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captain-aralias · 3 years ago

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Life stuff

this feels kind of weird, because i’ve never used my tumblr like this, but i would have written something on my livejournal, and i want people to know - i just dont want to have to tell people about it, or really talk about it at all.

but i also wanted to write this, idk.

(TW: impending death of a parent)

my mum has cancer.

it’s a rare form of cancer, called peritoneal cancer, which is similar to but different from ovarian cancer - i think it mostly gets diagnosed (like my mum’s) when it’s too late to do anything about it. all the treatment has been palliative only i.e. letting her live as long and as comfortably as possible.

she was diagnosed in september last year - about a year ago, a few months after running the ‘virtual’ london marathon on the isle of wight, where she lives, and obviously deep in lockdown.

as someone undergoing chemo, she was deemed extremely vulnerable to covid, and so she spent most of the early pandemic isolating. she also said she didn’t see any point in my brother and i visitng her, particularly given the risks, because we could talk via facetime - which is fair enough - all of which meant my brother and i didn’t go to visit her until May this year, after she’d done the first lot of chemo and was already doing much better again.

a few months after that, we found out that while she’d responded really well to the chemo, her cancer wasn’t responding at all to the maintenance drugs that were suposed to stop it coming back, so she came off the drugs completely. medical advice was basically chemo is as effective whenever you do it, so you might as well enjoy your life for a while, we’ll monitor it every month, and when things start to get too bad, we’ll put you back in chemo.

it’s friday tomorrow - so two fridays ago, i saw my mum in london after she’d just seen hamilton with her partner, graham. both of them loved hamilton. her hair had grown back, she seemed pretty normal. about a week later, she was in A&E - and she’s been in the hospital all week. she’s got a total bowel obstruction, which means she can’t eat and hasn’t eaten since last week.

now in a weird situation where there are a few tricky, difficult options (including being moved off the island back onto the mainland to a bigger hospital) that will mean that she stays alive long enough to get the chemo, which will probably get her back to hamilton-watching strength, or ... she could die really soon. like, in a few days.

we can’t visit. her partner can’t visit because covid - there’s this really sad-making photo of him looking happy on the phone through a window to my mum, also on the phone, inside the hospital.

i feel...

???? :( :( :( ....

i guess this is the main point of the post. i’m not writing this crying, i’m writing it pretty neutrally - because my brain isn’t really processing it right now, and mostly doesn’t process it.

i did cry earlier today while on the phone to various people, and then i went back to work. i hate crying, i hate being sad, and i dont like people comforting me, because it makes me realise that i have something to be sad about.

i’ve known she had cancer for a year. i haven’t been able to hang out with her most of that time. i would say, we are fairly close, although not nearly as close as some families. we don’t talk every week, but we talk regularly, and have seen each other regularly.

i’m so incredibly privileged that nothing that bad has ever happened to me, even though i’m 35. i’ve never been to a funeral, which seemed like a major life win and now i think was a mistake, i should have gone to funerals for people i card about less to help get used to it.

the literal only comparison i have to how i feel is when my cat Anton died suddenly about 3 years ago - i handled it with a mix of not thinking about it, being intensely sad for as brief a period as i could, and probably by thinking about how sad my girlfriend was about it, and sort of sidestepping my own feelings in comparison.

i remember when my last remaining grandparent died - and i was about 14 or something - i wasn’t sad for myself, i was only sad for her my dad being sad. for ages, i worried that i was not going to be sad enough about this - and i still sort of am.

but i also passionately hate the idea of being sad and i know i’ll look to avoid it as much as possible, and try and get on with my life.

i know my mum dying isn’t about me - when people write after death it’s about the person who died, obviously. that makes sense. but this post isn’t about my mum, who is a very cool person, much cooler than me - it’s about me. because i am self-obsessed and this is going to wreck my life for a while.

it’s weird, because i can see it on the horizon but it’s not happening yet. and i dont know whether that’s good or bad - i feel like it’s good, in a way. someone ages ago told me that the grieving period starts when you get the news. that seems very true to me - but also, i know that it’s going to ramp up, and so i’m like in the expectation of true grief right now.

it’s sort of like she died, but also is still going to die, but also i can magically still talk to her. which is really nice, in a way, it’s like a second chance, because i know i didn’t reach out enough before she had cancer. and i’m aware enough of my own actions that i know this is what’s been going on in my head the past year - i should reach out more, because she has cancer, but i dont want to make it seem like i’m reaching out because she has cancer, even though she knows i know she has cancer....... and also, i’m busy writing this fic. /o\

the fact that she seemed to recover (even though my mum insisted on saying ‘i am not recovered, i’m going to die soon’ like several time as a day as a disclaimer) also totally messed with my head, because i knew logically - ok, it’s happening. but also, things seemed so normal when we speak. even when i called her today, and she hasn’t eaten for a week, it seemed normal.

btw - i realised this week i had no idea how cancer killed people. my mum is a scientist and has looked up all kinds of things about what’s killing her; i’m clearly a simon snow and didn’t want to think about things i can’t help. if you’d asked me, i’d have said like... it poisons you or something, or blocks bloodflow to your brain. not what i think will actually do it which is.... starvation. or being too weak to survive being pumped full of the poison that is intended to kill the cancer. (that one i guess i could have predicted.) man - cancer sucks. i mean, we all knew it.

(i failed to get into cambridge university at interview stage, many years ago. the man who interviewed me gave me some extremely memorable feedback, which is that i needed to dial back the ‘defensive irony’ - which i thnk in that context meant i put myself down and tried to make a joke of everything. i remember when i got the phonecall to say Anton, my cat, was dead, i literally did not know what to do with my voice - because my instinct was to try and make the vet feel better, and also to present myself as bright and capable, and yet this unexpected and devasting news had just come through. rainbow wrote something sort of similar because she’s a good writer, for shepard as he tells penny about his curse. i feel like that.)

what else did i want to say?

i thought i had more time. ‘hamilton’ will probably always be tied to this moment in my mind, because of how much i’ve spoken to my mum about it in the past few weeks (i sent her the remix - she liked it, she listened to it in hospital while trying to drink more than 100ml of fluids) but yeah - this is basically a line from hamilton here. whatever. don’t make me feel my own feelings, let me just quote things. i dont like my own feelings. (no, i dont want to go to therapy - they’d make me talk about my feelings all the time, i’m british for god’s sake.)

i’m 35 - my mum is 68. i didn’t think she’d die this early or that i’d have to deal with this yet. but then i also don’t think bad things are ever going to happen to me - because mostly they haven’t, see above. i wear a mask and am double vaccinated because i’m not an asshole, but i dont really believe i’ll get covid because bad things don’t happen to me. i didn’t think my mum would die - maybe ever, but definitely not yet. she’s been retired a decade after teaching (science) and has enjoyed it.

i thought i had time to not have kids yet - which is the other thing (like hamilton) that this moment is really tied up with for me. i feel like 35 is getting quite old, but also not that old to still not have kids, but intend to maybe have them. my feelings about kids were basically like - up until like 25, i thought, yes, definitely. i mean, before i had a realtiosnhip (22-ish), i just assumed i would probably have a het marriage and have kids etc, like people do, but after that we were still talking, yes, children at some point.

didn’t prioritise it for a few reasons - none of my close friends had children until quite recently, so it just didn’t seem like an urgent thing in the way that it probably does for people with different friendship groups. waiting to be settled enough in a job to be able to take maternity leave without it feeling like a rip off for my employer. waiting for a good time in erin’s PhD writing cycle. and then pandemic. and then a few years ago, maybe as i turned 30, i thought - maybe we won’ have kids, because we still haven’t - and i vocalised that to erin.

also, i know a lot of people are gay and have children, so it’s not like it’s a thing that is impossible at all, but it’s much much harder if you have to leave your home and your relationship in order to get a child. it has to be a very very conscious decisions. i have friend who are men who have good genes, but we’re not so close i want to ask them for their sperm/to be involved however remotely in making a child - and (i was surprised to discover) (what a lot of things i dont know anything about) you an’t really just buy sperm, it’s not truly legal except through a clinic. and it’s extremely expensive to get inseminated in a clinic, and the NHS don’t really do that, so you do have to pay it. i thought kids would be expensive after they were born, but not before. and i REALLY wanted a house, much much more than - i think even today - i’ve ever wanted a child. i REALLY wanted a house - and now we have a house, and it’s pretty good. but - that’s where the money went, until the pandemic - thanks pandemic - so now we do have some disposable cash at last, because i didn’t commute.

but now erin is worried about climate change - and wheher it’s right to bring more children into the world, and other things. and.... i think i do want to be pregnant, it’s what i’m planning for - don’t leave this job (which admittedly i also really like, and pays me well - i dont thin i need to leave) because next stop maternity leave, but.....

i don’t know whether i am thinking, time ot have kids because my best friend just had a baby (the baby’s name is horatio - for real, i actually love this name) (i also haven’t seen her or the baby except over skype, because anna - my friend - is, like my mother, also scared of pandemic) and my brain is like - ok, well, if anna is doing it, i guess the time is here

AND - i know there’s a large part of me that was like, gotta be pregnant and ideally have the baby before my mum dies so she gets to see that she had a grandchild. my brother and i are both queer, btw, in case you were wondering - he’s considering whether he wants to transition right now (but is still happy with he/him pronouns) and - you may find this astonishing, but i genuinely don’t know whether he’d consider himself ace, or has been in relationships. he’s very private, he has OCD and is in therapy - but anyway, he’s probably not having kids anytime soon (i think!) and graham - my mum’s boyfriend/partner of 10+ years. -has grandchildren, but my extremely middleclass white (but definitely not conservative voters, always 100% not-tory) parents ended up with me and my brother.... and i don’t know, as i say, i don’t know whether my brain is saying ‘have kids before it’s too late’ - although i know by now that it will be too late. even if my mum recovers from this, this time, i don’t think i can produce a child before she dies - and she isn’t asking me too, she’s not like that, but i would have liked her to be there. i thought she would be.

so - i’m thinking about that. also, about getting a dog. i really want a dog - although i don’t want to upset the three cats (one we’ve had for eight years or so, the other two we got after Anton died). it’s ALSO really hard and expensive to get a dog. you’d think with all these ‘a dog isn’t just for the pandemic, a dog is for life’ type adverts around, that it would be easy to adcidentally get a dog - i’ve looked! you ccan’t get a dog unless you have no cats and you’re super experienced and can take a dog with lots of trauma or medical problems, or you’re willing to pay thousands of pounds. like - even for a regular not even pedigree dog - at least a thousand. pedigree dog - several thousand. i dont want a puppy either - i want a dog.

and - this is embarrassing to admit, but i’ve alrady told erin - i genuinely had a phase of being super annoyed when i’d read fics where someone just ‘got a dog’. it’s not that simple!!! it’s fiction, it doesn’t matter - chill out. the baby thing too - although weirdly not fics where magic meant it was possible to get a baby, weirdly it was smut. i had a brief week or so of crazy (and i don’t think i am that crazy) where i’d read about fictional semen and just be like - wtf, it’s so hard to get hold of that shit. (it’s not real, this isn’t real semen being wasted, calm down - and i dont even really know if i want kids, i might just think i do.)

the other thing about the bad thing being soon but not yet (but also being all the time, but not if you dnt think about it) is that i’m thinking - should i prioritise writing my remix now, in case my mum dies and i’m too sad to do it, and then i didn’t do my remix? i was definitely thinking this while writing classroom politics (i hope my mum doesn’t die becaue i dont want to be too sad to miss the deadline) and in the run up to AWTWB .....

today i wrote a list of things for work that would need to be picked up if i have to unexpectedly stop working, either because i’m too sad, or because i have to do funeral stuff, or .... i guess legal stuff about settling the estate. (i guess this happens to a lot of people, too, but it’s also a bit of a mindfuck that my brother and i will inherit her house and a bunch of cash when she dies - i’m pretty well off, my brotehr does virtual reality theatre stuff so really isn’t - we’ve talked about how much easier both of our lives will be with a huge injection of cash, and how we dont know what to feel about that) (great news, dogs and kids are really expensive! time to find out whether i really wanted to spend my money on those.) told people i like at work that it’s coming, and that i dont want to talk about it. and mostly just... carrying on with life, really. until it happens.

it’s so weird how easy it is to carry on most of the time.i know my mum’s partner is not doing nearly so well - he has to cope with an empty house and he’s retired. i’ve had periods - including right now - where i wake up every morning and check my phone to see whehter someone called me or texted me to tell me it’s over. but most of the day i’m actually really fine. i even had an ok day today. and i don’t know whether i want that to be the case, or whether i shouldn’t let myself do that. i dont know what i should prepare for in terms of where i’ll be - will i want lots of stuff to distract me (this is my guess) and work is very good for that, or i will want to clear time and space because i can’t operate and dont want people to offer me comfort. (FYI - this post isn’t written to make people say anything to me, i definitely dont want to talk about it, so please don’t feel you either have to comment or check in on me - i don’t really want you to. it’s enough to have written it, in my own time, in my own space.)

i think i wanted to write this post in a way because i thought i probably wouldnt want to write it after my mum died - because i probably wouldn’t want to say anything about it at all, for a few years.

my mum keeps telling me about the show ‘jane the virgin’ - which she’s half way through. shhe asked me to give it a try, so i did (she often tells me about shows on radio 4, which i rarely listen to. i thouht i had more time.) i’ve watched an episode (because she has cancer, i should listen to her recommendations)(but i dont want her to know that’s why i did it) and i do quite like - it’s light and frothy and well cut together (although about kids and artificial insemination, of course). i guess in a worse case scenario where i’m too sad to work or write, i will probably watch a lot of this show - which is incredibly not sad - and feel sad about how my mum never finished it.

BUT ALSO SHE MIGHT BE OK. for a while.

i dont know how i feel, blargh. anyway. this was a long post. i think i wrote it mostly for me. feelings are weird. covid really sucks and so does cancer.

going to order some chicken and watch inuyasha.

