#talking about the music during nolan telling house that he’s not god

[junipum]

wtf is this hopeful ass elevator music. give me agony i want the most gut-wrenching heartbreaking instrumental chords any human has ever strung together

[trashforhockeyguys]

Don’t Hold Me -1- Carter Hart

A/N: So, I talked about writing this a long time ago. And @oven-chicken-blog​ and I started talking about Carter a while back, so Carter miniseries is a go. As always, angst. Lots of angst ahead. Also, new chapters for this will probably be slow. There are also going to be some content warnings to go along with this. Including mentions of different types of abuse, panic disorders, and PTSD.

You loved living in Philadelphia. You loved U Penn. You’d never really thought about what would happen if you landed in a city full of people that you knew. To be honest, you didn’t think you’d end up in a place with several people you knew, not when you were going out of state for school. But when you landed in Philly and you received a text from someone you’d known for quite a few years, you were more than shocked. 

Yet, you liked it. Because you now had someone to look after you during the school year. You more than appreciated that you had someone, especially someone you trusted and someone you knew would take care of you. 

You already made several calls to him during the first semester of your freshman year, especially when you needed someone. He was the closest thing you had to family on this side of the coast. The fact that he’d known you since you were a child definitely helped. 

“Where are you?”

“I’m outside of the hockey house, off campus,” You quickly explained, “I- I need you to come get me. Please. I need to get out of here.”

He must’ve sensed the fact that you were close to tears, because the next thing you knew, you could hear him getting up and telling whoever else was with him to move their ass. He kept talking to you, making sure you were still there, as he moved. 

“I need you to tell me the address, sweetheart,” He begged, “I promise, I’m on my way, I just need to know where I’m going.”

You looked around you, trying to find a street sign and a house number. You could still hear the music playing behind you, and the sound of everyone inside cheering over something. You felt sick. You weren’t entirely sure that you wouldn’t throw up right there on the street. You took a few deep breaths before being able to focus enough to ramble off what seemed like the right address to him. 

“Patty, did you get that?” he called to someone else in the car. 

“Yeah, we should be there in twenty,” the other guy replied.

“Keep talking to me, okay? We’ll be there soon.”

You curled up on the curb, instantly regretting the short skirt and crop top you’d worn to the party. Maybe you should’ve listened to your brother, who tried to tell you not to go near the hockey guys. He was stupidly protective over you, but he seemed to be right this time.

You were shaking and starting to freeze. You wished you would’ve out on more clothes, or just stayed in your dorm room. There was a lot about tonight that you were already regretting. You should’ve listened. You shouldn’t have gone, you shouldn’t have started to drink. You should’ve been more careful. 

“Y/N!”

Without even thinking, you found yourself running into his arms. He was warm and safe. You knew, much like your actual brother, that he wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, so long as he was there to stop them. 

“What happened? Huh?”

“I just want to get out of here, please, Trav,” You begged him. 

“Okay. Here, take this, you’re fucking freezing,” Travis hastily took off his jacket and put it around you, “Patty, can you drive so I can sit in the back with her?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“I’m sorry Nol.”

He laughed and gave you a quick side hug, “I’m just offended that you don’t have me on speed dial yet.”

“Not now Patty.”

You mustered as much of a smile as you could, “You’re Brother #3 in my phone, not quite on speed dial, but pretty close.”

“C’mon, I’m assuming your roommate is at that party?” Travis asked you, to which you nodded, “Alright, you can crash with us.”

Travis helped you into the car before running to the other side. Nolan climbed into the driver’s side and started up the car. You got situated and then ripped off your stupid high heels. They were another thing you regretted about tonight.

“I promise, I don’t always look like a cheap hooker,” You joked, noticing Nolan looking at you through the mirror.

“Never said you did.”

“I thought you promised E that you weren’t going to party,” Travis mentioned a few minutes later. 

“He’s not my mother, I’m legally an adult, I can do whatever the hell I want,” You grumbled. 

“Just because you can, Y/N, doesn’t mean that you should.”

You rolled your eyes. He sounded like your big brother, maybe because they were best friends and you knew Travis felt responsible for you. Either way, they didn’t control you. Even if they were right, they didn’t dictate your life. 

You were capable of making your own decisions and you could deal with the repercussions of them. You were old enough, you were in college, that was the time to make mistakes. And the time to fuck up. Yet you knew tonight was a bad idea from the start, but you wanted to feel normal again.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Travis finally asked. 

“Drunk hockey players,” you shrugged, “One of them just saw a short skirt, and nothing else. That’s all. I just didn’t want to stay.”

“Do we need to turn around so I can beat the shit out of him?” Travis asked. 

“No, he’s not worth it Trav.”

“No. But you are.”

You woke up on his couch the next morning, with little memory of what happened the night before. Patty was moving around in the kitchen, you hoped he was making coffee. God, you needed coffee. Your head was pounding. You probably shouldn’t have said yes to a glass of whatever was in that damned bucket. 

You groaned and rolled over. The sunlight was too much. Didn’t TK have any damned blinds in this place? Surely he got paid enough to afford some damned blinds, or maybe even curtains. Something to keep the sun from killing you.

“Here.” Travis was the one to bring me the coffee.

A mug was placed down on the table in front of you, followed by Aspirin, and another blanket was draped over you. You smiled before snuggling deeper into the couch. At least Travis got a comfortable couch. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Like an elephant sat on my head,” You groaned. 

He laughed and sat on the edge of the couch. He started rubbing your back, slowly, just like he did a few years ago, back when he played with your brother. You groaned again and buried your head deeper into the pillows.

You tried not to think about what happened last night. You knew the party was a bad idea. You’d known that from the instant your roommate invited you. Hockey players were normally something you tried to stay away from, unless it was Travis and Nolan. You knew you could trust them, but that was as far as it went for you.

College hockey players were something that you tried to avoid at all costs. You Knew what they were like, you knew all too well. Nothing about them was good. Yet, when she’d asked you to go, you didn’t say no. Instead you pulled out your shortest skirt and a low cut top. 

“Are you okay? You were pretty shaken up last night.”

“I’m fine Trav,” you assured him, “It was a pretty stupid idea. But I’m fine.”

He gave your shoulder a squeeze. You couldn’t even begin to thank him enough for rescuing you last night, and all the other times that you’d called him before that. You used to call him instead of your brother, Ethan, because Travis asked fewer questions and could keep a secret.

He was good at picking you up, and giving you space, all while loving you in the way that you needed at the time. He made you feel safe and protected, all like Ethan did, just without asking why he was needed.

“Do you want to talk more about it?”

“Nope. I want to drink my coffee, and keep your sweats on, because they’re comfy.”

“I won’t be getting those back will I?” He questioned. 

“Nope you play for the team You can get more.”

He laughed. He knew you’d never give them back anyway. You always took his and your brother’s. Any chance you got, they’d always become yours. Truth be hold, he should be lucky that you hadn’t taken any yet this season.

