#me having used tumblr for half a fucking decade as of two months ago

[achillesmage]

someone's gotta get me a better icon.

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: I may be losing Internet Access soon

If it isn't one thing, it's another.

I am getting an error on reboot that wants me to scan the laptop. The computer complete freezes at the hardrive immanent failure message. I've no clue how to get it fixed or even checked as all the places I know that used to do it died long ago. I can reboot and go the skip scan route, but it doesn't make immanent failure of my hard drive disappear just because I'm not looking at it.

Klaus laptop's been a bit buggy the last couple of weeks, so I've been quietly backing up a few things just in case.

I was given an ancient chromebook when Aidan laptop died, but I haven't been able to boot it up in a couple of months. I can try tinkering a little in case it's sometthing obvious, but it was super limitted and can't handle even a fraction of what I do in a night.

Most of the money I was gifted at the turning of the year is spent on glasses. (Medicare buys frames, but not things like bifocals, scratch resistance and ultra lights, which I need. They literally do not make my perscription without ultra-lights and bifocals are essential at this point.) I will not rehash the December emergancy eye saga, but I needed the glasses and they are already ordered and half paid for. The rest is earmarked for things like the car tax, insurance auto-withdraw, bills. i have a little wiggle room but not much.

I have been promised housing tax money for next month. It will take most of what is coming. I would have to spend all of that and then some for a replacement lap top that could do the job. I really need something in Aidan laptop's class or better. Poor Klaus from the same company, but is smaller with less memory and older than aidan was. He's been limping along since Tavy broke Aiden.

I don't see a solution other than continueing on until complete failure unless someone can suggest a solution to hard drive failure. I likely won't even be able to borrow Squirrel's computer as I did more than half a decade ago when… Was it Charles lap top or Rupert laptop that failed? Squirrel used to work nights, so I could use their computer in a limitted way in their absense. They now work a lot less, days only. I'd only have little bits and pieces of time when they were out.

If I disapear nearly completely, this will be why.

News aggregation will likely come to a hault or near hault depending on available time as it did during the last outage. Tumblr has a bunch of preprogrammed things, and likely I can do some of that in a more limitted fashion as happened last time. It may literally take a few days after I get knocked off for me to have enough access to tell you I'm mostly gone.

I'm sorry in advance.

You've all been superheroes supporting and literally rescuing me through all the emergancies of the last few years as more and more appliances die and i keep getting suprise body blows like the housing threat that happened this Autumn.

You all mean so much to me and it really does matter a lot how many of you play with my silly polls and find my news stuff useful.

If I do lose most of my internet access, I will miss you.

I'll see if I can msnage some sort of bill juggling to make it work somehow.

If you have a line on a free or cheap decent second hand lap top, let me know.

Update about two hours after I wrote this (I was going to post later, but oh well): Functionality is markedly declining very rapidly. I'm going to have to try to bill juggle. Again. Fuck. The last time this happened things went downhill fast once the box hit this point.

[kuwdora]

My brain continues to be waterlogged from burnout/PTSD and late stage capitalism. I either have two speeds: zooming everywhere like I'm golden Sonic and vibrating with New Ideas. Or I'm stuck in molasses and I'm having a hard time following through with my current tasks and responsibilities. It's still an uphill battle navigating the dysregulation and dysfunction since all of this is manifesting slightly differently than what I'm used to dealing with. I was telling a friend the other day that I have a TON of fucking spoons, they're all just melted into the most useless shapes and abstract renderings that kind of hypnotize me. Like...what am I supposed to do with these things? Gonna try to melt them back into a proper shape with habit stacking, accountability and continuing to be gentle to myself in the face of uncertainty and things outside my control. I am doing a lot, even when it doesn't feel that way. Anyway, thank you friends for tagging me in all the fun tag games and sharing pretty pictures or sending me delightful DMs. I have approximately 29 blog posts about all the randomness and fannishness bouncing around in my head that I'll b shoving into my queue. Oh, my queue which is actually almost maxed out because I had gone on a queue-stuffing frenzy in December since I couldn't stand having my drafts folder so large anymore and I've only just been adding since then. And now it's like 900 posts long? So maybe you'll see a random reblog of your post in six to eight months into your future. Sorry? I ought to make some sort of mini "about me" post or something since I'd gotten a lot of new witcher folks followin' me in the last few months. And now all my vidding and multi-fandom friends are tricklin' in over from Twitter. I just have to let you all know that I am so fannishly all over the board with my interests that I will just keep trying to over-tag things for people's filters. I am 1 half witcher fixation, one quarter vidding, one quarter all my other media interests. yeah, yeah, this has been an actual post. what a marvel. I keep telling myself I used to blog more but that was probably like a decade ago now. But the desire is still there. I was more chatty on Twitter in the last few years (until recently). I have more than enough to say about this or that when rolling around in DMs. Just gotta try to let myself noodle in my own tumblr space some more.

[sangsaracycling]

re that last post i rbed (is that dr price on tumblr or like a superfanof his or sth) i almost added this to the tags but then realized not the target audience but

so my mom went into menopause relatively early, like mid-30s early. partially genetics, and partially the stress of immigration two electric boogaloo or whatever. anyway, for the following decade and a half she experienced the symptoms of that in a pretty rough way, most prominently for me the night sweats that stopped her from ever sleeping a significant amount and the erratic mood swings (and i suppose these were prominent for me because i was the household designated stressball and these things made her stressed). and she wouldnt go on any hrt for menopause because she was afraid it would make her gain weight. she would occasionally say it was because of what hrt did to my grandma ie drive her to the verge of sui, but like she was already fucking nuts and also turns out grandma had an untreated thyroid condition which explained the episodes, but like most often she admitted the fear of weight gain. so for like 15 years she avoided The Medical Treatment that would prevent the deep degree of premature aging because god forbid she stop being quite literally clinically underweight. but metabolism eventually catches up so then she developed a bit of an exercise dependency to keep her weight down but then metabolism catches up even more and she stopped having energy to exercise, which is why she started hrt a few months ago and like. suddenly she could sleep through the nights? and she told us "wow i realize now that i havent ever really been sleeping this whole time". which is fascinating because. i know. i wasnt allowed to breathe too loudly while you were supposedly Sleeping because it would supposedly wake you up from the sleep you were totally in. you made your own life hell, which idgaf about, and you more importantly made MY life hell, for which i may never forgive you, because you were scared the medication would make you... not even fat. you were afraid the medication would give you a non-underweight body. even now every other day you call asking for diet tips and asking if you should outright quit the medication that finally allows you to sleep because it made you gain So Much Weight that you now weigh... a bit less than i do. god

anyway its not the same thing as an 18 year old girl refusing to go on E because its gonna make her gain weight but like. i do think fears around medical transition (much in the same ways as fears around menopause treatment in this case) cannot be discussed without also thinking about eating disorders . especially among trans girls.

[cyandreamz]

I have made sideblogs for my ace attorney and sims stuff!

after months of debating myself on if I should or shouldn't make side blogs I have ultimately decided to make two side blogs!

one for ace attorney @cyandreamzaceattorney and the other for the sims @cyandreamzsimblr

I even made some wonderful flower crown edits of my fave from each respective franchise to use as pfp on my blogs! they're free to use btw if you want them cuz they do be silly edits :P

If you're curious to learn more about what I plan on doing with my three blogs I go into more detail under the cut :3

I noticed a few months ago that my non-ace attorney posts did really poorly and while my main goal with tumblr isn't to get a ton of social media clout (If I cared about that I'd used Tik Tok lol), I assume those who follow me for only AA stuff don't care for my non-AA posts and thus ignore them (which is completely fair! please don't feel pressure to interact with anything I share!)

So I considered making side blog for AA posts and one for sims posts, but it took a long time to agree to this idea because I was scared it'd turn my tumblr experience into feeling too much like my instagram experience (TL;DR used insta for over half a decade and hated most years using it, one reason why was the need to segregate my "content" into many blogs), but ultimately I have decided to give it a go as tumblr is very different (and very better imo) to insta and, I'm sure those who only want to see AA or Sims stuff from me will much prefer to follow a blog for just that :P

So now I got a blog for AA which currently has some of my AA posts rebloged to it (didn't feel like rebloging all of them to that blog cuz there is a lot of aa posts I've made lol) but in future I'll post all my AA stuff there first and reblog them to my main blog :P

The sims blog will function the same but for my sims posts, currently I am working on digital art for the sims 2 20th's B-day! hopefully I can finish it in time!

As for my main blog in short it'll definitely be a mess as It'll consist of reblogs from my side blogs and other blogs if I feel like showing off a cool post! But I'll also have it's own stuff as I have made kandi, another zine, done a painting and, part way done some clay charms so all of these things will be post here when I'm next able to post them XD

Thank you for reading my long as fuck blog update :-D

[yelpfic]

2020 Writing (Year in Review)

In 2019, I posted 3K words on AO3.

In 2020, I posted 214K words on AO3.

I have probably written more fic this year than I have in my entire life... and I didn't even start until April.

Since I feel like I'm new to writing all over again (the last time I wrote regularly was probably about a decade ago), this has been a year of experimentation. One obvious change is that I'm writing from this "alt" account, where I've been posting whatever the hell iddy, gratuitous, self-indulgent stories happened to fall out of my brain. (Perhaps as a consequence, I noticed that the ratio of public bookmarks across all my fics clocked in at around 50%. In other words, half the people who bookmarked my works chose to do so privately!)

I also experimented with:

participating in fic exchanges and prompt memes

writing for a variety of fandoms: big and small, new and dead

varying up my writing style: using present and past tenses, ranging from super florid descriptions to conversational prose

self-promotion on Tumblr, which meant attempting to learn how to use it. I'm sure I still don't have all the etiquette down, but no one's complained yet I guess.

My main project this year has been Once a Runner, the fic that got me started writing again, so I owe quite a lot to it. It's also sucked me deep into Eyeshield 21, a fandom that was active 10-15 years ago but still somehow has a few loyal fans. I am deeply grateful to these folks for... well... existing! In addition to OAR, I've written four other ES21 fics this year, each with a different pairing. In all but one fic, I managed to use a different obscure character tag that has never been used before!

This year, I've done a decent job (mostly) working on one big project at a time. I'm starting to get used to the feeling of always having an active writing project again, letting it churn away in my brain in a background process. Sometimes I'm rewarded with a scene or a plot idea that comes out of nowhere, like a plant that produces mysterious fruit - both delightful and worrying at the same time.

I wrap up this year embarking on a new project, Solid as Stone, which, as currently planned, is going to take me even further out of my comfort zone.

AO3 stats and meme responses below the cut.

My AO3 stats at the end of the year:

Meme questions:

Best title: Cloak and Dagger, Cape and Cowl

Worst title: Lightbringer Mine

Longest title: Their offers should not charm us (their evil gifts would harm us) (65 characters)

Shortest title: Talisman (8 characters)

Best first line: "Don't," the witcher's arm shot out, barring his companion mid-step, "touch."

Worst first line: Yeah, in hindsight, Sena shouldn't have answered that doorbell.

Best last line: "It will be done," he agrees, and presses the lilies into her hands. "My promise is solid as stone."

Worst last line: "I can't win or lose until you bring your strain to market. All I ask is that you hurry up and regrow, so we can really compete."

Conclusion: I need to work on endings.

Looking back, did you write more fics than you thought you would this year, less than you thought, or about what you predicted? I wrote more than I could have imagined in my wildest dreams.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted last year? Everything. I wasn't into any of these fandoms last year.

What’s your favorite story this year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you the happiest. OAR, for sure. It got me back into writing, and I devoted an enormous amount of mental energy to it. Runners up (pun intended) were any ES21 rarepair fics where I lamented the lack of content for a pairing I loved, tried to explain everything I loved about them in fic form, and basically turned into my ship manifesto/soapbox. In fic form.

Okay, NOW your most popular story. Solid as Stone. OAR comes close by sole virtue of being a long, multichaptered work posted over 8 months, but with a single chapter of under 3K words, and having been up for under two weeks, SAS is already beating OAR in some statistics. I never realized Genshin Impact was such a hot fandom, even for a rarepair like this.

Story most underappreciated by the universe? All my stories got quite a bit more attention than I expected (thank you, everyone, sincerely), but I'd say Cloak and Dagger, Cape and Cowl. It's original, it was written in an exchange, and it has a decent plot (if I do say so myself) and even a bit of smut. Perhaps F/F work is not so popular?

Story that could have been better? I could probably list multiple things I'd want to improve about each story, but let me just limit myself to one. Lightbringer Mine had more story in it that I didn't get around to telling, and the ending felt a little abrupt. I feel a little awkward extending it now, though, as it was a gift fic.

Saddest story? Hmm, I think just about every story I wrote had a happy-ish ending. I suppose I'll go with C&D,C&C.

Most fun? TBH, the same? There are several lighthearted moments and a heist scene. 

Most fucked-up story? Stars and Stripes Forever (lack of link intentional)

Hardest story to write? Once a Runner

Easiest/most fun story to write? Always Knew I'd Fall. I went skeet shooting once, and as soon as I had the idea that Kid and Hiruma might be good at it, the story basically wrote itself. I also thought the song from the title was too perfect of a Kid song to pass up.

Top five scenes you would like to see illustrated: I would die happy to see any scene from OAR illustrated. Off the top of my head, the Hiruma and Sena bathtub scene, haircutting scene, or Hiruma taunting Monta in the car when we first meet Monta. From other fics, Kid walking around the course with Hiruma and making him carrying his gun properly in "Always Thought I'd Fall", and Sara Spectacular blocking the shadow bolts in "Cloak and Dagger, Cape and Cowl".

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? I experimented with posting explicit works, and as it turns out, sex sells. I also really put my kinks out there (sexual and otherwise) and was surprised and gratified to find others who appreciated it. Conclusion: it's okay to write the fic that you've always wanted to write. Even if it's embarrassing, or if some will judge you for it, writing for likeminded souls makes more sense than writing to avoid critics.

What are your fic writing goals for next year? I have a lot more ideas for SAS, so I'd like to make that my next big project. I'm also signed up for Five Figure Fic Exchange, so that means I have a 10k fic due by the end of the month that I need to... start... Beyond that, I'd like to write more original works, perhaps something that I can even publish under my real name?? Is that crazy, brain??

