was helping me save my wife Marian when his village was attacked. He returned to an empty home.” Robin turns his gaze towards the fire and she witnesses the way his frame shrinks in on itself. “He lost his family while helping me save mine. Never once did he blame me. By all accounts, he should have. Instead, he stayed at my side and helped me raise Roland after I lost Marian.”

His breath shudders as he shakes his shoulders, a quiet sniffle as tears become harder to keep at bay. “We are the only family he has left, Princess Emma. And I will find him.”

His eyes meet hers in steely determination and Emma nearly promises him the same as she did Will. But the darkness of the night is creeping in on her fear and she worries this will be a promise she cannot keep. So she nods and sits and thinks. For the first time in a long time, she prays to any gods that are listening, to the same gods that saved Killian and brought him to her life.

*

“Three and twenty and not a suitor to show for it,” Emma mimics in a low-pitched voice. She crawls across the bed wearing only Killian’s discarded shirt and plops to a sit beside him.

Killian barely looks up from where he scribbles in his notebook, his back against the headboard and his head tilted low. “Who had said this again?”

“Grumpy.”

She crosses her arms in a huff as Killian doesn’t even attempt to hide his amusement. “Perhaps you do not have any suitors because they do not wish to sit through your terrible impersonations.”

Her next attempt at his own accent makes her tongue feel too big for her mouth and her words to be more garbled than coherent. His laughter has her fighting a smile and she only contains so much self-restraint so instead she leans over and hides her smile with his mouth.

Their lips barely separate when she whispers conspiratorially, “Or perhaps they found out the princess has been kidnapped by a pirate captain who spends his free time ravishing her in his cabin.”

“Arggg,” Killian attempts with a curled lip and narrowed eyes. He lifts his left hand and crooks his finger to look like a hook and Emma giggles wildly.

Being with him makes her feel lighter. He makes her happy.

Emma watches the port every day now that the Jewel and her captain have found a home at these docks. She attends the meetings he has with her parents to give updates on the sea front and they exchange nods as their departing promises. A sturdy rope ladder, a commission by Killian from another port, is frequently pulled from beneath her bed and draped outside her window. Apparently her string of sheets caused him too much worry. She merely rolled her eyes at the admission.

His cabin is warm and welcoming. Blankets litter not only his bed but also the window seat on the back wall facing the ocean. Pillows from their land and far away shores pile on every surface. Some map or another is typically spread across his table while the books on any available flat surface change every few weeks.

The sun streams in as a comforting orange glow each evening and wakes her with the palest yellow light in the early morns. The weight of his arm over her stomach acts as a comforting shield from her fears, both past and present.

White wooden walls of cabin feel more like home than the gray stone of the castle.

Or perhaps it is just simply him.

The reminders of his presence are spread throughout his cabin where they are absent in her lonely bed in the tower. His smell lingers on his pillows and clothes while her room suffocates her in gifted perfumes. The small, lumpy captain’s bed adheres to the curves of her body when she drowns in her large, feathered mattress.

Stresses of their ongoing war melt away when she hides under his bedcovers and has his grin to marvel at. There’s warmth in her chest and a spark at her fingertips when they’re together and she swears sometimes that being with him, loving him, is magic.

They share another kiss, brief but soft and all-consuming, before Killian sighs.

“You’re set to meet with your father at half past,” he says regretfully.

She rolls her eyes with a groan and slides off the bed. “Perhaps I do not actually have to go.”

“Perhaps you should like my head on a stake then?”

The urge to roll her eyes again at his dramatics is strong but she refrains. “My father has no interest in executing his right-hand man.”

“That’s simply because he does not know,” Killian starts. He rises to his knees and inches closer to the side of the bed where she stands. Her shirt half unbuttoned, his fingers finish the job as he presses light kisses trailing from her chest to her stomach. “That my meetings with the princess are of a more personal matter.”

The scruff of his facial hair slides against a particularly ticklish spot on her ribs and she squirms away with a giggle, nearly tripping over her sword and dagger as they clang together in a soft sound.

“I do enjoy these meetings,” she grins wickedly. “I learn so much.”

A shriek leaves her throat as Killian clambers out of bed to grab her but Emma evades his pursuit. She quickly gathers her pile of clothes and weaponry. Another soft ding fills the room.

Laughing, she says, “I really must go.” Sorting her clothes is easy enough, even with the soft dings coming from the pile. She quickly dresses. Hands cover her own as she attaches her sword to her belt, her brow furrowing as sounds continue to emanate from where it’s sheathed.

That’s never happened before.

Lips press against her neck and Emma leans back against Killian, closing her eyes briefly before another sound of metal on metal disrupts the peace of the cabin. Her eyes fly open.

*

Emma awakes with a gasp in the middle of the night as a swordfight takes place around her.

Fire long gone, the moon serves as the only lighting in the clearing. The metal of her knights’ swords glitter dangerously under the stars and Emma only barely catches glimpses of what they are fighting.

Simians, it seems. Simians that can jump and… hover overhead and away from swipes of a sword.

Flying simians.

She scrambles from her place of rest against a log and reaches for the sword at her side. At full height, she holds her weapon in front of her and examines the scene.

The simians are large beasts. Ugly and with teeth sharp enough to kill, their wings flap overhead, dragging dirt and ash from their resting site into their faces. Their claws swish through the air in severe strikes, attempting to harm or disarm, she cannot tell. She assumes both. For the moment, their group seems to be holding their own.

A screech comes from behind her and Emma ducks just in time for a simian to fly towards her head. She pops up in a flash and her sword strikes true at her attacker, a wing sliced clean off. The simian cries in anger as it tries to control its flight before falling to the ground. From there, it makes its way towards her on its paws and bares its teeth threateningly. Her sword arches through the air only for another simian to come from above and reach for her sword with its claws.

“Get out of the way!” Dorothy yells and blocks the flying simian from Emma’s side. The grounded simian sees the moment of opportunity, hunches back on its legs, and pounces right at Emma.

Instinct takes over and before Emma even realizes it, her sword is in front of her and the simian impales itself.

Her eyes widen in horror. Regina’s skin melting off her face haunted Emma’s dream. The way her dark eyes turned completely black as life left them. The gurgling as blood overflowed her insides and leaked from the corners of her lips.

Emma feels like she is back in the tower as the simian garbles over blood, its wailing fading moment by moment. Red stains its teeth and its wing flaps haphazardly behind it before it stills. She stares for a moment at unseeing eyes before the simian’s head drops forward and its wing slackens.

Nausea threatens to take over her senses and guilt churns low in her gut but a humanly grunt from behind her snaps her back into action. She quickly but gently lowers her sword and shakes the simian off of the blade. She doesn’t even wait for the thump of its body hitting the ground before Emma turns to help.

The world stops momentarily as she realizes she may be too late.

The simian Dorothy directed away from her now easily evades the knight’s strong sword strokes, flying above her before making quick strikes at her head and back. Dorothy yells, one hand reaching for her head as a simian darts back with a wad of her hair in its mouth, skin from her scalp hanging from one end. She isn’t fast enough to defend herself as the simian barely takes a moment before darting back down again, claws poised and sinking quickly into her back, knocking her forward in the same breath its mouth comes down on her neck.

Lancelot struggles against two simians, his armor dented and breaking off of his body with each attack. His sword makes a wide arch in the air, too wide to correct before the simians come down on him, biting each of his arms as their claws dig into his thighs. He throws his head back as he yells, knees buckling under the pain.

Robin clutches his side, blood seeping into his shirt as he swings his sword with his non-dominant hand. It’s awkward and lacking strength and the simian he’s been fighting takes the chance to strike again.

She sees it the moment before she can move and her stomach turns when she realizes she’s not fast enough. Her throat catches in her throat as the simian’s jaw bears down on his shoulder and Robin cries out in agony.

“Get her out of here!” Lancelot manages through gritted teeth.

The world moves in slow motion as her head turns towards him before she feels her arm jerked in a different direction. A loud rush pulses through her ears and black dots her vision. She immediately resists the force on her body and pulls her arm back towards her.

“Move, damn it!” It takes a moment but the pained voice yelling at her voice belongs to Will. She stares at the blood dripping down his temple as he pulls her shocked body away from the scene as quickly and discretely as possible.

A single simian attempts to follow but is thwarted by Will’s swordsmanship. He moves like around the woods like he walks on air, the ease in which he maneuvers reminds of her Killian’s lithe form. The simian dodges strikes and Emma watches helplessly, her sword barely held by her fingertips as she presses her back against a nearby tree. She wishes the simian would be like the one she defeated at camp. She wishes that it would become too confident and turn into a target easy to disarm. If Killian were here, he wouldn’t need her wishing.

Will’s feet dance across the leaves of the forest floor as he eyes the simian. One moment, two moments, then he makes a decisive slice. Will makes quick work of one of its wings before impaling it, exactly as she’d done at camp.

He stares at the simian for a brief moment, eyebrows furrowed in thought, before he turns towards Emma and grabs her bicep to pull her along. “Let’s go.”

“But,” she starts, head turning back towards camp where more simians fly under the moonlight. It’s hard to see anything else in the darkness. “But what about them? We can’t just leave them.”

“You are the priority, Princess,” Will says, high on alert. “You were their priority. Getting you away, safely, will mean they’ve done their job well.”

“I won’t let them die for me,” she protests even as her feet follow his.

Will jerks them to a stop, his eyes red and narrowed in anger. “And what good would their death do if you get yourself killed as well?”

“They might not be dead.”

“We all will be if you return.” Grief blankets her body in a cold embrace and her mouth drops open though no words come out. Will sighs, eyes looking around for danger, before stepping closer. “Don’t let them die in vain. Let’s go.”

Emma follows at his side numbly and, she realizes with a shiver, death follows her.

[cat-of-starlight]

I finally found someone else that feels the same way about Jace that I do! I don't want to yuck on anyone's yum but, like, he deserves better than what so much of the fandom had done and I just... ugh...

TRUE!

It makes me so sad that a LOT of content I've seen so far has either been "welp lmao he's just evil too and has been since the beginning" or "teehee lmao, twink man fell for the bad guy and does whatever he wants him to <3" When like. Deadass there's the threat of Porter going "I killed you once and I'd do it again" + the whole thing about the shatterstar fully meaning that the person it happened to was subjected to the ritual UNWILLINGLY-

And!! He's so nice in Season 1!! He deserved SO MUCH!! I about screamed in my rewatch of Sophomore Year because he was the Bad Kids' (specifically Fig's) FIRST CHOICE on what hireling they should take with them- If that happened, we could have fully avoided him being on the other adventure happening at about the same time/being killed-

His only crime is trying to be friendly to his coworkers (even when they're creepy as fuck), being at the wrong place at the wrong time, and potentially failing a few saving throws as his ass got killed/rezzed against his will

--

But yea, its nice to see other people who agree! When the episodes first came out, a majority of the posts about him were basically "Part of the group of terrible adults who were abusing children", "lmao look at this stupid loser idiot who can't do anything", or both simultaneously ;;

Which,,, is disheartening considering that his vibes fully brought me out of my artblock, and I've been drawing him constantly like some sort of unhinged maniac- (I deadass haven't drawn at ALL this year until like. last week (because new tablet)- and out of 8 drawings that I've actually finished, he has been the focus of half of them)

Also- idk- he especially vibes hard to me because, despite some people ragging on Sorcerers, as a neurodivergent person who just. learns Differently™️ than other people, I just relate to the vibes of Sorcerers more lmao- also it makes it just. a touch uncomfortable when people word it as "lmao, they're just dumb/lazy, and don't wanna open a book to actually learn REAL spells" because it sounds a LITTLE too similar to shit I've been told irl :,D

So yea- All of those feelings of "Cool Character w/ Untapped Tragic Circumstances" + Feelings I have about that class in particular- combined in a Perfect Storm to create a character who lives in m head Rent Free and probably won't leave my head for a WHILE

He's my perfect blorbo and he deserves SO much more than he got <3 <3 <3

,,,,and you know what,,, maybe seeing more positive posts about him (+ Receiving this ask lmao),,,, may be the motivation I need to make me post the pics of him that's been sitting in my art folder,,,,,,

(PS: The fics slap so hard and you are SO VALID for That Ship™️™️ being shown as a Horrific and Toxic thing because. yea. Send help for he- he needs better partners fr ouuughhhhh(I'd Comment on the actual ones themselves because I know that helps, but the site hates me and refuses to let me have proper accounts/access- I am in shambles))

[thechekhov]

Hi Chekhov! Really enjoying your white diamond au! I had a quick art question: How do you start comissions? I've been improving my drawing skills and thinking about drawing for others after having fun in artfight, but I don't know where to start? How much to charge, how to get paid, etc. Do you have any tips? Hope you're doing well! :)

Alright, since a few people have asked, I’ve decided to put together a few things about how to get started on commissions - what you need, what you should make, and how to keep things organized. 

This will get a little long, so I’ll divide it into 4 main sections:

1) Draw Art - Getting started

2) Get Commissioned - Making a commission sheet, Advertising

3) ??? - Communicating, Setting Limits, Running the Business

4) Profit - Pricing Yourself and Getting Paid

* Disclaimer: I’m an artist, so this How-To will be illustration-focused. I’m sure many of these tips can apply to ANY types of commissions, but I will be focusing on the type I know best. If you are proficient in other types of commissions for other types of art - music commissions, photography, etc - feel free to chime in and leave a comment or make your own tutorial!

1) Draw Art

I think this is probably the most obvious part, but it needs to be said:

Before you start making art for other people, you must first be comfortable making art in general.

I’m not saying your art has to be Disney-quality, or industry-level! Not at all. 

BUT! You must be comfortable creating what you sell. If you try to sell something you have little confidence in, you will stress yourself out and possibly end up losing time AND money.

Don’t shoot for the moon if you haven’t landed on it even once. Sell what you know you’re good at. Your commissions don’t HAVE to include full-body illustrations if you don’t know how to draw feet/solid stances. Limit yourself to what you can do.

Things you need to should probably have before starting commissions:

1. Access to art materials or a fully downloaded art program

DO NOT - Use a free tutorial version that will expire in a month and leave you without a way to draw! If you are having trouble finding a program, try free ones like MediBang Paint Pro. 

2. Free time to complete the amount of commissions you want to take.

DO NOT - Take on or offer commissions if you KNOW you’re going to be overwhelmed with school or personal life for the next 2+ months. Pace yourself, otherwise you’ll burn out, get stressed, and get discouraged.

3. A reliable way to communicate with your customers like a commissions-only email 

DO NOT - Use your friend/family/college email. It’s hard to keep track of things as it is, and creating new emails is easy and free. And keep it professional if you can! Not many people will reach out to dong-wiggles20434 to ask for a design. Ideally, your email should be close to your brand - however you want to brand yourself. Usernames are fine!)

DO NOT - Use Instagram/Twitter/Tumblr to collect commission info unless you are ready to do the organizing yourself. Some people make it work, but in my experience, if you use these SNS sites to communicate with friends and network... you’re going to be losing commission inquiries right and left and accidentally ignoring people. Email is much easier to organize and sort into folders.

4. A portfolio or at least 2-3 pieces of each type of art you’re planning to sell. 

DO NOT - Advertise commissions without having any examples of the art you plan to sell. People will find it difficult to trust you if you can’t even give them a vague idea of what sort of drawing they’ll be getting. 

Disclaimer: These are not hard ‘do not’s. If you have had a different experience, I respect that. I’m simplifying for the sake of streamlining this advice. 

.

2) Get Commissioned

So - you have your art, you have your art program, and you’ve got all the time in the world. That means.... that’s right! It’s time to let the world know you’re taking commissions.

One of the most common ways artists signal to their audience that they can do commissions is by creating a commissions sheet. There are MANY ways to make this - and they range from simple and doodly ones to VERY complex designs. For example, here’s mine! 

There are many ways to organize a commission sheet. At its core, a commission sheet should display the types of art you WANT to be commissioned to make. Let’s go over a few ways they can be done!

#1.... Body Portion Dividers!

This sheet is most common with those who want to capitalize on drawing people and characters. If you want to draw lots of characters, this is a great way to offer several tiers of pricing based on how much of their character your customers want to see. 

#2... Complexity Scale

If you’re open to drawing many things but want to base your pricing off of how complex something is, you can split your tiers into done-ness. This type of commission is popular with those that draw characters AND animals, furries, etc.

#3....  Style and Type

If you’re more on the design side of things, or if you have various niche art styles that you can’t quite lump together, display a variety of your skills alongside each other! It helps if all the ones you have can be organized under a common customer - like those looking to advance their own business and get logos, websites, or mascots made for them!

.

3) ???

You got your first commission... what happens now???

Well, ideally you have the time, tools and motivation to make things happen! Now all you have to do is... sit down and... draw.......

I’m going to say something that may be a little controversial: 

Commissions aren’t fun. 

No, no, hear me out: I have fun doing commissions! I genuinely enjoy drawing characters and coming up with designs. But even with all that said, commissions are, first and foremost: WORK

I’m not saying this to discourage you, I’m saying this to keep things realistic. When I first began commissions, I thought it would be just like any other type of drawing. I would sit down, imagine a thing, draw it... it would be fun! 

But then I realized that I couldn’t just draw what I wanted - another person had an idea in mind and had asked me to do it. I stressed over getting the design correct from descriptions. I stressed over not having the right reference for the pose the commissioner wanted. I stressed over not being able to draw the leg right in the way I had promised I would do. I stressed about billing. I stressed about digital money transfers. It was difficult, and time-consuming, and I did not enjoy it. At all. 

And a part of that is definitely on the commissioner - we, as artists, NEED to demand proper references or descriptions. We, as artists, NEED to limit the amount of changes we’re going to make at the flick of a finger. We NEED to demand clear instructions and set boundaries. That’s also super important. 

But also - don’t be discouraged if you find yourself exhausted drawing your first commission. MANY artists go through this. Adjust your rules, fix up your limits, practice putting your foot down on finicky commissioners who expect you to read their mind! It does get easier, but you have to communicate and put in the effort and act as your own manager AND your own customer service AND your own accountant. That’s what you’re looking at. 

Good limits and boundaries to set: 

Limit the amount of changes a person can ask to make. “I want blue hair.” Next email: “No wait, yeah, make it red.” Next email: “Actually I changed my mind, can I get the blue but like, lighter?” Next email: “No, not that light.” ... At some point, we have to stop. I personally allow 2-3 changes on the final stages of a commission before I start refusing or start asking for extra money.

Demand clear instructions and/or references. If something isn’t described, you have to take artistic liberty and design it, but that’s difficult! And if the customer is not happy with it but can’t tell you more? That’s not your problem - the burden of reference is on THEM. You cannot read their mind, and that’s not your fault.

Get at least half the payment up front! This is a good balance between the ‘pay before art’ and the ‘pay after art’ conundrum that will limit the amount of woes between artist and customer. (I’ll touch upon this a little more in the Profit section.)

Organization:

Where possible, create good habits! Tag your emails and organize your folders. I have a tag on my emails for active and finished commissions. I also keep my emails on Unread until I have time to sit down and properly look at/reply to them.

My Commissions in the folder are also organized chronologically and I mark down which ones are paid and which ones are not.

(I understand not everyone can do this, but if you want to give it a try, it does make things easier in the long run. Again, this advice is just what I have found personally helps.)

One last thing - I do not want to shame ANYONE for taking their time with commissions! Commissions are complex, and they take time and work. You can draw in 8 hours, but some things take research, materials, etc. Some illustrations realistically take up to half a year, or, depending on what’s involved, several years!!

THAT BEING SAID - it’s good manners to be upfront with your customers about how long you expect the commission to take. If you think you’re busy, just say that! Explain that you have a lot going on, and you will probably take (insert time period here).

And if your commissioners are worried, work out a system to keep them updated! I send my commissioners updates when I finish the lineart/flat colors/etc and I try to be clear about how long everything will take. I try to estimate with a +3-5 days buffer to give myself extra time... and recently I’ve been using it. Always say a bigger number than you think you’ll need. 

If someone wants a rushed commission... make them pay more. If ANYONE wants a commission done ‘by the end of the week’ - that’s an automatic rush-job for me because I’m juggling an irl job and several commissions at once. I WILL charge a rush fee and I won’t feel bad about it. 

If someone wants a commission within 24 hours...... Well, they better be paying you 3x your normal amount, or more. And remember - you CAN refuse! It’s perfectly reasonable to say ‘No, sorry, that sort of turnaround time is not realistic for me.’

Food For Thought - Invoicing

Many artists I’ve commissioned in the past have not used Invoicing, but I’ve recently begun to fill out invoices and file them in my Commissions folder just to keep track of things. It’s not necessary until you start getting into the Small Business side of Freelancing, but it’s not a bad idea to get into the habit early in case you might need to do it later for tax purposes. 

Here’s what my Invoice looks like, for example. 

I’ve optimized it to help me remember who, what, and how much is involved! It also contains important info for my customers like where to send the money.

Which brings us to...

.

4) Profit

One of the hardest things for artists is pricing themselves. I’m not going to tell you which way is BEST - there is no BEST way, only the best way for YOU. 

One of the options available to you is pricing by the hour. It includes averaging out how long it takes you to draw a specific type of art (whatever you’re offering as a commission) and multiplying that by an hourly wage you’ve decided on.

When you do this, I stress - do NOT price yourself below minimum wage if you can help it. When you first start out, aim for the $15/hour mark and adjust accordingly. 

Other ways to price your art:

- Per complexity: Portraits vs full body should be scaled based on how difficult you find one vs. the other. You can also easily decide on a price for a sketch and double it for lineart, triple it for full color, etc.

- Per type: Look up for industry prices for website design and logo design. They may surprise you! You don’t have to charge that much, but it helps to keep things in perspective. 

It’s okay to change your prices! Keep your commission sheet image handy so you can update the amounts as you grow. :)

Payment up front or after completion?

Some artist take full payment up front. Some only demand payment after they’ve finished and sent out the piece. I personally think these are both risky for everyone involved. 

I recommend doing at least HALF of the payment BEFORE you start the commission. Calculate your full price and ask for half before you start working on it in earnest, to make sure the person can actually pay you. Then, when they receive the full piece and are satisfied, they can complete the payment. 

I personally work in this structure:

> Someone emails me with their idea/reference

> I send back a rough draft sketch that shows the idea/pose (only takes me 10-20 minutes so not a huge loss if they ghost) and quote them a price

> They can pay the full thing upfront OR pay half

> I finish the commission and send updates when I do the lineart/colors to double check anything so they have multiple chances to spot any errors

> If the person paid only half on completion, I send them a low-res version of the finished thing, they finish up their payment and THEN I send them the full-res version plus any other filetypes/CYMK proofs, etc. 

Many of the people who commission me pay me up front even though I offer they pay half - and I’m really flattered that they trust me that much! Because of that, I feel encouraged to update them frequently and ask for their input as I work, so they have the peace of mind knowing I’m actually doing their commission. 

Great, but how do I get PAID????

There are NUMEROUS ways - these days money is relatively easy to transfer over digital means, and you have a few options. 

Paypal is perhaps one of the oldest digital wallets and is geared towards businesses. By setting up a PayPal and connecting it to your debit card of bank account, you can tunnel a pathway from your online business directly into your hands in a matter of days. 

Paypal also offers Invoicing - you make an invoice, price it and send it to the person’s email and they can pay whatever way they need! (It also allows partial payments.)

Pros: transfers from PayPal to bank account are free, and take a couple of business days. It also has no upper limit to the amount of money you can move in/out each month. It can force refunds due to the nature of its business-oriented payment system.

Cons: Because it’s used by businesses for larger transactions, PayPal may demand a more rigorous proof of your identity. It may also take longer to set up and be harder to get used to. I’ve also heard that they can be a hassle when it comes to closing your account. 

Venmo is another type of digital wallet that acts much like paypal, except for a few key differences - it is NOT made for businesses (so depending on whether you’re officially registered as a freelancer, you may not be able to use it). I personally don’t use venmo, so I cannot speak to its usefulness, but I know a few people that use it for casual transactions. It’s easy and quick! :) 

Keep in mind that you cannot force a refund over venmo! The transactions are final.

There’s also CashApp, GooglePay (which could load gift cards but also allows peer-to-peer transactions) and I’ve heard good things about Due, though I’ve never personally used it.

Other ways to pay: I’ve had people pay me over Patreon by upping their pledge, and I’ve had people pay me over Ko-Fi by donating a specific amount. 

Many people even use Etsy - the website specialized for independent small businesses selling art - by listing their commission sheet and offering up several ‘slots’ of commissions, which allows you to track taxes AND allows your clients to pay using whatever they feel comfortable with.

If you’re in Canada, you can even pay by emailing money directly from bank account to bank account - check whether your country offers this type of service! There’s no shortage of ways to move money in the digital world.

Just like everything else, there’s no singular ‘Best’ way. It just depends on what works for you.

I think that just about wraps it up! I can’t quite think of what else to put here - but I’m sure other artists will chime in with their own advice. :) I’m very sorry this became so long but I hope it was helpful! 

Obligatory Disclaimer: I’m not qualified to give legal or accounting counsel. Please double-check the laws in your own country/state in regards to taxation of freelancing work and do your own research. If you are underage, DEFINITELY get an adult’s permission before you start doing commissions, and have the adult help you through the process.   

. . . . . . . . . . . . 

OTHER POSTS YOU MAY FIND USEFUL:

An Extended Post on Pricing Yourself for Commissions

Dealing with Imposter Syndrome/Feeling ‘Not Good Enough’

Growing Your Audience

Advice for Starting Digital Art

[official-weasley]

The Irreplaceable Charlie Weasley: Pt. 5, Ch. 9

PART 5: THE YEAR WHEN EVERYONE FIGHTS Chapter 9 - The O.W.L.s and a Letter

Nova

The morning before my first O.W.L. which was from Care of Magical Creatures, so I couldn't help to be a little nervous as I still held Kettleburn by his word that I could take care of a Salamander if I get an O on my O.W.L., I made my way down with Tulip for breakfast. Bill, Charlie, Penny, and Tonks were already there and they greeted us as we sat down.

“Nervous, you three?” Penny asked, looking at Tonks, Charlie, and me.

“Nope.” Charlie and I both said at once.

“I think that I have third wheeled with these two enough to pass the class.” Tonks pointed at us.

“What do you mean third wheeled?” I asked puzzled. I looked at Charlie who just chuckled. I still haven't managed to figure out what was different about him. He has always been a tranquil person but ever since we made up he seemed so okay with everything and if something happened that made me confused he just chuckled like now or winked at me. And I knew that was new, as Charlie was too shy to wink at an animal let alone to me, or any girl for that matter.

Before any of them could reply it was time for Owl Post and I saw Pip searching for me.

“Hi, Pippy!” I greeted him and took the letter from his beak. He made his way to Charlie at once.

I stared at the envelope, without knowing what to do. I haven't gotten a blue envelope with a golden stamp since my dad passed away.

“What's wrong?” Charlie knew something wasn't right immediately, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“It...it's from Egypt.” I was still holding on to the letter and now we all stared at it as if it was going to open itself.

“What do you reckon is about?” Penny asked as gently as she could.

“I have no idea.” I replied. I looked at Charlie and he nodded for me to open it. I turned it around and broke the seal. I took out the parchment and started reading. I appreciated that Charlie pulled away from me so I could read the letter in private, even though I would've shown him the letter anyway.

Dear Nova,

I hope this letter finds you well.

I don't know if your mum told you but we are still unable to fill your father's position. The interns we got this Summer were nothing compared to the boys he trained last year.

We decided to go through his files and found a recommendation letter in the folder of William Weasley.

If I recall correctly, he is your friend and he got the internship because you told your father that his ambition is to become a Curse Breaker. Upon looking through his file, we were quite impressed and your dad wrote and I quote “he is a rising star in the Curse Breaking community”. Upon seeing his birth year, I would assume he is in his books studying for N.E.W.T.s right now but just in case I have miscalculated something, I was wondering if you would be so kind and give him this letter.

We would be delighted to hear from him and offer him your father's position if he is still interested in working with us. Of course, he would have to go through several training exercises and the whole procedure like everyone else, but I don't want to bore you with the details.