#my content #tw: death #tw: death of a parent #tw: death of a loved one #personal #tw: cancer

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squarecarousel · 4 years ago

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Challenge 144: 10 Years, Looking Forward: A-Frame Studio Life Buckle up-- this is a long one! Wow, ten years. It’s hard to believe a whole decade has passed since Square Carousel began, and since I graduated college. In some ways, it feels like another lifetime, and in others, it feels vastly shorter than the decade before that, from ages 12 to 22. Time is fascinating that way. College was such an incredibly impactful time period, but just a measly 4 years-- I could have done college 2.5 more times back-to-back in the years since I graduated, but somehow those four, from 2007-2011 were monumental. It’s hard to believe I’ll be in a post-college world without Square Carousel, since the group has been a constant in my life these last ten years. I’m really proud that we made it this far and are able to choose to end the journey, rather than it fizzling out or dying from lack of interest. Sometimes it felt like that might happen, but other times it felt like we were blooming. There have been many ups and downs over the course of this journey. And damn, it was a lot of hard to work to keep running, but I am so grateful for the learning experience. I know so much more about leadership now than I ever would have before-- the delicate balance of having rules to keep the group running (deadlines, participation requirements, our dreaded “strike system”) and keeping up morale (knowing when to forgive slip-ups, keeping challenges sufficiently entertaining and well...challenging, making sure the group feels like it’s a community). Elizabeth and I were reluctant leaders, just naturally having to take those roles as other original members of the group left and were replaced by folks who needed guidance. We definitely didn’t seek it out, but we knew that if the group were to stay alive, we had to put some structure into the system. Pretty early on we made our rules and guidelines, extended the challenges to 3 weeks from just 2, and worked on our visual image online. Our awesome logo was made by former member Casey Crisenbery, and we switched from Wordpress to Tumblr, purchasing a URL, and Casey using special code for custom organization on the site. Sketch critiques were now a halfway point through our 3 weeks-long challenge, which helped a lot with the community aspect and engagement. We started doing interviews for each member, reaching out to other illustration groups, blogs and submission sites and had our work featured on a few of them. Some of us even got jobs from the connections made through Square Carousel! There was a bad stretch several years ago when I wasn’t sure we’d make it through, with toxic behavior and a few folks petitioning for removing deadlines and structure, making everything optional. One thing I can tell you with certainty after ten years of working with artists is that 95% of us require deadlines to do anything, and incentives/obligations for meeting those deadlines, or it just isn’t going to happen! Elizabeth and I, along with a few other solid members, were able to keep the structure we’d worked hard to create, but the toxic culture had already killed group morale and we lost a lot of members simultaneously. That was a sad and scary time for Square Carousel, but I didn’t want to go out on a sour note. So the small group of us picked the pieces back up again, did a little refocus on our goals as a collective and created an “Admin” so Elizabeth and I didn’t have to carry the entire burden alone. I am forever grateful to Sayada and Jordan for stepping up into these roles to help us get the train back on track. Sayada especially picked up a lot of responsibilities that a newer member shouldn’t have to worry about, and was a total rockstar for Square Carousel. I wish we’d had her with us for the whole ride. I’m so happy that we’ve had a few really great years with some really loyal and talented artists to round out the experience at Year Ten. There is nobody I’m more thankful for than my Good Cop, Elizabeth, though. She was so reliable, always able to provide balance in our leadership roles, and such a wonderful shoulder to cry on when things got too stressful. Elizabeth, thank you for this journey and for being my SC Wife all these years! It’s so funny because of all the original members, you were one of the only ones I hadn’t really known from SCAD classes, yet you’re the SCAD Illustration friend I have remained most connected to most consistently. Nothing bonds you quite like running an illustration collective does! It also cracks me up that in all these years, we hadn’t ever facetimed or talked on the phone until a few months ago--I didn’t even know your mannerisms or voice, but knew you so well anyway. My greatest internet friend! I love you dearly and it truly won’t feel right, the absence of our weekly SC conversations. Thank you for all of the memories! As just a member and artist, this group has helped me grow so much professionally. It was my client when I didn’t have clients. It was my motivation to paint when I didn’t feel creative. It was my source of portfolio-worthy work, but also my safe place to experiment and fail when I was trying something new. The girl who started as a Square Carousel member freshly graduated in 2011 was working part-time at Urban Outfitters, had basically no money, and no clue how to promote herself. The “studio” was a corner of the bedroom and nobody took her seriously. But a stubborn dedication and the security, purpose and structure of Square Carousel helped the slow change from that lost girl to a full-time freelancing woman. Now, in 2021, I have been doing freelance illustration fully for six years, through contract jobs, editorial, publishing, advertising, commission and local work, as well as selling prints and products online, in local shops and events. I am not making the big bucks, certainly, and I still have goals I’m working towards, but damn, if that isn’t a glow-up, I don’t know what is. Thank you for helping me achieve my impossible dream, Square Carousel, and always being a place with the right amount of advice, support and critique. Ten years, 34 artist interviews, 38 artists, and 144 challenges. I’m the only member to have completed every single one. 144 illustrations through the years. Some were game-changers for my style and my portfolio. Some were total stinkers and I hope you don’t go looking for them. But all were an important step in my career. So, in ten more years? I’ll be 42 years old, which is very weird because I have never imagined myself that old before... it’s hard to honestly say what that would look like, especially considering the world we are currently living in and how the last 4/5 years have proven that anything (awful) can happen. Jordan and I have a goal to move to Colorado in the next 4 or 5 years, and I’d love to have a little A-Frame in the mountains with a loft studio, shown in my illustration here. Texas has become extremely problematic, especially after the winter storm in February of this year, and will be impacted greatly by climate change, both environmentally and economically. Right now, Austin is still booming, but at some point the lack of foresight in this state’s government is going to screw over the residents and it will be one of the places from which climate refugees run. Is that tomorrow? No, obviously not. But I want to already be settled someplace more stable, having grown some roots, before other folks start to roll in. But, to be able to do that, I need to rely less on my local jobs and connections and be able to have an “anywhere career.” So right now I am focusing on expanding in that way, particularly with book cover illustration and design. I’ve been doing a lot of portfolio work and self-publishing jobs, and hope to get an agent that can shop my work to big-time publishers sometime in the next year or two. Let’s say I succeed at all of those things in five years-- we’re in our Colorado A-Frame, I’m illustrating book covers (and I’ve also convinced my parents to come with me, and maybe a couple friends!). The next five years after that? I don’t know... hopefully a lot of adventures. Hopefully a lot of cool jobs, but also a lot of work/life balance. Right now, I don’t want kids, so the A-Frame will be filled with cats. Maybe we’ll have an old camper van for regular road trips around the western National Parks. I’d love for my work to reflect those passions-- more jobs with outdoor brands, parks, organizations. More book covers for stuff I’d personally love to read and keep on my overflowing shelf. That’s the vague goal for me in ten years, but I don’t want to plan any further than that, because life just also needs to happen the way it’s going to happen. There are parts of my current life I planned for in 2011... and there are parts I never, ever would have guessed. I hope there’s some fun surprises in 2031, too. Thanks for the decade, Square Carousel. Joining illustration collectives will always be the first bit of advice I give fresh graduates. Caitlin

#challenge 144 #caitlin alexander #caitlin b alexander #goodbye square carousel #ten years

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goobergamer · 4 years ago

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Welcome to the Real World, Chpt. 4/?

Summary: ‘The real world’ is Marine Corps slang referring to civilian life after discharge.

Or, Washington, new and struggling veteran, moves into a duplex where he has a strange and surly neighbor with a penchant for the color red. (Sargington modern war vets AU)

Pairing: Sarge/Washington (Red vs. Blue)

Warnings: Alcohol use in this chapter

First chapter on Tumblr here: (x). Also crossposted to AO3.

Wash is a chronic homebody rapidly chewing through the books on his shelf and the TV shows he can stand to be semi-present for. The phone never rings when he’s there, but he still can’t help and check every morning and night hoping the voicemail light will have come on.

He’s pretty sure he saw a couple of his teammates when he was taken in by the medical team, half-coherent. No one has been in touch since, through his care or discharge. He’s not sure what he expects them to say. Wish you were here, xoxo? Sorry you’ve cracked? (He’s not crazy.) Thanks for compromising the mission, asshole? How could you have fucked up so badly?

Wash isn’t sure. But he thinks he’d take any of it over the dead light and the dial tone.

---

It just keeps getting hotter as they approach midsummer, and one day when Wash steps outside straight into a wall of humidity, Sarge joins him only to suggest that he come inside for coffee so they don’t just up and die on the porch from the weather.

Wash is pleasantly surprised when Sarge gives him a tour of the downstairs space; it’s cluttered, but not a junk pile as he may have guessed. Rather, the home looks lovingly lived-in. A card table is open in the corner of the living room, with parts and tools for some sort of electronics project scattered across it. The TV stand is covered in small piles of DVDs; at quick glance Wash sees serious war documentaries mingling with old family sitcoms.

Of course, it still shows little signs of Sarge’s quirkiness beyond the multiple locks on the door. Despite the gun cabinet standing against the wall with his scarlet beret sitting atop it, there’s a shotgun casually leaned up against the coffee table that Wash only hopes has the safety on. Everything that can come in different colors is red in Sarge’s apartment; upholstery, painted wood, you name it. There’s a strawberry Yoo-hoo balanced on the couch armrest, and Wash halfway wonders if the flavor was chosen to fit the color scheme.

They take their coffee on very red chairs at the very red table in the kitchen. Sarge is polite enough to only harass Wash for two straight minutes about how he takes his coffee (“Washington, without sugar you’ll have no energy to defend yourself!” “Defend myself from what?”) The new location doesn’t change much until Wash asks, “Which way to your bathroom? Is your side of the duplex the same as mine?”

“Flipped. Upstairs to the left.”

When Wash walks into the bathroom, it takes him a moment to register what’s off. At first he thinks Sarge had installed a full-size towel rack above the sink, but after stepping closer, he sees that a bath towel has simply been strung across the medicine cabinet to cover it.

He remembered, Wash realizes. He remembered the mirror.

Something in his throat tightens, almost imperceptibly. It was a small, simple gesture, but an appreciated one all the same, at a time when the world feels minimal in its kindness.

---

When Wash hears a knock on his door early one evening, he only pauses a moment before opening it without the chain in place, having an easy enough guess of who it will be. “Hey, Sarge. Something you need?”

Sarge is leaning against the doorframe all too casually, an atypical grin splitting his face in two. “Washington, when was the last time you went out anywhere?”

Wash pauses for a moment, thinking. “I go running every day? Beyond that, I picked up groceries three days ago.”

Sarge switches battle tactics. “When was the last time you went somewhere to do something fun?”

Wash has a sinking, suspicious feeling he knows the ballpark where this is heading. “...I don’t mind grocery shopping.”

“...Well, that answers that.” Sarge chuckles. He doesn’t seem too surprised. Wash supposes he can’t really be insulted; a serious answer to Sarge’s question would have been ‘on shore leave over a year ago’.

“There’s a legion a couple towns over,” Sarge continues. “A few of the guys I know are catching up there tonight! There will be drinks! General merriment! And YOU are cordially invited!”

“I wouldn’t know any of the people there.”

“I can introduce ya’!”

Wash knows that Sarge isn’t the type to take no for an answer when his mind is set on something. And he has to acknowledge that he has become a hermit in the months since his discharge, to an unsustainable extent. At some point he’ll have to reconnect with the real world. May as well do it with a friend to guide him. “Alright, fine.”

“That’s the spirit!”

They take Sarge’s Ford, a decades-spanning oddity; the truck itself is from the 70’s, but has a new high-tech radio system Sarge says he installed himself. The radio will only tune into an obnoxious polka station from god knows where and which Sarge will claim no fault in his installation process for. The drive is still nice with the windows rolled low, Sarge resting his elbow on the sill as he steers with one hand, Wash turning in his seat so the early evening sun shines down on his face.

They’re quickly hailed by a chorus of both greetings and heckling from a far table when Sarge leads the way into the Legion. There’s one chair left open for Sarge when they approach, but he grabs another one from an empty table and plants it next to his own for Wash, the nearest guy shuffling over to make more space.

“Men, this is Washington,” Sarge announces when they’ve settled in. Wash receives some amicable nods and hello’s from the ensemble; apparently Sarge doesn’t think more introduction is necessary, and neither do they. “Washington, this is Tucker, Caboose, Donut, Lopez, Simmons, and Grif.” There’s a surly element to his tone when he introduces the last one, who seems unperturbed, just offering Wash a late “‘Sup?” before some earlier conversation picks back up.

Wash takes the time to examine the group unnoticed, observing that they look ragtag in more ways than one. They’re all young, younger than Wash, though it's not always easy to tell under the scars; the majority of this group look like they had to physically claw their way out of warzones. Wash can pick out four prosthetics between what he can see of just two of the people at the table, and with the extent of Lopez’s, he might guess prosthetic legs were hidden out of sight too. Grif and...Donut? sport some major scarring visible above the table. Grif’s scars, a layer of patchworks across his cheek and down one arm, look too clean to be from anything in-field; skin grafts, maybe? With Donut’s ear and eye gone, and the side of his nose and lips halfway there, it’s easy to assume that he took something hard straight to the face.

“—Before I can catch whatever gave Private Pinhead that stroke of inspiration, I’m going to get a drink!” Sarge huffs, brushing off a conversation with Grif to rise. “You want something, Washington?”

“Oh, I—whatever you’re getting is fine. Thanks.” Wash reaches for his wallet to offer him payment for the drink, but Sarge has already moseyed over to the bar.

“So, Washington, how do you know Sarge?” Simmons asks, all attention now turning to the new guy.

“He’s my neighbor.”

“Man, that sucks,” Tucker replies, though obviously without true rancor.

“Could be worse. He could live next to Donut,” Grif says.

“Hey!”

“That’s right, has Lopez gotten his insurance pay back after that fire yet?”

“No.”

“Hey, I said sorry, I didn’t think a hair dryer could overheat like that! I guess I’d been doing too much blowing.”

Amidst a chorus of groans, Sarge returns with a pina colada in each hand. “Can’t believe the bartender didn’t card me! They’re supposed to card anyone under forty.”

“And why would they card you, again?” Wash asks as he takes one of the drinks. Sarge’s efforts to convince Wash that he’s some ludicrous age are drowned out by amused laughter from others at the table.

The longer Wash is there with them, the more he feels himself settling into the rhythm of the conversation, becoming comfortable enough to laugh and joke along. By the end of the night, he’s been wrapped up into a number of ridiculous and crazy anecdotes that tell him two things: Sarge surrounds himself only with those that are as insane as himself, and that Wash has had the best night in as many weeks despite his hesitation before he came.

“They’re idiots, but they’re my idiots,” Sarge says fondly in the car on the way home.

“I can see why. They’re good guys.”

“We’re there every week. Just let me know if you want to come along again.” Washington looks at Sarge, but Sarge is cheerfully watching the road as he says it.

It’s an unexpected offer, but certainly not unwelcome as he thinks about the dark apartment he’s about to return to. Remembering the warmth of the rum and the night’s festivities is a strong pull. “I just might take you up on that.”

#wttrw #welcome to the real world #rvb #red vs blue #red vs. blue

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mllemouse · 4 years ago

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Tw Idk gender confusion???? I am throwing this here to the void bc I've been talking to myself literally all day and really very often for the last few weeks and maybe if I write it it will becomeore cohesive. On mobile, can't put in a jump so just be forewarned of a deluge.

Tw cancer and surgery and imagined gore!!!

Okay so. J tells me they're non-binary, that's very cool to me, but embarrassing after I told them I go by my first initial online bc I'm an easy Google, thinking they were a basic straight boy. (Also, the main reason I even liked them was bc in their profile they are beautiful and a lil feminine and I am just oblivious as fuck!!) I started going by an initial like 8-10 years ago and since have slowly been changing up my name where possible as I come across a new place it's stored.

Tbh I originally consciously chose an initial bc I just didn't want people immediately judging me as a woman. It infiltrated my personal life some, there are people who just call me L, my ex referred to me as L in all his notes, my mum addresses postcards and packages to me as L, and it's given me a lot of delight! The idea that people don't know my gender, or that they know and choose to continue using the initial has always left me just chuffed. I knew a couple other people that came out and switched to an initial as their name everywhere, but like didn't connect it to myself until J asked about it specifically bc they had a hunch I was also nb. (Honestly, my opening profile line is 'be the love child of Tilda Swinton and Frances McDormand you wish to see in the world' and then the whole profile is me in my glasses and nerd clothes... It's uh, not a stretch now that I look at it.)

I quickly did some refreshing on definitions and language, which punted me straight back to middle school when I hit puberty and started feeling so! Deeply! Uncomfortable! In my body. I used to stand in front of my mirror in my undies and stare in horror at what was happening. I had been wearing a bra since grade 5 out of shame in the girl's changing room for gym, that was less of an issue (I literally threw out those bras when I went to college bc they just got ratty, not bc I grew out of them!), but I watched my hips develop and envisioned having them sawed back down so they could be narrow again. I also got my period in middle school and have loathed it ever since. I wished I was a boy but only for the ease of keeping my body; I didn't want to dress different or change my interests. I wasn't raised in away that dictated male or female activities/interests or even clothing -- except I hated that my brother was allowed to go topless in public whereas I could only do so in a backyard -- yet gender noncomformity, while always accepted, was just not that actively encouraged. Educators told us what to expect during puberty but never that we should tell someone if we were so distraught over it.

I didn't really get much in the way of boobs but I used a tensor bandage as a binder through middle and high school (not even knowing what that was, I just wanted to be flat and saw Gwyneth Paltrow do it in Shakespeare in Love!), I remember sneaking it into my bags for college, but I don't have specific memories of using it then. I was kind of happy with them at figure skating bc I ended up being like the only girl who didn't need a bra or padding in her dresses, my mum just sewed a triple layer of fabric in the front for warmth and I was good to go. I was deeply ashamed of my hips and thighs however, and we got in fights over my skirts all the time.