Some specific things I've struggled with this year that I'd like to improve: titles and character names, physical descriptions, making my endings less abrupt

[purplesurveys]

1180

The last time you washed your hair, did you use conditioner? Yeah, I’m pretty paranoid and always feel the need to use conditioner because of a bad rebonding job from like a decade ago that stiffened up my hair as soon as it would get wet. It lasted for around a year, so I formed the habit of always using conditioner every time I shower. I don’t think I’ve ever used just shampoo since then.

Do you prefer light or dark jeans?  Dark, but I suppose it would be nice to start experimenting with lighter shades as well.

When you listen to music, do you generally sing along, or just listen?  It depends if I know the lyrics or I’m feeling the song at the moment. Obviously with my new obsession with BTS I can’t really sing along to entire songs, but I do sing the few English lyrics they have per song, hahaha.

Do you have any of your exes as friends on Facebook?  Yeah but she’s been muted for like half a year already, as is the rest of her family. I do have plans to unfriend her entirely; I’m just not sure when I would push through with it, and I already gave Angela permission to log onto my account one of these days to be the one to do the unfriending.

Who was your first love? Do you ever miss that person?  Gabie. I miss the friendship sometimes; I don’t think I’ll have a friendship as deep and connected as the one we had, so I will always feel sorry about how that went to waste. But I don’t really think about our relationship anymore as I’m pretty good at blocking off certain memories, so I don’t miss her in that sense.

How many cars are parked at your house right now?  Two.

Do you have any Italian ancestry?  I highly doubt so. If anything there’s probably a tiny drop Spanish blood in there but that’s the most European I’ll ever get.

Do you prefer water to be ice cold or at room temperature?  Like, drinking water? Ice cold, always. I hate warm water.

Has anyone ever told you you’re a control freak?  Not to my face, but I know I’m one so I’m sure other people have said that about me at least behind my back.

Do you know anyone who has gone missing? If so, were they ever found?  Yes, my friend Mik and one of my aunts. They were both found eventually.

What was the spiciest thing you’ve ever eaten?  Eating ghost pepper instant noodles was a pain I would never want to go through again...I threw that shit out after my first forkful, lmao.

Do you need to talk to someone?  No, not in particular. In a more general sense I do wanna start gaining more friends though, so I’ve been meaning to expand my circle by creating a new Twitter account just for my BTS dump. In other words, I am a 23 year old with a stan Twitter HAHAHAHA

Is something confusing you at the moment?  No, I’m good.

When was the last time you had a real deep chat?  Maybe my conversation with Andi a couple of nights back. We were talking about a tricky situation with their ex-friend who turned out to be a real dick when they came out to him a year ago, and they just wanted to get my perspective on how I would handle it.

Who did you last see on webcam?  The PR manager for one of our clients, who we all despise because he doesn’t know how to do his job. Thankfully he’s resigning soon so we’re all just waiting for him to leave and finally meet a much more competent replacement.

What’s your best friend’s pet’s name(s)?  Angela has two dogs, Hailey and Kennedy. Andi had Apollo, who I wanted to meet so badly but sadly he passed away a week ago at 15.

Have you ever taken a picture while laying in the grass?  There are photos of me sitting on grass, but not lying in it. I would imagine that would feel very prickly and uncomfortable.

Who’s your favorite Disney character? Baymax or Flynn Rider.

Have you ever deliberately tried to get someone drunk?  I’ve made my friends chug drinks or down shots and it’s happened vice versa, but it was always in good fun and we never made each other harassed from it. It’s just your typical college rambunctiousness, and if anyone felt uncomfortable or iffy then we didn’t hesitate to move on.

When was the last time you used a pay phone and who were you calling?  I’ve only ever seen those in my first school, when I was in kindergarten. I never got to use it and they also took them out not long after.

Do you like being kissed on the neck?  Yessssssssss

Have you ever had sex with someone you weren’t dating (but had feelings for) in the hopes that they would ask you out later?  Nope. I don’t think I would have sex with anyone I wasn’t dating.

What’s the most you would be willing to spend on a good bra?  Probably a couple thousand bucks if I thought I looked good in it.

Do you have any of your teachers’ personal cell phone numbers saved in your contacts list?  I don’t think so. I never tried getting close with any of them, and I always tried to stay hidden as much as possible. I was just in class to get good grades and pass.

Do you ever stalk peoples’ personal blogs, even if you don’t know them very well?  I never really scroll through people’s Tumblrs anymore. That was more of a thing I did in like 2013, but these days going through my dashboard is enough.

What’s one thing about today’s generation that you just can’t stand?  Some social media trends done for clout make me revolted, especially when it has anything to do with wasting food. I also hate when they do extreme pranks that I know I wouldn’t find funny if I were ever the victim, like tossing someone’s phone into the ocean.

Be honest: how do you feel about abortion?  Pro-choice. 

Is there anyone you currently want to reach out to?  I would love to catch up with Katreen at some point, but I know we’re at different points in our lives now and it would probably never happen.

What is your favorite piece of art you own?  I commissioned my sister to make an artwork of the 2D1N cast, and she did a great job making it! I haven’t gotten to use it or promote it yet, but I will soon. It’s really well-done.

What’s the one thing you apologized for this month?  Replying late.

My favorite color is ______?  Pastel pink.

I wish I had _____?  Longer weekends.

What did you buy today? Nothing – I’d call that a success lmao, I’ve been spending money as if I had a million fucking bucks over the last week. I did have some packages arrive today though: my own copy of 2 Cool 4 Skool (my first physical BTS album!!!!!!); the official poster from their album BE; the Ivy Park sneakers I ordered earlier this month, and an Ivy Park bucket hat Bea had apparently gotten for me as a birthday present.

What has challenged your morals?  Vices.

What made you pick up the last book you started reading?  I had to read it in preparation for a one-on-one session with my employer’s CEO.

What about your life concerns you the most? Whether a stable future is in the cards for me.

What do you find particularly offensive? Would you say you’re easy or difficult to offend?  Probably Filipino-American comedians or influencers who use stereotyping of Filipino accents and habits as a punchline; they do more harm to the culture than good. I can tell you not one Filipino who lives in the Philippines actually finds those funny, and Bretman Rock is probably the only personality who’s able to flaunt the culture in an entertaining and hilarious yet classy way.

When it comes to being offended, I guess it depends on the context. My humor can get pretty dark and low-blowy, but I would have a problem with someone who I know has genuinely problematic views.

What was the last series you finished watching? Do you have any plans to begin another?  I think it may had still been Start-Up from last December. I’m not too big on Korean dramas since I find one episode waaaaaaayyyyyyy too long. I don’t think I’ll be starting on anything soon, Korean or otherwise.

What is one way in which you are different from a year ago? What is one way in which you are still the same?  I’m single now, for the first time in technically six years. I also think I’m doing better and happier, breakup notwithstanding. OH and I love wasabi now, hahah. As for what’s unchanged, I still like taking surveys and I’m still stuck at home, though the latter’s not really in my control anymore.

If you could learn about anything without the stress of grades or cost, what kind of classes would you take?  I’d just go back to UP for the free tuition. We also have the widest range of programs out of any university in the country, so it’s a damn good deal.

Name a song you’ve listened to today?  Fly To My Room - BTS

When you were younger, did you have a swing set or a playhouse in your backyard?  We didn’t; but one of our relatives that we’d regularly visit did have a playground that I’d use all the time. It’s still there, just very unmaintained since no one uses it anymore.

Is your mall nice?  Which one? We have five different malls nearby lol. Mall culture here is on another level.

Do you have a Sonic near you? If so, what’s your favorite drink from there?  No. I’m not so sure what they serve there, either. I’m guessing milkshakes?

Will you be voting in the presidential elections next time around?  I’ll always exercise my right to vote.

How do you feel about chocolate-covered strawberries?  I hate strawberries and I hate fruits, so even if you coat that shit in Nutella and cookie butter and chocolate syrup I still wouldn’t touch it.

Did you ever stop having feelings for someone and then started having those feelings again for them? No.

Do you hate the last guy you had a thing with?  I’ve never had a thing with guys.

To whom did you last give the finger?  I haven’t had to do that in a while.

What was the last musical instrument played in your presence?  My sister’s keyboard.

Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream?  Not particularly. They make things look cute, but they never taste like anything tbh so I never saw the point in paying extra just to have them on my desserts.

Honestly, have you ever crashed a party before?  Nah. I cringe thinking about that.

Do you know how to do the moon walk?  I don’t.

Has anybody ever told you that you have a good singing voice?  Never gotten that specific compliment before because I know I don’t have one.

Onion rings or french fries?  Onion rings.

Has anybody ever described you as a heart breaker? No.

Has anybody ever told you that you talk too fast?  I don’t think so, but I know I have the tendency to do so occasionally, especially while I’m presenting a deck. Once I notice it I make an effort to pace myself.

Who is the best cook that you know?  My dad and both my grandmas all deserve that title.

Which meal throughout the day do you skip the most?  I literally never have lunch ever.

What’s the largest amount that you can juggle at one time?  I can’t juggle.

What was your favorite thing to go on at the playground as a kid?  Sandboxes, since I liked the texture; the sandboxes in school were also often empty, which worked well for my introvert self. I find that it’s carried over to today, since I still enjoy touching things like slime and kinetic sand.

Do you know how much you weighed at birth? How much?  I think 5 or 6 lbs, I’m not exactly sure but it’s definitely somewhere in that small range.

Which aspect of your daily routine takes the most time? What do you do?  Work, for sure. I work a normal 9–6 so that’s already 8 hours out of my day, but I also OT a lot after hours, and I work throughout my lunch break as well so that technically makes it 9 hours. I also like getting up earlier and starting some work before my shift so that I would have less tasks on my plate for the day.

Do you enjoy buying gifts for others, or could you do without this?  I LOVE getting people gifts. Food is especially my love language, and I always get food delivery for my friends, family, and my team at work.

What is one thing you are expected to do, if anything?  I mean, I have work deadlines tomorrow so there’s that.

How do you tend to view driving? Monotonous or entertaining?  I love driving. I don’t think I ever complained about having to do it. It’s calming and relaxing when I’m doing it alone or with a partner; and it can be entertaining with the right set of people.

Do you enjoy talking about music with others? Not always. If I don’t listen to the artist then I can find the conversation quite boring, like if my friends would get into a full-blown discussion about Taylor Swift.

Is acting something you enjoy?  No. It wouldn’t even be something I’d be interested in doing.

When do you feel most accomplished?  Finishing a work day with no tasks left behind.

Do you think Manwich is amazing or completely gross?  Idk what that is.

How many best friends do you have?  Two.

Are you a smoker, drinker, pothead or none of the above?  I drink sometimes. I also kinda smoke, I guess.

If you have your ears pierced, when did you get them pierced?  My mom had them pierced when I was a month old.

Do you own any exercise machines?  My mom has this rowing equipment thingy. I don’t have any of my own, though.

On Facebook, do you have people listed as your siblings who aren’t really your siblings?  No.

Have you ever drawn or painted a self-portrait?  I remember having to draw one as a school assignment, but I’m pretty sure I half-assed that because I couldn’t care less for art class back then.

Who was your last voicemail from?  We don’t have voicemails.

Have you ever been falsely accused of something serious?  I don’t think so. That’s the sort of situation that would stick out in my memory if ever.

Did you ever set up a lemonade stand when you were a kid?  No, not a thing here.

When was the last time you spoke to someone in a different language?  Around an hour ago when I went downstairs and chatted with my sister briefly.

Have you ever received an anonymous gift?  Nope.

Have you ever camped out somewhere for an event the next day?  Nope but I definitely still wouldn’t be opposed to doing that haha.

When were you the saddest in your life? 2016 was fucking miserable. < I’d have to agree. 2017 was also awful.

Do you know anyone, personally, who is in an abusive relationship? Are you?  I used to know one but she got out of it. In a sense, I suppose I also was in one.

If you have siblings, have they moved out or do they still live with you?  Well they’re younger, so they definitely still live here, with our parents. I’m the first one expected to move out, but I’m taking my time.

Have you ever gotten searched by the cops?  No.

Do you like fried rice?  Of course. I like any kind of rice.

What was the last thing you drank?  Water.

[goobergamer]

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.”

[elaphaemourra]

30 Questions Tag Game

Got tagged by @outcastcommander :DDDDD Thank!!!!!

Rules: Answer 30 questions and tag 5 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better. HI I’M ACTUALLY REALLY SHY SO I’M NOT DOING THAT LOL I’m just gonna say, if u wanna do Intro and see this, go for it, and also bonus if u r Friend, absolutely feel free and also say i tagged u bc Yes Friendship.

Name/nickname: Elaphae,  Ela is most common (and great!! i love it fjdklajs), some people on the swtor art server called me ‘inquis’ a couple times ljfdklas.  

Gender: Nonbinary :DDD

Star sign: Virgo-Libra cusp :3

Height: 5’4 WOOP i am Short

Birthday: September 21

Time: 12:48 pm >:3

Favorite bands: Green Day, Volbeat, The Longest Johns, Alestorm… a lot more.  I’m a nerd lol.

Favorite solo artists: uh h hhhhh  o-O  there are Many.  Aurelio Voltaire is pretty solid lol.  Good for the heart.  Also, I can’t listen to too much of his stuff bc it gives me a Crisis, but Bo Burnham.  Shit’s a Bop.

Song stuck in my head: The theme for the uruk-hai from lotr lol

Last movie: Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers

Last show: fjdklasj i don’t watch tv lol, i can’t make my brain sit still for it.  Gotta be Interactive.

When did I create this blog: uh, shit, when WAS that?? WOW 2014.  3 more years and I’ll have spent a decade on tumblr.  Which is WILD.

What do I post: things that make me happy ;v;  mostly star wars and dragon age, and Assorted Random Shit i think jfdlkfjd.  I don’t actually know what  my blog makeup is but it Sure Is Something.

Last thing googled: ‘the song from lord of the rings when saruman shows off the uruk-hai’ lmfaoooo, i couldn’t remember the name of it so i went looking.

Other blogs: HOO BUDDY okiedoke:  @haospart (art blog), @swtorcompanionsgoofin (swtor blog), @lyriumdisaster (dragon age blog, which i’ll get back to once i’m done on the swtor end of this bioware pingpong table of interests, and then i’ll be hopping BACK to swtor bc it IS a pingpong table), i have studyblr that I Never Fuckin Use and have only posted on in the past 2 years to go ‘what the fuck why do u people keep following me’ bc I LITERALLY HAVE NOT TOUCHED IT IN LIKE 2 YEARS why does it keep gaining followers, and then a few like, ‘no don’t look me i’m Embarassed’ repositories jfdklsjaf.