“Hey! I made eggs, since TK actually went to the store yesterday and bought shit!”

“C’mon, eggs and toast, good hangover cure.” 

You cracked a smile. How many times have you made that very thing for him over the years? That was always your go to for everyone. You wondered if Patty remembered the last time you made it for him and Travis. 

“Oh, Carter is coming over,” Patty reminded Trav. 

“Shit, I forgot,” He looked over at me and tried to crack a smile, “Guess you’ll get to meet Carter, unless you want me to take you home?”

“No, because she’ll probably have someone in her bed and the room is going to smell like sex, and probably vomit, knowing her,” You explained, “So, I guess I’ll just stay? If that’s okay?”

They both shrugged, “He’s your age, maybe you two could be good for each other? Since you seem to be tired of Patty.”

“You are not setting me up with your teammate,” You snapped, “You know how I feel about other hockey players.”

“If I didn’t already know you, I’d probably take offense to that,” Patty warned, “But, having known you for over a year now, and fighting to actually get you to like me, I understand.”

“You’re lucky I can still stand to be around you.”

“Wow, I love you too, Kiddo!”

“Nolan! You’re a year older than me, shut up.”

Travis laughed and shoved Nolan’s shoulder. You loved the two of them in a way you didn’t realize you could. You’d been so cut off for so long and they seemed to slowly bring you back enough. You still weren’t 100%, there were still parts of you that weren’t fully glued back together. But you were okay. 

You didn’t know what you’d do without either of them to be completely honest. They’d become the family that you didn’t have while you were at school. They went far beyond just picking you up outside of parties, or rescuing you from your roommate and her constant visitors.

You depended on both of them in a way. Sure, Travis was as good as family, that was a no brainer, but Nolan was too. He’d been there for you since the day Travis first reached back out to you. You loved them both. But that didn’t mean you wanted to meet someone else. 

“I think I might just go climb into your bed Trav. My whole body is feeling it today, and you actually have blinds in your room.”

“Y/N! C’mon, it’s Hart. You even said you liked watching him in goal.”

“Just because I like to watch him play, doesn’t mean I actually want to meet him. I’m not in the mood today Travis,” You hoped he wouldn’t keep pushing you on it. 

You hoped he wouldn’t make you beg. You didn’t want to see anyone else. Your little circle of friends was enough. You couldn’t handle another guy in your life. Last night was a mistake, brought on by hours of your roommate bugging you to go. You were tired of always hiding out, but you also couldn’t handle everything that came with going out. 

“Okay. We’ll try and be quiet out here,” he sighed and kissed your forehead, he was one of the only people that you’d ever let do that, “Go back to sleep. I’ll check on you in a while.”

You tried not to think about the fact that you were running from someone you didn’t even know. Travis wouldn’t try to get you to meet anyone who wasn’t worth it, you knew that. But at the same time, after last night, you weren’t ready for any other surprises. 

You tried your best to ignore the sounds that followed the arrival of the young goalie. However, despite Travis’ promise, they weren’t quiet. You buried yourself under the blanket and closed your eyes. You’d been able to fall asleep during parties before, surely you could sleep through three guys practically screaming in the living room. 

You were just starting to finally doze off when the bedroom door slammed open. You practically jumped out of the bed, not expecting any of them to come bursting in like that. Standing in the doorway was the person you were trying to avoid. 

“Oh, shit,” His cheeks instantly turned red, “Sorry, I’ll just um-”

He backed out and shut the door. You could hear him chuckle as he made his way back down the hall, “TK, man you should’ve told me you had a girl over. I would’ve left you alone.”

You couldn’t help the anger that bubbled up as you threw off the covers. All you wanted to do was get some sleep, and then hang out with the boys that you consider to be your family. You didn’t want to meet anyone, you didn’t ask for Carter Hart to join you. You certainly didn’t exactly want him to think you were something that you weren’t. 

So, you found yourself throwing open the door and marching into the living room. Nolan already looked panicked when he saw you. Travis was trying to explain to Carter who you were. But suddenly all you felt like doing was yelling at all of them.

“What the hell? Seriously, what part of I wanted to sleep didn’t you understand Travis?”

Travis sighed and ran a hand through his hair before turning back to Carter, “Cart, this is Y/N, my unofficial little sister. She crashed here because her roommate is...a little too friendly with some guys on campus.”

“Wait, you’re Y/N?” Carter whipped around to face you, pure shock on his face.

“Well, I’m certainly not someone just warming Travis’s bed,” You snapped back, “I think I’m going to head out now.”

You turned and reached for the gym bag Travis gave you last night to put your clothes in. The walls were starting to close in on you, all you wanted to do was run. But when you started to make your way to the door, a hand reached out and grabbed your shoulder. Somehow you instantly knew it wasn’t Travis and you froze.

“Hey, c’mon you don’t have to leave.”

Before even thinking you spun back around, and slapped his hand away from you, “Don’t touch me.” 

You didn’t have to look at Travis to know that he was starting to panic. So was Nolan. They knew what your boundaries were. You couldn’t fully be mad at the young man in front of you, because he didn’t know. He didn’t know you, or what you could and couldn’t handle. It wasn’t his fault. 

“Don’t touch me.”

Your voice was smaller now. You sounded mousy. You hated that feeling that came along with this. You backed away from all three of them. You needed air. You knew Travis and Nolan would never do anything that you weren’t comfortable with, but Carter made you nervous. You knew he was harmless, Travis wouldn’t let him near you if he wasn’t. But still, he made you uneasy in ways that you couldn’t understand. 

“At least let me drive you back to campus,” Travis begged. 

“Trust me, I need to walk.”

“Y/N-”

“I love you Trav. I’ll call you later.”

You shouldn’t be running. You knew that. You should be able to stand your ground and meet Travis’s friends, his hockey family. They were more than important to him, yet the only one you could handle being around was Nolan. It had nothing to do with the rest of the guys and everything to do with you. 

You couldn’t expect any of them to understand why you were the way that you were. Travis knew because he was there during everything. Nolan knew because Nolan had witnessed bits and pieces. But there wasn’t an easy way for you to explain it to anyone else. So you hid. And you’d keep hiding because that’s what you were good at.

[hockey-fics]

Swipe Right ~ Nolan Patrick

Summary: Nolan shows up in your life during a pretty terrible moment but the relationship that develops because of it just might be worth it. 

Word Count: ~1,500 (a short one for once) 

Warnings: Language, maybe some iffy physical contact in the context of a relationship (nothing major, but if you’re sensitive to that sort of thing it might bother you), cheating (does that need a warning?)

Author’s Note: I wrote this like a good while ago (June 1st to be exact) and never posted it. Probably because it’s not great. But I figured I would post it anyway and maybe someone might enjoy it? Also, that gif? Don’t know when I made it, don’t know why I made. It was just in my finished gif folder on my computer and it’s here now. 