I greatly appreciate your help and know that despite what happened, you still have family here that you can visit.

A warm greeting from us all here in Egypt,

Robert

A tear ran down my cheek, as I finished the letter. I looked up, everybody was still looking at me.

“It's for you.” I looked at Bill and gave him the letter across the table gently smiling. Tulip and Penny, sitting next to him, peaked and read it with him.

“They're offering me your dad's job?” Bill couldn't believe it. Charlie took the letter from him at once and read it along with Tonks who sat next to him.

“What are you going to do?” Charlie asked, pulling me in a half hug after he was done reading.

“What do you mean what will I do?” I looked at Bill. “Bill has to reply to them not me.” I smiled.

“Are you sure, Nova? It's your dad's position.” He asked.

“If it's up to me if you get the job or not, I wouldn't want anyone else to take his place but you, Bill.” I stood up and walked to the other side and hugged him.

“Nova, I don't know what to say. How will I ever repay you?” Bill was in shock. He squeezed me so tightly, that I let out a small sigh.

“You don't need to repay me, Bill. You're my friend and the amount of help I have received from you over the past 5 years makes us even, don't you think?” I smiled at him.

“Nova, thank you.” He still couldn't grasp the fact that he just got his dream job.

“Just stay my friend and promise to write to us and send me pictures from Egypt.” He hugged me again.

“Oh,” I pulled away and cupped his face, “and please, stay safe.” He nodded and for a second I could swear I saw him tear up.

He went to the Gryffindor Tower immediately to gather everything he might need to send with his answer.

“That was so nice of you, Nova.” Penny wiped a tear off her cheek.

“I didn't do anything. He deserves it, he has been working so hard for this and I remember when my dad told me how impressed he was with him. I wouldn't have it any other way.” I didn't feel like I needed credit for his hard work. Yes, I got him the internship but he wouldn't have received this letter if he didn't show hard work, talent, and determination.

“Thank you.” Charlie suddenly pulled me into a tight hug. “It means a lot to me that you did this for my brother.” Suddenly, I couldn't help but take a bit of credit for the whole situation, as it meant the world to me that I made Charlie happy.

—

To say that Charlie and I aced our Care of Magical Creatures examination was an understatement. We walked out of there like we were the best wizards in the world and we didn't expect anything less.

I have to say that so far I was very proud of how I did on my O.W.L.s. I do have some doubts about Potions and I am not sure about a few questions on the Herbology theoretical exam, but other than that I think I have nothing to worry about. Charlie had some mixed feelings about his Potions practical exam because he forgot to add an ingredient to his potion but he is pretty content with everything else.

Tulip said that based on the fact how little she studied, she was doing pretty good. Jae was doing just fine as well and apparently, those two had a really good chat in the Kitchens about their careers as Tulip didn't worry about it at all after that day.

Penny was beaming when she left the Great Hall after the Potions' practical. Of course, we weren't surprised at all that she would ace that. She worried about Defense Against the Dark Arts as she forgot the proper wand movement for the Blasting Curse but we reassured her that that is not a big mistake.

Tonks was doing rather well. We made a plan to take extra precautionary measures so that she wouldn't run away again: we gave her Pip. He was the perfect agent! She felt obliged to look after him and he kept her company when she studied and she revised with him and he hooted cheerfully at her and so far she has been doing great. She is confident about her performance so far and we are all very proud of her. Especially Penny! Every time she sees Tonks studying she bursts into tears of joy.

We were heading down to the Great Hall for our last O.W.L.: History of Magic. On one hand, I was glad we had the subject saved for last as I didn't worry about how I'll do on the examination at all but on the other hand, I couldn't wait to be over with it as it lingered in my mind.

We were sad to find out that we would receive our results in the middle of the Summer. Tulip and I promised each other that we are not going to open any of Penny's letters until we get the results as we knew that would be all she would write about and that she is going to panic until the very last moment when she realizes just how perfect her results are.

—

I got a letter from my mum in the last week of my Fifth Year. I wasn't even that surprised when she told me that she was bombarded with work and probably won't be able to spend as much as two days with me because she took so much time off last Summer. She suggested I talk to my friends if I can stay with any of them because she couldn't bear the thought of me being alone in our house.

To be perfectly honest, I was okay with her letter. She had the entire Summer off last year and I was so happy that we were able to spend it together that I didn't mind if I couldn't spend this one with her as well. And besides, I knew I was going to make one redhead Dragon lover very happy by not going away with my mum.

Penny was very pleased to announce that this year, there will be the Official Haywood Muggle Vacation so I knew I couldn't spend the Summer with her even if I wanted to. Tulip was going to Asia with her parents to visit some relatives. Tonks was going away as well and for the first time, she looked happy to go somewhere with her parents. I think she finally realized that they love her and want the best for her. She even announced that her first name might not be so bad.

Tulip and I were both grateful that she didn't say that in front of Penny as we both knew she would jump to Tonks for a hug and start sobbing about how proud she is of her for finally growing up.

—

I decided to surprise Charlie with the news that I am spending the Summer at the Burrow. I know how upset he was that I wasn't there last year. I decided to write a letter to Molly to politely invite myself to their beautiful home. I knew she would say yes as Bill already asked me weeks before if I will be able to visit them because Ginny and Ron miss me so much.

A few days before the end of term, Pip greeted me with Molly's reply, when we were having breakfast. I opened it, hiding it from Charlie, which he found very suspicious and it made him want to read it even more.

Nova dear,

you know we would love to have you for the Summer. Ginny and Ron are going to be thrilled when I tell them! The twins miss you too and I know Charlie would want you nowhere else.

See you soon! Arthur and I will pick you up at the Station along with the boys.

Love,

Molly

“Hey, Char.” I looked at him, grinning.

“Yes?” He was still eyeing the letter, curious to know who wrote to me.

“Guess who's spending their Summer at the Burrow!” I exclaimed and showed him the letter. He read it, his eyes moving quickly then he looked at me, the most serious expression on his face.

“I don't understand, who's coming?” I blinked at him as I couldn't see how the letter didn't make it obvious.

“I'm kidding, Nova! Of course, you're coming! You have to make up for last year.” He started laughing, seeing the expression on my face.

“For a second I really thought you didn't want me there.” I felt relieved. Every year he was complaining about how I don't spend enough time with him during Summer and now all of a sudden I thought he didn't want me to come.

“Nova, I always want you there.” He winked at me and smiled in a way that I have never seen him do before and I felt something turning in my stomach. I knew at once that he was over the roof about me coming to the Burrow but in a way that wouldn't completely give it away to those who didn't know him as I did.

What was he doing to me? It was a completely new side of Charlie that I have never seen before and I am not going to lie, I was attracted to it. It was as he was two people in one body. One was my loving best friend for who I would give the world for and the other was this cool, calm young man with strong arms and soft hair.

“Earth to Nova, you alright?” He chuckled.

“Yeah, right here.” I smiled at him, feeling the heat on my cheeks. “I was just counting the times I will beat you in Quidditch.” Nice comeback Nova, nice comeback.

“Oh, we'll see about that.” He pulled me into a half hug and I couldn't stop my lips from curving when I smelled honeysuckle on him. It was my favorite scent.

—

When I came to the Weasleys, the house looked like they had a party that lasted for 3 days. I guess the older the twins the bigger the mess. Ginny held me in a hug for solid 5 minutes before Ron told her to bugger off so he could have his turn. He started telling me about his new chess strategy immediately and even though I already knew I was going to lose, I couldn't help but be excited for him to show it to me.

The twins asked me at once if I would like to see something in their room and when I looked at Bill and Charlie, both shaking their head, warning me that I rather shouldn't, I politely declined, even though I knew they were going to show me whatever it was sooner or later.

Percy went upstairs at once but came back down with a book and sat on the sofa to read for a change. Which to me was quite an improvement since I don't think I ever saw him for more than 10 minutes, even when it came to breakfast or dinner.

The day to receive our O.W.L.s results finally came. Bill got his N.E.W.T.s the day before and he was so calm about it since he accepted the job Robert offered him that I was curious how nervous would he be if he didn't know he had a job secured. Nevertheless, he had nothing to worry about as he received a total of 6 N.E.W.T.s which was 2 above average and even though the results didn't matter anymore, giving the fact that he could now officially call himself a Curse Breaker, he was proud of himself.

Charlie seemed completely unphased by the results as he was confident that he did well in most of his subjects and I wasn't that nervous either. I just wanted to see an O next to my Care of Magical Creatures so I could adopt a Salamander next year!

We got our results delivered first thing in the morning. We each grabbed our envelope and much to everyone's displeasure, we decided we wanted to take a private moment and share our results only with each other first. We sat on the bench in the garden and opened our letters.

ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS

Pass Grades:

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades:

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D)

Troll (T)

NOVA IO BLACKWOOD HAS ACHIEVED:

Ancient Runes E

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures O

Charms O

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Herbology E

History of Magic A

Potions E

Transfiguration O

“How did you do?” Charlie asked me and I knew he did well just by his tone.

“9 O.W.L.s! 4 Outstandings!” I exclaimed.

“3 Outstandings and 8 O.W.L.s!” We exchanged results.

CHARLES WEASLEY HAS ACHIEVED:

Ancient Runes E

Astronomy E

Care of Magical Creatures O

Charms O

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Herbology E

History of Magic P

Potions A

Transfiguration E

“History of Magic is nobody's strong suit.” I tapped his shoulder. He looked at me, trying to be serious but I could see he was going to burst out laughing any moment now.

“Oh, no. Whatever will I do!” We started laughing as we really couldn't care less for the subject and ran inside to tell the Weasleys.

I sent my mum the results at once and that afternoon I received an owl from Penny which I was expecting and would worry if I didn't. She wrote that she got all her 9 O.W.L.s from which she got 6 Outstandings and 3 Exceeds Expectations and I had to remind myself that the next time I see her I have to say 'I told you so' as none of us expected anything less from her. She also added that Andre did really well on his exams and that he got an E in Potions and she wrote that he is thanking me because he passed Transfiguration and that they were going to meet up next week to celebrate as Andre was very grateful for Penny's help.

“I bet he was.” Said Bill who was reading the letter over my left shoulder. I didn't see his face but I knew that he had a smirk on his face before he took a sip of his coffee.

“Do you reckon they're doing it?” Charlie, who was leaning over my right shoulder, asked as casually as Tonks did only a few months ago. I knew he only posed the question so he would make Bill spit out his coffee and I knew what the look on his face was when he succeeded.

Tulip sent me an owl the next morning and she got 7 O.W.L.s which was 2 more than she expected and said that even her parents were okay with her results.

We didn't hear anything from Tonks that day or the next day for that matter. Charlie and I got worried so we decided to send her a letter with Pip.

He returned with a letter in his beak the very next day and in it were Tonks' results.

NYMPHADORA TONKS HAS ACHIEVED:

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures E

Charms E

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology O

History of Magic P

Potions O

Transfiguration E

“SHE GOT AN O IN POTIONS?” For a second both Charlie and I thought that we were seeing wrong or that the results belonged to Penny as we stared at the O next to Tonks' Potions result. We couldn't believe it and we now understood why she didn't send us an owl the very day the results arrived. She was probably just as shocked as we were.

We knew Penny will probably cry for a week out of happiness and will never forget it. And I could already see her throwing it in Tonks' face if she freaks out about exams next year “Tonks, you have nothing to complain about. You got an O on your Potions O.W.L. last year!”

We all got very good results and we were pleased with them but I think Tonks outdid us all and I couldn't wait to sit with my friends on the train back to school when she tells us how in the bloody hell, did she managed to do that.

END OF PART 5

[bettsfic]

march pinned: ending the sex project

in the march edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and upcoming consultation availability, i have personal essay recommendations and a segment on the definition of a project!

for more information on my creative coaching services, check out my carrd.

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

fuck february, amiright?

i thought january was bad. but february. february was the stuff of nightmares. my cousin passed away from covid (you can read about her here; she was really an amazing person and i feel so lucky to have known her). i was finally formally diagnosed with PCOS (bittersweet, i guess). my car broke down. i took two (2) days off and it took me two and a half weeks to get caught up again. i can only hope march treats us all a little more gently.

the good news is, i finished revisions on my short story collection to send to my agent, finished workshop submissions for the semester, and now i can return to my first love, fanfiction. that i am constantly working through original fiction to return to fanfiction has been making me think a lot about the nature of a creative, capital-p Project. so, this month’s BTALA (been thinkin a lot about) is going to inspect the concept of a “project.”

new resource

last month i unveiled a folder of my favorite short stories which i’m pleased to hear several of you have perused and gotten some inspiration from. this month i’ve compiled my favorite personal essays. there are fewer essays than there are short stories because i’ve broken them into two groups: personal and craft. next month i hope to have the craft essays compiled.

i’m always looking for more things to love, so if you have recommendations for your favorite short stories and essays, i’d be happy to hear them!

writing-related posts

how to physically maneuver the revision process

the difference between M and E ratings of fic

resources for worldbuilding (check out the reblogs for more!)

a couple syntax/prose book recs

how to break a long work into chapters

march availability

unfortunately i have to cut my coaching hours down a bit, so i don’t have any openings left in march, but i have some availability in april. if you’re interested in a writing consultation, please fill out this google form!

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

what i’m into rn

for the past year, i’ve basically been trapped in a 10x10 room, and my health is definitely reflecting that, both mentally (does anyone else feel like they’re living in groundhog day? just, every day being exactly the same except fractionally worse than the day before??) and physically (i reorganized the kitchen and could barely move for two days).

reader, i have discovered something called “walking,” in which i put on real human shoes and go outside. it feels strange, bestial. neighbors wave hello to me. a harrowing experience.

while doing this, this walking, i’ve been listening to the lolita podcast which a friend recommended to me, a ten-episode series that dives into everything lolita: the novel itself, its context, adaptations, greater cultural responses, and — as a sticker on my laptop says — vladimir “russian dreamboat” nabokov. as far as i can tell it seems well-researched and presents the many perspectives of lolita in a fair way. i’m only a few eps in, but i’m entranced so far. highly recommended if you, like me, have a complicated relationship with lolita.

i’ve also found myself mildly addicted to a mobile otome game called obey me, which. look i know it’s like the definition of cringe but it’s also mind-numbingly fun and if i want to spend my minimal free time pretending 7 demon brothers are all vying for my affection then that’s between me and god. it’s a lot of what i loved about WoW: frequent events, bright colors, a daily to do list of simple but satisfying tasks, many many rewards, and it doesn’t take itself very seriously. and if i have 4k fic written of mammon/reader that’s nobody’s business but mine and my longsuffering ao3 subscribers.

i’m telling you this because i don’t know anyone else who plays it and am desperate to trade headcanons. so if you play, or start playing, hit me up!! i will give u mad tips and daily AP.

been thinkin a lot about

the project. the project. even the word “project.” PROject (noun). proJECT (verb). what is the project? “project” comes from the latin pro and jacare which means “to throw forward,” or projectum which means “something prominent.” a projector throws forward an image. to project onto something means to throw your perspective onto something else. to embark on a project is to make something prominent in your life. the concept of “the projects” comes from public housing projects, the government throwing forward affordable housing.

what is the project? in joseph harris’ essay “coming to terms” he says that “to define the project of a writer is…to push beyond his text, to hazard a view about not only what someone has said but also what he was trying to accomplish by saying it.” harris’ perspective is that of an english teacher encouraging his students to read critically, not just to summarize a text but to find its project, its greater purpose. and while i first read this essay in a seminar on composition pedagogy, it stuck with me as a writer. it made me reconsider the greater nature of the creative project.

how many of us, if asked to describe our writing project, would begin with a plot or character premise, the nuts and bolts of a specific story? maybe even the working title? but i wonder, is breaking out the plot really the project? is the discipline of sitting down and typing really the project? and when the story is finished, is the project over? what is the project?

in 2019, i wrote 86k words of a novel. i began revising that novel last fall, and i’m finding that i’ll probably keep maybe less than 10k of that initial draft. i’m not bothered by that. the novel i wrote before that started at 125k, then i rewrote the entire thing to 200k, then i whittled it back down to 160k, and next i’ll be tasked with paring it back down to 80k. i’m not bothered by that either. in the past five years or so i’ve written about 2 million words, and i’ve only published 20k of them. only 1% of what i’ve written, i’ve published. in the words of lauren cooper (catherine tate), i’m not bothered.

i used to see publication as the birth of the project, and writing it akin to a long gestation period. then i saw publication as the death of the project, and its life was lived in its drafting. now, publication seems irrelevant to the project. the confines of a story and its many revisions are also irrelevant to the project. the beginning of a story is not the start of the project and the end of the story is not the end of the project. the project is larger than the story, its revisions, its publication, and its eventual readership.

i think it took me so long to see this because for so many years i was still in my first project, the sex project, an exploration of trauma and sexual identity, which began in 2014 with destiel fanfiction, endured through many fandom shifts, my MFA, years adrift as an adjunct, all the way through 2020 with the completion of my short story collection. i used to wonder how anyone could write about anything other than sex. to me it was the only topic worth my attention. i was certain that i would spend my entire life being a sex writer and i’d never find fulfillment writing a young adult sci fi adventure or a highly literary novel about complicated family dynamics. i was baffled by people who were interested in other things, who could write entire novels without using the word “cock” even once.

then my sex project ended. i don’t know when exactly it happened or why, but suddenly i realized i never wanted to write another artful description of an orgasm or find a tactful euphemism for a vagina ever again (personally i prefer “wet cunt” because not only is it blunt, i find it phonetically pleasing). obviously i’m still writing explicit fanfic but it doesn’t feel the same as it used to. sex feels more sidelined to me, even if it’s still the center and drive of a fic. i no longer get any personal satisfaction from writing it, although i do get satisfaction in sharing the work for readers to enjoy.

it’s like i’ve somehow solved the biggest puzzle of my life. or i guess made peace with my meanest monster, that extremely complicated double-mind of desire that some non-sex-repulsed asexuals feel: you want to feel desire you can’t actually feel so you write it into fiction, to try to understand this thing you can’t have and which society tells you you’re missing, and you don’t even know if you don’t have it, because you still feel desire for affection and intimacy, and maybe even a desire to be desired. and for those of us who are asexual and have c-ptsd, sex you don’t actually want (but don’t know you don’t want, because maybe you’re ambivalent and mildly curious and touch-starved) and an unrelenting drive toward people-pleasing can be a dangerous combination. how can you ever know what consent is if you always put other people’s desires above your own?

maybe i’m alone in this. maybe i’m not. maybe for most people, wanting sex is a light switch: yes i want it, or no i don’t. but for me, i had to write a whole lot of words to figure out things like desire, consent, intimacy, forgiveness, the shape that good love takes. the lengthy theoretical flowchart of “i might be interested in having sex if this and this and this and this and this happens in this exact order and under these exact circumstances.”

it was hard to write something into reality that i have never seen except in pieces, in subtext i clung to with no lexicon to give it shape and meaning. te lawrence in lawrence of arabia. some of tarantino’s early work. the film benny and joon. and weirdly, the star wars prequels (that one’s hard to explain; i’ll spare you). i don’t think the sex project was about coming to terms with my asexuality as much as it was trying to organize my thoughts and feelings by continuously rendering my own experiences within a greater, shinier ideal — like how you sometimes have to unravel the entire skein of yarn to find the loose end, and only then can you get started.

i guess i’m in the infancy of the power project now. i’m moving toward themes of control, infamy, greatness. the exact circumstances in which atrocity occurs. how people rise into leadership and fall from grace. the consequences of success. i don’t know why this project has come to me, or what, if anything, it has to do with me. i’m not famous and have no intention of becoming famous; i don’t have social power or influence, at least not beyond my little corner of fandom, and i’m not interested in having it. and yet, here we are, already hundreds of thousands of words in.

my fics digging for orchids (tgcf) and a standing engagement (the hunger games) deal with the detriments of fame. and even float (breaking bad) to a degree is about the aftermath of being so close to power. my novel cherry pop, loosely based on macbeth, is about an ongoing power exchange between two teenage girls. my other novel, vandal, is about a girl who believes she has magic powers and casts a spell on her neighbor to fall in love with her. and i’m in the very early stages of a novel called groundswell, a cult story i’ve been wanting to write for years. i had no idea why i couldn’t write it until i realized it wasn’t yet my project. i’m not even to the stage of developing characters, let alone a premise or plot. i’m still just building my aesthetic pile (i discuss the aesthetic pile here, as well as vandal in more detail), watching documentaries on cults, reading books, finding inspiration, marking down ideas as they come. it may be years before i’m ready to sit down and write it.

now that i know what the project is, i have more patience with myself. it doesn’t bother me to rewrite a novel from the beginning, or to scrap novels altogether, because the story isn’t the project. the project cannot be diminished by cutting words, sentences, paragraphs, entire chapters. the project does not have a product. the project cannot be published. the project is in the practice, in dragging the impossibly large into clear, acute existence, so you can see it. so you can see the very center of what you thought was an unknowable thing.

[excelsi-or]

just a little sweeter (pt. 10)

HELLLLOOOOOOOO~~ are you guys still there? LOL, it’s been like a month and a half since I last posted on here. The end of the semester just really got intense with projects, presentations, and finals. But I’m here and back for at least two weeks. I wanna see if I can bosh out the rest of this series before I move onto another one. 

I hope you’re all well. If you wanna update me on what’s new with you all, I’d love to know. I applied to grad school. I have one more semester left before graduation. Vaccinations have started in my area of the world. I started playing Hollow Knight (if anyone wants to talk about THIS GAME, please do. I love it.) Think that’s kinda it. 

BIPOC reeeeeccccc: N. K. Jemisin’s The City We Became is EXCELLENT. Diversity, racism, feminism, LGBTQ representation. I love it so much. One of my favourite books of the year, hands down. Nicole Crowder on IG does like upholstery and interior DIYs and content. I’ve been wanting to upholster these two chairs in my home and she put up a whole 2 min tutorial on how to do it. 

w.c. 3k (lol, it got really long oops! fluff and mature content, not quite smut, but it was definitely getting there. The first draft of this part was basically just smut, so I chopped and fixed it LOL. hope you guys still like it.)

pt.1; pt.2; pt.3; pt.4; pt.5; pt.6; pt.7; pt.8; pt. 9

“What do you mean you haven’t had sex with him yet?”

She rolls her eyes and sets a bowl in front of her previous roommate. Soobin had moved out months ago, shortly after she’d met Jihoon.

“It’s going really slow.” She slips into the seat across the table. “We haven’t really said I love you yet either.”

“What do you mean ‘haven’t really said’? What? Just ‘cause Woozi’s an idol he doesn’t know how to treat you right?”

She motions for Soobin to tuck into the food. “Jihoon is treating me wonderfully, thank you very much.” She pauses, her chopsticks hovering in the air. “It’s just… slow.”

“He has a whole child!” Soobin chews her noodles as she continues. “You’ve already passed the point of going slow.”

“It’s not as if Eunha is my child.”

“The kid spends more time here than any of our friends or your family.”

“Jihoon’s been busy.” She shrugs. “It’s easier for him to leave Eunha here than take her with him. Plus, you know the Terror likes her.”

Soobin chuckles. “That little horror of a brother of yours likes everyone.”

She smirks. “Okay, fair.” Then she waves her chopsticks between them. “But Eunha’s probably the reason why he’s going slow. We need to see if we’re compatible.” She meets Soobin’s gaze. “The man has a child.”

“It’s been months!” Soobin quickly cuts in before any interruptions. “Seven months to be exact. You would think that the next step at analyzing compatibility is whether you guys vibe in bed.”

She hums. She doesn’t want to admit out loud that yeah, she’s been having fantasies about Jihoon. However, she hasn’t gotten any clear signals from Jihoon that he wants to pursue anything further than making out on her couch after a date. And before she can broach the topic, he’s off to go get Eunha. If Jihoon never wanted to have sex with her, she wonders if that would be a deal breaker. But she really has no idea.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Sex? No.”

“So, what do you guys talk about?”

She throws her head back with a laugh. “You say that as if the only thing you and Jae talk about is sex.”

“Well, it came up a lot when we first started dating.”

“That’s because you guys started off having sex.” She sighs, turning her noodles with the tips of her chopsticks. “This relationship is really different. I don’t know how to gauge it.”

“Do you love him?”

“I haven’t told him.”

“But you do.”

“Yeah.”

“And does Eunha put you off wanting to be with him?”

She rests her cheek in her palm. “I honestly thought she would, but she only makes me love him more.”

“Then talking about sex, even if you’re not having it, is the next step.” Soobin gauges her friend’s reaction. “Even if Jihoon is the type not to want it. You should at least know that. He’s obviously done it at one point.”

There’s a pause before they both say, “The child.”

She nods. “You’re right though. We should talk about it.”

Seungcheol knocks on the studio door. “Hey. You needed me?”

Jihoon turns in his chair and nods. “Yeah. I need a second set of ears on this song. Bumzu hyung and Soonyoung are busy.”

Seungcheol nods and falls into the seat next to Jihoon. He notices the book on the desk. It’s been sitting there for a while. “You finish it?”

Jihoon glances at the book. “Oh.” Then, he resumes clicking through the excessive number of files open on his screen. “Yeah.”

And you haven’t returned it?”

“She reads it when she comes over.” Jihoon hands over the headphones and finally catches Seungcheol’s expression. “What? Is there some big meaning behind that too?”

Ever since he started dating, Seungcheol, Jeonghan, and basically everyone in the building has found various meanings in his songs and life that allude to how ‘in love’ he is. He’s not about to tell everyone he’s in love—she doesn’t even know that yet—but not everything going on is about his relationship.

Seungcheol shrugs as he adjusts the headphones on his ears. “You seem to think there isn’t.”

“God.” Jihoon sighs and turns in his chair. He drops his cheek into his palm. “Enlighten me.”

“She’s a big reader and doesn’t like to leave books unfinished. If she’s letting you hold onto it for her, for when she comes over here, that says something.”

“So does leaving my daughter in her care, but we all have something we need taken care of.” He turns back to the screen. “Now, listen to this hook for me.”

Seungcheol settles back into the seat. He bops his head along to the melody until the lyrics play clear in his ears. Wide eyed, he turns to Jihoon and pushes one headphone off his ear. “We’re not putting this on the album, are we?”

Jihoon looks over at him with an eyebrow lifted. “Why not?”

“This is such a… a bedroom… sex song.” Seungcheol shakes his head. “We can’t put this on there.”

Jihoon frowns. “What?” He looks at the file name and feels his cheeks heat up. “Whoa. Not that one.” He quickly closes the file and makes sure that it’s closed. But his checking gives Seungcheol time to see a folder with her name. There’s one for Eunha that none of the boys want to ask about, but his girlfriend? She’s fair game.

“You have a folder of songs for her?” He acts horrified. “And that was one of them?”

Jihoon tries to think of any way out of this conversation and realizes that due to his carelessness, he can’t. “Yeah. I guess I do.”

“How many songs are in there? Do they all sound like that?”

“I refuse to answer those questions knowing that everyone is going to know by tomorrow and it’s already embarrassing that you know about one of them.”

“Hey.” Seungcheol’s voice goes soft. He likes to tease, but he recognizes touchy subjects when he broaches them. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Jihoon side eyes him. “I don’t want to admit how I feel about her to you when she hasn’t even heard all the songs on there.”

“What’s the folder for?”

“Just… inspiration.” Jihoon leans back further in his chair. “The songs on the upcoming album have come out of there. At least the less… perverted ones did.”

“There are other songs like that.” Seungcheol tries not to sound too surprised.

Jihoon’s cheeks are so warm that he takes a sip of his iced coffee. “Lately… yeah.”

“Have you…” Seungcheol shakes his head. “No. How could you? You always come home for Eunha.”

At this, Jihoon looks at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well… just that if you guys were having sex, you wouldn’t come straight home to your daughter, would you? Not when all of us would know.” Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “Right?”

Jihoon doesn’t even know how to respond to that except with the truth. “Fine. No. We haven’t yet.”

“Because of her or because of you.”

“Things are going slow. I don’t know… how to broach the topic.”