Do I get asks: Very rarely, but yes!! Lmfao usually when i go ‘GIVE ASK PLS I LOVE ASK’ and people are reminded that i am, in fact, a very friendly marshmallow who does not mind interaction and also Definitely Craves people asking questions about my stuff fjdla.

Why I chose my url: This is kind of a convoluted thing, but like, the easy version is that it’s the name of my trooper on the leviathan server (now called Aea out of the game bc they were supposed to be my self-insert but then they escaped into the woods and developed a storyline for themself).  The LONG thing is that I have an oc named Regia Elaphae, who I modeled after pnigophobia, the fear of choking or being smothered, and I made her snake-themed.  Rex is the latin word for king--for king snakes--which i swapped to regina and then took out the n bc ‘Regina’ didn’t fit her, and Elaphe is the genus for rat snakes, but i found two ways of spelling it so i spelled it Elaphae, and when I got into swtor I decided to use Elaphae in reference to myself.  I replaced my old url with this one after i started playing that trooper of the same name, bc my old one was :I .  I was into hetalia in middle school, and homestuck, and when I got on tumblr that followed me into my url.  I’m not into hetalia anymore, or anime at all, and homestuck fell off my radar into the ‘i’ll go “hey i know that” if i see it, but i’m not in the fandom anymore’ pile.  For the longest time my blog description was ‘it’s been 5 years and i still haven’t changed my url’, but it was time for change fjdklasfaj.  It’s better this way.  

Following: 953 (it was over 1300 but i did some clearing out of my follow list a month or so ago lol, mostly of people who haven’t been online in 6 years)

Followers: 616

Average hours of sleep: 7 and a half hours, if i want to be Functional

Lucky number: 19 :D  I love 19, it’s always been my lucky number, always will be.

Instruments: I don’t play much, but I can sing and also I can play beladi on the doumbek.

What am I wearing:  Fox onesie lol.  I wear basically nothing else at this point in my life.

Dream job: i mean, ideally i could just Not and vibe fjdkla.  But i mean like, i guess something working with my hands.  I’m in college to get a degree in french, and my next step after that is to go to trade school, to get smth that’ll make me money so i can keep doing Nerd Junk and also learning bc i like, actually really like school lol.

Dream trip: I want to go back to Rennes.  I miss it.  It was awesome, and, hilariously, I miss being able to get a burger that isn’t Drowning in its own grease.  America doesn’t know how to do healthy burger that tastes good.  Europe knows what’s up tho. I also miss being able to like, have just a pitcher of room temperature water next to a cute little glass and have it not be weird.  The cups are too big in america, i drink so much less water bc it’s just too daunting.  I’m dehydrated constantly.  Also i miss the METRO.  I loved the metro, loved nyooming along in the trains, wandering around the central part of the city, it was cool.

Favorite food: Eel!!  Eel’s tasty as fuck.  I love it.

Nationality: American

Favorite song: o-o uhhhhhhhhhhh, i have no idea lol.  I listen to so much random shit.  lol according to my spotify 2020 rewind it’s Starlight Brigade, from TWRP and Dan Avidan.

Last book read: i have got ZERO clue what the last book i read was.  I mean, technically it was a textbook for my myth, magic, and folk religion class, but like, blegh.  Nah.  Not fun.  I think before that I started reading Metro 2033???  I have a copy in french, and am flipping between that and trying to fckn get through au revoir là-haut.

Top three fictional universes I’d like to live in:  

1. swtorrrrrrr, i wanna be a space wizard [slap slap slap on the metaphorical counter] give me space magic

2. Pellinor, y’all it’s medieval and magic and COOL and i’m a big nerd for that.  (these books are so good ;v;)  Also they got wine that makes cramps and headaches go away and magic baths, so like, fuck yes give me that sweet sweet painkiller juice.  It’s magic babey.

3. Thedas, bc dragon age, and like, when things Aren’t all fucked sideways to hell, there are just like, People.  Going about their days.  It’s great.  Also MORE MAGIC  Science is all fucked up in my vicinity, so like, how much can i fuck up the magic o3o

tl;dr on that fictional universes thing, i really want to be a wizard apparently fjdklasj.

[atlasishere]

Deck the Aisles

A/N This is a very late Christmas gift for @watchoutforthefanfics, she is a gift that has let me take an extra month to finish this labor of love

Word Count: 6700 words

Warnings: Swearing, Deceit( as Emerson), Remus, a couple of alcohol mentions as well (feel free to let me know if I need to add any)

Relationships: Prinxiety, Logicality, Moceit, Remile(background)

It was 5 in the morning and Virgil Poe was in a Bed, Bath, and Beyond. Who knew how he came to this point in his life, but it kind of sucked. It was Black Friday and Virgil had decided maybe he can get a good deal on a new Crock-Pot for his mother, hers had broken. As he walked through the crowded aisles, he found it, the last crockpot. Speed walking towards it, Virgil realized that someone else was also reaching for it. Virgil grabbed it just before the other man did. As the other man began to reach for the box, Virgil yanked it out of his reach. The two spent a bit of time reaching and grabbing for the crockpot when Virgil realized it really wasn’t worth it. So after deciding this, he handed the man the crockpot and left the store hoping to find one at another store. After going to two other department stores, he found one and went home, wondering about the man he had almost fought for a crockpot. I will probably never see him again and if I do, he most likely won’t remember me.

A week and a half later, Roman Darcy was walking through the mall. He had some more Christmas shopping to do for his mom and his two roommates. He knew Logan wanted a new Rubix’s cube since his old one had been lost by Roman, but Logan doesn’t need to know that. He knew he wanted to get Patton some new fabric and yarn for his side business of selling clothes he made. He got his mom a crockpot already, fought a man for it, but knew she might like some nice chocolates from the candy shop, so he walked over to buy some. As he walked out, Roman noticed a flash of purple and looked up surprised to see the man from Bed Bath and Beyond. The purple clothed man had apparently sensed someone staring at him as he looked up from his phone and looked around. Turning his eyes and head, he finally noticed Roman.

The thoughts of both men were along the lines of “FUCK!!! Does he recognize me? Shit, I think he does.”

Both were having a mental breakdown, but Virgil is quite used to them so he was able to be done quicker than Roman and began to profusely apologize for his immature behavior while Roman kept trying to reassure him that it was fine. Eventually, Virgil heard Roman and began to breathe a little bit deeper. 

Then Roman opened his mouth, “How about if I buy you lunch since I got the crockpot?”

And all hell broke loose as Virgil began to argue. “Hell no. I am buying your lunch since I started the “fight”.”

Well, Roman was passionate and couldn’t back down if he tried and said, “You gave me the crockpot, I am returning the favor!”

This continued for a few minutes and while there wasn’t any yelling, people around could tell they were irritated with each other. Eventually, Virgil’s anxiety kicked in because people were taking notice of him, which is not good, and said, “Fine you can pay for lunch, let’s just go now.”

So, Roman took Virgil to Wendy’s in the mall food court and told Virgil to order whatever. Once he had ordered, Virgil decided to send a text to his roommate that he would be out later than expected and that he would see him later. 

After the two obtained their food, they found a table and sat down. The conversation began with Virgil thanking Roman and Roman brushed it off, it was not a problem for him. After they began to eat, Roman finally sparked a conversation, “So what do you do for a living?”

Virgil swallowed his food and responded, “I am a therapist at Dr. Picani’s office. I also will do art and writing commissions for people for a bit of extra cash. You?” 

Roman smiled and answered “I run a children’s theater, direct the plays, and offer art classes, often in painting. I also act a little bit myself.”

“Cool. I used to do tech for that theater a few years ago. I had to stop after I picked up commissioning and Dr. Picani’s business expanded,” Virgil said as he remembered the fun he had doing lights and sound. He also remembered the cute assistant director who also had to help backstage and help with the writing. 

“Oh, that’s really cool. Yeah, I have been working at that theater for close to a decade now. I had apprenticed as an assistant director so that when the previous owner and director retired, I would have experience and could take over,” Roman shared.

At that moment, his words sunk in and were comprehended as Virgil realized, “Holy Shit this is the guy I thought was cute when I did tech.” 

As Virgil quietly continued his meltdown, he really looked at Roman and if he was blatantly honest with himself, he would say he wasn’t disappointed but Virgil also knew that this “attraction” was purely an appearance-based one so he didn’t feel flustered as he said, “Yeah, we worked together. You did backstage while I ran sound and lights.”

The realization seemed to dawn on Roman as he said, “Oh that’s cool. I believe that I remember our shows running smoothly when you were in the tech tower. I hope you can eventually find time to help us again as we could really use the help.”

All Virgil responded with was an almost optimistic, “We shall see.”

The two finished their lunch with very little conversation and bid their farewells, Virgil heading to a store and Roman to his cousin’s coffee shop. 

Roman walked into the coffee shop and greeted his cousin who was working behind the counter and said, “Remy, holy heckerino you will not believe what just happened. Do you remember that techie that I had a small crush on?”

“I remember a techie that you had stated ‘He is the light of my life, the night and his dark clothes have hidden him from me. I have gazed upon the face of an angel’ and some other romantic shit. So if we are talking about the same techie, that was no small crush,” Remy responded with, sarcasm soaking his tone.

“Did I really say that?” Roman questioned.

“Yes. I have the whole speech recorded on my phone if you wish to hear it all.”

“Not preferably, why do you have a recording?” Roman asked curiously, expecting a zinger.

“Two reasons, to laugh at you and if you get married, for that techie to hear you gushing about him,” Remy replied, chuckling as Roman started to pout, “Anyway, so what does he have to do with anything? I thought he stopped doing tech work for some reason.”

“He did, but I recently bumped into him and had lunch with him,” Roman said, attempting to be nonchalant. 

“Oh, okay. Did you get contact information for him at least?” Remy questioned, already knowing the answer ready to exit from his disaster cousin’s mouth.

“No, I did not get his phone number or address or Tumblr or Snapchat or anything,” Roman wailed out, sounding like he was 4 and denied a second cookie.

Remy just mumbled something about a disaster and shooed Roman out before any customers came in.

Virgil arrived at his apartment complex and walked into his apartment and in an instant, Virgil was bombarded with questions and accusations. His roommate, Emerson, was apparently curious about where Virgil had been, that or worried. They had just moved a week before Thanksgiving and Emerson was definitely a mom friend who wanted to make sure his friend was okay and able to not get lost, which is commendable but annoying. So, after explaining what had happened, Virgil volunteered to go down and get the mail, since he had forgotten to. 

Roman pulled his car into his parking spot and got his mailbox key out. As he walked to the mailboxes, he swore he saw that dark-clad angel of a human that vaguely looked like Virgil. As the dark cloud got closer, Roman realized it was Virgil. So he decides to strike up a conversation, “Hey,”

“Hey yourself,” Virgil replied, snickering.

“Stop laughing at me. I am trying here. I swear everyone is mean to the hot person in the area,” Roman said jokingly. 

“Well, I mean, I could help you get better at it, the whole talking to people. We could exchange contact information,” Virgil said. 

“I mean, sure. Give me your phone,” Roman said, taking his out and opening the contacts app.

“Man someone is pushy,” Virgil stated, doing the same thing.

“So, I didn’t know you lived here,” Roman said while entering his number.

“I would certainly hope, I don’t just give my address out and I would hope you weren’t stalking me,” Virgil said sarcastically, “But in all honesty, I moved here about a week before Thanksgiving, So I haven’t lived here long.”

After the two exchanged phones again, Virgil got his mail and left. 

Roman watched him go before grabbing his own mail and heading to his apartment. Once he had walked in, Roman's roommate, Patton, bombarded him with questions on where he was and what he had been doing. So he began to explain what had happened. 

“So, you worried me because you were making a new friend,” Patton said cooly despite the obvious frustration in his features, “You said you would be home by 1:30 at the latest, it is 3:30. I was concerned and stressed.”

“I’m sorry Pat, I had meant to send a text and must have forgotten. I didn't mean to make you worry,” Roman said, very obviously upset from his mistake.

“It is fine, I keep forgetting we aren’t college students and that you can take care of yourself. I am sorry I got upset, I had no right,” Patton said, realizing his mistake. It was sometimes hard for him to let go since he lived through college with Roman and his occasional dumb decision and saw him live through the pain because of how easy he loves. But he knew he needed to let go. 

Patton walked into the kitchen, where his boyfriend Logan was, looking at options for dinner. As soon as Patton had entered the small kitchen area, his boyfriend looked up at him and smiled. The two hugged, both knew Patton was trying to work on his “smothering” tendencies. 

“Go ask him how his lunch went. I know you don’t want to be overbearing but I think he will want to talk about it,” Logan said, attempting to comfort his partner. When he saw Patton attempting to protest, he cut him off, saying, “No buts, he knows you didn’t mean any harm and I know how curious you are. I may not be good at emotions but I am good at reading body language, he wanted to tell you. Go talk to him.”

Patton nodded and went to find Roman in their small apartment.

Roman heard a knock on his door and looked to see Patton in the doorway, so Roman let him in. 

“So, how was your lunch date?” Patton queried. 

Seeing the opportunity to mend things, Roman told Patton everything, including the almost fight on Black Friday. 

When he was done, his friend said, “Well we have a game night in a couple of days and you should invite him.”

“What if he says no?” Roman asked, obviously anxious.

“I doubt he will, and if he has a roommate then invite said roommate as well. You said he was new here right? Say it is a welcome to the building event,” Patton said, giving Roman not only an excuse but a cookiecutter way to deal with his nerves about asking him over. 

“Alright Patton, thank you,” Roman said, gracious he had such an intelligent friend.

After Patton had left to help Logan with dinner, Roman pulled his phone out to text Virgil. 

Me: Hey, this is Roman, so my roommates and I are having a game night and since you are new, Patton thought of inviting you and your roommate(s) 

Emo Knightmare: I know who you are, dingus. When is it?

Me: friday @ 8

Emo Knightmare: I will ask my roommate and get back to you

Virgil got up off the couch and went to the kitchen to start making dinner, deciding that spaghetti was a good option. As Virgil began boiling the water and getting out the sauce ingredients, his roommate Emerson walked in. Once he saw what Virgil was doing, he joined by helping with prepping the vegetables. As Emerson was cutting the tomatoes, Virgil cleared his throat and said, “So remember the person I was eating lunch with today?”

“Oh, you mean the one that totally didn’t cause me to worry?” Emerson asked, obviously remembering who he was.