By the end of high school I was fantasizing about plastic surgery and a hysterectomy. At one point I wished cancer upon myself so I would have an excuse for a mastectomy and hysterectomy. My mum actually got cervical cancer and I was, I'm so sad to admit, slightly jealous.

I came to Tumblr and found the fitblr community quickly after quitting skating and dealing with mono, feeling a need to get back into something competitive. I quickly came to loathe not only my own but other women's bodies through the inspirational photos. I loved the men's bodies, and operated with a goal of getting my body fat low enough (like, aimed for a men's recommended percentage, my period could go to hell) while building muscle that I would maybe narrow my hips and shrink my breasts, while having visibly muscular abs and arms.

I'm not sure if it's a net positive thing that I crashed on my shoulder and haven't been able to fully return to the training I wanted to? After the crash I really tried to treat myself better. The body positive movement was telling me to vehemently love all of my body (nevermind it's almost solely geared towards able bodied cis women), and I tried. And I got distracted: moved away, fell in love, discovered I am probably autistic, made some significant life goals. So by the time I was settled here and feeling like I could experiment more, I channeled that entirely through clothing rather than change my body. First dictated by what's comfy (we don't do a synthetic fibre or picky knits on this body), then by how I wanted to present myself to the world: obv, Tilda Swinton in a suit. By this point I have forgotten middle school, high school, and college.

And basically, though I was somewhat consciously changing my name to an initial and intentionally dressing predominantly masculine (but like blazers and trousers and oxfords aren't... Gendered??) as a rejection of toxic patriarchy and capitalism, I ended up not even thinking it could be a gender thing until J did a double take on my name. I have thought about it occasionally over the years and honestly just never thought I was uncomfortable enough to even say I may be non-binary, let alone do anything about it. trans? I can't feel like I hold any ownership over the word. Which now seems... Insane. How did I rationalize wishing violence upon my body and putting it through truly damaging physical duress for nearly two decades in pursuit of obscuring the stuff that made me female. And don't get me wrong, I love a good dress, I tolerate skirts, sometimes I wear heels bc I like to be tall and feel powerful, and I like my face and my long hair, and sometimes I wear makeup because I think I look pretty even though it makes me want to claw my face off. (And have realised that a LOT of the way I have styled myself in the past was purely self objectification for men and not actually what I enjoyed.) I just... ???? Is that not trans enough? I still don't know!!

Anyway to end on a positive, shout-out to my mum who just doesn't give a fuck abt what I do, as she quickly changed her correspondence to me to exclusively my initial, and has always shopped in the men's section with me, and is currently making me a historically accurate 18th century men's outfit so I can really be the boyish chaos I want to see in the world. Tilda and Frances' love child indeed.

#honestly feel free to respond but pls dont reblog? idk why youd want to reblog this but you never know #and im not claiming any identity yet! just trying to make space for the possibilities

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recurring-polynya · 5 years ago

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Hello! I have forgotten my tumblr login, but I am shai from AO3 and I just want to say that the Abhorsen books are very dear to my heart and I am THRILLED at idly wandering tumblr and seeing you're writing a Bleach AU set in that world. (Are the Kuchikis the Abhorsens? Is there a Mogget equivalent and is it Yoruichi? Is Karakura in Ancelstierre? I can't map the two settings together at alllll in my head on first glance but I'm super curious how you will!)

First of all, I am beyond excited that anyone actually cares about this project. I was going to try to explain it, but honestly, it’s not that long and, uh, maybe I should just post it. So, here’s the shorty version, where I cut it off at the Dramatic Drabble Point. I have more, but it starts to meander into an actual plot, where the plot is just the final confrontation at the end of Sabriel. I honestly just wanted to write Renji as part of the Crossing Guard Scouts?? I might expand this (how much? as much as I feel like?) after I re-read Sabriel. My husband has been reading the books to my son, and I catch snatches of it and it’s got me In the Mood, but I found myself forgetting way too much.

Dear everyone else: I refuse to explain any of this. The Abhorsen books are the shit, just go read them. If you love Rukia as a character, you will love Sabriel. The two of them, along with Susan Sto Helit and Death of the Endless are the fictional pragmatic death girls of my heart, if I *ever* write an actual book, it will almost surely be about a pragmatic death girl.

Anyway, here it is, The Worst Charter Mage in Ancelstierre.

“All that stuff Colonel Zaraki said… about a soldier’s intuition an’ stuff… that was just made up, right? To scare us? Us, uh, new guys, I mean, you never get scared, right Renji?”

Captain Abarai Renji of the Northern Perimeter Reconnaissance Unit, or the Crossing Point Scouts, as they were often known, stared out into the foggy dusk. His skin itched. His ears strained to hear the unearthly whistling of the wind flutes, which as far as he knew, none of the other scouts could hear. He could usually hear them, but not tonight. “Stop cleaning that damn firearm Yuki,” he grumbled without turning around. “Check your sword fittings instead.”

Lance Corporal Yuki Rikichi, having been stationed on the Perimeter for all of two months, very slowly started reassembling his pistol. “I’m not great with swords,” he admitted.

“Wind’s from the north,” Renji grunted. “Guns ain’t much good.”

“That’s just stories, though, right?”

“Nope,” Renji replied, squinting at a dark shape winging through the sky. It looked a bit like the airplanes he had seen when we went South for officer training, but it was too small, too silent, and besides, shit like that didn’t work past the Wall. He groped for his spyglass. “You think you can do that protection charm I been teaching you?”

“Yeah, I’ve practiced and practiced!” Rikichi bubbled eagerly.

Renji frowned, trying to focus the spyglass. If tonight was going to go as badly as his skin was crawling, that protection charm was going to do about as much good against the Dead as Rikichi hurling his useless gun at them. “Fuck,” he muttered. “That’s a someone.”

“A what?” Rikichi echoed.

“We got visitors,” Renji repeated, standing and checking the sword strapped his hip. “You go tell the Colonel, I’ll give ‘em the ol’ Crossing Scout welcome.”

“I can’t leave you alone!” Rikichi yelped. “Look, I’ll just radio him.”

“You’re welcome to try,” Renji shrugged, making his way down the stone staircase of the watchtower, knowing that piece of Ancelstierran junk would give nothing but static until the wind changed.

As Renji watched the strange craft circle down toward the ground, he tried to pull together the Charter Marks for a Major Blessing. It wasn’t a hard spell, and it would protect him from the Lesser Dead, maybe even a weak Free Magic Creature. As usual, the marks weren’t behaving, and he finally gave up. He didn’t know why he had such a hard time casting spells. None of the books he read ever described Charter Marks as elusive or mischievous. Was it like this for all Charter Mages? Maybe if he ever met another one, he could ask them. He was going to have to rely on his sword arm instead. Fortunately, his sword arm was pretty fucking reliable.

The craft had settled in the tall grass, and two figures were getting out. It looked remarkably like an airplane, except that it appeared to be made of paper, painted in cheerful blue and silver. It was powered by Charter Magic, Renji had heard the pilot whistling Charter Marks as they brought the thing to the ground. Pretty nifty trick, to be honest. Must be from deep in the Old Kingdom, where they still taught the old magic. Renji himself had been born just a few miles from the Wall, lived in that shitty border town until he was sixteen. He’d come south thinking he never wanted to see a Charter Stone again, but somehow, he’d never made it much further south than the Perimeter, not for long anyway. It was fine. He was useful here.

Renji gripped his sword with one hand. They looked and felt like people, but Free Magic Creatures could be tricksy. “Halt!” he shouted. “Who goes there? This is not a legal crossing point! What is your name? What is your business?”

The taller of the two figures, clad in a red and gold helmet and a red cloak, leaned down and said something to the much smaller figure, the pilot, who was dressed in blue and silver. The pilot elbowed the other in the ribs and then announced in a voice that rang with authority, “I am the Abhorsen and if you don’t help me, this gate is going to fall before dawn!”

Renji drew his sword. “I’ve met the Abhorsen!” he shouted. “You sure don’t look like that tall, pretty bastard to me!”

The pilot, who had been slowly approaching him, froze in her tracks. “That… was my brother-in-law,” she bit off. “How did you know him? He never came this far south.” She was silent for a moment before adding tentatively, “Also, he wasn’t the Abhorsen, although sometimes he let people believe he was.”

Renji’s fingers twitched on his sword grip. No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible. The voice was different, huskier, more mature, but then, it had been twelve years, she wasn’t a girl anymore. Not that she’d grown much. “I am simply returning her to her family,” that pale, flash prat had said, as he pulled her up onto the horse behind him, and rode away with the one person who gave Renji’s life any meaning or purpose. “Not one step further,” he shouted, since he didn’t think he could keep his voice steady any other way. “I don’t care if you’re the bloody Queen of the Old Kingdom herself!”

Something was happening with the taller of two visitors. Dark red energy, nearly black was crackling around his fists, the ozone smell of Free Magic permeating the air. Renji tried again to pull a Mark from the Charter, and this time one came easily, and he felt an invisible barrier thrum into place before him. It was no diamond of protection, but it should be enough to fend of some upstart teen.

“Cool it, you moron!” the pilot yelled at the youth. “The Scouts are good people, they just get hung up on procedure. Also… I… might know this guy.” She reached up and hooked a finger over the scarf wrapped over her face and pulled it down, tucking it under her chin. “Abarai Renji? ‘Zat you?”

“Rukia…” Renji murmured just as there was a clatter of boots on bitumen behind him.

“WHAT DO WE HAVE HERE?” a familiar voice bellowed. “Abarai, you got your sword out and there ain’t no blood on it, what’s going on?”

“Says she’s the Abhorsen, sir,” Renji reported, adjusting his sword stance but not relaxing. “Don’t look like the Abhorsen I remember.”

Colonel Zaraki strode through the company of men who had accompanied him, towering, helmetless, his hawklike nose catching the setting sun. He surveyed the young woman standing before.

“The wall is going to be attacked, tonight!” she shouted. “A massive army of the Dead, led by a necromancer who is himself one of the Greater Undead! Are you the commanding officer of this garrison?”

“Abhorsen came through here in ‘87,” Zaraki grunted. “Clever woman. After the fuckers down south stopped letting us move the gate every few months, all the deaths at the crossing point would build up, cause spontaneous risings. She carved us those wind flutes to keep the Dead down.” He surveyed the woman, dressed in a blue and silver tabard over silver chain. Her dark, short-cropped hair, the stunning indigo eyes Renji would never, ever forget. “Looked a lot like you. Your mother?”

“Sister,” Rukia corrected. It was Rukia, Renji was sure of it now. Of course she hadn’t been taken away to be a noble, she’d been taken away to be the fucking Abhorsen. Of course she had.

“If you’re the Abhorsen now, that means–”

“She went into Death four days ago. She’s holding out, but she’s been there too long, she can’t come back. At the full of the moon, the wind flutes will fail.”

“That the new Abhorsen-in-Waiting, then?”

Rukia’s eyes darted to the youth at her side and back again. “Maybe. This is Kurosaki. He is what he is.”

“Yo,” Kurosaki waved, seemingly unconcerned by any of this.

Zaraki jerked his chin at Renji. “Stand down, Captain. You been on the Wall too long to be this twitchy.”

“Don’t trust people who ‘are what they are’,” Renji replied. “Sounds to me like something a Free Magic Construct would say.” He sheathed his sword, but didn’t release the Charter Mark.

“He’s a lot of things, but he’s not a Free Magic Construct,” Rukia rolled her eyes.

“I’m standin’ right here, y’know!” Kurosaki protested.

“What do you need, Abhorsen?” Zaraki asked.

Renji glanced at him, surprised. He’d served under the man for over a decade, and he’d never seen him act this respectfully to anyone, including his own COs.

“I need every Charter Mage you’ve got,” Rukia barked. “Aizen has hidden his body in Ancelstierre, a few miles from here. We need to destroy it, but it’s going to take a ton of power to destroy something that powerful.”

Zaraki scratched his ass thoughtfully. “You may not realize, ma’am, but we don’t get a whole lot of Charter Mages this far south. My boys, though, have got swords like you’ve never seen. Zaraki’s Company can cut through anything, living, Dead, or in-between.”

“That’s very nice,” Rukia bit off, “because they are going to have an awful lot of things to stab in just a few hours. But I need Charter Mages. I don’t care if there aren’t many. Please. Give me what you have.”

Zaraki took a deep, resigned breath through his nose. “Well. You heard the lady, Abarai. Take that fucking apprentice the boys down south sent you, too. You managed to teach him anything yet?”

“Not… much…” Renji admitted, stunned.

“What, what?” Kurosaki exploded. “You’ve only got a single Charter Mage?”

“He’s terrible, also,” Zaraki added. “Worst Charter Mage I’ve ever seen, aside from the apprentice. Good with a sword, though, one of the best in the company to be honest.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir,” Renji grouched. Suddenly, he realized that Rukia was looking at him, and he felt like he was eleven years old again, meeting her for the first time, being judged by those eyes and, inexplicably, being found worthy. “I’ll go. At your service. Abhorsen.”

#my writing #bleach abhorsen au #bleach fanfiction

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let-it-raines · 5 years ago

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Catch Me If You Can (27/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I’m the slightest bit overwhelmed by how kind a lot of you are and how many people have become invested in this story. It’s the coolest thing seeing the happiness it brings some of you, even if I am stressing you out right now. Whenever I get a message about how a story has made someone’s bad day better, I get a little smile on my face. You are all awesome ☺️

Thanks to @resident-of-storybrooke for being my beta! Don’t fret. She yelled at me a lot about this part of the story too, so it’s not just you guys and it does get better.

AO3: Beginning | Current

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Tag list: @stunningswan @eala-captian @galaxyzxstark @xellewoods @mariakov81 @ultraluckycatnd @royalswan @shey-starsfury @superchocovian @sals86 @iam2307 @ashley-knightingale @karenfrommisthaven @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @ultimiflos @jamif @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @tiganasummertree @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @notoriouscs @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog@cs-forlife @andiirivera @jonirobinson64 @qualitycoffeethings

-/-

Emma has never once complained about having off from work before.

Not once.

She has four days off right now. It’s four days of no baseball and no responsibility, and she has been looking forward to it for months ever since she first saw the time off on the calendar and marked it in a huge red circle. There’s nothing quite like having the ability to sleep in, not brush your hair, and lounge around in pajamas all day as you watch professional athletes hit tennis balls back and forth at each other at one hundred miles per hour as they play the US Open.

But there’s a bit of a sting to it all when two tickets to the semi-finals tomorrow are saved in her phone, and she hasn’t spoken to the person who bought them for her in three days.

(They’re in the nosebleed section so no one would notice them, and Emma remembers laughing out loud when Killian showed her the seats because she has no idea how they would even see the ball.)

Okay, there’s more than a bit of a sting.

It fucking hurts.

There’s always been a reason why she didn’t make plans so far ahead of time, not ones that require monetary and emotional commitments from her, but she’s been breaking all of her rules over the past five and half months. All of them. She’s made plans to go to Portland, to go to a wedding, to go to this idiotic set of matches that she would actually really love to go to.

All of them with Killian.

Emma should have known better. She honestly should have. Every time she ever made plans with Neal or Walsh or any other man that she was dating, they always fell through. They never held up. Either the relationship would endend, or the guy would fade away at the last minute. It didn’t matter. Every time she got her hopes up, they fell back to the ground and were crushed under the weight of her own disappointment.

Neal was the definition of flaky. He was always making these big plans with big dreams and promising her so damn much before ripping the rug out from under her so quickly that she barely even had time to brace herself before she fell flat on her ass. And the really shitty thing is that she didn’t even realize how awful it was that he was doing that to her because that’s what people had been doing her entire life – foster parents, social workers, childhood friends, her birth parents. That little seed of hope would be planted, roots would start to grow, and then it’d all be torn out of the ground. She was in a relationship like that for years and then fell into the same exact trap two years later.

Why would Killian be any different?

(Of course he is different.)