Your heart pounds heavily in your chest as you hurry down the hallway, not daring to look back. Not daring to face him, to come face to face with reality. 

“Y/N, wait,” Kyle says and you can tell by how close the sound is that he’s not far from you, that he’s managed to get himself composed enough to come after you. He was clearly too nervous to try and physically stop you from leaving. Even he knew that would be striking the match to light the fuse. “Y/N, stop, where are you even going to go? I drove us here.”

A sarcastic laugh slips by your lips as you pivot around to face him. You could only take so much, could only bite your tongue for so long. “You’re really going to try and hold a ride home over my head, you asshole?” you snap, glaring up at him. You keep your arms folded tight over your chest defensively. “I don’t know where I’m going, Kyle. It doesn’t even matter though because anywhere is better than standing here with you.” Your voice and words are harsh but the tears glossing over your eyes shatter the exterior you were putting up. 

“Don’t say that.” He seems genuinely upset by your words. In almost any other situation you would probably feel bad, never wanting to hurt anyone. But not now. “Please just let me explain-”

“Explain what, Kyle? I just walked in on you getting your dick sucked. I saw it pretty clearly myself, I don’t need you to explain anything to me,” you say and now the tears have left your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you stare up at him. “Pretty great timing too,” you mumble, thinking back to the day before. When he told you he loved you for the first time. 

“Babe,” Kyle practically whispers, his voice almost getting lost in the background noise of the house party. Almost. A moment later, before you have the chance to protest him calling you babe he extends his arms, his hands landing on your arms as he attempts to tug you closer. 

“Don’t,” you state firmly, wiggling in his grasp. “Get your hands off me, Kyle. We’re done. It’s over, there’s nothing left to talk about so just let me go.”

“Please,” Kyle croaks, his grip tightening on your arms. “Can’t we please just talk about this?”

“No-.”

Before you get the chance to say much more your eyes lock with those of a tall guy down the hallway. He hesitates for a second before stepping closer, moving into Kyle’s sightline now. “Everything okay?” he asks. 

“Yeah, everything is fine,” Kyle states cooly, his hands falling from your arms and allowing you the freedom of movement to reach up and quickly wipe the tears from your face. 

Suddenly you’re aware that both Kyle and the stranger are staring at you expectantly, waiting for your answer. “I’m fine,” you whisper before quickly turning around and continuing the journey you had been on a few minutes prior, away from Kyle. 

With your back to them now Kyle attempts to follow after you before the other guy extends his hand out, stopping Kyle in his tracks. “If she wants to talk to you, she can come to you. So just leave her alone. Got it?” he says to Kyle, a warning hidden in his tone. 

“She’s my girlfriend,” Kyle protests feebly. 

“I don’t know what’s going on, man, but it doesn’t really look like it,” he says to Kyle, giving him a harder than necessary pat on the shoulder before walking down the hallway. 

Shutting the front door behind you your pace slows a little, walking the length of the front patio and sitting down on the bench tucked into the corner. It still didn’t quite feel real. Outside the music is muffled, the air cold on your still damp cheeks. Sitting with your eyes focused on the night sky you force yourself to take a few slow deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down. The door opens and you brace yourself to deal with Kyle again, not wanting to, but unsure how easily he was going to give up. Surprisingly it’s not Kyle who walks through the door, but the one who came and, thankfully, interrupted the conversation with Kyle. You watch him glance around before stopping when he spots you. 

“Hey,” he says gently, approaching you slowly as if you were a stray animal that he was trying not to scare off. “You okay?”

Nodding you force a reassuring smile onto your lips. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you tell him. “Thanks for stepping in back there.”

You watch him shrug off your gratitude, clearly not feeling like he did much. “Is he your boyfriend?” 

Hesitating you shake your head. “Not anymore.” 

“Do you, uh, want to talk about it?” he asks, coming across incredibly unsure of himself. 

Laughing softly you look over at him through inquisitive eyes. You couldn’t figure out why he would want to listen to you talk about your problems when he could be enjoying the party happening not ten feet away on the other side of the wall. “I’m okay, you don’t have to be my therapist just because you walked down the hallway at a bad time.”

You watch him glance back towards the door before walking over and sitting down on the bench beside you. “It’s a shitty party anyway,” he tells you, making you laugh again. “I’m Nolan.”

“Y/N,” you tell him. 

It wasn’t a particularly conventional way to start a friendship. But Nolan sat outside that house with you for what seemed like hours, listening to you talk and letting you cry for a while before the conversation moved onto lighter things. Before long he was making you laugh, forgetting for the time being what had just happened. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?” Nolan questions, walking back into the living room and flopping down on the couch beside you, not giving you a chance to answer as he leans over, looking at your phone. “Are you on Tinder?”

“Yeah,” you admit, stopping what you were doing to turn your head and look at Nolan. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“Are you sure you’re like, ready for that?”

“Ready for it?” you question, laughing at the serious tone of his voice. 

“To start dating again after Kyle,” Nolan clarifies. 

“Dating,” you repeat the word he had chosen. “How do you know I’m not just looking for a quick fuck?”

Nolan shifts on the couch, seeming uncomfortable by that. “Are you?”

Shrugging you glance over at him, realizing just how close he was sitting to you, one arm slung over the back of the couch behind you. “I don’t know, I was just going to see how things went. It’s been six months, Nols. I was only with him for ten. If I’m not over him by now I think there are bigger things going on.”

“Okay,” Nolan mutters, reaching over and grabbing your phone out of your hands with such speed you didn’t have time to stop him. “I’ll help you.”

“Help me?” you laugh, shaking your head. “I’m perfectly capable of picking guys on my own.”

Nolan gives you a quick look, eyebrows raised slightly. “I don’t know if you are.”

Rolling your eyes you dramatically collapse back into the couch. “Fine,” you huff, gesturing to your phone, “go for it.”

Nolan returns his focus to your phone, going through the profiles on the screen. Time after time he swipes left, occasionally accompanied by a comment about what was wrong with that guy. As he continues you unconsciously gravitate closer, watching all the guys you might have had a chance with disappearing before you.

“For fuck's sake,” you eventually exclaim, exasperated that in all the options he hadn’t swiped right on a single profile. “Give me my phone back.” 

“No,” Nolan protests, pulling the phone away from you as you reach for it. “I’ll find you someone, just relax.”

Sighing you rest your head on his shoulder, letting him continue. It’s not like you were that eager to get back out there. You would be lying to yourself to say that you would rather be on a first date than cuddled up on Nolan’s couch. So, letting him say no to every possibility wasn’t too upsetting. 

Your focus intensifies as you see Nolan’s own profile show up on your screen. Biting the inside of your lip you watch his finger hovering over the screen of your phone, waiting to see how he would handle it. A couple seconds later he’s swiped right. 