“Yeah, well, he lives here and invited us to a game night on Friday at 8 at his apartment with his roommates,” Virgil said, “I was going to go, but the invitation was open to you as well so… up to you.”

“As long as I am not busy. Besides, I want to give this boy a piece of my mind,” Emerson responded.

“You are such a dad, Em,” Virgil responded.

“Shut up. At least I can take care of myself beyond basic skills,” Emerson said. 

“Do not even speak of self-care to me, Mr. I only eat when I am forced,” Virgil snapped, enjoying the banter.

“That’s you, dumbass,” Emerson stated, correct of course.

“Shut up and cut the vegetables,” Virgil said, ending the banter.

After the two made and ate dinner, Virgil went to his room and texted Roman that they should be able to make it Friday. While Virgil’s intent was to simply send that text, it didn’t end there, he failed miserably. He failed because he ended up texting Roman until midnight.

On Friday night, Virgil and Emerson walked over to Roman's apartment with brownies and some chips. When the door opened, Virgil didn't see Roman, but a man with freckles, glasses,  dark curly hair, and pale skin. The said man began to introduce himself, "Hi, my name is Patton Campbell," then he opened the door and introduced the other two near the door, "And this is Logan and Roman Darcy." 

"Hi, I am Virgil Poe and this is my roommate Emerson Croft," Virgil responded, gesturing towards his friend as he introduced him.

Then the tall man with glasses, presumably Logan, spoke up and said, "Are you by some chance related to Edgar Allen Poe's cousin since the man himself didn't have his own children?"

"Sadly, it's not very likely but you definitely know your stuff," Virgil replied, impressed.

After that comment, Patton opened the door wider to let in his guests. As they walked in, Patton studied them. Virgil was lanky, of Asian descent, with dark hair that was dyed purple. Emerson was tall with light brown hair and what appeared to be scars on the left side of his face and neck. As he stared, Emerson asked with a flirty smile, "Like what you see?" 

Patton looked at his feet, feeling the blood rush to his face as he fumbled to say, "Sorry I was, uh, I was curious about your scars. I apologize for being rude."  

Emerson chuckled and said, "I was just messing with you. If you're really curious, when I was a kid there was a fire in our kitchen and I ended up getting burned. It left more than these scars on my face and neck, I had lots of therapy but I'm good now. If anything, the scars remind me not to be dumb." 

Emerson watched Patton look at him with pity? No, more like empathy. It confused him but he didn't question it. Emerson walked into the apartment and looked at the roommates of Patton. Logan was tall and fairly thin, he wore dark square-framed glasses that were similar to the common nerd glasses. Roman was only about an inch shorter than Logan, likely Hispanic due to his darker skin and accent, and had a more organized curl to his dark hair. 

Emerson walked in and deposited the pan of brownies and bag of chips on the counter where Logan had gestured for him to put them.

After the five shared a dinner of pizza, they moved to the living room with snack food and board games. After going through several games including Fluxx, Uno, Sorry, and a very long game of Life, Emerson shared that he had brought his own game to share with the group called "Coup". He pulled the game out from under the brownie pan and took it out to the laundry room. 

After he finished explaining how the game was played, Patton spoke up and queried, "So, you're supposed to lie?"

"Well, it makes the game more fun if I'm truly honest," Emerson responded. 

"Ok, but how are you fine with that morally?" Patton challenged.

"Simple, I don't necessarily see a problem with small lies. Honesty can be nice for some things, but to be fully honest is a delusion set by society," Emerson said, cool as an ice cube. 

"But how will people know if you're being honest about something? If you're known to consistently lie, people can't trust you," Patton challenged.

"If you truly know someone, you know when they lie about it and I know plenty of people who trust me, I mean look at Virgil," Emerson stated, continuing the discussion.

" I see your point. Can we agree to disagree and maybe discuss this later?" Patton requested.

Emerson smiled and responded, "Sure, get some good points ready. Alright, let's play Coup."

As Patton played Coup and got the hang of it and lying, he sensed feelings forming for Emerson and very readily decided to bury them, him being polyamorous has only caused the problem in the past. 

Later that night, after Virgil and Emerson had gone home, Logan approached his boyfriend to talk to him about their guests. He cleared his throat and said, "So, I'm a figurative fan of our guests. Also, I think Roman might be falling for Virgil."

Patton chuckled as he said, "Yeah, you're not alone in either of those thoughts. I liked them, Virgil was fun and Emerson was interesting. If we do the Christmas party I'd like to invite them."

"That would be enjoyable," at that moment Logan looked at Patton and queried, "Hey are you alright?"

"Yeah, just a little drained," Patton lied, knowing he had no right to judge Emerson for lying.

Logan was aware that Patton was lying, but also knew that he wouldn't push, and stated, " Then let's get to bed dear."

That night both had a troubled night's sleep. 

Virgil did not, that's because he was up late texting Roman. He went to bed around 2 which is not abnormal for him and he didn't have to work until 1 so it was fine. He had fun at the game night and would have definitely wanted Patton and Em together if it wasn't obvious that Patton was with Logan, so not likely. But then again what did he know. Virgil was truly grateful that Picani had hired him and didn't always have him come to work early since their office was still smaller but it was nice. As he walked in, he waved to their receptionist Elliot and he walked back to his office to look at his scheduled patients. 

After a long day of back to back sessions, Virgil finally closed the office for the day at 9 pm. As he walked out to his car, he saw that Emerson had texted him saying that he had ordered pizza and needed Virgil to pick it up. Since Virgil had eaten a late lunch and no dinner yet, he was very grateful his roommate had a similar schedule. 

Virgil arrived at his apartment and carried the pizza in, calling for Emerson. He walked in as Virgil sat the pizza on the dining room table. As the two sat down to eat, Emerson decided to spark a conversation, "So, how was the office?"

"It was nice, good steady stream and I got to meet a couple of new clients that I hope to continue seeing us," Virgil answered, it was pretty obvious how much he cared about these patients, "How was managing today? Any new Karens?"

"Thankfully no. Only interacted with two today and they weren't the worst," Emerson responded.

The rest of the pizza was eaten in a quiet space with little small talk made, it was comfortable and they were okay with it. 

After Virgil finished his share of the pizza, he loaded his dishes and went to his room to work on a couple of commissions, he had to pay off his loans somehow. While he was working on one, he received a text from Roman. Virgil checked it and told Roman he was working on a commission so texting would be scarce. A few minutes later Roman responded and said he could Facetime if Virgil agreed. Virgil figured it couldn’t cause any harm, so he called Roman. 

Roman answered Virgil's call, not knowing what to expect but was still definitely thrown off guard. Virgil was in slacks and a purple dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his hair wasn't falling over his eyes, the only makeup that Roman could see him wearing was the foundation. Roman was surprised and definitely swooning. 

"Hello, Sir Roman, like what ya see?" Virgil teased when he saw Roman was starting to stare.

Roman snapped into reality and fumbled to say, "I'm just surprised to see you looking so professional."

"Oh I take offense to that Princey, better watch out or I may start crying. Wouldn't want to be the cause of gay hate crime now, would we? " Virgil teased.

"First off, I'm not straight so take notes. Secondly, aw pobrecito. Go cry me a river, build yourself a bridge, and get over it," Roman countered.

Virgil was a little bit impressed but Roman didn't need to know, it would go straight to his ego. As he turned back to his tablet as he said, "we can keep talking but I want to get this commission finished, so I'm not ignoring you, just working."

Roman chuckled as he countered, "Now who is a homophobe?"

Virgil very lightly blushed but his it well and responded with a simple 'touché'. 

To say they had a productive phone call would be lying so hard that Emerson would even call bullshit. Roman mostly stared at the cute Virgil and occasionally made small talk while Virgil mostly paid attention to his tablet. Roman definitely wasn't complaining, that just meant he could watch and slowly fall in love like he was living in a fucking fanfiction. 

After a while, Roman decided to say good night so he could sleep since he had to be at the theater earlier because they had a performance tomorrow. When Virgil heard this, he asked, “When is it? I’ll come to see it if Dr. Picani is cool with it.”

“Oh, we are doing two performances. The first is at 4:00 and the second is at 8:00,” Roman answered.

“Aren’t you kind of overworking them? I mean, these are passionate theatre kids, they put everything into their performances and you are making them do two performances on the same day and a mere ten days before Christmas. I may have never acted, but I also did tech and I have a feeling these kids are going to crash,” Virgil said, clearly passionate about these kids and their health.

“I get that, however, we couldn’t find two days in a row that worked for everyone and they were all cool with it. On top of that, I am providing them with dinner at about 7:00 and also have the backroom set up for them to nap. I am going to take care of these kids, I promise,” Roman said, trying to assure Virgil.

“Well, on Sundays I work until about 5:00, so I can come help with feeding those kids and maybe go back to the tech tower,” Virgil responded. 

Soon after that point, Roman hung up then went to get ready for bed. As he stared at himself in the mirror, Roman began to realize that he was starting to feel romantic feelings for Virgil.  Not that Roman was necessarily complaining, but it was unexpected. Then again, Roman was always the romantic one. Roman went bed, contemplating what he was going to do new feelings.

Virgil was walking out to his car after work and got in as he received a text from Roman. It was telling Virgil where to get the pizza from.

Virgil walked into the theater with the pizzas and was met with a slightly frantic Roman. Virgil walked in, set the pizzas down and decided to calm Roman down. "What the fuck is wrong, Roman?" Virgil questioned, slightly concerned.

"Our mic guy got sick like 20 minutes ago so I need someone to work mics and by golly, I can't get anyone to help," Roman responded, starting to breathe like a french bulldog that has been walking for more than 10 minutes or hyperventilating. 

"I can run mice so if you don't start breathing normally in the next ten seconds, you're bloodline will end," Virgil threatened.

"My bloodline is going to end because my twin and I are both gay so you made an empty threat," Roman countered, breathing deeply.

"Ok, that's fair. So tech tower still the same?" Virgil questioned.

"Wait, you're actually going to help me?" Roman asked, dumbfounded. 

"Yes, you idiot. Now, what do I need to know?" Virgil asked, itching to be in his place.

"We don't need music, just mics. I'll send a backstage person up to help with mic checks. You are literally a lifesaver," Roman answered gratefully. 

Virgil ran to the staircase that led to the tech tower, ready to be back in his element. Virgil always knew if being a therapist didn't work out, he would've done tech for theaters. 

Mic checks happened and cast lists were given and before he knew it, Roman was on stage and introducing the play. And Virgil would deny it to his grave, but he definitely thought Roman was pretty cute with the light shining on his face and Roman's passionate tone introducing the play.

After the play, Roman profusely thanked Virgil who shrugged it off. The two decided they were both tired and Virgil helped Roman clean up and they headed home.

Roman walked into his apartment and was bombarded with questions on how the play went, if someone showed up to help with sound, and who did. Roman answered them with ease. Despite it being close to midnight, Logan and Patton decided to plan their Christmas eve party. Patton started with invites, “So who do we want to come?”

Roman started, “Well, I think we should invite Virgil and Emerson, along with Remus, since we haven’t seen him in a while.”

Logan nodded in agreement and said, “I also want to invite my cousin, Remy and his fiance Emile.”

Patton nodded as he wrote them down and asked, “What about Thomas? Also, do Virgil or Emerson have partners they would like to bring?”

“Virgil is single,” Roman chimed in.

“So is Emerson,” Logan added.

“Cool, quick question, Logan is your information on Emerson accurate, I just want to make sure,” Patton added.

“Yes, I saw him at work dealing with, what I believe Roman would call, ‘a Karen’. Afterward, we struck up a conversation about life and I happened to ask him,” Logan replied, confident in the information given to him. Logan also pretended not to see the light in Patton’s eyes when said information was supported. 

“Ok, so what about Thomas?” Patton questioned since he had never gotten a direct answer.

Roman looked offended as he said, “Of course, why would we not invite him?”

“I didn’t want to assume. So we are at nine people, are there any others that we want to invite?” Patton questioned.

“I think that Thomas can bring a couple of people if he wants, he is your brother Patton, you talk to him. I don’t care who comes, I trust you guys,” Logan said, hoping that Patton saw the deeper meaning in the statement about trust. Logan thinks he did, as realization dawned on Patton soon after Logan said it.

The three finished planning quickly and afterward, Logan dragged Patton down next to him so they could cuddle. After a bit, Logan finally decided to bring up the figurative elephant in the room, he cleared his throat as a warning and started with a question, “Patton are you okay?”

“Of course, why would you ask that?” Patton asked, defensively.

Logan sighed at the lie and said, “Because I know you are lying. I am not going to force you to tell me but I really wish you would.”

Patton got really quiet as he realized he had been caught doing what he had criticized Emerson for. After a bit, he finally said, “I am polyamorous and I am pretty sure that I am falling for Emerson.”

Logan breathed a sigh of relief and said, “I am glad you told me. Now, we need to talk about this. Do you want to pursue a relationship with him?”

Patton nervously chuckled as he asked, “You are okay with this part of me?”

“Of course, I love all of you, even what society thinks is unconventional. Now can we talk about this?” Logan asked.

“Sure and to answer your previous question, yes I do, if he wants to,” Patton admitted.

“Can we discuss boundaries then?” Logan asked.

“Absolutely, I am willing to listen and discuss,” Patton answered.

Logan smiled at how excited Patton was for the obvious support that he had never been given, then he got a little mad about Patton’s previous partners. He brushed that off and said, “It’s obviously not a lot and I think if Emerson agrees, we still need to talk to him. For me, all I ask is, if you guys ever do it, use protection, please don’t make fun of me or gossip, and if you feel that one of us isn’t working, don’t be afraid to talk or end a relationship, even if you’re guilty because it is with me.”

Patton nodded and said, “I can definitely handle those. Two questions, Do you want this to be a 3-way relationship? And do you care if I talk about him?”

“For now and this is subject to change, no. Secondly, I don’t care and if it makes you feel better, I will let you know if I get uncomfortable,” Logan answered.

December 22, 2019, will be forever ingrained into Virgil’s brain, to be specific, 11:32 pm on December 22, 2019. That is because it is the Virgil realized that he was falling in love with Roman Darcy. It was a normal night of texting and suddenly the man decides he can just sleepily Facetime Virgil. Naturally, Virgil answered and was met with a freaking cute, sleepy Roman and it was over for Virgil. Roman had called to invite Virgil to a Christmas eve party and Virgil agreed. Afterward, Roman proceeded to ramble about Beetlejuice the Musical and how it really fits Virgil’s aesthetic for about fifteen minutes until Virgil says he needs to sleep because he has work early in the morning. After Roman said goodbye and ended the call, Virgil did not sleep, he wrestled his emotions.