A laugh escapes her lips at that, one she didn’t give permission to, and all it does is make Emma curl into her bed a little bit more, wrapping her arms around her pillow and yanking the blankets further up her body so that the outside world can’t get to her. It’s just Emma, her laptop, and a bag of salt and vinegar chips that are most likely going to break her tongue out.

As it should be.

This is not how her day was supposed to go.

Not at all.

Killian was supposed to come over after his morning training, and he was going to spend time with her and probably Ruby, debating television shows and movies and eating whatever takeout he decided to bring on his way here. But Killian isn’t here. She doesn’t even know where he is. Probably not training considering he’s out for the rest of the regular season.

It’s what he told her, but it’s also what she’s read in about fifteen different articles online.

And what she had to post on her Twitter account as part of her job. Life is funny that way. You think you can avoid your boyfriend and all information about him, but she can’t. It’s part of her freaking job.

She couldn’t have kept herself from reading the articles online if she’d tried.

(She didn’t.)

There’s a knock on her door, a sound that Emma has been ignoring for most of the past few days, but she didn’t turn the lock when she went to get her chips two hours ago, so Ruby easily opens the door and walks into her bedroom. She’s got her hair pulled back into a ponytail and is wearing leggings and a sports bra like she just went to the Pilates class that Emma skipped out on.

She shouldn’t have done that.

Fueling her emotions into that would probably have been a much healthier way to cope. No, it definitely would have been. Exercise is better than stuffing her mouth with junk food even if junk food feels so much better at first.

Shit. She’s pathetic. But honestly, she doesn’t even care.

“Hey,” Ruby says quietly as she shuts the door behind her. “How are you feeling?”

Emma doesn’t respond, just curls herself further into her pillow like the pathetic person she is as a tennis ball is thwacked across the court and bounces up into the bottom level of the stands. But Ruby, never one to be deterred by anything, walks across the room and settles down on the bed behind Emma, wrapping her arms around her stomach and pulling her closer while Ruby’s chin rests on her shoulder.

It’s the most considerate touch she’s felt in days, and it’s the only time that someone hasn’t shown her pity or tried to tell her that everything was going to be okay. After she left the hospital, leaving Killian behind with her mind reeling and falling down a hole with no escape, Emma immediately went to her apartment and changed into running clothes before running until her legs wouldn’t work anymore. It was fifteen miles, something she’s done before, something that’s not even her personal best, and she thought that she could keep going.

She had to keep going.

But the adrenaline died out on her, all of her anger and rage and, frankly, sadness dissipated into barely being able to breathe, and she’d swiped her metro card and walked through the gates to get on the train that would take her to David’s house because she needed him like she hadn’t needed him in years. David is always the reasonable one, is always the one who makes her see things that she can’t see, but he wasn’t there. It was only Leo and Mary Margaret, and as much as Emma loves Mary Margaret, she couldn’t understand why Emma was so hurt by Killian lying to her.

It’s not what the lie was, though that is a pretty big deal. It’s the fact that the lie happened.

Over and over again.

She gave him her heart in all of the shattered and glued back together pieces, and as careful as he is with it, he still managed to add a crack or two.

How could she have ever expected otherwise?

Why did she?

Why does she still want him to be the one to help her keep holding it together?

David had eventually come home and seen her talking to Mary Margaret, and somehow, he just knew that she needed him to hold her for a little while. He did, cupping the back of her head with his hand and not placating her by telling her that everything was okay or that she shouldn’t be angry or anything else that she wasn’t quite ready to hear yet.

There were a lot of things she wasn’t ready to hear that day.

“Do you want to go for a walk with me sometime today?” Ruby asks, and Emma breathes out on a sigh, her stomach swirling in a messy cloud of anxiousness over the fact that Ruby has finally decided that Emma has to talk. She’s been waiting for it. She’s also been expecting a much more abrasive conversation. “I know that your legs probably still feel like shit from that crazed run you went on, but I feel like a walk would be good. Fresh air, exercise, maybe I will even stop and buy two dozen donuts. You know, really splurge and keep them to ourselves and not let Graham have any.”

Emma chuckles, and this time she’s kind of glad for it. It’s not a big belly laugh, but it’s something.

Baby steps are better than nothing.

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a walk?

“Nope. It’s good to get our legs moving, work some of this laziness out of you. Plus, I fully plan on making us walk the full perimeter of Central Park, so we’ll have earned those donuts. If we haven’t died first because that’s a huge ass park.”

“You do realize that Bryant park is closer?”

“And that’s exactly why we’re not going there.” Ruby squeezes her again, pretty much hugging her, and it may actually make Emma’s heart swell. “C’mon, Ems. Indulge me for an afternoon, okay? It’s not like you to lay in bed like this. I don’t like it.”

It’s not. She’s already thought that. This isn’t her. She’s not the type of girl who lays around in bed because she’s upset that she and her boyfriend got into a fight, if that’s even what this can be called. There wasn’t exactly any fighting, even if her mind has managed to create the illusion that there was. Honestly, she barely let him get any words in besides his explanation of what happened. And she’s not the type of girl who cries and eats ice cream and wonders how life will ever go on.

There’s nothing wrong with doing that, but it’s not her.

And she hasn’t cried. That’s beside the point, though.

“It’s really comfortable in here, okay?”

“You’re moping.”

“Then let me mope.”

Ruby sighs and hugs her a little closer.

“Emma, I know that I might not seem like the most emotionally mature person at times, but I’ve been in a steady relationship for a long time. I know that things like this happen, and I know that after lying in bed for nearly three days now, you need to get your ass up. You’re not going to find any solutions at the bottom of that chip bag.”

“I hate Graham for helping you be so emotionally stable. You used to hate love.”

“It’s all the good fucking. I’m telling you. Knocked some sense right into me.”

Emma barks out a laugh and completely rolls over on her stomach, letting Ruby’s arms release her as she snorts into the pillow. “You are the worst,” she mumbles, her voice muffled by the material.

“I am the best.” There’s a slap against her ass that has Emma jumping and rolling over again so that she nearly knocks over her laptop. “Now, go brush your teeth, put on some deodorant, and change clothes so we can take over the city with our powerwalk like the rich old ladies we’ve always aspired to be.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

It’s an actual blazing inferno outside, the heat curling up from the concrete to practically burn through Emma’s sneakers, and it makes her really not want to be out on this walk. But she knows that the faster she walks, the faster she can go back home and retreat back to her room. All she really wants is to go back to her room.

And get under the shades of the trees in the park. September needs to end and allow October to roll in so that she won’t sweat every time she steps outside. This is ridiculous.

It’s probably all of the salt and vinegar leaving her pores. What a thought to have.

If only eating strawberries or kale or something was a good emotional comfort food.

It’s a little over a mile to the park, and as awful as the entrance is all full of tourists and street vendors and people trying to sell her a guide to the city like she doesn’t know it’s on a grid system, Emma is thankful just to have the slight breeze and be away from the masses of people. She won’t admit it, not out loud, but Ruby was right to get her to get up and get moving. When she’s lounging around, her mind wanders to things that it shouldn’t wander to, and at least now she’s able to put all of her focus on putting one foot in front of the other and watching all of the people around her.

Why pay for Broadway tickets when you can watch people in Central Park?

The air-conditioning. Yep. The air-conditioning.

They walk for an hour, just a casual stroll that Emma keeps thinking should be a run, but the heat of the day becomes too much for her, her heartbeat going wild, and as soon as she sees an unoccupied bench in the shade, she makes a run for it, leaving Ruby to catch up from behind. It’s a bit ridiculous, but this is a golden opportunity to allow herself to sit down and breathe without anyone bothering her since most people in the area are concentrated around the boathouse and not the little beaten path to the side of it.

“I hate summer,” Ruby groans when she reaches the bench. “It’s the worst. I don’t care that it’s when all of the good sports happen. It’s too damn hot.”

Emma bends down to rest her elbows on her knees and cradle her head in her palms. “It was your idea to come out here.”

“Yeah, well, you were depressing me.”

She doesn’t say anything back, taking a moment to breathe and stare down at the laces on her shoes. One of them is about to come untied, but she can’t bother to fix it. There’s no point if she plans on never moving from this spot. The sweat that’s trickling down her back is going to keep her glued here anyways.

How the hell did she run fifteen miles the other day? What kind of rage-fueled adrenaline was that?

“Killian lied to me about his shoulder.”

The words come out without her permission. She doesn’t even remember thinking them. Her mind was blank and then all of the sudden they were there, escaping from her tongue and her lips and becoming part of the air that’s surrounding she and Ruby.

Emma is still staring at the ground. Her hand has also unconsciously found the chain around her neck, the one with Killian’s mom ring that he gave her as a good luck charm. She hasn’t been able to take it off. She wanted to, wanted to take away that reminder of him, but she couldn’t do it.

Killian wanted her to have one of his most prized possessions, and as mad as she is at him right now, she can’t take it off. It means too much to her to have been given something like this.

“He lied to me,” she continues, taking a deep breath, though she’s not sure if it’s from the exercise or the emotions running a race in her mind and wearing down her nerves. “And I get it. He was scared. He – ”

“He didn’t want you to think less of him for being broken.”

“How do you know that?”

“Mary Margaret told me. You know she can’t keep a secret.”

Emma chuckles, but it’s a weak one, before lifting her head back up so that all of her blood can return to its rightful place. She was starting to get worried it wouldn’t. All she can really focus on is how cool the metal of the ring is against her stomach.

“Unlike you have apparently become, I am not the best with my emotions,” Emma continues. All of the words she’s been holding up are bubbling up to the surface and ready to spill over and run rampant. “I’m pretty shitty with them, but Killian made me feel comfortable, you know? When we’re together, I do pretty okay sharing all of the broken parts of me. He knows a lot of stuff that not even you know, and I thought we were in the kind of relationship where we trusted each other enough to share the brokenness. And trust me, we have a lot of it. We’ve had…we’ve had pretty shitty lives at some points, and I am so mad at him for repeatedly not telling me that he was hurt and for not being smart enough to stop playing and get some help. It’s not that big of an injury, but it could have been. He loves that stupid game, and he’s going to lose it if he keeps doing things like this.”

Ruby reaches down and grabs Emma’s hand and wraps her fingers around her palm and squeezes so that Emma has to look up at the sky to stop the tears from finally falling. This is dumb. This is all so dumb, and every bit of it could have been avoided.

“I think though,” Emma continues, still blinking away the tears, “past the lying and this gut-wrenching fear that he’s going to lie to me about other things too, I’m mostly hurt that he didn’t feel comfortable talking to me. I love him so much, Rubes. He probably has no idea how much I love him because I barely know how to express it, and, but I don’t know how to fully trust him if this is going to be a pattern.”

Ruby’s sighs, and Emma swears that she feels it in her own bones. Her heartrate has calmed down, something next to normal, and she no longer feels like she’s going to throw up. She was kind of feeling like that for a little while, and the guy sitting in the grass fifteen feet away from them reading a book in peace probably wouldn’t appreciate that.

“You’ve got to talk to him.”

“I don’t – ”

“You don’t want to right now,” Ruby finishes for her, and Emma twists her head to the side to look over at the lake instead of at Ruby. “I know. I got that. You have every right to be pissed off at him. You have every right to kick and scream and feel anger so deep in your belly that it aches when you breathe. It doesn’t matter what he lied to you about. If it hurt you, it hurt you. Case closed.”

“I know but – ”

“Nope, nope, you’re going to let me finish. I am on a roll, and you’re going to crush my momentum.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Ruby squeezes her hand again before letting go. “Killian should not have lied to you. That’s just…I know we all tell little white lies, but this is obviously different. He shouldn’t have lied to you or to anyone. He should have trusted the people who he loves with the things he’s struggling with, but I don’t think this was about him not trusting you. He didn’t tell his family about any of it either.”

“They knew about the accident.”

“To be fair, Liam was there, and I think there’s no way Elsa couldn’t find out.”

“Semantics.”

“Very important ones,” Ruby points out. “I don’t – I’m not trying to tell you how to feel. I’m just saying that Killian didn’t do this out of malicious intent. He’s not Walsh, and he’s certainly not Neal. He is not spending his time trying to bring you down because he can’t handle being with a successful woman. I honestly think he’s scared of losing you and of losing the game, and that can make people do things that they wouldn’t usually do. You may not realize it, but I think you have become just as important to Killian as baseball is – if not more so. I know all about that ring you keep messing with and how big of a deal it is. Honey, he wouldn’t have given that to you if he didn’t love you. I’m not saying that fixes everything because it doesn’t. You have to talk to him and let yourself trust him if you think he’s worth trusting.”

Ruby echoes the words Killian said to her in Elsa’s office, the words that she repeated to Mary Margaret when she was trying to explain what was going on. They’re right. They’re all right, and she hates it. She doesn’t even know why. She should be thrilled that everyone seems to think that Killian didn’t set out to hurt her.

She thinks that too.

But Ruby is right in the fact that he did hurt her and right in the fact that she should be allowed to feel how she feels. How could she not with everything that’s happened to her in her life?

But she’s not thrilled.

And it’s dumb. Really, really dumb. Because she should want to get up from this bench and run to Killian’s apartment. It’s not far, maybe another mile walk, but she has absolutely emotionally exhausted herself to the point that talking about this more would be too much for her.

Talking everything out is still new to her, and when the stakes are this high, that pestering feeling that it’s all going to go wrong is continually building. Because what if Killian realizes that she’s more broken than he thinks too she is, and it’s all too much to deal with? Their relationship seems so simple on the surface and yet underneath it all…

Oh fuck.

Emma loves Killian so damn much, more than anything as he would say, but being together has never been simple. It’s always been a series of guesses and choices and an underlying hope that things would work out. She allowed herself to have that hope from the beginning, when she barely knew anything about him and when he’d fucked up with her already, and she should allow herself to have that same faith now that she genuinely knows so much of what makes up the ever-evolving person who is Killian Jones.

Tomorrow. She’ll talk to him tomorrow. Her stomach is still in too many knots for her to even think about seeing his face today and seeing the smile that always makes everything inside of her feel like it is floating on cloud nine.

Tomorrow. It has to be tomorrow because then she’s got to leave for Boston and Detroit, and she’s not waiting a week.

And she almost desperately needs to know how he’s doing. He’s got to be hurting, and she knows that she added to that.

“Can we go get those donuts now, Rubes?”

“Absolutely.”

The walk home seems swifter than the walk there, and it’s likely because Emma isn’t weighed down by the heaviness of a lot of things that are on her heart. Or maybe it’s because she does have donuts to look forward to. Today is going to be her last day of self-indulgence where she allows herself to mope and eat like all of the junk food in the world is going to disappear tomorrow. Because tomorrow she’s going to start eating actually balanced meals with things like vitamins and nutrients – most of the time – and she’ll hopefully stop feeling so sorry for herself.

That’s a bit of a gamble.

Ruby still makes a point of distracting her for the afternoon, obviously sensing that Emma is two seconds away from running away to her room and never emerging again, and while she contemplates that a few times throughout the day, especially when Graham comes home and kisses Ruby hello, she doesn’t.

In fact, she’s the last one awake and the only one to stay out in the living room. The only light that’s on comes from the TV, a tennis match still going on late in the night, and maybe it’s the lack of sleep she’s gotten or maybe it’s that feeling that happens when you’re alone at night and your mind starts playing tricks on you, but something gives her the courage to pull out her phone and text the person she’s been thinking about all day.

Emma: How’s your arm?

The bubble pops up immediately.

Killian: It hurts, mostly in the mornings, but not too bad. Lots of Ibuprofen and ice.

Emma: That’s good.

Emma: Not that it hurts. That it’s not too bad.

Killian: Yeah, I’m glad it’s not as bad as it has been.

Her heart may actually break a bit more at the thought of him being hurt all of this time. She’s been so mad at him, so frustrated with him for not sharing it with her, and she’s barely had any time to think about all of the pain that he’s been going through. Shitty move on her part.

It’s one thing to get injured and still be able to go about your daily life. It’s another when your livelihood depends on your body.

Killian: You should still use the tickets tomorrow. Take Ruby or David. I can get you an upgrade to sit closer since I’m not going with you now.