“Why can’t showing up to her door with passionate kisses be enough?”

“And what? Leave Eunha with you guys overnight?”

“Yeah, why not?”

So, Jihoon does just that and it turns out so much better than he expected.

“Why does this shirt,” he mutters between kisses, “have so many buttons?”

She giggles against his lips and steadies his hands in hers. “You’re excited. Like a child. Calm down.”

Jihoon hums, obsessed with the taste of her lips and her hands around his. She guides him through the motion of unbuttoning her shirt. Once they’re undone, he pulls away slightly. She tips her head. Jihoon is gentle with her shirt, sliding it off her shoulders. Her eyes watch him the entire time, watch him admire her body as the fabric falls to the floor. His hands start from the sides of her thighs up her body, skimming over her underwear, and holding her under the arms, hands right by her breasts.

“You’re really gonna tease,” she chuckles. She closes the distance between them, kissing him and fumbling with his shirt. His shirt is easy, his sweatpants he practically steps out of. It’s once they’re both just standing in their underwear that she stops him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Jihoon kisses her shoulder and up her neck to the base of her jaw. “Why would I want to stop?”

“Eunha?” she hums. The child’s face is prominent in her mind, but becomes hazy every time Jihoon sucks a spot on her neck.

“She adores you. Which gives me permission to also adore you.”

She smirks, arms wrapping around Jihoon’s neck to force him back to her lips. “I’m glad I pass the test.”

Jihoon scoops her up and carries her to the couch. She gasps in surprise, which forces him away again. Spread along the couch are a lot of her art supplies. When she turns back to him, there’s a grin on her face.

“I wasn’t expecting you to jump me tonight. I was planning to paint, so…”

“Do you want to clean first?” he chuckles.

She shrugs.

Jihoon snorts and picks her shirt up off the floor and hands it to her. As much as he wants to sleep with her, it seems tonight may not be the night. He finds his sweatpants and pulls them on then helps her move her art stuff. He sits on the coffee table while she manoeuvres her piece from the floor to the desk.

“Do you want to paint?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “I want to spend time with you.” She moves some stuff to make space for her piece.

“Do you want to teach me to paint?”

She peers over her shoulder at him. “Really?”

“Well, I’m impossible to teach, but I don’t want to leave yet.” Jihoon glances at her bare torso, as she hasn’t bothered to button the top. “And I like the view.”

She rolls her eyes, an amused smile on her face. “Are idols allowed to say stuff like that?”

Jihoon looks around her home. “Unless you have a listening device and turn me in, I’m confident to say how I feel about you.”

A smile blooms on her face at hearing that. She pulls one of her watercolour pads off the desk and motions for him to join her on the floor. She flips past the first two pages, but Jihoon still catches glimpses of them.

He grabs her wrist to stop her. “Were those of Eunha and me?”

“Oh.” She tilts her head and flips back. “Yeah.” The first page is from the night he had come over to learn to cook. The second was their first date.

Jihoon looks to her expectantly and she can only shrug.

“I draw what I like.”

Jihoon doesn’t know why he finds that embarrassing, but his ears feel warm.

She tips her head back in a laugh. “Of everything that’s happened tonight, Jihoonie, I don’t think you need to be embarrassed to hear that I like you.” She returns to the one with Eunha on it and pulls the sheet. “I wanted to give it to you, but I thought maybe it would be creepy if you knew I was painting you and your daughter from memory.”

Jihoon stares at the paintings. He can see Eunha’s expression in them; how happy she had been with the meal and the dessert. If this is what he’d look like that night, he had been extremely relaxed. His finger traces over the skin, amazed at how seamless it appears.

When his eyes lift to meet hers, she seems surprised to see tears.

“What’s wrong?”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Nothing.”

She slides closer to him and her thumb brushes his tears away. “You’re crying.”

Jihoon sighs and his head tips back, as he tries to keep the tears in. “I… it’s just that…” Jihoon’s gaze rests on her again. “No one else has seen Eunha like this. The members do, but they helped me raise her. Which is why sometimes she’s an absolute menace.”

She smiles.

“But…” Jihoon studies the painting, at his baby so beautifully depicted. “I don’t know. This kind of reminds me that maybe I’m doing okay if she looks like this.”

“Jihoon, you’re doing great. She’s happy and she loves you.”

“Sometimes I feel like I’m failing her all the time, and…” The tears appear again. “And I feel like I lost some of who I am, because I had her.”

She eases the sheet of paper out of his hands. Jihoon uncrosses his legs so she can move between them, draping her legs over his thighs. Her hands plant on the floor between them as she leans forward to press kisses to his face. His eyes close at the sensation. “Jihoon, she is all you. Your music is who you are. You live and breathe Seventeen. Just because you became a father doesn’t mean you lost any piece of the Jihoon that was there before she existed.”

Jihoon lifts a hand to the back of her neck to pull her closer. Painting is put on the back burner, as they get lost in the feeling of kissing each other. Jihoon’s legs curl behind her to prevent her from moving away. His free hand slips inside her shirt and finds home on her hip. His thumb moves back and forth across the skin there.

Meanwhile, her hands have pulled him as close she can get him, her fingers tangling in his hair. When she gives the hair at the base of his neck a small tug, he groans. This lets her slip her tongue into his mouth. He tastes like her coffee, unsurprisingly enough. And she has to admit, it tastes better on his tongue than in the cup.

She can feel his growing hard on through his sweatpants. When she pulls away to breathe, she asks, “So we’re not painting then?”

Jihoon hums something incoherent, because she latches her lips against his neck.

“Wait,” he breathes.

She slows her assault on his neck, but doesn’t stop.

“No hickies.”

“Simple enough,” she breathes against his skin.

Jihoon finds himself falling back onto the floor as her kisses trail all over his body. Her hands explore every muscle and memorize them. Jihoon enjoys the treatment, his eyes closing while he lets his other sense take over. She wiggles him out of his sweatpants again and then returns to his lips.

“Bed?” She adjusts her body over his, putting pressure against him, which makes it impossible for him to reply.

Jihoon looks up at her and his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. She sucks a spot on the soft skin near his jaw, but stops before it can leave a mark. He manages to roll them over.

“You’re making it really hard to think.”

She slides a leg between his, which seems just enough friction for him to grimace. “You’re thinking with something else.”

“Where’s your bed?”

Her eyes dart to her left. He helps her to standing and then lifts her. Her legs wrap around his waist. If there had been other objects in the way, he would have knocked into all of them, because she starts kissing him again. And it seems like his brain shuts off as soon as she does that. He presses her against her bedroom wall and when he ruts against her, her breath catches.

“So, you are needy.”

“Lee Jihoon, you are literally between my legs,” she manages between kisses. “Yes, I’m needy.”

Jihoon pulls away for a moment. “But you’ve seemed so calm and collected tonight.”

She rolls her eyes and gently kisses his cheeks before saying, “If I was ready to pounce on you when you walked in here, would you have wanted to fuck me?”

Jihoon jumps at the blatant term, but he pivots so that he can lay her on the bed. One of his hand sneaks between her legs, his other arm propping his body over hers, and drags his fingers over the fabric. When she squirms beneath his touch, he says, “Maybe not. But… I’ve wanted this a while.” He meets her gaze. “So I don’t think too much have scared me away tonight.”

Her head tilts back as he begins to rub his fingers in circles. He watches her carefully.

“Stop staring,” her breath hitches, “and kiss me.”

Jihoon smirks. “Make me.”

She snakes a hand behind his head to pull him down towards her. Her kisses stutter depending on the speed of his fingers. His kisses trail down to her neck and nibbles the soft skin on her collar bone. She presses her hands into his shoulders to try to keep her bearings. When he kisses back up her neck and sucks the soft spot of her jaw and she moans something beautiful, he knows that’s a sound he’s going to have in his mind long after this is over.

He slows his fingers down. “How close are you?”

Her breath is heavy; she can’t even answer him. Her rut up into his hand is good indication though.

Two of her orgasms and one of his later, he returns from the bathroom with a washcloth and gently cleans her off. Then he lies on top of her again, her hands go to massage his temples.

“So, you’re going to tell your daughter we… coloured when you came over today?” she teases.

Jihoon rests his cheek against her chest, listening to her heartbeat slowing down after the exertion. “I told her she was staying with the members because I was coming over here for a play date.”

She laughs. “I mean, you’re not wrong.”

Jihoon can’t help but smile as he falls asleep.

[toutallyahoe]

Poison ~ Connor (DBH)

Requested By: --

A/N: here because i ask for threats for motivation and got some... finally finished this... i thought i wont get to ever finish this godforsaken one shot because this had been in my drafts for far too long. i am not joking. this thing is probably since 2018 but i have always been too busy procrastinating on finishing the "love" part and asdfghjjkl my writing style months ago was much more detailed than my writing style now... i cri

also, special thanks for that one anon who threatened me four times on stealing my toilet paper. a certain darling who threatened me with angst and then motivated me with kieran duffy art (where is it). and lastly to the anon who threatened my life for calling me straight...

─────────────────

"What's your poison?"

"My poison is..."

Alcohol

The android shook his head in disappointment as he watched the [Hair color] haired drown another shot of alcohol in one go. Calmly walking towards the male sitting in the bar's stool, Connor frowned as he momentarily scanned at the male's form. "Detective [Last name], you should stop drinking," the brunet android had said as his LED swirled to yellow when the male merely shrugged him off. Ordering another shot towards the bartender. "Detective [Last name], please."

The said male briefly looked at the android worrying over him and rolled his eyes as he grab the small glass of his alcohol. "Whatever," [Name] muttered as he raised the glass towards his mouth and was about to drink the glass' contents when his hand was abruptly grabbed. Looking at the culprit who grabbed him, it was none other than the android. Clicking his tongue as he gave an annoyed glare at Connor. The android only looked at him with worried brown eyes as his LED was flickering between red to yellow.

"Detective," Connor started as he took the drink away from the [Hair color] haired male's grasp with his other hand. "Please. I insist you to stop," the android finished as he continue to gaze at [Name]'s [Eye color] eyes with his own. The male looked at the android for awhile, staring at Connor's brown eyes until he let out a sigh from his lips and pulled his hand away from the android.

"Fine. You win..." [Name] had muttered as he stood up from the stool and grabbed his wallet from his jeans' pocket. The [Hair color] haired male took out a twenty dollar bill and put it on the counter while the small glass of alcohol was on top of the money.

"Be back next weekend, Jim!" The [Hair color] haired male called out to the bartender who gave a nod to the male as he walked towards the door of the bar. The brunet android following closely behind him as his LED was back to its blue hue.

Smoke

The [Hair color] haired male had stood up from his seat as he rubbed his temple. Closing his eyes as he let out a sigh, the male had decided to go out for a bit. Opening his eyes as he grabbed a carton of cigarettes off of his desk, the male turn around and walked away from his desk towards the exit of the precinct. [Name] didn't spare another glance of the files at the top of his desk as he walked out the huge building, a pair of brown colored orbs following his form as the owner stood up from his seat aswell and followed the detective.

"I didn't see you as the type to smoke, detective," the [Hair color] haired male looked to his side to see Connor watching him. Taking a long from the lit cigarette, [Name] took it off his lips with his index and middle finger. The male blow out the smoke as he gave the android a small smile.

"Am not. Just taking a few whips before going back to work again," [Name] casually replied with a shrugged as he put the cigarette back on his mouth to take another drag again. Connor nodded his head as he continue to look at the [Hair color] haired male doing his earlier actions.

The two kept quiet for awhile until the android decided to ask the detective about the case he was assigned. "Detective, may I ask you something?" The said male hummed as he blew out the smoke again and gave a brief glance at the android. "How's your case going so far?" The android asked as he looked at the [Hair color] haired male in the eye. [Name] seemed to froze for a bit as he stopped half way on putting his cigarette back towards his lips. Letting out a sigh, the male shook his head as he answered Connor's question. "Not good."

LED turning to yellow, Connor tilted his head as he furrowed his eyebrows. Not understanding what the male had just answered him. "Not good? Why is that, [Name]?" The android asked as the [Hair color] haired let out a sigh again and shook his head. Turning his head in front of him, he watched the half empty streets as Connor still looked at him with confusion, waiting for an explanation.

"There are some things that I couldn't explain, Connor," [Name] softly said as he dropped the almost done cigarette on the pavement and stepped on it. The [Hair color] haired male patted the android's back as he walked inside the building to continue his work, leaving Connor alone outside the precinct.

Drugs

"W... What?" The [Hair color] haired male had asked at the male sitting in front of him. His [Eye color] eyes widen as he looked surprised and a bit angered. "Jeffrey, what the fuck do you mean?" [Name] had questioned as the said man just let out a sigh. Rubbing his temple as he then directly looked at the [Hair color] male's eyes.

"Look, [Name]," Jeffrey had slowly began as he briefly glanced at the folder sitting on his desk. Grabbing the folder then opening it, his eyebrows furrowed as Jeffrey was rather concerned on the contents of the folder. "I have no choice but to issue you to be relieved of your duty..." The man had said as he looked up from the folder to see [Name]'s jaw clenched as his hands balled into a fist. Knuckles almost turning white as he glared at the older male.

"Yeah I know Jeffrey!" The enraged [Hair color] haired male shouted as his glare harden. "But I'm asking you, WHY?!?"

Slamming his hands on the desk as Jeffrey immediately stood up from his seat from the male's outburst. A glare directed to the young [Hair color] haired male as Jeffrey glared at him. "IT'S BECAUSE OF THIS OKAY?!?" The older man had said as he threw the folder towards [Name] who flinched back from his own outburst but still caught the folder. Hastily opening it, [Name] read the documents the folder had contained.

"W-what...?" The [Hair color] haired male had quietly muttered to himself as he looked at the older male with eyebrows furrowed and face held a confused look. "Jeffrey, why the fuck does this say I'm positive with narcotics?" [Name] had furiously questioned.

"That's what I wanted to know too, [Name]..." Jeffrey had said as he sat back down his chair and looked at the young male who looked utterly confused and angered. "Look, I know you for years [Name]," the older male had said as his strict expression slowly turned to a concerned one. "And I fully know well you won't do drugs... so I'm asking you, please elaborate on why does this test show you do," Jeffrey had finished as [Name] stood still in front of him. Opening his mouth then closing again. His throat felt dry as he can't think of something. Anything to explain why. "I... I-I don't know..."

The older male had sighed at hearing the [Hair color] haired male's sentence. Standing up, Jeffrey walked towards where the other male was standing and patted his back. "Then, I'm sorry but I have no choice but for you to leave until this issue is resolved [Name]..." Jeffrey had said as [Name] clutched the folder in his hands. Gritting his teeth as he merely turned to walk away. Not sparing a glance at his boss and old friend who looked at him in concern.

Getting out of Jeffrey's office, the [Hair color] haired male had immediately went towards his desk. Putting the folder on top of the desk as he grabbed some of the files and the pictures he had sticked on the wall's of his cubicle, muttering things underneath his breathe as he did. The [Hair color] haired male's action caused some heads to be turned towards his direction. Most went back to their own work but one continued to stare and observed the [Hair color] haired male's actions.

As [Name] was to busy on things on his mind, he didn't noticed someone was standing beside him until a voice piped that caused him to be surprised and looked at the direction of the voice. "Detective, what are you doing?" Connor had cautiously asked as he took noticed [Name] froze for a second then went back to grabbing the photos. Not answering Conner's question which made the android frown a little.

"Detective?" The android had said as he touched the [Hair color] haired male on hus shoulders then was shrugged off which made the brunet android feel a bit hurt. "Detective what's wrong?" Connor had asked. Quite worried for the [Hair color] haired male who merely turned around with the pictures and small stuff on his hands as he didn't spare a glance at the android. Connor watched as the male had left without a word.

Eyebrows furrowed as he was about to go after [Name] when he saw the brown folder the male had put awhile ago. Hesitantly picking it up, Connor had opened the folder and saw the documents. His LED swirled to red immediately as he read the file. Snapping his head as to the direction where [Name] had walked away and immediately tried to catch up. The folder and file were left at the desk as Connor run off to question [Name]. His abruptly actions cause many officers in the precinct to turn and looked at him like he was crazy as Hank had quietly questioned what has gotten into him.

Connor immediately ran outside as his LED stilll in a red hue. When the android had got out of the precinct, he saw the old fashioned car of the [Hair color] haired male passed by in front of him. The android had stopped as he blankly stared at the back of the [Hair color] haired male's car.

Medication

"Detective, open up!" Connor stood in front the [Hair color] haired male's house and he knocked on the door once again, calling the male for the fourth time. "Please detective! Open up!" The brunet android had said as he knocked again, LED yellow as Connor had noted the windows of the house were shut by the curtains. "Detective please!"

Since the day [Name] had left the DPD, no one had ever seen or heard from him again. Even trying to contact the [Hair color] haired male was to no avail as it is always lead to voicemail, and it honestly made a lot of the officers worried about the [Hair color] haired male. They had heard of the news that the drug test everyone took were clear except his and it was a surprise to many as the detective was never the person to do so. Some believed about the results were false yet some also said that maybe the [Hair color] haired male does do drugs because of the last case he was assigned to after his resignation.

Connor still remembered some of those discussion vividly. It had been a couple of days when the [Hair color] haired male had took his things and left by the order of Jeffrey. Many had already noticed his absence on those days and some had asked the commander on why does the [Hair color] haired male on a leave. It was soon found out about the positive drug test and talk had started of the officers of the DPD.

"The [Last name] used drugs? How can that be?" Tina had asked in surprised as one of the officer, Chris, had told the female. A small frown on both their lips to hear the news of the results of the drug test and [Name]'s resignation. Gavin who was listening to the two snorted as he rolled his eyes.

"Can you blame the guy though? I would too if I had his fucking case," the brunet detective had bluntly stated as Tina and Chris looked at him. Gavin let out a sighed as he briefly looked at the direction empty desk of the [Hair color] haired male who used to work there. "But let's just hope he really didn't take drugs and just an error."

Connor, who was a few desk away had heard of the conversation, looked at the old desk of the [Hair color] haired male with an unreadable expression on his face. His LED flicker from yellow to red multiple times. Hank who sat on his own desk let out a sigh as he saw the brunet android looked out of it. "[Name] what happened to you..." The older male had questioned himself as he looked at the photo of him and the [Hair color] haired male with his St. Bernard, Sumo and [Name]'s German Shepherd, Prince.

"[Name] please! I know your in there, just please open the door!" Connor had pleaded as once again, the door wasn't opened. There was no sign of noise or movement inside the two storied house but the android fully know the male was inside and home. The black 1967 Chevrolet Camaro SS was parking outside the garage and the android knows how the [Hair color] haired male loved driving his car anytime he can get.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Connor decided to turn and walked towards the side of the house and find an uncovered window to take a peak at the house. Finding one with the curtain had a small opening, the android looked and saw it was a window that lead to the kitchen. Maneuvering himself to gain a better sight of the inside, the android was surprised to see [Name] sitting in one if the chairs of the table inside the kitchen. The [Hair color] haired male's body was hunched and his head was on the table, both arms prompted to use as a pillow.

Connor tried to open the window only to know it was locked. Muttering a small apology to the knocked out [Hair color] haired male as he hit the window with his elbow, the loud sound of glass breaking didn't even made the sleeping male woken up as he merely layed there. With the window broken and an opening to get inside was set through, Connor had maneuvered himself to pull himself up and get inside. The android fell when his upper body got in as he landed on the floor with broken shards of glass with a loud thud.

Connor seemed to be surprised when he felt something jump on top of him and the sound of barking. Looking at the thing that had jumped on top of him was a dog, a German Shepherd breed. The android's LED flicker to yellow as he raised both of his arms and tried to calm the dog down, squinting his eyes when he saw a dog collar and read the dog's name.

"H-hey there Prince, calm down... I'm a friend," Connor had slowly said as the German Shepherd slowly quieted the dog's barking, the android awkward patted the German Shepherd's head as he continued. "I'm here to help your owner," Connor said as Prince had jumped off him and walked to his owner's leg and just layed there, brown colored eyes of the dog staring at the android's form who was slowly getting up.

Connor pushed himself off from the glass covered floor and immediately stood up, scanning the kitchen until his gaze stopped at the still knocked out male on the table. Slowly walking towards the [Hair color] haired male as the android dusted his uniform, Connor's lips turned into a frown when he had noticed the empty bottles of Jack Daniels on top of the table with a half empty glass of liquor beside the knocked out male.

As Connor neared the [Hair color] haired male, the android stopped his movements when he noticed something in the knocked out male's hand. An small orange container is what the android had deduced from what he can see as he hesitantly reached out for it. Softly, the brunet android uncurled the [Skin color] fingers that wrapped around the container as Connor then took it, bringing it closer to see the orange container was. Welton Zolpidem.

The android's LED flashed red as Connor's frowned deepen, softly shaking his head as his brown eyes slowly trained to the [Hair color] haired male. Worry evident in his brown colored orbs as the android just looked at him sleeping. "What happened to you detective?" The android softly muttered as he watched the sleeping male sorrowfully, clutching the antidepressant in his hand.

Love

A soft groan left the [Hair color] haired male lips as he slowly sat up, rubbing his head as he gave a small hiss from the massive pain in his forehead that he was feeling. [Name] was barely awake when he had realized that he wasn't where he was last night, which was in a the kitchen table, drinking. The confused [Hair color] haired male stopped rubbing forehead and looked around the area he was in. His bedroom. He was in his bedroom and he did not know how he got there. "I must be really drunk last night..." The [Hair color] haired male groggily said as he tried to ease the pain in his head by rubbing it again.

After awhile, [Name] finally found the strength not to vomit his insides out and stand up from his bed. The [Hair color] haired male slowly stood up from his bed to realize his clothes weren't the exact clothes he had last time, he was more in confusion as he was know, he didn't really remember changing or going to bed. A curse left his lips as he really overdid his drinking. "Fucking hell... what happened last night?" The [Hair color] haired muttered as he staggeredly walked towards the door of his room to go to the kitchen and get a drink of water. Hopefully his pain killers was still somewhere inside the kitchen for him to use when he get there. The head ache was killing him.

As [Name] staggered the small hallway of his home, the [Hair color] haired placed a hand on the walls to help him balance since he was still having trouble. The house was quiet which was quite odd for the male. Where the hell was his dog, Prince? Usually, that dog would either be licking his face to wake up or scratch the outside of the door if the dog had locked himself out of his owner's room to have breakfast. And it was usually at six in the morning for the black and brown dog to do that. Maybe that pup just chewed the cushions again. God, the [Hair color] haired male prayed it wasn't that because he didn't want to buy new ones, again.

As the [Hair color] haired male walked, his mind drifted back to what he did last night. Actually, what did he do? His memory was still hazy and not to mention the still lingering feeling of his head being smashed by a thousand sledgehammers, he still can't remember much.

'God, what did I do?' The [Hair color] haired male had thought as he reached the bottom of the stairs, which he miraculously avoided falling down from busy with his thoughts and his staggering steps.

Already reaching the bottom, the [Hair color] haired man had immediately went towards the kitchen, praying that his pain killer medication was there or else he'll have to make coffee to actually help his painful head ache. With a groan, the male trudged to his kitchen, still trying to remember what he ahd last night and where was his furry companion. Those were the only things on his mind until he was close to the kitchen where he had smelled something that made his stomach growl in hunger.

"What the fuck?" Came [Name]'s confused statement as he hurried his pace to go to the kitchen. His mind a bit frantic now with only one thought in mind:

'Is there another fucking person in the house or did Prince just fucking learned how to cook?' [Name] had thought as he saw the kitchen doorway where he immediately pressed himself on the wall. 'Fucking hell, this is too fucking early for this shit.' He grimly thought as he looked at the doorway only to freeze.

Althought the person's back was turned, [Name] fully knows who they were. That brown neat hair, grey colore uniform with the white text of "ANDROID" and "RK800" on it's back. The [Hair color] haired male knows. The man also noticed the familair black and brown furry animal who was sitting obedienly beside the android. What he saw was none other than the android who visited him hours ago when he was unconscious and his German Shepherd dog. Connor and Prince.

The android seemed to be busy making whatever on his stove, probably cooking some eggs from the egg carton and also egg shells the [Hair color] haired male saw beside the counter. He also noticed that the table on the center of the kitchen was clean, no empty boxes of pizza, wrappers or the beer cans and bottle of alcohol. It was clean and even had a neatly put plates and silverware to probably use for this "breakfast" thing the android is preparing.

"C... Connor...?" [Name] had said the android's name. Due to the advance hearing that was programmed onto him, Connor had heard [Name]'s raspy and tired voice behind him as he placed the cooked eggs on a plate. Turning his head around, the brunet android sent the confused and tired [Hair color] haired male a smile.

"Good morning, detective!" The android chirped as he took the plate of eggs he had cooked and placed it on the table. "Did you sleep well, detective?" Connor had asked. Not minding the incredibled look the male had sent him as he turned back around to walk towards the coffee machine and pour a warm cup of coffee onto the mug that was sitting beside it. The android then took the mug and walked towards [Name], that smile still on his lips as he handed the male the mug.

"I hope I did not disturb your sleep from the noise I was making with cooking your breakfast, detective," Connor has said as he saw [Name] took the mug. The [Hair color] haired male blinked a few times as his conscious was still not really back. He still feel like this was some lucid dream since he seeing Connor, the brunet androud again for thr first time in weeks? It surprised him.

"Erm... uhh, no..." [Name] awkwardly said as he then cleared his throat and looked at Connor. "You didn't... I'm just... why are you here?" He has asked. For a split second, Connor looked saddened for a moment until it was gone before it even came. [Name] truly wondered if the android did change expressions on his happy smiling face there. He blamed it on his still sleepy state.

"I..." Connor bit his bottom lip as he looked away from the [Hair color] haired male's gaze. Instead, finding the animal beside his legs more interesting as Prince, the German Shepherd, made comfortable with himself on the floor and laid down.

"You what?" [Name] didn't mean the harshness in his voice. In fact, he didn't expect for his tone to be harsh when he had asked the android. He let out a sigh when he saw Connor flinched at his tone as he shakes his head. The pain was still there, maybe it added to why he was so cranky. Still tired and having a massive headache in the morning.

"I'm... I'm sorry," the [Hair color] haired male apologized as he raused the mudlg of coffee onto his lips and blew on it a few times until he drank. "I just... I... fuck," [Name] had said as Connor finally looked at him. Ratyer worried when [Name]'s tone change in the middle of his sentences.

"Detective," Connor started as he saw [Name] looked at the mug in deeo thought. "Are you... are you alright?" The android hesitantly asked as he gently grapped the mug off of the [Hair color] haired male's hand. His other hand holding [Name]'s hand as he had gently pulled the man to the table. Placing the mug onto the surface of the table, Connor turned back to [Name] who had watched his actions.

"Sit here, detective," the android had commanded as the male did as told. No questions asked as he sat on the chair while the android dragged another and settled it in front of him. The brunet android then sitting comfortably on it.

"Detective, are you alright?" Connor asked again as he held one of [Name]'s [Skin color] hand. The android looking at the [Hair color] haired man in the eye. His tone soft and his face held a worried look that made [Name]'s heart ache a bit.

"To be honest Connor?" [Name] started as a dry chuckle leaving his lips. Taking his hand away from the android's hold. The [Hair color] haired male swore he saw that flash of hurt on the android's face for a second time but he blinked and it was never there. Maybe he just needed sleep. "I haven't been alright for awhile now," he confessed. His hands combing his messy [Hair color] hair in stress as he looked down the ground.

"You probably already know from the mess you have seen earlier, right?" [Name] commented as he gave another pathetic chuckle. "I'm a mess Connor... a goddamn mess," the [Hair color] haired male concedingly said. "Why do you even bother, Connor?" [Name] had asked as he looked at Connor. "Why are you here? Dealing with me?"

"It's because I-- we missed you, detective," the android softly said as he saw [Name] let out a laugh. "Detective, we do... we missed you in the precinct," Connor continued. Tone evident that he was begging for the [Hair color] haired male to believe him.