It was Christmas eve and Emerson and Virgil were knocking on the door. The door was opened by Logan and when he questioned why they were here so early, Emerson answered, “Patton texted me to come a bit early and I decided to bring Virgil along because I can. You can send him home if necessary.” Virgil smacked Emerson’s arm with that statement and Logan chuckled. 

“Patton is in the kitchen Emerson, Virgil, we could get to know each other better,” Logan offered.

“Well Mr. Darcy, you drive a hard bargain but I shall accept,” Virgil drawled.

The two moved to the living room while Emerson walked to the kitchen only to be met by an obviously nervous Patton. Patton dragged Emerson to the hall and back by a bathroom, took a deep breath, and started, “There are two things I need to tell you. Firstly, I am polyamorous. Secondly, I am starting to care about you in a romantic sense.”

“I like you too, but what about Logan?” Emerson questioned.

“Logan and I have already had a basic conversation about this and if you want to do this, he wants to talk to both of us,” Patton answered.

“Ok, let’s talk about this first,” Emerson said.

While those two were talking, Logan and Virgil were discussing the party and who would be there. 

“Well, Roman’s twin, Remus will be there, Patton’s brother Thomas, my cousin Remy, along with Remy’s fiance, and possibly a couple of other people,”  Logan said.

“Wait. Is Remy not Roman’s cousin too? I assumed you two were related,” Virgil responded, confused.

“Well, Roman and I are stepbrothers, my father married their mother when I was younger and adopted Roman and Remus. They took the Darcy last name. Roman claims Remy as an honorary cousin though,” Logan answered.

“Oh, that’s fun. Has Roman always been this extra or stubborn?” Virgil asked.

“Sadly,” Logan sighed, “Although, some would say that I am the same as him.”

“I guess it’s definitely possible. But I have only seriously talked to you like twice,” Virgil said.

“Yeah, that’s fair,” Logan admitted, “Anyways, this party is more like a get-together. We get pizza and snack food, some alcohol, unspiked punch, and other beverages. We occasionally play party games and such. It is pretty laid back.”

“That’s good. Did we need to bring a contribution?” Virgil asked.

“No. We are good,” Logan answered.

Right after Logan said that Roman emerged from his room. He was obviously unaware that Virgil was there and Roman was not at his finest. Logan chuckled and when this happened, Roman exclaimed, “What are you laughing at, Jester?”

“Well, Virgil is here and you are quite obviously unaware. I just find that amusing,” Logan said bluntly.

“Alright, Microsoft Nerd. I will have you know that even if Virgil were here, which he isn’t, I wouldn’t care,” Roman exclaimed, still not looking in the living room.

“Hey Princey,” Virgil said, teasing Roman.

Logan would treasure the look on Roman’s face forever and hoped he never forgot it because it was a figurative gift. 

Soon after Roman’s cruel jumpscare, he noticed that Patton and Emerson walked into the living room and whispered to Logan about something. Roman decided to grab Virgil, not literally of course, however, he called, “Hey Virgil, I need to show you something in the hallway.” Virgil got up and followed Roman, obviously reading the situation. 

The two went to Roman’s room, looked around at Roman’s stuff, bonded, pined hopelessly, and shared memes until the party.

At the Christmas Eve party, Virgil mingled with the people at the party. He met Remus, who was interesting, Patton’s brother Thomas, and a few of Thomas’ friends. He also found out that his boss, Dr. Picani, was engaged to Logan’s cousin Remy; not that Virgil didn’t know that the doctor was engaged or the name of said fiance, but Virgil just never connected the dots. Turns out that Remy works in a coffee shop where Virgil tends to get coffee. He also enjoyed some food and by later in the evening, Virgil was a bit tipsy but still in control of his mind and body, just a less anxious and inhibited. So when Virgil ended up under the mistletoe with Roman on accident near the end of the party, he didn’t resist as much as he might have if sober when Roman said they should keep the tradition of kissing. So they did and as soon as Virgil realized what he had done, he calmly moved on and went to tell his roommate he was leaving early. So after interrupting Patton and Emerson and alerting his roommate where he was going, he left, calmly and quietly.  

Once he was in the safety of his own apartment, Virgil broke down. He started to hyperventilate and cry. He felt like he was dying. Somewhere in his brain, he thought of his grounding techniques, and by think of them, he means he saw the paper on the wall that Emerson had made him tape there in case Virgil had a panic attack alone. While he would never admit that his roommate was right, Virgil was grateful that it was there. After Virgil calmed down, he decided to shower and get some sleep that he desperately needs. 

Roman was majorly confused. Not just the normal amount of confusion that he dealt with, that most people experience, but majorly confused. He figured that Virgil wasn’t more than a little tipsy since he had only drunk a little bit of champagne. Maybe Virgil was more inebriated than originally thought or maybe Roman was wrong about Virgil liking him. He would never truly know unless he approached Virgil. However, he couldn’t do that since he couldn’t find Virgil. Roman had planned this the night of the play. His plan had backfired and he needed to do damage control. Roman looked around, asked Emerson, and found out that Virgil had left and gone back to his apartment. Roman decided to listen to the logical voice in his brain and wait until the next day to talk to Virgil, so he mingled until everyone was home and went to bed, troubled. 

Emerson was very happy, he’d even go as far as ecstatic. The guy he likes is attracted to him too. They are going together. Things were looking up for him. Everything except Virgil, and in turn, Roman. The thing is, Emerson knows that Virgil likes Roman, he has known for a while because Virgil is not really inconspicuous. Emerson also saw what happened last night under the mistletoe and figured that Roman felt the same. So Emerson sat at the table, awaiting Virgil. 

When Virgil emerged from his bedroom, ragged and tired, Emerson knew his friend had a rough night dealing with everything. Pushing coffee towards him, Emerson said, “You look like you need it.” He knew Virgil would talk about it when he was ready. 

Virgil sipped some coffee, cleared his throat and said, “I made a major mistake as you probably saw.”

“Well, Patton just texted me sharing Roman’s state. Not great, fix that,” Emerson aggressively shared.

“Why do I have to do that now? It’s still raw and how do you know it’s my fault?” Virgil asked defensively.

“It isn’t just your fault but some of the fault is on you. You are an adult, you need to communicate with him and fix this. At least before the new year,” Emerson parented.

“Fiiiiiiiiiiinnnneeeeeeee,” Virgil groaned. Virgil did intend on talking to Roman, just not today. He would tomorrow since Roman likely wanted to spend Christmas with his friends and family. So tomorrow would work for him.

Little did Virgil know, that tomorrow would turn into the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, until almost a week later he saw Roman getting mail and decided that he needed to say something. Clearing his throat, Virgil spoke up, “Hey Roman.”

Roman turned around and saw the man who had captured his heart and ripped it to pieces. Close to tears, he responded with a simple hey.

Virgil could tell that Roman was upset and said, “We definitely need to talk. Are you free now?”

“Not sure I want to talk to you honestly. However, I figured it would happen eventually so let me text my friends and let them know so they don’t worry,” Roman agreed reluctantly. 

“Ok, I need to do the same,” Virgil replied.

They both sent their texts then decided to walk through the walkway in their apartment complex. Roman didn’t want to be the first to say something but in the time that Roman had gotten to know Virgil, he knew Virgil wouldn’t start. 

“So about Christmas Eve,” Virgil started. 

Ok so Roman was wrong, he could accept that. In fact, more than happy to accept it right now. So Roman continued with a simple reply of Christmas eve. 

“I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you, I felt and still do feel really bad about it,” Virgil blurted.

“What? Why do you think you were taking advantage of me?” Roman yelled, questioning what the heck had gotten into his emo nightmare. 

“I had seen you with alcohol and assumed. Plus, who would want to be with me,” Virgil reasoned.

“Firstly, you also drank alcohol. Secondly, I want to be with you,” Roman confessed.

“You barely know me,” Virgil countered.

“I know enough, we can get to know each other when dating,” Roman argued.

“I am not sure you would want to stay with me if you knew me and I don’t need to get hurt,” Virgil admitted.

“So, you don’t know that, you obviously like me a lot and don’t know enough about me. No one wants to hurt but it is part of life, once we can accept that, life gets easier. And to paraphrase the 11th Doctor, happiness is important because it can help with sadness later. I would prefer to have happy memories even if we don’t work out,” Roman said, wanting to reach this boy that he had grown to love.

“Can I think about this and let you know on New Year’s?” Virgil questioned.

“Of course, you can even let me know at the New Year’s  Eve party,” Roman offered.

Virgil gave a simple alright as he walked back with Roman. Roman was happy he had talked with Virgil and figured some stuff out. 

Roman walked into his apartment, lighter and happier than he had originally been. Patton could tell that something good had happened. As he sat in the living room with his boyfriend who had ended up falling asleep during their movie session, Patton smiled and texted his other boyfriend that things may have worked out.

As Virgil walked into his apartment Emerson decided to speak up with a comment, “Maybe I should stop sending you to get the mail. You take a long time.”

Virgil jumped a bit then looked and saw it was his idiotic roommate. “Dude, I hate you. I finally talked to Roman, like you suggested. So there you go,” Virgil said.

“Good for you on listening to me, also I knew because Patton texted me thinking some progress was made,” Emerson replied flippantly, “You two finally together because I am sick of watching you two pine for each other.”

“No, we aren’t, I need to think about some stuff first. Also, stop gossiping about me with your boyfriend,” Virgil whined like a teenager. 

Virgil left the living room and went to his room to work on commissions and think about his feelings towards Roman and a relationship.

An hour and a half later, Virgil had finished a project and decided what he wanted to do about Roman. 

It was New Year’s Eve and Logan was sick of watching his stepbrother try to perfect the arrangement of their alcohol and decorations. He could tell Roman was nervous to hear about Virgil’s decision about a relationship. Of course, Logan knew what Virgil had decided, he had received a text asking for details about the party and Logan had asked. After swearing to secrecy, Virgil had told him. If Logan was honest, he found it quite humorous watching the mini freakout that Roman was watching. Eventually, Patton tapped Roman on the shoulder and told him to go relax and breathe. 

Virgil knew that the party had started at 10 pm, but Virgil knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid Roman for two hours so, he was showing up at 11:30. Virgil knocked on the door and saw that Emerson had answered it. Virgil asked a quick question, “Roman’s location?”

“Kitchen,” was the only reply that Virgil needed. So he walked into the living room and began talking with his coworker and friend, Dr. Picani for a few minutes and proceeded to move on. He followed this cycle until about five minutes to midnight when Roman found Virgil. Virgil finished his statement and excused himself, very aware that Roman was anxious for an answer. They were barely in the hallway when Roman asked, “So, what’s your decision?”

“Wow Princey, no ‘Hi, how are you’ just straight to what I can do for you,” Virgil teased.

“Hi Virgil, how are you?” Roman asked flippantly.

“I am great, how are you, Roman?” Virgil said, continuing to tease. 

“Very nervous,” Roman said, clearly irritated.

“Oh, why is that?” Virgil said, feigning innocence. 

“Well the boy I love is refusing to tell me his decision,” Roman stated. Right as Roman had said that, the countdown to midnight started.

“Well here is the answer you so desperately want,” Virgil said, and when the countdown hit zero, Virgil kissed Roman, when he was done, Virgil asked, “Did that answer your question?”

“Yes, it did,” Roman said and kissed Virgil again, “Want to go out next Saturday night?”

“I should be free,” Virgil teased as he grabbed the hand of the boy he had fallen for.

“All of this over a crockpot too,” Roman commented.

Virgil smacked him and said, “Are you complaining, cause like give me the crockpot and I will go.”

“Just kidding,” Roman teased and kissed the very happy emo.

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (32/40)

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: all of my thanks to all of you for reading these words and enjoying them and to @resident-of-storybrooke​ for reading all of these words beforehand to make sure they make sense ❤️

Found on 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​ 

-/-

Killian’s shoulder is stiff when he wakes up. It’s not necessarily painful which is more than good considering how it’s been for a few weeks now, but it is definitely stiff. He’s sure that it has to do with spending most of yesterday stuck in a car with the Nolans because there were photographers waiting for him at the airport, and he immediately told David to turn around because he was not going in there with vultures waiting for him like that.

That decision may as well have screwed up his shoulder that little bit more, but sitting in the safety of Mary Margaret’s SUV is probably exactly what kept his mind intact.

No one in that car asked him any questions about his dad or his injury or Milah. No one there brought up everything he’s trying to forget. It’s simply a little hard to forget it all when he was trying to watch his team’s game last night and thirty minutes was spent talking about an article that is apparently determined to take over his life.

Fuck Walsh Osborne and fuck Brennan Jones.

They deserve nothing.

All he’s trying to do is play baseball and live his life. He never wanted any of this. He never asked for any of it.

The past two days of his life have been hell, and he’s been away from it all where it couldn’t honestly and truly get to him. Killian’s been in Maine trying to have a good time with his girlfriend and her family, and he’s avoided his phone as much as possible so as to not see all of the backlash. Emma has done the same.

Of course, he did have an extremely concerned brother who was also torn apart by their shitty excuse of a father lying and finally using them for money he’s probably already gambling away. He also had Elsa and Anna worried sick. That’s not even mentioning Will and Robin or Eric and Ariel.

God, Ariel.

She’d gone absolutely ballistic. Killian doesn’t think he’s ever actually heard that many curse words come out of her mouth, but in the hour that he spent talking to her (it was pretty much fifty minutes of her talking, ten minutes of him, and that’s being generous), he learned about an entirely new side of Ariel Fisher.

Or, at least, her mouth.

She is willing to go to war for him. All of these people are, and as flattered and grateful as Killian is for that, right now he is exhausted. Simply thinking about everything that’s going on in his life is exhausting. Hell, he’s just woken up thirty seconds ago, and his brain has already focused in on these catastrophic parts of his life in the damn article and his damn shoulder.

He’ll have to do some of his exercises before he goes into the stadium to meet with Archie for his physical therapy.

Physical therapy before physical therapy. What a concept.

He’ll also have to read the press statement that Ariel has written to be released. It’s all carefully thought out and lawyer approved and absolutely everything that he doesn’t want to say. He wants to say that the people spreading lies about him are the fucking scum of the earth. Instead he has to release a statement politely stating that while he doesn’t usually give out comments on his personal life, he will say that there are parts of his past of which he is not proud but they are in the past. They are not part of his present.