I don’t want to use them with anyone but you, she types, a little pathetically.

She doesn’t actually send that message. She can’t muster up the courage no matter how much truth is in the statement. Wine or whiskey or, hell, tequila are really tempting at this point to make herself feel a little less – upset, conflicted, hopeful even. But drowning sorrows in alcohol is no way to solve a problem, even if she’s done it before. It’ll only make her feel worse.

Emma: Can we talk tomorrow?

That text is riskier, means more, and is far scarier, and yet it’s the one she sends.

Killian: I’d like that.

Emma: Me too.

#catch me if you can #cs fic #cs ff #captain swan fic #captain swan

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donteattheappleshook · 5 years ago

Text

Of Cars and Bars Chapter 13/14

As always, thank you Krystal @kmomof4 for all of your amazing beta work and for just being a lovely person. This story exists because of and is dedicated to you! (Thanks for the support even though I keep making you angry with all the angst!)

Tagging @teamhook because you asked :D

Here’s the last chapter before the epilogue! I can’t believe it’s almost over!

Summary:

Rated E

When Emma Swan is offered the chance to go on tour as an opener for one of the most popular up and coming bands of the decade, the last thing she expects is to find that the lead guitarist is the stranger she had a one night stand with five years ago.

This started out as a smutty two shot about Emma Ruby and Mary Margaret going on a road trip and has evolved into a slow-burn mutual pining angst-fest.

Read it from the beginning on Ao3 and Ffn because tumblr eats all my italics.

Chapter 13 - New York

If you were here beside me, instead of in New York / If the curve of you was curved on me / I'd tell you that I loved you, before I even knew you / 'Cause I loved the simple thought of you

The tour was over. They were back. Everything was over.

Things had happened really quickly after that night. They cancelled the show and then every show after that for the rest of the summer. They’d refunded everyone, lost the income - she didn’t really know the semantics of how that had happened, Belle had handled all of that.

There had been rumors of course - rumors about why the tour was called off so suddenly. They ranged from one ridiculous explanation to another. The boys had fallen out, broken up, a drug scandal, the band wanting more money, someone was sick…

Emma ignored them for the most part - as much as she could anyway. It was hard to ignore them when she was constantly being reminded of everything she’d lost whenever she stepped outside and saw a magazine with his face on it. He was always hiding it in those pictures, looking away, his shoulders hunched, looking annoyed or exhausted. She didn’t recognize him half the time. There was none of the joy and excitement that had originally attracted her to him.

She’d gone back to Boston, back to her old apartment… like nothing had happened. But it had. Her life was different now. Now she had people recognizing her on the street, reporters and paparazzi hounding her with questions about why she’d left, if it had been because of her and Killian’s supposed romance. She told them to fuck off most of the time. She didn’t like fame, she found. Not the darker side of it she was seeing now, anyway.

The worst part was the social media. Angry, vicious people who hounded her online, angry because they thought she was dating Killian, angrier because they thought she had dumped him, angriest because they thought she was the reason the tour had ended. They called her names. They called her awful, worthless. Told her that she didn’t deserve Killian, that he deserved better, that her music was terrible. All thoughts she’d already had in the back of her mind, thoughts that she thought she’d finally overcome but that were slowly making themselves heard again. She’d had to delete her accounts eventually.

She’d had to quit her job too. It was hard to set a honey trap when everyone knew your face. It was hard to tail a skip when you were being tailed by cameramen. It wasn’t just cameramen and fans that were after her though. Since she’d gotten home, she’d been approached by seven producers, all of whom wanted to sign her and her band. Ruby and Mary Margaret were thrilled, they couldn’t understand why she was so hesitant. Well, actually, they probably could, but they were letting her believe they didn’t know.

It felt wrong, wrong to make music without him. It was ridiculous. She’d done it before him, she’d done it since him. But one of her favorite parts of writing had become the look that appeared on his face whenever she played something new for him, that proud, awed expression he would give her. And she missed him putting in his two cents. Missed the way he would casually pick at his guitar and create a verse that perfectly captured how she was feeling. She missed… she missed him.

But he was gone. He’d left. He’d told her he would in the bar and she’d walked away, abandoned once again, and then the same night he was on a plane. He hadn’t even come back to the room for his luggage - hadn’t come to say goodbye. You didn’t say goodbye either. It was true. She hadn’t said goodbye. She’d been the one to walk out of that bar. But he hadn’t followed, hadn’t asked her to come with him. It didn’t matter. He left, not her. Everyone left.

“You about ready to go?” Ruby asked, her voice holding that tone of sympathy so close to pity that it irked her. Emma looked once more at her apartment, the place she’d lived since leaving Storybrooke over six years ago. It was empty now.

She’d thought coming back to her old life would have made things easier, would have made it easier to move on, forget him, forget how he made her feel and how he’d broken her heart. But it hadn’t. The whole place just felt wrong now. Like it wasn’t home anymore. Home had become something else, not a place but people and now… that was gone too. She missed it. There was nothing left for her here anymore.

“Yeah,” she said, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

They were on their way to New York. They were going there to - Emma could hardly believe it, hardly say the words - record an album. Emma had turned down most of the offers, hadn’t wanted anything to do with it. But it wasn’t just her decision. It was Ruby’s and Mary Margaret’s too. It was their life as well, their dream, their career. She didn’t know if she would ever want to be in the spotlight again - but she would try, for her friends.

But every producer that she met just reminded her of Neal - someone who was out to take what they could from her, use her for their own gain regardless of what she wanted. They didn’t care about music. They cared about profit. Only about profit.

But then Graham and David had introduced them to Robin, the man who had recorded their first album, the one who liked to set insanely high bars when it came to music. He was a man with standards and who insisted on hard work and dedication but at the same time… he got it. He was a musician himself and he understood the artistic side of it.

Not all of his artists were well known. Of course he cared about that to an extent - it was his livelihood - but he also had a few indie bands under his wing. He liked good music. That was it. He liked good music and wanted to share good music with the world and he wanted to share her music with the world.

He was sweet, Emma learned as well. A nice guy, funny and upbeat and charismatic. She’d never seen him get angry but she assumed he probably did a good fatherly ‘I’m disappointed in you’ thing that was way more effective than anger. She was looking forward to working with him. She just worried she wouldn’t live up to his standards - not anymore, not with how she was feeling.

When they’d agreed to sign on, Emma had a condition. She was tired of just being Emma Swan and her band. She was tired of all the bad things associated with her name now. She was tired of being front and center when her friends were just as much a part of this as she was. There was no way she could have done this alone. And her name drew too much attention too, something Robin thought they should use but Emma didn’t want to. They named themselves The Ugly Ducklings after a favorite childhood storybook. Her friends liked it. Liked that they felt more like a group now, like what they’d always been.

They settled into their new apartment pretty quickly. David and Graham already lived in New York most of the time so they had helped them find a place and did most of the heavy lifting during the move. It was strange to see them all the time, without the others. Belle and Liam had gone back to London with Killian. When he left for England. When he left her to go back to England.

She hadn’t heard from him. Not a word since that night in the bar. It had been two months. She’d now been away from him nearly as long as they’d been together. Who was she kidding, they’d been together all of five minutes before he left. That was a new record. Usually they stuck around for a little while after she decided to let herself lo- no. she didn’t want to think about it.

She’d given him space at first, hoped that he might reach out if he wanted her, if he needed her - her support or her presence or someone’s shoulder to cry on. But he hadn’t. And it hurt. He hadn’t asked her to come with him. He’d decided she didn’t matter enough and he’d left her behind. Maybe he’d decided he didn’t want to have someone so broken hanging around, being a burden while the case went on.

She knew a lot more about it than she wanted to. The story was all over the tabloids, all over the papers too. And maybe, she’d looked it up a few times online, worried about him, despite everything. The case was dragging on, more and more witnesses being called in, new evidence being ‘found’. It wasn’t just a decision about letting him out anymore. Gold had pushed for a mistrial, insisting he was innocent, wrongly convicted and that he should be acquitted of all charges. She couldn’t imagine what it was doing to Killian, to go through all of this again. But that wasn’t her place. If he’d wanted it to be her business he’d have asked her to go with him.

But something still irked her, more than all the hurt and the loss and the abandonment she felt… guilt. Guilt because she knew, on some level she knew what she’d done. She’d done what she always did. She ran from him, ran away from the possibility of love and of happiness because she’d been so afraid to lose it. The barest hint that he could walk away and she’d walked away first.

But he would have left eventually, she tried to convince herself. Maybe he wouldn’t have. But it was too late now. Now he was in London, regardless of who had run from whom, who had abandoned whom, he was gone now. He was thousands of miles away and he likely hated her - or worse, didn’t even think of her at all. It was broken. She’d broken it. She’d gotten scared and she’d fallen victim to those fears and she broke them.

But he hadn’t tried to fix it. She’d started counting on him trying to fix it and this time he hadn’t. He’d given up. One time too many. She’d messed it up one time too many and hurt him once too many and this was the consequence. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to run to him, to be with him, to be there for him. His silence spoke volumes. He was done with her.

“That was lovely, Emma,” Robin said as they finished recording the vocals for one of the tracks. “Can we try it again with a bit more energy?” he suggested. Emma wanted to laugh. She hadn’t had energy in over two months. Her life had been a blur, a sad, heavy cycle of empty day after empty day.

But she didn’t say that, instead she said “Yeah, sure,” and tried it again. She could tell from his face that it wasn’t much better.

“Perhaps we should move on to one of the ballads,” he suggested. “Let’s do the one you played at the last show - the one that went viral.”

“No,” Emma said quickly. Not that one. She couldn’t do that one. She couldn’t sing that one again - ever probably. She couldn’t sit here in a booth and sing about how she’d fallen in love with someone, had finally believed that she deserved to be loved. Not when that someone had ripped her heart out hours later, reminding her that she didn’t.

“I just mean…” she tried when Robin looked at her in surprise. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not feeling well today. Maybe we could just work on the music for now? Try the vocals again tomorrow?”

He looked at her like he didn’t believe her and she didn’t blame him - the lie had sounded shit to her own ears. But he nodded, giving her that same, sympathetic smile that Ruby had.

“Sure,” he said. “Let’s call the others and see if they can get over here. Why don’t we work on the chorus to this one while we wait.” Emma agreed, thankful, and went to grab her guitar. She flinched when he spoke again. “It’s alright to miss him, you know,” he said.

Anger was her first emotion, her first after heartbreak but that was always there so it didn’t count. “Excuse me? You don’t know me,” she snapped. Robin only nodded, he didn’t flinch back at her bite like most did.

“I don’t,” he admitted. “But I know Killian. I know him pretty well actually and I know that he’s hurting now - more than I’ve ever seen him hurt before. I can hear it in his voice.”

Emma felt her eyes tearing but she fought it. She would not cry over Killian Jones, she’d done that enough already. Enough for a lifetime. She’d heard that he was struggling, that he was always anxious now, always quiet - that he missed her. Belle had said so on the phone. ‘How do you know?’ she’d asked and Belle had said she just did. Emma didn’t believe her. You didn’t just leave someone that you could miss like that. Unless she heard it from him she couldn’t believe any of it, it was just their friends trying to save something that was already broken. And she hadn’t heard anything from him.

“What does that have to do with me?” she demanded, not thrilled with the audacity of this guy she barely knew assuming he knew anything about her life.

He gave a sad smile. “When I produced Abandon Ship!’s first album, Killian had written a hit. Liam had shown it to me, I remember because he called at seven in the bloody morning to play it over the phone. When they came in to record it though… it was different. It was sadder, it was slower… he sounded like you when he sang it.” Emma’s breath caught. You left him first, a voice taunted.

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out,” he continued. “I’ve heard enough bits and pieces from the guys and Ruby and Mary Margaret to piece together where that song came from, who it’s about.”

“What’s your point?” Emma asked, still angry but some of the venom gone from her voice, some of the fire dying out.

“My point is, perhaps it's time to stop writing sad songs about one another and to just… try.”

Emma’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I did try.” Robin smiled sadly again.

“My apologies,” he said. “It’s not my place.”

Graham and David had tagged along with Ruby and Mary Margaret, they were always tagging along now. It was hard. It felt almost like it should, all of them together, but they were missing a few crucial pieces. Having half of the whole there just made the missing half hurt more, made it more obvious that it was missing. She loved David and Graham, they’d become like brothers - but they were a reminder now. Whenever they walked in the room she’d catch herself looking behind them, looking for him to follow them in, only to be reminded that he wouldn’t.

Halfway through their session, when they were taking a break to have some lunch, David received a call. It was Belle on the other end and David put her on speaker. She updated them on their lives, on how the trial was proceeding - they’d hired a lawyer - a high power one that they hadn’t been able to afford when they were young and broke and the first trial happened. She thanked the guys for staying behind, for doing damage control while they were in London. Graham and David had done a hell of a lot of free shows to try and appease some of the bad press. Turned out David could sing. They’d also done a lot of press and appearances and charity events and she knew they were a little exhausted from all of it. Both Graham and David dismissed her thanks as unnecessary.

Emma was sitting awkwardly a few feet away, as far as she could get in the tiny back room of the recording studio, actively trying not to listen - actively failing. She could see that the others were trying to avoid drawing the conversation to him. But when Belle started to say that she was worried about Killian, and David awkwardly tried to hint that now wasn’t a good time, she heard Liam on the other end of the line.

“Is Emma there?” he asked and she felt her heart race. She hadn’t spoken to Liam since that night in the bar. She’d been too afraid to. Afraid he hated her now. With some reluctance, David said she was. “Put her on the phone,” Liam demanded and everyone looked at her uncomfortably. She could hear Belle begging her husband to leave it alone but he wouldn’t listen. “Emma, are you there?” he asked.

Her voice cracked the first time she tried to answer. She cleared her throat, tried again. “Yeah. I’m here.”

“Pick up the phone.” His tone left little room for discussion, even from hundreds of miles away.

Her palms were sweating as she walked over to the table where the phone rested, right there in the middle of all of her friends who were still staring at her with trepidation. They knew whatever was coming wasn’t good either. Liam was a force. She knew that. And he was angry. She nearly turned it off, touched the little red button and ran. But she didn’t. She was an adult. She could talk to another adult. She picked it up and took it off speakerphone.

There was a long weighted silence before Liam finally spoke. “You promised me, Emma.” he said.

“Liam, I-”

“No. All those months ago, I begged you, I begged you not to let him love you if you were going to leave. I told you what it would do to him. You promised me.”

Her words caught in her throat, trapped in the lump there as her eyes burned with tears. “I’m not the one who left,” she said and while she wasn’t looking at them she could feel the way the tension in the room grew at her words, everyone waiting on bated breath.

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” he snapped. “He needed you Emma. He loves you. He still needs you. Why aren’t you here?”

“I-” She didn’t know what to say. His anger was terrifying, his words cut deep and hurt. She knew he was right. She’d promised. But he’d left and he… the excuse felt weak even as she thought it now. He loves you. He still needs you, the words played over and over in her head. She struggled for something to say, some way to work through the pain and the self-preservation that were warring inside of her when she heard Belle's voice, muffled and far away. “Killian, you’re back. We-”

Emma hung up the phone. She hung it up and put it back on the table and grabbed her stuff and ran out of the room. Liam was right. She’d left. She kept leaving and she was going to do it again now. Because that’s what she did best. It’s what she’d always done. It kept her safe and it kept her from getting hurt… only this time, this time it hadn’t worked so well.

Ruby and Mary Margaret found her a few hours later on the couch in their living room where she’d been sitting since she got home. Wallowing. In guilt and heartbreak and fear and doubt. They approached her cautiously, feeling out the mood in the room before sitting down across from her on the coffee table. She could feel another ‘mom and mom’ speech coming on.

“Was Robin really mad?” she asked, realising the very serious possible consequences of walking out on a recording session when they were new and unknown and completely dependent on him wanting to keep them. Ruby waved a hand dismissively.

“He’ll get over it. He’s used to working with moody artists.” Emma glared but it had no heat behind it.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret started.