“Oh my god, Nolan,” you groan, reaching over and actually taking the phone back this time. “You’re an idiot.”

“Huh,” Nolan mutters, accompanied by a forced chuckle. “So that’s a no?”

Sitting up straighter you turn sideways on the couch to face him. “What are you talking about? No to what?” 

Nolan removes his arm from the back of the couch, his hand grasping at yours as he laces his fingers with yours. “A date, with me.”

“Nolan,” you whisper, heart hammering in your chest. “Are you serious or is this a joke? Because I really do want to go on a date with you, but if this is all a joke-.”

Nolan quickly moves his hand to the side of your face, leaning down and ever so lightly pressing his lips to yours, testing the waters. “It’s not a joke,” he tells you, lips so close you can feel his breath as he speaks. 

“I would have swiped right on you, Nolan,” you giggle before closing the small distance left between the two of you and kissing him again.

[aion-rsa]

Zack Snyder’s Justice League: Why Wonder Woman and the Amazons Have a New Theme

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Tom Holkenborg wants to take an entirely different spin on the music we associate with Diana Prince, aka Wonder Woman. To be sure, the famous electric cello theme composed by Hans Zimmer, whom Holkenborg collaborated with on the score to Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice (2016), still appears in Zack Snyder’s Justice League. Yet this time around, the Dutch composer, who is also known as Junkie XL, was looking to bring out a different side of Wonder Woman’s personality, not to mention Zack Snyder’s decidedly more ancient interpretation of the Amazons.

“It does use that [Zimmer] riff,” Holkenborg says when we sit down for a Zoom roundtable interview. “But what was missing, potentially, in an earlier approach is that everything Diana does is covered with a blanket of being feminine and being respectful that she’s a woman. My answer [to that] is, ‘Have you actually seen how she kicks ass?’ She takes a whole army out by herself. It’s like why are we softening up her music? If anything it should be the roughest of all of them.”

Hence when you hear the “Wonder Woman Theme” in the Snyder Cut next week, it will be familiar but more guttural, as if it’s consumed by a drive to cut straight for the throat. It also is not the only Wonder Woman theme in the movie. In fact, a more regal and ethereal leitmotif plays just as often for Diana and the rest of the Amazons—it’s a piece of music that relies on choral chants and lamentations. With obvious eastern and Mediterranean influences, it might better resemble the music in Ridley Scott’s Gladiator than it does traditional superhero movies.

Says Holkenborg, “I made the music very tough for her at times, and way more emotional than the original was, because I infused her theme with a lot of world music elements. There’s a lot of Amazon clan tribe in there, where she comes from. And it’s such a strong clan and it has such an old quality to it; they’ve always been here and they always will be here. That’s the philosophy, so the music needed to [feel like] it breathes for thousands of years, forwards and backwards at the same time.”

He adds, “That’s the quality world music has for me. It’s always been, it will always be. Whereas a hip electronic sound [will have you say], ‘Yeah, that was great in 1988, wasn’t it?’ But not so much in 2006. And whatever Trap music you come up with in 2020 will sound horribly dated in five years when nobody is even interested anymore in Trap.”

These are just a few of the thoughts Holkenborg has had on his mind since last spring when he began work on what HBO Max has dubbed Zack Snyder’s Justice League. It’s been a bittersweet process for the composer, who worked as an assistant to Zimmer on Man of Steel (2013) before evolving in his relationship to co-composer on Batman v Superman. With Justice League, he was always intended to be the solo composer, following up his celebrated Mad Max: Fury Road score by ushering in the sound for the next era of the DCEU. But it was not to be.

When Snyder felt obligated to step away from Justice League, resulting in Joss Whedon taking over for extensive reshoots, Holkenborg knew his time in the DCEU was also over. Danny Elfman ultimately took on composer duties, throwing out Zimmer and Holkenborg’s themes from the previous DC films in favor of reprising John Williams’ iconic Superman theme, as well as Elfman’s own work on Batman (1989).

“I just want to point out that I’ve never seen the Joss Whedon version,” Holkenborg tells me. “It was too painful for me to watch that. And I don’t mean painful that I wouldn’t like the film because of its merits as a film, but purely for the fact that Zack and I were not working on it.”

But the chance to scale what the Holkenborg calls “Mount Everest” came again when fans made history by convincing a studio, or at least its parent company, WarnerMedia, to invest in letting Snyder finish his vision. It also meant Holkenborg is returning to the DCEU, albeit under different circumstances.

“When I played the music that I started on in 2016, I finished maybe 50 percent of the film. But back in the day it was a two-hour film, and now we’re talking about a four hour and 20-minute film.” The nature of the beast had obviously grown. Additionally, Holkenborg was also haunted by one of the key reasons for his and Snyder’s departure—the death of Snyder’s daughter. The composer ultimately dubbed the music he wrote four years ago as coming from a “painful time period,” and he wanted to start from scratch.

“I called Zack and I said, ‘Do you mind if I start over?’ And he said, ‘No by all means.’ He wasn’t necessarily married to anything we cooked up in those days, and he also added, ‘Keep in mind when you start the shackles are off.’” By shackles, Snyder meant pleasing anyone other than themselves.

Says Holkenborg, “There was no interference of studios and producers on this particular film, which… is extremely unique. This only happens to final cut directors like George Miller, James Cameron, Peter Jackson, and Chris Nolan, for instance. So I’m lucky to work with a few of those.”

And thanks to the Snyder Cut, the four-hour version’s namesake is also added to that list. Nevertheless, it was an odd experience composing a four-hour epic during a pandemic. It’s why Holkenborg scored much of the film from his own house with one bass, a keytar, and a handful of other instruments lying around.

Says Holkenborg, “When you work on a film like this, and you hear the film score and you see the movie, you would think, ‘Oh a movie like that, you could only write music for that if you have a massive studio with 20 assistants and the most expensive engineers, and microphones that are half a million dollars each.’ Clearly no, you can do it with a lot less. My setup is not that fancy anyway… I never really liked the clean designs, multimillion-dollar studios. It’s not for me. Just give me a house, throw the furniture out, and put some instruments in. Very simple. It’s always been like that.”

Between that and Snyder’s vision being undiluted, this might just be the purest process yet. It’s certainly one that brings back Zimmer’s bittersweet Superman theme from Man of Steel and Batman v Superman, and marries it with a larger universe of gods and monsters, as aurally imagined by Holkenborg. The age of Snyder’s heroes comes at last.

Zack Snyder’s Justice League premieres on HBO Max on Thursday, March 18.

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[bookstoreromantic]

Took My Love (took it down) 1/3

Summary: The tight-knit town of Storybrooke isn’t exactly the world’s most ideal place to be licking one’s wounds, but even a town where everyone knows everyone else (and their business) can still provide the odd surprise. (Or, the Tortured Musician fic featuring ex bartender Emma Swan.) ~6k

Rating: M

a/n: Yes, it’s rated M. Yes, this is the first time I’ve posted something with smut in it so for the love of god be kind. I’ve written ahead a bit so that I could post the first part if I hit a wall and since I haven’t opened the doc since before xmas... here we go!