There’s some shit in there about his father and how his words were untrue, but he left that part to Ariel and some of the team’s PR managers to write. Killian knows that he’s too emotional about that to say anything that is even remotely acceptable.

The one part of the statement that he carefully crafted himself is the one at the end where he states in very clear words that Emma has earned every bit of her success in her career, exemplifies the height of professionalism every day, and that insinuating that a woman has advanced in her career because of who she is dating is a form of sexism that he will not tolerate. He may have screwed up in the past when he asked her out, but he’s learning that stupid questions and games aren’t always okay no matter how well-intended they are. Other people should learn too.

That’s all that he cares about the world knowing. They can think all kinds of shit about him and his past and what he did to his father, but they’re not going to get to think that Emma has slept her way up the ladder.

There’s no way in hell.

Slowly, Killian moves to sit up in bed, the covers barely draped over his waist, and starts doing a few short movements with his arm. Emma is still asleep on her side of the bed, nearly all of the blanket bunched around her, and he has to be careful not to wake her up. She is not a fan of being woken up for anything other than food or sex. And sometimes not even those two.

(She always wakes up for food.)

He pads out of his bedroom and down the hallway to the room where he keeps his gym equipment. It’s supposed to be a spare bedroom, but since he already has one of those, he didn’t see the point in having two when he has more use for a bit of a personal gym. Slipping into his sneakers and tying the laces, Killian gets dressed to go for his morning jog. He’s still half asleep, is still wearing the sweatpants that he slept in, but this is going to have to work. He turns on the television so that he has something to distract himself, finding whatever morning show that it is that airs for what seems like ten hours a day, and then he starts a slow jog to try to loosen himself up a little bit.

And to make himself forget.

Focusing on the different ways that his body aches and on the way that he’d rather be in bed usually keeps his mind off of everything else that’s in there fighting for dominance.

Nothing like killing himself with exercise to calm himself down.

It’s an hour run, no more and no less, and sweat is dripping down his entire body by the time that he’s finished. Killian has to towel himself down, wiping away the sweat from his chest and his back before running the cloth through his hair. His shoulder is still stiff, so he picks up the free weights and runs through a few repetitions until he knows that he can’t push himself any further.

In the past, Killian has always pushed himself past his limits, especially when his mind is the one attacking him, but he can’t do that anymore. That’s how he ends up in situations like this.

That and lying his ass off about the kind of pain he’s in.

By the time he finishes exercising, the sun has risen outside, sunshine shining brightly through the glass windowpanes. Having such large windows everywhere is great until he has a bit of a headache and needs a large cup of coffee, about a gallon of water, and something to eat.

Water. He desperately needs water right now. And food.

Killian takes off his socks and shoes and wanders into the kitchen, fixing himself a glass of cold water to drink before making himself some oatmeal. It’s not really what he wants, but it will have to do for this morning. He’ll eat something more filling in the clubhouse.

Soft hands wrap around his stomach, gentle fingers trailing up and down the hair on his chest, and Killian can feel Emma pressing into him and nuzzling her nose in between his shoulder blades. He smiles and puts his spoon back in the bowl on his countertop before placing his hand over both of hers and patting against his abs. Her lips are smooth when they press against his skin in response.

“I thought this a few days ago,” she mumbles, and he can practically hear the sleepy smile in her voice, “but I’m incredibly happy with my life choices right now.”

“And why’s that, love?”

“You’re really damn hot.”

Killian snorts, unable to help himself, and chalks up the heat in his cheeks to him still being warm from exercise. “And by that you mean incredibly sweaty and gross from my workout.”

Emma hums against his skin and tightens her arms around his stomach. “You know, that is exactly what I was trying to say.”

“I thought so. How’d you sleep?”

“Really good actually.” She kisses his back once more before releasing him and stepping around to the side so that he can see her rumpled hair and the way that the t-shirt she’s wearing is falling off of her shoulder. Emma hops up onto the counter, something she’s been doing a lot lately in the mornings, and lets her legs dangle. There are red pillow marks against her cheek. “Your bed is about a million times more comfortable than the one at Ruth’s. I think it hurt my back.”

Killian chuckles and moves to take another bite of his oatmeal before the remaining bit gets cold. “So, you turn twenty-eight in a month, and you’re already preparing to be an old woman. I like that you’re ahead of the game.”

“Twenty-eight is in no way old. Plus, you’re, like, nine months older than me, so you’re not allowed to ever call me old.”

“Nine months is not a long time.”

“Tell that to a pregnant woman.”

“True,” Killian admits, scooping up some more oatmeal. “Do you want something to eat before you go get ready for work?”

“Not hungry.”

“You are always hungry in the morning, Swan.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “There’s a first time for everything.”

The pieces click together in Killian’s mind, and he sighs before stepping in between her legs and reaching his hands up to push all of her stray hairs behind her ears so that he can look into the emerald of her eyes. “So, you’re nervous then?”

“Nope.”

“Emma.”

“I’m nervous as hell,” she admits. That didn’t take much coaxing. “I don’t think…I mean, no one is going to say anything to me. I’m almost sure of it, especially because the only people I’m working with today are Ruby and Jeff and the guys…but I feel like.” She sighs, and he runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek to get her to look back up at him. “I feel like I’m going to have to start over again.”

“You’re not going to have to start over.”

Emma nods her head and leans her cheek into his palm while her eyes close, blonde lashes landing against freckles. “I know. I’m just – I never got to have anything that was simply mine until I was older. I always had to share everything, if there was anything to share. But my work: that has always been mine. Having to deal with people trying to take that away from me is terrifying.”

“No one,” he starts, tapping his thumb, “is taking your job away from you. Are the comments you’re inevitably getting going to suck? Yes. But they’re not true. You know they’re not true, and I know they’re not true. My Emma is too strong to let the words of some misogynistic assholes bring her down.”

She chuckles and opens her eyes before leaning forward and pressing her forehead against his. Her lips brush over his, nothing more than the lightest of fleeting kisses, but her lips never leave his long enough for him to feel her falling away. Emma’s hands ghost over his neck until they’re landing on his shoulders, nails digging into skin, and her lips start moving over his in a slow, lazy kiss that has him tasting the mint of her toothpaste and feeling the warmth of her tongue.

Killian hums into it, tilting his head to the right to deepen the kiss, and Emma’s hands pull him closer into her while the hairs on his arms stand at attention. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of kissing her, not like this. And not when her lips trail along his jaw and down his neck, tongue flat against his pulse.

“Darling, as much as I want you, and trust me, I always want you, we don’t have time.”

“I have time,” she mumbles.

“Aye, you do, but what I have in mind takes two of us.”

Laughter passes through Emma’s lips as she pulls back from him, and Killian immediately misses the warm press of her lips. “I’m going to go take a shower in the guest room because I think I’m going to need you to drive me to work.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because there’s a hell of a lot of photographers outside your apartment, and the only way out of here without me punching a camera is through the garage.”

“For fucks sake,” Killian groans, stepping out of Emma’s legs and walking over to the kitchen window to look at the small mass of people waiting outside his apartment. “I’m a baseball player. I literally throw a ball for a living. It’s not that interesting.”

“So, you’ll drive me then?”

“Yeah, Swan. I will. I’ve got to leave in thirty minutes so be quick.”

-/-

A few teammates and managers are in the clubhouse when Killian walks through, and while the room does quiet a bit when he initially walks in, everything goes back to normal as Killian goes through his locker, most of his gear untouched for two weeks now. He’s been here a few times, not every day like he usually is, but it’s still odd to show up for physical therapy and strength training while not actually playing.

His teammates rely on him, and yet he is a bit of a mess right now. They probably all are too. Their lives simply aren’t splashed across the pages of tabloids and on Instagram. He hasn’t seen most of it, all of the apps shut down on his phone, but Ruby has been keeping track and talking to Emma about it.

It’s…a lot.

And everyone now knows more about him than he ever wanted them to.  

But it’s fine. It has to be fine. He’s simply here to have his shoulder worked on, and nothing else is going to bother him. He hopes Emma’s day goes much the same. Honestly, that’s what he’s most nervous about especially with how nervous she was this morning and on the car ride over. Her leg never stopped fidgeting.

Today is a huge game with the play-offs being on the line, but he’s not going to still be around the stadium this afternoon. He thought about it and wanted to be there, still kind of wants to, but just being in the locker room today is a little overwhelming. Plus, he doesn’t want to make today any harder on Emma by having her have to interact with him at work. He’ll be around for all of the other big moments to give awful hope-induced speeches and celebrate in the post-game high. Today, he’ll simply watch in the comfort of Liam’s home.

“Oi,” Will greets, slapping Killian’s back. “How was Maine?”

“Fine.”

“Did you impress Emma’s mom?”

Killian almost corrects Will, but he knows it’s not necessary. “I mean, besides her learning about all of my dirty laundry, I do think she genuinely liked me.”

“Well, if she can get past all of that, you’re golden, ponyboy.”

He laughs and rolls his eyes, looking over to Will and the big cheesy smile on his face. “I mean, you got past all of that and are still joking around with me.”

Will shrugs his shoulders. “We’ve all got shit going on in our lives, but my face isn’t handsome enough for me to be a celebrity outside of baseball. I’m just good at my job all on my own.”

Killian reaches out to punch Will’s shoulder but he dodges it, sticking his tongue out. “Asshole.”

“Pretty much. Can you practice with me today?”

“Nah, not today. My doctor’s appointment is in two weeks for him to check up on my arm. I might get to come back then, so you guys better clench the playoff’s spot today so that I can finish this season out on the right note.”

“I’ll try my hardest. Keep your chin up, Jones. You’re prettier that way.”

-/-

Killian works with Archie on his arm for an hour before doing some more strength conditioning for his core, and by the time he’s out of the clubhouse and the locker room, it’s nearly two in the afternoon.

A part of him wants to go see Emma and check on her since the game won’t start for another hour and she’s been here for as long as he has, but he knows that today of all days, he might as well leave her alone while she’s working. They haven’t talked about how they want to interact around the team quite yet, mostly because he isn’t technically back to work, but also because in the three days since his life has blown up, all he’s done is talk. He’s a bit tired of it.

They’ll discuss it later.

For now, he texts her to have a good game before walking through the tunnels to the garage and getting into his car to head back to Midtown so that he can pick Addy and Lucy up from their school.

Uncle of the Year, obviously.

Twenty-five minutes later, he’s pulling into the parking lot of their elementary school, thankful that no one seems to be following him, and slamming his car door shut to walk up the front pathway of the school and pressing the buzzer to the front door to get in. it doesn’t matter how many times he picks them up, the front office secretary always seems to forget who he is.

“Name,” she says through the speaker.

“Killian Jones.”

“Who are you here to pick up?”

“Addison and Lucy Jones.”

It takes a few seconds, and he’s sure that she’s typing in their information. “You’re not one of their parents.”

“Aye, I know,” he sighs, rolling his eyes a bit. “I’m their Uncle. My name is on their approved list. It’s – ”

“Oh, I see you now, Mr. Jones,” she interrupts like clockwork. “I’m buzzing you in. Please wait in the lobby, and the girls will be brought to you.”

Killian nods his head and opens the door after it clicks. Addy and Lucy usually have their nanny pick them up from school since Liam and Elsa are at work, but in the few times he’s done it, he’s quickly learned the routine. He knows that their teacher is currently standing under an awning on the other side of the school with all of the children who are being released to their regularly scheduled guardians, and the teacher’s aide will be the one to bring the girls to him at the front of the school. It always takes about five minutes, and sure enough, after a little over four minutes, he sees two blonde heads of hair come into his view, their backpacks nearly as large as they are.

Out of instinct, he squats down to their level because he knows they’re about to tackle him with an embrace. Sure enough, they do, and Killian swears that his heart grows three sizes like he’s the damn Grinch.

“Why weren’t you at dinner last night?” Addy immediately asks him in leu of a hello.

“I was in Maine. Do you know where Maine is?”

“Nope.”

Killian grabs both of their hands, squeezing Lucy’s a little tighter, and the leads them out the front door so that they can walk toward the parking lot to his car.

“Maine is another state, like New York, and it’s where Emma was born. I spent my weekend there with her.”

“Where is Emma?” Lucy asks.

“She’s at work.”

“Why aren’t you at work?”

Isn’t that the question?

“I hurt my shoulder, Luce. Remember?”

She nods her head.

“Is Emma coming to dinner tonight?” Addison asks him as he opens the back door to his car and lets her climb across to the booster seat that he had to put in his car this morning.

“She’s supposed to, but she might be a little late.”

The girls continue to ask him questions about Emma. Their brains never cease to stop coming up with new ones, and it honestly makes him laugh that they’re so interested in what she’s doing and where she is. It only stings the slightest bit that every time they see him, all they truly care about is seeing Emma.

Then again, that’s exactly how he is too.

They ask for ice cream, and while he would usually stop, Killian is under strict instructions from Elsa not to give them sweets since they’re having some with dinner tonight. So, ever the bearer of bad news, he has to tell them no as they drive through the city on the way to their house. Traffic is surprisingly good, especially for the time of day, but they don’t have to travel far until he’s pulling into the garage and helping the girls grab their things to go inside.

In the ten minutes that they were in the car, they somehow managed to lose all four of their shoes, a hair bow, and Lucy’s favorite stuffed animal.

Just amazing. Honestly.

Killian fixes the two of them a snack, slicing up an apple and some peanut butter, before giving them glasses of water and listening to them both go into very detailed instructions about their days. Addy is obviously more talkative, but they used water colors in Lucy’s preschool class today and the girl is hyped over them.  

Seriously. He doesn’t think she has ever been so excited about anything. She may very well be taking after her grandmother in the artistic skills department.

For the next hour, he helps Addy through her few assignments so Liam and Elsa don’t have to deal with it when they get home, but then they’re finished with all of that (thank goodness because getting a six-year-old to focus on school when she’s just left school is damn difficult), and he’s able to turn on the game.

It’s the bottom of the third, and both teams are still scoreless. Arthur is currently up to bat, and while he makes Killian’s jaw clench, he’s a damn good baseball player who they need. You simply can’t win everything.

“Are we winning?” Addy asks before she crawls up next to him and cuddles into his side.

“Not yet, little love.”

“It’s because you’re not playing. They’re not as good without you.”

“Oh, that’s not true,” he sighs, having to bite back his laugh. “We’re a team. They need all of us to be good.”