"You? Miss me?" The [Hair color] haired male had asked. He then chuckled dryly as he looked at Connor. "And why on earth would you do that?" He had asked. Connor bit his bottom lip again as the LED on the side of his head swirled to yellow and red multiple times until it finally stayed at yellow.

"Because... because we care, [Name]," Connor had gently said. Using the [Hair color] haired male's name which surprises the said man. Connor didn't mind. The android continued on. "I... I care [Name]," the brunet android softly said as he reached out for the [Hair color] haired male's hands again and intertwining his with [Name]'s. His actions surprised the man more and [Name] would have said anything if it wasn't for Connor looking at him in the eyes with such emotion.

"I had these feelings... feelings for awhile now," the android confessed. There was a small taint of blue hue painting the skin of his cheeks as he continued on. "And... and these feelings comes out when I am with you," [Name] didn't know what to say as he kept his mouth shut when Connor said more.

"You make me happy when you are with me. You make me sad and worried when you're hurt. You make me feel things-- things that Hank says is... is..." The android's face flushed a more brighter shade of blue hue to show he was flustered. "Hank that says is love..." Connor softly whispered.

"So please... please don't ever think you are not love," Connor had firmly said. "Because... because I... I do [Name]," Connor confessed as he watched the [Hair color] haired male's reaction would be to his confession.

"Goddamn it..." [Name] cursed as he sighed. Sending Connor a greatful smile as he squeezed the android's hand that was intertwined with his. "Of all things to love... you fell for a mess?" The [Hair color] haired male mused as he saw the brunet android shakes his head at his comment but smiled softly at him.

"I wouldn't have it any other way, detective," Connor had said as his LED blinked to red when he saw the tears falling down the [Hair color] haired male's eyes. "Detective?!?" The android shouted in alarm as he hastily took his hands away from their hold and instead cupped [Name]'s face as he stood up from hsi seat to scan the male's body. Rather worried and confused on why the [Hair color] haired male abruptly started crying.

"Detective, are you alright?" Connor asked worriedly. There was a slight hint of panic in his tone as he inspected the [Hair color] haired male's face. He had already scanned [Name]'s health and data and it showed that the male was perfectly fine. Well, there was signs of fatigue and the male's stress levels were rather high from his nornal range, but there was no visible ailments that the brunet android could see. Which doubles Connor's worry for the [Hair color] haired male.

"Is... are you hurt?" Connor had asked. The brunet android had gotten a shake in disagreement. "Did... did I say something wrong, detective?" The android softly asked. Thinking that he had said something to cause a negative reaction for the male to cry.

Connor bit his bottom lip in distress when he thought that maybe [Name]'s reaction was from his confession. It made the brunet android's thirium pump skipped a beat when he thought that the [Hair color] haired man did not return his own affection.

"Was... I... I'm sorry..." Connor had apologized. Thinking it was his fault for making the [Hair color] haired man cry. The android let out a surprised noise when he felt himself pulled down onto [Name] as the [Hair color] haired male's lips crashed onto his. Connor's LED swirled yellow to red multiple times as his mind felt like shutting down. The brunet android did not process what was currently happening as the only thing on his mind was that [Name]'s lips were on his. They were kissing.

Connor closed his eyes as he gently rubbed his thumb on the [Hair color] haired male's check. Leaning more closer towards the [Hair color] haired male as the android felt [Name]'s hands gently placed themsleves above his where the android was still holding the male's face gently.

"I... [Name]..." Connor had muttered in a daze when they aprted from the kiss. The brunet android's checks flushed with blue hue as the [Hair color] haired male's had a taint of pink and softly gasping for air that he had lost with locking lips with the android. "[Name]... does.. does this mean... you..." Connor sputtered out. Still not processing what happened as the [Hair color] haired male smile fondly.

"I don't know why you would fall in love with me," [Name] had softly muttered as his comment semed to snao the android out from his daze. The brunet android gave furrowed his eyebrows as his lips formed into a frown. Clearly displeased with the [Hair color] haired doubting our putting himself down. Connor was about to comment on that when [Name] brought him back again for another kiss. It was quick and innocent that made the android's mind boggled again. Just enough time for the [Hair color] haired to continue. "But I love you..."

[talltales]

                                                           anonymous request!!

it starts with a notification.

norasdad has shared a playlist with you. click here to listen!

no message attached.

her thumb hovers over the glaringly green button situated at the center of the email, circling as she frowns at the screen and sips on coffee long gone cold. usually such things came with context—i thought you’d like this. that artist you like has a new album out!

something.

“why are you glaring at your phone?” comes a disembodied, muffled voice from her bed, from beneath layers of blankets. heating in the old dorms had always been spotty at best; you had to stand exactly three feet to the left of the bathroom door to feel anything resembling warmth, “your grades already in?”

she huffs, “no, i just turned everything in last night. and is that the kind of faith you have in me?”

a face finally peeks out of the mound atop her bed, all messed hair and bleary eyes. “if you didn’t have me to come and wake you up every morning, you would’ve flunked out for attendance issues in the first week.”

“ass.”

bambam laughs, and the melodious sound is just enough to ease the tension building behind her temples, “so,” he says, and she blinks a time or two before she glances down at the flagged message still sitting open on her screen.

“someone just sent me a playlist, that’s all. i’m overthinking it.”

not that deep.

from the corner of her eye, she catches him pausing; witnesses the look of unguarded comprehension that disappears as quickly as it comes. at first, she thinks it might be something as innocuous as empathy—

then he hides the lower half of his face behind the covers and she catches a glimpse of a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

her eye twitches, “you—come here.“

“me?” he echoes, scrambling backward as she moves toward the bed. his ankle catches in the cocoon of blankets, however, and he topples right off the edge with a heavy thump.

“ow. damn.”

dissatisfied with his escape, she reaches blindly into the mess and hauls him up by the collar, “what are you hiding? what do you know?”

he appears to contemplate what he'll say, taking long enough that she’s halfway through a list of simple but effective ways to get her answers when he finally speaks.

“i know that… playlists are the modern day mixtapes, right? love confessions, like—” bambam gives her a positively shit-eating grin and wiggles out of her grasp, “you should probably open it. maybe someone’s got it bad for you.”

and before she can think—let alone say—much else, he makes for the door and scoops his backpack up on the way out, “see ya!”

the door shuts quietly behind him, and she’s left alone with her own thoughts.

a modern day mixtape, huh.

—

at first, she ignores the message because the thought of opening it makes her stomach do some weird flipping thing that’s more off-putting than exciting.

who would be interested in her like that, anyways?

but eventually, the playlist—and all that it might entail—slips to the back of her mind as she falls headfirst into work at the end of the semester and anxiously waiting for news on the state of her GPA. she’s finishing her second cup of coffee and staring a hole through her phone when she hears a voice speaking beyond the fog, “…alright?”

“what?”

“are you alright?”

the man standing at her side is still and familiar, blocking the onslaught of a sun that is much higher in the sky than she remembered it being a moment ago, “jaebeom?”

“that’s my name,” he smiles, with a short gesture to the chair opposite her. it takes an embarrassingly long moment to register what he means to ask, but she nods and manages to wrangle the piles of papers cluttering the table into a haphazard stack.

“i’m sorry, of course. make yourself comfortable.”

just a second later, he eyes the mass of documents she’s cramming into her bag and winces. “did i interrupt you? i can—” already, he’s making to leave and instinct has her reaching to grasp his hand.

she only catches the tips of his fingers, but it’s enough to stop him short.

“the only thing you interrupted was my latest existential crisis. no worries.”

jaebeom makes a sound that could be a sigh or a chuckle—maybe a little of both—before he slumps back into the seat and shakes his head, “that sounds even more concerning.”

she shrugs and gives up on making the folders fit back into her bag. instead, she moves to drain the last dregs of her coffee from her cup, “it’ll pass. then i’ll be back to my everyday anxiety.”

if he’s put off by the topic, jaebeom doesn’t show it. instead, he leans forward and plants his chin in his palm—regarding her with something that can only be considered as open curiosity, “so what do you do? to deal with that?”

this time, any cognitive delay—she thinks—is because it’s an odd question.

“what do you mean?”

unfazed, he taps his fingers against his cheek and she makes absent-minded note of the distinct structure of his face. im jaebeom is unreasonably attractive.

and why is she thinking like that? stop. stop.

“i’m asking how you cope. do you listen to music?”

the reason for his curiosity clicks and she hums, amused, “are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

her question's effect is immediate. his hands raise in a gesture of surrender, playful and earnest all at once, “i swear i’m not. i just noticed that you usually have headphones on. really, it was surprising that you didn’t today.”

oh.

had he tried to talk to her before? the thought is enough to summon a wave of guilt that she isn’t prepared for, and she finds herself bowing her head; fingers curling around her empty cup, “i’m sorry.“

“what for?”

her lips part to offer an answer, though some logical part of her mind warns her against it—overthinking, again—but finds everything skidding to a stop with a soft touch to her chin, nudging it up until her focus is trained on the man opposite her.

he speaks gently, but firmly, “whatever you’re thinking, stop.”

though he seems to catch himself and pulls his hand back; settles it palm down on the old cafe table, “sorry.”

the warmth of his touch lingers.

“i think,” she takes a moment to gather her thoughts; to test the words out on her tongue before she says them, “that we both should stop apologizing, for like, five minutes.”

jaebeom laughs, and the sound is sharp; unguarded and music to her ears.

—

“since when do you wear perfume?”

she stares as bambam sniffs the air through the mirror, chin lifting just enough that she momentarily considers throttling him where he stands, “since when does it matter?”

“you’re answering a question with a question.”

she pinches the bridge of her nose, prays for patience. surely something or someone up there is listening—“tell me why you’re here again.”

“because you came to understand... years ago that you can’t live without me. i’m basically the angel on your shoulder.” as he makes this declaration, bambam loops his arm around her and squeezes hard. “or the devil. whatever. so, who is it?”

“who is who?” for the moment, she leaves him be—raising her hand to pluck a few more stray hairs from her brows, “you’re going to have to be more specific. i know more than one person.”

and there it is. the smug smile that says bambam knows more than he’s telling. he toys with the ends of her hair, looping a few strands around his fingertip, “you can play this game with me, but i hope you know i’ll win.”

as much as she wants to brush his words off another instance of him being full of it, the quiet certainty that he possesses is enough to stop her.

“if you say so.”

“mmm,” gamely, he pats her shoulder before he turns to exit, “tell jaebeom i said hi.”

“get out!”

—

it isn’t like that.

the extent of her time spent with him is strolling through the aisles of a forgotten record shop downtown. for all of his dedication to the art of psychology, jaebeom is equally steadfast in his love for obscure music. thumbing through old vinyls is his pastime, and consequently what she finds herself doing on the odd thursday afternoon.

in place of his usual, proper slacks and button-up, jaebeom wanders the store in jeans and tank-top—carefully keeping in line with the oscillating fan on the wall as if it’s a shield from the descending summer heat. to his credit, the old building doesn’t appear to have working a/c and it may as well be.

she takes a moment to make sure her sundress is covering the essentials when the fan blows her way and continues flipping through the stacks, “what are we looking for again?”

when she turns back, he’s watching her with a bemused smile.

“nothing specific, but you’ll know.”

following my heart, am i?

jaebeom chuckles, and she realizes the thought has slipped out. loudly. embarrassed, she makes a show of inspecting the nearest vinyl until the heat in her cheeks fades.

“that’s the idea,” he says, but the confirmation nearly escapes her notice when she actually looks at the record in her hands.

“hey, i think i found something,” the lettering is small, but the focus of the cover art is the picture itself; a man in the forefront with a cigarette propped between his lips, and another with a match, reaching up from an endless crowd to light it, “ann arbor blues festival—”

she squints; pauses when she feels a hand settle on the curve of her spine.

“1969.” jaebeom murmurs, tracing the edge of the sleeve with a charming sort of reverence. his thumb catches on the hem of her cardigan before raising to wrap around her shoulder in a half-hug, “yeah, you found something.”

when he smiles, she recognizes the wild fluttering of her heart for what it is.

“great.”

—

“so what do you do with all these records?” she asks between taking sips of flavored, crushed ice—sickly sweet piña colada—and watching him sort through their finds for the day. without any discernible system, he sorts them into three neat stacks and makes notes in a worn paper pad.

“i make playlists,” jaebeom says without a glance, flipping to the next page before he stills mid-sentence and gives her a look, “after a month, now you ask?”

deadpanning, she drains an eighth of the enormous cup before she responds.

“i’m not a curious person.”

his expression turns thoughtful, but before she asks, jaebeom nods and returns to his task. the stillness that follows is more disconcerting than she’s accustomed to—with him, at least—and she finds herself speaking merely to break it, “you should send me one.”

it isn’t the right thing to say, if the clenching of his jaw is any indication. his fingers splay over the page, and his lips move silently as he reads back the information that is a foreign language to anyone but him, “sure.”

he doesn’t look at her again, and she leaves with the distinct and terrible feeling that she’s screwed something up.

—

“so how’s it going with our favorite psych major?”

“do you ever just say hi?” she peers at her wholly unwelcome guest over the lid of her laptop, more than a little testy, “how are you? et cetera.”

the picture of cool, calm, and unaffected, bambam takes a seat at the edge of the bed; brow raised and a hand combing through his bleached, silvery hair, “you look lovely today. the weather’s nice. are we ready to get to why you look like someone kicked your puppy?”

as satisfying as it might be to deny him this, she releases a heavy sigh and closes the old device. the empty word document goes black and with it, any remaining desire she had to get something—anything—done, “i think i fucked up.”

his head tilts, lips curving softly.

“you’re going to have to be specific. you fuck up a lot.”

she exhales; the laugh that escapes is short-lived, but it doesn’t feel hollow, “thanks for that.”

there’s a hand in her hair, and where she expects bambam to make a mess of it, he carefully guides each stray strand behind her ears before moving to her shoulders, “anytime.”

her stomach is tying itself in knots by time she finds the words. they trip over her tongue as she tries to assemble them into something that will make sense to him—to her.

“i like jaebeom. i really like him, and for a while i thought that maybe...“ preemptively, she swipes at her eyes with the back of her hand and finds them—thankfully—dry, “he felt the same way, but now i’m not so sure. i think—“

the hand sliding up and down her arm goes strangely still.

“wait,” bambam blinks at her, and for the first time, he actually looks baffled.

she stares back, “what?”

“you… didn’t open the playlist, did you?”

when she shakes her head, he mirrors the gesture with a small, pitying smile that she feels settle in her gut like lead.

“oh my god.”

—

playlists are the modern day mixtapes, right? love confessions.

jaebeom is surprisingly evasive when he wants to be. he is conspicuously absent from his usual haunts; searches of the library, the cafe, and the record shop turn up little more than the vague maybe i saw him?

it’s thursday, though, and maybe he’ll make an appearance for his afternoon vinyl-hunt.

hopefully, he isn’t compiling a new playlist for someone else.

if she wasn’t panicking at the thought of never seeing im jaebeom again, she’d be pissed that he had quickly turned her life into some bad 90s romcom.

and she’s a half-step from throwing her hands up and crawling back into the shelter of her many, many blankets when she spots him making his way through the slowly thinning lunch crowd.

again, he’s dressed for the summer heat; a sight now as familiar as the friendly, disarming student she’d known for years, in the strange sort of way that you could know someone through mere exposure.

it was a bit like watching the same train pass your house every day and knowing the graffiti on each car by heart.

her feet carry her to the front door and she meets him there—a little out of breath, but grasping the handle before he reaches it. the thundering in her ears is distracting, but no more so than the brush of his fingertips against the back of her hand before he quickly retracts it—

“i need to talk to you,” she says to his reflection in the glass. it frowns, lips pressing into a thin line, and she swallows her dread and turns to face him fully, “we can have this conversation here, if you want. but i don’t think you do.”

the latter part comes out as a whisper, as if the battery fueling her courage is all used up.

“lead the way,” jaebeom takes a step back, offering an uncertain smile—either nervous or pained, it’s hard to tell—that she holds in mind as she crosses the street and heads toward the park.

on a weekday, there is no one on the swings. the most frequent visitors are retirees speed-walking down the trails and the occasional dog walker.

at the first shaded bench they reach, she drops onto the seat and glances up at her unmoving companion. the intensity of his attention gives her pause; makes her want to curl into herself until she manages to get what she needs to say out.

like ripping off a bandaid, maybe?

“i found the playlist you sent me.”

jaebeom tenses, in the nearly imperceptible way that says he’s bracing himself. maybe to hear some unpleasant truth, maybe to walk away. but it doesn’t really matter which one it is, when both options are so unpleasant.

she reaches up and takes hold of his hands, squeezing until she feels like he gets it. jaebeom doesn’t reciprocate, but he does move closer and that’s enough.

for now.

“hear me out, please.”

swallowing, she tilts her head back and focuses on him; cutting a figure against the sun and shade—colored in shades of green reflected from the trees overhead. he is still unreasonably beautiful.

“i didn’t ignore it because i disliked you, or anything. honestly, i didn’t know what to make of it because who does that—“ jaebeom sucks in a breath, and belatedly she shuts her mouth with a sharp click that she feels in her jaw, “that’s not what i meant to say. i—stay still.”

when she summons enough courage to look at his face, his expression is purely one of embarrassment, though for himself or for how badly she’s botching this remains to be seen.

“i like you. in fact, i’m probably in love with you and before you respond, i don’t think you can say anything about how i’m doing this when you confessed through a spotify playlist.”

when jaebeom pulls his hands out of her grip, she prepares herself for any one of the scenarios she’d imagined while trying to hunt him down; he says nothing. leaves. he cusses her out and then leaves.

the scenario that she doesn’t dare to imagine is the one that presents itself; in the slide of his fingertips over her cheek, a careful touch that makes her alarmingly delicate pulse flutter around like a bird in a cage.

in the silence that follows, she basks in the contact; tilts her head to lean into his palm until his lips meet the corner of her mouth. once, then twice.

“you liked the playlist.” jaebeom whispers, and she feels him smile; hears the heady sound he makes that barely passes for a laugh, “i made it, but you liked it.”

his giddiness is echoed in her, she thinks, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him down to kiss him fully and breathe his air because now—right now

hers isn’t good enough.

“shut up, norasdad.”

            —I KNOW THE IDEA ISN'T NEW              TO FALL IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE ON FIRST VIEW              BUT I DON'T CARE              I THINK I'LL FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU                           I'LL PUT ON MY SUNDAY BEST              YOU PICK OUT YOUR FAVOURITE DRESS              I'LL TAKE YOU SOMEWHERE NEW              I'LL BE OLD-FASHIONED FOR YOU

[echoheart0324]

(Art summary template can be found here.)

...Compared to the previous years, I kinda feel like I lost the spark near the end of the year, since I feel like my earlier works in the beginning of 2020 looked a lot better, and I’ve been continuously deleting half-finished WIPs for the past few months cuz I didn’t like them enough (especially this and last month, so that’s why I’ve had to hold off on posting them lately).

Though, on the upside, I do feel more comfortable drawing backgrounds (even if I do dislike coloring them regardless, but the addition of folders in Ibis Paint made them a lot more tolerable) and I finally figured out what overlays were so that was a nice plus. Character-wise, I’m glad I started drawing other characters besides Brain for the later half of the year, and the introduction of the DR characters were a blessing to fiddle around with and figure out (though so far, Vor’s the only one I made actual progress with).

It’s also pretty minor, but a lot of the pieces this year were split up into smaller few-hour sessions (but I feel like that has more to do with my schedule nowadays), compared to the previous years where I kinda just bulldozed through them in one or two long sittings, so I feel like I didn’t strain myself as much, thank goodness (though my back took the hit this year, instead of my shoulder).

Otherwise, for next year, I do wanna keep improving on backgrounds, but I know once next semester starts, I’m gonna have to dial down and focus more on my studies, so I guess I wanna aim for something a bit more...different and experimental to play around with for the fun of it.

But as usual, here are my previous Art Summaries: (I still can’t believe I’ve been drawing art for this long...)

(2019 Version)

(2018 Version)

(2017 Version)

[sambergscott]

the best thing is you

just jake, amy, and their favourite things about being parents

There are a lot of things Jake loves about being a dad: stealing his kid’s food when he can’t finish his plate, sleepy cuddles before bed, putting on voices for all the characters in his books, and wearing matching Adidas Superstars. But if he had to pick his absolute favorite number one thing, playing with Sam’s toys would come out on top.

Luckily, their apartment is filled with toys, organised by type, colour and size into various bins and baskets and labelled (Santiago Style!) so he always knows where to put stuff during tidy-up time. If Jake so much as accidentally puts one red Lego block in the yellow Lego container, Sam tuts, rolls his eyes and snitches on him to Amy later.

He has lots of toys but it’s not like he’s spoiled or anything; Amy has a big family and he gets a lot of hand-me-downs. Amy helps him write thank you cards every time he receives a new toy, they constantly remind him how lucky he is and donate his unwanted items to less lucky girls and boys.

(During one decluttering sesh, he puts his favourite truck in the giveaway pile for another kid to play with and Amy almost cries. They’re biased, but they’re pretty sure that Sam is the best kid ever).

They re-enact Ninja Turtles scenes with his action figures, roam the apartment with his dinosaurs and play shop (which consists of Sam selling Jake tinned goods that he already owns).

Both Jake and Sam’s favorite thing to play is the appropriately titled Detective Daddy game.

In short, Jake wears his badge and a tie (even over his t-shirts because, as he explains in his Grandpa Holt voice that never fails to make Sam fall over in a fit of giggles, wearing a necktie in the workplace is very important) and interrogates the three year old until he confesses to his crimes.

It usually goes like this.

“Princess Mommy has been kidnapped!”

Dramatic gasp.

“And I think you took her.”

“Me?” He clutches his chest, feigning innocence.

“I found her tiara in your bedroom, I checked the baby monitor security footage and you weren’t where you said you were and most incriminating of all, I found your fingerprints on her Amy water bottle.”

“My name’s Amy!”

(He often confuses the fact that they share one of the same names and thinks his name is Amy, not Santiago. It’s kind of adorable).

“I checked your file,” he brandishes a manila folder he stole from work and drops it on the dining room table, “and your name is Samuel.”

He gasps again. “I didn’t do it, Officer!”

“Just admit it,” Jake growls playfully, leaning forward to intimidate the suspect.

Sam climbs onto the table and closes the gap all the way, booping his nose against Jake’s and making him break character for half a second.

“Admit you kidnapped Princess Mommy,” Jake insists, tickling him until he finally surrenders.

“I did it! I did it!” He cries. “I kidnapped Princess Mommy and Queen Karen!”

Cue Jake a dramatic gasp from Jake this time.

“You’re going to jail for a long, long, long, long, long, long time!”

Jail is a pillow fort in the corner of the room.

(It’s actually cosy and super comfortable; Sam sent Jake there one time when he played the role of detective the morning after Jake had worked a night shift and he may have fallen asleep until his son decided to jump on him to wake him up so they could have more fun).

Jake scoops the dangerous(-ly cute) criminal into his arms and throws him in pillow fort prison, then rescues his Princess and Queen from the couch.

Sam can’t get enough of cop related games. It warms both Jake and Amy’s hearts that he’s so proud of what they do; it makes all the late nights and time away from him totally worth it.

Victor and Camila buy him a Police Station Lego set for Christmas and, after constructing it with mommy and daddy, it sits pride of place on top of his dresser next to a framed picture of the three of them. The next time he visits the Ninety-Ninth precinct he brags to Rosa, Charles and all the uniformed officers about how his police station is way cooler than theirs.

That very Christmas, he plays cops and robbers for the first time and kicks Santiago cousin butt. Amy high fives him in front of her brothers, thrilled that Sam is continuing her legacy of being the best at the game.

Jake will come up with elaborate (kid friendly) cases that Sam is obsessed with, for example, “oh no! Someone stole a pizza from Sal’s and is getting away!”

“Not Sal’s!” Sam cries because even at three years old, he is aware that Sal’s is the best pizza place in Brooklyn. Like father, like son.

He chases his police cars around the living room, making siren noises and eventually cutting the bad guy’s car off before he can escape towards the bedrooms down the hall.

(They’re going out for a walk when their elderly neighbour offers him one of her grandson’s fire engines that he’s got too old for. Sam declines because firefighters are for losers and the FDNY suck. Amy shoots her an embarrassed smile and herds Sam away).

When it’s time for bed and all the toys have been put away, Jake tells him the story of how a cool, leather jacket-wearing detective married the youngest female Sergeant in the history of the Nine-Nine.

Sam asks to hear it again every night.

--

There are a lot of things Amy loves about being a mom: baking chocolate muffins and pretending not to see when he steals some of raw mixture (even though he has chocolate all round his mouth), sleepy cuddles before bed, singing to Disney hits at the tops of their voices and trying not to cry when he brags about his mom being the youngest female Sergeant in the history of the Nine-Nine to everyone they meet. But if she had to pick her absolute favourite number one thing, teaching Sam to read and write and count would come out on top.

She was always good at school. She got the highest grades. She loved crawling into her dad’s lap and reading to him, glowing under his constant praise. She didn’t need any help with the big words unlike Tony and it wasn’t long before her teacher advised that she skip fourth grade.

She studied Art History at college, topped her class, and was the best in her group of recruits at the Academy, too.

As her brothers started having kids, she loved helping them read and, as they got older, helping them with homework. She especially loved when they would confide in her that she’s smarter than their dads. Beating her brothers, even as an adult, was still her greatest joy. Until she fell in love and had a kid of her own and beating her brothers was demoted to third spot.

The Santiago genes are just as strong in Sam.

He’s like Jake in a lot of ways: his dark, unruly curls, his nose, his sense of humour, his penchant for dramatic reveals.

(Running into their room at 5am shouting, “Mommy! Daddy! I didn’t wet the bed last night!”, for example).

But he is smart. Santiago-level smart.

He learns to count to twenty before all his friends, is a super reader and bilingual.

Amy has been singing him Spanish lullabies since he was a newborn, teaching him his “Por favor”s and “Gracias”s, whispering “Te amo” as she kisses him goodnight. She cries so hard the first time he says it back.

It’s very important to her that he can speak Spanish so they have  lessons with daddy on Tuesday nights. She buys a textbook and makes them sit opposite her at the dining room table like they’re actually in school.

“¿Cuántos años tienes?” She asks him after their first lesson.

“Tengo tres años,” he responds with a proud smile that has Amy gathering him into her arms and smothering him with kisses.

Rosa has been teaching Jake Spanish for a couple of years but his brain is so full of case details and Die Hard quotes that Sam quickly surpasses him, joining Amy on her side of the table.

“Tell mama she’s pretty,” he instructs.

He furrows his brow, immediately looking to Amy for help.

“Luces bien.”

“That was it!” He snaps his fingers. “Luces bien, Ames.”

She blushes, tucks her hair behind both her ears and flicks to the next page of the textbook. She’s only in one of his hoodies and leggings, she’s not even sure when she last washed her hair, but her husband makes her feel beautiful. Always has done, right back to the time he said her dress makes her look like a mermaid.

Along with Spanish, she teaches him basic geography. He knows that Cuba is the largest island in the Caribbean, that Havana is the capital city and can draw the flag with his crayons. He shows off to Camila the next time they visit and earns himself an extra cookie.

He can write his name, too, and she remarks that at age three his penmanship is already better than Jake’s.

(Jake sticks his tongue out at her, even if it’s true).

Like Amy, he loves books. Loves the silly voices Jake makes as he reads, loves reading along with Amy and love love loves reading the book of Jake and Amy (illustrated by Terry) that Jake has made for his fourth birthday.

“Don’t you want to read a different book tonight?” She questions foolishly. They’ve read it three nights in a row.

“Nope,” he grins. “Mommy and daddy’s book.”

Her heart melts as she opens the book and he snuggles into his arms.

“It was her first day at the Nine-Nine...”

--

After an interrogation that went on longer than expected, Jake missed dinner and bath time and had to break several speed limits to get home in time for his bedtime story and goodnight kisses.

He locks the apartment door behind him and follows the sound of Amy’s voice to Sam’s bedroom, recognizing the story immediately.