Also available on FFnet and AO3. Multiple and profuse thank yous to @swallowedsong​ and @initiala​.

i.

           Unlike her son, Emma hasn’t made the long drive from New York to Storybrooke in over three years. Not since she packed up their things and left town two days after Ruth’s funeral. It’s been easier in the years since to just put Henry on a bus at the start of summer vacation and send him off to spend two weeks with his uncle. To claim being too busy or not able to get the time off work when David asks why she doesn’t come along. Going back now feels a lot like giving up. And it probably is, in a way.

           She’s spent so long being determined to make it on her own. Just her and her kid in the big city, living an unglamorous life but having grand adventures while they do it. David hadn’t been happy when she’d picked up and left after his mother died and she doubts he’s going to be much happier when he learns the reason behind her unannounced visit. If she hadn’t been so completely blindsided she might have been able to come up with a different plan, but Henry was already packed and ready to go and Storybrooke, well…

           Storybrooke is the closest she’s ever gotten to having a home.

           Not that she has any desire to move back permanently. This is temporary, she repeats to herself over and over on the drive. Just a chance to clear her head. There are too many ghosts in the sleepy seaside town to make her ever think about moving back. Too many mistakes. Too many things she should’ve done and words she didn’t say and the chance is gone now, there’s no going back and starting over.

           New York was supposed to be the place where she could figure her shit out in anonymity. Instead it’s sent her from the frying pan to the fire — running away from her adult mistakes and back to the small town that had picked apart each and every one she’d made as a teenager and a too-young mother.

           Emma knows full well that she’ll never be able to repay the kindness that Ruth Nolan showed her when she bailed her pregnant, runaway self out of jail and hired her a lawyer. She’d barely been able to take care of herself and her son back then, let alone chip away at the debt she owed her foster mother. And then a brain aneurysm stole her away from them, killing any ideas Emma might have had of being able to make it up to her in some far off, misty future where her life wasn’t a complete mess.

           It’s still a mess. It’s always going to be a mess, she thinks. But she’s picked herself up in Storybrooke once before. Maybe these two weeks will give her the chance to do it again.

           Her twelve year-old is dead asleep in the back of the bug by the time they cross the town line and Emma takes a deep breath, guiding the car along the winding forest roads until they finally turn onto Main Street. It’s too late now to throw herself on David and Mary Margaret’s hospitality so she parks the car just outside of Granny’s and kills the engine, counting down silently from five as Henry starts to stir.

           “Are we here?” he mumbles, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

           Emma smiles, remembering how she used to drive the town’s empty roads at night back when he was a baby, hoping against hope that this time he wouldn’t wake up when the engine shut off.

           “We’re here,” she says, reaching back to ruffle his hair. He grumbles and tries to swat her hand away and she laughs as she opens her door. “I’m gonna go get us a room. Grab the bags from the trunk?”

           “Yeah, okay.”

           Emma smiles at him again before getting out of the car and heading up the walkway. She might still be a mess, but she must have done something right to wind up with such a genuine and laidback kid. Henry had barely even batted an eye when she told him things were over with Walsh and would it be okay if she joined him in Storybrooke this year, maybe? He’d just given her a hug and asked if she was okay then promised to make sure their vacation together was ‘epic.’

           Emma isn’t okay. She’s furious. And humiliated. And furious over feeling humiliated. But Henry worries too much about her happiness to start with, he doesn’t need to know that she got taken for a fool.

           Neither does David, for that matter. Not crashing at the Nolan house means she has another few hours to figure out what stripped down version of events she’ll give to her over-protective foster brother.

           She doesn’t need help, no matter how well-intended it may be. She just needs to get herself together and get out. That’s the plan. The trick will be in not letting the parts of Storybrooke that are wrapped around her heart cut too tight.

           It’s a beautiful day in Storybrooke, the irksome voice on the radio alarm informs him, and Killian couldn’t care less. He has no idea how much he drank the night before — his nightly habit tends to operate on a sliding scale of reasonable to whatever’s worse than binge drinking. To his credit, he doesn’t black out as much since Liam brought him to Storybrooke (he agreed to come help with the store, he’s not going to completely let his brother down when he needs him) but having work to do during the day does nothing to make the nights any easier.

           Nights are for her. Night was when they used to stay up until dawn working together, playing with rhythms and melodies and lyrics until the song came alive. Night was when they’d be up on stage with the boys, playing a set or two or three at whatever bar would have them and telling themselves that this one would be their break. Night was when they’d fall into bed together, trying in vain to keep quiet in cheap motels with thin walls. All of his best memories with Milah happened at night and so night is when he drowns for missing her.

           It’s been over half a year since she died. He doesn’t know who he is anymore without her.

           One more day, he tells himself. One more day manning the cash and then he can do whatever the hell he likes with his Saturday night. Killian swings his legs over the side of the bed to get up and knocks over an empty beer bottle in the process. It rolls across the room until it hits the wall but he ignores it, along with all the others that sit scattered about the studio apartment. It’s not like anybody sees the place to care that it’s a mess. His brother let him the flat above the shop after one too many drunken nights crashing at his place with his sick wife and eleven year-old son in the house. But so long as he shows up to work to open on time, doesn’t drink on the job, and joins them for family dinners — irritatingly pleasant affairs where nobody talks about Elsa’s chemotherapy or admits that Killian is still a grieving, drunken mess — he’s mostly left to his own devices.

           To be honest, he’s not so sure if that’s a good thing. But his brother has his own family to worry about and Killian’s penchant for public intoxication when he first came to town has not exactly endeared him to the locals.

           He showers quickly, the cool water clearing the last of the sleep from his addled and hung over brain. The jeans are the same as he’s been wearing all week but he pulls on a clean shirt for appearance’s sake. Breakfast is a couple slices of toast slathered in peanut butter and washed down with orange juice — the same bloody thing seven days a week, he broods but he doesn’t care enough to bother making something else. Killian locks up and heads downstairs, entering the shop from the back. He flicks on the lights, starts the coffee, and unlocks the door right at nine am sharp.

           Atlantic Twine & Net has been a Storybrooke fixture for over forty years, a commercial fishing supplies store with a prime location on Main Street right next to Granny’s Diner. His brother kept the name when he bought the place awhile back and has done his part over the years to keep Storybrooke’s various fish ‘n chips restaurants well-stocked with local fare. Fishing’s not exactly Killian’s area of expertise, but he’s been at it for a few months now and most everyone who comes in knows what they want already. Liam used to join him for a few hours in the middle of the day but Erik is out of school now and no boy wants to spend their summer vacation stuck at their father’s work. Killian loves his brother, he really does, but the job is dull and repetitive and kills whatever desire to play is still left in him.