“Yeah, but you’re the best.”

“You only think that because I’m your uncle.”

“Maybe. All of my friends think you’re cool except for Billy who likes the Red Sox.”

She shifts against him and Lucy does the same, and he swears their elbows are the sharpest objects on the planet. Arthur’s bat makes contact with the pitch, and it flies to the outfield only to be caught and end the inning. Damn. They had two people on base. That could have been huge. The camera changes from the field to Emma where she’s standing just outside the dugout holding a microphone in her hand talking about how today’s game can officially clench their playoff spot. They’re going to make it. All they have to do is win one of their next ten games, and even then, they’d still qualify based on how everyone else in the league is doing.

He’d kind of like to be the number one seed going in, though.

“Do you and Emma have any babies?”

What the hell?

Killian blinks several times before looking down at Addison, who doesn’t seem to realize what she’s just said. She’s simply looking at the television screen still watching Emma.

“No, sweetheart,” he stutters out, “we don’t have any babies.”

“Why not?”

“Um, because it’s not time for us to have babies yet. Babies are loud and messy, and they smell bad, you know? I think it’ll still be a few years before Emma and I have any babies.”

Holy shit. Did he just say that?

How does he get out of this conversation?

“Okay,” Addy shrugs. “I’m going to brush my teeth. They feel fuzzy.”

At that, she gets up from the couch and moves to walk away. Okay, so that’s how he gets out of that conversation.

Kids are so damn weird.

Each inning in the game seems to go on for more than forever, the outs slow to come for each team, and the Yankees finally score in the bottom of the sixth with Booth’s single. It’s a relief, even if there is still a lot of game to be played, but Killian gets distracted by it all when Elsa and Liam walk through their garage door and there’s a bit of chaos with the girls immediately having to tell their parents everything they’ve already told him about their day.

Including the fact that he and Emma don’t have any babies. That gets him quite the look from Liam. Eventually, though, Elsa moves the girls to the kitchen, leaving him with a not-so-subtle wink. She’s very obviously giving he and Liam time to talk, and as much as he appreciates that, Killian also doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants to lay on this couch and watch this game and not do anything else.

Liam obviously has other ideas.

“I have been contacted by no less than fifteen people today asking me to give my statement or appear on one of those inane morning shows to tell, and I quote, ‘my side of the story.’ It simply makes me wonder how many of these shows Brennan has offers to be on.”

Killian scoffs. “I imagine all of the seedy ones, but I don’t think he’ll do it.”

“No?”

“No.” Killian crosses his legs over each other and props his hands behind his head. “I’ve thought about it a hell of a lot, and I think he did this to hurt us more than the money. Walsh couldn’t have paid him that much. He doesn’t make much money. And it’s not as if there were a lot of details. If he wanted money, he would have gone to a bigger publication. Maybe he’ll do that if there’s enough interest, but I think it was more about hurting me.”

“Do you really think he’s that petty?”

Killian arches a brow. “Brennan Jones? We’re talking about the same man, aren’t we? Of courseOf course , he’s that petty. He only cares about himself. Always has. That’s not going to change.”

Liam sighs and taps his fingers against the wood of the side table. “How are you handling things?”

“Just peachy, thanks.”

“Killian.”

“What?” he sighs, propping himself up on his elbows so that he can actually look at Liam. “I’m pissed. I’m upset. I’m angry. There are so many emotions swirling around in my head that I can’t even keep track of how I feel. And there’s nothing I can actually do about it, you know? The damn thing has spread like wildfire, and I can’t stop it. My statement can’t stop it either. The only real option that I have is possibly suing that bastard for libel, and all that will do is drag both Emma and me into a legal battle that’s simply not worth fighting.”

Liam doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing to be said. They hashed all of this out over the phone. Killian ranted before Liam took his turn. Brennan deserves absolutely no space in either of their minds, but he manages to find it anyways. It is exactly the thing that has fire burning in the pit of Killian’s belly.

“I’m going to be fine,” Killian says to fill the silence that the sounds of the baseball game on the television aren’t filling. “You will be fine. Emma too. It’s just…I hate that it happened, but I can’t change it. I can’t change it, and I can’t fix it. Hopefully things will calm down as the days pass. I imagine that once I start playing again, this will simply be a footnote.”

“You know,” Liam begins, “a man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.”

Killian can’t help but roll his eyes. He’s heard that line a few times before, and it’sit’s always so damn pompous no matter how true it is.

“Yeah, well, the only thing I’m currently willing to fight for is the woman on that TV screen right there. She’s sticking by me because she loves me, and I am not dragging her through the mud anymore.”

“I think I’d likely do the same.”

“I know you would.”

“Daddy,” Lucy screeches as she runs into the room, loose curls escaping her braid and framing her face, “Mommy says that you have to come and put the steaks on the grill outside.”

“Well,” Liam starts as he stands and walks over to Lucy to pick her up and rest her on his hip, “if Mommy says so, then I guess I must.”

The two of them leave the room, and Killian is left to his own thoughts once more. One day, his life won’t be this complicated. It will be complicated in other, different ways, but it won’t be complicated quite like this. One day he will be carrying his own child on his hip, hopefully one he’s had with Emma, and all of the struggles of the day will be put so far in the past that he barely remembers them.

There’s a loud cheering coming from the TV, and Killian twists his head to look at Will running around the bases after hitting a home run.

“Damn, Scarlet,” he mutters under his breath with a smile on his face.

That smile grows a little more when the camera pans to his entire team jumping up and down in excitement, practically shaking the entire stadium. The shiver that runs over Killian’s body makes him feel like he’s there.

God, he’s missed the feeling of being a part of the team like that.

He’s missed playing.

But he’s going to get back to it soon. He has to. His arm is going to get better and be better.

Emma comes onto screen then, a beatific smile on her face that causes his to grow too. “Well,” she starts, laughing at something off screen, “it looks like we’re going to the playoffs.”

[bullflight]

((I’ve been quiet...))

((There really is no one singular reason I ended up making this sort of ‘update’ post. I know I’ve been really inactive here and elsewhere. I’m mostly to blame for it, my in real life troubles only now, after nearly eight months, finally looking to be easing up.

But here’s the thing: for the most part, my social network here on tumblr has completely rotted away. I’ve been with Bull for 7 years. A lot of the people I’ve befriended, roleplayed with, and even had relationships with... a lot of those people are gone. Some have left Homestuck behind, on neutral and negative terms. Others have stopped roleplay as a hobby. I’ve had a small handful of falling-outs. Hell, I’ve been blatantly ghosted by people I had sincere feelings and connections with.

I get it. Life happens. It hurts like a motherfucker, but it happens. I wouldn’t be here 7 years later with a smut-centric literary exploration of transhumanism and self-worth in the face of trauma and mental illness. [That makes Bull and what I write sound so much cooler and more legit than it is. Sue me.]

But I keep coming back. This is the place I found my real life BF. This is the place I actually began promoting myself as a writer, an artist, and networking with people. I, despite all the setbacks with his timeline and with roleplay partners, and with my life happening outside of here, I like Bull. He means a hell of a lot to me. I have a few planned projects for outside of the roleplay, homestuck universe with him for the future. 

That hasn’t made tumblr and existing here any easier. 

People I liked and admired change, negatively, and reveal themselves to be awful people. This happens a lot more often than you’d think. Drama exists on a cycle, once every few months or years cropping up and culling a sizable portions of present muns and muses. The homestuck fandom, hell the actual content for that matter, are going through a, decidedly twitter-based, reckoning. And you know what else?

People talk shit. People always have. There’s a fair few number of muns and muses who refuse to engage with Bull or me, ic or ooc on any level because of shit that happened six to seven years ago. I had multiple other muns, underage and aware I don’t engage with underage folk, lie to me and solicit me and Bull for nsfw content, in rp and to a certain extent in out of character discussions. I have had most of those people come forward after the fact, apologize, and we both proceed to move on. I started in this fandom and in this scene when I was 19/20. I get it. Shit happens. 

I use Bull to explore a variety of topics. I used to use Bull, and to a certain extent still do, to hone my skills in writing erotica. I’m sure there’s people who associate with me now who don’t know that I’ve been a professional author [and bad as fuck about progressing with it] for several years now. This hobby? Roleplay? It’s both an escape and a method of developing my skills.

And I’ve had multiple people lie to me, engage in darker themes, in erotic content, in discussions about the troublesome and problematic content in the canon proper, and then turn around and call me out, whisper amongst their circles behind my back, and have permanently color a sizable portion of this community’s opinion of me. 

Recently? Besides being ghosted left and right? I’ve been kicked out of friends’ servers because there were people there who were ‘uncomfortable’ with me and with Bull because of shit that happened more than half a decade ago and they’re too chickenshit to talk to me in person about it. There’s people who go around and discuss roleplay, ongoing and not yet resolved, that I do in private with them and it invariably goes around that I and my muse are horrendous awful people and I need to be shunned. 

I’m not here much anymore.

The fact of the matter is that this is not a ‘tumblr’ or a ‘roleplay community’ problem. This is a social media problem. Twitter for homestuck? An absolute dumpster fire. I’m there. I see it. It’s not too different from the shit I saw here in 2013 and 2014. 

There’s people who come into communities, plant a flag, and then burn and pillage the land before making a big show of leaving to go do it elsewhere. There are muns and muses who were driven into toxic corners by other people in this community and had nowhere left to go creatively. There are people, like myself, who lose chances at engaging in a hobby because of little whisperings behind the scenes. 

I’ve lost a lot of people close to my heart. I’ve lost a lot of people I considered good friends. I know that I am not blameless in all of those situations. I am a different person online than I am in real life, someone who is openly affectionate, sexual and flirtatious as a means of connecting with people, and someone who catches and keeps feelings too damned easy for my own good. I know I’ve had times, even if I am only aware of it in hindsight, wherein I crossed someone’s boundaries. But I apologize. I try to do better. I have good days and bad days and weeks where I go back to bad habits and bad mindsets, but I’m not an outwardly malicious or aggressive person.

And yet... within the confines of this roleplay community, this fandom, and social media in general...

You find out real quick if you’re not churning out content, whether it be art or writing or roleplay or cute selfies or callouts or engagement in performative drama... if you’re not making things for people to consume, they’re going to find you boring. They’re going to lose interest. You’re going to go from someone overwhelmed with DMs and Skype and Discord messages on a daily basis cause you were ‘popular’ to someone who cant even maintain a friendship with someone you admire and adore because they have people talking shit in their ears when you’re not around. 

I’m genuinely sorry to anyone and everyone who’s ever been at the receiving end of anything from my erratic, anxious, and depressed behavior. Every day I’m actively trying to be better about containing that shit and not letting it pilot my life and my relationships.

There’s no means to make people, roleplay partners and art friends and accounts you talked to a handful of times through fanmail [god I am dating myself now] to just reappear out of the ether. Sometimes people vanish. Sometimes people go away and you’ll never hear from them again. I get it. I’ve been on the internet since 2002. Before social media that was just a reality. I know it is. But I have tried, nonetheless, to keep in touch, to keep a foothold in this community, to be active, to be engaging, to be... something.

Yet, regardless of trying, eventually you start feeling like something went sour when two dozen people ghost you over the course of a year. When people with no relation to each other left and right just go ‘poof’ and stop replying, stop updating, stop existing. And you feel displaced. They’ve moved on to other things. You feel like you’re boring. Like you’re a one trick pony. That the craze for Daft Punk ended years ago and your gay robo-fuck isnt en vogue anymore and no one wants you around. And no matter how much Bull means to me, no matter how much I put into him, there is inevitably going to be drama, there is going to be people trying to push me and him out.

And for all purposes? It looks like they’ll get what they want eventually.

I exist on discord. 

Pretty much that’s it. 

I’m still working on commissions I’ve owed for an embarrassingly long time. I’ll start posting art again some day. And maybe I’ll be better about keeping in touch. Maybe not. Sometimes you just need to accept defeat. 

I’ll be around.))

[lovemesomesurveys]

1. when was the last time you had a headache? what about stomachache? I get a few every month, most recent was a few days ago. I get the worst tension headaches. As for for a stomachache, that’s not such a rare occurrence as someone with stomach issues.

2. which one of your classes goes by the slowest? I’m done with school.

3. what is the best movie you’ve seen in 2009? So, I Googled this cause I don’t remember what came out over a decade ago, and two big favorites from that year are Avatar and Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince.

4. the last time you walked somewhere, who were you with? It was with a friend several years ago. We used to walk around to nearby places to get food or coffee before she had a car.

5. how long would it take you to walk to the house of the last person you kissed? He lives in a different city, I would not be walking to his house.

6. where is your second home? I don’t have anywhere else I consider to be another home.

7. what did you last have a conversation with one of your siblings about? Some crazy stuff in the news.

8. other than a dislike button, what’s something you wish facebook had? That’s all I can think of.

9. the last time you cussed someone out, why were you so mad at them? I don’t curse people out.

10. robert pattison vs. taylor lautner, who’s hotter ; )? I was a Robert Pattinson fangirl back in the Twilight days. Rpatzz, as we called him back then. Super cringe lmao.

11. which part of your day was best: morning, afternoon, or night? I like my late nights/early mornings--from about midnight to 7AM. Yes, my sleep schedule is really fucked up. Has been for awhile.

12. what did you smoke out of the last time you got high? A bong.

13. do you have the person you hate the most on facebook? I don’t hate anyone, but if I did why would I have them on Facebook?

14. how many times did you clean out your text inbox today? I don’t do that.

15. what’s something you would do drunk but never do sober? I was more chatty and funny when drunk. And flirty when I was around Joseph. 

16. honestly, could you live without your computer? It would reallyyyy suck. I’d still have my phone for my other social medias, but I only do Tumblr and surveys on my laptop and I really look forward to that. 

17. what is more annoying, people who take forever to reply to texts or when they only say ‘k’? I haaaate “k” or other one word responses if we’re trying to keep a conversation going (”K” is always annoying regardless). I can’t work with that. The other person needs to help me out. It’s also annoying if I send a long text talking about something important and that’s all I get in response. Or if I send a text that I don’t think needs a response, like if I say something like I’m going to go to the store later, they don’t need to respond. And yes, it’s also very annoying if they take forever to respond if we’re having an ongoing convo or I’m needing their response for something quick. Or when I’m talking to a guy I’m interested in and I’m all giddy about talking to them and want to keep it going all anxious for them to respond lol. I should mention that I’ve had conversations online where we’d respond at different times when we felt like it and that was fine, so it does depend.  Wow, I really rambled on about this lol.