“I’m hearing wedding bells!” Amy reads, doing a spot on impression of Charles’ voice.

Jake stifles a laugh, leaning against the doorframe and listening to his wife recite the story he knows so well.

There are a lot of things they love about being parents, but at the end of the day, watching Sam play and learn and cuddle their spouse is the best thing of all. And soon they will get to watch them do it all over again with Baby Peralta 2: Peralta Harder.

[allthelittlelostgirlsgrowup]

Love is History

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

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

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

Love is History

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

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

She thought she’d never write their break up.

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

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

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

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

-/-

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

-/-

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

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

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

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

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

-/-

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

She finds herself in Harlem. The Harlem Public Library. She has to get back to her roots. Sure, this isn’t Storybrooke, and no, she’ll probably never meet a pair of eyes as blue coconut as...but her work needs her to find a way to write.

She thinks of his face.

Three hours pass and all she has in a google doc is ‘why?’

-/-

Despite the first failure to launch, she finds she quite likes that library. She’s giving herself a pep talk this time, before she finds herself staring at a blank screen wondering why again.

“I left because I had to.” She looks at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. That’s the only statement she’s made to anyone, herself included. When her friends, her agent, her editor, and her heart ask, she tells them she had to.

She makes her way through her apartment, recounting the moments, hours, days leading up to it. There are very few things her mind makes enough sense to share. Everything else is so convoluted, so tangled up in self-loathing and years of agonizing loneliness, the average person wouldn’t get it. Some days, as she’s matured and healed, she finds even she has trouble understanding it.

There’s not a day that goes by she doesn’t spend half of it feeling nothing but regret. That’s the healthy part of her, the well-adjusted adult who grew from the little lost girl. She’s sane enough to know she threw away the best relationship she’s ever had. She’s sane enough to know she saved him from future hardships with her.

The sound of the empire striking back stirs her from her thoughts. Regina gets the Darth Vader theme as a ringtone so Emma never forgets who really owns her career.

“Hey,” Emma answers as she reaches her apartment door.

“Nice of you to finally answer your phone.” She can hear the glare in Regina’s voice. “You know you pay me to do this right? Not the other way around. Get your money’s worth, why don’t you.” Emma rolls her eyes as she packs her laptop in her messenger bag.

Regina Mills is a fierce woman, as charming as she is aggressive. She can pretty much get anyone to do anything she wants. Emma doesn’t practice in the ways of the force, but she’s certain Regina knows a Jedi mind trick or two, and as her agent, that comes in handy.

What doesn’t come in handy is her tie to Killian. Regina’s husband Robin happens to be Killian’s cousin. Emma avoided Regina’s calls for months after the break-up, afraid she’ll have to answer the same question she’s been asking herself all afternoon. Once she finally started accepting calls again, it seemed Regina had moved on to bigger and better things: A movie deal.

“Right” she sighs. “What’s my money bringing me today?”

“This isn’t money related, so much as a word of warning.” Regina’s tone doesn’t seem as sass-filled as before, so it’s clear she’s not the one wielding the threat. She actually sounds a bit sympathetic. “Belle and I pulled straws to see who got to break this to you, and I, unfortunately, pulled short this time around.”

“There’s a point here.” Emma urges, feeling ill-fated all of a sudden.

“Killian just moved to NYC.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Emma braces herself for pain, but is met with an absence of feeling altogether. Her knees buckle and she finds purchase against her kitchen island. “Emma?”

“When?” She whispers.

“Just a couple of weeks. He took a job with the NYC public libraries, he’s actually doing really well and has just approached Belle with an idea to get the youth excited about writing. There’s a chance you’ll run into him at the office, so I just...we both thought a heads up was necessary.”

“Which library?” because Fate is a nosy bitch and has no business showing up and guiding her to the man she ran from.

“Emma?”

“Which library”

“I think...if I recall correctly, his home base is in  Harlem.”

“I’ll call you back.”

-/-

She thought about leaving the country. At the very least, the state. She is overwhelmed, without a question just so damn overwhelmed. She has gotten so used to tears these days, she’s a little shocked she didn’t cry the minute she heard his name.

Her body had other ideas, because although she definitely meant to get on a train going the opposite direction, she found herself in Harlem 25 minutes later.

She sits in the middle of the library at an open table, clickity clacking as loudly as she can. Part of her really believes that maybe if she saw him, she’d remember why she left.

Another part is certain that masochism is her new favorite hobby.

He never appears.

-/- “Hey” Emma answers her phone going off for the eighth time today.

“Emma?” Belle sounds more relieved than usual. “Where have you been, I’ve been calling non-stop since 3.” Emma rolls her neck to view the time on the DVR.

7:45 pm

“Sorry, I’ve been reading all day.” she hasn’t talked to anyone for another two weeks. She does this far too often to still have a support system. Emma’s not sure she’d pour the same amount of effort into anyone who went radio silent every other week.

“We had a meeting at 2:30.”

“Sorry.” She shrugs, because honestly, nothing even matters.

“I’m coming over,” Belle says decidedly.

“No, Belle, you don’t have to do that.” Emma regrets answering on the eighth attempt. “Let’s reschedule.”

“We just did, I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Open the door.” Sure, she’s a small, sweet, meek-looking woman, but what most people don’t know about Belle is she could slay dragons with pure determination alone. In a battle of wills, she's even got Regina beat.

Emma peels herself off the sofa for the first time since noon, snuggie falling to the floor as she heads for the shower. If Bella can make the journey to her apartment, Emma can at least shower. Sure enough, 30 minutes later she’s greeting Belle at the door, a pizza in hand.

“Are you okay?” She sets the pizza on the kitchen island and wraps Emma in a hug. Emma tries to pull her head far enough to keep her hair from wetting Belle.

“Yeah, just...the creative process. Ya know.” Emma trails off as the hug ends. Of course, she’s not okay. ‘Okay’ people don’t stop answering their phones for weeks, they don’t stare at blank pages until their vision blurs. They don’t behave this way. This was her first shower in days.

“He was in the office yesterday,” Belle says after a long silence, just a full 3 minutes of her studying Emma from head to toe. Do her eyes just scream ‘Killian’ every time someone looks at her. “He said he called to congratulate you on the screenplay adaptation.”

“No, he didn’t.” She’s quick to dismiss. She scoured her missed calls for days looking for his name, he never called.

“How would you know, you never answer your phone, Emma.” She sits on a counter stool, tugging Emma to join her. “He’s going to be in every day next week, and I think…”

“No.” Emma cuts her off.

“Let me finish.” Belle opens the pizza box, sliding it toward Emma. “I think you should take a vacation. Get out of the city for a while, maybe visit Storybrooke, since you know he’s not there to run into.” Emma grabs a slice of pizza, not sure when she last ate but too preoccupied with the idea of leaving the city for a while. She ran to NYC. Now she’s running back to Storybrooke. Is he just going to chase her back and forth?

“Did he say anything else about me?” she hates the desperation gnawing at her.

“He asked me why…” Belle sighs “I told him we’ll all find out in book four.”

-/-

God only knows what compelled her to do the exact opposite of what Belle suggested and show up at the publisher’s office. Probably the same thing that led her to the Harlem library a few weeks ago. She bought a new outfit. She realizes she’s barely even worn jeans over the last eight months, and now she’s in a dress and heels like she has an interview to work here. She’s wearing makeup and perfume. She’s trying her best to cover up and signs of the wreck she’s been for months.

The office seems busier than it has ever been, many new, young faces bustling about. She keeps her features calm as she scans every inch of every room she enters for him.

“Emma?” Belle is hurried as she crosses the main floor to meet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I know.” Emma returns the hushed tone Belle is using. “I reworked some chapters, delayed the breakup, and gave more of Aly’s history.” and Belle nods, but is evidently not listening.

“He’s here.” Belle looks almost frightened. “So if you want to reconsider, I would do it now. Otherwise…”

“Swan?” no one calls her Swan. She’s paralyzed. What did she think was going to happen? How did she think she was going to react? When she paced around her apartment for three hours this morning, did she think she was going to just be okay? He would be here, he would see her and suddenly everything would be okay? “Emma…” He tries softer, less shocked, more timid.

This is the moment. In every love story, angst finds its way in, rips the reader’s heart out and although they’ve been bleeding for chapters now, they can feel nothing at this moment. Time is still, the lights are dim, and all we see is Emma and him.

He looks like himself, just more professional. He’s in well-fitted gray slacks, a navy dress shirt, his hair is longer though. He’s got more scruff on his neck than normal. His eyes are too blue, truly, for anyone to notice another inch of him. They stare at her, the same shade that’s been haunting her dreams, and she still struggles to define it. Everything. They’ve always been everything, no matter if it’s more cotton candy than blue coconut.

“Killian.” She swallows. Her throat makes this awkward gurgling sound and she wants to melt into the floor. Why is she here?

It’s suddenly so quiet but so loud. She can hear her heart hammering in her eardrums. No one says anything for a long stretch of time, maybe 2 seconds, maybe 3 hours, she can’t be sure. She just knows there is so much said in the silence.

“How are you?” She asks without thought. The look on his face is devastating.

“Sorry?” He mocks a laugh. “How am I?”

She’s not completely delusional. This is a thing humans say to one another, no? Why does it feel so foreign all at once, like she’s attempting English for the first time with a local?

“Killian” she sighs, releasing the most dizzying breath.

“I’m good” he grits, suddenly covered in constrained anger. “And you?”

And now they are strangers, all dressed up and nothing to talk about.

“Me?” Her tongue drags along her lower lip to buy time. “Good.” She nods.

“I’m just pleased everyone is good.” Belle smiles sweetly. “Now, Killian and I have a brief meeting, and afterward, if you’re still available, we can go over your rewrite.”

An exit strategy. This is quite possibly the only thing she could have hoped for.

“Swan was a bright young writer once” Killian grins, wickedly. “Why don’t you attend the meeting. We’re talking about a youth writing program.” He’s obviously bating her. How dare she show up on a day he’s here and act like she didn’t destroy him…

“Sure” she agrees. Partly because she’s too stubborn to back down from a challenge, and mainly because she did destroy him and there’s that whole thing about masochism she recently discovered about herself.

Belle looks beside herself. Her eyes narrow and she puffs her chest for a moment before leading them to a meeting space. Two more individuals join them, laptops ready to jot down notes and ideas. Her meetings are only ever with Belle so, for Emma, this seems like red carpet treatment.

He has amazing ideas. He loves the idea of bringing an artistic outlet to the children of Harlem. He was always so much more than a shelfer. He was always a dreamer, with these brilliant, compassionate ideas for helping everyone feel less alone, more encouraged.

She was always a fence, holding him back from the best parts of himself.

-/-

When the meeting concludes, Belle graciously thanks Killian for coming, makes promises of action, and attempts to say goodbye.

Killian, as good-natured and kind as he can be, has always had a persistently obnoxious side. He invites himself to the next meeting.

“This is only fair, Swan.” he smiles, though his eyes are full of darkness.

They regroup in Belle’s office after a bathroom break.

As much as Emma is dying on the inside, Belle looks absolutely disturbed by this. She can’t imagine the discomfort in being the third wheel of a breakup reunion.

“So...when we uh, when we left off, you were telling me why they broke up.” Belle sighs, knowing how awful this is. Emma smiles, hoping it lets her off the hook a little. After all, Belle told her to leave town. Emma decided to torture herself.

“Right.” Emma takes a large breath in, holding it while she pulls out her folder. Only releasing once its in Belle’s hands. Killian is studying her like he has a Chemistry final to take tomorrow and she’s the only hope. “Alysandra left Atlas for his…” She’s said it to herself. She’s made hints to others, but Killian has never had a clue. “For his own good. She’s derailed him from his journey. She’s made him less of a pirate, more of a…”

“More of a what?” Killian’s breath is sharp as it floods in through his nose and out through his mouth. “What did she do to him?”

“She reduced him to a caregiver,” Belle answers from what’s written in the text. “Alysandra took over the journey of discovery. She was suddenly the main character.” Belle looks up at Emma with a look she’d only be able to classify as “delayed understanding.”

“In a story about Atlas, Aly becomes the focus. Everything he does, he does for her.” Emma can feel herself losing composure, eyes stinging with tears, throat drier than a desert. Somehow, someway, she finds her way to Killian’s eyes. “He wasn’t living for himself anymore. He had no purpose but to love her. And it was destroying everything.”

She’s not sure if it’s understanding she expects, or maybe gratitude, for saving him from the needy monster that she is. She knows neither is what she received.

“Did you ask Atlas, perhaps… perhaps that’s what made him happiest?” Killian’s eyes are drilling into her like nails, pinning her against a wall.

She is less.

Speechless, motionless, hopeless…

Less sure she did the right thing. Less firm on her decision. Just so much less than she was the day before.

There’s movement after a long pause, not by her, but Belle, gently setting the files down and moving to leave them alone.

“Aly is an orphan” Emma explains and she can see his head start to shake, but she has to be firm. “Listen. She is not the strong-willed, rebel without a cause she pretends to be. Some days the sadness from being alone for so long stunts her. She spends hours upon hours laying awake wishing she could sleep forever. She can be a wreck, a mess, an impossible woman to love.”

Does it make it easier to talk about herself as if she’s someone else? She’s been doing it for so long, all the catharsis from writing herself into stories, just to unpack the things that plague her? Maybe she can have sympathy for anyone but her, maybe its the only way she can recognize how her behavior impacts others. Maybe the book is why she left in the first place.

“You make it impossible to love you, Emma.” She’s never seen his jaw trembling like this before. “And against all odds, through resilience and patience, I’ve found a way to do the bloody impossible. You can cover it up in characters you’ve based off of us, but this isn’t fiction. I was real. What we had...what we had was real. It wasn’t easy, but when you finally let me in, it was simple. We were happy.”

“You were happy?” She brushes tears from her cheeks as she shakes her head in disagreement. “Was it simple? To come home and find I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch? Was that the ideal relationship you dreamt of, to see all of your energy, love, and time wasted on someone who couldn’t get themselves off the couch?”

“So you got yourself off the couch now.” Killian stands, eyes frantically scanning Emma from head to toe. “Well done, it only took the motivation of ending a relationship to do it.”

“I did it for you.” and she believes that, with everything in her, she left for his own good.

“Did you now?” He seems so out of breath for standing still. “Or could you have possibly woken up one day and realized the weight of a relationship was what was pinning you to the couch. Was it that Atlas cared for Aly too much, or was it the expectation that Aly would have cared for him in return? Was breaking my heart easier than just trusting me with yours?”

And all at once in the middle of the ocean, she can see Aly waking up all alone in the captain’s quarters, searching the whole damn ship for a man who did what the men she loves always do.

“Maybe there were days you thought I was miserable” he kneels before her as the ocean finds its way to this office. His eyes are ocean blue, always changing hues depending on if the sun is shining, or a storm is brewing or they’re in the deep. “But you weren’t afraid I’d die that way, always miserable, no...some part of you thought I’d leave before I let that happen. That’s the orphan I loved. You were never a mess. You were a survivalist.”

So maybe that’s their story. Aly watched Atlas change his life for her, and realized he’s going to live to regret it. Did the last seven months hurt less because it was her choice? If he would have pulled the trigger, would the bullet do that much more damage?

“I would have died miserable.”

-/-

The history she’s writing is hers and hers alone. When she was younger, when her heart was stolen and broken, when she always ended up alone. She was writing an escape plan.

This was the first time she was the one who left, and to quell the guilt of being her own worst nightmare, she forced herself to believe she was doing it for him. How many people have left her for her own good? How many times did she think that they were doing her a favor?

She’s been sitting motionless for who knows how long when Belle comes back. Killian is long gone but his words linger like those dizzy stars after a concussion. Her head is throbbing trying to make sense of it. This wasn’t just seven months spent believing the lie. Now she’s searching for the truth.

She gets anxious in monotony, like a stench in stagnant water, she is repulsed by the concept. She’s never wanted to do the same thing every day. She doesn’t want a picket fence, she wants…She does like a cute cottagey feel with a nice picket fence, she could…she could deal with a picket fence.

She definitely does not want a husband though, or to be barefoot and pregnant, or…

There were times, she’d look at him fresh out of the shower, or in his sleep and he’d look so much younger, she’d wonder what their kids would look like. There have been times she’s searched her fingers as they moved across her keyboard and realized her ring finger would look nice with a natural stone set in some brass band. It was never anything he did that scared her. It was that she thought about more. The concept of more scared her, and the fact that she was greedy and foolish enough to want it.

Four years is a long time to not talk about marriage, but after they moved past her initial anxiety attacks over having a boyfriend, he never really pushed for much again. Moving in together was her idea. He kept enough stuff at her place and with Elsa moving abroad, it made sense to do it. That’s as far as she was going to take it. Another few years piled up and she was busy writing and he was busy being supportive of that, she recognized she was his sun. When he made sure she ate during the weeks she barely left the house, when he kept her house plants alive, when he did her laundry, reminded her to shower, and told her he’s proud of her too often to quantify, she knew she was his ship. An inanimate object, something someone can love so much and not receive the love back in return, and sure, he’s as silly as a pirate to believe a ship that holds itself together while he’s sailing on her loves him, and that’s just her role.

Hold yourself together Emma, that’s always been your role.

She started to get bitter and insecure. What is she contributing to this relationship? How is she making him any better? Has he even written many songs since they moved in together, has she gone to see him perform, has he performed? Some days she was so enthralled in her writing, she didn’t realize he wasn’t home all day. It was his day off and he was gone for longer than a workday. He could have been having an affair for all she knew. For all he did, he deserved to be having an affair, falling in love with someone who would be there for him, encouraging his dreams, and dedicating herself to him.

After that day, she started her drafts. Killian, you’re so much more than I deserved…Or Killian, your life paused the day you met me. And finally, after months, she left him with I need this to be over.

She’s a writer, a published author, an English major and an avid reader yet, through years and years of literature and just terrible romcoms, she never learned how to break up with someone. She never knew the words to say to him, so she said nothing. He called for three-five days, she’s not sure as she was in a sobbing-induced coma.  He sent texts, he sent freaking carrier pigeons, and she locked herself in a hotel room with her laptop and her broken heart. Finally, an email came in.

Emma, I’ve moved out. Everything I’ve left is yours…among the worn t-shirts you liked to sleep in and the novels we’ve collected over the years is my heart. Goodbye Love.

“Emma,” Belle brings her back to the present after a very long, painful trip into her past. “Are you okay?”

Why is that word even used to describe how ‘good’ something or someone is?

“No.” She glances over at Belle, she thinks to ask if she talked to him in the hall after he left, if he said anything, if he seemed ‘Okay’ himself but she settles back to a business mindset. Work is the only constant. “Aly left because she didn’t want to get left again.”

“And that’s how it ends?” Belle hands her the folder back. “You can do better.”

-/-

“The concept of fiction isn’t a lack of reality, it just hasn’t happened exactly that way yet.”

She hears his voice cascading down the ramp she’s sitting at the bottom of. It's been a week since Belle’s meeting and she made her way back to the library. Back to their roots. There’s so much history in this building, but the history she’s looking for lives within her. There’s a group of teenagers huddled together like they’re on a tour. Her fingers shake as she looks back down at her laptop.

“Don’t be afraid to use your own daily vernacular. It’s just as likely as any well-researched, powered by thesaurus dialogue, but it will come to you much more easily. That’s your voice.”

His voice sounds increasingly close. She wants to look but if they lock eyes now, while he’s busy, she’s back to being the center of attention. Why did she come here? Does she want to get back to being the center of his attention?

“Swan?” her stomach flips violently. She really didn’t think this through. Her neck trembles as she cranes to look up at him. “Hi.” He clears his throat, the group of teenagers studying them closely from behind him.

“Hi” she breathes. “Uhm…”

“Do you want to meet my junior author group?” He cuts in quickly.

“Hi.” She repeats, only this time her eyes travel across the young faces. “I’m Emma.”

“Emma Swan?” A young girl in the back pipes up. “You write Cap Zeph.” ‘Cap Zeph’ is a very popular Tumblr tag, Emma’s been told. She is now a mild-day D list celebrity with the news of the screenplay adaptation. She never published under her real name until this one, Killian’s idea.

“That I do.” Emma feigns a smile.

“Emma Swan” Killian begins, chest swelling “came up with the idea in a small town library.”

“Really?” another girl with wavy blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders asks.

“Yes, and Killian Jones worked there. He’s…evidently the inspiration. Hair as dark as night, eyes as blue as the sea he sails upon.”  Every girl and one boy in the group glance at Killian, amorously. Still handsome as ever. He looks down, scratching behind his ear and chuckling dryly.  She wonders if his throat burns the same way her eyes do or if this feels so natural he’s happy to fall back into it.

“Why don’t you all find some books to research personal voice from in the YA section, hmm?” He dismisses the group quickly. They share assuming glances and move to leave in pairs, surely gossiping on the way.

Being alone again is terrifying. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Why does she always go looking for him? What does she want? How can they come out of this okay? What is okay?

“What brings you?” Killian starts. He isn’t looking anywhere but her and the look in his eyes leaves frost on her flesh. His expression is so blank. She has no idea if he even wants her here after their last conversation.

“I was just looking for inspiration.” He nods.

“There are study rooms.” He adds, motioning in the direction she may find them. “My office is actually at a different location, or I’d…suggest…”

“Do you hate me?” it comes out without warning.

“No.” He winces. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s lying or because he wishes he were lying.

“Why not?” She asks. He flinches.

“Christ, Swan. Stop it.” He grabs a seat across from her at the small bistro-style table she’s been working on. She closes her laptop to remove barriers between them. “I hated myself for a while. I thought maybe I should have never lost sight of who you were. You’ve always been guarded. I thought I had broken down some of your walls. I should have never assumed I tore them all down.”

This voice within her tells her that it's no man’s job to do the work for her. Her walls are her own to remove.

“What about your walls?” Emma counters. She didn’t come for an argument, but Killian had trauma, he was damaged in theory, but always presented himself as such a well-adjusted, forgiving, kind, loving man. “Maybe you had to go brick by brick, but you knew they were there. I just watched you for years never act like anything troubled you.”

He laughs, loudly.

She’s startled more that she laughs in return than questions it.

“Emma, my love...of course I was troubled. I still am. I drink far too much and try to solve all of my problems myself without anyone’s help.” He’s still smiling as he confesses.”Hell, I didn’t tell anyone we broke up for months and it wasn’t because I thought you were coming back. I just knew I wasn’t going to let anyone worry about me.”

“You’re not troubled” she shakes her head but thinks back to every time he came home frustrated and sealed himself up before she could get a good glimpse of it. “Are you?”

“I spent an entire day at the marina grieving my dead brother, over a decade after losing him. Every time I went to leave and come home to you, I’d get upset again. I used to stay away until I could pull myself together.” His smile slips into something dark and Emma realizes all the ways they failed at communicating. “I loved you just enough to only show you my best parts. I never trusted our love enough to show you everything. And it’s not because you were sad every now and then.”

And she sees the orphan in him the moment she realizes being left behind were his worst fears, too.

“You thought I’d leave…”

“I think the term is ‘best-laid plans.’” His smile is back “Convince an author to fall in love with you, live forever. Only, with my luck, I get to read my heart get broken in the exact same way whenever I’d like. I was looking forward to your book, knowing I’d get to see us in love again.” She considers the part about him looking forward to her book.

“It’s as much my book as yours.” She means that. When she first wrote the Cap Zeph short stories, she had no plan of publishing. Killian pushed for her to immortalize this, to believe in herself and sell it. When the first went well, he convinced her to meet with Regina. “I mean, you are the entire series, after all.” He shakes his head and sighs.

She doesn’t have a response and the seconds tick by. It only takes a few before they reach an awkward silence where one person makes an excuse to leave. And then when do they see each other again?

“I should get back to my writers.” He moves to stand and she wants to jump up, but she doesn’t know what words follow that. She writes fiction. It's why this book has been so damn difficult. Writing their personalities into a fantasy of pirates and fairies, that's one thing. Writing history is another. She can build on what has already happened. This in-the-moment dichotomy, will they? Won’t they? Can they make it work? It’s disturbing.

He’s the quick thinker. Always a come-back, a pun, a literary quote…

“The only thing worse than a boy who hates you…” She opens her laptop nonchalantly, as if it won’t wound her for him to leave. “...a boy who loves you.”

Among the many novels they shared, “The Book Thief” was one of Killian’s most treasured.

He stares at her with wonder glazing his face. “If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.”

Maybe she’d burn every book in this library, for a chance to experience falling in love with Killian all over again, as if it weren’t a moment in history.

The screenplay would read ‘They share a look of longing’ and she’s not sure that’s how she’d describe it. ‘Longing’ seems more cliche and not nearly as descriptive as her quickening pulse would use.

This feels like a pivotal moment where she realizes that they don’t necessarily have to not be in love anymore. They could take a slow pace, like windchimes waiting for a breeze to bring them together. That’s all a Zephyr is.

“My number hasn’t changed.”

-/-

His number has. She gets a text around 1am. Are you up? It's odd, because Killian isn’t a booty-call kind of guy, but who knows what a breakup can do to a man.

I rarely sleep before 2. Her phone rings moments later.

“Hello?” her tone sounds like a question, but she knows it’s him.

“Swan, it’s Killian.”

“Yes, Grandpa, I’m aware.” She can’t help but chuckle. Almost too elated that he’s on the other end. She can hear him laugh on the other end.

“Do you remember the first time we started speaking on the phone? You wouldn’t give me your number until maybe the 18th date.” She didn’t trust herself then. They took things so slowly.

“You know I like a clean getaway.” Is it too soon to joke about always having one foot out the door?

“What's the escape plan this time?”  

“Probably the West Coast since you chased me here”

“I did not!” His laugh is vibrating against her ribs, setting the tempo for her heart.

Could it be easy all over again? One quote and he’s calling her? One call and they go see a movie? One date and…

And thinking about the end is how she got there, isn’t it?

“Did you plan on seeing me again? Knowing you were moving here?”

“Of course. I planned on seeing you no matter where I lived...I prepared for you to come into focus and the rest of my world to blur.” He sighs and she can hear his mattress settle as he moves. “I didn’t plan on seeing you in my library again.”

“Where else would I get inspiration. You’re my muse.”

They talk til 4am. She’s rethought every word she’s said these last seven months. She rarely moves without tension tugging at the back of her neck. Her thoughts are never clear and simple, not since she left. And here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with nothing but a familiar voice on the other end, she hasn’t second-guessed a word.

-/- She’s not sure if she should call it a date. He invites her to a scholarship meeting and sure, they’re dressed up, but because it's a business meeting. He talks to the team, Belle is in attendance, and she barely says a word.

But he asks her out for drinks afterward and suddenly she’s all he’s focused on, laughing about old times, discussing the interesting twist in literature they’ve both read recently. She asks him if he’s written any songs and he beams brightly when he tells her ‘only recently, Love.’

Sometimes love is familiar, like a book you’ve read a dozen times. There’s comfort in knowing everything and loving it anyway.

-/-

“Are you dating him?” Belle watches her from the doorway as Killian moves down the hall to his meeting. They came to the office together this time, maybe a peck on the cheek occurred before his departure, and maybe Belle witnessed it.

“I don’t know.” Emma tries not to think logistically about what’s going on. It’s been 4 weeks, she’s written 8 chapters and Aly is about to find Atlas again. “For the first time since I started, I know how book 4 will end.”

They go over the recent chapters and Belle seems subtly impressed but she’s holding back. Emma knows it's Killian-related. She just knows she can’t pry without being pried open in return.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it's beautiful. From tragedy to triumph is the Captain Zephyr way.” Belle hands the work back to Emma with a sad smile. “What makes it different this time? True love always finds its way back to one another, but how do we know they won’t split up again?” Emma knows this isn’t about the novel. They haven’t yet gotten back together to split up.

Does she know they’ll never separate again? Of course not. Killian is dedicated, devoted like a priest to the cloth. She is very aware that his heart is not yet healed, but eager to love her all over again. A few dates and late-night phone calls don’t make forever a promise anyone could keep.

“We don’t.”