           When Liam asked him to come to Storybrooke and help out while Elsa underwent treatment Killian initially stayed in their guest room, an arrangement which led to a series of nasty fights as Liam urged him to move past his grief. His older brother disagreed with seemingly every choice that Killian had made — leaving the band and quitting music, letting the bottle get the better of him, letting his life fall apart over a woman who’s been gone now almost longer than he ever had her to begin with.

           But Liam has a son. He’s got no bloody choice but to keep it together despite his wife’s illness. And Killian, well… falling apart is the only thing he’s good at anymore.

           To admit that it feels strange waking up alone would imply that she slept much at all after checking into Granny’s and collapsing on the lumpy mattress. She’d managed to doze in front of the tv for a bit when they first got in, but as soon as she’d actually brushed her teeth and gotten ready for bed her brain had decided that it preferred to be awake. Preferred to turn each and every moment from the last two years over in her head and try to pinpoint all the signs that she’d missed. There must have been clues, nobody is that good of a con artist. But Walsh had been sweet and attentive and so good to her and Henry.

           He could afford to be good, she thinks bitterly. He was stealing from her after all.

           Throwing off the covers with a groan, she grabs the spare pillow and flings it over at Henry, hitting him in the face with a satisfying thump. Her son jumps awake with an indignant shout and Emma grins.

           “Get up, kid. We need to get to breakfast.”

           The promise of food perks him up and he swings his legs over the side of the bed to pick the pillow up off the floor and throw it back at her. “Granny’s?”

           “What else? Come on, we’ve got to get moving if we’re gonna beat your uncle and Mary Margaret there.”

           Saturday morning breakfast at Granny’s has been a Nolan tradition since well before Emma first came to Storybrooke and she doesn’t expect David to start breaking that tradition any time soon. She and Henry probably spent more time at the diner than anywhere else while they were still living in Storybrooke and stepping inside brings back a rush of memories. Nothing has changed in the past three years, from the faded checkerboard floor to the old vinyl-covered booths. Granny used to love to talk about how she was going to spruce the place up but it was just one of those small town refrains. Like Leroy always being grumpy, or Dr. Hopper always taking the same route at the same time for his dog’s afternoon walk. They may as well be civic institutions.

           It makes her wonder if her initials are still carved into the underside of the table in the back, or if they’ve been covered up by discarded gum. Neal had carved the two pairs of letters as they sat and drank milkshakes and plotted their escape from town. She can still remember the heady feeling when he’d taken her hand and guided her as she traced the letters and the heart that encircled them and has to shake her head at the thought. Leaving town and going to the big city was the refrain of half of Storybrooke’s teenage population, after all, not just her and Neal.

           Henry heads straight to what she assumes is still David’s usual table and she slides in next to him so that they’re both facing the door and can see her foster brother’s face when he walks in.

           “Do you think Mary Margaret will cry when she sees us?” Emma asks, leaning in conspiratorially.

           “Definitely. You know they’re gonna want us to go stay with them, right?”

           She snorts. “Four people living in that loft? I think we’re better off sticking with Granny’s, don’t you?”

           “Yeah, probably.” He sounds fine with it but looks away with a frown and she narrows her eyes.

           “Hey,” she says, nudging him with her elbow. “I’m sure you can have a sleepover or two while we’re here.”

           Henry nods but she can see him putting his face back on — the same way she does most mornings — and shit, maybe her son isn’t as okay with the breakup as he wants her to think.

           “Speaking of sleepovers—”

           “Emma?”

           Whatever Henry was about to say gets interrupted and they both turn to see her foster brother and his fiancée gaping at them from the doorway. Emma slides out of the booth with a grin and is almost immediately wrapped in a hug by David.

           “What are you doing here?”

           Emma just smiles into his shoulder for a moment before pulling away to hug Mary Margaret. “We thought we’d surprise you,” she says as Henry tackles his uncle.

           “This is definitely a surprise,” the other woman says, squeezing her hands before letting go. Emma doesn’t miss the small frown when she notices the diamond missing from her ring finger but ignores it in favour of leading them all back into the booth.

           “What time did you get in at?” David asks. He’s barely sat down before Ruby comes around with his coffee and Emma waves a hand to brush off the question.

           “Late, we didn’t want to be a bother.”

           “Mom dumped Walsh,” Henry chimes in helpfully and she scrunches her face up in distaste.

           “What happened?”

           Emma shakes her head. The last thing she wants is for David to get  his hackles up. “It’s not important. I just thought a change of scenery would be a good idea for a little while.”

           He opens his mouth to argue but Mary Margaret steps in instead. “You’re welcome to stay with us, you know,” she offers. “We might have only been expecting Henry, but we’d love to have you both. We can set up the air mattress, or maybe—”

           Emma shoots her son a look out of the corner of her eye and he smirks. “We’re good, but thank you.”

           David looks like he wants to question her again — she can just see them all piling up on the tip of his tongue. Are you staying the full two weeks? You always said you couldn’t get time off work, why is it okay now? Why did you leave the man who you were planning to marry? And she takes a deep breath.

           “Should we order? Let’s order. Who’s having pancakes?”

           Bloody hell is he glad to be closing up shop for the day.

           The thing about running a store in a small town is that most days are the same and the only ones that are any different are the ones where something goes wrong. Killian had spent most of the morning tracking down a missing shipment from one of their suppliers and the rest of the day fending off Leroy’s complaints about their lack of his favourite hoochie lure.

           (He swears, if he hears the word hoochie one more time today…)

           It’s not the sort of day that leaves him wanting to go over to his brother’s, but family dinners were part of the deal they made when Killian took over the flat above the store so he has little choice. Liam likes to keep an eye on him, and he seems to believe that Killian would subsist purely on rum if not for his nightly, unappetizing attempts to sop up the booze in his stomach.

           His brother took over household cooking duties once Elsa started chemotherapy, setting out to recreate the food of his and Killian’s youth. Which would be fine if he didn’t stubbornly misremember said youth. Despite Liam’s claims at being a great cook (“I raised Killian, didn’t I? He’s strong and healthy enough, if you ignore the last year.”) it was Killian who had manned the kitchen growing up. Liam worked to buy the food, but he never got anywhere close to actually putting it on the table.

           Which means that nearly every night since he’s been in town, Killian has gotten to enjoy poorly cooked dinners and a brother who shuts him down every time he offers a suggestion.

         Tonight, of course, is no different. Erik eagerly provides the conversation, detailing grandiose plans for his summer vacation, but Killian’s in no mood to show interest and watching Elsa push food around her plate turns his stomach. He pushes his chair back from the table about halfway through the meal, setting his plate on the counter with a clang and leaving the kitchen. He means to just take a minute, just a moment to himself away from everyone aggressively ignoring how not fine they all are. He just needs to get the tightness out of his chest before he goes back, makes his apologies, and makes his escape.