“Don’t,” Emma said. She didn’t want to hear it. She’d heard it from Liam already today, she’d heard it from people on the street and online. She got it. She was an asshole. But she didn’t know what to do about it. She was so so scared. Mary Margaret, always the sweeter of her sisters hesitated, but Ruby inhaled deeply and Emma prepared herself for the storm.

“No. Enough is enough. You’re being an idiot.”

“Ruby!” Mary Margaret was cut off.

“She is. You are. Look, we let you get away with it this long, we babied you and let you lick your wounds but really - We’re done. These aren’t even your wounds to lick.”

“He left!” she tried.

“Emma, grow up,” Ruby snapped and Emma reeled back like she’d been slapped.

“You’re being so selfish. Yes, he left. But he left because the psycho that killed his girlfriend was possibly going to walk free. He left because he had to. Where did you find him?”

“A bar…” she said weakly.

“That’s right. Doesn’t that give you a little sense of where his head might have been at?” Ruby’s words were harsh, her tone harsher and Emma wanted to run but she had nowhere to go. She was trapped, listening to her, letting herself be reamed out. She didn’t even have the energy to defend herself, didn’t have the leg to stand on either.

“He was hurting, rock bottom, as bad as you were when you saw Neal again - I’m gonna go ahead and say maybe worse. And yeah, his first thought wasn’t about you. So what did you do? You left him. He needed you and you left him there to go through it alone.”

“He’s not alone,” she tried.

“That’s not the same and you know it. Emma, I know you’re scared and you try to protect yourself and you have good reason to. And because of that we let you get away with a lot, because we love you. But this? You being this selfish because you’re afraid that you might get hurt? Making this about you and your fears when it should have been about supporting the man you love? I just…” She shook her head and Emma could feel the disappointment and even the shame radiating off of her. “He’s not Neal,” she said, looking at her with an expression Emma had never seen directed at her. “But right now… you are.”

The tears burned hot in her eyes. Ruby’s words were harsh, cruel even. But… they were right. Emma looked at Mary Margaret. She looked nervous but not like she had any intention of defending her and so Emma knew she agreed. And she should. Maybe she’d just needed it to be laid out like that, to be called out on it… but Ruby was right.

She’d let Killian in, let him care for her, maybe even love her. She’d encouraged him, let him think it was safe to give her his heart, to trust her with it. And then the moment he’d needed her, the first time he hadn’t only thought about her wellbeing and her fears and had fallen victim to his own… she’d left him. She’d run out of that bar like a bat out of hell because… what? He hadn’t asked her to come to London with him? He hadn’t outright told her he needed her? She was an idiot. She should have stayed, should have gone with him.

She thought about the night before, how she’d tried to push him away, gotten wasted at that bar on cheap whiskey and he’d stayed. Not because she’d asked him to but because he knew she needed him too, even when she was saying the opposite. And when it had been her turn to do the same… she’d run. She’d only thought of herself, let her insecurities take over, let herself be blinded. She’d been selfish. She’d abandoned him. He’d never have done that to her.

“What if it’s too late?” she asked, the first of her tears making their way down her cheeks. Ruby scowled at her for a moment but it stopped when she spoke again. “What if I hurt him too much, too many times, used up all my chances. What if I ruined it and I can’t fix it.”

“You can always fix it, Emma,” Mary Margaret spoke, putting her hand on Emma’s knee. “Love, true love can always be mended. It might not be the same after, but it can be stronger.” She must have seen the look Emma was giving her because she spoke again. “Don’t. I know you like to make fun of me for believing in true love but I’m not talking about some fairytale, predestined, meant to be garbage because that’s crap. If it’s really love then you have to work for it and fight for it and you have to go and admit that you fucked up and make things better, make amends. That’s love.”

“You just have to decide if you’re gonna fight for it or not,” Ruby said. Emma watched them both. She wanted to go. She did. Killian was the best thing that had ever happened to her and she had screwed it all up and she wanted it back, she wanted him back. How she felt about him, how he made her feel, how he made her laugh and smile, his weird obsessions and his stupid quirks and his constance and his baggage... she wanted it all back. But still, years, decades, a lifetime of letdowns wouldn’t let her, froze up with fear that she was wrong. With that last little doubt.

“What if he doesn’t want me anymore. What if he can’t forgive me?”

Ruby and Mary Margaret exchanged a look, eyes wide. “What if he doesn’t -” Ruby started in disbelief. “Show her the video, Snow.”

Mary Margaret took her phone out and fiddled with it for a moment. She turned it over then and handed it to Emma. The video was dated only two days ago. It was Killian, sitting on a little stage in a bar somewhere during what looked like an open mic. She could hear people in the back of the video whispering, wondering if that was him, what he was doing there. But she ignored them, focused on him.

He looked… sad. Sad and lonely and heartbroken and everything else she was feeling right now. His playing was still immaculate, his voice was still breathtaking, but he had none of the stage presence he usually did. It was like all the fun, all the carefree confidence and charisma had been drained out of him. He still held her attention though as he sang. Sang about a woman he missed, longed for, who wasn’t here with him… a woman who was in New York.

“Is that enough proof for you?” Ruby demanded.

Emma stood, walking past them and out of the room, adrenaline running through her veins, making her heart race and her fingers tremble. She headed straight for her room, could hear her friends following her as she grabbed clothes haphazardly out of her closet and some of the boxes she had yet to unpack. Where was her bag? She huffed and she searched for it. She knew she should have unpacked when Mary Margaret told her to.

“What are you doing?” Mary Margaret asked from the doorway.

“I’m going to London.”

***

Killian was tired. He was so tired. It had been months now of talking with lawyers, of turning down Gold’s lawyers offers to strike a deal. No. There were no deals. Gold would spend the rest of his life in prison for what he’d done. He’d taken the rest of Milah’s life away from her and Killian would be damned if the monster didn’t meet the same fate.

He was headed back to the flat he’d rented with Belle and his brother when they arrived. It was strange to be back. After nearly a decade of living in the States, of living in Boston and New York and even LA for a little while. It was strange to be home. Although it wasn’t really home was it?

He’d learned long ago that home wasn’t a place. It was the people that were around him. He had his brother, his sister-in-law, he spoke to Graham and David regularly on the phone, even to Ruby and Mary Margaret sometimes… but not to her. He thought he’d found one, a new home, one they all could have made for themselves, one he could have made with her. But then it had been ripped away from him. No, not ripped. She’d taken it, walked away with it and left him behind, empty and alone to suffer through all of this. Not alone technically but… it wasn’t the same.

Today had been the first day of the actual trial. After months of preparation he had finally gotten to sit in that witness box and tell the world what a terrible, inhuman being that man was. He told them how Milah had planned to tell her husband she was leaving him that night, how she’d gone home to do so.

After not hearing from her for nearly 24 hours, he’d gone to her home, somewhere he’d never been before out of fear of her husband finding out. He hadn't truly understood her fear when they were happy and together. But he understood it then, when he found her. He told the jury about the blood, about the way she’d just been left there, tossed aside while Gold left the city. This wasn’t manslaughter, he told the jury though he knew he couldn’t change the verdict now, was reminded of it by the judge. But he said it anyway. It hadn’t been a crime of passion. It had been the cold-blooded act of a man who refused to lose something he believed belonged to him, believed he owned.

The cross-examination had been worse. Horrible, cruel questions that you shouldn’t ask someone who had lost the love of their life. Maybe not of their whole life, a little voice had piped up, but he shut it down. He couldn’t think of that. He was already spending his days reliving losing his first love. He didn’t want to be reminded that he’d lost his second, the woman that he thought might be his true love - all sappiness be damned. But she’d walked away, she’d decided not to choose him. Killian had only loved two women in his life, and both had left him. It just hurt all the more that Emma left by choice.

He’d replayed that night over and over in his head. Remembered how close he’d come to opening that bottle. He’d walked there in a daze, the recall to that time bringing back memories of the man he’d once been and he let himself step back into that man’s shoes. That man had led him straight to a bar. He’d warred with himself, he’d won. But he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out. Not when with every passing day he was reminded of how Milah had been taken from him. Not when with every passing moment he saw Emma again, walking out of that bar and out of his life… again.

He’d believed her. Believed her when she'd said that she wanted to be with him, that she’d wanted to stay. But then, after one look at the darker side of him, the moment they’d faced a challenge, the moment he’d needed her most, she’d run. It felt like someone was ripping out his heart every time he thought of it. He hadn’t been enough. He’d let himself believe he was and then she’d proven him wrong.

The pain and the heartbreak turned to anger more often than he’d have liked to admit. And he was angry with her. Angry with her for giving up on him, for giving up on them so easily. But also for disappearing from his life so completely. He could understand that she didn’t want his love anymore. But they had been friends hadn't they? Why hadn’t she reached out? Why hadn’t she called him? Why was she never around when he called Graham or David? Ruby and Mary Margaret sure seemed to be around all the damn time.

She’d disappeared, cut herself out of his life completely, and it hurt. Yes, he loved her, but he’d also grown to count on her, on her being there, on the way she made him laugh and the way she challenged him. He needed her support. But she wasn’t there. She hadn’t just left him - she’d abandoned him and that thought hurt more than any. She knew what it meant to be abandoned. She knew what she was doing to him, how it would break him, especially now when he needed her so much. She'd done it anyway.

That was the worst part. The fact that despite all his anger and her abandonment and the fact that sometimes he wanted to curse her name… he still needed her. He missed her. He loved her. He tried to stop but he couldn’t and that made it worse. She’d let him fall in love with her, had led him to believe that she could love him too and then she’d changed her mind - and he couldn’t.

He still wrote about her. But as angry and hurt as he was, he couldn’t put it into words, something stopped him every time. Instead all of his songs came out longing and heartbroken and full of love and loss - but never anger, never hate. And he knew it was because no matter what he did, his heart wouldn’t stop wanting her, missing her. And so he was left here to mourn her and hate her while the ever growing ache in his chest reminded him that he would probably never stop loving her.

That was the thought that was itching at the back of his mind as he walked up the last step to their fourth floor flat - the lift was somehow always broken. He rounded the corner towards his front door as he dug his keys out of his pocket. He looked up and froze, the keys falling through his fingers and onto the ground at his feet.

Emma. Emma was standing outside his door, a bag in her hands and bags under her eyes. She looked nervous. She saw him and her breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the strap of her duffle. His thoughts were reeling. What was she doing here? Why now? After all this time? Why hadn’t she come sooner? What could she possibly want from him now? But he didn’t voice any of them. His mouth had forgotten how to form words and so he stood there, slack jawed and dumbfounded like an idiot.

“Hi,” she said after a long, tense moment.

“Hi,” he answered because it was the only word his stupid bloody mouth seemed to be able to form. She didn’t say or do anything else, just stood there, waiting. He didn’t know what for. Someone walked by then, cast them both a strange look and it snapped him out of his thoughts a little. He picked up his keys and stepped up to the lock.

“We should probably go inside,” he told her. The walls had ears here and he didn’t want this - whatever it was - to end up on the front page of the Sun in the morning. She nodded but didn’t say anything as he fiddled with the key. She was so close. He could feel her next to him and it affected him the way it always did. He wanted to touch her, to pull her into his arms, to kiss her, to ask her to hold him and let him cry over all that had happened.

But he couldn’t. That wasn’t who she was to him anymore. He didn’t know why she was here. And seeing her again felt like having his heart broken all over again. He couldn’t handle it anymore. It had been too much pain. Between her and Milah's memory he'd suffered more pain than any man should have to take in a lifetime, let alone in a few months. So he took a page out of her book - he got angry, he put his own walls up. Angry was safe and it hurt a hell of a lot less to look at her from behind the glass around his heart.

She followed him wordlessly into the flat, into the kitchen where she dropped her bag on the floor. He opened the fridge, really wishing he could have a beer right now - or some rum, rum was always best. He clenched his fist and tried to calm it before pulling out two water bottles - a poor substitute - and handing one to her. She took it hesitantly, standing on the opposite side of the island from him. She only stared at him as they both didn’t drink and finally he couldn’t take it anymore and he spread his hands on the counter, hung his head as his knuckles turned white.

“Why are you here?” he asked, not able to look at her, not wanting to see the expressions play out on the face that he loved, the one that drew him in so easily. She left. She left, he repeated to himself. She didn’t answer at first and he was forced to look at her.

“I came for you,” she said and he wanted to laugh. Now? Now she came for him?

“Why?” he asked again and he saw it this time when the doubt flashed in her eyes. She took a deep, steadying breath and reached out her hand, placing it over his own. His own breath caught in his throat, her touch feeling like it was searing through his skin.

“You know why,” she said and it made his blood boil. He ripped his hand away.

“No, Emma, I don’t,” he snapped and saw the shock on her face. “I don’t bloody know why you’re here. You left me in that bar two months ago. You just left and then I never saw you again. You ignored me for weeks. After -” the words got stuck. “After everything that happened between us. You changed your mind and you just - god, you just fucking abandoned me there, didn’t you?” He saw the hurt in her eyes and it egged him on. Good. It was about time she hurt too, after everything she’d put him through. “My life has been hell, Emma, and right now I’m too tired to try and figure out what you’re doing here so please tell me or just leave.”

“I -” she started and he fought the guilt he felt at the way her eyes cast down, the way her shoulders slumped. She’d made this decision. Not him. Yes, he’d come back to London, but she’d chosen not to come with him, had walked away the second he told her his plans. She’d ignored him. That hurt the most. “I’m sorry,” was all she said.

“Well, that’s great, you’re sorry. You didn’t have to fly all the way across the world just to tell me that.” He saw her hesitate and it made him stop. There was something in her expression that made him think that wasn’t all she’d come to say.

She was looking at him like… like she’d looked at him that morning in his hotel room, the morning she said she wanted to try. He hated the way his heart raced in his chest, the way hope swelled there even after all she’d done.

“What did you come here to say, Emma?” he asked, his tone softer now than it had been a moment ago, but his shoulders were still tense, he still held himself back from her, on edge and afraid of the havoc he knew she could reap on his heart.

“That I-” she started quickly, rashly but she stopped and he saw the way her walls slammed up, holding her back. He hung his head. She couldn’t say it. She’d never been able to say it and she probably never would. What did she want from him? To come back and let him be her dirty little secret again? Because that’s what he’d been. She’d used him and he’d let her and then the second they even thought about being more, she’d looked for an excuse to run and she’d found one.

“Just go,” he said, his tone defeated. “Please.”

“Killian..”

“Please,” he repeated. “I appreciate you coming here and saying you’re sorry. But Emma, I can’t sit here and wait for you to be able to tell me how you feel, for you to decide that you want this to be real. Because I don’t even think you know if you do. I waited for you while you protected yourself, but I think now it’s time for me to protect myself. So please, just go,” he said.

He couldn’t look at her so he didn’t see the look on her face when she stepped back, when she picked up her bag and she walked out of the flat. He stood there for a long time after she’d left. And the longer he did the angrier he became. But not at her. At himself.

He’d accused her of not being able to admit how she felt, and maybe she hadn’t but he’d forgotten one, fundamental thing about Emma… She didn’t use words to express her feelings - she never had. Even with Ruby and Mary Margaret he rarely heard her admit how much she cared about them but she showed it with gestures, with thoughtful gifts and physical touch and by going out of her way sometimes or doing things she didn’t like just to make them happy.

He thought about the first time she’d showed him she cared, when they’d made love in that hotel room the night of Liam’s birthday, when she’d smiled at him at breakfast. He remembered how she’d struggled to tell him she liked him in the dressing room but he’d believed her because he knew already - because she showed him in her own way, by kissing him in front of their friends and holding his hand as they walked into a crowded party - and then again when they walked into the breakfast room to meet their friends. She’d written music with him, had helped him with his own songs, had let herself be vulnerable with him, let him see her fears and let him in as he helped her write… Even before all of that, she'd held his hand on the plane when he'd been scared, she'd taken him on the ferris wheel and won him that stupid giant bear. All this time, she'd been showing him and he'd been blind to it.