-/- He’s walking her home after another fun night at a bar near her apartment. They’ve been casually seeing each other but nothing more than a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodnight has occurred. They get to her building in record time, too preoccupied by the conversation on who in Hollywood would make a handsome Captain Zeph. “Johnny Depp doesn’t have blue eyes.” Emma laughs. “You can’t just pick the most popular actors, and he’s already a pirate in another franchise.” They’re at the doors of her building and his eyes are boring into her. “Do you want to come up?”

And maybe it's because they haven’t had a real kiss in what’s very close to being a year now, but he seems almost nervous.

“I’m afraid I miss you too much.” he scratches behind his ear and looks down the road. When he looks back at her he seems shy.

“Chris Wood,” she comments. She liked him on Supergirl. “Come upstairs.”

It's the look on his face when he studies her apartment that makes her remember they broke up. As if she had forgotten months of trying to hold herself together, he reminds her that she broke him when his face floods with that loneliness.

“Killian...”

“This is a very nice place you have.” his eyes are darting from one corner to the next, lingering on the most significant differences. “So ‘New York’ it's almost as if you’ve never lived anywhere else.”

“Your apartment isn’t ‘New York?’” it's so weird that they’ve never seen each other's place when they’ve seen each other's souls.

“It’s just a place to lay my head.” He glances back at her with something almost accusatory when he says “You’ve gone ahead and made yourself a home.” And it has never felt like that, not once, when she was hiding away, when she would run home to it.

This place, this city has always been a foster home she feels like she’ll get kicked out of if she gets too comfortable. It wasn’t like their home together. Their home felt like roots. Here she feels like an implant that won’t take to the soil.

“The designer furnishings don’t mean shit to me.” Emma moves to the bookshelf, all new and shiny but it's just a box to keep what matters most. “Only what I’ve come here with is all I care to take. She pulls out a few books, “Wuthering Heights,” “The Book Thief,” and “Emma.” She hands them to him knowing they were always his.

“I wanted you to keep them.” He starts to give them back when she waves her hand.

“What do you need to not resent this place? To know I have everything you left tucked away in all these new places?” she motions for him to follow her to the bedroom and he slowly drifts behind, setting the novels on the coffee table. Her bed is covered in pillows dressed in his t-shirts instead of pillowcases. She keeps his cologne on the bedside table as if it were some expensive aromatherapy pillow spray. The blanket Granny from the local diner in Storybrooke made them lay at the foot of the bed, an anchor crocheted into the loops.

“I only drink whiskey you like. I only sleep in your t-shirts.” she sits on her bed, reaching for his hand to pull him down with her. “I don’t know what we are, and I can’t promise you I’m not a tragedy waiting to happen. I just know that I haven’t been able to erase an inch of you.”

He kisses her then. It's not on her terms, and he has only ever waited for everything to be on her terms. So when he pulls her in, hand cupping the back of her head, mouth open and adventurous, she gasps.

His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer to him, her hands pressed flat against his chest as his tongue enters her mouth with desperation. She fists his shirt in her hands, pressing even closer to him as her tongue reacts in kind. It has been the longest year without him and he’s kissing her like they’re running out of time.

All at once they’re falling as he lays her down on her back, continuing to claim her mouth as his property. Her hands start moving, tugging and fumbling with buttons and zippers and just much too much fabric for her liking. When she moves for his briefs he tugs back from her lips.

“Is this what you want?” Her response is to slip her dress over her head. Any questions to follow are puffed out in a husky tone against her ear.

Sometimes love is erotica, so she catalogs every second of it because nothing has ever happened quite like this before.

-/-

They spend the next few months together and she bangs out the rest of the book in record time. Regina and Belle throw her a submission party. She dodges questions about their future and tries to focus on the book.

“So Aly and Atlas together again,” Robin questions her as Killian returns with a drink for the both of them. She knows he’s not talking about the story. Killian has been very careful to not assume much about their status. Both of them have just stuck to ‘seeing where it goes.’

But it's not like they just met six months ago. They have history, they have four years of standing together at parties and being a couple. Do they have the luxury of casually dating? If all happiness is fleeting, do they dive face-first in it or wade in the shallow end.

“I love Killian.” She says firmly. It’s never not been true from the moment she realized it, in a foreign library miles and miles away from home. He is not easily erased, and it has become glaringly obvious it will only destroy her to try. “I always have and I always will.” Killian’s eyes have never been so doe-like. She’s never been so bold.

“I…” Robin’s face flushes, certainly not expecting her to speak so proudly.

“And I love Emma, if it isn’t ardently clear. She’s everything to me and I’m happy just to exist in her life.” He raises his whiskey to her and she follows suit like a gentlemen’s agreement has just been formed: To love one another without concern of what it means. As she takes a sip she realizes what everything means. He hasn’t pushed aside his dreams in the slightest this go around. He’s been focused and driven, ambitious and busy. Somehow, he’s still considering her ‘everything.’ Maybe what she thought was sacrifice all that time ago was really just love.

So they stay in love.

-/-

Another year goes by and the first film is set to release. Although Emma and Killian still pay rent at their separate apartments, they spend every night together. Sometimes it's downtown in Killian’s studio, and other nights it's in the heart of the city at Emma’s. Commitment isn’t measured by who gave what up. It has shifted to who stays. They both do, and every day they make the decision to stay, when it's 5 months since Killian has slept alone or 10 months since Emma had dinner without him. They stay together with one promise in mind. They love each other. And for as long as Love is Present, they will choose each other.

Love is History

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

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

She thought she’d never write their break up. 

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

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

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

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

-/- 

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t we all like to know?”

 -/-

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

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

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

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

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

-/-

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

She finds herself in Harlem. The Harlem Public Library. She has to get back to her roots. Sure, this isn’t Storybrooke, and no, she’ll probably never meet a pair of eyes as blue coconut as...but her work needs her to find a way to write.

She thinks of his face. 

Three hours pass and all she has in a google doc is ‘why?’

-/-

Despite the first failure to launch, she finds she quite likes that library. She’s giving herself a pep talk this time, before she finds herself staring at a blank screen wondering why again. 

“I left because I had to.” She looks at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. That’s the only statement she’s made to anyone, herself included. When her friends, her agent, her editor, and her heart ask, she tells them she had to. 

She makes her way through her apartment, recounting the moments, hours, days leading up to it. There are very few things her mind makes enough sense to share. Everything else is so convoluted, so tangled up in self-loathing and years of agonizing loneliness, the average person wouldn’t get it. Some days, as she’s matured and healed, she finds even she has trouble understanding it.

There’s not a day that goes by she doesn’t spend half of it feeling nothing but regret. That’s the healthy part of her, the well-adjusted adult who grew from the little lost girl. She’s sane enough to know she threw away the best relationship she’s ever had. She’s sane enough to know she saved him from future hardships with her. 

The sound of the empire striking back stirs her from her thoughts. Regina gets the Darth Vader theme as a ringtone so Emma never forgets who really owns her career. 

“Hey,” Emma answers as she reaches her apartment door.

“Nice of you to finally answer your phone.” She can hear the glare in Regina’s voice. “You know you pay me to do this right? Not the other way around. Get your money’s worth, why don’t you.” Emma rolls her eyes as she packs her laptop in her messenger bag.

Regina Mills is a fierce woman, as charming as she is aggressive. She can pretty much get anyone to do anything she wants. Emma doesn’t practice in the ways of the force, but she’s certain Regina knows a Jedi mind trick or two, and as her agent, that comes in handy. 

What doesn’t come in handy is her tie to Killian. Regina’s husband Robin happens to be Killian’s cousin. Emma avoided Regina’s calls for months after the break-up, afraid she’ll have to answer the same question she’s been asking herself all afternoon. Once she finally started accepting calls again, it seemed Regina had moved on to bigger and better things: A movie deal. 

“Right” she sighs. “What’s my money bringing me today?” 

“This isn’t money related, so much as a word of warning.” Regina’s tone doesn’t seem as sass-filled as before, so it’s clear she’s not the one wielding the threat. She actually sounds a bit sympathetic. “Belle and I pulled straws to see who got to break this to you, and I, unfortunately, pulled short this time around.”

“There’s a point here.” Emma urges, feeling ill-fated all of a sudden. 

“Killian just moved to NYC.” Like ripping off a band-aid. Emma braces herself for pain, but is met with an absence of feeling altogether. Her knees buckle and she finds purchase against her kitchen island. “Emma?”

“When?” She whispers.

“Just a couple of weeks. He took a job with the NYC public libraries, he’s actually doing really well and has just approached Belle with an idea to get the youth excited about writing. There’s a chance you’ll run into him at the office, so I just...we both thought a heads up was necessary.” 

“Which library?” because Fate is a nosy bitch and has no business showing up and guiding her to the man she ran from.

“Emma?”

“Which library”

“I think...if I recall correctly, his home base is in  Harlem.”

“I’ll call you back.” 

-/-

She thought about leaving the country. At the very least, the state. She is overwhelmed, without a question just so damn overwhelmed. She has gotten so used to tears these days, she’s a little shocked she didn’t cry the minute she heard his name. 

Her body had other ideas, because although she definitely meant to get on a train going the opposite direction, she found herself in Harlem 25 minutes later. 

She sits in the middle of the library at an open table, clickity clacking as loudly as she can. Part of her really believes that maybe if she saw him, she’d remember why she left.

Another part is certain that masochism is her new favorite hobby.

He never appears.

-/-

“Hey” Emma answers her phone going off for the eighth time today. 

“Emma?” Belle sounds more relieved than usual. “Where have you been, I’ve been calling non-stop since 3.” Emma rolls her neck to view the time on the DVR. 

7:45 pm

“Sorry, I’ve been reading all day.” she hasn’t talked to anyone for another two weeks. She does this far too often to still have a support system. Emma’s not sure she’d pour the same amount of effort into anyone who went radio silent every other week. 

“We had a meeting at 2:30.” 

“Sorry.” She shrugs, because honestly, nothing even matters.

“I’m coming over,” Belle says decidedly. 

“No, Belle, you don’t have to do that.” Emma regrets answering on the eighth attempt. “Let’s reschedule.”

“We just did, I’ll see you in thirty minutes. Open the door.” Sure, she’s a small, sweet, meek-looking woman, but what most people don’t know about Belle is she could slay dragons with pure determination alone. In a battle of wills, she's even got Regina beat.

Emma peels herself off the sofa for the first time since noon, snuggie falling to the floor as she heads for the shower. If Bella can make the journey to her apartment, Emma can at least shower. Sure enough, 30 minutes later she’s greeting Belle at the door, a pizza in hand. 

“Are you okay?” She sets the pizza on the kitchen island and wraps Emma in a hug. Emma tries to pull her head far enough to keep her hair from wetting Belle. 

“Yeah, just...the creative process. Ya know.” Emma trails off as the hug ends. Of course, she’s not okay. ‘Okay’ people don’t stop answering their phones for weeks, they don’t stare at blank pages until their vision blurs. They don’t behave this way. This was her first shower in days. 

“He was in the office yesterday,” Belle says after a long silence, just a full 3 minutes of her studying Emma from head to toe. Do her eyes just scream ‘Killian’ every time someone looks at her. “He said he called to congratulate you on the screenplay adaptation.”

“No, he didn’t.” She’s quick to dismiss. She scoured her missed calls for days looking for his name, he never called. 

“How would you know, you never answer your phone, Emma.” She sits on a counter stool, tugging Emma to join her. “He’s going to be in every day next week, and I think…”

“No.” Emma cuts her off. 

“Let me finish.” Belle opens the pizza box, sliding it toward Emma. “I think you should take a vacation. Get out of the city for a while, maybe visit Storybrooke, since you know he’s not there to run into.” Emma grabs a slice of pizza, not sure when she last ate but too preoccupied with the idea of leaving the city for a while. She ran to NYC. Now she’s running back to Storybrooke. Is he just going to chase her back and forth? 

“Did he say anything else about me?” she hates the desperation gnawing at her.

“He asked me why…” Belle sighs “I told him we’ll all find out in book four.”

-/-

God only knows what compelled her to do the exact opposite of what Belle suggested and show up at the publisher’s office. Probably the same thing that led her to the Harlem library a few weeks ago. She bought a new outfit. She realizes she’s barely even worn jeans over the last eight months, and now she’s in a dress and heels like she has an interview to work here. She’s wearing makeup and perfume. She’s trying her best to cover up and signs of the wreck she’s been for months. 

The office seems busier than it has ever been, many new, young faces bustling about. She keeps her features calm as she scans every inch of every room she enters for him. 

“Emma?” Belle is hurried as she crosses the main floor to meet her. “What are you doing here?”

“I know.” Emma returns the hushed tone Belle is using. “I reworked some chapters, delayed the breakup, and gave more of Aly’s history.” and Belle nods, but is evidently not listening.

“He’s here.” Belle looks almost frightened. “So if you want to reconsider, I would do it now. Otherwise…”

“Swan?” no one calls her Swan. She’s paralyzed. What did she think was going to happen? How did she think she was going to react? When she paced around her apartment for three hours this morning, did she think she was going to just be okay? He would be here, he would see her and suddenly everything would be okay? “Emma…” He tries softer, less shocked, more timid. 

This is the moment. In every love story, angst finds its way in, rips the reader’s heart out and although they’ve been bleeding for chapters now, they can feel nothing at this moment. Time is still, the lights are dim, and all we see is Emma and him. 

He looks like himself, just more professional. He’s in well-fitted gray slacks, a navy dress shirt, his hair is longer though. He’s got more scruff on his neck than normal. His eyes are too blue, truly, for anyone to notice another inch of him. They stare at her, the same shade that’s been haunting her dreams, and she still struggles to define it. Everything. They’ve always been everything, no matter if it’s more cotton candy than blue coconut. 

“Killian.” She swallows. Her throat makes this awkward gurgling sound and she wants to melt into the floor. Why is she here?

It’s suddenly so quiet but so loud. She can hear her heart hammering in her eardrums. No one says anything for a long stretch of time, maybe 2 seconds, maybe 3 hours, she can’t be sure. She just knows there is so much said in the silence. 

“How are you?” She asks without thought. The look on his face is devastating. 

“Sorry?” He mocks a laugh. “How am I?” 

She’s not completely delusional. This is a thing humans say to one another, no? Why does it feel so foreign all at once, like she’s attempting English for the first time with a local?

“Killian” she sighs, releasing the most dizzying breath.

“I’m good” he grits, suddenly covered in constrained anger. “And you?” 

And now they are strangers, all dressed up and nothing to talk about. 

“Me?” Her tongue drags along her lower lip to buy time. “Good.” She nods.

“I’m just pleased everyone is good.” Belle smiles sweetly. “Now, Killian and I have a brief meeting, and afterward, if you’re still available, we can go over your rewrite.”

An exit strategy. This is quite possibly the only thing she could have hoped for.

“Swan was a bright young writer once” Killian grins, wickedly. “Why don’t you attend the meeting. We’re talking about a youth writing program.” He’s obviously bating her. How dare she show up on a day he’s here and act like she didn’t destroy him…

“Sure” she agrees. Partly because she’s too stubborn to back down from a challenge, and mainly because she did destroy him and there’s that whole thing about masochism she recently discovered about herself.

Belle looks beside herself. Her eyes narrow and she puffs her chest for a moment before leading them to a meeting space. Two more individuals join them, laptops ready to jot down notes and ideas. Her meetings are only ever with Belle so, for Emma, this seems like red carpet treatment. 

He has amazing ideas. He loves the idea of bringing an artistic outlet to the children of Harlem. He was always so much more than a shelfer. He was always a dreamer, with these brilliant, compassionate ideas for helping everyone feel less alone, more encouraged. 

She was always a fence, holding him back from the best parts of himself.

-/-

When the meeting concludes, Belle graciously thanks Killian for coming, makes promises of action, and attempts to say goodbye. 

Killian, as good-natured and kind as he can be, has always had a persistently obnoxious side. He invites himself to the next meeting.

“This is only fair, Swan.” he smiles, though his eyes are full of darkness. 

They regroup in Belle’s office after a bathroom break. 

As much as Emma is dying on the inside, Belle looks absolutely disturbed by this. She can’t imagine the discomfort in being the third wheel of a breakup reunion. 

“So...when we uh, when we left off, you were telling me why they broke up.” Belle sighs, knowing how awful this is. Emma smiles, hoping it lets her off the hook a little. After all, Belle told her to leave town. Emma decided to torture herself.

“Right.” Emma takes a large breath in, holding it while she pulls out her folder. Only releasing once its in Belle’s hands. Killian is studying her like he has a Chemistry final to take tomorrow and she’s the only hope. “Alysandra left Atlas for his…” She’s said it to herself. She’s made hints to others, but Killian has never had a clue. “For his own good. She’s derailed him from his journey. She’s made him less of a pirate, more of a…”

“More of a what?” Killian’s breath is sharp as it floods in through his nose and out through his mouth. “What did she do to him?”

“She reduced him to a caregiver,” Belle answers from what’s written in the text. “Alysandra took over the journey of discovery. She was suddenly the main character.” Belle looks up at Emma with a look she’d only be able to classify as “delayed understanding.”

“In a story about Atlas, Aly becomes the focus. Everything he does, he does for her.” Emma can feel herself losing composure, eyes stinging with tears, throat drier than a desert. Somehow, someway, she finds her way to Killian’s eyes. “He wasn’t living for himself anymore. He had no purpose but to love her. And it was destroying everything.”

She’s not sure if it’s understanding she expects, or maybe gratitude, for saving him from the needy monster that she is. She knows neither is what she received. 

“Did you ask Atlas, perhaps… perhaps that’s what made him happiest?” Killian’s eyes are drilling into her like nails, pinning her against a wall. 

She is less. 

Speechless, motionless, hopeless…

Less sure she did the right thing. Less firm on her decision. Just so much less than she was the day before. 

There’s movement after a long pause, not by her, but Belle, gently setting the files down and moving to leave them alone. 

“Aly is an orphan” Emma explains and she can see his head start to shake, but she has to be firm. “Listen. She is not the strong-willed, rebel without a cause she pretends to be. Some days the sadness from being alone for so long stunts her. She spends hours upon hours laying awake wishing she could sleep forever. She can be a wreck, a mess, an impossible woman to love.” 

Does it make it easier to talk about herself as if she’s someone else? She’s been doing it for so long, all the catharsis from writing herself into stories, just to unpack the things that plague her? Maybe she can have sympathy for anyone but her, maybe its the only way she can recognize how her behavior impacts others. Maybe the book is why she left in the first place. 

“You make it impossible to love you, Emma.” She’s never seen his jaw trembling like this before. “And against all odds, through resilience and patience, I’ve found a way to do the bloody impossible. You can cover it up in characters you’ve based off of us, but this isn’t fiction. I was real. What we had...what we had was real. It wasn’t easy, but when you finally let me in, it was simple. We were happy.”

“You were happy?” She brushes tears from her cheeks as she shakes her head in disagreement. “Was it simple? To come home and find I hadn’t moved from my spot on the couch? Was that the ideal relationship you dreamt of, to see all of your energy, love, and time wasted on someone who couldn’t get themselves off the couch?”

“So you got yourself off the couch now.” Killian stands, eyes frantically scanning Emma from head to toe. “Well done, it only took the motivation of ending a relationship to do it.”

“I did it for you.” and she believes that, with everything in her, she left for his own good.

“Did you now?” He seems so out of breath for standing still. “Or could you have possibly woken up one day and realized the weight of a relationship was what was pinning you to the couch. Was it that Atlas cared for Aly too much, or was it the expectation that Aly would have cared for him in return? Was breaking my heart easier than just trusting me with yours?”

And all at once in the middle of the ocean, she can see Aly waking up all alone in the captain’s quarters, searching the whole damn ship for a man who did what the men she loves always do. 

“Maybe there were days you thought I was miserable” he kneels before her as the ocean finds its way to this office. His eyes are ocean blue, always changing hues depending on if the sun is shining, or a storm is brewing or they’re in the deep. “But you weren’t afraid I’d die that way, always miserable, no...some part of you thought I’d leave before I let that happen. That’s the orphan I loved. You were never a mess. You were a survivalist.”

So maybe that’s their story. Aly watched Atlas change his life for her, and realized he’s going to live to regret it. Did the last seven months hurt less because it was her choice? If he would have pulled the trigger, would the bullet do that much more damage?

“I would have died miserable.” 

-/-

The history she’s writing is hers and hers alone. When she was younger, when her heart was stolen and broken, when she always ended up alone. She was writing an escape plan.

This was the first time she was the one who left, and to quell the guilt of being her own worst nightmare, she forced herself to believe she was doing it for him. How many people have left her for her own good? How many times did she think that they were doing her a favor?

She’s been sitting motionless for who knows how long when Belle comes back. Killian is long gone but his words linger like those dizzy stars after a concussion. Her head is throbbing trying to make sense of it. This wasn’t just seven months spent believing the lie. Now she’s searching for the truth. 

She gets anxious in monotony, like a stench in stagnant water, she is repulsed by the concept. She’s never wanted to do the same thing every day. She doesn’t want a picket fence, she wants…She does like a cute cottagey feel with a nice picket fence, she could…she could deal with a picket fence.

She definitely does not want a husband though, or to be barefoot and pregnant, or…

There were times, she’d look at him fresh out of the shower, or in his sleep and he’d look so much younger, she’d wonder what their kids would look like. There have been times she’s searched her fingers as they moved across her keyboard and realized her ring finger would look nice with a natural stone set in some brass band. It was never anything he did that scared her. It was that she thought about more. The concept of more scared her, and the fact that she was greedy and foolish enough to want it.

Four years is a long time to not talk about marriage, but after they moved past her initial anxiety attacks over having a boyfriend, he never really pushed for much again. Moving in together was her idea. He kept enough stuff at her place and with Elsa moving abroad, it made sense to do it. That’s as far as she was going to take it. Another few years piled up and she was busy writing and he was busy being supportive of that, she recognized she was his sun. When he made sure she ate during the weeks she barely left the house, when he kept her house plants alive, when he did her laundry, reminded her to shower, and told her he’s proud of her too often to quantify, she knew she was his ship. An inanimate object, something someone can love so much and not receive the love back in return, and sure, he’s as silly as a pirate to believe a ship that holds itself together while he’s sailing on her loves him, and that’s just her role.

Hold yourself together Emma, that’s always been your role.

She started to get bitter and insecure. What is she contributing to this relationship? How is she making him any better? Has he even written many songs since they moved in together, has she gone to see him perform, has he performed? Some days she was so enthralled in her writing, she didn’t realize he wasn’t home all day. It was his day off and he was gone for longer than a workday. He could have been having an affair for all she knew. For all he did, he deserved to be having an affair, falling in love with someone who would be there for him, encouraging his dreams, and dedicating herself to him.

After that day, she started her drafts. Killian, you’re so much more than I deserved…Or Killian, your life paused the day you met me. And finally, after months, she left him with I need this to be over.

She’s a writer, a published author, an English major and an avid reader yet, through years and years of literature and just terrible romcoms, she never learned how to break up with someone. She never knew the words to say to him, so she said nothing. He called for three-five days, she’s not sure as she was in a sobbing-induced coma.  He sent texts, he sent freaking carrier pigeons, and she locked herself in a hotel room with her laptop and her broken heart.

Finally, an email came in.

Emma,

I’ve moved out. Everything I’ve left is yours…among the worn t-shirts you liked to sleep in and the novels we’ve collected over the years is my heart.

Goodbye Love.

“Emma,” Belle brings her back to the present after a very long, painful trip into her past. “Are you okay?”

Why is that word even used to describe how ‘good’ something or someone is? 

“No.” She glances over at Belle, she thinks to ask if she talked to him in the hall after he left, if he said anything, if he seemed ‘Okay’ himself but she settles back to a business mindset. Work is the only constant. “Aly left because she didn’t want to get left again.” 

“And that’s how it ends?” Belle hands her the folder back. “You can do better.”

-/-

“The concept of fiction isn’t a lack of reality, it just hasn’t happened exactly that way yet.” 

She hears his voice cascading down the ramp she’s sitting at the bottom of. It's been a week since Belle’s meeting and she made her way back to the library. Back to their roots. There’s so much history in this building, but the history she’s looking for lives within her. There’s a group of teenagers huddled together like they’re on a tour. Her fingers shake as she looks back down at her laptop. 

“Don’t be afraid to use your own daily vernacular. It’s just as likely as any well-researched, powered by thesaurus dialogue, but it will come to you much more easily. That’s your voice.”

His voice sounds increasingly close. She wants to look but if they lock eyes now, while he’s busy, she’s back to being the center of attention. Why did she come here? Does she want to get back to being the center of his attention? 

“Swan?” her stomach flips violently. She really didn’t think this through. Her neck trembles as she cranes to look up at him. “Hi.” He clears his throat, the group of teenagers studying them closely from behind him.

“Hi” she breathes. “Uhm…”

“Do you want to meet my junior author group?” He cuts in quickly.

“Hi.” She repeats, only this time her eyes travel across the young faces. “I’m Emma.”

 “Emma Swan?” A young girl in the back pipes up. “You write Cap Zeph.” ‘Cap Zeph’ is a very popular Tumblr tag, Emma’s been told. She is now a mild-day D list celebrity with the news of the screenplay adaptation. She never published under her real name until this one, Killian’s idea.

“That I do.” Emma feigns a smile.

“Emma Swan” Killian begins, chest swelling “came up with the idea in a small town library.” 

“Really?” another girl with wavy blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders asks.

“Yes, and Killian Jones worked there. He’s…evidently the inspiration. Hair as dark as night, eyes as blue as the sea he sails upon.”  Every girl and one boy in the group glance at Killian, amorously. Still handsome as ever. He looks down, scratching behind his ear and chuckling dryly.  She wonders if his throat burns the same way her eyes do or if this feels so natural he’s happy to fall back into it.

“Why don’t you all find some books to research personal voice from in the YA section, hmm?” He dismisses the group quickly. They share assuming glances and move to leave in pairs, surely gossiping on the way. 

Being alone again is terrifying. She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Why does she always go looking for him? What does she want? How can they come out of this okay? What is okay? 

“What brings you?” Killian starts. He isn’t looking anywhere but her and the look in his eyes leaves frost on her flesh. His expression is so blank. She has no idea if he even wants her here after their last conversation.

“I was just looking for inspiration.” He nods.

“There are study rooms.” He adds, motioning in the direction she may find them. “My office is actually at a different location, or I’d…suggest…”

“Do you hate me?” it comes out without warning.

“No.” He winces. She’s not sure if it’s because he’s lying or because he wishes he were lying.

“Why not?” She asks. He flinches.

“Christ, Swan. Stop it.” He grabs a seat across from her at the small bistro-style table she’s been working on. She closes her laptop to remove barriers between them. “I hated myself for a while. I thought maybe I should have never lost sight of who you were. You’ve always been guarded. I thought I had broken down some of your walls. I should have never assumed I tore them all down.”

This voice within her tells her that it's no man’s job to do the work for her. Her walls are her own to remove. 

“What about your walls?” Emma counters. She didn’t come for an argument, but Killian had trauma, he was damaged in theory, but always presented himself as such a well-adjusted, forgiving, kind, loving man. “Maybe you had to go brick by brick, but you knew they were there. I just watched you for years never act like anything troubled you.”

He laughs, loudly. 

She’s startled more that she laughs in return than questions it. 

“Emma, my love...of course I was troubled. I still am. I drink far too much and try to solve all of my problems myself without anyone’s help.” He’s still smiling as he confesses.”Hell, I didn’t tell anyone we broke up for months and it wasn’t because I thought you were coming back. I just knew I wasn’t going to let anyone worry about me.”

“You’re not troubled” she shakes her head but thinks back to every time he came home frustrated and sealed himself up before she could get a good glimpse of it. “Are you?”

“I spent an entire day at the marina grieving my dead brother, over a decade after losing him. Every time I went to leave and come home to you, I’d get upset again. I used to stay away until I could pull myself together.” His smile slips into something dark and Emma realizes all the ways they failed at communicating. “I loved you just enough to only show you my best parts. I never trusted our love enough to show you everything. And it’s not because you were sad every now and then.”