           He’s barely left the room before he hears someone following and that tight feeling turns to frustration before he can tame it.

           “Uncle Killian! Uncle Killian, are you leaving already?”

           “Aye, lad,” he says, tamping it down as best he can and grabbing his coat off the back of the couch. “What is it you want?”

           “I was hoping maybe you could teach me how to play guitar tonight. Dad said I’m old enough now, I can use his old one.”

           The request makes Killian stop dead in his tracks and he turns to look from his nephew to the doorway where Liam is standing watching them.

           “You put him up to this, then?” he asks, raising his chin to address his brother and ignoring the bouncing eleven year-old in between them.

           Liam frowns and sets a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Go back to the table and finish eating with your mum, yeah?”

           The change in the boy is immediate and they both watch him leave the room, suddenly fixated on his feet. Killian knows what’s coming next and already has a scowl ready when his brother turns and starts in on him.

           “Would it kill you to—”

           “Don’t pin this on me, brother,” he spits, cutting him off. “You know I don’t bloody play anymore. It’s not my fault that you went and put ideas in his head.”

           “No, you don’t play anymore. You don’t do much of anything anymore, do you?”

           Killian recoils but manages to keep from flinching at the barb. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

           “I ran into Leroy today, he said we were out of stock on quite a few things.”

           “Of course he bloody did. The man can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.”

           Because obviously it wasn’t enough that he’d spent hours trying to track down the order, despite the fact that it was Saturday and most businesses were closed. No, the town tattle-tale has to rat him out to his brother as if it’s something that’s even remotely in his control.

           “He shouldn’t have to keep his mouth shut, Killian!” Liam fumes. “What happened with the Golden Bait shipment?”

           “How the hell should I know? It never showed up! Some days it’s like this town doesn’t even bloody exist for all the problems I run into when suppliers try and deliver.”

           “Garth’s been selling to Atlantic Twine & Net since before I bought the store,” Liam says, crossing his arms. “Never had any problems with him in the past. If you’re not going to take this job seriously—”

           “So it’s my fault then?” Killian retorts. Liam doesn’t answer and he grinds his teeth,  hand clenching at his side. “Right. Well, this has been fun,” he says, voice thick with false cheer. “We’ll do it again tomorrow, shall we?”

           Killian lets the door slam shut behind him and storms up the street back to his apartment. Jumping in the car he’s got parked around back, he turns the ignition and floors it down Main Street.

           He hates this bloody town. Hates everything about it and there’s no way he’s spending the evening at home, above the store that’s given him nothing but grief all day. Thankfully, tonight’s the one night he can leave and not have to worry about fucking up his life any more than it already is.

           Small towns have their benefits, Emma’s realized. And one of those is the ability to be in your pajamas at nine o’clock on a Saturday night, armed with snacks that you don’t have to share and settled in for a Mummy movie marathon. Henry’s traditional first-night-in-Storybrooke sleepover with John and Michael had proved the perfect excuse to not linger around the loft after dinner with David and Mary Margaret. She loves her foster brother, but constantly stepping around the topic of Walsh gets exhausting after a few hours.

           David used to be content to let her have her space — to this date they’ve had exactly one conversation about the Neal debacle, where he promised to both always have her back and to never bring it up again. But apparently when she moved away from Storybrooke it triggered all of his protective instincts, even the ones that usually tell him she can take care of herself.

           Emma didn’t come back to Storybrooke for an inquisition. She knows everyone has questions — she does too. She just needs a little more distance from it all before she can try to offer any answers.

           She needs to remember how to breathe with her armour on again.

           The door handle jiggles and Emma startles, eyes narrowing as she mutes the tv in time to  hear a key being slid into the lock. She doesn’t know what kind of help Granny has hired in the time she’s been gone, but it’s way too late in the day for anyone to be changing sheets.

           “Do not disturb!” she calls out but it’s already too late. The door opens to reveal a dressed-to-the-nines Ruby Lucas, garment bag in hand.

           “Oh my god. It’s worse than I thought.”

           Emma groans and sets her popcorn aside, shoving the blankets off in order to get up. “Still abusing your master key, I see.”

           “I’ll have you know that it’s for emergencies. Which this clearly is. Here,” she says, holding out the arm with the garment bag. “Put this on, we’re going out.”

           Emma tilts her head to the side and crosses her arms over her rubber ducky pajamas. Ruby had been the perfect partner in crime as a teenager but once she had Henry wild nights out got traded for nights in with movie marathons and nail painting. “I’m not going out, Ruby. But you’re more than welcome to join me for movie night.”

           The other girl shakes her head. “No. No, not happening. You are better than this, Emma Swan. Is this what you would be doing on a Saturday night in New York?”

           “I would be working on a Saturday night in New York. This,” she counters, waving an arm back at the snack-covered bed, “Is a great night off. I have no more desire to go drink in a bar tonight than I do to go work in one.”

           “You’re letting him win, you know.”

           “Where would we even go?” Emma asks, switching tacks. “The Rabbit Hole closed down, I saw the sign.”

           “Rockland is like, a fifteen minute drive away. I will even be the designated driver, so long as we take your car ‘cause mine’s in the shop. Please, Emma,” she pleads. “I’ve missed you. And it’s been so long since I’ve had a proper wing woman. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

           Emma sighs and glances back at the tv and the bed where she’d been so comfortably ensconced just a couple minutes before. “Fine, give me the dress.”

           She pulls it out and gives it a quick once-over in hopes of finding an excuse to shoot it down but Ruby did well. The leather mini dress is in her size and it’ll show a lot of leg but at least her chest won’t be out on display. Ruby practically sashays past her to sit on the bed, hitting the old mattress with a bounce that makes the coils creak in protest.

           “Y’know,” Emma says, stopping at the doorway to the bathroom. “I’m surprised you haven’t re-opened the Rabbit Hole yourself. Weren’t you always talking about not waiting until you inherited Granny’s?”

           “I thought about it,” she replies, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing a piece up before catching it with her mouth. “But something like that I’d want a business partner for and I haven’t found the right person yet.”

           Emma knows a possible out when she sees one and she takes a few steps back into the room. “You know, I’ve worked in a lot of bars. I could give you some tips, if you want. We could get a bottle of wine, finish the snacks, enjoy some Brendan Fraser…”

           For a moment it seems like Ruby might be considering it but then she claps her hands and stands back up and Emma knows she’s lost. “That sounds like an awesome idea. For another night. But right now, you need to go and get changed and then let me fix your hair and make-up so that we can go out. Go!” she says, turning her around by the shoulders and punctuating it with a little shove.

           Emma rolls her eyes and flicks on the light in the bathroom. “It was worth a shot.”

           “It sure was,” Ruby agrees. “But you need this. Trust me.”