He was an idiot. Emma had flown to London. Yes, it had taken her a while to get here. Yes, she’d doubted him and she’d gotten scared. But she’d flown thousands of miles to come find him, to be with him. Maybe she hadn’t been able to tell him how she felt but in Emma’s language… he was a goddamn idiot. She’d flown to London for him. He didn’t need her to make a confession of love. She already had.

He rushed to the door but he knew it was too late. He ran down the hallway, down the stairs and out onto the street. But she was gone. Fuck. Fuck! He called her phone. It went straight to voicemail. He called Belle, called Liam, neither of them even knew she was coming. He called Ruby and Mary Margaret and David and Graham. Nobody knew where she was staying. The trip hadn’t exactly been planned ahead of time, Ruby pointed out. They promised to try to reach her but that she’d told them her phone was dying when she called to tell them she landed an hour ago.

He walked around town aimlessly, his heart racing every time he saw a blonde woman only to be dismayed when it wasn’t her. How many goddamn blondes were there in this city? He got a call from Ruby a little later telling him she’d spoken to her and that she was staying in a hostel in the city. She gave him the name. Said she’d told Emma he was looking for her.

He ran there. Not caring about the weird looks he got for running through the streets of London in jeans and a leather jacket. He was an idiot. He just had to hope that he hadn’t screwed it up so badly that he couldn’t fix it.

He got to the hostel and asked about her. The guy at the counter refused to tell him anything, something about customer safety which, yes, he understood that made sense but it really didn’t help him in his current predicament. He tried to bargain with the guy, tried to plead his case, but he wouldn’t budge.

He sighed, finding an armchair in the lounge and collapsing in it, his head falling into his hands.

“Hey, man,” a woman said and he turned to look at her. She was a young Asian woman, probably a few years younger than him with her hair in boxing braids. She had an American accent and a giant backpack at her feet. He raised a brow at her. “That girl you’re looking for. She about yea-high, blonde, total knockout?” she asked, holding her hand up beside her.

“Aye,” he said, hesitant but hope sparking in his chest. “Have you seen her?” he asked almost desperately.

“That depends,” the woman crossed her arms, looking impressively threatening for her age and size. “Did you hurt her?”

“No!” he answered quickly, then hesitated. “Well, not physically. But I did hurt her - that’s why I’m looking for her.”

“Are you gonna hurt her again?” she asked, raising a brow in a way that mirrored his signature move.

“I bloody hope not,” he said with a sigh. “Please, I’m just trying to make amends. I was an idiot and a tosser and I’m hoping she’ll forgive me, but I can’t ask her to if I never see her again.” The woman looked him over once with a little more judgement in her expression than Killian was really comfortable with. Then she smiled slightly, more of a smirk really.

“I always like a man who can admit he’s an idiot,” she said. “She was looking for some bar,” she continued, pulling out her phone. “The one from this video,” she turned the screen so he could see it and his heart pounded against his ribs. “I told her it’s-”

“That’s okay,” he said, standing. “I know where it is.”

She looked at him strangely before glancing down at the video again. “Oh hey, is that you?” she asked with genuine surprise.

“Aye,” he said. “Thank you…”

“Mulan,” she supplied. “I hope you find her.”

“Me too,” he admitted. As he left he heard her call out behind him.

“When you find her, tell her the whole you’re an idiot thing! You’d be surprised! It goes a long way!” He felt the smile tugging at his lips.

He walked into the bar. He knew it well, it was familiar territory for him. It was a little dingy, the drinks were cheap and carding wasn’t really a thing. Neither was cutting people off which was why it had been one of his favorite places when he was younger, and when he was a drunk. But he’d come back to it recently because it was familiar, because it was one of the first places he and Liam and Graham had played in (before they’d met David). And, because it had open mic nearly every night which meant he could just go up there when he needed a break from the real world, when he needed to let himself get lost in music for a bit.

He’d been on that stage most nights this week. The owner hadn’t complained, he’d actually brought in business now that word had gotten out that one of the Jones brothers was playing there. He was starting to think he’d have to find a new place soon. The point was to blow off steam and feel like a human being again, not to be hounded by people who wanted pictures with him and women who wanted to take him home.

He’d almost accepted a few of those offers in the first few weeks after he got here, after the preparation for the trial started and missing Emma became unbearable. But he hadn’t. One vice just led to another and it wasn’t a path he wanted to go down. And he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He might have thought that Emma had left him but he couldn’t even imagine sleeping with another woman now that he’d known her. It felt wrong. Like a betrayal, despite everything. And he knew it would only leave him empty.

He made his way inside, finding a table near the door so that he could see her if she walked in. He cast a glance around the room but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. That was alright. He would wait. He would wait here until she came in, and if she didn’t come in then he would go back to her hostel and wait there, and if he didn’t find her there then he would bloody fly back to New York and tell her he was an idiot in America.

He had only been sitting there for a little while, drinking a rumless coke when he saw her, not at the door, but getting up on stage, borrowed guitar in hand by the looks of it. He sat up straighter, his heart racing in his chest as she settled on the stool and looked up, right at him. She didn’t look surprised. A small, hesitant smile crossed her face, despite the anxiety and the fear on it.

His heart felt like it was going to beat right out of his body at this point. Had she known he would come here? Ruby had told her he was looking for her, she’d come to the bar he played in. She’d gone on stage just minutes after he arrived. She’d expected him. Only now he had no idea what to expect. Would she be angry, hurt, had he broken this beyond repair?

“Hi,” she said into the mic and a couple of heads glanced up to look at her. He was fixated. She wasn’t looking at him, her gaze moving around the room uncomfortably. “Um, so,” she hesitated in that way she always did when she was nervous, when she had to voice her feelings. “Someone accused me today of not being able to admit how I feel... And that’s actually pretty true. I’m really shitty at talking about feelings - I’m shitty at feeling them honestly. But, this person helped me with that, with a lot of stuff.”

Killian heard a whispered “Is that Emma Swan?” as more people gave her their attention.

“I was always really afraid of love because it’s only ever hurt. So I put up some walls to keep it out. But I don’t want to keep it out anymore.” She finally looked at him and he felt her gaze in his chest, in his gut, in his heart. He smiled at her, a little, nervous, hopeful thing, and she continued. “I fucked up. I really fucked up and I’m just hoping that you can forgive me and that some part of you still feels the way you did two months ago in that hotel room because…” she hesitated, looking down before lifting her eyes back to his. “Because I love you.”

Killian sat there, awestruck and slack jawed. She loved him. She loved him and she’d said it - in front of all these people, in front of all the cameras that had come out when she’d started speaking. His whole body felt numb, like he had no control of his limbs or his fingers. But then she started playing and the song, the lyrics, the memories rushed into his bones and his skin and his blood, filling him and bringing him back to life, to her. To Emma.

“Oh don’t you dare look back, just keep your eyes on me. I said you’re holding back. She said shut up and dance with me.”

He stood, walking across the bar like a sailor drawn to a siren. He didn’t care about the whispers in the room, people recognizing him, the people filming and taking pictures and gossiping. All he could think of was her and the stupid, ecstatic smile on his face, making his cheeks hurt. As he got closer her own smile grew, doubt melting away in her eyes and replaced with an expression he’d seen there so many times before but hadn’t recognized, love. She loved him.

He hopped up on stage, not caring that he was cutting off her song and she barely had time to stand before he caught her face in his hands and kissed her hard and long to the soundtrack of cheers from the bar patrons. He felt her arms slide up his chest, felt her hands grab hold of the lapels of his jacket as her lips curled against his own, laughter bubbling out of her as he kissed her the way he’d wanted to for months. He’d missed her so damn much and now she was here in his arms and she loved him and he was never going to let her go again.

They pulled apart when a wolf whistle cut through the air, making them laugh. Killian looked down at her, into her eyes that were shiny with happiness and with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said and he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. I was an idiot.”

She shook her head this time. “I love you,” she said again and he felt it fill his entire body.

“I know,” he smiled at her, at the way she rolled her eyes and smacked his chest in annoyance, trying to pull away despite the way her lips turned up. He held her fast, bringing those rolling eyes back to his. “I love you,” he told her and it felt like heaven to finally get to say those words, to finally say it out loud. She smiled, took hold of his hand that was still cupping her cheek, kissed his palm and he felt her love, words or not.

“I know,” she teased and he smiled. Because she did know. She’d known for a long time, she’d been able to read him like an open book from the beginning. He’d just taken a little longer to understand that she’d been right there with him all along.

He glanced around the room, hearing the people who were still excitedly going on about them, some of them knowing who they were, some not but caught up in the moment. He looked back at her, a little worried, knowing she liked her private life private, that that wouldn’t be an option with him.

“You sure about this, Swan?” he questioned. “I don’t think we’ll be able to hide this from the rest of the world.”

She didn’t say anything, she just kissed him again in front of a couple dozen screaming fans. He pulled her into his arms. Trial be damned, distance and time be damned, five years and running and pain and whatever else was to come be damned. He loved her and she loved him and finally, after all this time, he didn’t need to doubt it anymore. He didn’t need to doubt anything anymore. Because he knew now that he would be okay. He had her. Everything else just faded away.

#cs fanfiction #captain swan fanfiction #of cars and bars #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs angst #captain swan angst #captain swan smut #cs smut #cs au #captain swan au

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pardonmymannerssir · 6 years ago

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Prompt: Non rebellion A.U.- Daenerys wants out of her betrothal to her nephew Jon so she plays match maker and steps him up with Sansa Stark.

*Spongebob narrator voice* Two years later…

(Think I’m going to make this a little Tumblr series; consider this part one)

The day Sansa Stark arrives at court to serve as her lady’s maid is the day Daenerys Targaryen recognizes the true face of her salvation.

The Stark girl is escorted by one of the younger Stark sons, both having been sent to court under the pretense of strengthening ties between the North and South, but in truth, they are little more than prisoners. Collateral. A means by which her father hopes to collar Eddard Stark, the infamous Warden in the North who is rumored to be gathering support if not to despot her father, then at the very least to claim the North as an independent kingdom. Dany thinks it is a pointless effort; the longer her father remains alive, the more likely all out rebellion becomes, and long past are the days in which her family might have used dragons to force men to bend the knee.

But that is not what Daenerys is thinking of as the pretty Stark girl nervously approaches the throne. No, she is watching her nephew’s star-struck face and seeing, for the first time, a clear path to freedom. Her freedom.

She almost forgets her father’s presence entirely until he begins to cackle, the sound rasping and broken, echoing through the otherwise silent the hall. Dany flinches from the sound and her eldest brother grimaces; Viserys is near on drunk and is hardly paying any attention at all. Much of the court had gathered to see the Northern captives, but most of them hid carefully in the shadows, hoping to stay out of view and thus beyond notice. Jon is still staring as if he’s seen the sun for the first time, and hardly seems to notice anything or anyone else exists. Dany prays his reaction is not merely because he’s never met another member of his mother’s family -since the near rebellion seventeen years ago the Northern lords had given the Red Keep a wide berth, including his Uncle, Eddard Stark.

The two Stark children kneel, heads bowed, and Lady Sansa’s hair gleams like fire in the bare sunlight that filters through the dusty windows behind the throne. Her gown is simple but well made and clearly expensive, though it is in the fashion of the previous season -one could not expect the Northernmost Houses to keep up with frivolous court fashions, Dany supposes- but it is a pretty blue that compliments her skin and large eyes.

“A beautiful Northern flower, who no doubt smells of fish,” her father hisses, rising unsteadily to his feet. A cut appears on his forearm, overlapping the other scars and scabs on his frail, papery flesh from decades of similar injuries inflicted by his own throne. The dark, thick blood trickles down his arm, but he does not appear to notice. He passes near Dany and she nearly gags at the smell of him. Even after all these years, she has not grown used to his scent or perpetual nastiness. She prays the Stark girl is strong enough to bear what is to come, not only for her own sake but for the sake of the plan forming rapidly in Daenerys’s mind.

“Still,” the king says, his long, matted beard and hair sweeping across the stones. “You are a lovely thing, aren’t you?” He lifts the Lady Sansa’s chin, made all the more awkward by his long, yellow nails and trembling hands.

Dany holds her breath, leaning around her father’s bent profile, and is filled with relief when Sansa Stark smiles prettily and flushes, ducking her head like a virginal maid. Either she is a fool, Dany thinks, or she is an excellent actress; she prays fervently that it is the latter.

“I-it is an honor to be at Court, Your Grace,” Lady Sansa says, her voice sweet and clear.

The king hums genially and strokes the girl’s face with one gnarled knuckle, only barely managing not to smudge her face with blood. Dany does not think she imagines the flash of disgust in the girl’s pretty blue eyes before she closes them, remaining motionless on her knees. Her brother tenses beside her, but keeps his head dutifully bowed.

Rhaegar comes to the girl’s rescue, stepping forward and clearing his throat. Dany tenses; her brother risks much. “Your Grace, surely Lady Sansa and Lord Brandon are weary from their travels and would appreciate a chance to rest.”

The king’s hand falls away and his head snaps back toward his eldest son and heir, eyes flashing with madness and ire. The entire court seems to be holding its breath. But Aerys is not the king he once was, and while he is certainly mad and dangerous, he is not without some sense; should he truly lash out at Rhaegar, he would quickly no longer have even the illusion of a throne.

“Of course,” he croons at the Stark girl, his mood as mutable as ever. “We will have plenty of time to enjoy our new guests.”

“Perhaps Jon might escort them, they are, after all, his family,” Rhaegar presses.

Dany closes her eyes, silently cursing him. He should not press; they live on the edge of a knife.

Aerys tenses, his foul gaze turning toward Jon, who has, thankfully returned to his senses and is no longer looking at the Stark girl as though she’d hung the moon and stars. He appears bored and disinterested, glancing up from his boots as though only just realizing he’s the topic of conversation.

The king’s eyes narrow dangerously. “Very well,” he says at last. “Settle in our guests but do not bother them with your dull presence overly long, bastard.” Jon is legitimate, of course -Rhaegar had married Lyanna Stark, no matter what Robert Baratheon had once claimed- but her father had never acknowledged him as such.

Jon bows dutifully and descends the few steps to greet his cousins with the barest hint of a smile and a proffered arm. Dany does not think she imagines the color high in his cheeks as Sansa Stark gracefully places her arm atop his.

As the three of them pace down the silent hall, Dany glances toward her eldest brother -Viserys apparently completely entranced by his wine glass- who meets her eye. Between them, a plan begins to form, and Dany cannot quite keep the smile from curling around her lips.

Soon, she thinks, eyes tracking the brilliant fire of Sansa Stark’s hair, my father will be dead and I will be free.

#jonsa #jon snow #jon x sansa #jon/sansa #jonsafic #game of thrones #game of thrones fic #jonsa fic #jonsansafic #jonsa fanfiction #got #Sansa Stark #I'd tag other characters but I'm gonna avoid that shipping bs #non rebellion au #rhaegar x lyanna #Rhaegar lives AU

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purplesurveys · 5 years ago

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713

Have you ever read the Hunger Games series? Nah, that was put out when I started to not read anymore. I did see the first movie though since it was always being aired on TV. When was the last time you ran into something? Haven’t been doing a lot of running these days being stuck at home... but uh probably my dog? He’s always scattered in the most random spaces around the house, it’s so easy to literally stumble upon him. Do you enjoy dressing up? I don’t get to do it a lot but yeah sure. Do you live in the city or a rural area? I live in an urban area. Rizal is technically a province but it has some urban, more city-like parts – I live in one of them. The way provinces are in the country is generally nice for staycations but I can’t see myself living in them for good; there’s hardly any phone signal, they have none of the stuff I’m used to having in the city like malls and coffee shops, and there’s much less coverage for internet connection. Would you say you have a sense of style? Pretty much. I think it’s distinguishable enough that people can pick clothes they think I’d like off a rack.