And she sees the orphan in him the moment she realizes being left behind were his worst fears, too.

“You thought I’d leave…”

“I think the term is ‘best-laid plans.’” His smile is back “Convince an author to fall in love with you, live forever. Only, with my luck, I get to read my heart get broken in the exact same way whenever I’d like. I was looking forward to your book, knowing I’d get to see us in love again.”

She considers the part about him looking forward to her book.

“It’s as much my book as yours.” She means that. When she first wrote the Cap Zeph short stories, she had no plan of publishing. Killian pushed for her to immortalize this, to believe in herself and sell it. When the first went well, he convinced her to meet with Regina. “I mean, you are the entire series, after all.” He shakes his head and sighs. 

She doesn’t have a response and the seconds tick by. It only takes a few before they reach an awkward silence where one person makes an excuse to leave. And then when do they see each other again?

“I should get back to my writers.” He moves to stand and she wants to jump up, but she doesn’t know what words follow that. She writes fiction. It's why this book has been so damn difficult. Writing their personalities into a fantasy of pirates and fairies, that's one thing. Writing history is another. She can build on what has already happened. This in-the-moment dichotomy, will they? Won’t they? Can they make it work? It’s disturbing. 

He’s the quick thinker. Always a come-back, a pun, a literary quote…

“The only thing worse than a boy who hates you…” She opens her laptop nonchalantly, as if it won’t wound her for him to leave. “...a boy who loves you.”

Among the many novels they shared, “The Book Thief” was one of Killian’s most treasured. 

He stares at her with wonder glazing his face. “If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter.”

Maybe she’d burn every book in this library, for a chance to experience falling in love with Killian all over again, as if it weren’t a moment in history. 

The screenplay would read ‘They share a look of longing’ and she’s not sure that’s how she’d describe it. ‘Longing’ seems more cliche and not nearly as descriptive as her quickening pulse would use.

This feels like a pivotal moment where she realizes that they don’t necessarily have to not be in love anymore. They could take a slow pace, like windchimes waiting for a breeze to bring them together. That’s all a Zephyr is.

“My number hasn’t changed.” 

-/-

His number has. She gets a text around 1am. 

Are you up?

It's odd, because Killian isn’t a booty-call kind of guy, but who knows what a breakup can do to a man. 

I rarely sleep before 2. Her phone rings moments later.

“Hello?” her tone sounds like a question, but she knows it’s him.

“Swan, it’s Killian.” 

“Yes, Grandpa, I’m aware.” She can’t help but chuckle. Almost too elated that he’s on the other end. She can hear him laugh on the other end.

“Do you remember the first time we started speaking on the phone? You wouldn’t give me your number until maybe the 18th date.” She didn’t trust herself then. They took things so slowly.

“You know I like a clean getaway.” Is it too soon to joke about always having one foot out the door? 

“What's the escape plan this time?”  

“Probably the West Coast since you chased me here”

“I did not!” His laugh is vibrating against her ribs, setting the tempo for her heart. 

Could it be easy all over again? One quote and he’s calling her? One call and they go see a movie? One date and…

And thinking about the end is how she got there, isn’t it? 

“Did you plan on seeing me again? Knowing you were moving here?”

“Of course. I planned on seeing you no matter where I lived...I prepared for you to come into focus and the rest of my world to blur.” He sighs and she can hear his mattress settle as he moves. “I didn’t plan on seeing you in my library again.”

“Where else would I get inspiration. You’re my muse.” 

They talk til 4am. She’s rethought every word she’s said these last seven months. She rarely moves without tension tugging at the back of her neck. Her thoughts are never clear and simple, not since she left. And here, in the darkness of her bedroom, with nothing but a familiar voice on the other end, she hasn’t second-guessed a word. 

-/-

She’s not sure if she should call it a date. He invites her to a scholarship meeting and sure, they’re dressed up, but because it's a business meeting. He talks to the team, Belle is in attendance, and she barely says a word. 

But he asks her out for drinks afterward and suddenly she’s all he’s focused on, laughing about old times, discussing the interesting twist in literature they’ve both read recently. She asks him if he’s written any songs and he beams brightly when he tells her ‘only recently, Love.’

Sometimes love is familiar, like a book you’ve read a dozen times. There’s comfort in knowing everything and loving it anyway.

-/-

“Are you dating him?” Belle watches her from the doorway as Killian moves down the hall to his meeting. They came to the office together this time, maybe a peck on the cheek occurred before his departure, and maybe Belle witnessed it. 

“I don’t know.” Emma tries not to think logistically about what’s going on. It’s been 4 weeks, she’s written 8 chapters and Aly is about to find Atlas again. “For the first time since I started, I know how book 4 will end.”

They go over the recent chapters and Belle seems subtly impressed but she’s holding back. Emma knows it's Killian-related. She just knows she can’t pry without being pried open in return. 

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it's beautiful. From tragedy to triumph is the Captain Zephyr way.” Belle hands the work back to Emma with a sad smile. “What makes it different this time? True love always finds its way back to one another, but how do we know they won’t split up again?” Emma knows this isn’t about the novel. They haven’t yet gotten back together to split up.

Does she know they’ll never separate again? Of course not. Killian is dedicated, devoted like a priest to the cloth. She is very aware that his heart is not yet healed, but eager to love her all over again. A few dates and late-night phone calls don’t make forever a promise anyone could keep.

“We don’t.” 

-/-

He’s walking her home after another fun night at a bar near her apartment. They’ve been casually seeing each other but nothing more than a kiss on the cheek or a hug goodnight has occurred. They get to her building in record time, too preoccupied by the conversation on who in Hollywood would make a handsome Captain Zeph. 

“Johnny Depp doesn’t have blue eyes.” Emma laughs. “You can’t just pick the most popular actors, and he’s already a pirate in another franchise.” They’re at the doors of her building and his eyes are boring into her. “Do you want to come up?”

And maybe it's because they haven’t had a real kiss in what’s very close to being a year now, but he seems almost nervous. 

“I’m afraid I miss you too much.” he scratches behind his ear and looks down the road. When he looks back at her he seems shy.

“Chris Wood,” she comments. She liked him on Supergirl. “Come upstairs.” 

It's the look on his face when he studies her apartment that makes her remember they broke up. As if she had forgotten months of trying to hold herself together, he reminds her that she broke him when his face floods with that loneliness. 

“Killian...” 

“This is a very nice place you have.” his eyes are darting from one corner to the next, lingering on the most significant differences. “So ‘New York’ it's almost as if you’ve never lived anywhere else.” 

“Your apartment isn’t ‘New York?’” it's so weird that they’ve never seen each other's place when they’ve seen each other's souls. 

“It’s just a place to lay my head.” He glances back at her with something almost accusatory when he says “You’ve gone ahead and made yourself a home.” And it has never felt like that, not once, when she was hiding away, when she would run home to it. 

This place, this city has always been a foster home she feels like she’ll get kicked out of if she gets too comfortable. It wasn’t like their home together. Their home felt like roots. Here she feels like an implant that won’t take to the soil. 

“The designer furnishings don’t mean shit to me.” Emma moves to the bookshelf, all new and shiny but it's just a box to keep what matters most. “Only what I’ve come here with is all I care to take. She pulls out a few books, “Wuthering Heights,” “The Book Thief,” and “Emma.” She hands them to him knowing they were always his. 

“I wanted you to keep them.” He starts to give them back when she waves her hand. 

“What do you need to not resent this place? To know I have everything you left tucked away in all these new places?” she motions for him to follow her to the bedroom and he slowly drifts behind, setting the novels on the coffee table. 

Her bed is covered in pillows dressed in his t-shirts instead of pillowcases. She keeps his cologne on the bedside table as if it were some expensive aromatherapy pillow spray. The blanket Granny from the local diner in Storybrooke made them lay at the foot of the bed, an anchor crocheted into the loops.

“I only drink whiskey you like. I only sleep in your t-shirts.” she sits on her bed, reaching for his hand to pull him down with her. “I don’t know what we are, and I can’t promise you I’m not a tragedy waiting to happen. I just know that I haven’t been able to erase an inch of you.”

He kisses her then. It's not on her terms, and he has only ever waited for everything to be on her terms. So when he pulls her in, hand cupping the back of her head, mouth open and adventurous, she gasps. 

His other arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer to him, her hands pressed flat against his chest as his tongue enters her mouth with desperation. She fists his shirt in her hands, pressing even closer to him as her tongue reacts in kind. It has been the longest year without him and he’s kissing her like they’re running out of time.

All at once they’re falling as he lays her down on her back, continuing to claim her mouth as his property. Her hands start moving, tugging and fumbling with buttons and zippers and just much too much fabric for her liking. When she moves for his briefs he tugs back from her lips. 

“Is this what you want?” Her response is to slip her dress over her head. Any questions to follow are puffed out in a husky tone against her ear. 

Sometimes love is erotica, so she catalogs every second of it because nothing has ever happened quite like this before. 

-/-

They spend the next few months together and she bangs out the rest of the book in record time. Regina and Belle throw her a submission party. She dodges questions about their future and tries to focus on the book. 

“So Aly and Atlas together again,” Robin questions her as Killian returns with a drink for the both of them. She knows he’s not talking about the story. Killian has been very careful to not assume much about their status. Both of them have just stuck to ‘seeing where it goes.’ 

But it's not like they just met six months ago. They have history, they have four years of standing together at parties and being a couple. Do they have the luxury of casually dating? If all happiness is fleeting, do they dive face-first in it or wade in the shallow end. 

“I love Killian.” She says firmly. It’s never not been true from the moment she realized it, in a foreign library miles and miles away from home. He is not easily erased, and it has become glaringly obvious it will only destroy her to try. “I always have and I always will.” Killian’s eyes have never been so doe-like. She’s never been so bold. 

“I…” Robin’s face flushes, certainly not expecting her to speak so proudly.

“And I love Emma, if it isn’t ardently clear. She’s everything to me and I’m happy just to exist in her life.” He raises his whiskey to her and she follows suit like a gentlemen’s agreement has just been formed: To love one another without concern of what it means. As she takes a sip she realizes what everything means. He hasn’t pushed aside his dreams in the slightest this go around. He’s been focused and driven, ambitious and busy. Somehow, he’s still considering her ‘everything.’ Maybe what she thought was sacrifice all that time ago was really just love.

So they stay in love. 

-/-

Another year goes by and the first film is set to release. Although Emma and Killian still pay rent at their separate apartments, they spend every night together. Sometimes it's downtown in Killian’s studio, and other nights it's in the heart of the city at Emma’s. Commitment isn’t measured by who gave what up. It has shifted to who stays. They both do, and every day they make the decision to stay, when it's 5 months since Killian has slept alone or 10 months since Emma had dinner without him. They stay together with one promise in mind. They love each other. And for as long as Love is Present, they will choose each other. 

[justmickeyfornow]

Mickey I know we always have Lena as the strong, sexy, graceful woman who pursue the dorkable Kara, but look hear me out...Dork Kara is really the aggressive, lewd, sneakily touches Lena's thigh under the conference table during a board meeting type. And Lena turns into a fumbling stuttering mess for a lil while

Oh, you mean something a little like this...?

*Casually slides this to you*

Lena had just bought Catco, and if it was any other investment, she would probably appoint a CEO to do the labor work of it all while she ran L-Corp as CEO. But Catco was Cat Grant's. And Cat Grant was a familiar face from when she was young. When Lillian and Lionel would invite all the elites over and have their fancy dinner parties. Cat was always one of those who would actually talk to Lena as an equal and not use her as a pawn to get in the good graces of the Luthors. 

So Lena owed her that much at the very least. To find a suitable person to run Catco. And until she found that person, she was going to do it herself. 

She sat at the head of the meeting table in the conference room with the heads of her department and prominent employees. They were listening to a presentation by James about showcasing a photographer in their next issue. Kara sat beside her on her left, the table being shaped in an oval allowing them to be seated very close to one another. Snapper looked bored at the other corner of the table. Sitting beside him was Richard from the legal department and Oliver on the other side from the men's fitness column of the magazine. Other members who were crucial for the meeting scattered across the large table, half listening, half daydreaming of lunch time. 

Lena herself found her mind wander off a few times during the presentation. She and Kara have been dating for well over a few months now and Lena found the experience to be... Magical. 

Kara was nothing like the bubbly sunshine that Lena expected her to be. The smiles and the pastel colors, those were all Kara Danvers, the persona that she had to put on to blend in. 

But Lena. Lena was dating Kara Zor-El. Superhero to the people of National City. And dating her was much much different. 

Kara Zor-El had an air of confidence around her that Lena often found... Very very arousing. The slow lazy smiles she gave when she knew Lena's heartbeat was reacting to her touch. The way her eyes gleamed with mischief whenever Lena would walk around the house without any pants and only those oversized t-shirts. 

Lena had enough control in her life to want to relinquish all of that to Kara instead behind closed doors. She was the businesswoman, the CEO, the one always in charge. She had to make decisions that would either cost her a billion dollars or grant her as much. And she made those decisions everyday. 

So, when she found that she actually liked playing the feeble woman in Kara's strong arms, Kara had no objections whatsoever. 

It started off as small gestures here and there. The possessive hand on the small of her back whenever they were walking into a restaurant. The way Kara held open the door for her. That time Kara asked her to sit on her lap during game night. The marks on her neck and thighs. 

But small gestures gradually became more. And Lena loved every second of it. 

The time Kara pushed her against her desk and kissed her roughly. Her hands dragging the material of her dress upwards. Even though Lena had a meeting in less than 10 minutes. Even though Lena told her as much. The way Kara silently glared at any guy who dared to flirt with her. Or the time Kara sent her a text in the middle of a work day asking for a provocative picture out in the open in her office. 

It all made Lena crazy with want. A need so desperate she was afraid she would one day ask Kara to simply take her on the conference table in front of everyone. 

"Ms. Luthor?" 

"Hmm?" Lena jerked her head upward at James, who was looking expectantly at her. And so was everyone else apparently. 

"I asked if you wanted me to go over some of the templates we have for showcasing the pictures?" 

Lena cleared her throat, "Yes, yes. Please do." she promptly answered, trying to ease her heartbeat down. Her mind had certainly wandered off to dangerous territory. 

When she looked beside her, she found a lazy smirk playing on Kara's lips, though her eyes didn't meet Lena's. Lena was sure that Kara knew exactly what it was that Lena had been thinking of, if the rhythm of her heartbeat was any indication. She blushed a crimson red and tried to keep her eyes glued to the presentation in front of her. 

A few minutes later, Lena felt a hand softly slide onto her thigh from under the table. Her heartbeat spiked, and she almost jerked at the touch. Kara's hand moved to the inside of her thigh and squeezed the flesh there. Lena stole a glance beside her and found that Kara looked as though she hadn't moved at all. Her eyes focused on the presentation and her expression not indicating at all what was happening under the table. 

Except Lena knew her. She knew the smirk that hid behind her expression. 

Lena's cheeks turned a bright red and her chest rose heavily as Kara's hand continued to slide lower towards her knee. Lena straightened up in her chair, swallowed down a lump in her throat and tried to keep her focus on the presentation. She looked around, half expecting everyone in the meeting to be looking at her aroused and disheveled, but no one was the wiser. 

Kara's hand reached the edge of her skirt, her fingers clenched so that her nails dug into the skin of Lena's thigh as she began to drag the material of the skirt up. Lena did jerk then. Her hands both went under the table to clasp around Kara's wrist, the move causing everyone to turn to her in question. 

Her eyes went wide as she froze in her spot, not sure what to say. She tightened her grip on Kara's hand and breathed heavily through her nose. 

Kara cleared her throat from beside her, "I actually have a question about the theme, if that's okay with you James." she confidently spoke, "I'm actually writing a piece on the effects of social injustice on graffiti art and I was wondering if maybe the photographer you spoke about would be interested in doing a project like that."

Everyone's attention directed to James for the answer and James went on to explain that the artist had done a similar project once and would probably go for it. 

Lena, still frozen in place, noticed the hidden smirk on Kara's lips. She was grateful that Kara had saved her but couldn't help but blame her for her predicament to begin with. 

Lena remained grasping at Kara's wrist. She couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but zero in on Kara's touch. 

Kara's fingers began to move softly. They danced on the skin of her thigh, making Lena's heart thunder in her chest. Kara's hand didn't move, but her fingers tapped on Lena's thigh softly. She was waiting. For consent, for permission to go further. 

And Lena was too turned on to do anything but grant her the permission. 

Lena slowly let go of Kara's wrist and placed her hands back on the table in front of her. She clasped her hands tightly together and waited for Kara to go further. 

Lena's eyes stayed glued to the projector screen as Kara dug her nails in her skin again and began pulling up the material of her skirt. Lena's breath hitched, she unwillingly closed her eyes for less than a second as the feeling traveled through her body. Kara finally reached her inner thigh, a small groan escaping Kara's lips was the only indication that anything had happened. 

Lena sat straighter up. Her back stiff, as the hand underneath the table roughly squeezed her thigh and travelled further inside. 

Her focus shifted to the table with half lidded eyes as Kara's fingers began dancing once more. Drawing nearer and nearer towards... 

"Ms Luthor?" 

Lena jerked, suddenly. Her whole body almost jumping off the chair in her haste to fix herself. For a second there she thought everyone found out about her and Kara's under the table adventures, since everyone was looking at her. But then she noticed that James had finished his presentation and was sitting in his spot. 

Shit. It’s my turn to speak. 

"Oh, well, thank you, Mr. Olsen. Let's- Let's move on shall we?" she stuttered, her hands shaking as she opened the folder in front of her. 

She bit down on her lip to suppress a moan when Kara's fingers reached her soaked panties. Lena's mind was indecisive. She wanted to stop, to focus on the meeting, to not make a complete fool of herself. 

But on the other hand, she had never been more turned on in her life. 

She cleared her throat, looking down at the words and not being able to read a single word, "A-As you all know, the next edition will focus on- on social injustice. We have interviews lined up as well as umm..." she lost her train of thought when Kara began playing with the edge of her panties, working on pushing them aside. 

Lena's heart banged against her chest as she shook herself out of the pleasure and refocused on her words, "I want social media coverage on the justice march that's..." her hand jerked, and she covered up the action by reaching for a pen, "That's on Sunday. I want all platforms to be..." she dug her nails into her palms when she couldn't handle the anticipation of feeling Kara's fingers where she wanted, but didn't want them to be. 

"Working." she finished miserably. 

What was I even talking about? 

Her mind failed to even properly remember what this meeting was about. Something about injustice? 

Lena shook her head a little, refocusing herself for the umpteenth time, "Investors will be coming in on Monday morning from Japan to discuss the MLS project we're launching this year. I want legal to be there." she nodded at Richard, who nodded back that he and his team will be there. She turned to the assistant who was taking minutes, "And make sure there are interpreters present at the meeting."

"Of course, Ms. Luthor." the assistant affirmed. 

Lena held her breath when Kara's fingers began rubbing over her panties. She could handle the teasing, the touches, the groping. But she will be damned if she thought she could handle Kara stimulating her without coming undone in less than a few minutes. 

Lena straightened in her seat, closing her thighs over Kara's hand. It made things worse. Because now she was grinding on those fingers and they felt oh so good between her thighs. 

She cleared her throat once more, "And the..." she swallowed down, taking a deep shaky breath to calm her nerves, Kara was now rubbing faster on her clit over her panties, "The umm..." 

The what?! 

She couldn't remember. Couldn't focus. Couldn't think much of anything but those damn fingers and how much she'd love to kick everyone out and straddle Kara's lap. 

"The new branch launch party is scheduled for next month. I want all the final catering details sorted out as well as security issues."

Lena looked down to her notes. They made no sense anymore. Something about a charity auction for some event that she remembered nothing of at the moment. 

Kara came to her rescue at once, "And there's the matter of the..." her fingers rubbed faster, "Cover for the next issue."

"Yes!" Lena said, a little too excited and not because of the cover, "I want the final picks for the cover on my desk by the end of the day today please."

Everyone nodded their agreement, finding their boss' attitude today a bit odd. 

Lena swallowed down, "A-and..." she closed her eyes for a second, suppressing a moan, "And that's it! I think we've discussed everything there needs to be discussed. If you'll excuse me, I have another meeting with Ms. Danvers about her last article."

And with that, she pushed Kara's hand out of the way, got up, and walked out. Kara chuckled as she gathered both their things and followed closely behind. 

Fully knowing what her meeting with Lena will be about. It's a good thing Lena had blinds installed around Cat's office, or else the whole company will witness that meeting. 

[wardofwinters]

Hey I have a request for creators chosen, if u feel like writing a mini scene! Can we see Marinette bringing in Felix something like his favorite treat form the bakery or a specialized scarf or something because he's been really stressed by deadlines or family or something? If you feel like it or have time for it it would be pretty cool :)

HI! I’m so glad you asked. You absolutely inspired me for a little in-between chapter.

I hope you like it, it’s a bit off of what you asked for but it is canon for my story and leads to the next chapter.

Chapter one Chapter two Chapter three

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

Plan F

 Marinette was glad that there hadn’t been any more akuma’s since stoneheart. With how exhausted she was in the last week from the cure and purification she didn’t think she would have been any help.

Tikki said it was likely Hawkmoth was similarly exhausted. The things he did weren’t supposed to happen and would exact a heavy cost from him. That was a relief.

Over the past week she and Alya had grown closer, though she was a bit uncomfortable with Alya’s obsession with the hero’s identities. She and Felix had also grown closer over the past week.

She’d given Felix one of her extra binders, she made It with a planner built in and plenty of folders. It was one of her’s so customized to her needs but she’d give him a new one later.

He’d also started going to art club with Nathaniel. Apparently, they’d bonded over their dislike of people and like of art in the back. Marinette was glad, neither of them were good with people. She was really happy that she got to spend time with them too, turns out that Felix was a bit of a designer as well.

Adrien apparently took after their mom, modeling the clothes and standing in the spotlight. Felix took more after his father, a designer and content to stand behind the scenes.

He didn’t make any clothes mind you, wasn’t much of a seamster, but he did design some. And what Marinette had seen so far showed that he was rather skilled at it as well.

And so Marinette got used to seeing him fairly often.

She recognized his moods; how he despised the mornings and always forgot breakfast; how despite him always forgetting breakfast, he never forgot his assignments; how he was always dressed neatly and cleanly; how his tone was generally polite but he held a biting tone to use on those that annoyed him; how he was never ever bothered by anything.

So, when she was back to full strength and working on a dress in club she noticed how his mood was shifting. He was hurrying his work, losing papers, snapping at people quicker and quicker for things he used to ignore. When he came to school without his vest today, she knew something was wrong.

She worried about it all through morning classes. And when class let out for lunch, she checked on him, only to be assured that he was perfectly fine. She frowned but moved to lunch. She was half-way there when she realized she forgot Tikki’s extra cookies in her locker. She murmured a soft apology and turned to go back to the lockers

“It’s fine Marinette, just grab them quick so you can get your lunch.”

She hurried to the locker room and slipped in, only to pause when she heard the arguing.

“You’re only going to get us both in trouble! Father said that you had to go home for lunch and now you’re trying to sneak out again? I vouched for you! I vouched for you and you’re ju-“

“Oh come on! Father is never mad at you, it’ll be fine. I’m just having fun, it’s not hurting anyone. I just want my freedom!”

She slid down the wall, sneaking to peak around the lockers.

“You’ll get your freedom when you pass the probation. Honestly Adrien, I don’t know how you’ve been sneaking away but it stops now.”

“Well, that’s my secret. I’m not telling. And I’m not stopping either. Father won’t give us a birthday party so I’m gonna have fun while I can!”

The Agreste brothers?

“This is-… this is about the birthday party. This whole mess. You’re doing this cause Father said no to a party!”

“Mom would’ve let me! It’s not fair, I just want to be a normal kid!”

“Mom always said no to the parties, every year. She and Father stood together on that Adrien. Or did you forget so quickly?”

“Felix-“

“No. You will go to the car and go home right now. I’m not dealing with this anymore. Let’s go.”

Marinette shrunk back as Felix dragged Adrien out of the locker room.

“Well that was interesting, looks like they’re having a fight.” Tikki slid out of the bag to hover in front of Marinette.

“Yeah, and it sounds like something happened to their mom. And Adrien is getting Felix in trouble. This must be why he’s been so stressed!” She straightened.

“You’re right! Poor Felix, his brother certainly isn’t making things easy for him. Though it’s a shame they can’t have the birthday ceremony, I hear it’s very important.”

Marinette nodded, “Mm, let’s get the cookies, I have planning to do.”

There wasn’t much Marinette could do about Adrien. He was a pain, but she had no control over him. Felix stuck his neck out to get Adrien into school and he was throwing it back in his face. As Chloe would say, ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. She could help Felix in other ways though.

The twins birthday was just over a week away. She would use this time to help Felix relax, and then she’d make sure they got to celebrate.

Marinette made it so her cousin could have a party after that kidnapping attempt, M. Agreste was fairly famous himself. It wasn’t out of mind that he could be worried about something similar.

And thus Plan F was born.

She prepared her supplies. Six morning alarms, one palmier, one cheese Danish, one plain croissant, and that days specialty coffee.

She got up early and gathered her supplies, then took off, making it to school with more than enough time for her plan.

She quickly moved up to Felix, sitting in his normal seat.

She drew a bright smile up, “Morning Felix, how’re you doing today?”

He peered at her, “Well, and you?”

“I’m doing great, thanks for asking!” She plopped the bag of pastries on the desk in front of him and placed the coffee, black with sugar and cream packets on the side.

He blinked, “What’s this?”

“I noticed you’ve been a bit stressed lately. So, I thought I’d bring you a pick me up. They’re from my parent’s bakery, freshly made. And a coffee since it’s so early.”

His eye’s widened, “I see… Thank you Marinette,” he took a glance into the bag and swallowed, “I appreciate the gift, but you didn’t need to.”

“It’s fine,” she chirped, “I wanted too. I hope you like them.”

She hurried down to her seat, satisfied with her success.

The next day she brought a new coffee, and some assorted croissants.

Felix thanked her once more, his gaze sharp as he watched her.

She simply smiled and turned back to her seat, he seemed a bit more put together today.

That day passed quickly. Her plans for a small party drafted with the editing to be done.

Felix also seemed to be watching her that day. She noticed that he finished the coffee quickly and hummed, so he liked Café Crème. Good to know.

She brought assorted danishes the next day, and another Café Crème.

Her party plans were nearly finalized. Now she needed to schedule a meeting.

Felix stopped her the next morning, “You really don’t need to keep giving me food Marinette.”

“It’s fine Felix, I just want to help,” She smiled brighter when his gaze flickered, his brow furrowed slightly, “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t want to.”

He sighed and nodded, “Thank you, I really do appreciate it, but really, don’t keep doing it. It’s too much.”

Marinette frowned but agreed.

That night she called her aunt for advice, backups it was.

Then next morning she cheerfully walked up to his desk, coffee in hand, and gave him a set of sketching pencils. She placed the coffee on his desk and hurried off before he could stop her.

She’d scheduled her meeting for that afternoon. She had work to do.

She quickly changed after school, putting on neat black slacks with cherry blossoms patterned on the side, a faded pink shirt, and a black blazer bearing more cherry blossoms. She threw her hair up in a ponytail for extra affect. Dress to impress.

She hurried off to Felix’s house as quickly as possible, he was at art club and Adrien had a photo shoot so no one would interrupt.

She was ready.

“Enter”

She quickly smoothed down her pants and straightened her blazer before stepping inside. She needed to look professional.

“How can I help you mademoiselle… “ Her idol stood in front of her, one of the king’s of fashion. He stared at her coolly, eyebrow raised in question.

“I’m Mari- Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Don’t stutter, come on, she could do this, “I’m here to talk about Felix and Adrien’s birthday.”

His eyes narrowed, “If this is an attempt to get them a party I would suggest you leave now.”

She took a deep breath, rubbing her cherry blossom bracelet, “It is sir, but please he me out. I understand you don’t want to put them in danger, but I have an offer that could help.”

“You have three minutes,” his gaze was like ice, staring into her and peeling back her layers. Deep breaths Marinette.