           Venturing out to a bar was a horrible idea, he thinks, cursing the fact that his sudden urge to get out of Storybrooke has got him surrounded by the company of strangers all of whom are eminently more sociable than him. He picked the bar because it was closest to where he parked but he can grudgingly admit that it does has some atmosphere. And it’s busy enough on a Saturday night that the noise drowns out most of the demons the booze leaves behind. (One of the downsides to drinking somewhere other than his apartment — he can’t have more than one or two unless he wants to sleep it off in the car.)

           He used to play in similar pubs before he got the band together, when it was just him and his guitar going through a set list of covers with some original songs slipped in. It’s not like he hasn’t thought of picking it up again. Sometimes he even wishes he could. Back in those early days he sat on a stool with a beer at his feet and played for himself more than anyone else. Liam thinks that Killian doesn’t want to move on, but he’s wrong. It’s just that music changed for him as soon as he started working with Milah. She made him better. Made him a stronger artist in every way. He doesn’t know how to do on his own what they once did together, can’t even fathom writing songs without her as his partner. He’d always been a good lyricist, but Milah cut straight to the heart and gave his words a power that he’d never managed even with all of his tinkering.

           Nothing else could ever measure up. It’s far easier to just drink his way through the memories instead.

           The blonde on his right chokes on her drink, and it pulls his attention away from his thoughts and back to the little show that he’s been following for the past fifteen minutes or so.

           “That’s awful!” she exclaims, pushing the glass away from her. “You call that a cocktail?”

           Killian can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he tries not to be obvious about his eavesdropping. The woman and the barkeep have been a source of amusement since she took a seat next to him and apparently the would-be Romeo’s original creation does not meet the lady’s standards.

           “Something funny over there, buddy?”

           He shakes his head but can’t keep from needling the poor bloke. “Just glad I ordered something simple,” he says, raising his rum in salute.

           The blonde eyes him skeptically before rolling her eyes and turning back to her suitor. “You know what? Just give me what he’s having.”

           The new drink is delivered with a scowl and Killian offers his glass to clink. “You’ve crushed that poor man’s heart, love,” he remarks.

           “He’ll get over it,” she replies, touching her rum to his and taking a sip. He follows suit, turning in his seat to face her better.

           Killian can’t fault the bartender for making an attempt; she is absolutely stunning. Her hair tumbles in loose, long waves down her back and she’s wearing a tight leather dress that definitely didn’t come from any of the area’s meager retail offerings. He’s not had near enough alcohol to even consider making a pass at her, but there’s something a little familiar in the set of her shoulders and the way that she holds herself and he’s got his hand out before he can think better of it.

           “I’m Killian,” he offers.

           She shifts on her stool to look at him, glancing down to his hand and then back up to his face. He waits patiently while she eyes him and can’t stop his smile when her hand slips into his.

           “Emma.”

           One drink turns to two turns to stepping outside for some fresh air and before he knows it they’re crammed into the back of her Volkswagen beetle, making out like damned horny teenagers. She’s straddling him, her dress riding up her legs, hair falling like a curtain around them. The whole world has narrowed down to how she feels and tastes and Killian runs his hands up her thighs to push her down further, needing to feel her pressed where he wants her most.

           Emma moans into his mouth when their hips meet and then breaks the kiss to shift a little, hiking the leather dress up to expose her ass completely. He bites at her earlobe when she settles back down, sucking it into his mouth as she sets an easy rhythm. Her nails dig into his shoulder, her other hand fisted in his shirt while she grinds against him and Killian sets to work kissing his way down her neck, paying attention to every little gasp and moan and sigh that she makes.

           She’s fucking glorious. And he’s never going to see her again so he doesn’t hold anything back. He licks and nips and sucks hard enough to bruise, squeezing her ass and rocking his hips up to meet her. Emma drags his face back to hers and damn it but he wants to touch all of her. The leather is unbearably sexy but it covers too much of her chest for his liking. Killian traces the line of her underwear instead, urging her up a bit higher onto her knees and letting out a groan when he finds her soaked through her panties. He pushes the material aside and trails a finger up through her wet until he reaches her clit, softly circling the nub before sliding a finger into her.

           Emma gasps against his lips, her forehead pressed to his. “More.”

           He’s happy to oblige, adding a second finger and twisting his wrist to maximize his range of motion in the cramped space. He keeps the same rhythm that she’d set earlier, pumping his fingers into her while brushing his thumb against her clit with each thrust. Her nails rake down his chest, but the bug is too tight for her to reach where he’s hard and aching and she curses in frustration. Killian just chuckles against her skin and bites down on her shoulder.

           Emma gives up with a moan and starts to rock into the thrusts of his hand. “Fuck, yes,” she mutters. Her breath hitches as he curls his fingers inside of her and then, “Shit, don’t stop.”

           She’s close, her core clenching around his fingers and it’s enough to make his control snap. He needs to feel more, needs to see her come apart above him. Killian grinds out a curse and abandons rhythm in favour of speed. He catches her lips in a brutal kiss, squeezes her breast roughly through the dress until the moment she pulls away with a gasp. Emma trembles around him, her head rolling back as she rides out her high and he feasts on the sight.

           She’s a bloody goddess, he thinks, gently removing his hand. Killian holds the two fingers up to eye level, wishing that he had more light so he could admire the slick coating of her release. Emma smirks down at him and then lowers her head, sucking his fingers clean and he bites back a groan even as his other hand grips her hip, pulling her back down to him.

           He can taste her when she kisses him and his tongue seeks hers hungrily. He’s just about to go back for more when an ambulance passes by and Killian stiffens up involuntarily. The haze of lust clears without warning in spite of Emma’s hands sliding down his chest on their way to his belt.

           “I wasn’t exactly planning on this,” she says, kissing a line along his jaw as she works at his pants. “Do you have any —”

           “No,” he manages, hoping she’ll mistake the strain in his voice for arousal. A cacophony of sirens are going off in his head and he fights to push them away, to stay in the present with the gorgeous woman who’s on top of him.

           It’s a losing battle though, always has been.

           “That’s okay,” Emma murmurs, her voice full of promise. “There are other things we can do.”

           He stills her hands when she jerks the belt open and her eyes jump up to meet his.

           Killian swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. “Perhaps another time.”

           “Seriously? Because I don’t mind.”

           He shifts underneath her and forces a crooked smile which he knows comes off as more of a wince but he can’t find it in himself to be worried about the impression he’s leaving when his heart is hammering in his chest and the sirens won’t stop blaring and it’s too tight in the car, he needs to get out out out. Needs to get to her.

           Emma practically falls off his lap and onto the seat beside him and he grabs for the door without thinking, scrambling out of the car and sucking cool night air into his lungs.

           “Hey, are you alright?”

           He’s bolted almost halfway across the tiny lot already but he turns around when she calls after him, her blonde hair falling around her face as she pokes her head out of the half-open door.

           “Aye,” he croaks. “Goodnight.”