18. is there anyone you know who looks good in pictures but ugly in person? Aw, that’s mean.

19. have you ever had a night that’s been hands down the best night of your life? if so, describe what happened? I haven’t experienced that in so long...

20. what time do your parents normally get home from work? My mom’s schedule varies, but my dad works an 8-5 during the week.

21. who gets better grades, you or your best friend? Neither of us are in school anymore.

22. what is a word, if any, that you always have trouble spelling? “Onomatopoeia” Whoaaa, I actually got it right after only a couple of times. It’s not a word I ever use except for when this question comes up (for some reason it’s the word that comes to mind) and I can never spell it right without having to Google it, but I got it this time haha.

23. what was the last thing you got in trouble for doing in school? I was a goody good. Teachers loved me.

24. is family the most important thing in your life? if not, what is? God and my family.

25. what was the last awkward moment you experienced? Me just being my awkward self.

[ckret2]

I'm probably a little bit late for the hype, but for your radiosnake fic, was sir pentious being behind on current technology because he was just really heartbroken or bc he was somehow cursed? Sorry, sometimes i'm bad at understanding, so i wasn't sure if the karma bit meant that there really was some kind of supernatural intervention or not

It is never, ever too late to talk to me about one of my fics! People talk to me about stuff I was writing over a decade ago and I love it, you're good.

It's neither one, actually. He isn't too heartbroken to keep up, and he isn't cursed. He just lost so many resources that he can't keep up with new technological developments any more.

Long explanation below the cut!!

... god I think tumblr just, fucking deleted the cut. If there isn't a cut below this line I APOLOGIZE I tried to edit it back in, tumblr sucks.

Like, say in '64 someone comes into hell with knowledge of how to make a new weapon that's gonna change the game. Sir P's got a web of like a hundred informants who know they're gonna be rewarded when he has power, so he finds out about the weapon in three days and can snatch up the soul that knows how to make it in under a week. He's got a dozen mines from which he can extract the raw materials needed to make the weapon, so that takes a week; dozens of engineers working under him to figure out how to replicate the weapon based on the newly dead dude's half-remembered math, so that takes a week; and Sir Pent himself, the mastermind of this operation, has no more pressing needs to attend to--his airships are defending his turf without any need to call him in for help, he doesn't have to worry about collecting supplies because they have control of all the materials they need, nothing's disrupting their supply train in the sky, etc--so he can turn his whole attention to improving on this weapon, and he's done so in a week. So only a month has passed between this weapon entering hell and Sir Pent becoming not only the only person that has it, but the only person with the next generation version of it.

Compare: a new weapon enters hell in '76. After getting his ass stomped by the Radio Demon a decade ago, Sir P's lost most of his allies because they no longer have faith he can conquer hell (and even if they do, they don't want to risk getting on the Radio Demon's bad side—they don't know why he attacked Sir P, how do they know he won't attack his allies?) so he's got like, five informants. It takes him a month to find out about this weapon. If another overlord finds out about the weapon first and snatched up the weapon-maker, then Sir P has lost all opportunity to replicate it until the other overlord has made and started using it and he can get his hands on a copy to reverse-engineer, by which point this weapon's probably already on the way to being obsolete.

But say he DOES somehow get to this soul before anyone else: he's got like, maybe one or two mines under his control, so it takes a lot longer to extract the necessary raw materials, and that's assuming those mines have the materials this weapon needs. He might need to attack other factories or warehouses to steal the supplies he needs—and these factories & warehouses are probably being guarded by people armed with weapons he hasn't had a chance to replicate because a different overlord snatched up the weapon-maker before he ever heard about them, so they might overpower him, might even take out one of his airships. But say his raids succeed; they could take a couple of months, between planning and carefully executing the needed attacks.

It could take a couple more months for his heavily reduced number of engineers to figure out how to replicate the weapon, especially if it's outside their fields of expertise and he needs to find and recruit someone new to help—and what if he can't recruit anyone, because Sir P is no longer a top overlord that people will want to work for?

Meanwhile, Sir P is busy viciously defending his now very small turf with only a couple of airships at his disposal, AND he's got to plan and lead the raids for supplies, AND he's got to find and recruit new followers, AND he's got to organize repairs and do damage control if another overlord takes an airship out... so it might take him ANOTHER month to get around to looking at the designs himself and seeing if he can improve them. And maybe he's so stressed and overworked and tired he can't think of a way to improve the weapon.

So six months have passed and they have a rushed weapon that they might have had to make with shoddy stolen materials... and in that time, maybe someone with a weapon designed to overpower this one has died, and Vox has already snatched them up and made that weapon in a month, and so Sir P's new weapon is worthless before he uses it. Now he's six months behind.

Except he's not JUST six months behind. All his airships—which are his main bases, his main weapons, his main defenses, and his main transportation all in one—got blown up in '66, so he probably spent all of '66 and probably the next few years airshipless while he tried to rebuild them. Except while he tried to rebuild them, other overlords were stealing his turf because he had no airships to defend it—if he hears a facility of his is being attacked fifty miles away, he's powerless to go defend it. He's got no airships he can send to fight off the attackers. He's got no choice but to lose it. And that happened over and over, and he lost the very facilities he needed to rebuild his airships. So now it's gonna take twice as long to build half as many airships. And during all those YEARS he's trying to rebuild his airships, he's NOT going to be able to expend resources on keeping up with the latest weapons tech.

So in '76, he's not actually struggling to snatch up the newest weapon maker; in '76, he's finally built five airships, and they're all running on '66 technology. How is he going to even BEGIN replicating '76 technology if he completely missed out on learning about the '70 technology it's based on? By the time he's learned about '70 technology and is ready to face '76 technology, it's now '78.

Oh except another overlord who knows he's currently weak and fears what a threat he'll pose when he's strong again goes and crushes all his airships and now he falls behind five years again as he rebuilds AGAIN. And at this point Sir Pent is getting desperate, so he starts making stupid rushed mistakes in a scramble to gain some ground. (Stupid rushed mistakes like charging into Cherri Bomb's turf right after an extermination, or stupid rushed mistakes like aiming a giant cannon at Alastor just because he happens to be there.) And those stupid mistakes lose him more airships and set him back AGAIN.

It's an endless cycle. He lacks the resources to catch up with the latest developments; without the latest developments, he can't get the resources he needs.

History lesson! The fact that Sir Pent was a top overlord for so long was part luck and part momentum. When he died in 1888, he was THE first supervillain. In life he had no peers, and in death he had no peers. He was THE ONLY ONE who knew how to make the weapons of mass destruction he made. He was the ONLY human soul that could make a machine that could slaughter hundreds. The only ones stronger than him were fallen angels and proper demons (not souls who had died, but entities like Lucifer or Stolas) who had proper borderline-godly powers.

In 1933, the Radio Demon took out the power of a vast majority of those proper demons, and that's what buoyed Sir Pent up to being in a position where he could start conquering hell properly. Again, in '33, he was THE ONLY human soul who could do that. (Except, perhaps, Alastor himself, but he has no interest in claiming turf.) Other human souls began gaining power the way he had—both in the living world and in hell, there were people specifically following his example as a supervillain—but he was doing it first, and he was doing it with a lifetime (and afterlifetime) of experience. By the 60s, there were other human overlords around who'd gained some experience and were now just as good at him... but they didn't have his resources. He had a head start on them of decades. So all of them were the ones taking six months to make a weapon because he held all the supplies and personnel they needed to make the weapons. That's the primary reason he was ahead of them. Yeah, he's brilliant... but his overlord opponents are all brilliant too in different ways. The difference was, he's brilliant AND he had ten factories already.

(And it's worth remembering that he also had the Radio Demon, who's basically a walking tornado, on his side for fifteen years; so every once in a while one of Sir Pent's enemies would just have an entire facility mutilated by this dude. Not only is that a powerful weapon to be wielding, but who's gonna wanna go work for one of the guys that might be targeted by the Radio Demon?)

So! That's why Sir Pent fell behind and stayed behind. No heartbreak, and no curse. Just mathematics. Just resources. He stayed ahead because he came into hell with more resources than anyone else and stayed behind after Alastor reduced him to less resources than everyone else.

As for the "karma" section in the fic—not one single word of that scene reflects what's happening in hell in the slightest. Every single word of that scene reflects what's happening in Alastor's head. Fifty years after screwing over Sir P, he feels so miserable that he feels like he's being specifically punished. After seeing how massive and unintended the consequences of his actions are, he feels like he must be some kind of walking curse designed to torture Sir Pent.

On the one hand, seeing everything that's happened to himself and Sir P in the last fifty years and describing it as "karmic punishment/our assigned tortures in hell" is a reflection of how cataclysmically sublimely unhappy they both are. He's like, I'm so damn miserable it's GOTTA be divine punishment because nothing else could be this awful. On the other hand, it lets Alastor push some of the blame off of himself (because this REALLY IS all his fault!) and onto fate instead, like, oh, I couldn't have avoided this, it's our divine punishment. And if it's divine punishment, then there's nothing he can do to change it, is there? There's no point in trying. There's no need for him to say "I'm sorry" and try to make up for his mistakes. Because they aren't really his mistakes. He's just acting out some sort of karmic role. Right?

(And remember that a chapter earlier he was waxing poetic about how hell's not actually a bad place, really, he and Sir Pent deserve to be in hell together because it's the place they'll be happiest. :) :) :) Like, that's a direct contradiction to his "karma" theory. In both cases, neither scene is saying true things about the nature of hell—it's just Alastor's speculation based on how he currently feels.)

The logic fueling his "Sir Pent and I are each other's assigned punishments and there's nothing I can do about that but grin and bear it" is the same logic fueling his "dead sinners can't be redeemed, they had their chance in life and wasted it, now they're in hell forever" to Charlie in the pilot. The message behind both is the same: we can't and shouldn't be forgiven for our past mistakes; why bother trying to make up for them?

[donteattheappleshook]

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. 

[kingstammers]

I know no-one looks at my tumblr. It’s why i log in so rarely.  I'm trying hard to keep a positive vibe going. It's a conscious decision, because when everything is so overwhelmingly negative, I want to be actively putting positivity out into the world.

Today’s leading to a rant though. Don’t worry. It’s not about Covid, or the app they’re asking us to download on the Island, or how much of a moron Boris is.

Can we talk about the coverage surrounding Adele?

I’m a fan of Adele. I like her. I enjoy her music. I enjoy her sense of humour too. Her Glastonbury set had me in stitches. Am I die hard fan? Nah. Not really. But I’ll willingly admit I think her albums are bangers, and she deserves every plaudit she’s ever won.

So when I woke up this morning, and saw her trending all over social media, I was curious. New album maybe? Maybe she cranked out an EP of topical anthems whilst on lockdown. (Hello from the QUARRENNNTTIIIINNNNEEEEEEE)

Nope. She’s lost weight apparently. Good for her. Her body, her choice. Whatever she’s doing, as long as she feels better about herself, I’m all for…

…But I want to talk about the language people are using around this. And unlike half of the pundits that TV have dragged out of quarantine, I actually have some salient point to make here.

Why has it taken up until now for the media to acknowledge that she’s a beautiful woman? Only after she’s shed half of her body weight with aid of nutritionists and personal trainers. Was she not beautiful before? Please, come at me with your half-baked takes. I’d love to hear why her appearance even matters? Frankly she was releasing classic album, after classic album, Could belt it out like a motherfucker, dominated the charts for the better part of a decade, based solely on the strength of her abilities as a songwriter. On top of all that, she set fire to the rain, Which MAY I REMIND YOU, is made of water. Do you have any idea how hard it is to set fire to water?

Is the narrative here talking about how she’s a capable, confident, successful woman? Nope. Once again, society has reduced someone to their clothing size.

Cards on the table time, I’m a larger guy. Im aware of why this is such a personal thing for me. I struggle a lot with my relationship with my body, and have done for a LONG time. I was skinny as a kid, and shortly after I started high-school, my body shape began to fluctuate wildly. I wasn’t too surprised, the general genetic make-up of the males in my family has been described as ’Stocky’. One person referred to us as ‘A line of blokes genetically bred to be rugby players’. That’s one of the nicer comments, so I’ll take that. The moment I started growing a belly, peoples attitudes instantly changed. I became the butt of a lot of jokes. I rolled with it for a while. Im pretty chill about such things. When you hear a joke often enough though, it starts to plant seeds in your brain.

There were a lot of instances that I won’t talk about. Honestly, If I documented all of them, we’d be here for years. There’s three that really stand out. The first was when I was 13, and three kids held me down and smacked me in the face with a cake. It was hilarious apparently. Watching a fat kid’s face get smashed in, nose bleeding through the icing and sponge.

In The second was 15. I was on a bus. Someone spat in my face, and then wanted to know why I didn’t swallow.

The third was at a house party when I was about 18/19. Someone asked me if fucking me would be like having a go on a bouncy castle. Y’know, cause I’m so big and all...

Thing is, I’m not even that big. I mean, Having had it drilled into me since a kid, I’m aware that by acceptable standards, I’m HUGE, but there are people bigger than me.

I even joke about it on-stage nowadays. I talk about the heckles I get. I almost wear it like a suit of armour. Because if I can get in there first, you can’t fucking use it against me.  

So forgive me when I get angry hearing some interchangeable celebrity reporter on ‘Good Morning Britain’ give his two cents on the subject, like he’s ever had to deal with body image issues. You have NOTHING TO CONTRIBUTE HERE. Fucking Nothing.

So here we are again. It’s drilled into us once again that ultimately you’re only real worth is how you look. You could have arguable the greatest discography of modern music? It doesn’t matter because you just so happen to wear an XL pair of jeans.

Have a little sensitivity folks. When you talk about Adele ‘Waving Goodbye’ to the person she used to be, you’re inherently telling the people like the before picture that they’re not ideal. That they don’t matter unless they she’d a few pounds. You’re reinforcing the reasons they don’t have the confidence to pursue certain activities, or Why they’re single. You’re confirming the world view of every bully that ever got a cheap laugh from the class.

I thought we all agreed a few months ago to #BeKind? Or did that trend vanish the moment the press had some papers to flog? I guarantee you, at least ONE of your friends has been made to feel uncomfortable in their skin. Some of them might even genuinely hate themselves for it.

Try being a little kinder folks. Or don’t. What the fuck do I know? I’m just the kid with a broken nose and a facefull of icing…