“I understand that as you’re rather well known your sons may be in danger, especially with a large party. So I am proposing a smaller party of less than ten people in the park near the school.”

She pulled out her tablet and swiped to an image of the park.

“All food would be provided from my parents bakery,” She swiped to an image of one of their order platters, “My dad and aunt would be at the party to supervise.”

She eyed him warily, his expression gave nothing away, “I’ve prepared a possible guest list for the party with three friends for Felix, from our class and art club, and two for Adrien, both from our class. This can of course be adjusted as you feel.” She felt Tikki press against her reassuringly.

She flipped to the page with names and pictures of the students, along with contact information.

“All the music is age appropriate, I have a list as well. I suggest the date for the party being the Saturday after their birthday. This would leave the day mostly free for any time to schedule the party, and it would act as extra protection being four days after their birthday.

She hesitated, “All of this can be adjusted to your preferences… Ah… Any questions?”

He studied her, completely silent for a moment, “You planned all this out yourself?”

“Yes sir.”

“For… Felix?”

“Yes sir, he’s my friend.”

He tilted his head, gaze on her tablet now, “Very well. I will allow this party. Three other bodyguards will be present as well, to insure safety. The date you picked is satisfactory.”

His gaze lifted back to hers, “Email that to Nathalie, she will coordinate with you after looking it over.”

Marinette resisted the urge to cheer, “Yes sir. You won’t regret it.”

“I’d best not,” His gaze lingered for another moment, then he turned back to his computer. “Don’t inform them yet, it will remain a surprise. Nathalie will send out the invitations.”

Marinette was dismissed. She paused in the hall to send the powerpoint to Nathalie and then left the mansion.

She had enough self control to wait until she got outside and turned the corner before she squealed, cheering as she spun around, “I did it!” She did a little victory dance.

“That was brilliant Marinette, I’m very proud of you.” Tikki poked her head out the purse to grin at Marinette.

“Thanks Tikki, I’m really glad it worked.” Marinette calmed herself, there was still a lot to do. Best get started.

She hurried to the bakery, her success and Tikki’s praise buoying her.

Plan F was a success.

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

No picture for this one, I’ll post one Saturday since I don’t have the next chapter done yet.

Tags: @zebrabaker @anonymouse-thoughts @miraculous-of-salt @blackirisposts @yin-390 @unabashedbookworm @whatamessofwords @fairyjinxed @protect-marinette @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @psychixx

[gi-maeve-rose]

Dark Matters

Chapter 1: Hard Day’s Night

Kandomere paced circles around his office desk, leafing through papers of one of the many manila folders that crowded his workspace. He’d been pacing for hours. His feet and legs hurt something awful, but nothing compared to the agonizing knowledge that over half a dozen security guards were slaughtered and Leilah’s Wand was stolen. He should’ve known. Of course there would be more renegade elves wanting to raise the Dark Lord. He should’ve taken more precautions to protect the Wand.

Montehugh entered his partner’s office with a coffee in hand for him. His sixth of the night, to be exact. “Any luck?” he asked, handing the fresh brew to the elf.

“Would I still be here if there was?” Kandomere snapped. He wasn’t one to snap easily, but days of fruitless investigation and little sleep can take a toll on even the most patient of people. He brought the cup to his lips and took a sip, slightly wincing as the hot liquid scalded his tongue. Ignoring the pain, he set the coffee down on a short pile of papers and continued to lead through the ones in his hands.

Montehugh sighed. “Boss, it’s three in the morning. You’ve been here for nine days, running on caffeine and barely any sleep. Everyone can see it.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “And probably starting to smell it, too.”

Kandomere pauses his leafing and stopped pacing, casting a sideways glare at his partner. It’s not that bad, asshole, he thought. He inhaled subtly. Oh... He set the files down.

“Go home, get some rest,” Montehugh said. It wasn’t a suggestion either. “If and when we find something, you need to be on your A-game.” He took Kandomere’s blazer from the coatrack that stood by the door, handing it to him. “Matter of fact, take the next couple days off. I’ll take over while you’re out and update you when we find something.”

“See to it that you do,” Kandomere huffed, shrugging on his blazer. The last thing he wanted to do was step away from his work, but Ulysses was right. He’d be good for jack shit if there was a breakthrough while he was in such condition.

So, for now, he’d take his partner’s advice and rest. That is, once he’s thoroughly gone through the files he’s tucked under his blazer. No disrespect to Montehugh, but Kandomere needed to be on this case at all times. The murdered guards, the Wand. They were all his responsibility.

Three days have gone by. Still no word from Montehugh. Kandomere himself still hasn’t made any headway in the case. He sits in his bed in only his boxers, swearing to himself he’ll sleep after reading over one more file for the thousandth time. It’s two in the morning. His bed’s surface is littered with files and papers.

Kandomere threw the files in his hands onto the open bed next to him, groaning in frustration. Just before he decided to give in for the night, his phone pinged. He huffed irritably as he reached for his cell on the nightstand. Montehugh. A flutter rose in his belly. Please say you’ve found something. He opened the text.

Our tech team was able to recover some of the security footage. I sent you the file via email. Do they look familiar?

Montehugh, you glorious bastard. A smile grew on Kandomere’s face, but dropped just as quickly as he rushed to his laptop across the bedroom. Finally a breakthrough.  Pushing the large office chair to the side, Kandomere opened his email. One new, from Montehugh. His stomach did flips as he opened the file.

He sat at the edge of his bed, slumped and staring in disbelief at the paused footage. He wanteed to puke.

Regrettably, Kandomere knew these elves. Not as they were now, but who they use to be. They were acquaintances of his from many years ago, before Ulysses became his partner. Back when his partner was...

No. She’s not pertinent to this situation. Unless she’s involved as well... Kandomere groaned in frustration and hung his head, raking his hands through his cool blue locks. As much as he didn’t want her to be involved, he had to make sure. He couldn’t rule out any possibilities anymore.

He reached across his bed for his phone, dialing his current partner’s number. “I need you to run a check on someone,” he requested, then continued to give off information.

“Yes, sir,” Montehugh confirmed. When Kandomere remained quiet, Ulysses pushed a bit further, careful not to upset his boss. “Is there some kind of history with this person?”

Kandomere sighed. “Unless something comes up in the search that pertains to the case, nothing you need to worry about.” His voice came off a bit more stingy than intended. He knew Ulysses was only concerned.

“Of course.” He didn’t push anymore. “Anything else, boss?”

Kandomere chewed the skin around the nail of his thumb; an old stress habit he thought he’d quit years ago. “Call for those two LAPD officers. The ones who got roped into the Magic case with Leilah.”

“Officers Jakoby and Ward? The orc and human Bright?”

“Yes.”

“Sure thing.” Kandomere could hear the demeanor of his partner’s voice change. He understood the severity of the case. “Anything else?”

“That’s all for now,” Kandomere finished. “Good work, Ulysses. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow.”

“Good night, boss.”

He ended the call with Montehugh and fell back on the bed with a huff. Kandomere was always a confident man, but he’d be lying if he said the possibilities rising in this case didn’t leave him with a sinking feeling in his gut.

After what seemed like forever, exhaustion finally took over and Kandomere fell asleep where he lay.

```````````````

Art by: @morphinetune​

Taglist (open):

@morphituu​ @faeylinn​ @nheirei​

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~

I do not post to any other website! Please do not repost my chapters to any other website unless I give you my written permission!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Bright or any of the characters except for my OCs!

[ncityislove]

More

➳Genre: smut

➳Pairing: Stoner!Mark x Reader

➳Word Count: 4k+

You meet Mark at one of your parents’ boring dinner parties and when Mark shows you his stash of weed things get heated in more ways than one.

Requested? lol naw but y’all nasties wanted it anyways

Your heels echoed on the wooden floors of the over-sized dining room as you sauntered over to the open bar, ordering a shot of Hennessy. Your parents dragged you to yet another one of their friends' gathering to "make more connections" as they had put it. You were out of school on summer break but you wished you had taken up those extra classes because then you'd have an excuse not to be here.

The bartender placed your glass in front of you and you downed it in the blink of an eye, ordering another just as your mom approached you.

"Ah, there you are! Come along, dear, I want to introduce you to someone," she said, grabbing your wrist.

As if there was someone here you hadn't already introduced me to, you thought, rolling your eyes. Your mom lead you across the crowded room to a secluded area where your father was standing in his freshly ironed blue button down and matching tie, his jacket draped over his arm.

"Oh! Speaking of the devil--this is my daughter, y/n!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

You forced a smile, avoiding eye contact with the small family standing before you.

"Oh, she's gorgeous! Isn't she gorgeous, honey?" asked a woman wearing too much makeup.

"She sure is. The apple doesn't fall too far from the tree!" the man next to her boomed and everyone burst into laughter.

"Stop it, Todd! I'm married!" your mom giggled. "And so are you!" Everyone laughed again and you tried not to gag. It was obvious your mom didn't want to be here just as much as you and it was shameful how badly you wanted to laugh. Your mom was never very good at pretending and it showed now more than ever.

"Hey, Mom? The maid said you wanted to see me," said a young looking man dressed in grey sweats and a t-shirt. His voice matched his face perfectly, soft yet deep at the same time.

Suddenly, the night had become much more interesting.

His parents seemed repulsed by his attire but you, on the other hand, thought it suited him very well. His joggers hung low on his hips and his baggy t-shirt was loose but not loose enough that you couldn't see his toned figure underneath. His hair was a mess but it surprisingly didn't make him look any less handsome. You couldn't help but imagine how soft the tufts of hair would feel between fingers as you tugged at the strands begging him for more.

"Mark, sweetheart, you couldn't have put something nice on before you came down?!" his mom shrieked.

"Oh, sorry," he apologized although he seemed like he didn't really mean it.

"It's alright, Beverly. My son, Doyoung, is the exact same way," your father chuckled.

You sighed, wishing it was your brother who was standing here instead of you but unfortunately he had a better excuse than you for not being able to make it. He was in Paris "studying" for his law degree for another year but you knew he was probably just messing around with some French girl in that big fancy penthouse your father bought him.

"Then you must understand how embarrassing this is," his father sighed. "Well, this is my son, Mark. He's in college right now but he came back home for an internship at the company! Isn't that right, son?"

Mark nodded, chewing his bottom lip, his eyes meeting yours briefly then flitting away, his ears turning red.

"Now that I think about it, you two are the same age!" said Beverly. "Isn't that wonderful?"

Mark looked up at you in surprise, his big amber eyes looking even larger as he gaped at you. You smiled at him, eyeing him from head to toe as you licked your lips. You didn't mean to be so obvious but you couldn't deny how cute he looked when he blushed.

"Oh that is!" your mom cheered. "Maybe they'll become good friends!"

"That would be great! It's too bad Mark's got so much work to do right now," said Tom.

"Yes, it truly is a shame," you agreed, everyone turning to look at you.

"R-really?" your mom stuttered, surprised at you for showing interest in the conversation for once. "I mean—it really is a shame."

Mark cleared his throat. "Well, I can take a break and stay a while...that is if you'd like me to," he trailed off, glancing at you.

"I'd like that," you said, grinning innocently as filthy thoughts ran through your mind.

This was exactly what you needed. A cute boy to toy with until you can go home and finally finish the last season of The Vampire Diaries. The show was cheesy and the characters got on your nerves but you wouldn't be able to sleep at night if you never finished it.

"Is that okay?" he asked his dad who looked hesitant.

"If it's only for a bit then what harm could it do?" he said waving his glass of wine in the air.

"I'll just go change then," Mark said stepping back.

"Marvelous!" his mother remarked, as she took a polite sip from her glass.

Your dad patted you on the shoulder, showing his gratitude towards your sudden act of kindness towards him but what he didn't know was you weren't doing this for him, it was for you. If your parents were going to force you to go to every boring party for the next three months you needed something to entertain yourself. Or rather someone.

Mark came down the elegant spiraled staircase in a crisp black button-down tucked into his slacks with a rather expensive-looking watch adorning his wrist. His hair looked tamed this time, slicked back in a way that resembled his father's. Although he looked absolutely drool-worthy all dressed up, you much preferred him messy-haired and wearing sweats.

You met him at the bottom of the steps, not even trying to hide the fact that you were checking him out.

"I never got your name," he said, offering his arm out to you.

"Y/n," you replied, linking your elbow to his. "Let's head to the bar, I need a drink."

Mark nodded, as he escorted you to the open bar at the end of the corridor.

"Two shots of vodka, please," you called out.

"Ah, none for me, sir. I don't drink," interjected Mark.

You raised your eyebrows at him. "I'm sorry?"

Mark smiled. "I'm not much of a drinker. I always regret it in the morning and it tastes awful."

You laughed at his explanation, finding it cute. Mark was different than all of the other kids you met through your parents. Most of them jumped at the opportunity to get wasted at these boring affairs and you were one of them.

"I'll still take those two shots," you said.

The bartender nodded, setting two shot glasses in front of you and you threw your head back, finishing them in seconds. Mark watched you with amusement in his eyes as you gently placed the glasses back onto the counter.

"So if you don't drink," you began. "then what the hell do you to deal with...all of this?"

"All of this?" he questioned.

"You know...everything. These parties, the fancy suits and all that."

"I know what you meant," Mark chuckled. "I don't have to be intoxicated to have fun."

You squinted your eyes at him. "I'm not buying that."

Mark smirked, looking down then back at you, a mysterious glint in his eyes. "Yeah, I didn't think you would."

You propped a knee onto the bar stool, leaning closer to him, not caring that you were wearing a dress. "Then what do you do?"

Mark cocked his head to the side, a smile playing on his lips. "Why don't I show you?"

You blinked at the large hand being offered to you, curiosity getting the best of you as you placed your palm on top of his. Mark look satisfied as he laced his fingers between yours, leading you up the stairs to his room.

His house was big but not as big as yours. The hallway was spacious, decorated with art pieces that must've cost thousands. The band music faded more and more until the only sound left was the click-clack of your heels.

His room was just as impressive as the rest of the house. It was black and white themed with a modern renaissance inspired wallpaper with just as much art hanging on it as in the hall. His desk was the only part of the room that looked messy, papers and folders thrown everywhere, even some littering the floor around it. But the bed. The bed was what really made the room so beautiful. It was huge. The bedposts were made out of a beautiful oak wood and almost as high as the ceiling! The comforter was draped beautifully over the bed and with perfectly fluffed pillows placed on top.

"Nice room," you said, sitting on the chair by the bookshelf.

"Thanks," said Mark as he opened his closet door, disappearing for a few moments.

You got up, wandering around his room, pausing at the wall of trophies and medals next to the fireplace. Most of them were from years ago, but there were a few a golfing trophies with this year's date on them.

"Ready to have some fun?" Mark asked, startling you as he emerged from the closet.

"Sure, why not," you retorted, walking to his bed where he was sitting with a small wooden box in his lap.

"You're not gonna pull out a gun on me are you?" you asked, eyeing the box.

"Just sit down and watch," Mark said half-chuckling.

You plopped down next to him on the bed, peering over his shoulder as he opened the lid of the box, revealing something you hadn't been expecting at all.

"Weed?"

"Yep. Weed," he said pulling out a lighter from the bottom of the box.

"You don't look like the stoner kind," you said, scooting further back on the bed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, lighting up a blunt.

You hummed, watching as he put the object to his lips, inhaling then blowing out a puff of white. Mark let out a content sigh before offering the blunt to you.

You took it from him, taking a hit then passing it back.

"Shouldn't you open a window or something?" You asked, already beginning to feel lighter.

"Nah, my parents already know." Mark took another hit, holding his breath for a beat before exhaling.

"My parents would lose their shit if they found out their precious daughter was up here smoking pot with you."

"I bet your parents probably smoke too," Mark mused.

You let out a surprised laugh. The idea of your parents getting high on marijuana out of all things was absolutely hilarious to you.

"Please, they won't even have more than three glasses of wine."

"That's what they want you to think," Mark sing-songed and you giggled.

Mark laid down next to you, giving you a lazy smile.

"What?" You asked, a cloud of smoke escaping your lips.

"You're just really pretty, that's all," he said, his voice sounding confident but the blush on his cheeks evident as he looked away.

"You're really pretty too, Mark," you said, trying not to smile as you took another hit from the blunt.

Mark crinkled his nose at you, snatching the brown object from your fingers. "You're totally high right now."

You looked shocked as you snatched it right back, your lips turned downwards. He was way off base—there was no way your tolerance was that low. And if it was? It was none of his business how much weed you could smoke, anyways.

"What? No way, I'm not high yet."

Mark shook his head, a teasing smile on his face. "If you say so."

You scoffed, shoving his shoulder. "I do say so."

"Oh yeah?" Mark stood up, towering over you with a smug grin, blowing out a white cloud of smoke at your face. "And I say, you're much better at handling your liquor than a measly blunt. I mean, you've only had like three hits? It's barely halfway done yet."

You wanted to smack that grin right off of his face right then and there. Nothing irked you more than a man who challenged you. What you say is law and if you say you're not high (although you may have been a teensy bit) then you weren't.

To other people, it might seem like you were over-reacting but who could blame you? You always got what you wanted, when you wanted, and how you wanted it. No limits. No one to tell you 'no' when you really needed to hear it the most.

"I don't like to be teased, Mark."

"Really? Because I think you look cute when you get all worked up."

You squinted your eyes at him. The poor boy. He didn't realize what he was in for. "Where was that shy, blushing boy I met earlier? I wanna talk to him."

Mark's eyebrows raised at your comment. "I don't know what you're talking about, love, but I'm all ears to listen to whatever you have to say."

You stared at him for a second, sitting completely still and Mark grew uneasy. "Um, was that too much? Sorry, if I got the wrong vibe but I just figured—"

"Kiss me," you said, your voice calm.

Mark's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "W-what?"

You tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, dragging his body down to level your faces. "Kiss me, Mark."

Mark looked at you with wild eyes, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. You brought your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, encouraging him as he slowly inched forward, finally, his lips meeting yours. It was awkward at first, your lips moving at different paces but you didn't mind. In fact, it was kind of...endearing.

His nose brushed yours as he deepened the kiss, your legs wrapping around him on their own as Mark emitted a soft groan. Your hands moved from his face down to the expensive belt on his pants, undoing it with haste.

Mark broke the kiss, startled by your urgent hands. "What are you doing?" he asked, his chest heaving as if he were trying to catch his breath.

"Is this not okay?" you asked, your fingers pausing at the latch of the belt.

"N-no—I mean yes! Yes!" Mark stuttered, his cheeks glowing red again.

The tingling that surged through your body at the sight of the flushing boy before you took you by surprise. Every time Mark blushed it made you want to do things to him. You craved to see those naive big brown eyes of his rolling to the back of his head from pleasure. You wanted to hear him pleading for you. Begging you to make him feel good after he couldn't take your teasing any longer.

Once you successfully removed his belt, you wrapped it around his wrists, careful not to irritate his skin.

"What's this?" Mark asked, looking uncertain.

You brought your lips back to his briefly for a chaste kiss. "Teaching you a lesson. The first thing to know about me is I don't do well with any kind of disagreements."

Mark looked down at his bound wrists before glancing back up at you. "Are you doing this because I was teasing you?" he asked, his tone too playful for your liking. "You know I'm right."

You grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him down with you in the bed, your leg lifting over his body so that you were sitting right over his crotch, roughly braying your hips. Mark cursed under his breath.

You leaned over him, pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, "If you keep up this tough guy act of yours, this won't end well for you,"

Mark shuddered underneath you as your cool breath caressed his ears. You took the forgotten blunt, which was shrinking in size by the second, from the ashtray next to the bed, putting it up to his lips. Mark's eyes didn't waver from yours as he filled his lungs to its capacity, the butt of the blunt glowing a dangerous red. Your lips connected to his as he blew the smoke into your mouth. You released the white clouds from your mouth, making sure to blow it back into his face as he did earlier.

"You're gonna be good for me now, won't you, Mark?"

Mark nodded, his eyes wide.

"Why do you look so nervous," you giggled, your mind starting to feel hazy.

Mark's lips parted, his eyes adverting yours abashedly. "I just...I never did anything like this before."

You pulled his arms over his head so that you could lay on top of him without his hands sitting between your bodies awkwardly. "If you start to feel uncomfortable just say so and I'll stop. Although, I didn't think you'd turn out to be so vanilla."

"Hey! I'm not vanil—"

"That's enough, Mark," you cut him off by stuffing the blunt between his lips. "Good boys don't talk back.

Mark could only blink at you, unable to respond without the blunt falling out and burning a hole in his expensive sheets.

"Perfect," you said, unbuttoning his shirt, revealing the smooth skin underneath. You began your assault on his neck, nipping and sucking without caring if it left any marks behind. Mark groaned, extending his neck to you as your hand slipped under his half-undone shirt, your fingers dancing over the firm muscle. His body responded to your touch, his back lifting off of the mattress slightly, chasing your fleeting hands.

"Patience," you muttered as you sat up on the back of your legs. You unfastened the hatch of his slacks, pulling the loose clothing down to his ankles. Mark looked down at you, trying his best to take a hit from the blunt without dropping it. You chuckled, helping him take a drag from it before putting it out in the ashtray, discarding it for now. Mark whined, protesting your actions and you rolled your eyes covering his mouth with the palm of your hands.

"Didn't I tell you good boys don't talk?" You asked, your other hand reaching down to palm him through his boxers, his cock hardening immediately. Mark's eyes closed as he let out a soft grunt from underneath your hand, lighting a spark in your core.

You licked your lips, humming as you teased his member, squeezing him through the thin material. Mark let out a muffled noise you couldn't make out.

"What is it, baby?" you asked, removing your hand.

"Please..." he begged.

You cocked your head curiously at him. "Please...what? Tell me and I might give it to you,"

Mark's tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip, his cheeks rosy. "Your mouth--your hands--anything. Please, I don't think I can wait, I need you."

You core reacted, clenching around nothing. "Is that what you really want?" you asked, your lips ghosting across his jaw. Mark said yes, trying his best to keep his composure. "I'm afraid I can't do that. Not yet, baby."

Mark huffed, his chest dejecting with a small pout in his lips as he struggled against his restraints. "Undo this so I can fuck you, goddamnit."

"Bad boy," You clicked your tongue as you hiked up the hem of your dress, bunching it at your hips. Mark ogled at the newly revealed skin, a look of longing imprinted on his face.

You peeled off your panties, balling them up and stuffing them inside his mouth, shivering as the cold air hit your slick core. Mark looked absolutely helpless as he grunted, staring at your exposed heat, his eyes dark as the night sky just outside of the window. Your hands returned back to his boxers, sliding underneath the waistband this time. His dick jumped in your hands as you teased the head, smearing his arousal as a lubricant. You gave him a squeeze for good measure and Mark jolted in response.

You bit your lip, pumping his dick slowly, deciding to torture him a little more. You knew what you were doing was unfair but he was just so fun to play with, you couldn't help yourself. Mark's fist clenched and unclenched as he tried to stop himself from bucking up into your hands, knowing you would take your hands away altogether.

"Does that feel good? Do you want me to go faster?"

Mark nodded his head vigorously and you complied, feeling a little guilty for teasing him too long. You pulled down his boxers, his cock springing free and hitting his stomach. Maybe you were super horny but it may just have been the prettiest sight you've ever seen in your entire life.

Your face hovered over his writhing member, your breath tickling his skin as a silver pool of liquid fell from your mouth into your hand. Mark's breathing picked up as you massaged your hand over his length in a single twisting motion. You watched intently as his expression morphed into one of pleasure, his eyebrows scrunching cutely.

Your tongue swiped over your teeth as an idea popped into your head.

"I wonder...should I untie you?"

Mark nodded again.

"I don't know..." you said, pretending to think about it.

Mark mumbled something unintelligible as he waved his restrained hands at you, whining.

"I don't think you deserve it. I'm afraid you might do something and then I'll have to punish you."

Mark huffed, giving you a pleading look as he wiggled his fingers at you.

"Okay, okay," you laughed, unbuckling the belt.

The first thing Mark did once his hands were free was reach under your dress and grab your ass. You gasped in shock, slapping his hands off of you.

"Did I give you permission to touch me?" you asked but received no response, as his mouth was still full of your underwear.

"I thought you would've taken that out first," you mused, pulling the lace from his mouth.

Mark licked his dry lips as you brought your face close to his.

"So tell me," you whispered. "Isn't this much better than those lame ass vanilla girls?"

His lips parted to respond but he couldn't find his voice to speak so he nodded instead.

"I bet they just laid down and made you do all the work, didn't they?" Your hands trailed down his stomach. "That's no fun, is it? Hmm?"

"No," Mark answered, his breath hitching in the back of his throat when your slick folds rubbed against his length.

You nipped your teeth at his collarbone receiving a hiss from Mark. "Unzip me," you commanded.

You could've sworn you heard him say 'thank you' as he yanked your zipper down your back, eagerly ripping it off of your body so that you were only left in your bra. You told him to unhook your bra next as you sank down on him, filling yourself up to the brim. Mark complied with fumbling fingers and after a few failed attempts he finally got off, his hands flying to your chest as soon as the garment was discarded.

You decided to let the action slide, the feeling of his hands on you better than you ever imagined. You raised up your hips only to slam yourself back down on him, a moan escaping your lips. You repeated the movement again and again until you built up a steady rhythm.

Mark pushed your back down so that you were face to face and encased your lips with his, his tongue sliding into your mouth for a heated kiss. He let out a broken moan, his mouth parting from yours briefly before kissing you again.

"Faster," Mark groaned, his lips swollen from kissing.

"Manners," You hissed, biting down harshly on his jaw.

"P-please?" He begged, his face flushing again. "Please, I'm so close."

You slammed hips down harder, ignoring the stinging in your thighs. Mark's moans mingled with yours as you pushed each other towards your climaxes.

"F-fuck," he husked, his hips meeting yours as he thrust up into you. Your hands clutched his shoulders, the skin turning white under your fingers. You squeezed your eyes shut at the overwhelming amount of pleasure washing over your body, your legs turning to jelly.

You called out his name as you came, Mark gripping your hips as he continued to fuck you through your high, chasing his own in the process. Mark rubbed his thumb on your clit in tight circles causing you to cry out as you threw you head into the crew of his neck, your fingernails raking down his chest. Mark cursed when you clenched around him, his hips snapping up into yours with vigor as he neared his climax. His skin smacked against the bottom of your ass, a loud slapping noise filling the room.

You came again, letting out a strangled moan of ecstasy pulling Mark over the edge with you as spurts of warm cum filled you up. The two of you stayed there for a few moments to catch your breath, basking in your post-orgasm state.

You were the first one to move, rolling off of him after carefully pulling out his softening member.

"I never told you, you could cum inside me," you complained.

Mark turned to you, pulling you into his arms with a chuckle. "I'm sorry, I should've asked."

"Do you always cum inside girls' without permission?"

"I've always used a condom so I never really needed it," he responded, lips resting on the back of your shoulder.

"Well, I'm glad to know there won't be any chances of me catching any STD's from you," you laughed.

Mark traced circles on your hip with the pad of his thumb. "Haha. Very funny. Shouldn't we get back to the party before our parents notice we're gone?"

You sat up, with a grunt. "Yeah, you're probably right." The two of you got cleaned up and dressed as quickly as possible which took longer than it normally would considering you both were as high as a kite and your legs kept giving out every five seconds.

"Can I get a kiss, before we go back?" Mark asked, grabbing onto your elbow.

You smirked, bringing his face to yours. "What's the magic word?"

Mark never failed to blush at your requests but nonetheless played along. "Please?"

You barely gave him time to finish before your lips crashed onto his, your fingers gripping at the strands of hair at the nape of his neck. His hands rested on your lower back, pushing you further into him.

When you pulled away, his lips chased after yours and you found yourself smiling at how adorable he was.

"Should I get more weed for next time?" he asked, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Next time?" You repeated.

"Oh, don't tell me there won't be a next time," he pouted, his hands sliding down to grip your ass.

"I'll think about it," was the last thing you said before pulling away to go downstairs, only for Mark to follow behind you on the back of your heels like a lost puppy.