What's your biggest fear? Cockroaches, failing, being publicly humiliated. Have you ever been bitten by a wild animal? Nope. Add that into one of my biggest fears. Are you close to any of your cousins? I’m closest to my Kuya, the eldest cousin on my mom’s side. I used to be close with my cousins on my dad’s side but since we’ve always lived far from each other we ended up getting awkward when we were teenagers and we haven’t moved past from that ever since. All my other cousins are too young for me to be close to. Have you ever been lost in the woods? Nope. Where did you last travel? I think my last out-of-town trip was when I went to Nasugbu with my friends as a last hurrah before the semester started last August. Do you enjoy driving? I would enjoy it more if traffic wasn’t so congested all the time, but generally I prefer knowing how to drive than not at all. I find it really convenient and I like being able to move at my own time, at my own pace. What song did you last listen to? Hahahaha don’t even be surprised anymore – it’s lofi city up in here, dude. If you have a job, how often do you work? What time do you normally go to sleep at night? These days, very late; my body clock has been beaten up bad (by me, lmao) in the last month. I’d normally turn in from 2-4 AM. Do you watch a lot of movies? I used to. Watching new movies was all I ever did circa 2014-2016, but life got a bit more hectic and my time for watching movies waned until I was never able to get back to my old routine and I just stopped watching altogether. These days I’m only able to watch new films if Gab asks me to tag along with her, like what happened with Midsommar, Knives Out, and Portrait of a Lady on Fire. Do you like Tom Petty? I only know him by name. I don’t have an opinion. Would you rather have snow or rain? I mean I’m just stuck with one of the choices anyway, so rain it is. Do you own a lot of sweaters? Nah I own zero. The only one I have belongs to my girlfriend. Have you ever tried rock-climbing? I’ve tried mini rock-climbing walls, but nothing too high or that required me to put on a helmet and harness. Ever ridden in a police car? Nope. Favorite decade of music? Idk I’ll have to go with the most recent one, 2010s. It was a period when I got old enough to 1) connect with the music coming out and 2) discern what to me sounds good and what doesn’t, and it was also a time where I got to establish what my general music tastes are. The 2000s to me mostly offers nostalgia but nothing outstanding, and I feel too detached from the other past decades for them to be my favorite. Have any of your best friends been your best friend longer than a year? I’ve had best friends I’ve kept for 15 years and 8 years. Ever witnessed a murder? No, but I came so close. One of our first news assignments was to cover a crime story, so on the first night a friend and I spent the night over at a local police station to wait for leads. There wasn’t any and on the second night, another pair of groupmates were tasked to wait at the same station to wait for reports – they were the pair that got a tip and they got to see a fresh crime scene :( which I know should be nothing to be envious of sksksk but still. If I remember correctly it was a stabbing incident and someone did die from it. Do you care what people think of you? I try not to but some opinions that reach me will still get to me, especially on rougher days. Does your room have a ceiling fan? No, just a standing electric fan. Would you consider yourself poised? Eh, it’s not the first word I’d use to describe me. If I’m feeling antsy you’d know it, because I would show it. Have you ever tried blogging? I have tried blogging, as early as when I was 10. I mainly used Blogspot as a diary, but it didn’t last long because 10 year old me just couldn’t keep the blog up and running. I discovered Tumblr when I was 11 and since then it’s been my main website for if I wanna blog (or in this case, microblog) about my interests. Favorite television channel? I haven’t watched TV in a looooooooong while. Have you ever lied under oath? I’ve never had to be under oath. What are your religious views? None. Are you a romantic person? Yeah but mostly in secret; I don’t like being too public when it comes to being expressive. Like I’d swat my girlfriend’s face away if she tries to kiss me in public lmaooooo but when it’s just the two of us I’ve gotten her love language down to a T and I know exactly what to do to make her feel loved. When did you last change your bed sheets? A few weeks ago. My eye started getting irritated whenever I was anywhere near my bed, so I chalked it up to having sheets that needed to be changed. Would you consider yourself a flirt? That would be the literal last thing to describe me. At what age do you plan to be married? Somewhere between 27-29. Do you eat a lot of junk food? Meh not really these days. I’m old enough to start feeling how unhealthy they are whenever I eat them and they no longer feel filling to the stomach either. When did you last go on vacation? Half a year ago. We haven’t been able to go on vacations this year because of coronavirus obviously, so our last trips have been on my dad’s last break at home. Are you resilient? I’d like to think so. I’ve been through so much shit and of varying degrees all my life but I’m still stubbornly here. Have you ever failed a subject before? I’ve never failed an entire class but I’ve failed exams, mostly math-related ones. If so, what was the class? My first failed class was math in Grade 4 (which was when we started learning super super super basic algebra), then I failed a number of algebra exams in 1st year, and then advanced algebra and geometry, and I think even chemistry and calculus, as the years went on. Do you wear more bright or dull colors? I used to wear duller colors, but I’ve recently been so bored with how my wardrobe has been mostly black and white throughout my stay in college that I started to make an effort to buy more colorful stuff so I can look livelier. Do you know anyone who has attempted suicide? I know a number of people. What's your favorite quote? I don’t really have one but one of my favorite movie lines is “How you like them apples?” from Good Will Hunting, if that counts. Would you consider yourself mature? Sure. I like taking on a motherly role in all my friend groups. How many clocks are in your house? I only regularly encounter the one in our dining area but I dunno if any of the bedrooms have clocks as well. Do you play any sports? Table tennis. What is your biggest life regret? Eh I say this a lot but only because it’s my one big regret – I wish I didn’t have such a hard time adjusting and spend so much time wallowing in self-pity in my first year (and part of my second year) of college. I spent all my days crying in my car because I had nowhere to hang and no one to talk to, and I was feeling worse by the fact that everyone else seemed to settle in with ease. I wish I had just said ‘fuck it’ earlier and just joined orgs and talked to people. Now I don’t really get to say that my entire college experience had been one of a kind, because I was mostly only trying to keep myself alive for nearly the first half of it. Have you ever been injured in a car accident? Nah not injured, but I’ve been caught in a couple of accidents. If you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would you be? I would love to be in a Tim Hortons right now, studying while having their coffee and one of their wraps. Have you ever had highlights in your hair? Never. I’m not allowed to, which is fine because I stopped wanting to dye my hair. Favorite fast food restaurant? KFC has the best fast food but not the best restaurant. I don’t think I enjoy eating at any of the fast food restaurants we have because they all smell like a bunch of people have come and gone in the place D: In what country were you born? Philippines. Born and raised. Are your eyes more than one color? Nope. Have you ever caught something on fire? No but I’ve seen someone else get something on fire – back in Grade 4, my science teacher was showing us how a Bunsen burner works and a classmate (and tbh the class troublemaker) named Kressel tipped it over while the teacher wasn’t looking. We were too young to know what to do about it – and we were also all panicking on the inside and none of us could move – so we just watched part of the table getting burned away. What would you consider your biggest flaw? I’m very sensitive and I take a lot of things personally. What do you think your best quality is? Kinda conneected to that. I can read people quite well and can tell when they’re feeling too sensitive, if a joke has gotten too far for them, or if they’re starting to feel uncomfortable in a group setting. Do you enjoy listening to others' problems? *Enjoy* might not be the right word for it – I don’t derive pleasure out of hearing the things making my friends stressed out. I do like being the person they turn to; I like knowing they trust me.

Do you keep any plants in your house? My parents do. Sometimes they’ll ask me to water them, but I don’t claim any of the plants as mine. What is your mother's occupation? She’s confidential secretary to one of the higher-ups in her workplace. Do any of your friends like your musical style? I’m not the first person they’d go to to ask for song recommendations. My taste is admittedly a bit blah and basic, so I don’t blame them haha. What are you most looking forward to? I wanna say this quarantine ending, but I know resuming life in the real world would also be making me anxious when the time comes. I guess I’m most excited for seeing Gabie again, because I haven’t seen March 7th. What was your favorite television show as a child? My first favorite show ever that I was also super attached to was Hi-5 with the original cast – this was for kindergarten days. When I got a bit older I loved Spongebob, then when I got even a bit older than that I started liking Drake and Josh, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, That’s So Raven, and Hannah Montana. My first favorite that didn’t come from a kids’ channel was probs Breaking Bad. Are you afraid of insects? Yeah, most of them. Are you cold-natured? Idk if this wants to ask me if I’m snobbish or if I get cold too quickly, but I’m gonna go right ahead and say I can be a bit of both. How old were you when you got your first pet? I was 5 or 6 when I got my first few goldfish. Our house back then was very crowded and wouldn’t have been conducive to pets that would walk around, plus I had never owned pets before, so my parents thought it would be best for me to start off with fish. Did you / do you enjoy high school? It was okay for the latter half. What would you say was your favorite age? 16, which also happened to be the start of the second half of high school. There wasn’t a single low point that year and I had great friends, great grades, and an overall great time in junior year. What annoys you most about social networking? Ehh there are different annoying things for each of the big social media sites. Twitter sucks for its cancel/public shaming culture; Facebook suffers from fake news and troll armies, and conservative relatives are often there to gossip about your posts or your stances (at least for us Asians, idk if family in other cultures can be just as nosey); and Instagram is just unbelievably fake to me that I’ve never even tried joining there to socialize.

Are you the center of attention most of the time? No. Whenever I feel like I am I always shift the spotlight to someone else. What are you currently reading? I’m not reading anything at the moment. When did you last go to the library? At the start of the year, when I had to borrow a book for my Rizal class. Are you ill at the moment? Nope, and remaining not ill would be the best situation for now given the current circumstances. Do people tease you about anything? My friends know I’m a little sensitive so they’re careful about making me the butt of their jokes for too long, but I do get teased for my lack of street smarts which I’m fine with because it’s true hahahahahaha. How late did you stay up last night and why? Not too late considering how late I stay up these days – just around midnight. My left eye acted up again, was tearing up like crazy, and I could barely open it without starting to feel pain so I just went ahead and got some sleep. Have you ever written poetry? Only when we had to in English classes or if we had to submit entries for my org’s literary folio. I’ve never voluntarily written poems. Curtains or shades? Shades. How many people have you spoken to in the last hour? Six, I think? - my dad, sister, cousin, Gab, Andrew, and Angela. Do you tend to text a lot? These days no because I haven’t had (and needed) cellphone load in the last month lmao. Normally though I do. Ever lost a great best friend? Yeah. Sofie and I drifted apart when we started college and the time apart made me realize that we simply had two entirely different personalities and there was no way we would have kept up the friendship considering how far we would be from each other once college started. But it was a nice couple of years that we had being best friends and I don’t regret the antics we got into together. What is your favorite kind of flower? Peonieeeeees my god his question is everywhere. Do you own any guns? No, and I can tell you people where I’m from generally find America’s gun fixation really weird. What would you say is your favorite book of all-time? I think it’d be unfair to tag something as all-time favorite when I haven’t read enough books... but I remember really enjoying Without Seeing the Dawn by Stevan Javellana. Never mind the fact that it was required reading for school; I genuinely loved the whole book and ate it up pretty quickly. Do you think you're living a good life? I guess, but I’d much rather call it ‘fortunate.’ What's your least favorite part of the day? On a normal schedule that would be once my alarm hits and I know I have to get out of bed and anticipate the traffic I’ll be stuck in.

Are you an over-achiever? Not in the sense that I like joining competitions and winning every single one of them, but I like calling dibs on a lot of tasks no matter how booked I am, and even doing the tasks of others if I sense that they’re not moving. Have you ever won an award for a speech? I haven’t, but I’ve been in a public speaking competition. I let my anxiety get the best of me that day and I ended up rambling midway into my speech, so now thinking about it is something that makes me wince these days because I know I could have done a lot better. Do you tend to curse a lot? Not as much as when I was a teenager but I’ll still slip some shits and fucks in my sentences every now and then. Have you ever played on the Ouija board? No. And I think that if it does happen, as much as I love the concept of Ouija boards, I’ll be too scared to join the session haha. Do you sleepwalk? Nope. Have you ever slept on the floor before? I’ve never slept on the FLOOR floor. I’ve slept on floors but there was always a mattress to lie on to feel comfortable, ya feel. Are you a fan of public displays of affection? It’s easy not to mind simple acts like holding hands or forehead kisses, but it can get uncomfortable if a couple is clearly in the moment and is like literally making out on the escalator or talking like babies to one another but loud enough for others to hear. Either way though I wouldn’t call myself an active fan. When did you last attend a yard sale? Idk dude, 12 years ago I’d say. Do you wish your life were simpler or more interesting? More interesting. What goals do you wish to accomplish tomorrow? None. I just want to care for myself these days dude. And remind myself that it’s okay to not feel like being productive. When is your birthday? Exactly a week from now – April 21st. Which is worse: going blind or deaf? Blind for me. There’s a lot of stuff and places I have yet to see and new experiences that I wanna be able to digest by seeing them, like getting to the top of a mountain or seeing my future kid. What was the best part of today? Eh, today’s been uneventful at best. Do you attempt to stay away from drama? I don’t want to be the subject of drama but if there’s drama involving other people and my friends got a hold of it, I would honestly find it hard to ignore it. What liquid did you last drink? Water. Do you ever prefer to be alone? I have moods where I’d want to be alone, but it doesn’t happen all the time. I still like being around people because it keeps me from being alone with my thoughts. Have you ever had a deadly animal as a pet? No. Favorite Disney movie? Toy Story. Tangled comes at a verrrrrrrrrry close second. Have you ever been to the beach? Yes. I think since 2009 we’ve been going to the beach at least once a year. If you have, how many times have you been? ^ Considering that estimation I’ve been to the beach a minimum 11 times, but it’s definitely a lot more than that since there’ve been times where we went to beaches multiple times in a single year. What was your dream occupation at age ten? I wanted to be an author then. Are you terrified at the idea of weight-gain? No. I’m a little underweight so I'm okay with welcoming a few extra pounds. Do you drink a lot of water? I don’t take eight glasses a day but I still drink relatively more than my friends and relatives do, who seem to like iced tea and soda more. Does your room have carpet or hard-wood floors? Hardwood, as with most (maybe even all) Filipino houses. Do you take naps daily? No, not daily. I probably take 3-4 afternoon naps every week.

Who were you named after? My parents say I was named after the Swedish singer Robyn, but they also tell me a conflicting story in that they just liked how the name sounds and went with it. Do you plan on traveling this spring or summer? In the current state of the world? No can do chief. I wanna be able to travel once this shitstorm is over though. Do you know anyone who is colorblind? I don’t think so. Have you ever been a teacher's pet? For some classes, but they’ve been very few and far between. I don’t consciously make myself the teacher’s pet in all my classes. What is your absolute favorite hobby? Eating out/trying new food! How many times a day do you brush your teeth? Once or twice. Ever been to a tanning bed before? I have not. I don’t need to. Are you satisfied with your financial stability? I don’t even have finances sksksksksksksks Who is your favorite actor / actress? Kate Winslet. Are your nails painted? Nope. What's the meanest thing you've ever said to someone? I make it a point not to say mean things to anyone because words stick. I learned that from a young age which, aside from how fucked up that is, is still a good thing, because it taught me early on to be careful with my anger. Do you ever accidentally talk to inanimate objects? I don’t do it accidentally lmao I just apologize to most of the objects I bump into. What's your favorite flavor of ice cream? Cookies and cream. Have you ever kissed someone of the same gender? Regularly. Do you receive any hate mail? No but that’s because I actively avoid having outlets for that. Anonymous hate would only make me paranoid and will probs drive me madly insecure in the wrong run. Have you ever sent a letter in the mail? Nope. If you could, would you have a pen pal? Meh, I’ll pass. I find instant messaging a lot more convenient and I doubt I’d have the patience for keeping a pen pal. What color are the pants you're wearing? I have brown shorts, not pants. Have you ever had a stalker? Nope. What is your life philosophy? You don’t have to be blood to be family. Who last sent you a goodnight text message? Gabie. Do you own any clothes that are your favorite color? Very few, because pink actually doesn’t suit me. Have you ever been in a hot tub before? Sure. What's your favorite comedy movie? White Chicks. In which year were you born? 1998.

#survey #surveys

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